THE MAN IN THE PARK
by Downing Street
PART II: John and Laura
“This is the dumbest stake-out I have ever been on.”
John regarded the woman beside him with amusement. “Oh? Exactly how many stake-outs have you been on, Laura?”
“Don’t quibble. This is still a waste of time.” Sunlight, filtered through a huge plane tree, dappled on her face.
He sipped coffee. “I don’t know. Chief seems very eager to catch this fellow.”
“John, we’re sitting on a park bench on a sunny afternoon, drinking coffee and watching the world go by. I feel like I should be feeding the pigeons. And for what? An old man who . . . does nothing, apparently.”
John shrugged. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “There have been some strange goings-on going on in the park lately. The theory is that this fellow is behind it all. Somehow.”
He sipped his coffee while he admired a young woman jogging by. She was dressed for the weather in blue spandex running shorts and a matching half-top, bright blue shoes. The outfit flattered her smooth figure and long, supple legs. There were compensations to police work on a fine summer day.
His partner gave him a sharp look. She was brown-haired and athletic. “What kind of things?”
He hesitated. Laura had been his junior partner for only a few weeks, and her didn’t know her well. “Strange things,” he said at last. “Indecent exposure. Lewd behaviour. Public sex. Much of it apparently involving couples who barely know each other. There was a report yesterday of a foursome over by the duck pond. That’s one man and three women.”
“We’re staking out this guy because he got lucky with three women?”
He shook his head firmly. John was tall, with a narrow face that carried a look of perpetual concern. “That’s the thing. Our suspect wasn’t the man in the orgy. He was a postman. The three women were classmates from the college. They apparently met the letter carrier about a half hour before they were all discovered going at it under the fountain.”
Laura’s frown marred her lovely face. “I don’t understand.”
He sipped coffee. “Neither do I. But Chief says our man is responsible. According to witnesses, he is always around when this . . . odd behaviour breaks out. Not doing anything, but always there. Chief says he’s a mental patient; he’s been held in some sort of hush-hush government lock-up for years. Then last week he escaped, nobody will say how. They want him back.”
“Do we have a description?”
John pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket. He unfolded it and began reading: “Male, Caucasian, 58 years old, 165 cm, walks with a cane. Last seen wearing, oh come on, a brown suit with a bow-tie and a brown fedora.”
“What’s a fedora?”
“A hat. Wait, there’s more. Unarmed but may be dangerous. Approach with caution.”
Laura scowled at him. “Unarmed but approach with caution? What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”
His young partner bounced to her feet in exasperation. “But, but, that doesn’t make any sense. He’s fifty-eight years old and barely five feet tall, yet we’re supposed to—oh my gosh!” She sat down quickly.
“What? What is it?”
“I think I saw him!”
“What? Where?”
“Behind us. Up on the knoll, beside the statue. Don’t look! He’s looking right at us.”
They both leaned forward, heads down. “Are you sure it’s him?” John asked.
“Pretty sure. He’s short, leaning on a cane, and wearing a big floppy hat.”
“Sounds like our man. Let’s go.” He made to rise.
“No, wait!” Laura yanked him back down on the bench. “Not so fast, you’ll spook him.”
“I’m not going to spook him, I’m going to arrest him. What’s come over you?”
She spread her hands. “Look, the notice said approach with caution. Let’s take a minute to plan our next move.”
“Oh very well. You’re sure it’s him?” He twisted his neck to peer over the back of the bench.
“Yes I’m sure. Will you quit looking! He’ll see you.”
“All right, all right.” He wondered briefly why she was being so reticent. Laura was famously impetuous. Usually John was the one holding her back. He said: “We need to get a better look at him.”
Laura looked thoughtful. “I wish we had a mirror, or something shiny.”
“So we could watch his reflection? Good idea. But what can we use?”
“A bit of glass would do. Or something made of shiny metal . . .”
