Criminal Affair

I have the highest arrest record in the department, and the second highest suspect conviction rate. Meaning, the people I arrest actually go away and don't just immediately recycle back onto the street. I've chased down suspects and tackled men twice my size.

Sergeant Jill Simpson will always get her man.

Over my career I've been awarded for Meritorious Service multiple times, three in the last four years. I've denied my own promotion twice, because I like the streets. I'll have to accept the next offer or retire, not looking forward to that.

Is it easy being a woman in a male dominated field? No.

Is it easy having someone take your merits seriously, and not assume you got where you are by being on your back? Hell no.

Let me be up front, never in my entire career have I done anything with another police officer, or other Department employee. I've banged a fireman, but that was a one time thing.

My career is my life, I take it very seriously, and to arrive at the point where most of my fellow officers recognize that has made all of the bullshit worth it. I earned all of it.

Here is the secret strong women who pave their own way on their own terms keep to themselves. My sex life and my professional life are two separate entities. Oil and water. I've crafted a perfect asexual façade at work. No one at work thinks I'm capable of sex, some probably think I'm a lesbian, but in all fairness, a lot of us are. Away from work, all bets are off.

I don't see men anywhere near my department to limit my chance of a co-worker encountering me on a date or in a bar. Once I developed that buffer zone, I let my hair down and turn off being a cop. Unless something happens, which has before, but I hand them off to the local badges.

I go to a different part of the city, pull out my phone and start swiping on Tinder. I've seen so many mugshots I can tell quality from pictures alone. 'Left, left, left, left, left, left, right.' I'm a little picky on Tinder.

I throw out all of the right lures. Skirt t-shirt combo, thigh highs, beer instead of a cocktail, baseball cap with my hair through the back in a ponytail. Tinder is working digital, clothes are working the room, and now we wait.

From across the room I see him approaching. He's been eyeing me for a while, he must be wondering if it's too good to be true. I look like the girl next door to a tee. All the right signs are there, but do you take that chance?

"Jill," I say before he can introduce himself. I'm forward, welcoming. I don't look intimidating in the slightest. At work I'm Sergeant Bitch. At the bar on the other end of town, I'm just Jill.

I make it easy to get me out of the bar. We go to his place, I live too close to work. We're going hot and heavy for a few minutes, clothes start coming off before he asks a question that dries my pussy in a heartbeat.

"What are you okay with?" He asks. I absolutely despise these questions. You picked me up in a bar in three seconds. I legitimately look like the girl who loves sucking dick. I'm not here by accident or with reluctance, stop asking and start doing. If we cross a boundary, then we'll address it. This is what happens when we let college lesbians dictate the social norms of hetero sex.

I get dressed and leave without a word and go back to the bar. 'Left, left, left, left, right.' Only took five this time. Same lures are out, but I actually hike the skirt a little. Maybe this time I'll get a man with his balls still attached.

"You couldn't be more obvious," a guy says, sitting across from me on the chair opposite of the table.

"What am I obvious about?" I ask. So far well played mystery man. Average all around, brown hair, brown eyes, but so far, he's a winner.

"You want those boots to be chaffing my shoulders as soon as possible," he says with a grin. Ten minutes later those boots were indeed chaffing his shoulders.

What am I into that worked on me? Let me tell you what he didn't do; He didn't pause and ask. We came into his home, he pulled my panties down my skirt, bent me against his door, licked his hand to lube me up which believe me wasn't really needed but is appreciated, and rammed himself inside. That's what I'm into. I like men to take charge.

I know what you're thinking. I'm a strong police officer, how could I possibly like men to take control in any circumstance? Like I said, two separate entities. Sergeant Bitch takes no shit at work. Jill on the other hand will swallow if you tell her to. Sergeant Bitch has been in three firefights. Jill has taken nineteen facials. Sergeant Bitch kicks ass. Jill will...you get the idea.

Mr. Average as I'll call him, made all of the right steps. He never phrased any of it like I had a choice or as a question. 'You will go to my apartment.' 'You will enjoy those boots on my shoulders.' 'You will drink my cum like my dick is a straw.' Sir yes sir.

Even strong women like the feeling of being with someone strong. I'm not even saying dominating, I'm saying in charge. I'm in charge all day, the last thing I need is another job. I will gladly delegate my sexual fulfillment.

This doesn't bother me, the reason being, I've never had an orgasm from a dick. Not saying I'm secretly gay, and I've actually researched this and it turns out I'm well in the norm. It's not like I'm waiting for my orgasm first before granting him permission to finish, I'll get myself off later. I can sadly say, a man has never made me cum. Lacking the expectation has freed me to just get boned.

I don't care about having an orgasm during sex, because I never do. I'll take care of me later, for now, I'm anything you need me to be.

---

I go to a bar like I always do. All the right lures. Jean shorts with a tank top and flip flops, it's summer. Drinking a cocktail, but it's a jack and coke and I have an empty shot glass at the bottom of a larger glass from a jager bomb. Jager bombs are slut fuel, and I'm all topped off. I see him coming from the corner of my eye. Slightly above average, peach fuzz, good tastes which I can tell just by his shoes.

