Less than a year on the force, and I'm pulled off traffic and given an undercover assignment. The Chief didn't even brief me at the station. The two of us met with an FBI agent at a bar outside of town.
“This is Marge Branson,” the Chief told the FBI agent, “She hasn't been with us long, but I think she's the perfect person for the job.”
“We just want to wash our hands of it,” the agent said, “it's not our jurisdiction, and we're stretched thin as it is. Here's everything we've got.”
As of that moment, my only contact was with the Chief. As far as anyone at the station was concerned, I had been transferred.
“Why did you really pick me for this?” I asked the Chief the next day.
“Frankly, you're the only one who looks like the members of the gang. In other words, you got the job because of your looks.”
The Chief answered my snort with a smile.
I'm in great psychical shape. I can go toe to toe with all but the “no neck” crowd at the station and miss it when I don't work out.
The Chief's near forty-year-old eyes see me as being attractive. My mother is a little older, and thinks I am too. If there weren't so many mirrors in the world, I might agree with them.
I slid my slacks up over my voluptuous hips. I like to think of them as being voluptuous. It sounds much better than: “Kind of big.”
I put my bra over my firm breasts. I like the term: “firm.” It sounds better than: “Kind of small.”
I start putting on makeup. I've never come up with a good name for freckles. I've hated them for as long as I can remember. Some people think they make me look younger, I think they make my face look dirty.
I've got great eyes. Big and expressive, they'll knock you out even before I do my face. If I could jack up my eyes and slide a new body under them, I'd be gorgeous.
Checking myself one last time, I hit the street. There are people in Hollywood who could make me look as good and the Chief and my mother think I am, but I don't have the time or the money to let them work their miracles. Besides, I've got more important things to do.
A string of rapes have been going on for nearly five years now. There have been at least two hundred victims. It's hard to nail, because few of the victims will co-operate.
The reason the victims are reluctant is that they are all men, and the rapists are women.
The FBI bailed out when they figured there couldn't be more than twenty or thirty involved, and nothing had crossed state lines. Most incidents involved five or six women attacking a single man, and each one was carried out with military precision. As I read the reports, one thing became abundantly clear; these men were never given a chance.
I didn't fight my sense of begrudging admiration for them. In fact, I tried to encourage it. If I was to infiltrate this group, I'd have to learn to identify with them. Once I was in, I could identify all the members, and bring them to justice.
“One screwdriver, coming up,” Felicia said, “Tell me if it's too strong,” she said, handing me the glass.
It was so strong I almost choked.
“That's all the O.J. I've got,” she apologized, “I've got some grapefruit juice.”
She filled the rest with grapefruit after I said; “What the hell.”
She was our first, and only, lead in the “girl gang” case. A parking ticket near a particularly brutal rape had put her near the scene, and quiet investigation revealed some interesting facts. One of those facts was the reason I was here, and I needed a good belt to do what had to be done.
Felicia was a man-hating lesbian, with a court order not to go near her younger brother. She had a habit of kicking him in the nuts every time she got near him. The latest victim had been kicked in the nuts repeatedly.
The victim also reported an African-American voice among his attackers, and that attacker had been the one kicking him, and the one who carried him to the bed.
The six foot tall black woman easing down next to me matched the height his account implied.
“You haven't done this before, have you?” she asked.
“Sure. Of course. Lots of times,” I lied.
She didn't say a word. She just put her hand on my knee and waited.
“No, I haven't,” I said. I had to play this right, and being caught in an obvious lie would be stupid, “I've had terrible luck with men, but I still have my needs. I'm sorry, I don't mean to use you, but I have to find out.”
“Oh, baby,” she said, gathering me into her arms, “I know how it is. Let Felicia make it all better.”
I fought the disgust when her lips covered mine, fought the urge to slap her hand as it slid up between my legs, and fought panic when she pushed me down into the couch and covered me.
If I had known she was going to make love to me for over two hours, I would have broken free right then, and told the department to “shove it.”
I didn't know, and shortly after she started, I didn't care. Her lips were very large, and incredibly soft. She was strong, even stronger than me, but her fingers on my clit were gentle. She brought me to the verge of an orgasm, and then kept me there.
