Chapter 9

Nocturne...

It was now quite late.

Just what time it was, Sonya had no idea...?

She really had no idea just how long it had been since she and ‘Cherry’ had left the Glenbervie Police Station for the ‘Fantasia’ Massage Parlour – not that she really cared.

Running her long fingers slowly through her burgundy-tinted hair once more, she gazed down at Constable ‘Cherry’ Blake in disbelief. Sonya Rebecca Campbell could scarcely believe what had occurred – it almost seemed like she was dreaming it all as she leant back against the rear door to the ‘Fantasia’ in a daze.

The hermaphrodite felt in hard to reconcile her memory of what had just happened...?

In her left hand, she held the twenty-two year old’s discarded uniform shirt.

Sonya had found it hanging from the doorknob.

It was sopping wet.

Perspiration, saliva and both her ‘cum’ and the fragrant ‘cunni’ of Cheyenne and Sandra, as well as her own, as far as she could ascertain. ‘Cherry’ had been drenched in ‘cum’ and ‘cunt’ – the twenty-two year old brunette now very much a spent force.

She had ‘cum’ several times in quick succession.

And the hermaphrodite had a vague recollection of ‘fucking’ her too.

Sprawled helplessly over the large table in the middle of the small room at the rear of the ‘Fantasia’ Massage Parlour, Constable ‘Cherry’ Blake was oblivious to everything.

The fresh-faced young brunette had been ‘fucked’ senseless - her naked body slick with perspiration and ‘cum’ as she lay asleep on what appeared to be the dining table. It took Sonya another minute or so, to realise where she was.

And then, ‘Trainee’ Constable Sonya Campbell remembered what had happened.

She’d ‘fucked’ both her new girlfriend, and Constable ‘Cherry’ Blake.

And she’d also ‘fucked’ Sandra ‘The Countess’ Avalon as well...

Lowering her hand, she wiped at the perspiration on her cheek – her hand slid ever lower, and Sonya tugged at the collar of her knotted policewoman’s uniform shirt.

She was alone with ‘Cherry’ or so it seemed.

But, where was Sandra Elizabeth Avalon...?

And where was Cheyenne Annabel McKenzie...?

She carefully wiped at her brow with the back of her hand.

It was still warm. Some thirty degrees Celsius.

Her own uniform shirt was now drenched in perspiration.

But it was also wet with ‘cunni’ too.

Sonya’s uniform shirt smelt of an intoxicating elixir of female Pheromones, Givenchy Amirage and the delicious scent of ‘pussy juice’ as she lowered her hand to tug yet again at her collar – the one crisp pale-blue fabric transparent as it clung to her moist skin.