Lady Cop

"Where?" There was doubt in her voice.

"Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, right?" She laughed. "Let's go. Your car."

They drove west on Florence, Ramona resting her hand on her upper thigh. At one red light she reached across with her right hand and pinched her nipple, hard enough to make her gasp and her eyes tear. They seemed to be headed toward LAX. Ramona said, "Turn left on Sepulveda," and now she was sure they were going to the airport, which heightened her nervousness. What could that mean? But Ramona said, "Make the next right and park in the lot behind the building on the corner."

That building had a red neon sign high on a windowless wall that read" Jet Strip" in script. She felt even more troubled, a stirring in her stomach, as she parked the car. This is a strip club, she thought. Is she going to make me give a lap dance to a stranger? And for the first time since her initial visit to Ramona's home, she was tempted to boIt.

Ramona sensed her discomfort. "It's not what you think, Rach. We'll only be here a little while." They got out of the car, and she trailed Ramona around the comer to the entrance. Inside they were met by pounding music and, though not yet noon, near total darkness. Across the room, under hot white lights, a topless girl with impossibly huge round tits writhed against a pole. Ramona stood behind her and with a hand in the small of her back urged her forward. Their path was immediately blocked by a linebacker-sized young man in a too-tight suit wearing a headset. "Can I help you, ladies? Oh, Ramona, good to see ya. Here to see your sister?"

"Yeah, Jason."

"Okay. She just finished her set. Know where her dressing room is?" He gestured to his left, to a door with a glowing exit sign over it.

''Yeah, I know where it is. Thanks, Jason." Again with a hand in the small of her back, she guided her through the door and down a narrow, cheaply paneled hallway that reeked of disinfectant. Ramona stopped at the second door on the left and knocked. They heard scrambling sounds inside before a voice said, "Come in."

Ramona opened the door, and they saw a brightly lit makeup table with two metal folding chairs stationed side by side. To the left, on a battered couch, sat two girls, young and petite, one blonde and light-skinned, the other black, strippers evidently, as they wore only panties and bras. The black girl was hastily arranging her breasts, which were unusually large for a girl with such a slim build, in her bra. There was an awkward pause. The blonde broke the silence. "Mony, I forgot it was today you said you were coming."

"That's okay, baby." She addressed the black girl. "Latisha, I need to speak privately to my sister, okay?"

Latisha kept her eyes lowered. "Sure, okay. I gotta go dance anyway." She slunk out of the room.

Ramona spoke to the blonde. "Raq, you know I don't like that girl. What are you foolin' with her for? She's trash. Her whole family is knuckleheads. I know because I've busted most of them."

"I know, I know."

"Look, I don't want to bust your balls. I brought my friend here to meet you. Say hello to Rachel. Rachel, this is my sister, well, my half sister actually, Raquel."

For the first time Raquel looked at the other blonde in the room, and her eyes widened and her mood brightened. "Oh, wow, Mony, where did you find this girl? She's beautiful. Hi, Rachel." She bounced off the couch and came over and kissed her cheek.

Rachel, for her part, also liked what she saw. Raquel was shorter than she, maybe five foot four, and she was certainly younger than Ramona, who was 35, maybe only 21. She was clearly a bottle blonde and had small breasts; but her facial features were perfectly proportioned, and her large brown eyes were catlike, almost Asiatic, which she loved. She also admired her shapely calves and thighs and her small, tight ass as she tumed back to sit on the couch. She began to relax. She thought, I can't believe these two are related. They couldn't possibly be more different.

Ramona spoke to her sister. "When you gotta dance again?"

"Three o'clock."

"Cool. We got time then. Let's go over to your place. You're closer. Get some clothes on."

"Yeah, definitely." She flashed a mouthful of straight white teeth.

In the car Ramona again rested her hand on her thigh. She thought, she's showing her sister I belong to her. That's okay, I like that. I am her possession. Is she going to make me have sex with Raquel, or make her watch us? Whatever it was, she was game. She had had sex with two women before, with Picabo and Picabo's friend Therese, and that had been thrilling.

Raquel chattered away. She sat in the back seat but was leaning forward, resting her forearms on the front seats. She talked practically in her ear, and again she thought how different the sisters were. Raquel talked about her and Ramona's fathers, how abusive they had been, nothing but a couple of alcoholics, how fucked-up their mother's taste in men was, it was the reason they were both gay. Then she interrupted herself to say, "Oh, Mony, I almost forgot. The Mother Superior party is next Saturday, not this one, the next one. You're going, aren't you?"

