Bad Cop, Worse Cop

"I'll do French braids for the party. I'd have done it this time, but I was naked and it didn't look like you could wait." She shrugged, jiggling, straining the engineering at the top of the costume. She reached nonchalantly up, sucking in her lower lip, to tuck her tits away. "Might need some tape here."

"I've never seen anything more..." I began, my hand still cupping myself, before I swallowed and decided I couldn't possibly be so cheesy. "That is, you're a fucking knockout."

"Aww." She gave me a thin smile. "That's sweet. Hopefully it'll have the same effect on the judges at Allie's." She arched an eyebrow and struck a pose, hips stiffly cocked, hands beckoning. Her voice went husky, breathy, a Marilyn Monroe voice. "What will they want to do to me, Michael?"

I wasn't sure whether she really expected an answer. "What do you want to do to me?" There was a different note in her voice now, challenging, serious. I lay there, my cock hard and my phone in my hand, madly taking pictures as she posed. For me. "Do you want me to blow you, Michael? Gianna's good, but I'm better." Click. "You want to fuck me, Michael? From behind?" Click. "Or with me on top, riding you like a whore?" Click. She ran her hands down her body, teasingly, her back arched stiffly. "What do you want to do to me?"

I stared at her, hard and horny, and I threw the phone over into her filthy clothes. "Take that costume off and I'll show you." Even I was jarred by the ferocity in my voice, the sheer scary power of it. I didn't even talk to crack whores that way. "Come on. I wouldn't want to tear it off you."

"I'd definitely win the fucking contest then, though," she laughed dryly. "No doubt. I could just stand there with my tits and ass hanging out, and I'd win by default." She was snarling, the hottest girl in the senior class, the hottest I'd ever seen. "I'd get fucked, like, fourteen different ways. I'd get eaten alive." My belt was already unbuckled, and now I was fumbling my way towards my fly. She stared hard at me, but when she spoke her voice was soft, even sad. "Shit, Michael. You're going to get into real trouble with me."

"What are you, a fucking prophet?" I was out now, and proud, my cock in my hand, and I cupped my balls in my left hand while my right jacked my shaft. She looked at it hotly. "I'm already in real trouble with you," I spat, in one of those rare moments of honesty. "Now get that fucking costume off before I do it for you."

She tossed her head back, her neck and chest growing pink, her breaths deepening. "I'll call your bluff." She was leaning far back over the desk, her back arched painfully. "Come and get it."

I was off the bed like a jet launched from an aircraft carrier, my cock pointing the way, the head already slimed with precum. I loomed over her, both of us with slitted eyes and open mouths, and I smashed my lips into hers, my hands gripping at her twisting waist. She was alive and strong beneath me, warm and firm and glorious, and I was so into her smooth young body that I hardly even felt it when her little hands wrapped themselves around my dick.

I did try, as I went for her boobs, to avoid ripping the costume off her sweet little body. We weren't thinking straight, either of us, but I had enough awareness to pull down instead of out, the green satin slithering from her pale flesh like a casing coming off a sausage, and as tightly. It felt like pulling a wetsuit off, but it happened fast as our tongues flickered over each other's teeth and we panted beer-scented gasps into each other's mouths.

By the time I got her unpeeled, she'd stomped my jeans down to my feet; I felt a distinct tug as her fishnetted foot made contact with the ankle holster where I kept my backup piece. Her hands were working at my cock and balls, but that could wait; I was far too busy on her nipples.

She was grunting above me as I nibbled, and I swear to God the sweetest sound in the world is the whimper of a young woman while you're licking her. I tasted salt sweat and the lack of a shower, the polyester of the costumes and the sheer gummy tang of hormone-loaded skin, as her nipples got harder and harder between my teeth. I smelled, suddenly, the heady scent of pussy, rich and tangy as my clawing fingers forced the satin down along the fishnets, and I can't even say what came over me.

I'd never been much into eating a chick out. I was aware they liked it, and there was a tiny part of my brain that admitted it was probably unfair to expect them to lick our genitals unless we were willing to do the same. But none of the girls I'd ever been with seemed to expect it, not seriously, and even though I'd done it before it had always been done respectfully, out of a sense of obligation to a woman I genuinely admired.

Not this time.

