Chapter 1
Sergeant David Montrose avoided looking directly at his partner's profiled breasts, forcing his quick glance higher, at the proud dainty chin and the sybaritic lips. His strong jaw tightened as he swung his suddenly cold eyes back to the Gold Street traffic, concentrating on license plates in an effort to avoid the comparison that had flashed across his brain and down to his sweaty crotch.
"Why the chill?" Shirley Bascomb demanded, tucking a wisp of blonde hair under the band of the precisely angled cap. "Did I do something wrong?"
Sergeant Montrose gave an unintelligible grunt, his large competent hands tightening on the wheel of the Impala. The sound substituted for the mental imprecation he aimed at the slowly hardening cylinder of his long thick cock.
It wasn't reasonable to compare Violet to the efficient, self-possessed woman who sat beside him. But it was increasingly impossible not to do so. The confines of the patrol car created an atmosphere of intimacy almost as powerful as that of his own bedroom.
"Come on, Dave," Shirley insisted, shifting her hips on the seat. "What's bugging you?"
"It's a personal matter," the handsome man answered, injecting a softness he did not feel into his deep voice. He wheeled the Impala to the curb before a modest apartment building, keeping his face averted as Shirley swung her slender legs toward the opening door, the tight blue skirt crawling upward over the enticing curves of her perfect thighs.
She stood for a moment beside the car, hand resting lightly on the polished handle of the open door. Her tone was sincere as she asked, "Is there anything I can do?"
He shook his head, finally giving her his eyes in a strained smile. "Thanks, kid. But no. See you tomorrow."
Patrolwoman Shirley Bascomb watched the Impala dive into the early morning traffic and one delicate brow lowered in a quizzical frown. Then, adjusting the strap of her heavy shoulder bag, she marched into the marble foyer, hips shifting voluptuously beneath the dark blue skirt.
She had taken more than her share of good-natured ribbing from the other members of the force over her inability to keep her buttocks from giving a provocative wiggle when she walked. Some of the other female recruits discovered a similar problem. But none of the others had hips and waist to match Shirley's. In fact, as Sergeant Montrose had observed in his terse fashion, Shirley B as comb's body was not standard equipment.
She was twenty-five and tall enough to carry the weight that would have made most women appear plump. On Shirley's five-nine frame, the pounds became dips and swells that even the most conservatively cut uniform could not disguise.
"Morning, Officer Bascomb." The elevator operator, an ancient whose reliability was on a par with that of the metal cage, greeted her with rheumy-eyed admiration. "Catch any bad guys last night?"
It was an accepted ritual, for which Shirley had to prepare a different answer each morning. In spite of her preoccupation, she was ready for him. Stepping into the insecurity of the elevator, she said, "I caught one bad woman. Want me to bring her around?"
The old man cackled his appreciation and Shirley found her own mood lightened by the familiar exchange. She would hate to see the man go when the apartment installed the long-promised automatic elevators later in the year. He was an anachronism, an incongruity that evoked a nostalgic acceptance of his presence. To Shirley, his dusty uniform and archaic expressions were reminiscent of another apartment and another elevator that carried a precocious youngster up and down in the mock dignity of early puberty.
She fitted her key in the door marked 317 and entered the comfortable, but undeniably feminine living room, flashing a warm smile at the dapperly dressed man who stood holding two martinis in his manicured hands.
"Hello, darling," she murmured, tossing her shoulder bag onto the couch and extending her arms as she walked toward him.
Chuck Newman stepped backward with a slight frown, extending the drinks as if to ward her off. "Don't bruise the threads," he exclaimed in a rich baritone. "We're taping a session with the mayor at ten o'clock."
She lifted her lips, holding her tongue in check as his mouth touched hers. His lotion and cologne flared her nostrils as she accepted the proffered glass.
Sipping the martini, which she didn't want, Shirley-watched him perch carefully on the edge of the couch, checking the creases of his immaculate trousers.
"Tell the mayor Patrolwoman Bascomb said... " She thrust her tongue forward between relaxed lips with an obscene sound.
His face, well known to the area's television viewers, responded with a faint smile. "When are you going to give up that silly title and that stupid uniform?" he asked flatly. "We've been engaged for damn near a year, and you still haven't given me a definite date."
