Daleman's Log - 09 / 02 / 2120

Quillian Daleman - Personal Log
09 / 02 / 2120 F.A.

"So have you, like, had sex with normal bears?" Vanessë asked, her big silver eyes wide as I unbuckled my belt.

You could hardly have found two women less alike. The winnowy Elfkin looked frail, unnaturally skinny. Tall for a Man, but tiny compared to me. Yet she had curves in all the right places. A pair of tits like cannonballs glued to her chest, an ass that owed more to a master surgeon than endless squats at the gym, flared hips. While I was eight feet of scars and muscle, my pectoral muscles more developed than my breasts, though the pink nipples were stiff and thick as Vanessë's delicate thumbs. Where she was pale and hairless, I was pink and had curly brown hair in all the usual places, thick and slightly pungent. Her surgical perfection had left her smooth and taut, while my skin sagged in odd places, and my body was unexpectedly hard in others.

Most augmentations were a bad idea for Beornings. But some things worked. The ballistic mesh and ceramic plates installed under my skin worked just fine to cover my vitals in human or bear form. Not enough to render me completely bulletproof, but enough that I could basically ignore low-caliber projectiles. Even high-caliber rounds had to hit something vital.

"No," I said, as I pulled off my pants. "We look like bears, when we skinshift, but we don't think like bears. Aren't raised thinking bears are sexy. They're wild animals. We don't smell right to them, and they don't smell right to us. Plus, they're only really interested once a year, when the girl-bears go into estrus. Whereas Beornings are Men. We're basically ready to fuck year-round."

I folded my pants and set them on the dresser, one of those cheap Rivendell models that you had to put together with a little L-shaped tool. Vanessë had taken off her shimmery dress, what little there was of it, and stood naked before the big bed.

"I guess that makes sense. I never really thought about it before," the Elfkin said. "But you've had sex in bear form?"

The light fixture was on the ceiling in the middle of the room. As I stepped behind her, I loomed tall enough to cast a shadow on her head. The thin plastic strands of her hair glowed softly from within. My hands came around from behind to cup those huge tits. They were firm in my hand, as I imagined they would be. Like holding a pair of living water balloons. Warm in my palms as I began to massage them.

"Sometimes. There are advantages. Longer tongue, better sense of taste and smell. But there are differences in anatomy. Don't have the same lips, and my pussy is, believe it or not, even hairer. Some women like a muzzle job."

"What's a muzzle job?" Her forehead crinkled in confusion.

I grinned. Showed a lot of square, white teeth. Benefits of the cops still having a dental plan.

"That's when I push my snout into a pretty pussy. Open my jaws just a little, like a speculum spreading it wide. Then I let my tongue slip out and I lick the cervix until they cum with their womb."

The last sentence was biologically impossible, at least the orgasming bit. But Vanessë gave a musical chuckle at the image, and the way I licked my lips. She leaned back against me. I could smell her excitement, even as my thumbs and forefingers lightly pinched her nipples.

"I like women," Vanessë said, as if to herself. "I mean, guys are okay, but they kind of stink and all they think of is their maika. Which is, like, okay, I don't mind it, but I don't always get much out of it, you know?"

I hummed. My right hand released one swollen globe to run a hand down her body. She had seemingly no body fat at all, and the softest, slickest skin I'd ever felt. Like a doll made flesh. Incredibly responsive too. I bent my knees a little, so that my fingers could brush her clit, and she gave a musical little moan. Vanessë tilted her head, offering her neck, and I planted a kiss on there. Just gentle, not teeth at all, but I sucked hard enough at her flesh to feel her quiver in excitement.

It was exactly the kind of distraction I needed after the shit week I'd had. Most of my days had been spent with Agent Arnorson of the A.R.D. The 'ARD boys thought highly of themselves, and had some surprising clout for a group I'd never heard of, but they didn't know how to run this kind of investigation. Too focused on who they would sell the stolen blade to, rather than who had stolen it or why. I'd spent days shaking down auction houses, specialist dealers, running down a list of collectors in the arcane.

Nights I had spent researching and interviewing museum staff, without Arnorson. Despite the **** of the thieves' approach, it was clear to me that whoever took it had intimate knowledge of the Black Museum and its contents. They knew exactly what they took and had a purpose in taking it. Hadn't even touched anything else. Personally, I wondered if someone at ARD hadn't provided the information themselves.

