Playing It By Ear

In the great scheme of my stories, this one loosely follows Sarah's Joy. But, of course, you needn't have read that one in order to enjoy this one.

* * *

I opened wide for him, giving him my world. Because I loved him.

Scott had always been just that little bit too big for me, and he knew it, so he was gentle: long, giggling foreplay, his strong tongue deep inside me. I loved that, loved his kindness, the attention he paid to my body. I looked down between my tits, still firm atop my chest, my ribcage heaving with every long, fast breath, at his head clamped between my thighs. I loved it all: the way his nose prodded my clit, the way his forehead gleamed against my belly, the way the bald spot at the back of his head caught the dim light from the bedside lamp.

I loved him.

His mouth left me tingly, a pleasant deep warmth that washed across my brain, wiping out the stresses: work was a drag, but not right then. Student loans? Car payments? No problem. Can't get pregnant?

Well.

We were working on that, his tongue preparing my slit, and I knew his dick would be steel-hard for me down near the floor over the edge of our bed. I sighed, long and deep, his name floating out into our bedroom. "Scott. I love you, honey."

"I love you too." He said it, muffled, into my trimmed auburn bush, and that made me giggle. Which made him giggle, and so he rose up my body, trailing kisses, and I tasted myself on him, tart and mysterious when he kissed me. His body stretched strong and solid above mine, every line and curve familiar; I knew everything about my husband, and I wanted to know him more. I wanted to know him as a father. I wanted it with every fiber of my being. So I moaned with a deep, abiding satisfaction when I felt his erection stab me, my arms reaching down for his hips.

I needed him.

He entered slowly, cautiously, pushing until I flinched and then pulling back out. We'd done this dance hundreds of times, my pussy juicing slowly, so slowly, but my Scott was patient. He loved me and wanted me to feel good, so I kissed him again in a warm pink glow and tried, my feet on his thighs, straining to take him deeper.

He deserved to be able to plow me deep. I swiveled my hips upward, just that much, taking him another half-inch deep before the pain came like a tiny shove against my insides, and I laid my head impatiently back down on the pillow, my hair fanned out. "I'm sorry, honey."

"I love you, Julie," he said simply, and when we kissed again I relaxed with his tongue along the back of my teeth, that mouth I knew so well, and then he was one more inch inside and I was calming, soothed, knowing he'd get there. He held himself high above me, his arms straight beside my head, staring hard into my eyes with the intensity he'd always shown me, even when we were dating. I'd known from the start that I wanted to bear this man's children.

And I would, dammit, I promised myself, willing my pussy to cooperate, and then suddenly the worst was over; he was most of the way in, sliding more easily now, and I smiled against his lips and felt his stubble on my chin and congratulated myself yet again on marrying Scott Lindberg.

His butt fell, and at last he was all the way inside me, reaching all those places only he could touch. I know I caught my breath, feeling him, smelling him, loving him, and I craned my neck up off the pillow to capture his lips.

All the while he drove into me, his thighs surging between mine. I reached both hands down to grapple the cheeks of his ass, feeling his muscles move, amazed that he desired me, and all the while I willed him to shoot his cum far, far up into my eager pussy, to breed me.

The sooner the better, too. I was already drying out, my inconsiderate vagina impatient for this to be over and for the next step to start. I bit my lip, masking my occasional winces as Scott grew more exuberant, his skinny ass rising higher and thrusting harder under my palms, until his rhythm finally began to fall apart.

I smelled his breath as he exhaled a harsh grunt into my face, then a gasp; his tongue found my neck and I grabbed on tighter as he shoved back into me one time... two times... three times, and then I felt his entire body shimmy on top of mine, his chest now crushing my breasts, and I knew as his butt went lean and tight that he had to be firing into me, his dick twitching wildly far, far up inside my pussy.

I felt amazing, the same healthy glow I always felt, especially with him. I'm not sure if it was an orgasm, as to tell the truth I don't know that I'd ever had one, but my husband was cumming inside me and that was the best feeling I'd ever had, being his, knowing I was the one that got to take his sperm. That I'd caused his orgasm. That he wanted me to be a mother.

So, when he pushed himself up off me and slid across to the other side of the bed, I reached my arms way up over my head, gripping the prairie-style headboard, and stretched long and luxuriously. "Mmmm." I grinned at him, feeling the warm tickle as his cum seeped out of me, enjoying the ache of my muscles. "Fuck." Scott raised his eyebrows, his dick still mostly hard, jutting out over his hairy belly. I have a potty mouth at work, but I don't usually swear at home. "Thanks, honey."

