Forgive me, please, dear readers, but every morning, when I read Peanuts, I think of Snoopy sitting in front of a typewriter (remember them?) and resolve that one day, for no reason whatsoever, I will start a story with what is reputed to be the worst example of literature in the English language.

'It was a dark and stormy night... '

In truth, the storm had finally abated, after threatening to ruin business for the entire evening, leaving behind just a strong if cold breeze. It was safe for my friends and me to go back onto the lonely streets of our fair city. The darkness remained though, a necessary element for a successful business. There, under the highway, street lamps were a hundred feet apart, and half of them were broken anyway. In an industrial neighborhood like that, why would the city even think of caring about lighting at night? Just a few of us usually prowled the area to fight over customers, and that night much if not all of my competition had disappeared. I liked to think that it was because I'm one fine looking piece of ass.

I was dressed properly for the occasion, in my usual work outfit. 'The Lady in White', they called me. My white boots clung to my legs all the way up above my knees. They were a pain in the ass to put on and take off, but I was sure that I would only have to take them off when I was finished for the night. My skirt, also white, barely came down to cover my snatch, but at least I had on a pair of silk panties to keep my pussy warm against cold air coming in from the north. My top was tightly wrapped around my chest, with my tits, 36C thank you, oozing out, almost to the nips. That was deliberate, of course.

I was standing underneath one of the few working street lights. What the fuck, if I wanted any business, I needed more than white clothing to attract attention; I needed a little bit of light. A brand new Benz pulled up slowly alongside me. I walked toward him as the passenger window slid down. From just a few feet away, I could see that the driver was middle aged, clean shaven and well dressed, sporting a wedding ring on one finger and a diamond pinkie ring on another. Ah, I thought, this guy's got some bucks. And I definitely intend to separate him from them before the night is over.

"Hi. Baby. You working here?" His voice was soft, polite. I knew then that it would turn out to be a very profitable night.

"Life is nothing but work, Sugar. Why do you ask?" As if I didn't know.

"How much?" he asked.

"How much what?" I asked. That's it, Lucy, play dumb, make them want it all the more.

"How much for a blow job?"

"You want me to pay you to suck your cock?" I asked in mock horror.

He laughed. "No, silly, how much do you charge?"

"Oh," I said, "you want to pay me to suck your cock?"

"Yes I do," he said cheerily. "How much?"

It's so fucking easy to get them to use the right words — first! That way they can't claim that I made the first move on them. You never know what some asshole judge will do.

"Turn on your inside light," I commanded.

"Why?"

"Just because I want to make sure that you don't have anybody else hiding in the back seat."

"Oh," he said, turning on the light. I looked into the back and saw no one; I hadn't really expected to see anyone, but you never know. A streetwalking whore has to be careful, doesn't she?

I opened the passenger door. "It's freezing out here," I said as I slid in alongside him. "Close the window."

When he did so, I told him to turn off the ignition. "I don't want to die from carbon mo."

He switched off the engine and turned to me. His zipper was open and there was a big tent in his slacks, but he was keeping his cock warm until he could stick it in my mouth. The size of the tent made me think that it would be really nice to wrap my mouth around it.

"OK, Baby, how much do you want to suck my cock?"

"Let me see it first," I said.

He fished inside his shorts and pulled it out. Not actually bad looking, I thought.

"You think you can get it all in your mouth, Baby?" he asked with obvious pride.

As he said it, his hands stretched over toward me and his fingers began to squeeze my tits. I quickly twisted his arm away from me. Then I reached over, pulled his keys out of the ignition and gave his horn a quick toot.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing, bitch?" he asked angrily.

In ten seconds, two cars pulled up, one in front, one behind, bubble gum lights flashing red. Eddie was driving one of the cars, Rocco the other.

"I'm arresting you, you prick. You're going to jail, your wife will find out what you've been doing, the city is going to impound these beautiful new wheels and you'll probably never get them back."

