Bad Cop, Worse Cop, Worst Cop

Hell, that had been my first worry when I got the SRO gig. I was afraid I'd be so tempted by the continuous sexual smorgasbord that I'd get myself jailed as a sex offender within two weeks or so. And, indeed, it could be difficult: any male who works in a high school who claims not to look at the girls is a liar. Or gay. And even then, they're looking at the boys.

So I'd been very careful. For starters, there had been six weeks of enforced abstinence, after all that shit with Megan's pregnancy and then the retread vasectomy I'd squeezed out of that quack urologist for half price. I'd insisted he remove enough of the plumbing that there'd be no viable possibility of them growing back together, and then do whatever he needed to do to keep me safely free of bastards. There'd been sutures, staples, cautery, the works. My insurance company had apparently raised a stink, but that wasn't my problem.

So, six weeks. It had been hellacious, the longest I'd gone without sex since I lost my virginity. There was the recovery plus the spermicidal all-clear from the doctor plus a couple more weeks for good measure, my willpower white-hot as I heard from Tori about how quickly Megan's tits were swelling, how much weight she was putting on.

Tori had taken very, very good care of me after I'd finally told her I was ready for the drought to end, my cock almost permanently hard with the lack of action. She'd promised me a hot night as soon as I was ready, and I was pleased when she brought along her lovely and skilled friend Gianna to act as a fluffer. Gianna and I had once had an ethically questionable meeting in the back of my cruiser, leaving her with a scrapped traffic ticket and a mouthful of semen, but this time she was much, much more accommodating. And Tori... she'd outdone herself.

I smiled at the memory, but I let Dani think I was smiling at her. She smirked back, putting her personality back on with her clothes, all dark and somber. "I really have to go?"

"You really have to go." I truly did have a detail, but then I was due over at Steph's house by ten for a movie and a sleepover. She was on parole; I'd need to glove up for that one, but she was a very good fuck. Still, I mused, it would probably pale by comparison with what Dani and I had just done to each other; I toyed with the idea of canceling.

But, of course, I didn't. Steph had her mind on anal that night. As expected, it was good. But not as good as Daniella.

* * *

A lot of things had gone wrong around that New Year's three years ago. Sexy, brainless Megan's pregnancy, the operation, the non-promotion to Detective, the assignment as SRO: I'd spent a little time in bars and strip clubs, slapped around a few undeserving suspects, and really ravaged a crack whore or two. With condoms, which usually left me bitter and itchy.

Taking over any new job is a pain in the ass. Taking over a job you're not trained for is a pain in the dick. Taking over a job at a fucking high school, for a street-cop hotshot like me, is a pain in the balls. And trying to do on-the-job training when your predecessor is the mother of the empty-headed bimbo-nymph you've just knocked up? That's a pain in the head. As in, wanting to shoot yourself.

Roberta Burke had never been a pleasant person to be around. She was bitter and pissy, and that was on good days. She was a shitty cop, slow on the uptake and unable to shoot straight. She had a mild case of incontinence, so she stank; we all called her Shitstain. But now that she had custody of my whiny little son Jack, well, she was impossible.

The family-court arrangement wasn't permanent, understand, and it was complicated. His mom Megan had permanent custody, with me taking him at various times; I never could keep them straight. With Megan making a real, concerted effort to stick it out at the state university over in Seaborne, her mom ended up watching Jack. All the damn time.

To be fair, the judge had given me dibs while she was at school. And I did love the little fucker, I really did. But at that time in my life, with Olivia kicking me out of the house and her sister Rachel claiming I'd knocked her up too (I hadn't, thank God, though she'd taken more than her fair share of my cum), it just wasn't the time to have an ankle-biter hanging around. So I'd said no, much to the obvious surprise of the judge (unprofessional, her showing it), and I'd moved into the apartment, and I'd spent a week plunging my cock into various holes, and then I'd recovered.

Slowly. But Roberta never did.

I showed up promptly at noon to pick up Jack from her house. I was working hard to turn Jack into a proper little man, and Roberta was not helping.

Simply put, she wanted the boy to have nothing to do with me. I could understand that, since I wanted him to have nothing to do with her.

