Stripped of Her Badge

(This story is posted on the Literotica website. Do not repost anywhere else without the author's consent. This story is a bit different from my usual fare. To be clear, this is a story where the woman cheats on her man. But a lot of my usual themes are present. There is betrayal, seduction, and heartbreak. It features huge tits and big cocks. And don't expect a happy ending. This is a story about cops and criminals... such stories aren't always pretty. The good characters have shades of darkness, and the bad have shades of appeal. One other thing to point out, as it has come up from time to time, the villain of this story is quite arrogant. Over the years, I've noticed some readers bristle at characters like that, so be warned. If you don't enjoy stories featuring arrogant antagonists, this story won't be for you. So, for those who think they can handle a story like this, go forward.

Additionally, this story is a LONG one, even for me. You have my permission to skip around if you don't want to get too in the weeds. This story is a slow-burn over multiple chapters that ratchets up the tension until it explodes. Not every chapter features sex, but there are heated moments throughout that build up to the main event. If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, just don't say you weren't warned.)

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If Detective Monica Palmer was willing to go through with this, to face off with her tormentor, to descend to his level, to go one-on-one with David Delvecchio in their final confrontation, she would have to confront someone else first.

Herself.

Her past.

There would be no point denying it for much longer. The truth would come out shortly. And if she was going to approach David in this fashion, it required her to open up the vault, uncover a secret that she'd done everything in her power to keep buried, and come clean about one of the biggest pieces of gossip. that had dogged her for most of her career.

The rumors... they were true.

Early on in Monica's career, she had indeed worked undercover at a strip club.

She wasn't ashamed of it. In fact, she was proud of the work she'd done. But it was the experience of it, the things she learned, not just of that world, or of the Port Metro Police Department, but of herself. That's what stuck with her. That's what made it an experience she had to bury deep in her subconscious for over ten years.

And now, the vault was open, and those memories were flooding her system.

When Monica first joined the police force more than a decade ago, her captain at the time took one look at her and his eyes lit up with possibilities. She was quickly sent undercover as part of an ongoing operation trying to uncover a drug ring, a ring which was supposedly based out of a strip club, Diamond Dreams. Even though Monica was uncomfortable with the prospect of working at a strip club undercover, she was so eager to prove herself that she accepted the assignment. The job wasn't supposed to last very long, but it ended up taking months. As someone who was not exactly outgoing in terms of showing off her body, suddenly being put in this position was a bit jarring, to say the least. She wasn't ready for it, and she had no skill at it, but that fit the role she was playing: a small-town girl who'd just moved to the big city and was looking to make some money. A naïve young woman who was untrained but had all the potential in the world. Despite some initial jealousy from the other dancers due to her intense good looks and incredible body, Monica played the part well enough that eventually the other girls warmed up to her. Some even helped guide her and mentor her, giving her tips and helping to train her as a dancer.

Monica was in good shape and athletic, but she'd never had an affinity for dancing. She just didn't have a natural sense of rhythm, and expressing herself with her body seemed... unnatural. Combined with the fact that she was shy about putting her insane body on display, she was immediately met with a steep learning curve. But Monica and the women around her quickly realized she had an aptitude for stripping. Just the slightest amount of training worked wonders. At the time, even though she came to this occupation reluctantly, she was eager to please, eager to do the job well, and once she dedicated herself to improving her skills, she became incredible. She quickly learned to work the pole like she'd been doing it for years. Her athletic nature helped as she spun and climbed up the pole, hanging upside down with her legs locked around it, writhing and thrusting against it like a cowgirl on a bull. She learned how to highlight her body just right to earn the biggest response and the most money from the crowds that gathered to watch her, hooting and hollering and whistling through their teeth. She learned how to dance. She learned how to take off her clothes. She learned how to swallow her fears and bare herself for a crowd of drooling men.

Monica became the club's star dancer.

She had IT. She was a natural. She was a star. She could move. She could work it. And God knows she had the body for it. Even though she was a rookie, she soon eclipsed all the other girls, becoming the headliner over the course of the investigation. For Monica, who'd long denied the attention her body could earn her, keeping it under wraps and zipped up tight, there was something undeniably therapeutic about just baring it all and being rewarded for it, the crowd's rapturous response a thrill unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Also... working in a man's world as a woman, with her skills and accomplishments being constantly undermined... It was nice just for once to be rewarded for being good at something. Monica had never considered herself desperate for validation, but her stage act satisfied a deep craving, baring every inch of her naked flesh for a crowd of adoring men. Dressed up in slutty outfits, her face glowing with makeup, her hair expertly styled, being treated in almost worshipful fashion...she felt like a star.

Despite her meteoric rise, Monica found the other dancers to be warm, friendly, and welcoming. Instead of being jealous, these girls recognized her own undeniable star power, and they supported her rather than trying to tear her down. As strange as it was to admit, there was a sort of sisterhood that formed between herself and the other women that worked at that club. A bond. Monica had never had a lot of female friends, and she was surprised at how quickly she'd gained them by becoming this different version of herself. Even knowing it was based on a falsehood, a deception, a lie... it was just nice to feel so loved. Not just by her fellow dancers, but by the patrons.

