Role Play

He squeezed my tits roughly. God, it hurt. There would be bruises. I yelped, which encouraged him. He leaned down, put his mouth over one large nipple, and sucked, hard. I yelped again. He sucked some more.

My titflesh was huge under his face, and it felt like he was trying to inhale the whole thing. The entire time, his dick, through his underpants, was prodding my pussy, pushing into it, wetting the cloth.

We switched positions. He laid down and shucked the sodden clothing, producing the biggest, nicest dick I had ever seen, in dreams or otherwise. I was honor-bound. I leaned over and prepared to suck it.

I knew, in that way in dreams where you just know things, that Alex the cop would get up then, would interrupt, would arrest the man, whereas Alex the fellow prostitute would leave us to our pleasures.

I felt the hard thing throbbing in my hand, warmth radiating between the head of it and the "O" of my parted lips, the tip of my moistened tongue. The time was now.

If you could, which would you choose?

~

I wanted to fuck again as soon as he woke up. I wanted him to spit on me, to slap me, to do... fuck, I don't know, anything to make me feel like an adventurous, promiscuous 20-something again.

But he was famished. He took me out to eat.

Over breakfast, he said, "There's a job for you."

We were at a diner down the street. It was that quiet time between the breakfast and lunch rushes. Sitting in that hard plastic booth, I was constantly reminded of what my body had been through the night before.

"A job for me?" I didn't quite follow.

There's a job for you. He had said it many times, and I would know that it meant corny old-school vice squad shit.

Many times, he'd come to me with a case, usually high dollar men, sometimes penny ante stuff if it was a slow month. We would pose as sex workers, go into situations. Sometimes, I'd have to go pretty far.

And it always started with, "There's a job for you."

I didn't understand. I was out of the game. He knew that. He was there when the bad shit happened, when I got out. I guess I'd always assumed he'd gotten out too. Yet here he was, trying to draft me back in.

I felt like telling him so, but I didn't. I listened. I guess I wanted to see where he was going with it. I have to admit, I'd always been curious to hear the lurid details of these things. They excited me.

He told me, and I followed along, as if it were the old days.

Penny ante stuff, as it turned out. Some idiot with too much cash had put out feelers in all the wrong places, looking to hire a female prostitute to have an all-the-way threesome with him and his wife.

My cop brain filled in the blanks. They would be middle-aged. I guessed that their marriage had gone stale, that she'd idly mentioned fantasizing about other women, that he'd gotten fixated on the idea.

Probably the wife had never intended for it to happen. Probably he'd pressured her into doing it. There was an outside chance that I'd go in ready to bust them for soliciting sex and end up counseling them.

As Alex quietly relayed the time, the place, and the predictably detailed list of sex acts that the man expected me to allow, I paid close attention and took careful mental notes. Just like the old days.

Not once did it occur to me to point out the reasons I couldn't participate, why this obviously wasn't happening. Not once did I say no.

While Alex was at the counter paying for our food, I sent a terse message to Paul that I would be delayed indefinitely. An unforeseen situation with an old friend.

PART II

I was wrong. They weren't old. They were young, almost young enough to be my children. They were recently wed. I revised my assumptions. Their sex life faded beforehand, and getting married hadn't fixed it.

So this was plan B. Opening their bed to a slut-for-hire.

The motel room wasn't exactly a dump. Just the cookie cutter off-the-highway kind of place you see in any unremarkable little town where nothing happens. The guy opened the door, I went in, Alex followed.

The guy was cute. Compact, bespectacled, beard, tattoos, prematurely bald. He wore cutoff denim shorts, flip flops, and a loud button-down shirt with short sleeves and loose tails. It fit him decently enough.

The girl was dressed in black, from her lipstick to her cropped band tee to her high-waisted midi skirt and shiny ankle boots. She was a bountifully fat woman, her shirt revealing a broad roll of pale tummy.

Hell, even her hair was a dusky brunette. She was all dark on light.

To be honest, I had never been all that into women. (Though the lack of sexual attraction would have never deterred me from sleeping with one.) I guess I just liked hard pecs and even harder dicks too much.

Even so, she looked like she would be a joy to touch. All round soft surfaces, a whole meal of physical pleasures.