I rang the doorbell, still dressed in the natty cop-pants-and-sweater "uniform" I'd invented as an SRO look. I could get away with anything over there, and often did, but Roberta had had the job before me and had never worn anything but full cop uniform, with vest. It was just another reason for her to disapprove of me.

"You look like a fucking TSA employee," she mocked me from the other side of the screen door. She never, ever invited me in. "Where are you taking him?"

I had him until dinner, this being an alternate Wednesday. It was none of her business. "I'm taking him out to South Seaborne to get drunk and get a whore, Sarge," I replied wearily. "Seriously? Where do you think?"

"He better be home by eight."

I waited. He'd be putting his shoes on; it always took him awhile. "You'll call Chief if he's even two minutes late, I suppose," I sighed.

"Damn straight." She looked me sourly up and down, shaking her head. "One minute late."

"Ah." I smiled wickedly. "So I suppose leaving him chained to a fencepost while I find a crack whore is a bad plan, then?"

Her nostrils flared. "You're a disgusting pile of shit."

I shook my head, smiling brightly. "Too bad your daughter didn't think so." I turned, leaving her fuming, to wait for Jack by the car. Talking to her was just too much.

"Fuck you!"

"Megan did." I didn't even look back to see her flip me off. Sheesh, old Officer Shitstain (now Sergeant Shitstain) really had gone downhill. Straight down, from mediocrity to outright fucking uselessness. They had her on a desk now, working out schools and training assignments. I guess I should have been upset that she was cussing and shrieking around my little son, but I figured it did him good. He had to learn, sometime, that his grandmother was a piece of fucking shit.

The screen door slammed behind me, and I turned to see my little curly-haired tax exemption come toddling down from the porch. "Daddy!" he cried, his sweet little voice piping up, and for a split second I felt fatherly, even loving. Then I caught myself; the kid had a coat on. In March!

"Hey, little man! Look, take that fucking jacket off, huh?" I whipped the zipper down and pulled the coat off, Roberta watching sourly from the door. Wouldn't do to turn the kid into a fucking pussy; hell, it was 52 fucking degrees out! Practically shorts and t-shirt weather. I opened the door to my cruiser. "Hop in, bud." I finally gave my belated response to Roberta as I pulled out, my own finger waving in the air out my open window. Nice, bracing air today; so the kid's teeth were chattering. Good. A growing boy needed tough gums.

I didn't even ask her about next weekend. I'd had plans for awhile, plans of the beach-date-with-whores variety, but it was supposed to be my weekend. Roberta never minded doing extra days; if she could, she'd have kept me away from the little shit completely. But I was damned if I felt like asking her today.

* * *

Next day I had a meeting with Brett Bourne, the vice-principal. He and I have to work together pretty closely, but he's an okay guy. Not too much of a hard-ass with the kids, but it was hardly a gritty urban school; the worst problems he usually got were drug-related, which was what the meeting was about.

I headed thoughtfully back to my office to call the Sheriff's department. Those guys were pricks, but they were the ones with the search dogs. I talked to a gay-sounding guy who handled that shit, and made an appointment for the following week.

Then, I texted Dani.

We never met in my office, and I never had her called down over the PA or anything. Both of us felt that her friends emphatically did not need to know that she and I had ever met each other, for obvious reasons involving her social well-being and my continued sexual gratification.

We met in the faculty bathroom on the third floor, her sneaking furtively in from her art class. I locked the door, and she eyed me curiously. "Yeah? This better be good, Mike. It's my favorite class," she whined. I looked her over, fresh and pale in a lacy black dress with boots, and wondered why I'd never fucked her in the building.

"Good to see you too, Daniella," I winked. She was walking a little stiffly. "Sore?"

She extended a fist, smirking, and then her middle finger jutted up like a switchblade. "I couldn't even change for PE," she grumbled. "I'm all bruised down there, from your fingers." She pulled her dress up to her waist, and I caught my breath looking at her pale legs under a pair of black thigh-highs. Sure enough, I'd left little finger-marks all over her upper legs. She shifted her weight. "And I've told you, it hurts when you go that deep."

"Come on," I scoffed. "Don't pretend you didn't love it." I stared at her legs and felt the lump in my pants.

"Oh, I loved it," she agreed, not smiling, "but it's not like I can walk around in gym shorts. If people see the bruises, they'll think I'm being abused or something." She dropped her dress.

