Undercover Tales

by Blayne Cooper

  Ooo … yeah, I’m beginning to see why some of my predecessors decided to blow a bust rather than have Sonny show them doing something embarrassing. I mean, having the whole department know I was a dyke was bad enough … but having them watch someone going down on me was hard to even get my mind around. Too bad for Sonny I was committed to nailing his ass. Too bad for me, too. My mother’s not gonna like this. It’s one thing to know your daughter’s gay. It’s another to have all of the neighbors watch her getting head. Now I know how Paris Hilton felt.

  Brittany cleared her throat. “I’ll do it.” She looked sick to her stomach, which was just the tiniest bit insulting, but I tried not to take offense. I wouldn’t wanna blow a guy … no matter how stunning he was. Truth is, I didn’t wanna get blown, and believe me, I don’t say that very often. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to make love. I love my woman and she makes me hot. I don’t go sniffing around other women. I don’t need to, and I don’t want to. But this was another one of those tough questions. Would you rather have a good-looking woman go down on you, or take a bullet? Truth be told, I’d rather have a Rottweiler go down on me than take a bullet. So I stood, ready to go to that damned back room again.

  Brittany walked in front of me, and I found myself staring at her ass. I’m not above checking out a woman, but I’m usually not so damned obvious about it. But I honestly couldn’t stop myself. Brittany was wearing a short, red skirt, and her ass swayed sexily with every step. Her skirt was so tight that I could see she was wearing a thong. One of God’s great creations in my book. A tiny indentation at the crest of her sublimely-curved ass outlined the garment, and I had to suck my lower lip in to avoid drooling.

  She opened the door, and I did a quick scan, looking for the cameras. Sonny wasn’t very subtle. There were two, and they were right in plain sight, in the north and northeast corners of the room. He probably would have used all four corners, but a big air-conditioning duct filled one, and water and sewer pipes occupied the other. I stood so that the cameras were at my back and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  Brittany looked like she wanted to kick me in the groin, so I surmised my apology was declined. “How do you wanna do this?” she asked.

  “Uhm …” I smiled dumbly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Where do you wanna be? How do you like to come?”

  “Oh! Right!” God, I was an idiot. This drug was making me a total moron! I looked around the room. I didn’t think I could come standing up. I mean, I can do that at home if I’m really worked up, but I was sure I couldn’t pull it off today. So I either had to sit on one of the wooden chairs or the sofa.

  Brittany was getting tired of my indecision. I could tell when she said, “Would you make up your fucking mind!”

  “I’m trying,” I said, feeling flustered and confused.

  She moved closer and looked into my eyes. “Are you high?”

  “Very,” I said. “Crystal.”

  “Good,” she said, letting out a relieved sigh. “Are you turned on?”

  “No,” I said, neglecting the fact that her ass almost made me dive for her.

  “Okay, I’ll take care of that first. I don’t want to be here all day.”

  “That’s not the best seduction line I’ve ever heard,” I said.

  Ignoring my comment, she reached up and took off my jacket, surprising me by neatly hanging it on one of the chairs. Then she started to unbutton my shirt. This time I didn’t mind so much. Her hand was small and soft and gentle. She reached behind my head and pulled me down, kissing me hard and rough while she reached into my shirt and squeezed my breast.

  Oh! Not so gentle! I don’t usually like rough play, but today seemed to be an exception. My nipples got so hard that I could actually feel the skin puckering. Actually, I could feel everything … everything was so clear … so vivid. Every sensation was magnified, sharpened.

  Brittany grasped my head with both of her hands and really let me have it. She kissed me so hungrily that I was afraid she’d swallow me. Then I was afraid she wouldn’t. I’ve kissed and been kissed more times than I could count, but I couldn’t recall ever feeling a kiss like that one. It was completely devoid of all of the things I thought I liked about kissing. Tenderness, love, sensuality, affection, playfulness, teasing, connection. This kiss was almost brutal; clearly intended to do only one thing … make me hot. And damned if it didn’t work!

