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HOME >> Product 0649 >> A Doll’s Foot>>

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A Doll’s Foot

W. Richard St. James
Nestor Warren is a tech billionaire, a genius who has invented many of the algorithms that are the basis for artificial intelligence. But his wife has died, he’s lonely, and he creates an Investigative Directorate, perhaps to root out evil, maybe just to give him a chance to be a road warrior. One who no longer has to behave himself. A washed up OnlyFans group has started to dabble in Satanism to try to keep the tips coming in. They have been invited by a mysterious fugitive girl to come to the Cape, where anything and everything is permitted, next to a notorious swinger resort where the waitresses are on the menu. But their host needs to leave, so they stage a mock sacrifice in her honor. Then she really does vanish. Nestor is sent to investigate, why he is not really sure, but he’s happy enough to enjoy the delights of the area, including Melanie, one of the group members. Then the missing girl’s foot turns up, her bodyguard is murdered. After that things start to get messy.

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Chapter 1

“ANDRE, WHAT IS IT? Why are you knocking?” A girl’s head poked through the open door.

“Someone to see you.”

“Someone to see me? Many people want to see me. It’s your job to make sure they don’t, is it not?” The girl ventured one bare leg out into the hall so that she could lean her head out to get a better look at the intruder. “Can you explain why you escorted this person, whoever he is, up to our apartment, instead of shooing him away as you are supposed to do? As you are paid, quite handsomely, to do?”

“He’s says he’s a cop.”

“Oh.” She realized then that she had not bothered to secure her robe, which had fallen away from her breasts. Breasts possibly still hidden behind the door. She reached back to find a belt which did not seem to be there, then shrugged and stepped out into the hall, letting the robe fall open. “What makes you think he’s a cop? He’s not dressed like a cop.”

“He’s a detective. Or something.”

“Looks more like a something.” The intruder was dressed for the weather in shorts and a tee shirt, water shoes. Not skinny, not fat, well muscled limbs, heavy tan, not a trace of hair on his head or body. He looked like he was headed for the beach or on his way back from it. “What makes you think he’s a cop?”

“He showed me ID.”

“Really.” She glared at the two of them. Typical males.

The intruder produced a phone from his shorts. It was displaying one of those annoying QR codes. “Scan this please, Beatrice.”

She scowled at the American pronunciation of the name. “Please, if you must call me that, it is Be-ah-TREE-chee. But I would prefer Melanie, if you please, mister,” she frowned, squinting at the screen. “Warren. Nestor. Age fifty-seven?” He certainly was not in his twenties, but there was nothing that betrayed that much age. “The Investigative Directorate?” She was frowning at a screen with that name emblazoned on the pale blue UN logo. “I have never heard of this organization.”

“Of course not.”

“I don’t believe you’re really a cop.”

“I can have a SWAT team and a search warrant here in five minutes.”

“You’re bluffing.” She took a defiant pose, arms akimbo, knees bent slightly for combat, her robe slipping away further to either side. She had practiced that pose in front of a mirror, in front of a camera, shoulders raised so her ample breasts stood out, her shaved groin thrust out enough to give more than a hint of the fissure in her flesh. Her mistress pose, waiting for someone to kneel before her to pay devotion. But the intruder seemed unaffected by her beauty.

“Am I?” He stepped closer to her, too close, and she had a moment of panic that he has going to try to caress her, But instead, he was reaching out a hand to retrieve his phone.

“Don’t fucking touch me! Andre, where the fuck are you!” She realized her guard had retreated to one of the chairs in the mini lounge at the end of the hall. He had his phone out. Recording them? No, he was deeply engrossed, watching something.

“Sorry.” The intruder backed off to a safer distance. “Could I have my phone back, please?”

“Of course.” She found the belt after all, and pulled the robe together. She reached out a hand to return the phone, and wound up shaking his.

“Nice to meet you, mister…” She paused. She had misplaced his name already.

“Warren,” he prompted.

“Warren. Actually, not so nice. So, you are some sort of policeman?”