Shirley loosened the buttons on her blouse, fluttering her lashes suggestively. "I've given you everything else," she answered teasingly. "We probably screw more now than we will after we're married."
His lips twitched in amused appreciation, but his tone was still firm as he said, "I've told you repeatedly, Shirley, I don't intend to marry a cop."
She suppressed her sudden anger, keeping her own voice level as she said, "In other words, it's all right to fuck one, so long as you don't marry her."
"Goddamn it," he exclaimed, thumping his empty glass down on the coffee table and rising to his feet. "I didn't mean it that way, and you know it!" His face shifted expressions and his voice became almost pleading.
"Let's not fight, sweetheart. I didn't come by for that."
She undid her tie and unbuttoned the front of her shirt, feeling his eyes on the firm mounds that strained against the big bra. The nipples began stiffening, and a pleasant warmth invaded her thighs and belly, its heat centering in the moist crease of her plump labia.
"What did you come by for, Chuck?" she asked teasingly.
"As if you didn't know," he grinned, nodding toward the door of her single bedroom. "Want to catch a quick shower? I'll get undressed." He was already moving toward the door.
Shirley finished the martini in one quick gulp, shuddering as the liquid added its fire to the heat in her loins. She picked up her bag and went into the bathroom.
Naked, her body glowing and pink from the caress of the thick towel, she emerged to walk barefoot to the bedroom door, pausing to stare boldly at Chuck's handsome body on the carefully turned-down bed, her gaze centering on the swollen column that thrust upward from the juncture of his hairy thighs.
She moved toward him, conscious of his approving eyes on her full breasts, lush hips, and golden-haired mound. Her nipples hardened almost painfully with desire, and she felt the juices bubble inside her vagina.
He turned as she lay down beside him, ramming his prick against the slight swell of her belly, and crushing his open mouth against hers. Her tongue drove between his lips and she wriggled closer, sliding her tits against the wiry hair of his powerful chest.
She offered no resistance when he rolled her onto her back, mounting her and waiting until her fingers gripped his cock to guide it into the snug-fitting lips of her pussy. With one easy movement of his hips, he slid the shaft into her receptive sheath and began a steady pistoning of the clenching channel.
Shirley's legs wound about his waist, levering her wiggling ass up to insure the deepest possible penetration of that hot hardness, squeezing her vaginal muscles about it as it frictioned in and out with gathering speed.
She came with a hoarse cry of pleasure as his cock leaped and spurted deep inside her belly, and she ground her sensitive labial mound tightly against his bucking pelvic arch as the shudders of ecstasy wrenched at her juicy cunt.
He forced her arms and legs to release him, extracting his tool with a little sigh of finality and climbing to his feet. He looked down at her wet crotch.
"You'll have to take another shower after I leave," he observed, padding naked from the room.
She heard the soft whisper of the shower and his hurried movements as he returned to dress. But she kept her eyes closed and her thighs clamped tightly to hold the seminal flood he had released inside her.
He bent over the bed, careful to touch only her cheek with his kiss. "I'll call you tonight," he said. She nodded, not speaking, waiting until the door had closed to signal his departure. Then she rolled onto her belly, hugging the pillow tightly against her aching breasts, her hips moving angrily as the hunger in her pussy became intolerable.
"Shit!" she cried, muffling the expletive by burying her contorted face in the pillow as she hunched her empty cunt against the impotent tangle of sheets. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
She had done exactly what, as a girl, she swore she would never do. She had drifted into a routine existence, only the eight hours of patrol duty preventing her entire life from becoming utterly predictable.
Even promiscuity, hateful as she considered it, would be preferable to the monotony of her present arrangement. She had hoped that the engagement and her eventual marriage to Chuck would supply the missing ingredient in her life. But her tentative doubts were fast becoming convictions that the wedding would only worsen an already intolerable situation.
There had been only two men in her life before she welcomed Chuck Newman into her bed and between her legs. One of them hardly counted, except as a reminder that she had once been a virgin. He was only sixteen when he performed the simple, but miraculous operation that catapulted her from innocence to womanhood at the age of fourteen.
Shirley recalled only that she had been grateful for the release. But, although she had welcomed the early maturity his seduction effected, she had never exercised it, contenting herself with observation rather than participation.