"I love you," he said simply, and then he was curving his body sideways on the bed, opening his arms, and I let myself scrunch back into him. His fingernails found my hair, scratching at my scalp. I loved to feel his cock soften in my asscrack.

* * *

We're not the same people at work as we are at home.

This is true of everyone, probably. But sometimes the differences are slight; other times? Might as well be a completely different person. I am. You kinda have to be, when you're a female cop. You need to be ready for anything. As I've learned, you just have to play things by ear sometimes.

That's why, two nights after Scott gave himself so completely to me, I was straddling a strange man's hips, grinding up on what felt like a highly excited penis while I endured his breath in my face. "You're so sexy," he was raving.

I already had him, just about; all I really needed to do was to get his voice explicitly asking for sex. He'd already put up his cash, rolled tightly and pushed into the scarlet bra I'd left peeking above tonight's patent leather corset. Him asking me would make our case airtight, and then it would just be a matter of calling Sgt LaFratta to make the collar, filing a deposition with Mortimer the DA, and then waiting around while this particular john worried about bail.

But he was proving to be... well, not terribly vocal. "So..." He kissed my neck, his scruff grazing my skin, and I suppressed a shudder. "...fucking... sexy."

"Thanks, honey." I made sure to put a little extra tremolo in my voice, a slight breathy whisper at the end. "What do you want to do to me?"

He answered with a quick, sharp thrust of his hips, his butt almost an inch off the chair, so that his erection could make itself felt against my hotpants. Well, I certainly couldn't say he wasn't making his wishes very, very clear, but a hard-on is not easily admissible in court. So?

I put his earlobe in my mouth and gave it some tongue. Relief; I was expecting it to taste worse. "Talk dirty to me, baby," I urged. "Tell me what to do."

He made a low growly roar, deep deep down in his throat, and his hands clamped hard around my waist. Any second now he'd try to grab my breasts, and I'd have to blow my cover. Meanwhile I kept gyrating, my hips advertising sexual skils that, ironically, he'd already paid for. The request and the payment: those were the two most important legal elements. My voice was a humid breeze in his ear. "Tell me."

And then? Success! I felt my mouth purse into a tight grin as the man, forcing the words out through a thickness in his throat, grunted, "I want to fuck you so hard."

Well? Too bad, sir. I backed off him immediately, the role over, my toes already searching for the carpeted floor. I couldn't wait to dismount. My voice came out steady, harsh, even contemptuous. "Please keep your hands in full view, sir." I knew the cameras and mics had picked up everything, that Sgt LaFratta would probably be on his way through the door any second now.

Mike LaFratta had been chosen to head up Vice, probably, because he knew more whores than anyone else in East Adams. But that didn't mean he was a bad cop, necessarily, and he dearly loved kicking down a door. "You're under arrest, sir, for solicitation of prostitution."

The door shook. Ah. There he was. Sgt LaFratta came bulling through, and I glanced quickly at his hands; he often drew down. I'd never known a cop who so loved to hold a gun. This time, though, all he had were handcuffs, and I stood off to the side and adjusted my bra while the bust went down. No doubt the john's penis went soft in record time, unless he was into bondage.

"Goddamn, Lindberg," LaFratta growled at me once Sully had hauled the poor guy away. "I keep telling you to tone it down. You don't have to go that far."

"How far, sarge?" I had a bathrobe on by now; the job calls for dressing like a tramp, but I never enjoyed being around my colleagues that way. I kept my voice even. "I was never at risk."

"I don't like it when you let them get their hands on you." He shook his head. "I've told you that, Lindberg, but you keep pushing it." He blew out a long breath. "You should try to be more like Yandle."

"Just trying to make the case, sarge," I shrugged. He knew it, too; Vice's closure rate had soared since I'd joined. "So yes. I think I do need to go that far."

He smiled at that, a little grimly, and jerked his head toward the door. "Free to go, Lindberg. Get your write-ups in by lunch tomorrow." He scratched his head, then seemed to remember something. "Oh. And you need to be in my office at nine, right after roll call. I've got a statie coming in to talk to you."

"A statie?" The State Police didn't usually want anything to do with us locals. "Why?"

I was still wondering that the next morning as I took my seat in the third floor conference room across from a dark-haired muscular guy with hair unexpectedly longer than usual and a bruised face over vaguely sinister-looking facial hair. He wasn't bad looking, but he wasn't really good-looking either. He wore a tight blue t-shirt with a State Police badge silk-screened on the left chest and a pair of those "tactical" pants with about eleven thousand pockets. Like a lot of staties, he was carrying a SIG.

