Criminal Affair Pt. 04

I'm standing in my socks, bra, and panties, looking at my closet like a fifteen-year-old girl on the first day of high school. For the last decade of my life, I've had two types of outfits; my uniform, and slut ware. Now I'm supposed to show up in a suit with short heels like a professional? I have only a few items that almost work, and they're for funerals.

"Staring at it doesn't get you dressed," Derek says from my doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand. Fully dressed like the morning person dick head he is.

"I just realized I don't have anything that says I'm a detective. I can show up with butt huggers and a tight shirt, but that's not exactly the impression I'm trying to make," I say and sit on my bed.

"Unless your undercover vice. Here is a tip. Slacks with a belt, blouse, heels shouldn't be higher than an inch, hair up, minimal jewelry, make up is fine but avoid gloss and eye shadow," Derek says, and I groan. So no fun.

"Can I go back to being a uniform?" I ask.

"Not on your first day detective," Derek says and leaves the doorway.

I don't have clothes, so what now? Thinking for a moment, I realize I may have a temporary solution. My neighbor across the hall is about the same size as me and is a lawyer. How does that conversation go?

'Hi, I'm Jill. I know you keep trying to be nice to me and I keep ignoring you. We've had several dozen awkward one sided conversations at the mail boxes, and I fucked your boyfriend last year, and you still don't know about that. Can I borrow your clothes?'

I may leave a few things out.

"I'll be right back," I say, grabbing my robe off the back of my door and exiting my bedroom then the door to my apartment. I walk out and knock on the door immediately across the hall from me and wait. I hope she's home. The door knob turns, and a man opens it. Turns out she's still dating that boyfriend who nailed me last year.

I'm going to be perfectly honest, he was a drought breaker. Even women get droughts in their sex lives. A real dorky looking guy with lesbian thick rimmed glasses and mangled hair he thinks makes him look indifferent. It just makes him look like a guy who takes no pride in himself. Skinny like a gymnast, but without the relative body strength or cut physique. I can't believe I let this guy fuck me.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, shutting the door slightly in a small panic.

"Not here for you. Is your girlfriend home?" I ask, and he looks confused. I forgot we didn't have sex here, we had sex in the basement bathroom of a bar we met at when he and my neighbor got into a fight. I normally wouldn't have, but I needed a dick. We had never interacted here after I saw him with her in the lobby. He probably doesn't know I live here.

"What?" He asks.

"Your girlfriend, I need to ask her to borrow some clothes," I say and he quietly goes into the apartment to get her. I just realized I can't remember her name.

My neighbor opens the door a minute later, smiling when she sees me. "You need to borrow clothes Jill?" Of course she remembers my name.

"I do, long story," I say, strategizing ways to avoid having to use a sentence with her name in it.

"Come on in," she says, opening the door for me and walking into her apartment. I close the door as I enter, looking at the small table next to her door with a key bowl. I'm looking for any mail, a magazine, something. There was an issue of 'Good House Keeping' on the table addressed to a 'Leslie Kirkland'. Solved one problem.

"Les, we'll be in the bedroom for a minute," she says to her boyfriend who says nothing in reply. Wait? He's Leslie? And he subscribes to 'Good House Keeping'? My body convulses for a second to hold back my laughter.

"What kind of clothes do you need?" She asks as she opens her closet.

"I just got a new job..."

"You're not a cop anymore?"

"I'm a detective now, and my wardrobe hasn't evolved since college. I've had one thing to wear to work everyday for nearly ten years," I say and she laughs.

"Definitely makes having to look professional difficult when you have more thongs than blouses. Been there. Law school was fun, but then suddenly I'm in court as a public defender, having enough time for thirty minutes of preparation for a case, if I'm lucky," she says, and I kind of smile. She does understand my situation.

"Public defender?" I ask because I'm actually curious. She could be the one representing the people I arrest.

"I wanted that experience before I apply to any named firms. Defense attorney is more my field than prosecutor," she says and pulls a few items off the rack and throws them, hanger and all onto her bed.

"I was recommended slacks," I say, when I see only skirts.

"I got those too," She says and throws a cream colored pair on the bed. "Try those."

