Chapter 3: Claire

How does one go from being an undercover Vice cop to being a member of the Organized Crime Task Force? Well, if you ask the other assholes on the team they’ll tell you that I slept my way to the top, to which I reply: if you think this is the fucking top, you need to raise the bar considerably.

This ain’t the top, bitches.

Shit, this ain’t even the middle.

And I’d never fuck anybody just to get a job, even if that body was my hot ex-husband who knew exactly how to make my toes curl.

I graduated from NYU with a Bachelor’s Degree in Criminal Justice. It was my intention to go on to graduate school, then to law school to become a prosecuting attorney. I had too high of a moral compass to be a defense lawyer. If I knew someone was guilty, I couldn’t defend them, regardless of how deep their pockets were or how entitled they were to a good defense.

I wasn’t interested in private or corporate law, though that’s where the money was. I wanted to prosecute bad guys. I wanted to do my part in making the world a safer place.

I decided to take a break from college when I was offered a job with the Police Department. They were recruiting recent grads and one of my professors told me getting a year or two of police work under my garter belt would help me get a better handle on the justice system, which would ultimately make me a better prosecutor.

So, I entered the police academy at age twenty-two. I wasn’t crazy about the uniform or some of the good old boys I had to deal with, but there was one instructor that caught my attention right out of the gate.

Sergeant Ed Henry was tall, lean, and handsome, with little wire-rimmed glasses that slid down to the tip of his elegant nose as he spoke. He looked so handsome in his black uniform. He had broad shoulders and long legs. And when he stood just right I could tell that he was packing much more than the Glock 17 that was holstered on his hip.

He caught my eye one day and I caught his and that was all she wrote. We had a drink after class, which led to another drink and then another. Which led to a wild make-out session in the back seat of his squad car. Which led to a weekend of fucking and sucking and doing anything and everything two young horny people could do to one another. I came away from that weekend with a sore cooch and sore nipples and handcuff scrapes on my wrist. Christ, it was fun.

I should have known better than to hook up with a fellow cop, especially one who had the reputation that Ed did, but the heart (pussy) wants what the heart (pussy) wants. I knew he was fucking other women, but so long as he came home to me that was all right. I figured he would be faithful when we got married. Till then, let him sow his wild oats.

Ed and I kept our affair secret until I graduated the academy and was assigned to a precinct downtown. Shortly thereafter, he was promoted to lieutenant and assigned to homicide uptown.

We mainly saw each other on weekends, then on a whim a few months later, we flew to Vegas, got shitfaced drunk, and got married at the Elvis Chapel of Burning Love.

Our marriage was tumultuous, to say the least. We both worked long, grueling hours, and to my surprise (okay, maybe not that much of a surprise) Ed continued sleeping with half the women on the force and had the other half waiting for him.

He looked a lot like Scott Glenn in Silence of the Lambs.

He had these brooding eyes and Kennedy jawline. And he was a freakin’ acrobat in the bedroom. I swear, he would pick me up and twist me around like a pretzel and have his cock in one end of me and his fingers in the other.

We had amazing Kama Sutra level sex. Too bad it wasn’t good enough to save the marriage. We separated after two years, then finally got around to divorcing a year later.

Because of my degree, I was able to fast track to detective after just two years in uniform. I got my shield and was assigned to Vice.

If you don’t know what Vice means in police terms, it’s the division that deals with fun stuff, those human vices that someone at some point deemed immoral, illegal or not in the best interest of the community.

Things like gambling, prostitution, drug use, or pornography typically fall under the heading of Vice.

I always thought they should have called it the Department of Beating Your Fucking Head Against the Wall because that’s what it felt like we were doing most of the time.

You bust one hooker and two more pop up.

You break up one gambling ring over here and three more pop up over there.

You bust one guy for pornography and ten of his perverted buddies come out of the woodwork.

I hated working in Vice, mainly because the rumor was I had been hired for my physical attributes rather than by brain and investigative talents. I’m tall, with long legs, big tits and a round ass you could bounce a quarter off of (that’s what Ed used to say, though I’m still not sure what it means).

“Next time we need someone to go undercover as a hooker, get McAfee to do it,” one wise ass said in the morning meeting. I introduced his balls to my knee after the meeting, an act that didn’t score me too many points with the boys in the squad, but was applauded by the two other females unfortunate enough to work there.

I also felt sorry for most of the girls we busted for prostitution. Most of them were runaways or castoffs that were peddling pussy because it was the only way they had to survive.

Some of them reminded me of me in my younger days. Without ambition and the chance to do something with it, there but for the grace of God go I.

And I would have made a lousy prostitute.

I love a good cock as well as the next gal, but I don’t have the patience to dicker over price and terms, no pun intended.

So, I put my head down and did the best job I could as a Vice cop. And yes, I did put on a tight halter top, stiletto heels, pancake makeup, and a miniskirt that barely covered my ass a few times to go undercover.

And though I’d never admit it to anyone, I did like how sexy wearing those slutty clothes made me feel.

