Pink Ice
soppingwetpanties
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
This follows "Cold Steel" and "Hot Steel," though it's unnecessary to read those stories first.
Max is a female police officer who's had a series of tough breaks, though she landed on her feet, moving in with Steph, a female officer posted at her station.
Max's partner is Rachel, a young, attractive cadet, barely out of the academy.
It'd been a year since Rachel and I became partners on the force, and a few of our colleagues, including my current lover Steph, were sitting in the back of The Landing Point, a revered watering hole perched on a bluff overlooking the Ohio River, celebrating the event. The Landing Point, or the Point, as we affectionately referred to it, was only a couple blocks from the station, and on a typical Friday night such as this one, there was always a rowdy group of officers in the back letting off a bit of steam after a hard week of work.
I loved everything about the Point. It sat inside an old brick building, probably from the 1900's, that formerly was a warehouse and was reputed to be a speakeasy during Prohibition. It boasted an unfinished wood plank floor, soaring ceilings, and exposed brick walls and wooden beams in the interior. My favorite feature was the bar that ran almost the length of the establishment. It was made out of polished mahogany salvaged from the deck of a wooden ship and sported a footrest fashioned from the ship's brass handrails. Our group was sitting at a long rectangular table, which used to be an interior door of that ship, coated with a thick layer of clear polyurethane encasing a collection of antique beer bottle caps. There were about ten of us there that night, though it sounded like twenty. The table was littered with empty beer bottles. Me? I was drinking ice tea.
There were a couple loosely kept secrets at our station. One was that I was an alcoholic, though I had been on the wagon for over six months. I started drinking heavily during the tail end of my failed marriage to Ron, my high school sweetheart, and continued while I grappled with my sexual identity and the pressures of a career in law enforcement. The other secret was that Steph and I were a couple for the past year. Steph was a Lieutenant in Vice, and I had fallen head over heels for her. Steph inspired me to clean myself up and quit drinking, though she resisted the calling to do so herself. Steph wasn't an alcoholic, but she wasn't adverse to tying one on every now and again.
Steph had just knocked down her third beer and was acquiring that radiant glow that I knew so well. While the others were giving Rachel a hard time, Steph's bedroom eyes betrayed her intent. I loved those cold steely blue-grey eyes, smoldering with lust. She was the alpha in our relationship, and made no attempt to hide her carnal intent.
Quitting drinking did wonders for my body. I'd already lost fifteen pounds, and my bra size went down to a "C" cup. I hadn't looked this trim and fit since I was at the academy. Lanny, my former partner who was now part of Steph's crew, was hoisting a mug of beer and making a boisterous (and long winded) toast to Rachel and me. Although my eyes were on Lanny, my attention was focused on Steph, whose hand had disappeared under the table. I'd changed into a pair of comfortable jeans after my shift, and in no time Steph had managed with one hand to unbutton them, pull the zipper down, and slip her hand inside.
While Lanny was bragging about his most recent bust, two curious fingers wormed their way under the elastic band of my panties and into my already overheated snatch. I parted my legs slightly and she pushed those fingers inside me. I exerted every ounce of my willpower to suppress a moan. I could see the smirk on Steph's face when she saw my internal struggle. I knew she was relishing this bit of sexual teasing with all of my closest colleagues sitting nearby.
What a perv. She loved to try to control me, and for the most part I was a willing participant. She was always testing my limits, and her under the table finger fuck was just another thrill ride on the edge for the two of us. I was glad that Steph was her old self. She'd been a bitchy gal lately, and our sex life had dwindled to practically nothing. I was glad that a few drinks and a few laughs with good friends took her out of her funk (and into my pants).
Steph was laughing at Lanny's story. She and Lanny had formed a tight bond since he joined Vice last year. She ran a tight ship, and Lanny had adapted to her management style, all the while maintaining his affable manner. She tossed her shoulder length dishwater blonde hair as she let out a belly laugh while unbeknownst to the group, her fingers were bringing me to an unexpected (and exhilarating) climax.
"Fuck!" I let slip out, as the orgasm caused me to tip my glass of ice tea, spilling a generous portion of its contents on the table.
Steph pulled her fingers away and sat up straight, looking innocent even though she was the guilty party. I grabbed all of the cocktail napkins within reach and mopped up the spill.
