As Inspector Steve Hardman walked up the brick path to the giant house, he thought about the case that he was hoping to solve with this visit. Leon Wainwright, a real estate mogul and amateur photographer with more than a few mob ties, had been found dead a couple days ago, and so far there were a lot more questions than answers. There were rumors that Leon had taken some very compromising pictures of the wrong man's girl, but it seemed like nobody knew anything, or more likely had orders to keep their mouth shut. Even the chief of police had warned him not to get too involved with this case. So it was a big breakthrough when Leon's wife Stacey had agreed to let him come by to check things out.
He knocked at the door. It was opened by a blonde woman who was stunningly attractive. Hardman had seen a lot of foxy chicks in his years on the force, but this one was a real hot piece of ass: long smooth legs, great tan, a bubble butt that just pleaded with you to grab a handful, sweet succulent tits, and a knockout face. She was wearing one of those little blue-and-white checkered farmer's daughter shirts that tied in the front to squeeze some major cleavage from that awesome rack of hers, red vinyl short shorts that outlined every curve of her ass and pretty much stopped right there, and a pair of gold high heel sandals.
"You must be Inspector Hardman," she said, and he nodded. "Please come in. I'm Stacey Wainwright, Leon's widow."
"My condolences to you, Mrs. Wainwright," he said as he followed her inside, keeping his eyes pinned to that gorgeous backside of hers.
"Oh, yes, it's terrible." She didn't sound very sad. "Call me Stacey."
They sat down in her living room, beneath a large crystal chandelier. On the glass coffee table was a stack of nude photos; the topmost one was a black-and-white image of Stacey leaning against a wall with a shower pouring over her. Even though the lighting and her body position blocked everything explicit from view, it was still very eye-catching.
"So," she said, crossing her legs and leaning one elbow on the sofa, "what brings you over here?"
"I'm here on some very urgent business, ma'am. I'm here to see if we can find some clues about Leon's murder, maybe find out what he was involved in that would have made somebody come after him."
She puckered her lips, thinking hard and drawing attention to her bright red lipstick, which exactly matched her hot pants. "I, ah, can't think of anything out of the ordinary, but you're welcome to look around."
"Thank you, Stacey. I know this must be hard for you."
As he got up, she replied, "It must be hard for you too...very hard."
"Oh?" he said as he went over to look at a picture on the wall.
"Yes..." She leaned back and ran her hands through her hair. "It must be hard for you to see so much trouble in the world. You probably need some comfort sometimes, don't you, Inspector?"
"Call me Steve." He looked at the photo more closely. It was of a girl with a striking resemblance to Stacey with the ocean behind her, kneeling on the sand wearing only a string bikini bottom. The photographer had caught her in the act of untying it. "Is that you?" he asked.
"Oh, no, that's my twin sister, Gina. Leon often did private photo shoots with her. We were going to do one together, the three of us, before...before..." and she was suddenly wracked with sobs, big sniffly exaggerated sobs.
Steve walked back to the couch and sat down beside her; she collapsed against him. He held her and patted her on the back. "There, there, Stacey, it's ok."
"Oh, thank you. You have such strong arms, much stronger than Leon's."
"I appreciate the compliment. Are there any other places in the house where there might be some clues?"
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "there is one place I can think of."
She took him to the bedroom, which was taken up mostly by a large four-post bed with sleek satin sheets. Trailing her fingers up and down a bedpost, she said, "He might have hidden something here. Don't a lot of people hide things in their mattresses?"
"They sure do," said Steve as he opened a few drawers. The first one had Stacey's lingerie. He pulled out a pair of silk thong panties.
She sighed. "Those are the ones I was wearing the night of the murder."
Steve sniffed them carefully, inhaling the powerful scent of her cunt, still lingering in the filmy panties. He crumpled them into his pocket. "Uh, I'll need these for evidence. Might need to check for semen samples."
"Oh, yes," she said as she came up behind him and traced her nails down his back, "there's plenty to see here, you can't overlook anything."
He straightened up. He had a job to do. "We're very detail-oriented in the department; it's our business." He opened another drawer, and looked quizzically at the contents. It was full of sex toys—studded dildos, pulsating vibrators with g-spot massage action, even a strap-on with authentic-feeling balls. "Very important clues," he mused.
"Those aren't his," Stacey giggled, "they're mine."
"You sure have quite a few," said Steve. He picked up a glass dildo and examined it. He imagined Gina and Stacey licking it together while he took pictures of them, then put it back in the drawer.
"Yes," admitted Stacey, "I needed something to satisfy me. Something more than Leon could offer. It's all I have, without a real man." Steve turned around to look at her. "You've been investigating everything about Leon; would you like to investigate me?"
"Yes," he said as he drew her close into a sensual kiss, "you are a prime suspect."
She pulled his hands around her breasts, which he squeezed gently before slipping his hands under her top to cup their warm, soft flesh. "You'll need to go deep undercover for this operation," she said. Their tongues mingled, and she moaned slightly. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, and felt the hardness in his pants rub against her thigh.
She broke the kiss and knelt down. "Now it's my turn to investigate you," she said. She unzipped his fly and pulled out his fat, hard cock. She drew it into the liquid confines of her mouth and began to suck, bobbing her head up and down as she licked and slurped. He groaned as she swallowed his massive pole, working her buttery mouth up and down the length of his throbbing shaft.
He buried his fingers in her golden hair and stroked those shining strands, grunting, "oh, yeah, suck that fucking cock." He thrust his hips at her and she pulled his dick deep into her throat, drooling all over his fleshy tool. She brought one of her hands up to steadily pull the skin up and down the shaft while her lips tightened around his prick's fat head, while her other hand snuck into her shorts so she could rub her fingers against her already juicy cunt.