"Totally. You know, I forgot too, but, you know, I got that weekend off, thank God." She turned to Rachel. "Hey, Rach, isn't that the weekend your husband will be away?"

"Uh, yeah." She felt defensive once again.

"Well, if you're free, you totally got to come. It's madness, the most insane lesbian party ever."

"Okay." The uneasiness persisted. She was being drawn further into this world and didn't know if it's what she wanted. Just then Raquel chimed in. "That's my building on the right." She pointed to a nondescript, several-story apartment building. "You can park in back."

They trooped to the second floor, and Raquel unlocked a door midway down the hallway. Inside she was stunned by the clutter she saw. Raquel saw her reaction and said, "It's the maid's day off." She trilled a laugh. "Oh, fuck it, we're not here to have tea." She led the way to a bedroom.

The bed was a mattress on top of another on the floor. It wasn't made. Magazines, CDs and a takeout container were strewn across the sheets. A shabby easy chair was by the door. Raquel pushed a button on the boombox that sat on a bureau. Mariah Carey sprang to life.

Ramona said to Rachel, "Sit down," and pointed at the easy chair. She sat down. What she saw next totally shocked her. Ramona pulled her sister close and gave her an open-mouth kiss. Raquel didn't resist and even put an arm around her neck. She could see each had her tongue in the other's mouth. Raquel darted her eyes over to her while they kissed. She broke it off. "Look at you, Rachel. Such a prude." Her tone was lightly mocking. "We been doing this since I was 13. She was my first. She made me what I am."

Ramona responded by pushing her on the bed. "Get up and clean that shit off." She got up, seized the top sheet in her hands and with one flick sent everything clattering against the far wall. Ramona grabbed her neck. "Get on your knees and crawl over to my girlfriend and lick her pussy. Rachel, take your clothes off."

She did so, and in a moment Raquel was between her legs, saying, "Oh, baby, this is so sweet, and you are so wet." She easily slid a finger into her pussy and attacked her mound with her mouth. She settled lower in the chair, grateful to receive the attention, and closed her eyes. She opened them when Raquel began to moan and her tongue lost its rhythm. She saw Ramona was kneeling behind her sister and wearing something that looked very much like Big Daddy. She was forcefully fucking her.

Ramona met her eyes. "Hit her. Slap that cunt's face."

She did. She had never done anything like that before. She was always the receiver.

"Did that feel good?"

She nodded. Weirdly, it had felt good. Raquel had resumed her steady tonguing, and she was close to coming.

"Do it again."

She did, and her back arched away from the chair as the orgasm overtook her.

Rachel stood looking out at what seemed to be all of L. A. glistening at her feet. She wasn't wearing a watch but she thought it must be nearing midnight. She was in the home office of Cheryl Candiotti, the renowned Hollywood writer-producer who had worked with such A-listers as Diane Keaton and Steve Martin in family-fare hits like "My First Pajama Party" and "Where's Baxter?," the town's most openly gay female movie executive, the woman known as Mother Superior within the lesbian community (and without to the hip), host of the eponymous lesbian bash, held annually near Valentine's Day, appropriately, that currently was in full swing.

The home was on Mulholland Drive, and she stood with Cheryl by her side. They looked out a wall of glass. She wore her old Catholic schoolgirl uniform, which Ramona had told her to do and which, remarkably, still fit. Catholicism seemed to be the theme of the party. Upon entering the house she had noted only women, and they were either dressed as schoolgirls or in nuns' habits. Ramona wore a habit, and Raquel was a schoolgirl. It must be a d/ls party, she had thought. She and Cheryl were alone in the room, Ramona, who had known Cheryl for years, having just introduced them. Actually, Ramona had "given" her to Cheryl. That was the word she had used. Cheryl had her arm around her waist, but her hand was creeping up toward her breast.

She turned her head to look at Cheryl, whose face arranged then rearranged itself. In the car on the way to the party the sisters had given her a white ovoid pill to take and taken one themselves. She had resisted but had swallowed it when Ramona ordered her to and Raquel said not to be such a baby. Now her heart was pounding, and she was even sweating a bit. But at the same time she felt tremendous --lightweight and very horny. She was under the influence of a drug, she knew, but what it was she didn't. She did know that she wanted Cheryl to touch her intimately.

