The master of ceremonies, what an officious and odious term for this piss-ant lecture series, introduced me and stepped back as the audience politely applauded. I stood up from the folding chair, praying I wouldn't have to sit in it again when I finished my speech, and walked to the podium. It was wide, wooden lectern, the kind you used to see presidents and world leaders clutching during speeches. I resisted the urge to grip the edges and say, "My fellow Americans...," but only because I was supposed to be a grown-up today.
I placed my notes on the podium, adjusted the microphone and said, "Thank you, Captain Henderson." The mic didn't send a shriek of feedback through the speakers, and I was a little disappointed. If you can't count on the clichés, what can you count on? I made sure my notes were all present and in order, cleared my throat and said, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I would promise to keep it short, but considering this lecture hall is air-conditioned, you might appreciate a bit of dragging-on."
There were so polite laughs, and I cleared my throat. When I looked up again, my eyes were drawn to movement in the third row. It was all I could do not to react, to shift my attention to the next row back so I wouldn't stare. Even though I wasn't looking at her anymore, the flash image of her face was burned in front of me. Elizabeth, her dark hair done up in a prim and proper bun, sitting there with a pad and a pencil like a student, despite all the actual students being in uniform.
"Today, I'm going to talk about the unreliability of eyewitness testimony."
I am a police detective, asked by a former teacher to give a speech to a group of cadets from the academy. There were a few civilians in the audience, but there was absolutely no reason for Elizabeth, my partner, to be there. I had actually told her not to come. I managed to control myself enough to look at her again. She had on a pair of glasses I had never seen before, with thick black rims, and she wore a small, self-satisfied smile. Her tweed jacket and matching skirt made her look like a professor, but her white blouse was unbuttoned far enough that no one would confuse her for some stodgy bookworm.
"In... ahem, excuse me. In many instances, an eyewitness testimony could make or break a case. But, in most cases, conflicting reports could cause confusion and even muddy the investigation."
Her legs were crossed at the knee and she gently bobbed her foot in the air. I could see her high heels and felt a twinge below the belt. I loved when she wore skirts and heels. It wasn't always feasible on the job, but after work, at home, I had very many fine memories of her prancing around wearing a pair of stilettos, sheer stockings and nothing else. Remembering those nights and mornings when she had put on her little show made my cock stir in my trousers. I met her eyes, saw the mischievous glint there, and suddenly knew why she had shown up.
The little minx.
I continued on with my speech, thankful I had written it down exactly as I wanted to say it. All I had to do was keep referring to my notes and I shouldn't get lost. No matter what my treacherous partner might have up her sleeve.
I wasn't an accomplished public speaker, but I knew enough that I couldn't give the entire speech with my chin down, nose buried in the pages. So I looked up, scanned the crowd, made eye contact with a few, and then, against my better judgment, looked at Elizabeth. She shifted in her chair, tugged the hem of her skirt down a little farther and crossed her legs going the other way. She stopped pretending to take notes and brought her hand up to her face, thumb extended under her chin, pen between her index and middle fingers like a cigarette. She parted her lips and caught the cap of the pen between her teeth. I could see the pink flutter of her tongue working around the shaft of the pen and flashed back to that morning, waking up with my cock in her mouth, her fingers working my balls as I roused from slumber.
I was now undeniably hard, and I could only hope I calmed down by the end of the speech. All I had to do was avoid looking at Elizabeth for the rest of the time. Of course, if you cover your eyes from the Wolfman, you'll never know when he'll attack. Better to know what the monster is up to, because otherwise your imagination will fill in the blanks more horribly than reality ever could.
"One witness may describe a man of average height," I said, amazed my voice was still steady, "while another, taller witness may call him short. This is a matter of perspective and, while confusing, is not the biggest problem of eyewitness testimony. Everyone lives inside their own heads, and are products of their own experiences. Therefore, one person may see a blue van where someone else, with other problems occupying their mind, may remember a blue vehicle or, in one case I investigated, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle was seen as a brown Mustang convertible. Quite a disguise that bike had."
There were some polite chuckles. I looked at Elizabeth, now admitting I couldn't keep myself away from her. She was smiling, and her hand was now idly scratching the exposed part of her chest. Her fingers caught and twirled her necklace and I again had a mental flash of her. Her breasts cushioned against my thighs, her lips parted and her tongue lightly circling the head of my cock before she took it fully into her mouth.
'Take me, for instance,' I thought. 'If asked about this graduating class half an hour from now, I'll remember absolutely nothing other than the cock-tease in the third row.' Albert Einstein could have flown into the room in Amelia Earhart's lost plane, declaring that Hitler was alive and hiding out as a performer in a London burlesque show and I would have been useless as a witness.