"Julie Lindberg," Sgt LaFratta began, making the intros, "this is Alex Krasnov. State Police." I was pleased when his handshake was firm. I get irritated when male cops give a limp-wristed shake to females.

"Call me Alex." He gave a quick smile, efficient, the kind that you could just tell he didn't really mean. This was a man who had no time for smiles. His glance shifted to Sgt LaFratta. "Is she the one with the tat?"

I frowned. Like I wasn't even in the fucking room. "No," I said coldly. "I'm not." My skin is completely inkless. I think tattoos lack class.

LaFratta glanced at me. "Remember about five months ago? Roll call? I asked if any female officers had a man's name tattooed somewhere unobtrusive?" I nodded, even though I didn't remember.

"He asked that at my request." Call-Me-Alex had that annoying State Police air about him, where he firmly believed he was in charge of everything in sight. "So did departments all up and down this part of the state."

"And we were the lucky winners." Sgt LaFratta shrugged. "Little did we realize, one of our officers has the perfect tat." The door opened, and I turned thinking it would be Yandle coming in.

Holy shit. It was Officer Howard.

I tried not to frown enough that she'd see. Howard was a nonentity down in traffic, stuck at PO2 and unlikely ever to rise any higher. Unlike some of us. She was pretty, but she'd once been gorgeous; she was one of those women whose metabolism had nosedived around age thirty. Rumor had it her husband was divorcing her. I smiled. "Hi, Sarah."

"Julie." I seemed to make her nervous, but a lot of people have that effect on her.

Sgt LaFratta turned to the statie. "This one. This one's your tat."

"Oh!" The statie eyed her, looking reasonably interested, rubbing at his bruised face. "Well. Cool. Call me Alex."

"Sarah. Sarah Howard." Her voice came out detached and more than a little wary. It was a what the fuck am I doing here? voice, and I could only agree. Howard was the least Vice-like woman in the Department.

"Let's get right to the point," said Sgt LaFratta, tipping his chair backward a tad. "You two ladies are being temporarily detached to Detective Krasnov's task force. Effective now."

"But I probably won't be needing you," Call-Me-Alex put in coolly. "I'm going to stress that this is a highly sensitive undercover operation I've been working on for the better part of six months, though, so before we go on I just want to make sure you guys understand that."

I glanced sideways at Howard, whose mouth had that dumb gape she got sometimes. So I decided to answer for both of us. "No problem. Alex."

He flickered a nod at me, then drew himself up. "Okay. Well, my team and I are trying to infiltrate a Russian crime syndicate based up near Glen Avery. Really bad stuff: mostly guns and drugs, but a little bit of human trafficking too." He let that sink in. "Sexual slavery, mostly, but much of his money comes from gunrunning."

"This is the crime family that was responsible for that hit over in Seaborne last year," Sgt LaFratta supplied helpfully. "Remember? That machete killing, where they found the head a few blocks away?"

"Arms never got found," I nodded. That was the case that had convinced me to stop trying to get on Homicide and go for Vice instead. "Wasn't it Oleg? Oleg something?"

Alex seemed pleased. "Oleg Pasnik. Yes." He nodded to me. "Good. So the idea my boss had was that I could go undercover and become an inside man in Oleg's corporation. Like, not deep inside; just enough to tie up a few legal loose ends." He paused and seemed to think about how much more he wanted to add, but decided we didn't need to know. "Anyway, there's a meet set up for Monday where I'm hoping he'll invite me to do business with him. But if he doesn't, or if he needs me to show more bona-fides? Well, that's where the two of you come in."

Sgt LaFratta, I saw, was watching us closely. But mostly Howard. Me, he already knew. I started to get a tingle in my gut, with visions of a State Police letter of commendation sliding into my file at Central. I cleared my throat and shifted my gunbelt, which always dug in when I leaned forward. "I'm in, Detective. Alex. If you need me." I was a PO2 and gunning for Sergeant already. Screw languishing on Patrol for years. LaFratta was nodding, unsurprised.

"She's good," he put in quietly. Alex spread his hands.

"Don't get all excited. I probably won't need you. And if I do?" He shifted his gaze to Howard, who looked a lot less enthusiastic. "She's the one I really need." And then he explained.