Cheryl's face came into focus. She saw that she was a classic dyke -- black hair streaked with silver, cut short and spiky, little makeup, handsome rather than pretty, Susan Sontag more or less. Cheryl was an inch or two shorter than she and quite a bit older, probably in her fifties. She was not costumed. She wore a black pants suit with a white blouse and a simple strand of pearls. She saw lust in her eyes.

Her school-girl blazer was already off, draped over a chair, and her blouse was untucked from her skirt. Cheryl was lightly caressing the outside of her right breast. She said, "Ramona said you were beautiful, but I had no idea, Rachel. How old are you?"

"Tw-twenty-nine." Speech was difficult; her teeth chattered uncontrollably although she wasn't cold. In fact she had never felt better, more alive, than she did right now. The drug was a key that was turning a lock inside her. She sensed herself shedding a skin. She knew now she was a lesbian and that she was immediately, totally in love with Cheryl. God, there is such a thing as love at first sight, she thought. She imagined herself waving good-bye melancholically to her husband.

"You're a little older than most of my girls. But you've been sheltered, haven't you? There's an innocence about you, a sensitivity, I just adore." She removed her hand from her breast and ran it through her hair, then made circles on her back. "I see Ramona gave you something, probably Ecstasy, knowing her and her sister. I know speech is difficult right now, but you'll be fine. You'll see. Is it your first time?" Her voice was soft and reassuring, yet resolute. She resumed stroking her hair.

Rachel nodded. "You really are beautiful, Rachel. You take my breath away." Her hand had strayed from her hair and lifted her skirt, and was now burrowing into the back of her simple white cotton panties. She pressed her middle finger against her anus. "This is my favorite part of the female anatomy. Ramona has opened you up this way, I'm sure." She noted that Rachel was staring at her reflection in the window. "That's right, beauty, look at yourself. Go ahead, kiss yourself." She worked her finger into her bottom, which caused her to bend a little at the waist and brace herself against the glass. She began to kiss the reflected mouth. Cheryl said, "Lick the glass. Lick it." As she did so, Cheryl lifted her skirt with her left hand and while keeping her fingers outside her panties, lightly brushed her pussy lips and cunt. The effect was electric. Her knees buckled, and she began to have mini orgasms.

Just then there was a knock on the office door, though it was already open. Cheryl turned her head and saw that a girl held a plate of food. "Oh good, Ashley, come in. We could use something to eat." She did not, however, remove her finger from her behind or cease caressing her pussy. Ashley, dressed as a server in a short, tight black skirt, black high heels and stockings, and a white blouse, came forward. She stood next to Cheryl and extended the plate slightly. It was laden with sushi. The girl was very young and a dead ringer for Jessical Alba. Cheryl made introductions. "Ashley, this is Rachel. Rachel, this is Ashley, my assistant. She has been given to Ramona for the evening, just as you have been given to me. Ashley, feed me a piece of sushi. You can see my hands are occupied." Ashley selected a piece of fish and held it to her mistress' lips. When she had eaten it, she said, "Now, Ashley, do the same thing for Rachel. Except put it in your mouth first and feed her that way." The girl did so;

and in a moment their lips met, and they began to kiss deeply. Cheryl was fully finger-fucking her asshole now. "Ashley, kneel and lick Rachel through her panties. Make her come." She knelt and served her rival, and it was only a minute before Rachel tilted her head back against Cheryl's shoulder, knees buckling again.

"Very nice, Ashley. Now please bring us a bottle of champagne." Ashley returned shortly with an ice bucket, a bottle three quarters buried in it, and two flutes. "Thank you, Ashley. You may serve the other guests now." Cheryl watched her leave, then said, "Rachel, I think you should take the rest of your clothes off, then let's have a couple of drinks. The drug will be wearing off soon, and the champagne will help you come down more gently." She stripped and drank some champagne. She didn't like the taste but dutifully drank it down, and then again when her glass was refilled.

"Good, Rachel. Now here's what I'd like to do. I'm going to put a collar around your neck and attach a leash to it. I want to show you off to my guests. Okay?"

She felt the power of speech returning. "Okay." She was excited by the prospect, very much the exhibitionist. Collar and leash were attached, and after a third glass of champagne she led the way into the living room. The first thing she saw was Ramona, who stood behind Ashley, one hand in her blouse feeling her up. Ashley stood still, again holding a platter of sushi. Ramona met Rachel's gaze. They both sensed the chasm between them. Oh, how quickly things have changed, she thought. She glanced left and saw something quite bizarre. Raquel, naked, was tied to a cross in the manner of Christ's Passion. She even wore a crown of what seemed to be thorns. She was being whipped by a group of nuns and was moaning ecstatically. Cheryl handed her a glass of champagne. The alcohol was starting to go down easily. The glass was soon replaced by another. A circle of nuns formed around her, with Cheryl standing to one edge holding the leash.

