I had a young lady assigned to work with me on a case that required frequent, after dark surveillance. She was attractive, with exceptionally exotic blue eyes. She was built large enough that it was obvious weight would be a problem for her in the future, if she didn't control it now. She also thought that she had to talk about anything sexual like a man, and that was hilarious entertainment for what would otherwise have been boring stake outs.
I'd never seen her sidearm and remarked about that one night, as we sat in a car, watching a residence down the street. She told me that she carried a small pistol that held six .45acp rounds +1 in the chamber. I was impressed with her choice of caliber, which was unusual for a woman. I would have figured on 9mm or even .380acp, so her choice was good in my opinion and I told her so.
She giggled and said I probably wouldn't like her pistol, considering where she carried it. When I asked her why her method of carry would effect my opinion of the gun, she giggled and said, “Because my sidearm smells like..... pussy.”
She told me she was serious, then pulled the elastic waist band of her slacks away from her body. Sure enough, there was her gun in a belly band holster, with the pistol sitting right over her snatch which was in plain view. She was taking a sip of coffee as she showed me the goodies, grinning at me from behind the cup as she stared at me with those big blue eyes.
I couldn't help it, so I said, “In other words, if I say I'm going to snatch your gun, your reply would be, don't bother. I've already done that?”
Next thing I know, she's cleaned out her sinuses with hot coffee and damned near gagged to death from laughing with her mouth and nose full of the stuff.
She was still wiping coffee off of her shirt when our subject came out of the house we were watching, got in a car and backed out into the street. I fired up our car and we spent the rest of the shift bar hopping as he went from club to club. All of which had topless or nude dancers on the menu. None of which we got to see, 'cause we were sitting in our car, in the parking lot, while he got drop dead drunk. He could hardly walk when he came out of the last club and tried to get to his car. He made it, and we watched from close behind him, as he went home on auto pilot or whatever.
A few nights later we had to work and once we were on station, she asked how my wife was doing. I told her that she was fine and that tonight she was entertaining some clients at a local club, without saying which club, or where. Her question was obviously meant to pass the time, and I doubt she really cared.
We'd been there, in the dark, for about two hours. I had to take a leak and told her I'd go behind the car, which I did. When I got back in, she said it was her turn. She opened her door, sat down on the door sill, and proceeded to pee on the pavement. She was wearing a skirt that night, but I hadn't seen any panties, so just for the hell of it, I asked her if she was wearing underwear. She said, “Of course not. You know I don't use 'em”.
I didn't react, on purpose. What I did was to ask her if I could take a look at her pistol. She said sure, pulled up her skirt and pulled the pistol out of her bellyband holster. She dropped the mag, cleared the chamber, then handed the gun to me. I checked the mag well and the chamber, and when I was sure it was safe, I put the muzzle to my nose and took a deep breath. She was right. It definitely smelled like pussy, and that was a good thing, not a bad thing.
She had a curious grin on her face and she'd made no move to cover her pussy while I checked out the gun. I told her that her 'piece' smelled good enough to eat, and without any hesitation she said, “My pussy would taste better I think. I used some special oil on it tonight, in case you might be interested.” Now her grin was ear to ear.
I reached over and touched her. Sure enough, even the little tuft of hair was slick to my touch. I told her to watch the house down the street, then leaned over and caught the same smell of cinnamon and 'woman' that I'd smelled on her gun.
I'd never seen her sidearm and remarked about that one night, as we sat in a car, watching a residence down the street. She told me that she carried a small pistol that held six .45acp rounds +1 in the chamber. I was impressed with her choice of caliber, which was unusual for a woman. I would have figured on 9mm or even .380acp, so her choice was good in my opinion and I told her so.
She giggled and said I probably wouldn't like her pistol, considering where she carried it. When I asked her why her method of carry would effect my opinion of the gun, she giggled and said, “Because my sidearm smells like..... pussy.”
She told me she was serious, then pulled the elastic waist band of her slacks away from her body. Sure enough, there was her gun in a belly band holster, with the pistol sitting right over her snatch which was in plain view. She was taking a sip of coffee as she showed me the goodies, grinning at me from behind the cup as she stared at me with those big blue eyes.