Not until she met Travis Dowling did she permit another male organ to invade her delightfully tight pussy. She was nineteen then, and Travis was an enthusiastic twenty-two, just embarking on what he insisted was a lifetime career as a police officer.
They had, as she admitted only to herself, tried to fuck themselves to death during the six short months of their torrid romance. What neither of them knew they discovered in the bedroom, the car, or a shadowed doorway.
She had held nothing back, nor had she failed to take with equal passion. The six months stood as a reminder that the present monotony was not the only possible answer. It served also as a warning that men could be as unpredictable as women. Travis had unexpectedly announced a transfer to the West Coast, and failed to include any suggestion that she accompany him.
At least, she comforted herself, Chuck Newman offered some measure of security. If his quick, inexpert lovemaking left something to be desired, she would tolerate it In other words, she thought, just before sleep claimed her, a quick fuck is better than no fuck at all.
As Patrolwoman Shirley Bascomb slept, across town, in the small, heavily financed bungalow he shared with his wife of six years, her partner, Sergeant David Montrose, watched Violet tug her filmy gown up and over the dark brown hair.
Violet was a beautiful woman, Dave mused, lying naked on the bed, his fingers moving idly along the eight-inch prick that arched upward from the base of his slabbed belly, its thick root planted in a mass of black curls that spread wildly over the muscular thighs and reached to his navel with one hairy branch.
"Let me look at you for a minute," he said, moving his hand lower to lift the weighty sac with its peach-sized globes.
"Don't you see enough skin?" she demanded impatiently, tossing the gown across the foot of the bed and running her fingers through her chestnut waves. Her nipples, Dave noted, were in retreat. Only rarely had he been able to bring them to the swollen strut of high passion. He ignored her question.
"Doesn't your darling Shirley give you a peek at her precious little snatch?" his wife said mockingly. "No wonder the crime rate is up. They put some damned floozie in the car with a real cop, and he spends all his time sniffing at her tail."
"Cut it out, Vi," he said wearily. "Shirley's carrying her weight."
"From the looks of those tits, she's not able to carry much else!" Violet snorted. She stood beside the bed, as if undecided whether to lie down. She scratched one tawny thigh, near the flare of her right hip. Dave's eyes watched the movement, his gaze taking in the lush jungle of her cuntal mound.
"I wonder how the other wives feel," she went on, "having their men work up a real hard feeling around on those damned whores, then coming home to pump it off in them."
"Goddamn it!" Dave growled, sitting up in the bed and glaring at her with angry eyes. "I got this fucking bone when we were kissing after breakfast. I got it because I wanted to go to bed with you."
She glared back, her lips ugly with a sneer. "Go to bed with me and pretend you're screwing your darling Shirley!" she hissed. "The only time you get excited is after you've played around with her all night!"
"What the hell do you expect?" he roared. "I work my shift and come home. When am I supposed to get it up?"
She gave a sigh of resignation, lowering herself to the bed and spreading her legs. "Go ahead," she muttered. "It's my duty to let you work it off. Let's get it over with."
He looked down at her pointed breasts, and the pink slit of her cunt that peeped through the dark curls. She stared back, afraid for a moment that she had gone too far. He had never struck her. But she was never certain that he wouldn't, if the provocation was sufficiently great.
"Jesus Christ!" he groaned, rolling atop her and mashing his chest against the warm resiliency of her breasts. "Even when you're bitchy, you're beautiful!"
His mouth clamped wetly over her unresponsive lips, and he fumbled with his engorged prick, aiming it for the hot core of her splayed pussy, jamming the head into the yielding slit.
Violet grunted as the cock spread her labial ring into a tight-fitting circle, forcing its huge knob into the vaginal entrance, its thick shaft boring through the pliant corridor until the leathery sac plastered its big globes against her perineum. She rested her hands on his broad shoulders, not caressing, but reminding him that she had no better use for them.
Dave made a little moaning sound as he screwed his prick into her with a grinding motion of his pelvis that rubbed the buried head about in the hot moist folds and frictioned the base in the cuntal sphincter. Violet gave an impatient movement of her hips.
"For god's sake! Get on with it! You're mashing the breath out of me!" Her tone was one of breathless disgust.