By the end of our lovemaking, I was sucking on her cunt like the worlds biggest dyke, and loving it. I kept telling myself I was just playing my part, but long after we were finished, I was still kissing her. She had to pry my arms off her to get up, and I followed her into the bathroom.
Her big, soft breasts pressed into my back as we spooned our way to sleep, and I gently woke her the next morning by kissing the tight curls of hair below her belly.
“Oh, baby,” she cried, her fingers running thru my hair.
She gasped when I reached that special spot, and surrendered to my mouth.
“Only one thing could make me happier than I am right now,” I said as I curled up at her breast later.
“What's that, sweetheart?”
“Presenting you with a certain man's balls for earrings,” I said.
The car was going a little under the speed limit. Other than that, nothing would indicate that the driver was drunk. Felicia and I parked next to them at the motel, and he nodded to us as Jenny got out the passenger side and unlocked the door for him.
She held the door for him to go first, and all three of us jumped him as soon as he stepped thru. The three girls waiting had all the equipment ready, and we had him trussed up before he knew what hit him.
Felicia got his squirming body on the bed, and then left. She had only come because she was my sponsor, and stayed to give us a hand. If we had captured a black man, she would have stayed and crushed his balls when we were done. I never knew what her brother had done to her, but whenever she saw a chocolate sack hanging under a man, she had to crush it.
I had identified eight members of the gang, and taking part in this rape was the only way to expand the circle. The department couldn't have any part of this; and I only hoped I wouldn't blow my cover by hanging back too much.
I needn't have worried. They had it down to a science. They got him erect, popped rubber rings around the base of his cock and behind his balls, and took turns with him depending on what turned them on.
The first girl was overweight. She didn't take any of her clothes off. She sat on his legs while she put a condom on him, and then pulled her panties aside and sank down on his dick. She let all of her considerable weight rest on him as she took her time. The rest of us watched T.V. while she panted behind us. We could hear him breathing hard too, but it sounded like he couldn't get a good breath with her on him like that.
The next girl got totally naked before replacing his condom. She mounted him, held a small vibrator to her clit, and slid up and down his cock. She started just before a station break, and was done before the show started again.
Jenny and the other girl were considered “extreme,” so I was next.
“Can I try that?” I asked the girl who was getting dressed.
“Sure. Let me clean it first.”
I was going to fake an orgasm. There was no way I could get excited by the desperate struggles of this poor man. His cock must be in agony by now, and he could hardly breath with that huge gag in his mouth. I was staring at the strips of tape on his eyes, when my whole body went ridged.
I knew him!
I stared at his face with disbelief. His hips were moving, and he was grunting with the effort, but he wasn't getting any satisfaction.
I don't know where they got them, but the condoms we were using were ridiculously thick. Between the condom and those rings, there was no way this guy could cum. He was going crazy with frustration, and his absurd struggles were turning me on in spite of myself. I touched the vibrator to my clit, and was moaning out my orgasm by the time the “Late Show” went to its first commercial break. It was intense enough that I collapsed on him when I was done. He couldn't see me, but I smiled at his familiar face.
“Thank you,” I said silently, smiling with my face an inch from his, “You've given me the clue that's going to bust this case wide open.”
Jenny was strapping on a dildo, while the fifth girl was taping his mouth. She was using duct tape, and she was using a lot of it.
Instead of turning him over, Jenny started sucking his dick. I forgot everything else and watched the expert way she was doing it. She had tossed my condom, and was using her mouth and hands on him. She put one ring after another on his dick as she sucked and stroked him. His cock had gotten huge, and had turned a dark purple. His pee hole had stretched wide enough to stick a pencil in, and was filled with liquid. She had tight rubber rings around his entire cock, with only the head sticking out.
The other girl helped turn him over, then, and Jenny climbed up on his legs. She pushed an egg-shaped vibrator between the harness and her pussy, squirted some oil in his ass, turned the vibrator on, and then butt fucked him like a jailbird.
It was so brutal that I wanted to turn away. I think the two who had gone before me wanted to turn away too. She was doing it with such abandon, such obvious joy, and such supple athletic power, that we were all mesmerized. Her ass cheeks jiggled wildly, her breasts swayed in great circles, and the man cried out endlessly as she bounced him on the bed.
I could see why they had taken extra steps to quite him, but wondered why the next girl had been put last. How could anything be more brutal than what I had just seen?