She got damn fucking good at the job. She headlined on the main stage night after night, and she was soon the most requested girl for private dances, bringing in thousands of dollars in an average evening. For someone like her, who was shockingly inexperienced with the opposite sex, she was thrown into the deep end, but the whole experience was a crash-course that she adapted to quickly, learning how to tease men in close quarters, giving them just enough to drive them crazy and earn heaps of cash. She learned skills from her friends, weaponizing her body in all the best ways, putting men on edge, making them desperate for her. It wasn't hard.

Monica was making a stupid amount of money every shift she worked. She made more in a week at the club just in tips than she got on her monthly paycheck from the Port Metro Police Department. But instead of hoarding it for herself, she brought in some of the other girls alongside her to split the profits, wanting to pay it back to them for all their help. That way she didn't have to report the earnings to her captain. And in exchange, she got included in her new friends' social circles. She truly became one of them.

Earning her place and maintaining her cover required many moral compromises on her own part in order to fit in. She partied with her fellow dancers. She drank. She even did drugs in order to prove herself to them, and for someone who rarely partook in anything that prevented her from being clear-headed, it quickly became clear how people could get hooked on the stuff. The rush the cocaine gave her was like nothing else, and she couldn't deny that she'd never looked better during the period she was partying in this way, the drugs erasing any of the softer edges of her appearance, turning her body into a sleek, taut sports car, a high-end machine built solely for sex. Sometimes she even went on stage high, and it only amplified the rock-star feeling she got under the club lights, the pumping bass matching her pounding heartbeat. She felt like she was floating in those moments. She felt free.

But she never lost control. Not really.

She soon learned some of the other girls made extra money on the side, "partying" with patrons with fat wallets, the ones that were willing to pay top dollar. The pipeline from dancing to escort work was a natural part of their industry. Most of the girls accepted it. On this, Monica drew the line. She never slept with any man she danced for at the club, despite many, many offers. Not only was it a moral line she couldn't cross, but it felt best for business. If she was a top dancer, she couldn't just be giving it away at every opportunity. She had to retain some mystique. Some control.

The other girls looked out for her, supporting her choice not to dive all the way into this lifestyle, shielding her from the true dangers of the job. Not only from the leering men who frequented the club and continually tried to push their luck with her, but from the high-rollers as well. Rich, powerful men who'd swoop in, drop serious cash, and promise the world to a girl who caught their eye, attempting to lure naïve women into their web. They weren't like the patrons they "partied" with... those men they could handle just fine. But these high-rollers were a step beyond. Men who were beyond wealthy, who could get whatever they wanted. Men who commodified women, treating them like objects, giving them the high-life... at least, until they got bored and moved on to the next sexy creature who caught their eye, leaving those first girls in the dust.

At the time, Monica was riding the high of being the headliner, the center of attention, to such a degree that she found herself playing along with these powerful men, not recognizing that they were wolves hungry for a fresh piece of meat. In the headspace she was in at the time, their praise of her appeal and the big promises of stardom and luxury really resonated with her, as did the obscene amount of money they were flashing her, enough to change any girl's mind. It was all silly, since this was well beyond the scope of her mission, but Monica found herself playing along with them, purely out of naked curiosity. And perhaps she was a little lost in the role she was inhabiting, but Monica quickly understood why these men were so successful with a certain type of naïve woman, and how so many others before her had fallen under their sway. Luckily, Monica's fellow dancers rescued her before she got in over her head, pulling her away, explaining how these men would use up girls like them, luring them with offers of modeling gigs, offering them money, fame, and exposure. They did this while not disclosing the fact that these modeling offers rarely ended up being mainstream as promised, and often ended up being VERY pornographic. While Monica was confident she wouldn't have ever let things go nearly that far, the fact that the other dancers bailed her out filled her with warmth. The other girls treated Monica like she was one of them, and this only further aided her with her undercover assignment, helping her maintain her cover while also making her comfortable enough to really throw herself into role, knowing she had this extra layer of protection.

Monica couldn't deny that she enjoyed her time undercover dancing at the club. Not just the sisterhood of the fellow dancers, but the performance of it. The excitement of it. Dancing on stage, being the center of attention, baring the goods not for a man she cared about, but for money, for men who paid for the privilege to stare at her. It went against every code in her book, yet... it awakened something in her, a side of her personality that she still hadn't fully reckoned with. It truly was a rush like nothing else. There was a part of her that could have surrendered right then... retired from the force and gone into dancing full-time, and she would have made a well-paying career out of it, certainly more money than she made being a cop. She could have coasted through the last 15 years on nothing but the appeal of her incredible body. She could have devoted herself to that rush of pleasure she got every time she bared it all on stage and showed men the goods, shaking her tits, wagging her ass. There was a side of her that felt drawn to this destiny, the lure of the pole as David had called it, and if she'd done it for much longer than she had to, that part of her would have become harder to deny over time.

This point in her career represented a choosing between two paths... and she'd come dangerously close to becoming a full-on bimbo.