John snapped his fingers. “Wait, I’ve got it. We can use one of those make-up things with the mirror in the lid. You have one of those things, right?”
Laura looked startled. “A what? You mean a compact? No of course I don’t have one. Why would I?”
“Oh, sorry. I thought that women always carried those things.” He looked guilty.
“No, not everybody. John, I’m not even carrying a purse. Where would I carry a compact?”
“I’m sorry! I thought that women always—”
“Oh, I get it. I see what this is about.” She nodded her head gravely. “You don’t think I’m a real women, do you?”
Her partner looked at her blankly. “What?”
Laura suddenly seemed very annoyed. “That jibe about a compact. That’s another of your little reminders that I’m not feminine enough. You think that just because I wear trousers and I’m trying to make detective that I’m some sort of eunuch with no sexuality at all.”
“What?” John said again, nonplussed. “No, Laura I never said—”
“Well, I have news for you, John-boy. Just because I’m not some giggly girly-girl in girdles and garters like the women in your fantasies, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be a woman. I am every bit as much a woman as any member of my sex and I know a thing or two about how to be sexy. So don’t you go treating me like one of the guys because I most assuredly am not. Do you understand?”
“Uh, I think so.” He didn’t.
“I dress like this”—she indicated her white blouse and black slacks with a sweep of her hand—“because we’re undercover, not because I’m afraid of my sexuality.”
“Actually Laura, we’re plain clothes, not undercover.”
“It doesn’t matter! The point is that I can be as hot and sexy as any woman, even that tart Michaela that you’re always staring at down at the station. In fact I’ll have you know I’m wearing red satin underwear right now. I wear sexy underthings beneath my street clothes almost every day.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Well that’s, uhm, good to know. Now, where can we find—”
“Hey, you want to see?” Laura blurted. “Come on, I’ll show you.” She was already peeling off her jacket.
“What are you doing?” John protested, looking about. “Laura, you don’t have to—”
“This is important! I need you to see.” She hurriedly unbuttoned her blouse. She turned toward him. Gripping the flaps of the blouse in both hands, she slowly opened it wide. “Take a look,” she said softly.
John took a look. Laura’s brassiere was indeed shiny red, what John guessed might be satin. It was a sexy, three-quarter cup that gently cuddled her twin beauties, and hinted exactly enough about the round perfection beneath it to whet a man’s desire to see more.
“Pretty, isn’t it,” Laura challenged.
“Uh, uhm, yes, it’s . . . very pretty.”
“Not a bad rack either, huh?”
“Well, I—I can’t really—”
“Oh come on, admit it, honey. I’ve got the nicest pair you’ve seen in a long while.” She arched her back, thrusting her eager chest forward.
“Well, all right, they’re . . . great. Marvellous. Really.”
“Better than Michaela’s?” She referred to a dispatcher who liked to wear her uniform tight.
John was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He was fascinated by the unexpected display of womanliness in front of him. “Oh, well, I don’t like to make comparisons, but . . . sure, better than hers. Uhm, but should you—”
She gave him a smoky look. “I guess you’re not seeing me as one of the guys now, eh?”
John was still staring like an adolescent. He felt his blood rising. “Uh, no. Definitely not.” He gripped his chin with one hand.
The boob-exposing brunette leaned toward him. “Do you want to touch them?” she whispered.
“Laura!”
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. Men always want to touch a beautiful women’s boobs. And mine”—she paused to flex her torso back and forth—“are spectacular.”
John tried to think of something to say, to reproach her, or at least to explain how ridiculous this all was. She was his partner, they had a professional relationship, he couldn’t be touching her breasts—her spectacular breasts, which they truly were; soft, round, upthrusting young breasts, wrapped in red satin like birthday presents, sexy and gorgeous, ready to be held, and stroked and fondled by his eager fingers and . . . .