I couldn't help it, so I said, “In other words, if I say I'm going to snatch your gun, your reply would be, don't bother. I've already done that?”
Next thing I know, she's cleaned out her sinuses with hot coffee and damned near gagged to death from laughing with her mouth and nose full of the stuff.
She was still wiping coffee off of her shirt when our subject came out of the house we were watching, got in a car and backed out into the street. I fired up our car and we spent the rest of the shift bar hopping as he went from club to club. All of which had topless or nude dancers on the menu. None of which we got to see, 'cause we were sitting in our car, in the parking lot, while he got drop dead drunk. He could hardly walk when he came out of the last club and tried to get to his car. He made it, and we watched from close behind him, as he went home on auto pilot or whatever.
A few nights later we had to work and once we were on station, she asked how my wife was doing. I told her that she was fine and that tonight she was entertaining some clients at a local club, without saying which club, or where. Her question was obviously meant to pass the time, and I doubt she really cared.
We'd been there, in the dark, for about two hours. I had to take a leak and told her I'd go behind the car, which I did. When I got back in, she said it was her turn. She opened her door, sat down on the door sill, and proceeded to pee on the pavement. She was wearing a skirt that night, but I hadn't seen any panties, so just for the hell of it, I asked her if she was wearing underwear. She said, “Of course not. You know I don't use 'em”.
I didn't react, on purpose. What I did was to ask her if I could take a look at her pistol. She said sure, pulled up her skirt and pulled the pistol out of her bellyband holster. She dropped the mag, cleared the chamber, then handed the gun to me. I checked the mag well and the chamber, and when I was sure it was safe, I put the muzzle to my nose and took a deep breath. She was right. It definitely smelled like pussy, and that was a good thing, not a bad thing.
She had a curious grin on her face and she'd made no move to cover her pussy while I checked out the gun. I told her that her 'piece' smelled good enough to eat, and without any hesitation she said, “My pussy would taste better I think. I used some special oil on it tonight, in case you might be interested.” Now her grin was ear to ear.
I reached over and touched her. Sure enough, even the little tuft of hair was slick to my touch. I told her to watch the house down the street, then leaned over and caught the same smell of cinnamon and 'woman' that I'd smelled on her gun.
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When I bent closer and ran my tongue into her pussy, she moaned and rolled her hips against my mouth. I stopped long enough to tell her that if she didn't keep her eyes open and focused on the house we were watching, I'd quit and make her walk home.
Bless her heart if she didn't try, and she actually saw our subject when he backed out and headed up the street. Over the next few hours, we parked in various club lots and while we waited for our guys next move, she sat close to me so I could put my finger into her pussy and make her writhe like a stripper doing a bump and grind. I think she must have gotten off five or six times during our shift, and I have to admit that she looked terrific when that happened. When I dropped her off at her car, she was exhausted but gave me a very happy kiss, telling me that tomorrow night it was her turn to drive. I said that if she was telling me what I thought she was telling me, I could hardly wait. She giggled, got in her car, and we each went our separate ways.
This young woman was extremely career oriented, which didn't make for development of personal relations. She was using me for sex because she trusted me, and we were already “partners” in the things she considered important in her life. All of which worked out well for both of us, and actually made our work more effective since the tension between man and woman was acknowledged and handled. No stress, sub-conscious or otherwise.
She came over a few times, off duty and went for walks with me in our 'jungle' property, and she was naked every time. My wife had suggested to her that it was very therapeutic to go walking naked, in the woods. She told her that if one were lucky, one might even get fucked out there in Mother Nature's garden. My wife was right.
Once the cat was outta the bag (no pun intended) it became the norm for her to be either naked or at least bottomless when we had a surveillance in the wee hours of the night. Not when there was a possibility of a need for a fast response, but when we were waiting and watching for a rolling surveillance, in which case she'd have time to get her dress pulled down, or her top on.