And I liked how men would literally stare at me with their mouths hanging open when they saw my big tits struggling to break free of the halter and my round ass hiking up the miniskirt.

And my long legs, toned from running three miles a day, looked fucking killer in the fishnet stockings.

I stopped by Ed’s place wearing the outfit one night, and even though we were still angry from the divorce, he dragged me into the bedroom and we had the best sex of our entire relationship.

Ed just pushed the halter down around my waist so he could get to my big tits and lifted the miniskirt up over my ass. He had my panties off before I even knew what was happening. Then he bent me over and fucked me from behind while I held on to my ankles and tried not to scream.

I remember looking up between my legs, seeing his long cock sliding in and out of my dripping pussy, his balls dangling and slapping against me. I couldn’t resist reaching up and hanging on to his balls as he jackhammered into me. Like I said, Ed was a cheating asshole, but the Kama Sutra had nothing on us.

I still had that outfit. Maybe I’d pull it out someday if the situation warranted. Of course, I’d have to shave my legs and trim my cooch first. Things have been a little slow down there, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, back on topic…

After a couple of years in Vice, Ed stopped by my place one evening out of the blue. I was a little surprised because Ed was supposedly in a serious relationship with a woman named Greta Vance who worked in the district attorney’s office.

Ed never showed up at my place unless he was horny and looking to tap a little ex-wife pussy. I was not averse to a little romp for old time sake, but when Ed came in with a serious look on his face, I knew he wasn’t there to have his pistol cleaned, so to speak.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said as he slid onto a stool at my kitchen island and waited for me to set a cold beer in front of him.

“I thought you were seeing Greta Vance,” I said, trying to keep jealousy and condescension out of my voice. “What’s wrong, Ed? Can’t Greta bend over all the way and grab your balls like I can.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s not why I’m here,” he said, taking a sip of the cold beer and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “And no, she is not as limber as you, but she is much nicer.”

“Nice never got you off, as I recall,” I said, standing across the island from him with my arms crossed over my chest. “So, what’s up?”

He took another slow sip of beer and stared at me from over the top of the can. His deep blue eyes bore into mine. I always said his eyes should have been brown because he was so full of shit. I felt my pulse quicken as I waited for him to swallow and speak. If he wasn’t there to fuck me, what on earth did he want?

Finally, he asked, “How would you feel about getting out of Vice and coming to work for me?”

I blinked at him. “In Homicide?”

He shook his head. “I just got a promotion,” he said, licking foam from his lips. “I am the head of the newly-formed Organized Crime Task Force. I have been commanded to put together a core team of five investigators and I’d like you to be one of them.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why me?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Well, you can be a royal pain in the ass, but you’re also one of the best investigators on the force. I’ve kept up with your arrest and conviction record in Vice and you have the highest conviction rate on the squad.”

“It’s not that difficult to bust hookers and johns,” I said with a sigh. “I assume they are not the focus of your new task force.”

He shook his head. “No, we are going after the gangs, particularly those who are operating along the docks and waterfront, smuggling in everything from dope to humans to fake purses.” He gave me a hard look. “And we will not discriminate. We’ll hit the Italians, the Irish, the Russians. We will not discriminate when it comes to assholes breaking the law.”

“And what would my role be?” I asked, feeling a little tingle of excitement working its way through my body. I couldn’t help it. Even though we were divorced, Ed was still one of the sexiest men I’d ever known. And our sexual history often made it hard to concentrate on anything other than fucking him. I felt the old familiar feeling of hotness pooling between my legs.

“You would be promoted to investigator third class, given a gold shield, and be an active member of the team.” He finished the beer and ran his tongue across his lips. I couldn’t help but watch his tongue slide in and out. “You will report directly to me. It will not be a democracy and there’ll be no special favors because of our history. I am the boss and what I say goes.”

“Well, I’m used to that,” I said, giving him a dreamy look that did not go unnoticed. His eyes swept across my face and he took a deep breath. It was hard for us to be in a room alone without tearing at each other’s clothes. I could tell he was doing his best to keep his mind on the topic at hand.

Ed cleared his throat and worked up a frown. “So, you interested?”

I couldn’t help it. I was about to get in the shower when he knocked on my door. I was just wearing a bathrobe over my panties and bra. I tugged loose the sash and let the robe fall down my arms. Ed swallowed hard when he saw my big tits covered only by the lacy bra. I came around the bar to stand between his knees. I could smell the sweat forming on his upper lip. Bless him, he was trying so hard to be good.

I cupped my hands to my breasts and cooed at him.

“I’m interested. Are you?”

Ed slid his hands around my waist and dug his fingers into my ass cheeks. He said, “If you come to work for me, we can’t do this anymore.”

“You sure you’re willing to make that trade?” I asked, sliding my arms around his neck and planting little kisses around his jawline.

Ed sighed in my ear. “I can be good if you can.”

“Oh, Ed, you know me,” I said, my tongue wetting his lips. “I can be very, very good.”