“Aaah,” John managed. “Laura, please, you—”
“Come on, honey,” his partner urged in a new, throaty voice. “I’ve got to convince you that I’m a real woman. With a real woman’s body. So go ahead. Take advantage of this one-time offer. Touch my titties. You know you want to.” She slid a little closer to him on the bench.
“Laura, this is . . . this is . . . all wrong.” He glanced about nervously, to see if anyone was watching them. The sight of Laura’s crimson-cupped chest pulled his attention back like magnets drawing iron. “I can’t . . . I mean really . . . I . . .”
His left hand seemed to have lifted on its own. He told it to behave, but it wouldn’t listen. He watched with helpless detachment as the independent hand reached out, hesitated for two seconds, then gently pressed itself against her left breast.
“Mmmmm, there we go,” Laura encouraged him. “Go ahead, feel both of them. I want you to remember this.”
Obediently, John’s hand drifted from one satin-cased breast to the other, as if searching for any flaws in their perfection, and finding none. He swallowed hard.
“Ooooh, that feels . . . kinda nice,” Laura enthused. She bit her lower lip. John’s hand explored. It wanted to slip inside the cups of her red bra, to look for other things to fondle. He wasn’t sure how long he could stop it.
“Laura, uhm, what about . . . what about . . . the suspect,” he said thickly.
Laura’s eyes were half closed. “. . . suspect?” she said dreamily. “Oh . . . right, the suspect. Here, I’ll get a look.” She stroked his hand. “But you’ll have to let go, tiger.”
He jerked his hand back. “Oh! Right. Sorry.”
Laura smiled at him. She reached up and pulled out the clip holding her hair. She shook her head. Thick tresses tumbled down around her shoulders. She tossed the clip on the grass in front of the bench.
“Oops, dropped something,” she teased. She bent far over to retrieve the fallen clip. She stayed that way, long hair now brushing the grass, while she peered behind her from below the park bench.
Eventually she straightened again. “He’s still there,” she said, pulling her hair back up. “He’s leaning against the statue, not doing anything. I don’t think he knows who we are.”
“Good,” her partner replied. “We can probably take him without any fuss.” He regretted that his hand was no longer on her tits. Her blouse was still unbuttoned. “Why don’t you go around the left and I’ll go—what are you doing?”
Instead of pinning her hair back up, his trim partner had pulled it into a girlish ponytail that started almost on top of her head. Her brown locks spilled downward in all directions, like a fountain of molten chocolate. “We look too much like cops,” she explained. “This is a better look for under cover.”
“We’re not under cover, we’re plain clothes,” John said patiently.
“Whatever. Besides, it’s kinda cute, don’t you think?” She flipped her head back and forth, letting her hair fly about. She giggled.
John eyed her cautiously. He had never heard Laura giggle. “Yes, sure, it’s very . . . cute. Aren’t you going to button up your blouse?”
She only pouted. “Oh, what’s the matter, don’t you like looking at my titties?” She leaned close deliberately, giving him an eyeful.
“No! I mean yes. I mean—that is—it’s just that, we’re on a stake-out . . .”
“Oh, all right.” She pouted like a spoiled teen. She fastened a couple of buttons on the bottom of her blouse, then apparently lost interest. “Saaaaay, clever me has a brilliant idea.”
“What? What is it?” John replied quickly, grateful for any diversion from Laura’s crimson cleavage.
“Here’s a way we can keep an eye on our suspect, and make it look completely natural. I’m so smart!” She giggled again.
“Laura, we don’t need to keep an eye on him, we need to make an arrest.”
“Oh come on, this is a stake-out. We should be like, observing him for a while. Look, you sit there like you are, and I’ll kinda swing over, like this.” To illustrate her idea she turned sideways beside him and swung one leg across his lap. The manoeuvre brought her chest against his arm and her face next to his.
“Laura! What the—” John sputtered.
“This is like, so perfect! See, now I’m in position to watch our man without him suspecting! Instead of two strangers who could be cops, we’re just a pair of young lovers making out in the park. Like those two, over there.”