Overtime ended about two in the morning, when we delivered five johns — a good night's work - to the precinct lock-up and finished the paperwork. Then I went out for a couple of drinks with my two backups, where we split up the cash we had taken from the Benz owner in return for letting him go with a warning and erasing the audio tape. We let him keep the diamond pinkie ring. After all, a fence would pay next to nothing for jewelry, and we surely didn't need anyone extra knowing what we were doing. Then Eddie went back to the precinct with the Sergeant's cut and I sat with Rocco.

"You were looking very hot tonight, Lucy."

"And now I don't?" I answered with a smile.

"Oh, now you look great," he covered his ass, "but before, with those luscious tits bursting out and those wrap-around the ass legs, I couldn't blame those guys for hitting on you."

"Are you hitting on me, Rocco?"

"Me? Oh gracious, no. I wouldn't think of such things with you," he lied.

This was just a game we played. I had been fucking Rocco for almost two years. But it was all date-fuck, with no deep emotions and certainly no exclusivity on either side. He was married, but he didn't care about that any more than I did.

"Is the bitch back from her mother's yet?" I asked. Despite my casual relationship with Rocco, I refused to mention his wife by name.

"Yeah, she got back yesterday afternoon, just before I came on duty. How about your place?"

"No way, Rocco. My Dad'll be home soon, if he's not there already."

"So what, Lucy? Does he think that you're still cherry?"

"I don't think so, but I sure as hell don't want him to hear me making the noises I make when you're fucking me."

"Oh shit," Rocco said. "So let's go to Plan C." He went over to the bar and asked the bartender for the key to the storage room. Some of the stragglers in the bar watched us as we headed toward the back, but neither Rocco nor I gave a damn. They were all on the Job and knew how to keep their mouths shut. Yes, police officers capitalize that word when we think and when we speak.

The storage room doubled as an office. There were cases of liquor and beer piled to staggering levels, like a pyramid against the walls. A small open area in the middle led to an old steel desk, Army surplus, a ladder to reach the upper deck of boxes and a single chair. The desk was adorned by nothing but a phone. Rocco locked the door and took off his pants, under shorts and holster. His shoes remained on, as did his throw down pistol strapped to his ankle.

His cock stuck out from between the flaps of his shirt. He sported a standard six inches, but he knew how to use them. Rocco sat his naked ass on a short two-stack of cheap scotch, his legs spread in invitation. The usual small drop of pre-cum announced the greater supply still hidden inside his balls. I grabbed an empty carton, folded it flat and laid it down on the cement floor between Rocco's legs. It would serve as a slight cushion for my knees and to keep my slacks clean. I looked at him quizzically and he read the question in my mind.

"Just a little warm-up, Lucy. Then you decide if you want boxes or desk and I'll take care of you however you like."

"Do you have enough in you for two rounds, Rocco, or did you have to give your wife a warm welcome home?"

He blushed. "B.J. and a fuck? I think we should make it just one. You choose."

"You bastard," I said with a smile.

"Whaaaaat?" he whined, possibly mocking me.

"Telling me you fucked the bitch before you came to work, that's what."

"Hey, Lucy, did I have any way to avoid it?"

We both laughed. Well, his offer of a choice of how I wanted it sounded very gentlemanly, but there was no doubt that I'd rather be fucked to a cum than just suck his cock. As I opened my mouth to tell him that, I realized that I definitely didn't want to go home with his cum sloshing around inside my pussy.

"Blow job and then you eat me, how's that, Rocco?" I suggested. He nodded, with the expression of a shrug on his face.

I always enjoyed sucking Rocco's cock. It's fat, but not too fat to stretch my jaw. He always keeps it clean and the area powdered, giving it a light scent. He knows how to control it, holding back an ejaculation when we fuck but letting go rapidly when all I'm going to do is suck it, resting my mouth. And best of all, he knows better than to grab my ears to hold my head in place, as though I was first learning how to give head.

A quick flick of my tongue took care of the first little drop. Then I began to lightly kiss along the underside of his shaft as I gently stroked him, jerking him off as it were. My free hand pulled his nuts toward my mouth. I kissed his sack, licked it clean like a cat, and then I wrapped my mouth around both balls at once. Still masturbating him, I heard the old familiar sigh as he savored his second favorite part of being blown.