She is definitely more ass than me. They almost feel like they sag in the rear, but they fit. We have the same frame, but I'm all tits and no ass, she's all ass and no tits. The blouse I try on is tight across the chest. I could loosen a button, but then I'm the pretending to be professional woman who's just prowling for other girl's husbands at the office.

"Damn I want your boobs so bad," she says, eying my chest as I take off the first blouse and reach for another.

"Your boobs are fine," I say. They are, don't get me wrong. They're not my boobs fine. Then again, my ass isn't her ass fine.

"Yours are porn star perky, I can't even get a bra to simulate that," she says, and I look at my tits. I have had a lifetime of pride in them. I've had them since I was fifteen if you could believe that. It's been a good seventeen years my old friends.

The second blouse fits better, still tight, but I don't have to loosen a button just to breathe. Cream colored slacks, with a light blue boob hugger blouse. Black belt and black shoes to tie it all in. The shoes are slip on half inch heels, the heel spike wide. This is as good as we're going to get before I shop tonight. I'll work with a pony tail until I figure out which bun I'll go with.

"Looking professional. You can borrow a few more things to tide you over until you get your wardrobe up to snuff," she says as I eye myself in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. Thigh, hip, or shoulder holster is the next question. Probably hip.

"Thanks for this, I feel more embarrassed than anything," I say and she assures me its fine. "Thanks neighbor."

"Please, we're sharing closets now, we're on first name basis. Call me Billy," she says with a grin. A girl with a boy's name, dating a guy with a girl's name. Leslie is technically a guy's name, but good luck explaining that.

"Jill," I say back, and she opens her door, so we can leave the room.

"Good luck on your first day, detective," Billy says as I walk to the front door, looking over my shoulder to wave, Leslie looking away from me.

I walk back into my apartment where Derek is leaning on my counter with his second cup of coffee.

"That'll work," Derek says, and I spin once to tease him. "Very nice."

"I have to report early to meet the lieutenant for the department. He likes meeting the newest detectives," I say, Derek looking at his watch.

"You should head out now, I'll be right behind you," Derek says, downing his coffee. I take the key off my ring and toss it to him. He catches it with one hand and places it in his pocket. "Slip it under the door on my way out, or give it back at the precinct?"

"Your pick, see you later," I say and close the door behind me.

-

Detective Lieutenant Jeffries leaned into the seat of his desk, the chair beneath him creaking. His office is the size of my old one, the desk toward the back with enough space behind the desk for the chair. Two three drawer filing cabinets are to the right, with a small love seat facing the desk. There is a window next to the door, with the blinds currently open.

Jeffries looks young for a Lieutenant but looks are deceiving. He's in his late thirties, but he looks the same age as me. His head is balding, so he keeps his head shaved, but the fuzz on his sides reveals the reality of his intent. His biceps are unproportioned with his chest, showing he does curls more than he benches. He maintains a neatly trimmed brown goatee and mustache that encircles his mouth. His polo and khakis make me feel overdressed.

"It caused quite a stir when Officer Sergeant Simpson showed up for the detective's exam. No one was surprised you scored the highest of your group," Jeffries says to start off.

"I caused a stir?" I ask. Why would I cause a stir for showing up?

"You have a reputation. A good one. It was damn near a bidding war between all of the LTs to see who would get you for their department," Jeffries says, pulling a personnel file from his desk and placing it down. It's my file.

"Ten years of service this fall, and only now switching over to detective. Damn near perfect record too. Over six hundred arrests, below average number of complaints, discharged your weapon three times, and was lead uniform in assisting missing persons in the Lowe and Hawthorn cases before the latter case would have statically been turned over to homicide. Maxed physical fitness standards, expert on the pistol range. Do you wonder why everyone wanted you now?"

I just assumed I was doing my job like everyone else. I knew I was good, even compared to some of my peers. Never did I imagine I was valuable stock.

"I had no idea I was professionally sought after. Not the reputation women usually have in this environment," I say, and he laughs.

"Nothing but good things. There is an over under on whether...that's inappropriate so I'm not going to finish that statement," Jeffries says, slightly uncomfortably.

Great, this again. I walk into rooms and men stop talking because they were in the middle of a dick joke and didn't want to offend the woman because maybe a girl once complained and got someone suspended. Or they're talking about which secretaries or female officers they would fuck the hardest and in what way.