She pointed with her chin toward another bench a little way down the path. A young woman was sitting in the lap of a man, locked in a hungry kiss. John watched for a second. Oddly, the young woman was dressed in a skimpy runner’s outfit. Wasn’t that the girl who had jogged by a few minutes earlier? The man she was making out with was a bespectacled older man wearing a pinstripe suit. His hair was greying at the temples. His mobile phone lay beside him on the bench.
“Laura,” he said thoughtfully, “isn’t it a little strange that—mmmmmph!” His sentence was truncated by warm, questing lips. His young partner was kissing him, slowly and thoroughly.
He was dazed by the time she finished. “What . . . are you doing?” he asked blankly.
She ran a hand across his chest. “We’ve got to make this look real, tiger. That’s what going under cover is all about.”
“Laura, we’re not under cover, we’re—plnclthssssmmmmmmm.” Once again her lips foreclosed discussion. She payed a lot of attention to making it look real. The kiss was sweet and warm and infinitely seductive, neither hurried with lust nor intense with need, but slow and deliberate, like she was savouring a rich dessert.
Eventually she let him go. She stayed so close he could feel her breath against his face. “I told you I was a real woman,” she husked. “I guess you believe me now, huh tiger?”
“I . . . believe you,” John murmured. There were many reasons why he should have pushed her away. At that moment he couldn’t remember any of them. Laura’s womanly assault was making clear thinking very hard. It was making something else hard too.
“Let’s not blow our cover, baby,” his partner cooed, before closing the gap between their lips again.
Some considerable time later John found his face buried in Laura’s hair as she kissed his neck and nibbled on his ear. “Hey,” he whispered. “What’s our suspect doing?”
“Hmmmmm?”
“The old man, what’s he—stop that!—what’s he doing?”
She barely glanced his way. “Still there. Sorta watching us. You smell nice. You should have your hands on my titties.”
“Right. To make it look real.” He complied eagerly.
“Mmmmm, yeah, like that. Ooooh, nice hands, tiger. You know, I think I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you in the squad room.”
“Really? You never—”
“Didn’t realize it till right now. Funny, I—Oh tiger!” John’s hands had succeeded in releasing a boob from its satin confinement. The nipple was red and erect. He tweaked it and felt Laura jump.
“Ooooh, don’t stop now,” she moaned. She lifted herself up a little, bringing her bare breast to his mouth. John’s lips descended on it. He licked and nibbled happily while Laura squirmed in his arms.
He happened to glance at the next bench. Evidently the other couple was thinking along parallel lines. The man had lost his jacket and tie. His suspenders were down. The much younger girl was kneeling on the bench beside him. She peeled her spandex running top off, revealing a small but perky pair in a black sports bra. The man said something. The girl giggled. The bra followed the top onto the grass. She fell back into his embrace.
Laura’s quivering brought his attention back to the squirming girl-cop in his arms. “Ohmygod I think I’m gonna cum,” she exclaimed. “You are soooo good!”
“Laura, sweetness,” John murmured around the delightful tit in his mouth. “Check on . . . the suspect.”
“He . . . oh you’re the best of the best . . . he hasn’t . . . uhn . . . moved.” Suddenly she pulled back. “Wait, wait a sec, baby.”
“What’s wrong?”
His partner was dishevelled and panting. Her face was flushed, her lips red from kissing. Her bra was half off, tangled incongruously with her open blouse. “I still look . . . too much . . . like a cop,” she explained, taking deep breaths.
He could only stare. “You do?”
She nodded. “Gotta look, you know, more like her.” She indicated the other bench, where the older man and the half-naked jogger were now committing public indecency with unvarnished enthusiasm. John could hear the grunts and moans from his bench. The man’s mobile rang. He picked it up and tossed it away without looking at it.