It turned out Alex had constructed an entire undercover persona based on a tattoo Howard had under her left ear. "My cover? I'm a pimp. I make my girls get a tat with my name." Beside me, Howard put a hand behind her ear. She looked like she was going to throw up. "So if necessary, if I need to bring one of my girls in to get examined by Oleg? All he'll see is a genuine tattoo."

I turned to Howard. "What's the name on your tattoo?"

She had to clear her throat several times. "Pavle." I frowned. Her husband's name was Keith.

No wonder she was getting a divorce.

So Alex, the fake Pavle, had created a bogus identity, complete with a past in which (he told us) his parents had come from Croatia in the 1990s. He now had fake arrest records all up and down the state for racketeering, pimping, drug dealing, and robbery. He cracked a smile. "Pavle Kovac is a bad boy." He touched the bruise on his cheek. "He just got out of pretrial confinement a few days ago, after his attorney got him off."

LaFratta laughed. "Dude. You went to jail?"

"Seven weeks at County," Alex smiled, another thin one. "I have to make sure Oleg hears the right kind of shit when he asks around."

I was nodding. "So if you need us at your meeting, what? I'd need to get a fake tattoo?"

"Exactly. I mark my bitches under their ear, so we'd have our makeup guy give you something convincing. I'm confident in his work, but it's always better to use the real deal if we can." He cocked his head. "How long have you been Vice, Officer Lindberg?"

"About two years."

"Two." He glanced at Sgt LaFratta again. "Do you have a dirty cover?"

"Yes." LaFratta had made me get one; I'd done my own few nights in jail too, but not for awhile now. I traded a glance with the sergeant. "Sarge, what do I have now? Eleven arrests?"

"I think so." He was leaning way back in his chair now, enjoying this. My cover was a young woman named Kara Mills, who went by Sophia out on the street. A lot of men had fucked Sophia, according to her arrest record, with a number of them beating her up. So she'd sought a pimp, and apparently her pimp was now Pavle Kovac.

I nudged Howard. "We're stablemates now!" I grinned. I liked my job.

Alex was looking thoughtfully at me. "You seem to be pretty into this, Officer."

I shrugged, the commendation letter as good as written. "I like to be thorough, Alex." I smiled. "And call me Julie."

He nodded back. "Julie." He glanced at Howard. "And... Sarah?" She nodded. "That's great. But just remember, I'm probably not going to need to use you two at all."

"If you do?" Sgt LaFratta leaned forward. "How does that work? Should I keep them off-shift for the next week or so, just in case? Will they be local? How would security work?" I could see in his eyes why he was asking: LaFratta wanted into this, too. He wanted to be one of the men in the room.

He wanted to shoot a Russian crime boss.

Alex shook his head. "No, no. We run these kinds of operations pretty often; we have systems in place. I'd call you. We'd get you up there, set you up in a safehouse, handle all the makeup and wardrobe." He glanced at me. "Well, you probably don't need that."

"Nope." "Sophia" took great pride in presenting a professional appearance.

"So you come up. We go over procedures in the safehouse. There's a safety signal, SWAT support nearby, the works." He smiled his slight little smile. "There's per diem, too."

I was starting to regret that he wouldn't need us. He nodded at Sgt LaFratta. "Just do me a favor and be available Monday night. I'll call you then if they'll be needed. I'd expect Oleg to want that second meeting very quickly, probably by Wednesday at the latest." He glanced at us. "So try not to get injured between now and then, huh? I'd need my bitches to look like prime whores by Wednesday." He laughed, a short snuffling chuckle. He nodded at us. "Thanks, Officers. I'll be in touch."

It was clear we were done, but on an impulse I put on my warmest smile and flashed it at the statie. "I appreciate the opportunity, Detective. Alex."

"Don't mention it, Officer. Julie." He gave that not-quite-there smile again, and once more I thought of a commendation.

* * *

Tuesday morning dawned cool and cloudless, with my body aching and my husband's semen sloshing once again through my pussy. The sun was just barely coming up as I padded into the bathroom to have a brutal, painful piss, my labia having trouble prying themselves apart through all of Scott's accumulated muck. I thought fleetingly of the lube my girlfriend Karen had suggested, and the impossible hurt I'd see in Scott's eyes if I suggested it might help me.

No. Not yet. And who knew? Maybe I was conceiving already, right there on the toilet, the life growing inside. I'd have to stop at the drugstore after work and pick up yet another pregnancy test. I'd stopped being so obsessive about those: I only let myself indulge every two weeks or so now. But I had a good feeling about last night; Scott had been super-hard and shot out all kinds of cum, so.