“An investigator.”

“A private investigator?”

“Not exactly private.”

“You are part of the United Nations?”

“We are affiliated with the UN.”

“Like an NGO?”

“Something like that.”

“So just what does this mysterious directorate do? And why have you shown up at my doorstep? And?” She paused, putting her hands on her hips again, raising herself up on tiptoe so that they were almost eye to eye. “Just what would your so-called search warrant entail?”

“Oh.” He gave a shrug. “Everyone has vulnerabilities. No one stays exactly within the boundaries of the law. In your case, for example, your age when you began to upload the videos, to do the webcam shows. Or how much money you have received in tips on the webcam shows, or from the sales of your videos, compared to how much you have declared to pay taxes on.”

“Everyone fudges those things. These petty little things have brought you here to annoy us? To attempt to intimidate us?” She was putting on a brave show, but her limbs were quivering. She was desperately trying not to leave a little puddle under her on the polished terrazzo floor.

“Not at all. You merely were asking what would happen if you choose to call my bluff. For example,” he paused to tap his phone, “according to you official age Melanie is practically a MILF by now. Something that is causing you some concern. Yet Bea-tri-ce,” he gave it the Italian pronunciation this time, “is still a teenager, though only by a few months.”

She was squirming now, her bladder about to burst, her bowels threatening to betray her.

“Perhaps we would be more comfortable if we went inside?” he offered, seeing her discomfort.

“My friends are… busy.”

“Oh. I picked a time when you did not have a show scheduled.”

“What?” She gave him a savage smile. “You imagine that we only fuck for the shows?”

He frowned, tapped at his phone for a few seconds. “There’s a private recording you are doing for some sheikh. He wants things a little more messy.”

That was enough to make her blush, then flush with outrage, then dash into the apartment without a word of explanation.

When she returned, she had pulled on a little sundress to replace the robe.. “How the fuck do you know these things? Is this what your wonderful investigations are composed of? Prying into people’s personal business? Their private business?”

“In a way. We gather data from many sources. Anything that is sent over the internet. Anything that is stored in the cloud. Sometimes, things that are on phones, on servers, on computers that connect to the internet.”

“Everyone connects to the internet.”

“Exactly so.”

“For what purpose? Blackmail?”

“Blackmail? What need would we have for blackmail? Money is nothing but an illusion, a dance of electrons for the amusement of the banking system. A dance which we can alter as we wish. To a certain extent.”

“For what purpose then?”

“You have watched those real crime shows, one where an investigator unravels an ancient wrong doing, records a confession, and then turns everything over the authorities? What if that could be done in real time? As the crime was happening, or even about to happen? We have artificial intelligence bots perusing all that data. Searching for patterns. Searching for clues. Or should I say, the bots have us as their agents in the real world.”

“So what did we do to pique your interest?”

“You must understand, I am only speculating, to some extent. The artificial intelligence that drives the bots has developed its own algorithms. Ones which may not immediately make sense to the mere humans it uses as its agents.” He reached out to touch the bracelet on her right wrist, to touch the Satanic cross which was the pendant. “This, in part. I think. From what has been shared with me.”

“The Satanism?” She withdrew her hand. “Seriously? It’s a joke. A put-on.”

“Was. To you. Maybe not to your fans. To most of them, but not to all of them. But then, even your friends, Rocco in particular, started to do more research. To take it more seriously, perhaps.”

“On the internet.”

“Of course. And corresponding, joining groups. You went to a Black Mass. You had a rite of human sacrifice.”

“One of the girls who had joined wanted to get out. To vanish, it seemed. We decided to send her out in style. What? You think we actually sacrificed her?”

“Of course not. But you did go to the Black Mass.”

“It was disgusting. Everyone wanted to have sex with us. Everyone did have sex with us.”

“Despite your supposed fidelity within the group.” It was a statement, rather than a question. “You did this to please Rocco?”