"One famous example is the basketball game where several students were asked to keep track of fouls, errors, free throws, et cetera. Halfway through the game, a man in a gorilla suit ran out onto the court. After the game, the professor asked the students to describe the gorilla. The majority of them had no idea what he was talking about."
Elizabeth uncrossed her legs again, and this time put her knees together. She balanced her elbow on her knee and leaned forward, her shirt falling open a bit. I could see the shadows of her breasts, her cleavage and that soft, white skin I had licked just over two hours ago.
I remembered the first time we had sex. A long case, a victory party, too much beer and a congratulatory kiss that turned hungry within a matter of seconds. In her dim kitchen, at three in the morning, she had undone my pants and took my cock out. I groaned as I kissed her, her hand wrapped around my cock and tugging it to full mast. I turned her around and pushed her jeans down around her thighs, bent her over the kitchen counter. The next morning, I woke up worried, hung over and ashamed at what we had done, sure I had taken advantage of her and that she would at least ask for a reassignment, at most get my badge taken away.
Instead, she strutted out of the bathroom fully naked, pulled the blankets away and climbed on top of me. My cock slid easily into her pussy and she later admitted she had masturbated in the shower thinking of what we'd done. "But this time," she said, "I get to be on top."
Elizabeth was the mistress of the quickie. Down and dirty, quick and easy, she knew how to get it done. A hand job in the car, going down on her in the interrogation room, or her straddling my desk chair while I tried to do late-night paperwork, fucking me quickly before rising, wiping her thighs and casually saying, "I'll catch you at home, okay?"
I realized I had been talking mindlessly for the last five minutes. I looked down at my notes to figure out where I was. Thank God for my multitasking mind, the same mind that had solved the Spencer kidnapping while in the shower with Elizabeth. My body had been focused on my cock pressing against the crack of her ass, and my fingers had been working Elizabeth's clit, and suddenly my brain snapped the two impossible alibis together. "Oh my God. It was both of them."
Elizabeth brought her hands up, squeezed her breasts together and said, "Yes, and aren't they marvelous?" I grunted, pressed my cock into her ass and gave her what we jokingly call a 'triumph fuck.' Solving cases was only barely about justice and the legal system anymore. I wanted to win so I got to have this wild, wanton, unbelievably animal sex with the woman I loved. I pulled her hair, she clawed my back, we shouted and grunted in each other's faces as sweat dripped off of us. Sometimes she was on top, sometimes I was. More often, we were up against the wall or she was on my lap in the car.
I pretended to look down at my notes and checked my crotch. My erection was bulging against my trousers, utterly undeniable, and I was on the last page of my speech. Fucking wonderful. I cleared my throat and watched Elizabeth slide her fingernails over her throat, down to her chest. She twisted her body and the gap between her blouse buttons widened. I saw flesh, no bra, and I knew she wasn't wearing anything under her skirt, either.
I wrapped up the speech with a few summarizing sentences. The crowd applauded politely, although I'm sure my robotic recitation had been anything but applause-worthy. I was still painfully hard, my pants tented in front of me. I looked at Elizabeth, whose lips were pursed in amusement. She knew what she had done to me, and she knew I couldn't leave the podium. Not without embarrassing myself. Then, inspiration.
I started to turn and swept my arm across the podium. My papers fell to the stage. I muttered a mild curse and crouched down, gathered up my papers as quickly as I could without bothering to rearrange them. Trying to look like I was just trying to keep them from falling, I hugged the papers to my waist, rose into a crouch and waddled to the edge of the stage.
"Detective Rhoades, ladies and gentlemen." A bit more applause, and I felt I deserved it for my graceless, but pride-retaining, exit. I hurried down the backstage hallway, hoping to find the bathroom to take the edge off a little bit. I was almost to the universal 'man/woman bathroom' sign when a side door to the auditorium opened and Elizabeth slipped into the hallway. I adjusted my course to intercept her.
She smiled and looked down at my pants. "Very nice speech, Detective Rhoades."
I grabbed her wrists and shuffled her backward until she was pressed against the door she had just used. "You think that's funny? Huh? That could have been a disaster."
She squirmed against me and rolled her head back on her shoulders. "Right. But I think it ended up being... triumphant."
I raised her arms over her head and held them there with one hand. I moved my other hand between us, gathered her skirt and jerked it up. She spread her legs and I pressed into her. "Yeah? You like teasing me?"
"Mm, I love it," she murmured. She thrust her hips forward.