"What is the over under on whether or not I'm a lesbian?" I ask to ease the room. He awkwardly chuckles.

"The most common vote is you are," Jeffries says, and I laugh.

"Hate to ruin the spread. I'll keep that to your imagination," I say, his laugh gradually becoming more natural and comfortable.

"You'll be working with Queen, he'll be able to get you started," Jeffries says and leans over his desk for handshake that I return. Pulling open his desk again, he hands me my shield as well, before I exit his office, leaving the door open and look out onto the floor for property crimes.

There are four detectives who work here, including me now. There are four desks, in two sets with the two desks facing each other. My name placard was already at my desk. 'Det Jill Simpson'. Feels good seeing that.

I arrived early so it's just me. The door from the stairs open and another business casual dressing detective walks in. Short sleeved button up tucked into a pair of blue jeans with a blazer.

"Simpson?" He asks, and I nod. "Frank Blanchet."

"Nice to meet you Detective Blanchet..."

"Frank," he corrects. First name basis thing here.

"Frank it is. Jill," I say before we shake hands.

"I work with Dean, you got Lincoln," he says, and look at the desk next to mine. 'Det Lincoln Queen'.

Frank is short, barely taller than me, and I'm not tall. Short stubby beard with eyebrow length blond hair. I can smell the cigarette smoke coming off him, likely from him smoking in the car to make it so potent. His service weapon is on his left hip, indicating he's left handed.

Frank is followed by Dean Wu. Taller than Frank with a full suit and a shoulder holster under his jacket. Short cropped black hair, proportional body build, showing he is disciplined in his muscle groups. Like his name suggests, he's Chinese but his family has been here for over a century.

Queen is the last one in, and the least disciplined in appearance. Faded blue jeans, long sleeved button up with the last three buttons undone, not tucked into his jeans. Holsters on his right hip. Unkept stubble with a prominent bald spot. Looks tired with baggy eyes and spots.

Two adamant professionals walk in, followed by a guy who looks like a hobo by contrast. Guess which one is my partner?

"Morning Detective Queen," I say, extending my hand for a shake. He limply returns it and takes a seat at his desk. Limp wristed too. I think that is the most offensive thing so far.

"Let me give you the work flow break down. There are two teams. Dean and Frank handle arson and burglary, we handle grand theft auto and identity theft. Both teams sift through the standard garden variety larceny, because of the sheer volume. Most of those won't be investigated, unless we can begin to assume we have a serial robber. Because then we have a pattern to build an investigation from. Otherwise we're looking for needles in haystacks."

I sit across from him and he extends me a case file for a grand theft auto, and another for a run of the mill larceny. I'll assume he's showing me both to contrast them.

"Is the grand theft auto investigable, or do we put out a BOLO to squad cars and hope to get lucky?" Queen asks, and I look through the file. A 2014 white Honda Accord.

"How many Honda's are there in the city?" I ask.

"Check the DMV," Queen replies, stepping around the desk and guides me through the new systems I have access too now. Creating a quarry search, of the four hundred thousand cars in the city, it was a very common car, in the most common color.

"Very common, add to a BOLO," I say and he nods.

"Larceny, anything stand out?" He asks, opening the file on my desk.

Breaking and entering when the resident wasn't home. Stolen electronics including the television, gaming console, a speaker system, and a laptop. I notice the address has a room number, so I know it's an apartment complex, the three in the room making me assume it's on the third floor. It was a fifty-five inch television.

"That's a big television to move three floors down with no one noticing. Does the building have a..." I start to ask, but decide I'll get the answer myself. I look up the address and find the answer to my question in about a minute. "Big screen, three floors, in a building with a doorman and cameras."

"I'll let you take lead on this one. Interview the doorman who was on duty during estimated time of incident. Look around the building from the third floor down, on how they got it out," Queen says and I nod.

I might have misjudged Detective Lincoln Queen. The moment he walked in I was bracing for condescension and bitterness. Then again, it's still early.

-

I haven't worn heels of any height for so long, my feet are absolutely killing me at the end of the day. After I got back from the initial investigation at the apartment building, we drafted a report of stolen goods that would eventually be pushed out to pawn brokers to be on the look out for. The Honda was added to the BOLO list. All in all we closed fifteen cases and are actively investigating one.

