(This is the eighth story in this series. While it can be read as a stand-alone, the characters will mean more if you are familiar with the other stories. Besides, its a great way to get you to read the others.)
The young woman moaned and twisted under her lover. His bulk pinned her helplessly to the bed. His kisses ravaged her mouth, his driving tongue exploring every bit of it. She arched her back, meeting the hard thrusts of his cock with savage punches of her hips. Every stroke plunged deep into her open, dripping pussy. His chest mashed her throbbing nipples back into her full breasts and ground them in circles as he pounded her with all his strength.
She screamed as she felt his body tense. Then she was crying out again and again as his cock slammed into her g-spot and he emptied himself in her. In the throes of her orgasm she raked his back, leaving the deep scratches she always did to mark him as hers. She felt his hot seed filling her womb and knew this time they would beget his child.
She shuddered and opened her eyes. Her hand slowed its motions from between her splayed wide legs. Her clit pulsated and her vaginal muscles still held onto the three fingers she had plunged deeply into herself.
Rising, she walked to the dresser in her apartment. Almost absent-mindedly, she sucked her fingers. For one brief moment, she imagined she could taste his cum there. She picked up his framed picture from where it stood amongst the candles and flowers she kept it surrounded it with.
"One day, my love, one day you will be mine." Her blissful expression darkened as her eyes sought the picture of HER on the far wall. Stapled to the old dart board, it bore the rents caused by the knife stabbed in the middle of her face. "And you, you bitch, you'll not stand between me and the man who loves me anymore. Soon, Pat Gibson, very soon Mike will be mine, as it was always destined to be."
Days passed. She kept a close eye on her rival, closer than she was able to keep on her beloved. One night she slipped into the backyard of the Gibson home.
Peering into the French doors leading out onto the low built deck she could see much of the family room. Her heart leapt as she saw Mike settled in a recliner. His son sat in his lap and his two daughters perched on the arms of the chair. She strained her ears but could only catch the low, soft rhythm of his voice. Undoubtedly, he was telling them a bedtime story.
She ground her teeth as that woman entered. Pat scooped the little boy from his father's lap and carried him into the back part of the house. The girls kissed their father and followed. Windows briefly showed lights and then went dark.
She drank in the sight of Mike as he stretched out in the recliner. She thought of all the things they would be able to do together once they were together. It would be so wonderful.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of Pat. The interloper was only wearing a t-shirt that barely covered her bottom. She swung herself onto Mike's lap, facing him. Her arms went around his neck and she wiggled her butt against him. Leaning forward, she seemed to whisper something in Mike's ear.
Whatever the words were, they produced an immediate reaction in Mike. He suddenly stood and scooped her up into his arms. Kissing her, he carried her out of sight. Knowing what was taking place, the watcher shed a tear, rushed back to her hidden car and drove home.
How could he do that? What could he possibly see in that short tramp? She had heard stories about Pat. She wasn't a fit mate for a man like Mike. The woman examined herself in the mirror. She was tall and slender, fit and trim. She took care of herself. Mike had to have noticed. He had smiled at her several times and complimented her. She knew he secretly wanted her as much as she wanted him. It was time. Tomorrow she would see that obstacle removed.
Early next morning, Pat dropped Mike, Jr. off at the pre-school he attended. After hugging his mother, the four year old rushed over to his teacher, Ms. Rachel. Smiling, he handed her an apple.
"Thank you very much, Mikie." The return smile from her made the young boy almost burst with pride. He immediately went to his seat and pulled out his drawing pad and colored pencils in preparation for the first class.
Pat giggled. "Stealing the attention of my son, are you? Rachel, when in the world are you going to get married and have a couple of your own?"
"I don't know Pat. It seems every guy I meet is married or gay. Or both. And heck, I've got 25 children right now. Where would I fit any more?" They both laughed. As Pat turned towards the door, Rachel called after her. "Pat, don't forget about the fund raiser next week. We're counting on you to do your magic act."
"Okay Rachel." Pat walked over to her son and kissed him. With a flourish, she pulled two quarters out of the boy's ear. "Here's your milk money, Mikie."
Pat drove to the Central Precinct. Parking her unmarked unit in front she entered the door. She stopped for a minute to talk to the dispatcher on duty, always the quickest way to find out if anything interesting or exciting was going on. After checking her in-box, she caught up on paperwork. Frowning over one open case, she decided to hit the street.
As she left she looked at the time. Sticking her head in the dispatcher's officer she asked. "Kay, can I use one of the phones? I left my cell in my car and I need to call my son's pre-school."
Nodding her thanks, Pat called and got through to Rachel. Her friend instantly agreed to keep Mikie until Pat could swing by if she ended up running a bit late.
As she expected, running down the lead she had come up with carried her past her usual quitting time. Checking her watch she figured she had just enough time to stop by the house on the way to school. She called out-of-service as she pulled up and ran inside.
One advantage of her irregular hours was that she could often arrange to swing by the house and get something healthy when she needed to nibble, avoiding the hamburgers and fries that so many cops fall victim too. Thankful that Rachel had agreed to keep Mikie for a few extra minutes, she was munching a handful of carrots when the phone rang.
"Don't talk. Just listen," came a muffled female voice. Something in the tone of the woman's voice made the hair on the back of Pat's neck stand up. Reaching down, she hit the "Record Message" button on the answering machine. There was a pause. The voice called "Say hello now," and then a familiar little voice in the background spoke up.
"Oh God, Mikie? Who is this? What are you doing with my son?"
"I told you not to talk you bitch. Just do. Get in your car right now and drive. You'll find directions in an envelope in your car. And don't call the station. I'll know about any attempt to contact your husband or any lookout placed on your son. Come alone and completely unarmed or he dies. Hang up and go."
Pat carefully hung up the phone and considered her options. There was a self-assurance in that voice that made her think the woman was indeed somehow capable of knowing if she called the department. She walked back to the bedroom, undoing her belt as she did. She slipped off her holster and placed her sidearm in the drawer she and Mike kept their weapons in. Straightening her shoulders and taking a deep breath she walked to her car.
She looked in the back seat. A plain white envelope was perched there. She opened it and scanned the contents. There was an address. Her heart sank as she saw the list of cell phone numbers and the warning that they were being monitored. She realized someone with this much access could very well have the capability to do exactly as she threatened.
However... Pat flipped open her clipboard and rummaged through the storage compartment. She pulled out a stamped envelope. Stuffing the letter inside, she addressed it to her friend Lieutenant Linda Shannon's home address. Cutting through a store parking lot, she paused to drop the letter in a corner USPS mailbox.
She found the address without difficulty. She couldn't think of why it seemed vaguely familiar but it did. Following her instructions, she parked in the back and walked up to the door. She turned the knob and came in.
"In here," came the female voice. Pat knew she had heard it before now. She cautiously walked into what was apparently the living room. She saw the woman standing there and her jaw dropped.
"Me," the woman answered smugly. She held Mikie's shoulder, pulling him back when he would have run across the room.
"what is this all about? What are you doing?" Pat asked.
.... There is more of this story ...