All The Pretty Girls Ch. 02

Penelope shook her head and grunted. She tore a hole in the crotch of her pantyhose and eased her panties aside, exposing her sphincter. Ellery's fingers scrambled around the countertop until her found the butter dish. He scooped a dollop of margarine into his fingers and rubbed it on his cock as Penelope frantically guided it to her sphincter. She wanted him inside her desperately.

She opened her legs wide, lifting her feet high, putting her ankles on his shoulders, offering herself to Ellery like a slattern.

Ellery positioned his cock at the entrance to her anus and pushed, ramming his huge cock into her ass in one thrust. Penelope bit her hand to stifle a scream and lay back on the countertop and let Ellery ravage her.

It was over quickly. Ellery gripped her thighs with his big meaty hands and held her while he savagely rammed his cock in and out of her anus. Even with the margarine her anus was tight and gripped his large appendage snugly as he plowed his cock in and out of her, delighting in the feel of her sphincter gripping his tender flesh, the feel of her panties and pantyhose on his scrotum and thighs, her pretty face contorted in pleasure and pain.

Ellery's cock was bruising Penelope's anus. It was almost like being raped but she craved the forcefulness of the act; the brutality, the animalistic rutting. Ellery's cock stretched her sphincter, eliciting ripples of pleasure which combined with the deep rings of delight that radiated from her prostate every time Ellery's glans rammed against it.

"Oh god!" she cried as her penis, standing proud and erect, erupted without her even touching it.

She came so hard that she didn't care that she was ejaculating her seed all over her skirt, blouse and jacket. She felt a second orgasm building as Ellery's cock expanded inside her, quivering as it blasted his issue deep in her ass. Her body convulsed on the countertop and she moaned like a banshee. Ellery stifled her screams by putting his hand over her mouth.

The feel of her nylon-clad legs on his torso and her pulsating anus gripping his cock was tremendously arousing. Fucking her in her policewoman's uniform was kinky. He'd never tell Penelope this but she reminded him of an Aunt who he used to masturbate over in his teens.

As Penelope's orgasm began to subside and her breathing began to return to normal she realised what she had done. She had used Ellery to slake a different kind of thirst. She knew that she was addicted to sex as much as she was addicted to alcohol and all she had done was swapped the witch for the bitch.

She pushed Ellery off her even as he tried to be tender with her, wanting to hold her and kiss her in post-coital bliss.

"Get off me. Go home! I have to work!" Penelope struggled out from underneath him.

Her uniform was a mess, wrinkled and spattered with semen. If she didn't get the semen off her skirt and jacket soon they would be ruined. An image flashed through her mind of the last time she had descended into a period of alcohol-fuelled sex addiction: using a black sharpie to cover dried semen stains on her navy skirt before she went to work.

Penelope got to her feet and began to rip off her clothes. Ellery attempted to help but she pushed him away.

"Fuck off! Go home! Go to the Longhorn and tell the guys you nailed Penelope Bishop again if that's what you want," she screamed at him

"You are one cold hard bitch!" Ellery hissed as he adjusted his clothing.

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out," Penelope called over her shoulder as she made her way to the bathroom.

*****

Steve Edwards watched Penelope Bishop as she walked down her driveway towards his unmarked police cruiser. She had a determined look on her face and despite the heavy makeup which was her signature, she looked strained. Her weight had fluctuated over the years and it looked like she was replacing meals with booze or just plain forgetting to eat. She was far from skinny but she was lean except for her bosom and buttocks, both of which he suspected had had work done on them.

She was wearing black lycra leggings and black high heels and when she turned to lock her front door he appreciated the way they that they clung to her ass. Her legs were long and well-formed, her breasts were hidden under a fleecy parka but the heft of her bosom was pronounced. Her long blonde hair was piled under a woollen beanie. In a pinch she could pass as one of the streetwalkers they intended to interview.

"Any more news?" she asked as she settled into the passenger seat and checked the contents of her handbag.

"I've got Alice chasing down Leroy Dubbin's last known address from his parole officer."

"I assume it was a halfway house and maybe one of the tenants knows where he moved on to when his parole period was completed," Steve put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.

He noticed that her perfume was similar to a scent that Felicity sometimes wore and he imagined Felicity lounging around her hotel in LA. They'd spoken on Skype while Steve ate a TV dinner at the kitchen counter. He cleared his head and concentrated on the case.

"I know a couple of the trans hookers who work the south side of Bridge Street where Loretta sold her ass," Penelope looked pointedly at Steve.

Penelope knew that Steve lived with Felicity and that Felicity owned Ride em' Cowgirl. It was quite the scandal when Steve had come out publicly about his relationship with Felicity because she was a minor celebrity in Balwyn and popular with the LGBT community. Penelope had been popular too until the scandal involving her relationship with Melissa Doyle had hit the media.

Penelope had met Felicity a couple of times at Balwyn PD social functions and they had circled each other warily and arched their haunches like two alley cats about to fight. The fact that they were both trans women did nothing to endear themselves to each other. Steve had deliberately withheld from Felicity the fact that Penelope was back on the Task Force.