I shrugged. "Then they can call the police." I shook my head. "Look, I didn't want to talk to you about the health of your thighs. There's something else. You don't have any weed in your locker, do you?"

"Why?" She looked uncertain, wary. "I mean... well, why?"

Jesus Christ. "Listen," I said, looking at her very directly with my Cop Glare, "only two people in the building know this, and in a second it'll be three. The Sheriffs are sending their dogs through to sniff lockers for a drug sweep next week. Wednesday or Thursday, probably."

"Nuh-uh!" she exclaimed, and I shut her down immediately; already I could see her thinking about who she'd blab to.

"Three people," I snarled, raising my voice slightly, "and I'm not telling anyone but you. Mr Bourne isn't telling anyone either. So if word of this leaks out, who will I know opened her pretty little shit-sucking mouth?" I smiled without warmth and watched the words take effect, her dark eyes clearing as she understood. "So here's the deal. If anyone but you gets advanced warning of this shit... let's just say that, given our extracurricular activities, there are a lot of ways I can punish you." I waited again while the words penetrated, like a dick into an overly tight asshole. "Think about that."

She paused, wondering if she should ask. "Can I tell my brother?" Her kid brother Tony was into vaping.

I didn't hesitate. "If you tell anyone," I said, my voice a menacing growl, "I'll sodomize you with a broomstick. Ask yourself if I'm joking."

She did. I saw her shudder. "I won't tell anyone."

"That's my girl." I got up, my dick semihard as it always was when I exercised power and authority over the peons, and crossed the little bathroom. I didn't usually fool around at school, even though I knew where the cameras were, but the sight of those bruised thighs in the black stockings had gotten me going. She looked up at me, still a little fearful, as I approached. "My girl," I repeated, emphasizing the first word, and then I was lifting her dress and sliding my hand into the top of her panties, and she was closing her eyes, and for a few moments she swayed against my fingers, just a few seconds really, just long enough for me to feel her start to get wet.

"Remember," I whispered, "not a fucking word." I pulled my hand out, scraping along her clit as I did, and she was flushed and trembling, nibbling her lower lip as I let her dress fall. "Now get out of here, Dani. I've got to take a dump."

I didn't, really. But I did have to rub one out, and I did as soon as she left.

* * *

The search went down with its usual ease and precision, which is to say it was a mild clusterfuck. Half the students freaked out because they had contraband in their lockers, the other half because they saw dogs in the hall and started cooing and grinning like a bunch of fourth graders. Dogs do that to people sometimes.

The school stumbled, casually, into lockdown; students had to stay in their classrooms while the dogs went sniffing along the line of lockers. My job was to supervise, meaning I had no real function; the dogs were doing 95% of what needed to be done, their handlers 4%, leaving me in my office with my radio, waiting for updates.

I had six kids in mind, all known dealers or just people who pissed me off, and I was waiting to hear whether the dogs had sniffed out their lockers based on the drugs I'd planted in there, or based on drugs they'd actually brought themselves. While I was waiting, I kicked back and listened to Aerosmith.

I had two kids this year, Steve and Erica, who were Police Explorers, and I'd told them sternly that they were to pull hall duty to check for kids sneaking around. Steve was useless, so I put him on the floor where Daniella's class was, just in case she needed to flee for some reason; he would do nothing to stop her. Erica, who was already more professional than most of my colleagues on the real police force, had to cover the rest of the school. Between them, they couldn't possibly close down the whole building.

I suppose I could have taken one of the floors myself, if I cared.

I wasn't surprised, then, when a kid scuttled into my office. It did surprise me who the kid was, Emma Kiley, the junior class vice president. I raised my eyebrows as she burst in and shut my door behind her. "Tell me," I said, immediately in Police Mode, "why you're not in class during a lockdown, why you're barging into my office, and why you've shut my door. Tell me now."

She looked down at me, leaning against the door and panting hard. She was acting like a scared weasel. I knew her; she'd helped me recruit Erica and Steve, plus she was one of those kids of which every high school has several: involved in everything, universally popular, not terribly interested in any one clique. Nice, well-raised, considerate to the elderly and the disabled, active in community service. Not a future Harvard grad, but hardly destined for the kind of cheap community college I'd gone to either. You could see her in the Peace Corps.

I'd loathed kids like her when I was in school.