They were a cute couple. They seemed so sweet together, so happy this was happening. I felt bad. Even back in the day, when I was a gung-ho rookie, I never understood why we set up harmless people to be busted.

It amazed me that I allowed myself to get roped into this. Idly, I wondered how they were supposed to pay me if I wasn't on the police payroll, Maybe this was an independent contractor type situation.

I wore a skintight red dress that crawled up my thighs and showed more boob than it hid. Alex had just bought it, at the same sex shop where I bought most of my toys. Alex wore his customary longsleeve blacks.

We had the necessary do this, don't do that conversation beforehand.

The three of us sat on the edge of the bed--guy, girl, me. Alex stood in front of us, doing a convincing job of acting as the mediator. He'd always been good at this. Very immersive. He never seemed like a cop.

Though the girl was nominally bicurious, she had never been with a woman. Neither of them had been with two sexual partners at the same time. He was insistent, maybe too insistent, that this was for her.

He also revealed that he had deliberately chosen another fat woman to put her at ease. I didn't mind being called fat, but something about it didn't sit right with me. He seemed a little too proud of himself.

Still, sooner or later, we had to get started.

Alex took his customary place across the room, seated next to a small, beaten writing desk. The guy was the first to speak. It occurred to me that his voice was even deeper than Alex's.

"Touch her tits. She likes that."

That order was for me.

I put my hand on the front of her shirt, more or less innocuously, between her pendulous breasts. She said nothing, but simply followed my hand with her eyes as it slid slowly downward on her boob.

From the other side, he reached over, cupped the other one, his callused fingertips briefly brushing mine.

My hand found her nipple, a thick, rodlike nub that poked through the fabric of her shirt. It became quickly apparent that she wasn't wearing a bra. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to be so perky.

Oh, to be young and immune to gravity.

She turned her face towards him, and they were kissing while the two of us groped her. Somehow, watching two regular people make out live in front of me was sexier than watching any porn stars in any video.

Their mouths parted, and they breathed heavily, and they laughed together. God, they were cute.

To her, more so than me, he said, "God, I wish you two could kiss."

I wasn't thrilled by this. It could have just popped out of his mouth, a spur of the moment notion. But it felt like a test, an attempt to bend one of my rules. Alex said nothing, but I knew we both heard it.

Deciding to be diplomatic, I asked them, "There won't be any kissing from me. But is there anything you want me to do for you two? Anything you've been dreaming about?"

Neither of them said anything. It was awkward. I got the impression that he didn't want to speak first, that he didn't want to upset her by saying he wanted something that she didn't. But she stayed quiet.

Finally, he blurted out, "Could you give us a striptease?"

I nodded, and I stood up.

I rolled my dress up my hips, my belly, and tugged it off over my head. I bared my skin for the young couple, but I moved my hips, my buttocks, for Alex's benefit. I knew he liked watching me do this.

Unlike the girl, I wore a bra under my dress--brand new, Alex's treat. A lovely mesh thing, longline, frilly edges, big, full cups. I reached behind, undid the tall column of hooks, slid the straps down my arms.

Free of the bra, my breasts sat much lower. Briefly, I worried. They were so young. Did they understand? But the guy leered avidly at my body. The girl watched the whole show as though she were in a trance.

Alex got the best part of it. I lingered in my underwear, letting him see that it was the same lacy, mesh-paneled thong I'd worn when I met him at the hotel. My asscheeks gripped it in vain as I pulled it down.

"Can I sit between you two?" I asked.

They both moved, just enough for me to sit. I sat. We were so close. My hips touched theirs through their clothes.

I looped an arm around each of their waists, pulling them towards me. Secretly, I was worried. My clothes were off. The clock was running. Procedure said to wait just prior to a penetrative act to stop them.

Then we would have maximal cause, and Alex would read them their rights.

I tried not to feel too awful for enjoying the way his eyes lit up, being so close to my exposed breasts, or how she seemed to be starting to relax for first time.

"Do you want to touch her body?" he asked her. Meant as encouragement, I think.

"I don't want to make a decision," she said.

"I have an idea. Maybe you should put your hand on her chest."

I had to suppress a laugh. Alex and I had heard this so many times, he'd coined the phrase "I-have-an-idea-speak." Half the clients we encountered must have been into the same books or the same podcasts.