Steve drove through the suburbs and into downtown Balwyn. Located on Interstate 10, two and half hours west of Austin with a population that hovered around 150,000, Balwyn was a mid-sized city. The city's affluence and the high police to civilian population rate meant that street crime remained low for a city of its size. People felt safe on the streets of Balwyn and Balwyn PD used unorthodox methods to keep it that way.

Unable to completely stamp out prostitution and recreational drug use the PD went to great efforts to keep it confined to one location: Bridge Street which was unofficially known as the Bridge Street free zone. The street was lined with titty bars, adult stores and greasy spoons. Visitors and locals alike cruised the street looking for something spicy. The police deliberately kept a low profile on Bridge Street but diligently patrolled the adjacent streets and were intolerant of any miscreants who attempted to bring their unsavoury behaviours outside of the delineated area. Silvia Bickle called Bridge Street an island of crud in a sea of resplendence.

Steve parked his car and he and Penelope walked one block over to enter Bridge Street from the north, the blaring music emanating from the bars and the smells of fried food gave the place an almost carnival atmosphere. The streets were full of working class men and the occasional businessman looking to blow off steam. Some of the more affluent students from Balwyn College bar hopped looking for cheap beer and weed. They passed working girls out plying their trade, the standard of the hookers steadily declining as they worked their way south.

"Ok you see that girl across the street? I know her. She isn't a CI but she helps me out now and then. Let's not spook her or compromise her in front of the other girls," Penelope lifted her chin pointing across the street.

Four women in 'cooch-cooler' skirts, stripper heels, open blouses with big hair and heavy makeup walked slowly back and forth from corner to corner. Penelope and Steve watched as a man approach one of girls and talk briefly to her before she led him down a dark alley.

"Think they've gone to play scrabble?" Penelope surprised him by putting her arm through his and sidling up to him.

"We're a couple looking for an adventure to spice up our life," she said by way of explanation.

They crossed the street and made a beeline towards a girl Steve estimated might be in her early twenties. At first she smiled as they approached hoping to make a good score but when she recognised Penelope her smile turned into a scowl.

"What you want?" the woman adopted a distinct street accent that didn't suit her.

Although she wore the uniform of a hooker: cooch-curtains, fuck-me heels, tits-out blouse, nylons and face paint, she didn't have the weathered look of the street.

"Jaylene, play nice and make it look like you're working a trade," Penelope kept a false smile fixed on her face.

"We're just two women haggling over the price of a threesome," Penelope said through her fixed grin.

"I ain't sucking your dick Penny but I'll throw your man a freebie. You can watch," Jaylene looked Steve up and down like he was a piece of meat.

Penelope opened her palm to reveal a small roll of bills and gave Jaylene a questioning stare.

Jaylene looked at the money, licked her lips and nodded her head curtly.

"Let's go to our car," Penelope continued to smile.

Penelope hugged Steve and kissed his cheek, a charade for the other working girls to make them think she was pleased that she and her man were about to embark on an exotic threesome. Steve blushed and when Jaylene took his other arm his face flared red.

"Don't look all heathered honey, you supposed to look like we goin' for a good time," Jaylene breathed into his ear sultrily.

Her breath was warm and smelled of bubble gum, her cheap perfume was cloying. Despite the situation Steve felt his dick twitch. Another time he might have been susceptible to the premise of taking on these two women but the thought was fleeting.

They walked the block and half back to Steve's car, they checked to see that no one was watching and got in, Steve in the front and the women in the back.

"This about Loretta and the other bitch?" Jaylene rummaged in her purse and Steve rolled down the front windows in anticipation that she was going to smoke.

He was surprised and annoyed that Jaylene didn't feel sorry for the two murdered women.

"What? You think all trannies are in the same club? We hang out together at the coffee shop swapping recipes and talking about the price of pantyhose? Ask your girl here... ain't no sisterhood of the travelling tucking panties," she tucked a stick of gum under her tongue and Steve rolled up the windows to keep out the cold.

"Knock it off Jaylene; I know you're enrolled in the adult degree program at Balwyn College," Penelope poked Jaylene in the ribs and Jaylene shrugged her shoulders.

Jaylene's inflection suddenly changed from street to a refined Southern accent.

"That's right Penny and this is how I'm paying for my BA. Stocking shelves at Brookshire's sure isn't going to pay for it," Jaylene snapped her gum.

Penelope hated to be called Penny but she let the dig go.

"So tell us about Loretta?" she asked calmly.

"Leroy? That fuckin' crossdressing faggot!" Jaylene sniped.

"Your man here knows about gender identity versus gender expression?" she reached out and stroked Steve's shoulder affectionately.

"My girlfriend is Felicity Goodnite," Steve took a little illicit pleasure at the surprised look on Jaylene's face.

She took a beat and continued.

"In that case you're all over it, right?" but Jaylene continued to lecture them both anyway.