"Please," she whispered. She stretched, leaned out and kissed my neck. "Please fuck me." I had guessed right; she was bare under her skirt. I cupped her pussy with my hand. She was wet, so at least the teasing hadn't been entirely one way. I slipped one fingertip easily into her and she moaned.
"How do you want it?"
I slid my hand down her arm and she obediently kept her hands over her head. I brushed my knuckles into the cup of her armpit, one of her many unusual erogenous zones, and moved my hand to her breast. I squeezed through her blazer and shirt and she arched her back with a low, drawn out moan. "Please," she whispered. "I need you to fuck me."
"From behind?" I reached down, unfastened my pants and let my cock out. It seemed to expand, following the scent of her wet, horny pussy.
"No..." She put her arms down, around my shoulders, and I braced myself for her weight. She leapt and I caught her with practiced ease. I guided my cock until the tip pressed against her folds, and we locked eyes as she sank down onto me. I backed her up until she could lean against the door.
Through the thin wood, I could hear the speaker who followed me speaking into the microphone. Not loud enough to drown us out, but not so quiet we had to stay utterly silent. I raised myself onto my toes and thrust deep, and she gasped. I had moved my hands to her hips, but I shifted so I had two handfuls of her ass. I pulled her into me, and she raised her head to look into my eyes. I met her gaze, all red-hot anger at the game she had played... and then I smiled.
Her lips pulled back in a vicious grin, she touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth, and she groaned loud, long and low. "I wanted to be under that podium," she gasped. "I wanted to be sucking your cock while you gave your little speech. I wanted your hot come in my mouth, on my face."
"You want me to come on you?" I hissed. "Or in you?"
"On me... on my face, in my mouth. I want to taste you."
"Then get down."
"Are you gonna come?" she asked, in that frightened little girl voice I couldn't resist.
I let her go and she slipped off my cock. She dropped to her knees and took the tip of my cock, wet with her juices, into her mouth. She gripped the base with one hand, massaged my balls with the other. She alternated between sucking on my captive head and swirling her tongue over the slit. She relaxed her grip on the base and started to slowly stroke up and down my shaft. I ran my fingers through her hair, then leaned forward and braced myself against the door. I arched my back and came, and she whimpered as I filled her mouth. I looked down and watched as her head moved as she tried to swallow what I had given her, but some of it trailed out. She spread it along my cock with her lips when she began to take my softening cock in long, slow strokes, and it clung to her fingers as well.
When I was spent, my cock flaccid between her lips, I pulled back and stroked her hair. She stood up, pressed her body to mine and let my cock rub against the warm material of her skirt. It was enough to get me hard again. She cupped my penis in her warm hand, let it slip between her come-wet fingers, and kissed me. Her mouth was full of my come and I groaned as she slid her fingers up and down my cock. We swapped it back and forth, our tongues battling each other, and she finally swallowed it all.
I remembered her spread out across the mattress that morning, naked, her thighs pressed together and her breasts hanging heavily against her arm as I dressed. She watched me do my tie, and told me I had nothing to worry about. I was going to be great, I was going to knock them dead. I had expressed my doubts. "You just need something to distract you," she offered.
"Like what?" I asked. "You?"
"You want me to be there?"
I met her eyes in the mirror and smiled. "You'd definitely be a distraction. Maybe too much of one. Thanks for the offer, though."
"I don't have anything to do today."
"Seriously," I said, walking back to the bed. I bent down and swatted her ass. "Don't come."
"Okay," she said. She turned her head to me and accepted my good-bye kiss and I thought that was that. But now, here, in the corridor outside of the lecture hall with my cock sticking out of my pants, I realized I hadn't been nervous for a single second of my speech. I could barely remember giving the damn thing. All I remembered was the seductive woman in the Hot Librarian glasses giving me the eye from the third row. It was like I said in the speech... realization dawned.
"Eyewitness testimony?" I asked.
She smiled. "If I asked you to describe just one of the cadets in that room..."
"There were cadets in that room?" I asked.
She laughed, kissed me hard and backed up. She put my cock back into my pants, another move that nearly woke it up again, and zipped me up. She kissed the corner of my mouth and stepped away. "So. Are you done with your adoring public? Or do you want to give a lonely, young co-ed a ride home?"
"I thought you were a teacher," I said, already following her down the hall.
"On whether I'm on top or on bottom." She winked, bit her lip and walked toward the exit doors. I was supposed to stay for the rest of the speeches, show solidarity with my fellow speakers. I watched her ass sway in the tweed skirt, watched her legs in those high heels. The confident, spine-straight way she walked slowly, so certain that I would be right behind her that she never looked back once. She didn't even look back when I caught up with her and swatted her ass.
But she did smile.