It occurred to me that I didn't even have to blow him. I could finish him off with a hand job while I sucked his nuts, so I sped up my hand. He wouldn't give a fuck so long as he got to cum. It didn't take long before I heard him groan.

"On your face, Lucy. Here it comes," he whispered, as though we had company in the next bed during some orgy. With my head twisted down the way I had it, 'on my face' meant more like in my ear and hair. What the hell, why else did they invent tissues? But then I thought, I didn't want to go home with sticky hair, any more than I wanted to have Rocco's cum still inside my pussy. So I lifted my mouth off of his sac.

"Oh, no, baby, I want to feel it throb inside my mouth. I need the protein." I didn't give him a choice.

So I quickly swallowed his meat, just in time to taste the first spurt of his delicious cum hit my tongue. The rest of his load followed in due course, filling my mouth, coating the inside of my cheeks, flowing back against my teeth. When he was finished, I used my tongue to clean him off and then let him go. I leaned back with a smile and opened my mouth, showing Rocco the pearl-colored cream pooled in there. He smiled back at me as I swallowed it all down. Then I stood up and we kissed, his tongue forcing its way into me for a taste of what I had received from him.

These macho guys are all the same. He wouldn't think of sucking some guy's cock and having the guy cum inside his mouth, but he has no hesitation in wanting to taste his own cum, from my mouth or especially from my pussy.

I removed my slacks and a pair of pink lace bikinis. I knew going in that I would be having some action by my pussy, either from Rocco or from Eddie, hence the lace bikinis. Of course, most guys don't need that kind of inspiration. As long as they know that they're going to get off, the underwear is irrelevant. Hell, most of the time when I'm off duty, I don't wear any panties at all, unless I've got my period. But on the Job, I need something down there. It's an extension of what my Mom always told me, about wearing clean underwear in case I was in an accident. Well, if I got shot at work and went to the hospital, I'd hate to have some nurse cut away my clothing and find a bare snatch. She'd be liable to want to eat me instead of saving my life.

Rocco waited for me to decide between boxes and desk. I decided against putting my bare ass on a steel desk and instead sat on the same boxes that he had used. Rocco in turn used the same box as I had for a kneepad although, still naked, he wasn't worried about dirtying his jeans.

There is no thrill greater in life than having some man with his head between my legs, a supplicant before me, worshiping at my sex grotto, my cunt, licking up my juices, his fingers and tongue having no real purpose in life but to please my clit, to make me cum, to bring me to that screaming orgasm that I live for day after day after day.

As I spread my legs for Rocco's tongue, I glanced down at my bald pink labia, wondering at the difference among the various men whom I invited between my legs. Most of them got a thrill out of the absence of cunt hair. It made me look so whorish. And that precisely is why I shaved down there, to remind me that I enjoyed being a whore, at least the fucking part, that sex was the most pleasurable part of life. Maybe that's why I volunteered for the streetwalker sting, because I could do it like a pro. I probably would have enjoyed fucking the owner of that Benz if I had met him in a bar. And I wouldn't have charged him either.

On the other hand, the most important man in my life would prefer it if I never shaved, if my cunt hair would grow so bushy that he'd need a road map to find his way to my clit. He says that the hair keeps in the aroma, and that the smell of a pussy is one of his major turn-ons. For him at least, the only salvation is the fact that his other lover keeps her bush totally unshaven. When I eat her, I wish that she shaved.

But she's only second and I'm first — I hope. More about that later.

Rocco enjoys bald pussy. After the first time that we fucked, he says that he started to work on his wife to get her to shave down there. I don't know how she could avoid becoming suspicious about his request, but I don't give a damn; I've got no husband to hide anything from.

He began with the slightest of sniffs down there. All he got was the aroma of the stuff that I spray on, to substitute for natural pussy odor. I was wondering about a possible re-labeling of the spray can: 'use this product, make your cunt sniffing sweet'. Or even maybe TV ads, showing a guy with his nose up against some girl's snatch. Hey, you never know what that might do for sales.

Then he turned his head sideways and kissed my lower lips with his face lips. I tried a Kegel to kiss him back but if he noticed it, he didn't react. I reached down to spread my lips, an invitation for Rocco to begin licking up and down. Then he curled his tongue to stick it into my pussy. I sighed; tongue fucking is fine, but a pussy needs the stiffness of a ready cock or at least a couple of fingers. Or even a vibrator.