The threesome had to have been the guy's idea. He'd obviously been the one doing the studying.

The girl obeyed his implicit order, putting her dainty hand on my freckled sternum. She slid glacially down along one of my low boobs. I silently urged her to be careful as she inched towards the nipple.

Her hand paused. She cleared her throat. She asked me, "Do you want to put your hand on his cock?"

Quid pro quo pro quo. He didn't feel allowed to act until she did. She felt under pressure to even things out, or maybe she felt weird being the only one interacting with me. Or maybe she just felt guilty.

I glanced down at his lap. There was a visible ridge, upright behind the thick denim of his fly.

She added, "Over the pants. For now."

I glanced at his face. He nodded, gave me an encouraging smile.

My hand touched his thigh first. His shorts were very short, leaving most of his legs naked. I guessed he wasn't entirely straight. My fingers trailed up his bare skin, then denim, onto that hard thing.

This was allowed. Unless things had changed during my retirement, it didn't count as sex unless I directly touched his exposed dick, or if one of them did something penetrative to my vagina. I never argued.

Anything up to that point, it had been decreed, was permissible for an undercover cop to do with a suspect while posing as a prostitute.

And even then, I'd personally broken the no penises, no vaginas rule many times before enough people heard about me for it to become an embarrassment to the department.

As I stroked his erection through his pants, as I leaned my head back and pushed my chest out while her hand resumed its journey on my tit, I felt only a little ashamed of myself that I was pretty turned on.

"I have an idea," the guy said.

He and the girl locked eyes. I guessed whatever look he got in response made him feel like he had permission.

He turned to me and said, "I think you should lean back and spread your legs."

I looked to him, then to her. She looked trepidatious. But she didn't look like she was checking out. I also looked to Alex. He was looking directly at me, from his vantage point in the chair in the corner.

I slouched, leaned back, spread my legs. I hooked one over her thigh and the other over his. My big, dark patch of dense pubic curls was on full display. Every pair of eyes in the room was locked onto it.

It felt a little flattering, and more than a little humiliating. Somehow, it was a potent combination. It was thrilling.

I was going to scream if I had to hear this guy say "I have an idea" one more time.

I asked them, "Which one of you wants to get your fingers wet?"

The guy told his wife, "I think you should do it."

She said, "No, you do it."

He immediately reached over, put his hand square on the roll of fat at the base of my belly. He exhaled nervously through his nose as he inched his way down.

As sweet a couple as they were, as increasingly bad as I felt for what Alex and I were about to do to them, watching them navigate this situation was fascinating, frustrating, and funny in equal measure.

His fingers crawled their way into my pubic hair, brushing the damp flesh underneath, right as her trailing fingertips found my low-slung areola. It wasn't bad, but the simultaneous contact was so intense.

Part of it was that they had clearly different levels of enthusiasm. Different levels of comfort expressing what they wanted or needed sexually, especially in front of strangers, in front of a new partner.

He'd been so quick to touch my body, just as soon as she gave him the clear. It seemed very telling to me.

I also got the feeling that this was a microcosm of their marriage in general. This was their decisionmaking process. How they picked a movie, how they decided what to have for dinner.

Once he found my plump labia, the wet entrance in between, he put the tips of two fingers in without hesitation. I glanced at Alex out of the quarter of my eye. He simply watched, cryptic. I knew he saw it.

Suddenly, I was uncomfortable. Not just from the invading object, just about an inch inside my body. I was uncomfortable with her touch as well, gentle as she was. Uncomfortable being sandwiched between them.

"Oh, you two," I said, my head still lolling back. "I need just a moment."

They both withdrew. I tried to be as kind as possible, but they seemed taken aback. I got up, turned sideways, belatedly realizing I was trying to hide my privates from them, and how silly that was.

I mustered my sexy voice, looked down, gave them a wink.

"Don't go anywhere," I said.

I went over to Alex, crouched in front of him, and spoke to him as quietly as I could.

"So?" I said.

"So?" he repeated.

"He just had his fingers in my pussy."

"Lucky him."

"Aren't you going to..."

"What?"

"Bust them?"

He looked concerned. He leaned forward in his seat, speaking even more quietly, even though we were both nearly silent as it was.

