Pretty Boy

Captain Flynn called me into his office to discuss a new assignment.

"Lucy, we've got to find a dangerous weirdo who's cutting lesbians in the Village. You're the perfect choice to handle this case, because you're a lesbian."

"Captain, what I do on my time off is none of your business!" I said after his fucking remark.

"Sorry," he said. "But I need you on this case. Can you start tonight, Lucy?"

"Yeah, I can. Fill me on the details."

They didn't know much. Whoever was meeting women in lesbian hangouts in Greenwich Village took them to a cheap hotel and left them in bad shape, all cut up. Very scary stuff. There were no good descriptions or other leads.

I prepared to visit a club that night, putting on a low-cut blouse that showed off my tits, sexy black stockings, and a short skirt. When I sit on a bar stool, the skirt shows almost everything I've got to offer another lesbian who's looking for a fast fling in the Village.

I decided to start my hunt at Clit Kat Club: the music is hot and the women are hotter.

Women of all ages and sizes shed their blouses and sweat on the packed dance floor, and Go-go dancers perform on the main bar.

I joined the crowd standing in front of the bar. In front of me was an obvious dyke, dressed as a man. She was very pretty, too pretty to be a guy. In my mind, from then on, she was "Pretty Boy."

Pretty Boy wore a Western style shirt, and very tight blue jeans: tight enough to show she was "packing it" : wearing a strap-on that caused a bulge in the jeans.

Something about her bothered me. I wasn't sure what that was, but five years as a Detective in the NYC Police Department made me aware of something not quite right in a suspect's behavior or way of dressing. Maybe she was the one who was cutting lesbians and leaving them in a hotel room.

Before approaching her, I opened my purse and checked the contents. All was in order; my snub-nosed weapon was there, together with handcuffs and my NYPC badge.

I moved up behind her, saying "Can I get in here, honey? I like to get real close to the dancers."

She turned and looked me over. Then Pretty Boy said, "Squeeze in next to me."

We touched bodies as the dancers moved on stage. I put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her even closer to me. I thought for a moment how nice it would be to get her into bed with me tonight and eat her pussy after she used that strap-on and fucked me. Then I remembered that she might be a very dangerous criminal.

When the band took a break, I introduced myself, using my real name: Lucy O'Brien. That way, I don't screw up when talking to suspects,

When I said that I hadn't seen her around NYC, she told me that she comes into town from Philadelphia stays at a cheap hotel in the Village. It seemed reasonable, but, once again, I had the feeling that she was lying to me.

"By the way," I said. "My name is Lucy, what's yours?"

"Sheila, Sheila Doyle."

After social chit-chat, I figured it was time to make a move and suggested we go to her hotel room.

We walked hand-in-hand to her cheap hotel. She led me into a small elevator and pressed a button for the third floor. I was on high alert, as we stood very close. I kissed her, but stayed aware every moment that she might pull a fast one. No telling what would happen tonight.

Once we got into her room, she unbuttoned her blouse and indicated I ought to do the same. Two bare-breasted women kissed, then licked each other's nipples. As the sex got hotter, I had to remind myself how dangerous the situation was. She pulled off her jeans, then her panties. As I'd suspected, she had a blue plastic dick attached to a harness around her hips; she was the hottest woman I'd met in a long time. But I had to do my job instead of fooling around with her.

"Hold it!" I yelled. "You're under arrest."

She looked at me as if I was nuts, then said, "What the hell is this?"

I pulled the badge and weapon out of my purse, which was on the bed, and showed them to her.

"Put your hands up and empty your purse on the bed."

Then she started to laugh, "I can't believe this."

"What's so funny?" I said.

"Let me open my purse and show you something. OK?"

"Throw it over her," I said. "I don't trust you."

I held the gun on her as I rummaged around in her purse. As I suspected, she had a weapon there, much like mine. When I pulled it out and waved it in the air, she said, "Look all the way into the bag, Lucy." She was still laughing at me and that pissed me off.

I rummaged around and pulled a badge out of the bag. "Where'd you get this?" I asked.

"I'm working undercover for the Manhattan D.A. He doesn't think the Police Department can solve the case."

I felt foolish, then asked for I.D. Sure enough, she had an photo I.D., proving she was an investigator for the D.A.

I put the gun down and apologized.

"I'm sorry, Sheila. Is that your real name?"

"Yeah, it is," she said and hugged me. "I have an idea."

"What?"

"Well, we're practically naked now. My strap-on is the real thing. And the room is paid for until morning. Can you guess what I have in mind?"

"You want me to pull off my panties, get on bed with you, then have you fuck me with that strap-on. Is that you have in mind?"

"Bingo!" she said. "Get into bed, Lucy. This is the beginning of something great."

We fucked and sucked all night, falling asleep as the sun came up.

She woke me with her tongue in my pussy, licking my clit. I wanted it to go on forever, but duty called.

"Time to get up, Lucy. We both have to report in. What will we tell the Police Chief and the D.A?"

"That's easy. Just say that it's a very promising, and more surveillance is needed."

She moved in with me. We didn't tell the Captain Flynn or the D.A about that.

None of their business. We still use the old strap-on, but have lots of new sex toys.

My favorite is a double-ended strap-on which lets us fuck each other.

The creep who was cutting lesbians seems to have left town. But we owe him (or her) a favor for bringing us together.