But she was too responsible, too devoted to justice to ever abandon her law enforcement career so recklessly. She never once forgot why she was there, keeping her eye on the ball. She rooted out the drug-ring she'd been sent in to uncover (after sampling the goods at a number of raucous afterparties in order to further her cover), and she passed the details of the operation up her chain of command. A date was set for the sting operation that would bring the traffickers down. But in the time between when she passed along the incriminating information, and the planned date for the sting, she noticed something that had stuck with her and stole some of the idealism she once felt for her job. She suddenly started to see people she recognized in the audience. Fellow cops. Not part of any operation, just spectators. It was almost as if they were there to catch a glimpse of the show just before it was ending. They weren't going to miss the chance to see that cute rookie Monica Palmer naked.

So, she danced and bared it all for her own coworkers, seeing no way to avoid it without blowing her cover. She even caught her captain there the night before the sting, grinning up at her from a table near the stage while he sipped his drink, one of the other dancers sitting on his lap, trying to sell him a dance. This took the wind out of the sails for Monica. In that moment, she realized she couldn't have it both ways. She couldn't ever use her looks to get ahead again, because it didn't give her the power she thought it did. Instead, it only gave men the power. Men like her captain and the other cops in her department would just reduce her to a piece of meat, no matter how crucial her undercover work had been to the eventual drug bust. This was a major case she'd worked for months to bring home, sacrificing her dignity in the process. But what really mattered to her own brothers on the force was missing out on the chance to see her glorious, naked breasts. That's all she was to them. In this moment, Monica had to champion herself and her reputation. She had to either be a cop, or a woman. She had to prioritize one in order to move on, so she chose the former.

The sting went down successfully, one of the biggest drug busts in Port Metro history. The club owner and a number of associates were brought to justice. Monica earned a commendation, a bonus, and a promotion that allowed her to transfer out of the vice unit. But despite all this, she knew her fellow dancers felt betrayed by the revelation that Monica had been a cop all along, playing them for fools. Even worse, the club had to be shut down, putting her "sisters" out of work and hard up for their next paycheck. Despite Monica's devotion to law enforcement and justice, she felt how hurt her friends were. One of them, a dancer who wound up serving a short prison sentence as an accomplice to the drug trafficking operation, spotted Monica in court at her sentencing and shouted at her: "You chose the wrong side!"

Her words haunted Monica for years. Soon afterwards, she transferred to a new precinct, unable to look any of the men she worked with in the eye. They'd all come to see her perform on stage. She heard their whispers and snickers behind her back, felt their eyes on her when she was turned away. In the years since, she would run into one of them every so often, and she still couldn't bear to look at them and see the way they stared at her.

But what hurt her the most, the feeling that cast a shadow over her for a long time, was missing the feeling of being on stage. The sensation of showing it all and having men stare at her, and being validated for it. The freedom of breaking the rules and indulging in drugs and partying and all sorts of bad behavior. That part of her was still there to this day, never fully fading away. She couldn't ignore this wild period of her life, the excitement so profound, especially compared to her typically mundane day-to-day existence. Paperwork and reports. Busting low-level offenders. Working the same beat every shift.

Not long after she was promoted, she was assigned Joel as a partner, and she found a common cause with him, a kindred spirit. Nothing too exciting or world-changing. Just good, honest work with a good, honest man. She relaxed into it, settling for a less exciting work-life and the comfort of this close relationship with a man she sensed she could trust. Every so often, though, a long-forgotten part of her would get worked up again, and Monica was forced to confront the yearning she felt for her days working the pole. The allure of that bimbo personality, the woman she'd almost become... She always tamped this dark side down, silencing it, shutting it down until it went away. For years, she'd had few issues suppressing that side of her. No one even knew it was there, so no one could attempt to coax that side of her back to the surface.

No one, that is... until she met David.

Over the weeks and months of this investigation, he'd awakened that side of her, stirring it from its coma, upsetting the perfectly maintained balance of her daily life. The side of her that enjoyed taking off her clothes, inviting men to stare at her, indulging her darkest desires... David seemed to see right through the identity Monica had cultivated, the seasoned detective, the stone-cold bitch, the ice queen... He saw only the bimbo within, and proved very capable of bringing her to the surface, despite Monica's best efforts. Only David could have forced Monica to revisit her past in this fashion. Only David could have forced the issue. Only David could have brought this whole battle of wills between them to this point, where he was poised to live out his fantasy and get everything he wanted.

But if Monica got her way, it would never reach that point.

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Evening had fallen on Port Metro by the time Monica left her apartment. She waited in her building's lobby until she saw the van pull up on the street outside, and after checking to make sure there was a gap in pedestrians walking down the sidewalk, she quickly strode outside.

She was wearing a long black coat, falling down past her knees, buttoned up to cover as much of her body as possible. The only glimpse of what was hidden beneath the coat were the black, leather, high-heeled boots she was wearing. They weren't practical. They weren't comfortable. But for the job at hand, they were required. She slunk towards the van, the side-panel door sliding open to welcome her. She nodded to the people inside and slid in, then the door slammed shut behind her and the van set off, beginning the crosstown drive toward the Tiger Lily Club.