"This isn't one of those cop scenes," he said. "And this isn't the first time you've seemed unclear about that. Are you okay?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Do you want to abort?"

I looked over my shoulder. They were sitting there together, watching us, patiently waiting for me to come back. They were holding hands. It was pretty unbearable.

"No," I heard myself say, "I don't want to abort."

"Do you want to keep going?"

"Yes," I heard myself say.

"Okay. As you were."

They were nice kids. I didn't feel like I could just leave it at this. And as incomprehensible as it was, I was off the hook. I felt so bad for setting them up that I was grateful I only had to fuck them.

I stood up, turned to face them, did my best to do a sexy walk as I forced myself to return to the bed. Each footstep I took was charged with a strange electricity. Confused, fateful, erotic, inevitable.

One of those cop scenes, he had said. What had he meant by that? It was so confusing. If this wasn't a cop thing, what was I even doing here? Even if it was a cop thing? I wasn't a cop. I was a housewife.

Regardless, I was here, this was what we were doing, and I didn't like any of the other options enough to stop. I would just do my best to temper the turmoil, to keep a full-on, high-temp freakout at bay.

It was like I was watching from outside my body. I saw myself sit on the bed, putting her in the middle again. My suggestion. After all, this was for her. It was her turn to be the special guest star.

The guy and I resumed feeling her boobs. Unbidden, she crossed her arms in front of her and lifted her shirt, the cloth sliding out from under our palms. I was a little surprised by her sudden boldness.

She tossed the shirt aside and leaned back, propped up on her hands. She'd looked busty with the shirt on. Topless, they were the biggest boobs I'd ever seen in person, by a long shot. And they were perfect.

"Are you ready?" he asked her.

She nodded. She looked embarrassed to be seen. It was like she spent all her courage on that one brave act.

He leaned down, right in front of a light pink areola that was nearly as big as his face. With familiar ease, he drew the fingerlike nipple into his mouth. She hissed through her teeth, but only for a second.

I watched the guy as he suckled his wife, cupping the pale flesh from underneath, stroking with his fingertips. The tension slowly left her, the tolerance built, a sensory experience I'd had myself many times.

I got my face down next to his, an intimate closeness. I cupped her other tit. It was so heavy, so substantial, but soft and delicate, the skin nearly translucent, lined with faint blue pathways to her heart.

When in Rome.

I put my mouth on her nipple, closing my lips around the nub, drawing it in with a gentle suction. It was hard. I could feel it getting harder. She smelled like ocean fragrance and sweat. I was drunk on it.

I felt her hand on the back of my head, her fingers threading through my hair, making a fist and pulling dully at the locks any time we did something good. His hair was short. She simply stroked his scalp.

I figured, with obvious exceptions, anything he did, I had permission to do. When he put his hand on her inner thigh and pulled one leg away from the other, I did likewise. When he tugged her skirt up, so did I.

When I saw his hand lay on the dark cloth between her legs, I instead ran my hand back up her skirt, over her partially exposed upper belly, to her tit. Even through panties, her pussy seemed like an exception.

We both busied our mouths with her tits. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his hand stroking her through her panties, then slip inside of them. Her breathing was slow, catching in her throat.

Finally, she pulled away from us, laughing, saying she needed a break. The guy and I laughed too, a mixture of nervousness and relief. The moment was heavy. I think we all felt a little silly.

She flopped back on the bed, arms akimbo, those marvelous breasts laying slightly upwards on her chest. I worried that they might suffocate her.

The guy and I happened to lock eyes. I was a little self-conscious, and I think he was, too, but neither of us looked away. His eyes smoldered when he looked at me. I suppose mine were also smoldering.

I made sure I said it loud enough so that she could hear and veto if she needed to.

"I could suck your dick until we're all ready to go again."

He immediately looked over at her. Seeking permission, gauging her reaction, whatever. I kept my gaze on him. I didn't want to hover. This was between the two of them.

Then he looked at me and said, "How do we do it?"

"Stand up. I'll kneel on the floor in front of you."

"Can I sit on the edge of the bed?"

"I want her to watch."

"I'm fine," she said, her voice floating over the great naked hills of her torso.

I looked over at her. "Sweetie. We're doing so well, the three of us. Let's keep that going."