  I let out a gut-groan and cupped her ass cheeks with my hands, but she quickly grasped my hands and pushed them behind my back. She held them there with a surprisingly firm grip. The beautiful thing about this was that she had to press against me to hold my hands. Brittany had a great pair of tits. Not too big, not too small. Juuuust right. Soft, but still firm, they pressed against my belly, just under my bra. I wished she’d take my damned bra off and give me a little attention, but I didn’t think I’d get the whole package.

  I was surprised and pleased when she seemed to sense my need. She let me take over on the kissing front, while she snuck her free hand between us and played with my tits. She might have been telling Sonny the truth. She might never have muff-dived, but she knew how to work-over a pair of breasts.

  If the guys watching this weren’t hard, they needed a shot of testosterone. Brittany was quite the little dom, rendering me nearly helpless while she pinched my nipples until I thought I’d scream from pleasure. I was kissing her so hungrily and sloppily that I must have looked like a dog licking ice cream from a baby’s face.

  Okay. Time out. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m full of crap. Either I don’t love my woman, or I wasn’t really getting stupendously turned on. “How could she get hot having sex with a stranger, when a bunch of guys are watching her?” Or, “This idiot’s career is on the line, she thinks the whole world is gonna see this video, and she’s still enjoying herself?” Maybe even, “What kinda sicko exhibitionist is she?”

  All valid comments. Ones that I might make if I were in your position. In my defense, I can only say that the crystal took down a lot … a whole lot … of my normal boundaries. I will also admit that one of the things I love about police work is the thrill of danger. Having to have sex in order to save your life is pretty thrilling. I know that doesn’t make sense to some of you, but the thrill-seekers out there will know just what I mean.

  Now I might as well admit to something that I’m not proud of. As I said, my girlfriend and I have been together for six years. Complete monogamy. I like it that way, and so does she. We have a very good sex life because we work at it. We both try to keep things interesting. We’re still finding new ways to please each other.

  But, being realistic, there are only so many tricks two dogs can do. We have certain ways of approaching each other, if you know what I mean. I’m usually the one humping her leg, asking for sex. I’m usually a little more aggressive than she is. I’m not a stone-butch or anything, and she’s not a lie back and take it femme, but I’m a little more dominant.

  Having the tables turned on me was nice. It was different. It made me hot. There. I said it. Getting a little strange made me hot. So shoot me. No matter how many symphonies we write, how many great works of literature we pen, breathtaking paintings we create, we’re still animals. And animals like to fuck. I’m not saying that’s good or bad. I’m just saying it is.

  So, here I was, getting hot performing for a bunch of slime-balls. I’m here to tell you, animal instincts are powerful shit.

  Brittany didn’t seem to like my kissing style. Or maybe I was taking over too much. But she leaned back a little so I couldn’t get much leverage. I didn’t mind, though, since that pushed her breasts into mine a little harder. Have I mentioned how much I like breasts? I couldn’t tell if Brittany liked mine, but she sure knew how to handle ’em. She realized that I responded best when she kept me off kilter. So she’d palm one of my breasts and move it gently, the fabric of my bra giving just enough friction. Then she’d give me a little squeeze, gentle and almost loving. Whe
n I started to plunge my tongue into her mouth she’d squeeze me hard, or pinch my nipple. I had my doubts about her lack of experience, but if she was telling the truth, she was just a fantastic fuck. Some people have a gift. She knew how to read me … how to tell what I needed before I knew myself. That’s a very handy talent in the bedroom. Or the break room, in this case.

  There was no doubt that I was ready to move on. You could have told that by standing outside the door and listening to me moan. Brittany let go of my hands and grabbed my ass, grinding me against her until I thought I might come in my pants. Then she grabbed my head again and gave me some more of those “I’m gonna suck your face off” kisses while she worked the button on my pants. Once again, I found this far preferable to Spiro’s big ham-hands. I reached up and held my waistband taut while she lowered the zipper. She dropped my slacks, and I didn’t so much care that they’d get wrinkled. Funny how circumstances change your perspective.

  Her hands reached under my long shirt and palmed my lace-clad ass. I was so glad I wore new undies today. If my life is gonna be ruined by letting the world see me have sex, at least people in Malta won’t be saying, “Where did she get those ugly-ass panties?”