"I'd think you were a college freshman with the jager," He says, sitting across from me.

"If I was, I wouldn't be in a bar now would I?" I ask, him smiling.

"I guess you wouldn't be, but you could pull it off," he replies. He's good. "This place is overpriced, want to get out of here." Do lead the way.

Mr. Above Average lives close, and we're there fast. The door shuts and he's going straight for my shorts which fall to the floor. Then he does something that's foreign even to me. He goes straight to eating my pussy. Unusual but not unwelcome.

"I'm all good to go," I say but flicks my clit with his tongue. Wow, that was different. He slides his fingers in and does that again. I've had my pussy licked three times. The kind of guy I usually pick up, doesn't do this. When they do it's lazy and just enough to get me wet. Mr. Above Average indeed.

He's down there for ten minutes before I feel something familiar but new at the same time. I'm not a stranger to an orgasm by any stretch of the imagination, but not man induced. No man has ever taken the time to, and I groan loudly, grabbing his hair and pulling. It's not the same, it's better than a vibrator, he keeps going and so do I.

"Get up here," I say between the waves of pleasure, "Anything."

Immediately he pulls out his dick and glides it into me. He finishes stripping me as he pulls in and out, then takes my arms and holds them above my head. Own me. I'm yours.

After a minute he flips me over and leaning off the bed to pound me in doggy. I feel my hair get tugged back like reigns and a hard slap on my ass. Giddy up cowboy.

He slaps me again and five minutes of good tugging and slapping, I feel it again. I'm about to cum. Never once and now twice with one guy?

It's better than the first one. Harder, deeper, and I feel it in my core and radiate to my entire body. I scream, and he flips me over again and folds my legs over. He's so deep, and he's apparently unlocked my orgasm because I feel if this continues I could do it again. My legs are over his shoulders and he's propped up, almost in a push up position and rhythmically dropping himself into me.

Then it happens again, and I gasp, this orgasm making my body numb for a few seconds. Three. Never and now I've had three. Who is this guy?

When I cum again he pulls out and lays back on the bed, and pulls my head to his lap. I loyally plop his dick in my mouth and get to work. I want to make him cum so bad. Then he suddenly pulls my head down, gagging me on his dick, making me spit it out and cough with drool dripping off my chin.

"Who said you can stop?" He asks and shoves my face back down. Oh god yes, all he needs to do now is touch me.

He slaps my ass again and squeezes my tits. It's like he's reading my mind. I deep throat him now that I know to expect it and slid it back out. As if he's read a book on my sexual philosophy, he fires his cum into my throat with no warning aside from the grunt and hair pull. I swallow all of him down and milk him for more. You've earned that one Mr. Above Average.

"Keep sucking till I go limp." I think I'm in love.

We get dressed and a moment later I hear his phone go off as I slide my shorts back on.

"Captain?" He asks when he answers the phone. Captain?

"It's my last week and you're still sending me out...alright be there in five." He hangs up his phone and turns to me. "I need to go, are you a phone number kind of girl?"

"Not really, more a one and done," I say.

"Shame," he says and grabs his wallet, and I see his detective shield flash as he pockets it, "I would be very interested for a repeat."

I would very much not be interested detective. Aside from you being in my top three encounters of all time, you're a cop. Cops talk to cops, and then my perfectly divided worlds are destroyed.

Suddenly I'm 'Sergeant Likes To Suck Cock', and I don't feel like buying a bigger name tag.

-----

Two weeks later the Captain has us huddled into the conference room for a larger case with a missing person. We're going to be canvassing a large area, so I'm here at this meeting to sync up all our assets. My guys will be going through area x and y, blah blah.

"I'd like to also introduce detective Derek Whitaker, he'll be joining missing persons, and he's taking lead on this investigation."

Derek stands up and gives a small wave so people can see his face. I see it and nearly duck. It's Mr. Above Average. I am fucked, and not in the way I like.

The room clears out when the meeting is over, and I can't get out fast enough. I play it off like I have work to do, which I do granted, but it's not that urgent. Missing girl is urgent, but if we had a better idea of her whereabouts the search wouldn't be so wide.

"Sergeant Simpson?" I hear a voice ask, and I stop, turning over my shoulder. It's Mr. Above Average. My career is over, mentally at least. "I want to run by a few details of the search field."

"Like what?" I ask, bracing myself for anything.

"Nothing against the Captain, he's fucking high if he thinks this range fan will turn up anything. Seventy two hours is crucial, we're up to thirty. You're beat, could you take a look at the case file, form a theory to help build a timeline and maybe a more accurate search criteria?"

"I guess, not usually involved in that."

"The uniforms are an under appreciated asset. If you think of a place more worthwhile to canvas, do it." Straight to the point, trusting me to do my job. Most detectives look down on the uniforms. He's awesome.

"Drop off the file on my desk, I'll look at it when I get back from the first sweep," I say and he nods.

"Appreciated," He says, and hands me his card which I pocket with a slight smile before he turns to leave. Is my dual life so perfect he didn't even recognize me?

Then he turns and says, "I guess you are a number kind of girl after all." He winks and keeps walking.

My life is over.