His ass began rising and falling, driving his throbbing cock in and out of the hot embrace of her snug pussy. The channel was not as juicy as he would have liked it to be. But it was slick enough to permit the thick prong to slide through with just the right tension.
He fucked her slowly, ignoring her aggravated sighs and refusal to respond. If she wanted him to come more quickly, she could trigger him by merely working that streamlined ass a little.
She had done that before their marriage, he remembered. He had marched to the altar firmly convinced that he was getting the hottest piece of tail in the city. She was twenty-one years old, and eminently capable of turning the most demanding of his wet dreams into a juicy reality.
Then, secure in her belief that he held his marriage vows more sacred than his physical needs, she had withdrawn all but a basic compliance, letting him screw her, but refusing to permit the liberties he had enjoyed prior to their marriage.
"Don't take all day, Dave!" she exclaimed when he plunged his cock into her and held it for a longer than usual time, his lips nibbling on her smooth shoulder. "My god! You'd think you were seventy-one instead of thirty-one! Did Shirley take so much out of you that you can't get it off?"
He placed both palms on her firm tits, pushing his torso upward while his pelvis remained firmly seated against hers. The movement made his prick edge deeper, and Violet swallowed an involuntary grunt. He stared down at her face.
"You know, Vi," he said in a surprisingly gentle tone. "It's little digs like that that make me stick around. They let me know you're still capable of jealousy. I keep hoping you'll remember the fun we used to have."
"Fun?" she blurted, her mouth twisting. "You think it's fun having some slob sweat all over you and try to ram his cock all the way up to your ovaries? All I remember is your trying to get me to suck the nasty thing!"
He shook his head. "You did suck it," he reminded her. "Not because I made you do it, but because you said you wanted us to try everything in the book."
"Yes," she rattled on, ignoring the contradiction, "and you made me take it up the ass! I was sore for a goddamned week!"
"Yeah," he sighed. "So sore you begged me to do it again two nights later."
"That's a damned lie!" she exclaimed in a shrill voice. Her knees came up on either side, her heels digging into the bed. She gripped his arms, trying to lift his palms from her breasts, and her ass writhed in an effort to dislodge his hilted prick. "I've had enough, Dave! Get off of me!" She snarled up into his face, eyes blazing her hatred, however temporary.
His six-four, two hundred ten pounds held her easily, and his cock jerked with the convulsive caress by her wriggling cunt. He began stroking again, his desire re-aroused by her angry struggle. His hips flashed with powerful hunches, hammering her ass down onto the bed until she finally relaxed with an angry snort.
"You're gonna take it, Vi!" he grunted through clenched teeth. "I'm gonna fuck you, whether you like it or not!" His belly was pounding hers with a steady rhythm, the big prick thrusting deep and hard. "And I'm gonna come, damn it! You can lie there like a goddamned log. I just don't give a shit anymore! I just want to get my nuts off and go to sleep! It'll be a cold day in hell when I shag your ass the next time!"
Violet did not answer him. Some new quality in his tone warned her that her best defense was surrender.
She softened her body under his and felt the thrusting become a frantic jabbing. Then, as he buried his face against her shoulder, his prick shuddered inside her pussy, and his hot come splashed deep in the unresponsive channel.
She lay quietly after he rolled off and turned onto his side, has back to her. She felt his warm sperm begin seeping thickly from the tingling lips of her pussy, and she tightened her thighs against the loss.
"Did you really mean that, Dave?" she asked, her voice oddly gentle. "About not screwing me again?"
Sergeant Dave Montrose inhaled slowly, working his head deeper into the soft pillow. "I meant it, Vi," he said without emotion. "It's not worth it. I'm not going to fight for a piece of ass from my own wife. If I get too hard up, I'll beat my fist."
Violet sat up, swinging herself off the bed to stand glaring down at his broad back. "Go fuck that big-tit-tied blonde!" she exclaimed. "Maybe your darling Shirley will suck it for you! See if I give a shit!"
He pulled the sheet up about his ears, as if isolating himself from her strident voice. His voice reached her in a faint mumble, but it carried a note of finality that made her tiptoe quietly from the room.
"Goodnight, Vi, or good morning, whichever the hell it is."