"Everything OK?" asked Lanny, interrupting the punchline of his story. All eyes were focused on me, and no doubt my beet red face.
"Yes ... yes ... everything's fine," I stuttered. "Just got a cramp in my leg." I got up and limped around for a minute to validate my little white lie, then finished wiping up the spill with a stack of paper napkins brought over by our waitress. I could see that Steph was biting her bottom lip, trying not to bust out laughing.
After the lively conversation resumed, Steph leaned over to whisper in my ear. I could smell the intoxicating fragrance of her perfume mixed with the odor of my sex on her fingers. "Having fun?" she asked, taunting me.
"You little bitch," I whispered back.
Her voice was low and husky. "You didn't stop me, did you? Does that make you a slut?"
Her words made me shiver in the steamy hot bar. She knew that her hot talk would agitate me.
My hand went under the table and guided hers back between my spread open legs. "Yes," I whimpered.
"What the fuck is going on over there?" chirped Lanny. He had an eagle eye, and it wasn't hard to figure out that something was going on under the table.
"Nothing," I managed to say, trying to control the quiver in my voice. Steph twisted her fingers inside me, making my eyeballs roll when I said it.
"Fucking get a room," he said, laughing and then taking a swig out of his mug of beer.
The others laughed with him, and then resumed their animated conversation. I gave Steph the evil eye. She pulled her fingers out of me, leaving a gaping void. She and I both knew that there was going to be a heavy session of sex. Given our long dry spell, the sooner the better for me.
I got up to leave. "I think it's time I call it a day. Steph, you've had too much to drink. I'll give you a ride home." Truth be told, we were living together in her house so it was my home too. I still kept my room in a seedy motel on the outskirts of town for appearances, though I hadn't set foot in it for over a month.
I held out my hand, waiting for her to put her keys in it. My car was a ten year old rust bucket that had seen better days. I enjoyed driving Steph's, a cute late model BMW convertible.
She made a feeble attempt to dig through her purse for them. I took the purse from her and found them myself.
We said our goodbyes. I tossed a wad of bills on the table for our share of the tab. Since I walked to the bar, leaving my car at the station, it would have been no problem retrieving it the next day. Steph draped her arm around me for support as we made our way to the side exit.
"I think you're cute," she said, slurring her words together. I could feel her weight against me. She was taller than me, with a runner's body, long and lean, in contrast to my softer and curvier body, that tended to flabby if I didn't keep my drinking under control. Steph had no such issues with her weight, and I secretly hated her for it on those occasions when she would overeat or drink excessively with no apparent adverse consequences.
"Get in the fucking car," I admonished her, but feeling warm at her show of affection. I started the car and then pressed the button to open the top. She watched the mechanism do its job with the wonderment of a ten year old. I reached across her to help her fasten her seat belt. My arm grazed against her pert breasts when I did so, and she held my arm in place so I could feel her hardened nipples pressing against my bare arm. Her eyes met mine and I couldn't resist leaning over and kissing her on the cheek.
I started the car and wiggled the shifter knob, reacquainting myself with its manual transmission. I backed out of the parking space and then shifted into first, easing the car onto the service road that ran parallel to the river. A cool breeze whipped through the car as we headed down the street, passing by the faces of tired and boarded up storefronts looming in the shadowy darkness.
"Feels good," my inebriated companion declared, her head tilted back looking at the stars. The wind was making a mess of her hair. The intermittent glow of the passing street lights cast light and dark on her face and illuminated her breasts, which were pressed against the thin fabric of her blouse. I took one hand off the wheel and slipped it under her bra, capturing her erect nipple in the "V" between my forefinger and middle finger, scissoring them to rub it like a small cock. I loved the feel of the pebbly texture of a woman's nipple, and as I tugged on hers, the moist heat between my legs became a cry for attention.
"That feels even better," her mumble barely heard above the road noise. She hiked up her skirt and lifted her bottom off the seat so she could slip her panties off. I traced my fingers down her muscular abs and to the source of her own wet heat. She opened her legs for me and I pushed a finger inside her slickened passage, all the while trying to maintain control of the car with my free hand.
We pulled into her driveway with not a minute to spare.