A possibility that the Chief Superintendent had not been happy about when I breached the theory. Yet all he had said was "Mind how you go, Daleman," which was his polite and reserved way of saying "don't fuck this up."

Vanessë slid around, her legs wrapped around my hips, so that she hung off of me, her big fake tits pressed into my ribs. My hands shifted to grab that bubble butt, one lower to where ass met thigh, so one big finger could rub that little slit.

"Oooh, that feels good," she cooed. "And here I'm supposed to make you feel good."

"You will," I said with dead certainty. Even though she was thin enough I could have flossed my cunny with her like a towel. I was wondering whether I could take both of her slim, delicate hands in my pussy. I hadn't been properly fisted in a long time.

Her delicate mouth found my left nipple. She sucked it like a little cock, full of tongue-twirls and loud, sloppy noises. Yet I could feel her excitement too, a warm wetness that gathered on my finger as I rubbed her up and down. If I tried to fist her, I'd tear that pretty pussy apart.

Somehow, work intruded on my thoughts again. Most of the staff were clean, the lowest level of white-collar civil servants, nerds to a man and woman. The janitorial staff were more blue-collar, but had surprising security clearance in order to work in the museum. Nothing that couldn't be faked, or that might not hide some secret sins. An addiction to **** or gambling, an illicit romance—I'd been running the financials, but nothing had jumped out at me.

"Hmm," Vanessë said as her hips began to pulse against me. "Your fingers are gûl..."

Something about that triggered a memory. One of the janitorial staff, he had a couple of odd tattoos. Strange script, some kind of Elvish. I'd made a note of it, but hadn't looked into it. Maybe...

"Hey. Can you read Elvish?" I asked.

Vanessë looked up at me, my tit still in her mouth. She released my nipple with a *pwah* of her plump lips and looked up at me.

"I'm level C1 on Quenya, and B2 on Sindarin, though a lot of the dialects give me trouble, and I haven't had any classes in Avarin yet. That's next semester. I can read some Tengwar, but not every dialect," she said.

I carried her over to the side of the bed and sat down, grabbed my phone off the box that served as a side table. One-handed, I logged in and flipped through case photos until I came to one that showed the janitor's tattoo—taken from his social media. I showed it to the silver-haired beauty in my lap.

"Can you read this?" I asked.

Her eyes went wide as she saw the dark circle of script tattooed on his chest. She went suddenly tense, and her lips began to move, though no sound came out. Then she tried to squirm away.

"No, no no no no, I'm not...I'm not getting involved in any of that, that wasn't the deal, this was just supposed to be a date, just sex, I was supposed to eat your pussy, I'm not..."

My left hand tightened around her like she was a cat trying to escape a bath. I stood up, and held her pretty much effortlessly above the floor, arms and legs kicking air, not doing any damage.

"If you know what this is, you need to tell me," I said. Not harshly. I still wanted to fuck her. Yet it was obvious she knew something, and this was the closest I'd gotten to a lead in a week. Getting laid was now a secondary priority. Then I added. "I'll pay you extra."

Almost immediately, she went limp. She looked up at me.

"You won't tell anybody I told you, right?" Vanessë asked. "No cops?"

"I am a cop," I said. Vanessë's eyes went wide. "Didn't Lilja tell you? Detective-Inspector. Look, tell me what kind of Elvish this is, what it says. Then we can get back to business."

Vanessë chewed one expensive lip, then seemed to come to a decision.

"It's not Elvish," she said. "It's Black Speech. Like, for real, the original Black Speech. It's...it's the sign of the Broken Ring. They're one of the cults out in Far Harad. I don't...I don't want anything to do with that! I'm Elfkin! I don't want anything to do with the Dark Lords or their works!"

There had been street whores who swore how clean they were that lied more convincingly than Vanessë. She just didn't have a knack for deceit. I dropped the phone back on the sidetable, then lowered the Elfkin down to the bed. Never letting her go. Planted both my hands on her spindly arms so that she squirmed against the weight. Maybe it was time to combine business and pleasure.

"You're hurting me!" she said.

I smiled again. Let her see my fangs this time. Just for a moment. The bed creaked at the sudden shift in weight.

"Tell me everything you know about the Broken Ring," I said. "And then, maybe, I'll show you what a muzzle job feels like."

She did. Eventually.