Laura extracted herself from her partner. She unbuckled her belt, unzipped the zipper, lifted her bum off the seat and hurriedly shoved her black trousers down her legs. With a few more deft movements they were off completely.
The legs underneath were pale, but strong and perfectly shaped, as John had known they would be. She was wearing thin black trouser stockings that came halfway to her knees and black slip-ons with low heels. With her hair in a high ponytail and her blouse half undone, she looked like a horny schoolgirl getting carried away with her boyfriend. John caught a glimpse of red satin panties below the tail of the blouse.
“This is like, way better, don’t you think?” Laura said, in a voice that matched the schoolgirl look.
John could only stare. “Way better,” he said.
She straddled his lap. “Let’s get back to like, the under cover thingie,” she husked. She bent forward to lock her lips against his.
John didn’t bother trying to explain the difference between under cover and plain clothes. His hot-bodied partner kept him fully occupied. She wrapped her arms around his head to kiss him hungrily, while down below her lithe body undulated against his. John’s traitorous hand returned to fondling red-nippled breasts, now abandoned by the sagging bra. This time his other hand slipped around her waist and then down, until it was kneading her ass cheeks through her red satin knickers.
The pair slumped half sideways on the bench, awkwardly groping and kissing with mounting urgency. Someone’s leg knocked John’s coffee cup onto the grass. Neither of them noticed. Laura had pretty much abandoned watching the suspect.
“Laura, baby,” John whispered, between kisses, “Don’t you think it’s a little odd, the way we’re uhhhhh!” his sentence became a groan as Laura slid one hand down the erection straining his pants.
“Wha? Wassat darling?” she murmured. “Oh, please, yes, like that.” His hand was now inside her panties, and probing downward.
“I mean, mmmmmmm, I mean, we’re suddenly uhm, oh god I love your tits, we’re so . . . turned on.”
“Oh yes, yes! Sooooo turned on. So hot, so yummy fucking hot!”
She lifted her torso up and threw her head back, bringing John’s lips back to her tempting titties. He tried valiantly to explain his hunch while basking in hooter heaven. “But you see . . . (kiss, nibble). . . it’s like . . . (kiss, lick, kiss) . . . the other incidents . . . people (lickity lick, slurp) acting . . . so strange . . . mmmmm, around the suspect.”
She bucked and writhed above him. “Oh yes darling. Yes! Anything you say! Anything!” Her eyes were closed, her hair flying wildly as her head lolled back and forth. Even as he was speaking, his downward hand had found its way to the very wet spot at the bottom of her red satin panties, and probed inward. He felt her stiffen, then begin to thrust her hips downward, pressing his finger into her. Then two fingers. Then three.
“More,” she begged, “please more!”
“It’s almost . . . almost as if . . . the suspect is doing something—” He stopped when he realized Laura was no longer listening. She was convulsing above him, each rictus matched with a guttural grunt. Her love juice soaked his hand.
For long seconds the only sound was their breathing. Eventually Laura floated down far enough to get her voice back. “You made me come already, stud,” she whispered in his ear.
“Laura, honey, what about the suspect?”
“Suspect? Oops, sorry, forgot.” She giggled carelessly. She didn’t even bother to look at the man on the knoll. Instead she fished around on her partner’s belt. “Oh, what’s this?” she chortled. She held up John’s handcuffs.
“Hey, give those back.” He made a grab for them.
She held them out of reach. “Wait, wait, baby, we can like, use these. I mean, to watch the suspect. I’m like, totally clever.”
He frowned. “They’re shiny metal. Do you mean . . . watch him in the reflection?”
She kissed him. “No silly. Like this! She extracted herself from his embrace. She looked a sexy sight, standing in the summer sunshine with her shirt half off and her crimson underwear askew. With the handcuffs in one hand, she extended both hands through the slats in the back of the bench. Before John could stop her, she snapped the cuffs around her wrists.