This time the smell of cunt was harsh and sharp in my brain, hammering at my will and driving me to dive between those strong, tanned legs whether I wanted to or not. Her abs were undulating like a rough sea as my tongue trailed across them, and I heard a loud and distinct, "Yeah, you fucker!" from above, the voice still low and sultry but now out of control as sweaty, smooth belly skin became tangy, rougher pussy skin, and then her inner lips were right there, right fucking there, and I went to lunch, lips and teeth and tongue chewing and sucking and gnawing.

She went totally still all of a sudden, and that's how I knew I'd been right to go down there. Her hips stopped rolling against me and I felt her body settle into long, deep breaths as I crouched down and pushed my face hard against her. Gentle fingers found my hair and the satin leotard settled against her ankles as I started in.

She tasted sharply of urine and sweat; again, I realized she must not have showered that day, and maybe even the day before. It didn't matter. Pussy is the sweetest, most addictive taste in the world, and I feasted. I dug my hands into her ass, my fingers wrapping up around her hips as she settled herself up onto the desktop, and her snatch opened itself up before my flickering tongue.

I let my nose graze along the top of her slit while my tongue, at its farthest extent, licked up and back along the inside of her vagina. It wasn't long before her clit came poking out, like a sleepy turtle looking for a threat, and I nipped at it immediately. "Gahh," Tori said, or something like that, and I heard a thump as her head hit the desk, her entire body relaxing deliciously under my tongue. I felt like a god, playing her like an instrument, nipping and biting and sucking.

My world was hot and humid and stinky, bounded on all sides by firmly muscled flesh and the thrashing of a fully aroused woman. "Goddamn!" I heard her yell, and my eyes came into clear, sharp focus on the skin alongside her ridiculous little tuft of pubic hair, and that skin was turning bright red and sweaty, twitching. She was almost there; I knew it with 100% certainty, and so I turned my head sideways and kissed her, using her cuntlips like I'd used her other lips just before, my tired tongue rallying to flicker inside her.

And then she came, kicking and flailing, pushing hard with her mound against my face; I nearly lost my balance. No way was she faking it. Her fingers were digging deeply into my scalp and I heard her inhale with strong, rasping heaves, and she screeched. Absolutely fucking screeched, like a monkey giving a warning, and I knew I'd be nervous for a few moments in case the neighbors called my coworkers to Tori's house in response to what could only be an axe-murderer slashing a girl's throat; what else could make a sound so primal?

A beautiful woman cumming, that's what.

I felt exultant, euphoric, like a victorious general; my body was almost orgamically warm. She rode her own orgasm out, humping smoothly against my chin, and I just opened my mouth and let her use my tongue and nose as twin dildoes. Not that I could do much else; I was exhausted, my whole lower face numb and glossy. I held her up as best I could, her ass cradled in my hands, and slowly she came down, her breath easing, and then she was laughing. Hard and continuously, she was laughing.

"Jesus Christ, Michael," she managed at last. "That's some motherfucking tongue you've got." Her muscles heaved, pressing against my forehead as she crunched her naked body into a sitting position, and I finally pulled my head out from between those sweaty, powerful thighs. My neck ached. "You haven't gotten some bitch to marry you yet? With a mouth like that?" She swatted my head playfully, friendly, and when I looked up I saw a wide, warm smile.

I rocked back on my heels, my whole body suddenly cramped and aching. I wondered how long I'd been squatting down there. "I guess none of my other bitches have been as smart as you," I deadpanned, winking, my lungs relaxing. "Don't tell me you want to marry me, Tori."

"Fuck that." She was clawing at her hair, straightening herself, the body I was gazing up at still shining and pink. "I don't even like you, Michael." She was kidding, I think. "Shit, though. A tongue like that?" She shook her head at me and slapped my cheek. "Shit," she repeated. "I guess you want to fuck me now? Go ahead; it'd be rude to turn you down after that..."

Something was wrong, though. I felt my face freeze as I realized what I was feeling down below. Or, rather, what I wasn't feeling. I flexed my dick to make sure, and she saw what happened to my face. "Shit, Michael, what is it?" She looked concerned. "Aren't you..."

"Uh," was all I could say, for this had never happened before. My erection had fled, apparently without a trace. "I'm, um... fuck."

"Shit." It had to be her favorite word. "Did you lose your boner?"

"I think so," I admitted, and I felt my face flush as I pulled back and cocked my head to peer beneath the desk at my penis. "I think..." Fuck me. Impotence? I was only 33! I should have been hard and firm for another ten or fifteen years, at least! "It's soft," I marveled, and then Tori was down on the floor next to me, naked and pink, staring at my cock.