Enough already! I wasn't there to make love, just to fucking cum. I put a hand under his chin and gently lifted his head so that his lips moved up to my clit. He got the idea, alternating licking and sucking on it. I felt his hand slide under me. I tensed, knowing that I would soon feel a finger exploring my anus. I didn't like it, I never like the feel of anything in my ass, though now, as I write this, I'm no more of a virgin there than any other hole in my body. But I knew that Rocco loved to do that and, while I'm not 'in love' with him, he pleases my body enough so that I want to please him also. But back then it was a finger only, nothing more.

There was a knocking on the door.

"Hey, you guys, hurry it up. I've got to get a couple of bottles out of there."

"Keep it in your pants, Jimmy. We're almost finished," I yelled back. I could hear a couple of officers laughing in the background.

Rocco took the hint and began to suck vigorously on my clit. I clamped my hands on his head and began to hump up into his face. Then I grabbed his free hand and bit it, hard, to dampen the noise of my own cum. He looked up at me with a smile, his face shiny wet from my juice. I pulled his finger out of my rear and put it in my mouth to clean. The glow in his eyes told me that he adored me whenever I did that. It was probably one of the reasons he was there with me instead of home with the bitch.

I drove home with my panties in my purse.

Daddy was just getting there himself as I arrived at home. His name is Allen. Ooh, that man is just so handsome. He's made my pussy leak like forever. Tall, broad shouldered, hairy chest and legs, movie star good looks with eyes that twinkle like Santa Claus. Which makes sense, since he's originally from Santa country, up in Canada. He had been a police officer up there until he met Mom. Then he had moved down to the States and joined the police force down here. Soon afterward, his older sister Babs had come for a visit and Daddy had introduced her to his Captain, who swept her off her feet and married her.

"Good morning, Captain Daddy Van Pelt," I said with a smile. The old man had moved up through the ranks pretty quickly.

"Good morning, Officer Van Pelt," he smiled in return. "And how was your shift last night? Another one of those dressing-like-a-whore street-walker stings that you love so much?"

I took a stack of bills out of the money belt which kept my pussy warm and waved them at him. "The owner of a restaurant was taking the night's receipts home when he had the temerity to ask me to suck his cock. It's just a shame that so many of his customers paid by credit card. Otherwise it would have been a lot more."

"You took care of the Sergeant, didn't you?" he asked.

"Of course, Daddy." It was the Sergeant's job to pass part of the take up the line to the Lieutenant, who then took care of the Captain. Daddy's question was not financial; he was Captain in a totally different precinct, where he had his own sources of tax-free money.

"And you erased the tape, I hope?" There was a question mark in his voice.

"Of course we did, Daddy. I had a great rabbi, didn't I?" He blushed proudly.

In police talk, the word 'rabbi' has no religious connotations whatsoever. It refers to a senior officer who takes a young recruit under his wing, teaching him or her the tricks of the trade and guiding his or her career through choice assignments and assistance with promotions. It also includes protection the young officer when he or she does something stupid. My situation was unusual, in that my own Daddy was my rabbi.

"Did you take care of Rocco?" he asked.

That time, I knew that he wasn't asking about sharing the shakedown we took from the Benz owner. No, Daddy was asking if I was still fucking Rocco. Wondering as always why he cared, as if he believed in fidelity himself, I let my blush answer for me.

"Am I going to get sloppy seconds today?" he followed up.

I shook my head. "My pussy is virgin for you today, Daddy."

"Let's go to bed, Dorothy."

Yes, that's my real first name, but so many kids in school used to call me Lucy, as in Lucy Van Pelt, that the name stuck. I even think of myself as Lucy.

The 'let's go to bed' part of the conversation goes way back to when I was eleven or twelve. Mom had recently died in an automobile accident. She and Daddy's then-Captain (aunt Babs' husband) were in a car that was broad-sided as it drove out of a motel parking lot. Investigation determined that his name was on a motel registration card and Mom's panties were inside his glove box. A few weeks later, Daddy, who was only a Sergeant at the time, and I were going through her dresser.