One of her last memories of that evening was of being on all fours within the circle. Another girl, also on all fours, faced the opposite direction. She thought that girl was Raquel. Cheryl stood over them and inserted one end of a large double-headed dildo into each cunt. She remembered they fucked till the dildo was entirely inside them and their asses bumped together. Her last memory was of Cheryl's smiling face, her nodding head.

Rachel hung up the guest phone. She was once again in the lobby of the Beverly Hills Hotel, about to ascend to the same room, Suite 501, where almost exactly a year ago she had endured, willingly and memorably, an afternoon of enemas and anal intercourse with Picabo and Therese. Picabo's excited voice just now had urged her to hurry up. "You're late, the party's already started," and indeed, she heard laughter and someone crying out, "yes, yes, yes" in the background. What a difference a year makes, she thought. No, that wasn't right. What a difference ten days makes. A year ago in this same situation she had been terribly nervous and ambivalent. Today she completely comfortable, reckless even. Since meeting Cheryl at her Mother Superior party ten days ago she had come to grips with her essential sexual orientation. She was gay. She and Cheryl had been in constant contact, husband be damned, since the party; and though they had not yet become lovers, after only five days Cheryl had asked her to become her slave. She had accepted, prepared to begin a clandestine affair, knowing only that it would lead to her utter submission. Would she leave her husband and move in with Cheryl? Time would tell.

Then, three days ago, Picabo had e-mailed her. It had been months since she had heard from her. Her e-mail apologized for being out of touch and explained she had mostly been in Europe lately, but that she and Therese would be in L. A. in three days. Could she meet them? She replied that she had recently met a woman, Cheryl Candiotti, a Hollywood producer, that she was serious about, and didn't know if it was appropriate to meet. Picabo's next e-mail almost exploded off her laptop screen. "Cheryl Candiotti??? Mother Superior??? You know her??? I've been to her parties. We've been friends for years!!! I'll call her now and we'll get back to you." And, yes, within the hour Cheryl had e-mailed her to say that she, Ashley, Ramona and Raquel would join Picabo and Therese at their hotel on Wednesday at 1:00. She should meet them there, and they would have a party to celebrate their engagement. She knew what Cheryl meant by "party."

Now, in the elevator, she steadily eyed the car's only other occupant, a striking blonde small and younger than she. Rachel, as she had been told to do, was wearing her all-black "hooker" outfit. She was sans both panties and bra. The blonde finally looked at her. When she did, Rachel reached down and hiked up her skirt to her waist. Lick it, bitch, she thought. But the girl immediately faced the elevator doors, said nothing and got off at the next floor without a look back. She was enjoying being trashy. She hoped her friends would treat her like that. She got off on five, and sashayed down to the end of the hall to 501 and knocked.

It was loud on the other side of the door, and she knocked several times without response. Finally the door was flung open, and there stood Picabo, naked except for her large black strapon, Trusty Rusty, which Rachel knew all too well and which now pointed straight at her. Picabo pulled her into the room and slammed the door shut. "It's the guest of honor. Come here, you." Picabo embraced her and kissed her deeply, pinching a nipple too. Poor Rusty was being bent straight up, imprisoned between their entwined bodies. Picabo pushed her to arms'-length to look at her. "Oh honey, it's so good to see you. And you're still so beautiful." She looked down at Rusty, again horizontally at the ready. "I know somebody else who's glad to see you," and she thunderclapped her laugh.

"Peek, I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you." She noticed something. "Peek, you've lost weight, haven't you?" Her face seemed narrower, as did her waist and hips. Her magnificent breasts, however, were still D-cup.

"You know, I have. About twenty pounds. I'm 140 now, but still five ten. I didn't lose any height." She laughed. "You know, I've been doing some modeling in Europe. Can you believe it? Me? So my agency asked me to lose some weight. I feel really great. Thanks for noticing." This last sentence she spoke almost softly. She put a hand to the side of Rachel's face and caressed her cheek with her thumb. ''I'm really happy for you, Rach. Cheryl is a really, really great gal." She spoke haltingly. "I wish it could be me."