I looked over at her, speechless, but then she was grinning widely with her hand over her mouth. "Holy shit, Michael. Look!" She gestured at the floor under the desk, her eyes crinkled in mirth, and I looked warily. "You didn't even know you were cumming," she said, awed, and I realized with a mingled sense of horror and relief that she was right: I wasn't impotent.

I'd cum, hard, just from how hot she was while I was eating her out. Without anyone even touching my prick, it had blasted several hard, strong ropes of semen all over her floor, even as far as the wall the desk was pushed against. I blinked. "That has to be, what, three and a half feet?" And I hadn't even noticed. I felt cheated.

"Four," she said, shaking her head. "It's the biggest desk they make." We both slumped to the floor, sitting sweaty and disheveled and with both of us stinking of her orgasm. She draped an arm across my shoulder. "Fuck, Michael. I'm kinda glad I met you, you know that?" She patted my neck. "But I'm still not going to marry you."

"Good," I admitted. "I'm not usually sexually attracted to chicks I'm in love with, unfortunately." She kept squeezing my neck, the two of us recovering, as my cum dried beneath her desk.

I left grinning, proud that my oral abilities hadn't left me. I'd need to take a shower and brush my teeth before Olivia got home, but that was a small price to pay.

* * *

I got called to the Schultz party, as I'd expected I would, well past midnight on Halloween night. My patrol sector was clear on the other side of town, but on the more raucous holidays sector lines didn't matter much. New Year's, St Patrick's, July 4^th, and Halloween were always full-court-press occasions in the East Adams PD. I was being called this time as backup for a noise complaint.

"446," I responded into the radio, my voice cop-crisp. "Show me enroute. Who's there now?"

A pause, probably while Dispatch swallowed a sip of coffee. "419, Officer Cruz." Fine. Cruz was a good cop. She and I got along well. She still enjoyed telling the story of when she'd pulled over some dude getting a blowjob out on the Seaborne road. The guy had claimed the girl was his daughter, that she was pissing by the roadside. Cruz always told the story well.

"She was a fucking hottie, too," she'd muse; Cruz liked girls. We often talked about hot chicks. "I had half a mind to arrest her and, you know, abuse her. Just a tad." We'd wink at each other at that point, and if there were any rookies in the room they'd smile uncomfortably.

I pulled up to a large McMansion with Solo cups scattered across the lawn and a massive glittery pumpkin on the door. I'd taken the scenic route getting there, hoping Cruz would have all the hard stuff taken care of by the time I arrived, and I wasn't wrong: I saw two youthful heads in the back of her cruiser. Another kid, in a cowboy outfit with a torn shirt, sat on the curb nearby with his hands zip-tied behind his back. He had a little trickle of blood coming out his mouth, and I asked Cruz about it as I stepped into the hot, stuffy house. "What happened to the kids outside, Kimmy?"

Cruz made a face. She was short and stocky, but not unsexy. I'd occasionally wondered whether she might be bi. "Three boys fighting. Over some bitch. I can drag all of them in, if you want. Other than that, it's just a bunch of teen drinking. I was just going to take their names and call their parents tomorrow morning; you can help me with that, LaFratta."

"No problem." I loved yelling at parents. "Anyone need transport anywhere? Anyone sick enough for the hospital?" I asked hopefully. Sometimes, when I ran drunks into the hospital for a BAC, it gave me the chance to get a quickie from Olivia if she was working. And she was that night. I'd been horny all day, ever since Rachel had texted me a nude pic of herself.

Cruz shrugged. "I don't think so. Most of the worst ones got taken home by their friends before I got here. Neighbor called it in."

"Interfering piece of shit."

"I know, right?" Cruz looked around. "It's just kids having some fucking cosplay. What kind of sick old fuck calls the cops unless people are pissing on his lawn?" We shook our heads. "Just do a quick look through the house, see if there's anyone with no way home who isn't staying here. Parents are AWOL, of course."

"Sure." I swatted Cruz' ass, an old inside joke of ours. "Go do your paperwork, chiquita."

"Si, senor." She winked at me, all long lashes and dark, dark eyes, and then she was kicking a passed-out kid out of her way as she strode out the door. She had that police walk down, that was for sure. Whenever she put her badge on and walked anywhere, I pictured the Darth Vader theme music playing.

Good cop.

I stepped around a couple piles of vomit and dragged one boy, dressed as a topless pirate, across the hardwood floor and up onto the couch. I nodded at Craigie Miller, slumped on a loveseat with a pale face and a vampire getup; he was one of our Police Explorers. I'd get the scoop from him later, if there was anything to report; he was a good little rat. It would make him an excellent IA cop one day.