  Brittany slipped her hands inside and squeezed my ass-cheeks. God, I love that. Then she slipped the panties off and tossed them and my slacks aside. I was wearing a very nice pair of black Ferragamo shoes. Italian shoes are the best. It’s just a fact. Now, as I said, the shoes were nice, but I also had on black trouser socks. There’s nothing attractive about trouser socks. So, mindful of my place in Internet history, I shucked my shoes and socks. Hey, as my mother says, “It doesn’t cost anything to care about how you look.”

  She’d obviously changed her mind about letting me decide how I got done. Brittany shoved me onto the sturdy table, sat on one of the chairs and said, “Spread your legs.”

  Yes, ma’am! I leaned back on my hands and spread ’em, as we say. She unbuttoned the bottom couple of buttons on my shirt and pushed it aside. Now that she was nearly eye-level with my business end, she didn’t look so confident. Damn! I started to feel sorry for her. Pity and sex don’t mix well. I could feel my rock-hard clit start to wilt.

  She looked up at me and asked, “Wanna be fucked while I go down on you?”

  Hmm … my clit liked that question. “Optional,” I said. In fact, I always came better with a couple of fingers inside me. But I didn’t like to really be fucked. Don’t even think about coming at me with a big strap-on. The old in-and-out didn’t do it for me. I like to be filled up and feel just a little movement. My girlfriend has this trick where she turns her hand over right when I’m about to come. Makes me see stars. But I didn’t wanna be greedy, or make her do more than the minimum. Even though she was getting paid, this wasn’t really voluntary for her, either.

  She spread me open and got close, looking me over carefully. She laughed a little, probably at how wet I was. That was embarrassing, but I plead the animal defense. She held me open with her fingers, and used her thumbs to spread some of my juices around my clit. Relating this, I probably sound matter-of-fact. But there was nothing ordinary about the experience. If pleasure came in a liquid, she was pouring it over my clit like there was no tomorrow. I can’t express how every nerve ending reacted to her touch. I’m sure it was mostly from the crystal, but God damn, my clit has never felt so fantastic. I could feel the blood pulsing through it, and she used the perfect amount of pressure. My pussy felt hot and heavy, and when she’d slide a little more moisture onto it, it felt like the coolest unguent known to man.

  My head had dropped and I was staring, glassy-eyed at the ceiling. She still hadn’t touched me with her mouth, and I was already in heaven. “Put your legs on my shoulders,” Brittany said, partially tearing me from my private nirvana.

  Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Is there anything better than being sizzling hot and having your partner put her mouth on you for the first time? If there is … I haven’t felt it.

  I complied, then had to adjust my hands to stay upright. I’m not sure why I wanted to, but it seemed more dignified than lying on the table, squirming.

  I could hear her take in a breath, then I felt her lips on me. She was perfectly still for a moment, almost like she was kissing me. Then her lips parted, and her warm, wet tongue lapped me from bottom to top. I’ve never come from a first touch, but I was damned close that time. I spread my legs to let her get closer, then let her work. She kept her tongue soft and licked me lazily—like a popsicle. That was nice. Very nice. Then she pointed her tongue and worked it in and around and over every fold of skin. She literally investigated me with her tongue, leaving no skin untouched.

  I was about to groan or cry or beg or scream, when I came. No warning. None. I just stiffened and came, the sensation so unexpected that I barely made a noise. But she knew I’d finished, since my knees were now touching her ears, and my cunt was pulsing like crazy.

  “Fuck,” I managed to pant.

  To my surprise, she didn’t get up. She spread my legs apart and started to lick me again. I had no earthly idea why she did it, but I wasn’t gonna argue. It took a little longer this time, maybe two minutes, but I had a better build-up. That first one was too quick for me to prepare for. Damn, I hate to come before I’m ready. But this time, I was good and ready, and my moans and entreaties to her to keep it up … just like that … gave her a nice warning, too.

