Less than a year on the force, and I'm pulled off traffic and given an undercover assignment. The Chief didn't even brief me at the station. The two of us met with an FBI agent at a bar outside of town.
“This is Marge Branson,” the Chief told the FBI agent, “She hasn't been with us long, but I think she's the perfect person for the job.”
“We just want to wash our hands of it,” the agent said, “it's not our jurisdiction, and we're stretched thin as it is. Here's everything we've got.”
As of that moment, my only contact was with the Chief. As far as anyone at the station was concerned, I had been transferred.
“Why did you really pick me for this?” I asked the Chief the next day.
“Frankly, you're the only one who looks like the members of the gang. In other words, you got the job because of your looks.”
The Chief answered my snort with a smile.
I'm in great psychical shape. I can go toe to toe with all but the “no neck” crowd at the station and miss it when I don't work out.
The Chief's near forty-year-old eyes see me as being attractive. My mother is a little older, and thinks I am too. If there weren't so many mirrors in the world, I might agree with them.
I slid my slacks up over my voluptuous hips. I like to think of them as being voluptuous. It sounds much better than: “Kind of big.”
I put my bra over my firm breasts. I like the term: “firm.” It sounds better than: “Kind of small.”
I start putting on makeup. I've never come up with a good name for freckles. I've hated them for as long as I can remember. Some people think they make me look younger, I think they make my face look dirty.
I've got great eyes. Big and expressive, they'll knock you out even before I do my face. If I could jack up my eyes and slide a new body under them, I'd be gorgeous.
Checking myself one last time, I hit the street. There are people in Hollywood who could make me look as good and the Chief and my mother think I am, but I don't have the time or the money to let them work their miracles. Besides, I've got more important things to do.
A string of rapes have been going on for nearly five years now. There have been at least two hundred victims. It's hard to nail, because few of the victims will co-operate.
The reason the victims are reluctant is that they are all men, and the rapists are women.
The FBI bailed out when they figured there couldn't be more than twenty or thirty involved, and nothing had crossed state lines. Most incidents involved five or six women attacking a single man, and each one was carried out with military precision. As I read the reports, one thing became abundantly clear; these men were never given a chance.
I didn't fight my sense of begrudging admiration for them. In fact, I tried to encourage it. If I was to infiltrate this group, I'd have to learn to identify with them. Once I was in, I could identify all the members, and bring them to justice.
FIRST CONTACT
“One screwdriver, coming up,” Felicia said, “Tell me if it's too strong,” she said, handing me the glass.
It was so strong I almost choked.
“That's all the O.J. I've got,” she apologized, “I've got some grapefruit juice.”
She filled the rest with grapefruit after I said; “What the hell.”
She was our first, and only, lead in the “girl gang” case. A parking ticket near a particularly brutal rape had put her near the scene, and quiet investigation revealed some interesting facts. One of those facts was the reason I was here, and I needed a good belt to do what had to be done.
Felicia was a man-hating lesbian, with a court order not to go near her younger brother. She had a habit of kicking him in the nuts every time she got near him. The latest victim had been kicked in the nuts repeatedly.
The victim also reported an African-American voice among his attackers, and that attacker had been the one kicking him, and the one who carried him to the bed.
The six foot tall black woman easing down next to me matched the height his account implied.
“You haven't done this before, have you?” she asked.
“Sure. Of course. Lots of times,” I lied.
She didn't say a word. She just put her hand on my knee and waited.
“No, I haven't,” I said. I had to play this right, and being caught in an obvious lie would be stupid, “I've had terrible luck with men, but I still have my needs. I'm sorry, I don't mean to use you, but I have to find out.”
“Oh, baby,” she said, gathering me into her arms, “I know how it is. Let Felicia make it all better.”
I fought the disgust when her lips covered mine, fought the urge to slap her hand as it slid up between my legs, and fought panic when she pushed me down into the couch and covered me.
If I had known she was going to make love to me for over two hours, I would have broken free right then, and told the department to “shove it.”
I didn't know, and shortly after she started, I didn't care. Her lips were very large, and incredibly soft. She was strong, even stronger than me, but her fingers on my clit were gentle. She brought me to the verge of an orgasm, and then kept me there.
By the end of our lovemaking, I was sucking on her cunt like the worlds biggest dyke, and loving it. I kept telling myself I was just playing my part, but long after we were finished, I was still kissing her. She had to pry my arms off her to get up, and I followed her into the bathroom.
Her big, soft breasts pressed into my back as we spooned our way to sleep, and I gently woke her the next morning by kissing the tight curls of hair below her belly.
“Oh, baby,” she cried, her fingers running thru my hair.
She gasped when I reached that special spot, and surrendered to my mouth.
“Only one thing could make me happier than I am right now,” I said as I curled up at her breast later.
“What's that, sweetheart?”
“Presenting you with a certain man's balls for earrings,” I said.
FIRST RAPE
The car was going a little under the speed limit. Other than that, nothing would indicate that the driver was drunk. Felicia and I parked next to them at the motel, and he nodded to us as Jenny got out the passenger side and unlocked the door for him.
She held the door for him to go first, and all three of us jumped him as soon as he stepped thru. The three girls waiting had all the equipment ready, and we had him trussed up before he knew what hit him.
Felicia got his squirming body on the bed, and then left. She had only come because she was my sponsor, and stayed to give us a hand. If we had captured a black man, she would have stayed and crushed his balls when we were done. I never knew what her brother had done to her, but whenever she saw a chocolate sack hanging under a man, she had to crush it.
I had identified eight members of the gang, and taking part in this rape was the only way to expand the circle. The department couldn't have any part of this; and I only hoped I wouldn't blow my cover by hanging back too much.
I needn't have worried. They had it down to a science. They got him erect, popped rubber rings around the base of his cock and behind his balls, and took turns with him depending on what turned them on.
The first girl was overweight. She didn't take any of her clothes off. She sat on his legs while she put a condom on him, and then pulled her panties aside and sank down on his dick. She let all of her considerable weight rest on him as she took her time. The rest of us watched T.V. while she panted behind us. We could hear him breathing hard too, but it sounded like he couldn't get a good breath with her on him like that.
The next girl got totally naked before replacing his condom. She mounted him, held a small vibrator to her clit, and slid up and down his cock. She started just before a station break, and was done before the show started again.
Jenny and the other girl were considered “extreme,” so I was next.