There was a vibrator sitting right on top of a stack of panties in one of the lower drawers. As I picked it up — don't ask me why — my fingers touched the back of two 8 x 10 photographs lying face down in the drawer. I turned them over.

The top one was a full length photo of Daddy, his body profile to the camera, his face turned toward it with a smile. He was stark naked. His cock stood out straight, hard, HUMONGOUS! It looked like eight or nine inches, appearing to be as large as any cock I had ever seen in a porn DVD. His ball sac hung down. I wondered how he could ever have gotten that thing inside of Mom without hurting her badly. Involuntarily, my panties dampened, for the first of many times.

The second photo was taken from the same angle. It showed Daddy with his hand on his monstrous cock, his smile replaced by a grimace and his eyes staring off into space as a spurt of his cum jetted out of the tip and into the air. All I could think of was the exquisite timing of the photograph, not its content.

"Holy shit, Daddy, Mom took pictures of you naked? And masturbating?" I asked innocently — and curiously.

Daddy took one look at the pictures and at her vibrator, the pink plastic showing signs of wear, and he began to cry uncontrollably.

"It's my fault, Dorothy, it's all my fault."

"That she used a vibrator?" I asked. When he didn't answer, I continued.

"It's not your fault that you have those awful hours. We knew it was part of your job."

I was trying to comfort him, but getting nowhere. His tears continued, increasing in volume.

"That wasn't it, Dorothy."

I was starting to understand that he wasn't talking about the vibrator.

"You mean her going out with the uncle Jack? Don't blame yourself; she must have felt lonely sometimes."

"You don't really understand, Dorothy." He was struggling to control himself. "She went out with Jack because she knew that I was seeing aunt Babs."

"Seeing, as in... ?" The stunned but unfinished question hung in the air. Daddy nodded quietly and then he hit me with the second part of his one-two punch.

"It was Babs who took those pictures," he told me.

I started to cry myself and turned toward Daddy, to hug him. He cried on my shoulder while I sobbed into his chest. Our bodies were close and I suddenly felt his hardness pressing against me. It meant nothing; I knew that boys — and of course men — become erect when they think about sex. Mom's well used pink vibrator, Daddy's visions of her in bed with his brother-in-law, Daddy's memories of his own penis somewhere inside his own sister's body, those surely were enough to trigger thoughts of sex and to send blood into his male member.

But I didn't pull away. I was a virgin, my sexual experience limited to the one groping feel that I had allowed Timmy Temple to get away with in the movies, outside the sweater, of course. That and the single time, the week before her death, the advice that Mom had given me when she had taught me how to insert a tampon instead of using a napkin. So I liked the feel of Daddy's hard body against mine. My thoughts flickered back to that movie, and how Timmy's cock would have felt if I had acceded to his request to touch it. All of that was in my head as I moved it away from Daddy's chest and looked up at him, our groins still pressed together.

He looked down at me, his eyes reading my face and then suddenly looking through my face into my brain.

"NO!" he yelled involuntarily, as though he had touched a bare electrical wire.

I, who hadn't even been thinking quite of THAT, realized his imagination and let my mind run free. It took only a second or two.

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered.

"No," he repeated firmly in his police voice.

"Why not, Daddy?" I was still whispering.

"Because..." He stopped and began to cry again. I reached out my hand and touched his hardness through his slacks. He looked down at my hand but didn't stop crying. Nor did he resist as I pushed him backward toward the marital bed.

What the fuck are you doing, I asked myself. I didn't even know who I was. Was I Dorothy, the obedient little daughter, trying in my own naïve way to make things better for my Daddy now that Mom was gone? Or was I the mischievous little Lucy, pulling the football away from Charley as he is about to kick it, trying anything, no caring how anyone else felt, never fearing the consequences of my actions?

Or was I someone in the middle, an almost teen starting to learn about that awesome sex that all the girls spoke about and wanting to advance my learning, to multiply my experience as quickly as possible?

Whatever the answer, all I heard was Daddy's sobbing as I fumbled with the belt on his slacks. It was soon opened, followed by his top button and his zipper. He lay unresisting as I pulled his slacks off his legs and let them drop to the floor.