I'm leaning back onto the armrest of Derek's couch while he's rubbing my feet that I place in his lap. My feet hurt so bad, and this is making all of the difference.

"I'm really overdressed in there. I can probably get away with tennis shoes," I say, Derek kneading the arch of my foot with his thumbs. This is better than sex sometimes.

"Who'd you draw as partner?" Derek asks.

"Lincoln Queen," I reply.

"He's a good dude, he might be a little out of it right now though. Him and his wife just had a baby, so he's tired as hell," Derek says, and that actually explains everything about him.

"He looked disheveled," I say.

"Baby will do that," Derek explains. I forget he has a kid, and he would know that.

After my first day at a new job, I'm sitting with my feet in his lap, talking about my day. He tells me about his. We watch the evening news, eat, then we go to bed after we have sex. I must admit it finally. I'm in a relationship. A pretty routine one at that.

"Worst part is," I say, him looking over at me. "My desk is in the center of a room, so now you can't fuck me on it."

"I'll stop by after hours," Derek says, pressing harder into the palm of my foot.

"You don't even have to fuck me if you keep doing that," I say, moaning with pleasure as if he was fucking me.

"I'm still going to do that," Derek says, pulling my leg hard, sliding me across the couch on my back before he jumps on top of me. He kisses me firmly, pulling my arms above my head and holding my wrists with only one hand. Just as I thought it was getting interesting, it got interesting.

I feel cold metal on my wrist, and here the very distinguishable sound of hand cuffs locking. I look up and grin at my wrists. Damn he's smooth, I didn't even see him pull them out. I'm his prisoner now.

"You gonna read me my rights?" I ask.

"You have the right to remain sexy, anything you do or say will be used against you in bed," He says, making me giggle. I don't know who I like more, the sexy version of him who doesn't say this corny shit, or the one who says this corny shit. I think I like it, because it takes a pretty confident guy to say that with a straight face.

"You have the right to an orgasm, if you cannot cause one, one will be provided for you," he says. I laugh, hard. Please stop. This is terrible. "Do you understand these rights as they have been explained to you?"

"Holy shit, you're a dweeb and I just realized it," I laugh out.

"Yeah, well, you're still hand cuffed," He says, and yanks me from the couch by the chain and leads me to the bedroom. He undoes the right cuff to resituate them behind my back, then begins to pat me down like he's frisking me.

Roll play? Get me in a nurse outfit, I'll check your temperature and everything. How do you roll play our job? Defeats the purpose of a roll playing.

"Is that your gun officer?" I ask, his penis pressing into me from behind.

"No, that's my dick," he says, his fingers finding the buttons to the pants, then the zipper. My pants drop to my ankles, followed by my panties. I'm put onto the bed like it's the hood of a car and he enters me from behind.

Derek grips the chain and pulls back, my shoulders arching up, making me grunt a little.

"What's your badge number, I may need to file a report," I say to egg him on. It works and he us drills me hard, using the chain like reigns to pull be back to his dick after he pulls out. It's a tip to base thrust, hard and fast.

"Who's your lieutenant?"

"Want to talk? I can shut you up the old fashioned way," He says, pulling out and tugging me to my knees. He spins me around and shoves his dick into my mouth. "Harassing an officer of the law is an offense. Just making sure you don't get yourself into more trouble."

When he pulled me off the bed, he pulled back directly on top of his pants on the floor. I fish his keys out of them while he's distracted. I'm pretty good and sucking dick, he's plenty distracted.

I move away from his dick to mock him some more. He puts his back on the bed and puts me on his dick, bouncing me up with firm thrusts and holding me at the crook of my elbows. In the middle of nearly cumming I undo the cuffs and smile.

"Need to be more careful officer, never know when the tables turn," I say and grab his wrists. I don't know what happened next, but I in a incomprehensible whirl of movements, I'm thrown onto my back and he's choking me with one hand. Holy shit, how the fuck did he do that so fast? I grab his wrist with both hands, and the look on my face must have told him too much.

Derek flinches his hand away, his fingers trembling as he swallows and apologizes. He slides out of me and lays down on the bed, away from me. Is he worried he'll hurt me? That was pure instinct on his part. That was defensive because he thought I was going to hurt him. A reflex.