And on top of all of this, she was as good a cop as you ask for. Used her head more than her authority, but knew how to get down when the SHTF. If I hadn't loved my wife, this lady would be married to me as I write this.
Probably the most exciting place where we got it on was also the dumbest, since it could have cost us our jobs.
We pulled into the underground garage to park our vehicle one night, around 3:30 a.m. We were going off duty and after parking in a dark part of the garage, I leaned over and kissed her. She surprised me by grabbing me and pulling me closer as she escalated the kiss to attack mode. She also took my left hand and shoved it into her crotch which was wide open, bare as a baby, and wet to the point where the seat would need to dry out.
Next thing I knew, I was over her, shoving my cock into her, and we steamed the windows as we rocked the car like it was full of stampeding cattle. Surely anyone who wandered into the area would have known what was going on. It was so good, but so violent, that it stands out as one of the wildest sexual encounters of my life. Probably because of the location, the urgency we were both feeling, and the close quarters in which we were working.
The next evening, when we went to the car to head out into the field, I was standing there looking at the interior. When she asked me what I was doing, I told her honestly, that I could not believe that we did what we did, in that little space. She giggled and asked if we needed to repeat our performance, so I could analyze the dimensions properly. I said that absolutely we needed to do that, but later, somewhere else. She told me it was a date, and we got in and drove away to protect and serve for the next eight hours or more.
Bless her heart if she didn't try, and she actually saw our subject when he backed out and headed up the street. Over the next few hours, we parked in various club lots and while we waited for our guys next move, she sat close to me so I could put my finger into her pussy and make her writhe like a stripper doing a bump and grind. I think she must have gotten off five or six times during our shift, and I have to admit that she looked terrific when that happened. When I dropped her off at her car, she was exhausted but gave me a very happy kiss, telling me that tomorrow night it was her turn to drive. I said that if she was telling me what I thought she was telling me, I could hardly wait. She giggled, got in her car, and we each went our separate ways.
This young woman was extremely career oriented, which didn't make for development of personal relations. She was using me for sex because she trusted me, and we were already “partners” in the things she considered important in her life. All of which worked out well for both of us, and actually made our work more effective since the tension between man and woman was acknowledged and handled. No stress, sub-conscious or otherwise.
She came over a few times, off duty and went for walks with me in our 'jungle' property, and she was naked every time. My wife had suggested to her that it was very therapeutic to go walking naked, in the woods. She told her that if one were lucky, one might even get fucked out there in Mother Nature's garden. My wife was right.
Once the cat was outta the bag (no pun intended) it became the norm for her to be either naked or at least bottomless when we had a surveillance in the wee hours of the night. Not when there was a possibility of a need for a fast response, but when we were waiting and watching for a rolling surveillance, in which case she'd have time to get her dress pulled down, or her top on.
And on top of all of this, she was as good a cop as you ask for. Used her head more than her authority, but knew how to get down when the SHTF. If I hadn't loved my wife, this lady would be married to me as I write this.
Probably the most exciting place where we got it on was also the dumbest, since it could have cost us our jobs.
We pulled into the underground garage to park our vehicle one night, around 3:30 a.m. We were going off duty and after parking in a dark part of the garage, I leaned over and kissed her. She surprised me by grabbing me and pulling me closer as she escalated the kiss to attack mode. She also took my left hand and shoved it into her crotch which was wide open, bare as a baby, and wet to the point where the seat would need to dry out.
Next thing I knew, I was over her, shoving my cock into her, and we steamed the windows as we rocked the car like it was full of stampeding cattle. Surely anyone who wandered into the area would have known what was going on. It was so good, but so violent, that it stands out as one of the wildest sexual encounters of my life. Probably because of the location, the urgency we were both feeling, and the close quarters in which we were working.
The next evening, when we went to the car to head out into the field, I was standing there looking at the interior. When she asked me what I was doing, I told her honestly, that I could not believe that we did what we did, in that little space. She giggled and asked if we needed to repeat our performance, so I could analyze the dimensions properly. I said that absolutely we needed to do that, but later, somewhere else. She told me it was a date, and we got in and drove away to protect and serve for the next eight hours or more.