He was a shaking mess, and it took all of us to get him to the chair. The last girl stood on a chair next to him, and pushed a rope thru a ring she'd screwed into the ceiling.
With the ends of the rope on either side of the chair, she got on his lap, facing him, and guided his swollen cock into her pussy. With mounting horror, I watched her put a loop in one end and slip it over his head. She pulled the other end until the noose tightened around his neck, took a couple turns around her fist, and leaned back.
Her spine undulated like a snake as she whipped herself to frenzy on his cock. Almost all her weight was hanging on the rope as the man twitched, and made horrible sounds of strangulation, as his face turned as purple as the head of his cock.
The heavy girl stood behind him and pulled down on the noose side every so often. It was a wise precaution, because the girl riding him showed no sign of knowing or caring if the man strangled to death.
MAKING A CASE
I check into the Hotel Aztec and go to the bar before going to my room. The Chief and someone from the prosecutor's office have already checked in and are wandering around the hotel. I know I haven't been followed, but the Chief insists on caution.
A lady orders a Black Russian without ice, says it's nasty that way, and asks for a couple of cubes. I can't help smiling as I finish my drink and head for my room. It seems like one of those hokey gags from a spy movie.
The Chief is waiting when I open my side of the adjoining door, and the lady from the bar soon joins us.
“This is Ms. Bain,” the Chief says.
“Ms. Bain,” I say, and shake her hand.
“I understand you've identified almost all of them,” Ms. Bain said.
“I've written down the names of all but two,” I said, “Those two started this gang, and I'm certain none of the members know who they are.”
“We can't move on them without finding the ringleaders,” Ms. Bain said, “it would turn into a three ringed circus. Without a conspiracy, all we've got is a bunch of hard to prove girl rapes boy cases. The comedy writers would have a ball, and I can't think of any of these cases we could win.”
The Chief interrupted before I could answer, “She's already done more than anyone could expect.”
I waited after the Chief spoke, to see if she wanted to add anything before I spoke.
“I guess there's no way to figure out who these two are?” she finally asked.
“Why did you give me this case?” I asked her.
“I thought you'd make a good detective. I wanted to give you a chance to prove it,” she said.
I could see how uncomfortable the Chief was, and I understood her discomfort completely.
“Hmm,” I said, stopping in front of her, “You were right. I'm one hell of a good detective,” I said, “I know who they are.”
“Who?” she said, eyes opening wide.
“You,” I said, straddling her and sitting on her lap, “and Ms. Bain.”
I kissed her then, hard, on the mouth, and kept kissing her until she stopped pretending to struggle.
“I wrote that ticket that got the FBI so excited, and you were worried I'd put something together. You didn't want to send me away, because you love me. And you didn't want me to get hurt, so you didn't rat me out. You never thought I'd get anything this fast, and now Ms. Bain wants me to disappear.”
“But how? How did you know?” she asked.
“Shut up!” Ms. Bain snapped.
“Don't worry. I'm not wearing a wire.” I said, “I got suspicious when I looked at the victim list. I knew one of them. He raped me. I never reported it, but it got me thinking. Turns out all the men on that list are rapists who have never been convicted. The only one who would know more about those kind of men than you two, is the woman from the crisis center; and she's not the leadership type.”
The Chief was nodding her head, but Ms. Bain was looking around the room. She expected the door to burst open at any moment.
“I knew you'd be paranoid,” I said to Ms. Bain, “so I brought you a gift. I hope it proves whose side I'm on.”
I put her package on the dresser and went back to the Chief. I stood ready to sit in her lap again, but waited for to say it was okay.
“What is it?” she said, taking my hand.
“You don't want to know,” I said.
She let me sit in her lap, and we kissed. I wanted much more than a kiss from her, but not in front of Ms. Bain.
I kept her from looking when Ms. Bain gasped. I put my finger to her lips when she tried to talk.
“Thank you,” Ms. Bain said, and hugged my neck, “Would you two like to be alone?”
“What was it?” The Chief asked much later, as we snuggled in the afterglow.
“She needed a hand,” I said, “and I gave her one.”
She frowned at me, still puzzled.
“It was a very special hand. It had a wart on one knuckle, and wore a unique ring. He used to use that hand to hold his step-daughter down after her mother died.”
“Oh, my God,” the Chief said.
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