"You see girls like myself, Penelope here and your girl Felicity identify as female. Our gender identity is how we see ourselves; our own internal sense and personal experience of gender. That's what makes us transgender women," Steve put up a hand to stop her but Jaylene continued to lecture.

"Gender expression includes all the ways a person communicates their gender based on societal factors such as gender norms and perceptions. Penny, Felicity and I live our lives full time as women, presenting as women."

"Now as you would know from the girls who work for your missus, gender expression is not binary. Most of those drag queens are homosexual men who present as women to entertain but when they do their behaviour and outward appearance such as their dress, hair, make-up, body language and voice is female."

"I know that for some of them, their actual gender identity switches depending on how they express themselves. They have a femme side that only manifests itself in drag. Just like the fetishic transvestites who hang out at some of the Bridge Street bars. For a couple of hours a week they like to present as women and maybe suck a dick or two and take it up the ass but for those few precious hours Manny has become Mary," Jaylene rattled on.

"Is this going somewhere? We don't need a lecture on gender identity," Penelope interjected.

"You know I don't really hate those men who like to slip into a corset, nylons and heels, put on a wig and paint their faces to fulfil some sexual fantasy. But I hated Leroy Dubbin," Jaylene would not be knocked off her soapbox.

"That man didn't have a modicum of femininity in him. He hijacked the identity of Loretta just to make money so he could stick that shit up his nose or in his arm. There was no real transformation when he changed from Leroy to Loretta, he just put on those clothes every night and sucked dick for money. It's men like him that promote the prejudice and hatred of the transgendered. Every time I hear about a trans woman getting beat up I blame Leroy Dubbin," Jaylene let out a long sigh.

"Surely you're not proposing that Leroy got what he deserved?" Steve was astonished.

"I feel truly sorry for what happened to that drag queen got killed in the motel but there's no sympathy on Bridge Street for Leroy Dubbin. He took away our trade, he stole from his clients, he sold drugs, he was a shit stain. He was hated by everyone who knew him so don't expect any help from us," Jaylene talked as if she represented all the hookers on Bridge Street.

"He was still a human being," Penelope reasoned.

Jaylene paused and took a deep breath.

"On the night of, I approached a man cruising the street driving a white BMW SUV. It was good car, he was well dressed and he was kinda gawky lookin'. You know, a Poindexter type, safe. It looked like a good score. He waved me away and picked up Leroy... Loretta. I didn't think anything of it at the time. Maybe he was a cheapskate or was looking for rough trade because Loretta presented rough," Jaylene said.

Penelope and Steve looked at each other knowingly. Jaylene had witnessed Loretta getting into the killer's car. She had actually seen the killer.

"Would you be prepared to come down to Police Plaza and make a statement, provide a description of the man, maybe look at some pictures or help our sketch artist put together a facial composite?" Penelope asked.

"Not tonight. I'll come in tomorrow. Tonight I gotta earn. That designer vagina won't pay for itself," Jaylene said obstinately.

She tapped Steve on the shoulder.

"So now we done talking you wanna hop in the back with me and bang tidy honey?" Jaylene reverted to her street talk.

Penelope handed Jaylene the roll of bills and reached across to open the door for her.

"Given the circumstances maybe we should drive Jaylene back to her corner," Steve said.

"You got yourself a real gentleman here Penny. You treat him right and you might steal him away from that snooty-ass drag queen he calls his missus," Jaylene cackled.

"Be careful. Warn the other girls ok?" Steve said as they pulled up to the curb.

"Isn't that your job?" Jaylene said just before she slammed the door closed.

"She's got a point. We need to get the word out that there is predator preying on trans women," Steve said to Penelope who had joined him the front of the vehicle.

"Yeah. Good luck getting Gary Rasmussen to convince the city bureaucrats to make public that there is possibly a serial killer killing trans prostitutes," Penelope growled.

"Maybe you can warn them all at the next club meeting," Steve said dryly.

Penelope punched him in the arm. She begrudgingly admitted to herself that Stave wasn't really the asshole she thought he was.

Steve drove Penelope home; he pulled into her driveway and killed the lights but left the engine running.

They sat there in the dark. The silence was awkward.

"There's a bottle sitting on the kitchen countertop," Penelope breathed.

"So what? Leave it there or put it away. Better still, pour it down the sink," Steve replied.

"I'd feel stronger if you came inside with me," Penelope whispered.

She put her hand on his forearm and turned to him.

"I can't do that Penelope," Steve gently removed her hand from his arm.

"Why?" Penelope looked at him but Steve stared resolutely ahead.

"You know why," Steve switched on the headlights and put the car in gear.

"Yeah... I know," Penelope sighed and opened the door.

Steve tried to concentrate on the case while he drove home but he couldn't. He tried to think of Felicity but he couldn't conjure an image of her. All he could see was Penelope in her tight uniform skirt or her black leggings.

The images of Penelope abruptly disappeared as he approached his apartment block.

Wendy Beaumont was sitting on the Italian marble steps out front of the building backlit lit by the fluorescents in the lobby.

To be continued