“Well, it was an adventure. And no actual fucking, so maybe it wasn’t really cheating? It was like that with Rocco for a long time, no penetration. He could fuck Risa, but not me. You know, life has been boring. Lately. Here, everyone goes around naked, so what’s the thrill of it? People are fucking on the beach all the time. We tried doing it there a few times and no one even bothered to watch us. It was humiliating. Do you like it here?”

“I’ve only been here a day or two. I like to go running naked, and I was out for a long run this morning. Lots of interesting scenery.” He gave a little chuckle. “There were a couple of guys who invited me to join them and that was even better.”

“Oh.” That would explain his indifference. Why was she feeling disappointed?

“But to get back to the Black Mass, what did you think of it?”

“It was silly and boring, until the orgy part. Really, there are orgies going on all the time in this town, without all the mumbo jumbo.”

“But you went at Rocco’s direction. Had sex at his direction. Maybe he’s preparing you for the next phase.”

“You know, Risa and I were talking about that.” She halted, blushing again. “Well, of course, you know. We weren’t actually talking, we were chatting, so no one could overhear us, so it would be private. Private!” She spat the word out. “But there you were, spying on us.”

“Not me, the bots. I only know what they choose to share with me. Mostly. The hidden secrets, that are not so hidden after all.”

“So you think Rocco is going to pimp us out?”

“I know that money is getting tight for you. Maybe tighter than you realize. A lot of your money was tied up in Bitcoin. And you are losing your bubble of popularity.”

She was wishing she had put on panties. Her bladder was betraying her again, not a lot, but enough that there was a moist spot on the floor. “Why are you telling me all these things?” She was starting to add tears to the unwanted secretions.

“Really, I don’t know for sure. The bots give me instructions. Sometimes they seem bizarre, Believe me, it was not my intention to cause you so much distress.”

“But it was the intention of your robot masters?”

“Perhaps. There is one other thing.”


“I am not allowed to seduce you.” That produced a derisive laugh from her. “But I am perfectly free to pay for your services.”

“My services? Really? Do you often pay for services?”

“Since my wife died. Never before that. We were always faithful.”

“Oh. That is why you have become an agent of these bots?”

He nodded. A lonely old man, like her grandfather, except in so much better condition. She felt her heart softening. Instead of just sending him on his way, she asked, “And how much would you be willing to pay for these services?”

He tapped his phone and hers buzzed with a new message. She opened it and blushed again. “You have done all these things?” He nodded. She looked at the first item again. “What if I just agree to have dinner with you?”

“That would be fine. It’s lonely eating by myself. One of the curses of being a road warrior.”

“I have the same dinner companions every evening. Rocco and Risa, and Bastet and Sekhmet if we are dining at home.” She didn’t bother to explain who the latter two were. Of course he would know already that they were the cats. “It would be nice to have different company for a change. You would pay the fee? Even if I would join you without it?”

“Of course. It all goes on the expense account. Why don’t we have dinner at the resort?” He waved at the side of the corridor where the apartment was. “That’s where I’m staying.”

“At the swinger resort? Why in the world would you want to stay there? We walk past it to get to the beach, but I’ve never set foot in it.”

“Well, it’s right on the beach. You can be naked in the hotel hallways and on the beach. The rooms have keypad locks. So I can leave everything in my room and go off to the beach without worrying about someone taking my stuff. Back home I do something similar with my car, although I do need to wear beach shoes to get off the parking lot.”

“I guess that makes sense. You have a beach view?”

“Other side. Just across from your balcony, in fact.”

That produced another blush. “You weren’t watching…” Rocco had recorded her masturbating on that balcony. Their usual afternoon show. Of course, he, or someone, something he was attached to, would know about it, would book a hotel room with a convenient view.

“Your little show? Of course.” He gave a smirk. “You know, there were couples fucking on the balconies on either side of you, the whole time.”

That provoked a sigh. “I hate this town.”

“In any case, the hotel has a decent restaurant. And it will be convenient if you decide to go a bit further down the list.” That smile again. “Oh, and it’s dressy in the evening. Wear something nice. Seven? I’ll meet you in the lobby.”




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