Now she looked at me, settling quickly. She straightened slowly against the door, glancing down behind her to make sure it was locked. And then she stared me in the eye, neither bold nor shy, neither eager nor slow, and whipped her t-shirt clear off her head.

Well. This was interesting already.

I'd never really noticed her before; I'd always classed her in the "cute" category, not the "sexy" one, and certainly not the "fuckable" one; she was, at the end of it all, only a junior. I didn't touch minors, the only sketchy protection the law gave me in this shitty state. I could see, looking at her shirtless, that I'd made an error there.

She was built like anime. That's the only thing I could come up with as I stared speechlessly up at her. Her face was flushed and desperate, sure, but it looked like a Tokyo version of an American teen: heart-shaped, smooth, a little pixie-ish, with a tiny little mouth and a sharp cheese-wedge nose. Her eyes were huge and dark, with lashes that seemed to reach out for miles like little tentacles. Long hair, now in the twin braids the volleyball team was sporting today, though she usually rode the varsity bench.

Long neck. Hell, a fucking Renaissance-painting-meets-giraffe neck; the thing looked like it had been stretched by a few of those rings the chicks in Malaysia wear. Indonesia? Whatever. And then came nice, squarish shoulders. But then everything got interesting. I glanced up; her big eyes were flashing now, that was for sure.

Her boobs were big. Not grossly, fat-ass big, but big and firm and luscious, strapped neatly into an expensive-looking bra with tasteful lace all over it. They were lightly tanned, jiggly, smooth, and they looked goddamn incredible with the deep emerald color of the bra. I could see the dusky dark pinkness at the top of her areolae peeking among the lace, teasing me. Below was a sharply tapering waist, a really narrow one, almost crack-whore narrow, the smooth belly disappearing into a pair of shapeless sweatpants with the waistband rolled down a bit.

Not much ass was evident.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I snapped. Those tits were among the best views I'd had in days, up to and including the sight of my own cum trickling out of Steph's ass and Dani's cunt, but this was not a line I wanted crossed today. And with a junior! "Get dressed. Now."

She pushed her lower lip out, more determined than petulant. "I'm trying to get your attention, officer." She was really rattled, I could tell, but she was pushing through it. That impressed me. "This is important to me. I need your help."

"Well," I said dryly, still glaring, "you've got my attention." I waited a little this time, staring before I raised my voice again. "Get your shirt on!" Her abs were impressive, at second glance: flat and nicely defined, with a strong line running up from her belly button to her cleavage. She stood straight and tall, her shoulders back and defiant.

"I need to show you how serious I am," she went on quietly, clearly modulating her voice as carefully as she could. "I'm in a real jam, and everyone knows... that is, I know you're involved with Daniella Lynne. I thought, maybe..." and there it was, her face flushing hard and dark, a small pink tongue darting out to lick her lips.

Oh shit. I took a deep breath, my chin lowering, looking hard at her from beneath my eyelids. This was bad, really fucking bad. Of course I knew a few people knew I was fucking Dani; I'd just never, ever have expected to have it thrown into my face by the likes of the junior class vice president.

Time to go on offense. No prisoners, baby. "I'll make this as clear as I can," I spat, my voice Old-Larry cold. "You're out of your assigned area during a lockdown, evading a lawful search. You're exposing yourself to a public employee, in school, while underage. Do I have that right?"

"I'm eighteen," she swatted back, "so..."

"I'm not finished." I did file that away, though. I'd need to check up on her. "Your next step here is arrest, Miss Kiley. This is a stupid thing to get arrested over. You put your clothes back on and then I'll escort you back to your class. Last chance."

Her eyes narrowed, challenging me, but she did raise the shirt back over her head. It was a v-neck, of course; now that I knew what she had under there, I understood she'd need the ventilation. Her boobs jiggled and shook fitfully as she got the thing back over her braids, and while she had it over her eyes I stared right at those titties and took the opportunity to adjust my cock.

Good God.

I got to my feet slowly, telling myself she wouldn't notice the tent I was starting to pitch. Nice girl like that; she wouldn't even look. "I'm taking you back to class. Now."

She was looking.

We stumped along through the deserted halls, the distant snuffle of the dogs drifting along the walls. "Who let you out of class, Ms Kiley?"