“What . . . what are you doing?” He looked at her, stunned. She was kneeling on the bench, her lithesome legs extending backward, her bum half exposed beneath the dishevelled blouse. She tittered girlishly. “Oh lookie, I’m trapped. I can’t get away! But I can like, watch the hat guy . . . and you—can do whatever you want.” She wiggled her bum at him invitingly.
John licked his lips. Her behind was flawless, the red panties stretched wetly across her ass cheeks like a coat of vermilion, the crotch already pulled aside by his roaming fingers.
“L-Laura, can I—I mean, oh god you’re—but, but, right here . . . in the park?” He was achingly hard.
The wanton temptress who had been his junior partner just giggled. “Why not, stud?” she teased, “They are.” She raised her cuffed hands in the direction of the other bench.
John looked over at the next bench. Sure enough, the mismatched couple there was screwing happily in the open air. The jogger, wearing nothing at all now but her cute blue running shoes, was on her back with the man on top of her, his trousers and underwear around his ankles. She had her ankles locked behind his back. They were humping so vigorously the bench was rocking. John could hear the girl’s happy cries.
“Oh fuck,” he said blankly. He looked back at Laura. She jingled her handcuffs.
John got to his feet close behind her. He unbuckled his pants and shoved them down. He had to stretch his underwear to pull them past the rigid erection underneath. He felt he might die if he didn’t get his rocks off. He steadied himself with one hand on her ass, guided his cock with the other, and with one heave of his hips he buried himself in her wet, wanting pussy.
Laura gasped, a sharp “Oh!” as he filled her, followed by a long, sibilant sigh of satisfaction. “Do me, John,” she urged him. “Get yourself off in my pussy.”
He needed no further persuasion. At once he began pumping into her. He held her angelic ass with both hands as he flexed his hips back and forth, fucking with lustful abandon. The two police officers slammed and shlurped vigorously in the middle of a public park on a beautiful weekday afternoon, filling the air with grunts and cries of pleasure. With her hands cuffed through the bench, Laura couldn’t brace herself; she slid back and forth with each thrust, bare boobs bouncing, until her knees and shoulders hit the back of the bench.
She was too excited to complain. Instead she urged him on. “Yes John, like that, keep going, keep going,” she panted, “drill me with that big cock and don’t ever ever stop!”
But it was too intense to last long. John was a steaming cauldron of hot desire, about to boil over. His whole universe contracted to the sweet sensations of her gripping, wet pussy around his cock. He began pumping furiously, slamming her against the back of the bench. Abruptly he stiffened, shouted “Laurrra!” and climaxed intensely. He rocked and rolled through a long, strong release, spewing his load deep inside her.
When it was finally all over, he pulled out gently. “Aw,” Laura pouted.
John collapsed beside her on the bench. They were both covered in perspiration. It took a while before he remembered what they were supposed to be doing. “Where,” he panted, “is our suspect?”
Laura’s hair was falling loosely over her face. She couldn’t brush it away. “He left, I guess” she replied indifferently. “Ohmygod you fuck great.”
John looked over the back of the bench. The man who had been leaning on the statue was gone. The couple on the next bench were walking away, arm in arm. The jogger had put on some of her clothing. Her sports bra was hanging over the end of the bench.
He pulled on his pants. He found the key to the handcuffs in his pocket and unlocked his partner. Immediately she turned and slid her arms around him. “Let’s go someplace and screw some more,” she whispered.
“Laura, sweetheart, we’re on duty.”
She giggled. “Oh fuck duty. My duty is to be, like, a hot-bodied fucktoy for you to play with whenever you want. And your duty is to totally fuck your little bimbo-partner until she can’t see straight.”
“But, but, what about the suspect?”
She shrugged. “Who cares. I bet he’ll come back tomorrow.” She lifted his left hand and placed it gently on one bare tit. “Until then, let’s stay under cover—partner,” she cooed.
John was helpless to stop the big, stupid grin spreading across his face.