I found Megan Burke in an expensively-furnished bathroom, sitting against the tiled wall with a glazed look in her eyes. Much of her slutty-nurse costume was still intact, if you were willing to overlook some stray smears of vomit, and she looked objectively outstanding: the white uniform fit her body like a latex glove, hiding nothing of her perfectly-proportioned curves. Hell, the white thigh-high stockings alone, clinging sumptuously to her tanned, luscious legs, were enough to get my penis tense. I glanced into the toilet bowl and saw that she'd had salad for lunch, then squatted beside her. "How're you feeling, Megan?" I asked, not unkindly; I was trying to figure out whether I'd need to call her mom. That's part of the unspoken cop code: you don't arrest cops' family members without giving them a heads-up, even if they're shitty cops. Literally. "You got a ride home?"

Megan blinked up at me, sweat on her forehead. "I'll give you a ride, Officer," she winked, and I sighed; there are few things less pleasant than dealing with a drunk. That's the thing with alcohol: you don't know who's going to become violent, or vulgar, or obscene, or what. Megan, apparently, got horny when she drank. "Want to give me what you gave Gianna?" She burped as she laughed, and I stood back up.

"She'll be fine," announced a low, familiar voice from the bathroom door behind me. "I'm just looking for some clothes for her. Real clothes, with no puke on them."

I turned, already smiling, to see my little green pixie standing there with some shapeless sweatpants in her arms. She seemed entirely sober. "Nice to see you, Tori," I nodded, and my dick twitched again. Shit, that costume. "Having fun?"

"Oh, a blast." She came into the room, completely comfortable with her near-nudity, but I was used to that in her. "Good party." She stopped next to me and looked down at her splayed friend.

"Did you win?"

She made a face, a twisted little grimace. "Second place. I fucked the wrong judge, apparently." It didn't sound like she was kidding. "Whatever. The winner was Alyssa Lopez. I assume she'll be in cuffs soon, no?"

I smiled. Lindsay had already saved the drug-deal video and gotten in touch with the DA. "I can't comment on ongoing investigations," I winked.

"Exactly. So, see, I'll win in the end." She looked back down at Megan. "Want to help me get her undressed?"

Hell yes. "I'm not sure I should." I paused. "Go for it. You should leave the stockings on, though. Her legs look hot as shit."

"I know, right?" Tori pursed her lips. "She's a sexy little piece of ass, especially when she drinks."

"Blow me," Megan slurred. "I want your cock."

Tori and I exchanged a silent glance. "She does sometimes get her sex acts confused, though." She bumped me with her hip. "Hey. You going to call her mom to come get her?"

"Nope." I'd already decided Megan would live, and recover soon enough if she got some caffeine and electrolytes into her. "I can give her a ride."

"Yay!" Megan clapped weakly. "I love being on top!"

"Back to someone's house," I clarified. Hell, Olivia was working a double. So I made another shitty decision. "She can come back to my place, if she can't go to yours. And if you keep her from puking on my sheets."

"Back to your place?" Megan was blinking, sobering very very slowly. "For some hot butt-stabbing anal sex, right?"

"Um, no," I replied, but I'd be lying if my cock didn't jerk again. "I could take you back to your mother instead, Megan." Her face became a mask of horror. "Thought not."

"I'll take care of her." Tori threw the sweats onto the marble floor. "If you trust me to babysit your house for the night. And if you've got decent coffee." Goddamn. She stood there in that costume that would make the Pope want to fuck her, inviting herself to stay the night at my place, and what the hell was I supposed to say?

"Sure." It was an objectively crazy idea, but it didn't seem that way at the time. "Been drinking, Tori?"

"Not as much as some," she replied promptly. "I'm a woman who understands her limits, Michael."

"That's Officer Michael, to you," Megan snapped loudly. "He takes charge." She gathered herself feebly, edging toward me on the floor. "My mom has a crush on you, you know..."

"Eww." I stepped back. "Get dressed, Megan. We'll get you out of here shortly." I nodded at Tori. "I'll see you down at the front door. Say, ten minutes?"

"You got it, sugar." Tori winked at me broadly, and I stayed a few more seconds just to look at her ass as she crouched down to start getting Megan changed. Phoah. I remembered the flavor of her pussy, shook my head, and stalked out to make sure none of the other kids was going to drown on their own vomit.