  I almost swallowed my tongue when she tried to enter me. I was still locked-up from my last orgasm, but she played around my opening until I relaxed. Shamelessly, I dropped to the table and let her fuck me, my hips moving like a wanton hussy’s. She didn’t do it too hard or too fast. She just filled me up and moved in and out until I was whimpering in that pleasure/pain state where you want to say, “Stop! Fuck me harder! Stop!”

  She didn’t wanna stop, so she fucked me harder. I was squirming around on the table when I came again, holding onto her arm with both of my hands, and crying out so loudly the lunch crowd had to think someone was being tortured. Luckily, the regulars were probably used to that.

  Brittany sat up and waited for a few seconds so I could compose myself enough to stop rolling around like I’d been hit on the funny bone. She delicately withdrew, then walked over to the corner and held her fingers up to the camera. When she turned them upside down, a big drop of my cunt juices slid off her fingers. Nice touch, Brittany. Classy.

  Without a word, she walked into the bathroom, and I could hear her running the water. In a few seconds she came out, and I could see that she’d rubbed her mouth hard with one of the paper towels. I was about to suggest she use some of the stuff they cleaned the grease-trap with, but I decided I was being too sensitive.

  I got up, my knees wobbly, and collected my clothes. I went into the bathroom and tried to freshen up, but there was just something about me that said, “Fucked hard and put away wet.” I’d have to go to the station house and take a shower or two before I could be in polite company.

  When I left the bathroom, Brittany was gone. Trying to find a shred of dignity, I walked back into the restaurant to find Sonny, Chris and Spiro staring into space like they’d been hit with ball-peen hammers. None of the gents stood to welcome me, and I had the impression that they couldn’t have if they’d wanted to. It was nice to know I could make a buck as a porn star when I was hounded out of my job. I had to wonder how they got back to the table from wherever the monitor was. I had this mental image of them walking in a little line, all bent at the waist, looking like three guys impersonating Groucho Marx. The patrons had to wonder what in the hell went on in this place.

  “Chris,” Sonny said, his voice sounding tight. “Make the deal.”

  Chris gave him a rather insubordinate look, and I realized why when he stood. He’d made the mistake of wearing tan pants, and the front was now decorated with what the fellows call “pecker tracks” if what I’m told is correct. Boy, I’m glad you can’t see a trail of pre-cum on my pants when I’m getting exc
ited. Being a man isn’t all fun and games. Chris’ dick was standing straight up, and I allowed myself to stare at it pointedly, just to give him a taste for what it felt like to be on public display.

  “Nice tent,” Spiro said, chortling.

  “If you don’t have one, maybe you are a faggot,” Chris growled.

  “Break it up,” Sonny said. “Let’s try to get some business done today, okay?”

  Chris walked … or shuffled … into the back room. I handed him my briefcase and he handed me his. He didn’t count the money and I didn’t weigh the drugs. We both knew where to find each other. Well, that wasn’t true, but I knew where to find them. They thought I did business out of a little office in Bucktown. I did, but it wasn’t selling drugs. It was keeping track of them.

  Still feeling euphoric, I hefted the case and shook his hand. Then we walked into the restaurant and I shook both Sonny and Spiro’s.

  “Stay for lunch,” Sonny said. “On the house!”

  “No, I’ve got to get back to the office. I was here longer than I thought I’d be.”

  Sonny grabbed my arm and shook it playfully. “You’ve had worse mornings, right?”

  “Far worse,” I said, being perfectly honest.

  I waved and started to walk out, taking a quick look for Brittany. She wasn’t around. I hoped she was in the bathroom, taking care of business. I’ve been wrong before, but she seemed to enjoy herself more than she claimed. Of course, every john probably tells himself that. Prostitutes are all money-grubbing whores until they do you. They get off with you. Yeah. Right.

  I stepped out into the sun, the fine summer day making me glad I’d never left home. Chicago was truly my kinda town. And my kinda cops were all waiting for me to walk two doors to the right and set the case on the sidewalk. I did that, and was surrounded by a sea of men and women wearing T-shirts over bullet-proof vests. The T-shirts all said “Narcotics” in big, yellow letters. I had a feeling Sonny wasn’t gonna like to see them. Just to check, I walked back in, watching my guys secure the crime scene.