Now what, Dorothy, Lucy, whoever you may be, I wondered. The tent in his shorts confirmed that his cock had remained filled with blood. But what to do, what to do? In the movies, there would be kissing before we got around to taking off his pants, but we were past that point. Anyway, I had Daddy where I wanted him, and I feared that a kiss would bring him back to reality.

I stood before Daddy as would a rapist. Without a gun, I could do whatever I chose to do with my victim's body. Without a knife to threaten, my victim lay cowering as it were, not in fear but in tears. I was about to rape my victim without force, merely by taking advantage of my power over him. Power? Yes, power, for he was in tears and my mind was clear. I was the teacher taking advantage of the student who feared a failing grade. I was the clergyman holding out the threat of eternal damnation to the sinning parishioner if she didn't let him sin on her body. I was the lawyer, using the body of the client, going through divorce, who felt unloved. I was, as I thought of Daddy's work, the police officer who would extort sex in return for ignoring some minor infraction.

Oh, I knew who I was, all right. Moments earlier, I had been Dorothy, loving daughter desirous of easing her father's pain. But that moment had passed. I had become Lucy, cute, mischievous, a little bitch totally uncaring about the feelings of others. I wanted what I wanted and it mattered not that I was about to actually hurt someone, about to change irrevocably my relationship with my closest living relative. I needed to feel, to experience what I had only heard about.

We learned in the Police Academy about the Hearsay Rule. That allows us to testify against a criminal only as to things that we ourselves have seen, not what we've been told about. There are lots of exceptions to that rule, but they're not important here. What counts is that, with regard to sex, there is no exception to the rule. In other words, if you haven't experienced it, you really don't know for sure. I had heard lots about sex but never experienced it. Timmy Temple's sister Gina, my best friend, told me that she had sucked her boyfriend's cock and that she had swallowed the stuff that came out of it. I believed her, I saw the way that she allowed her boyfriend to paw her, but I couldn't swear to whether or not she actually did it, nor how it tasted. So I had to try it.

But even at age whatever, I'm not sure, let's say I was already twelve, I knew that the real thing in sex was the fucking, sticking it in, cock in cunt. Yick! I used to hate that word; now I don't mind using it when I speak about sex. I knew — by hearsay — that it must be fun, for I often heard Mom's screams of pleasure as she and Daddy went at it, not realizing that I was still awake, using their noises as inspiration for my fingers to satisfy my pubic urges.

So I figured that, while I had Daddy crying there with his pants down, I might as well go right for the brass ring and make him fuck me.

Then I thought about the downside of that. Daddy was supine, teary, resigned to my doing whatever I chose to do. If I decided to fish his cock out of his shorts and wrap my mouth around it, he would be too torn up to stop me. But to get him to fuck me, I would have had to remove my jeans and panties, and in the time that it took, he might look at me getting naked and have time to think about it. In addition, if I was going to do right by him, I would have had to strip my top and bra, so that he could see and touch my breasts, such as they were.

And the coup de grace, the demolition of my maidenhead, would require me to straddle Daddy, to lower myself down until my labia would surround both sides of the crown of his cock, and then force myself down hard to drive him up into my pussy. Daddy's police training made him too aware of his surroundings, his circumstances, and he would surely stop me before I impaled myself on that thing still hiding in his shorts. Yet I realized another problem. No doubt I could get that monster cock into my mouth, with my hand on the shaft to make sure that he didn't push it in too far. But between my legs? He might kill me with it; for sure it would hurt like a son of a bitch.

Oral sex it would have to be — for starters, at least.

Daddy always wears boxer shorts. As I slid my fingers in through one of the leg holes, I watched his face. The instant that I touched his cock for the first time, he shook his head from side to side, but made no attempt to stop me. I drew it out into the open. I had never seen Daddy's cock before. My only knowledge of cock had been from Gina's bedroom, sitting in front of a DVD player, watching a porn disk that belonged to Timmy. Ah, if Timmy had only known that I had seen that action, I never would have been able to stop him from going farther than that one time in the movies.