Breaking and Enteringbybeaugueste©
As Hicks pulled his glistening, flaccid cock from my mouth and turned away to find his clothes, I looked up to see that Kennedy had already dressed and Dunbar was just buttoning the top of his shirt. Still on my knees, I leaned against the couch, exhausted.
"So... like, do you think you're gonna be able to find the guys who took my stuff?" I asked, wiping a wad of half-dried cum from the side of my nose.
"Oh, I don't think they've gotten very far." Dunbar replied, with a peculiar smile.
"Yeah, I'm sure you'll hear from us again real soon regarding tonight." Kennedy followed, chuckling lightly and putting away the notepad he'd been writing in earlier. "In the meantime, you should always be careful in a neighborhood like this. You never know who could be lurking." He leered once more at my still-heaving breasts, spattered and crusted with hardening white spots of drying cum.
"I'm sure we'll be in touch soon." He said, and with that, he and the others turned and walked out of the apartment, shutting the door behind them.
Gathering myself, I rose from the floor and walked -- slowly and sorely -- to the bedroom, and picked up a pair of pajama pants and a lightweight grey t-shirt from the floor. I surveyed the wreckage of my room and, heeding the advice of Dunbar, walked to the window at the fire escape and shut and locked it.
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Stepping in to the spray, I felt it soothe my aching muscles as the hot water washed the cum from my hair and skin. I luxuriated in the steamy shower, taking a luffa to my breasts, throat, and shoulders to scrub away the dried cum. Finally, satisfied that I was clean, and eager for another glass of wine, I shut off the water and gingerly stepped out of the shower, wrapping my body in one towel while wrapping my wet hair in another. I dressed in the clothes I'd grabbed from the floor and walked back to the living room, telling myself I'd clean up the mess in the bedroom momentarily.
I poured another glass of wine, and picked up my phone from the kitchen counter.
"Oh crap, my mom called duri-" I stopped myself... during... I wasn't sure how to verbalize the night's encounter, even to myself. I'd missed one of our thrice-weekly calls. "I guess I should leave out the break-in." I thought to myself as I dialed. "Hey Mom..." and launched into a description of my day at work. She followed with gossip about our friends and family at home, and I was soon lost in the conversation as I walked through the apartment. I noticed it was getting hot in my apartment again and I absent-mindedly opened the bedroom window again, continuing to be drawn into the discussion about yet another pregnant cousin. A few moments later, I heard a knock at my front door.
"Mom, hold on a minute, there's someone at my door." I said into the receiver. I peered through the peephole, and saw a middle-aged black man holding up a police badge. "Uhh... can I help you?" I asked, confused.
"Detective Hobbes. You call about a burglary?" he answered.
"Well, yes, but I'm confused. Could you give me a moment please?" I returned to the phone, made an excuse to my mom about a friend dropping in, and hung up. I unlocked and opened the door, but left the chain in place. "Detective Hobbes, I spoke with three officers earlier tonight. Why are you here now?"
"Ma'am, I was sent by dispatch and have received no word of other offices being sent to this address. What were the names and badge numbers of these officers?" he replied.
"I... well, none of them showed me a badge... but their name tags said Kennedy, Hicks and Dunbar."
"Ma'am, I can only tell you that I am the officer sent by dispatch to this address, here is my badge. When someone presents themselves as a police officer in any circumstance, you should always request to see their badge. You can let me in and I can take a statement from you, or I can go on to the next call -- there are a lot of them and it's almost ten; my shift is supposed to end then."
I considered this, took a long look at his badge and identification, and let Detective Hobbes into the apartment, a sickening feeling of confused fear growing in the pit of my stomach. He took a look around my apartment, surveying the damage and taking a (another?) statement from me regarding the evening's events -- I glossed over some details of the manner in which the other officers had taken my statement.
Wrapping things up, Hobbes turned to give me a last word of caution.
"Ma'am, never forget that this is a transitional neighborhood. You should always be real careful around here." I nodded in agreement at the same cautions I'd heard from my parents, coworkers, and the officers earlier in the evening. Hobbes began to walk through the door, but turned back to me again. "Oh, and ma'am, I'd also take care regarding the volume of your voice and that open window. From the street below, I could hear your entire phone conversation. Hope everything's all right with your cousin." He gave me a friendly smile, handed me his card and told me to call him if I remembered anything more about the intruders, and then bid me a good evening.
I shut the door behind him, leaning against the door for a short moment to collect my breath. Why did an additional policeman come to my apartment after the others left? Why hadn't Hobbes so much as dusted for prints, whereas the others insisted on taking intimate pieces of my clothing as evidence? And how were the other guys going to get in touch with me as they had said they would, when they hadn't so much as gotten my phone number before they left?
My head spun with confusion as I collected the spilled contents of my dresser, scooping bras, panties, t-shirts, and sweatpants into drawers and reassembled the furniture piece. I rearranged the spilled books on my shelf, hurriedly finished my glass of wine, and then put myself to bed. I was eager to put this day behind me, though I still had some trouble falling asleep.
The next morning, I awoke to my alarm and dragged myself out of bed, still sore and walking with a slightly minced gait. As with any other morning, I showered, dried, and picked out my clothes for work. I selected a pale pink lace thong and matching bra from my drawer, with a tight white button-down shirt and grey pants that hung snug to my ass and thighs. I looked in the mirror, checking out the generous profile of my D cups, pushed upwards by the bra's underwire and threatening to burst the struggling buttons of my shirt. A quarter turn, and I had a full view my butt, round and firm, framed in my tight wool pants.
"Hell of a nice ass for ANY girl." I said to my reflection, smiling slightly as I thought of the compliment from the night before. At that, I checked my watch, grabbed my purse, and walked out the door; I'd decided I would skip the gym that evening with the workout I'd gotten the night before.
As I approached the front door of the building, I heard loud male voices and raucous laughter. The dice game was back, and I braced myself for a barrage of obscenely inappropriate comments about my outfit and body.
I walked to the front steps while an eerie hush fell over the stoop. It was almost as if my former harassers had disappeared. I almost turned around at the steps, but then-
"Hell of a nice ass for a white girl." I heard from behind me. I froze, but I didn't need to turn around. Kennedy's voice -- and the words so familiar now from the night before and now reminiscent of earlier in the evening -- had called out behind me.
"I think now we all know that she knows how to suck a dick." And I heard Hicks' voice and laughter and I tried to hide my discomfort as I started walking away, blushing and not daring to look back.
"You've always got to be careful in a neighborhood like this." What I recognized to be Dunbar's voice rang out behind me.
I struggled to maintain my composure as I quickened my pace, knowing I wasn't hiding my blushing as well as I hoped.
"You'll hear from us again real soon, Sarah." Kennedy called after me. "Real soon."