Miracle on Slutty 4th Street Ch. 07

"Seriously? That's your story?" he asked, confused, not believing a word of it. "Why are you actually breaking in to this house? And why are you dressed like this?" he said, the baseball bat still in his hand.

"I... we're Christmas elves," Morgan said again, a bit jumbled as to why he was still confused. "See our ears?" she said, turning her head so he could see one of her ears. Yeah, her ear did look a bit pointier, like the stories you always hear. But that wasn't enough proof, right?

The black woman was still silent, staring him down, trying to figure out her plan. He couldn't help but glance at her, trying to get a read on her, her calmness letting him know that she might be the one to be concerned about. But his eyes couldn't help but be drawn to her massive black tits again, jutting out, looking like overfilled water balloons, stuffed into her tight top. God damn, they were huge. And round. And they had that perfect level of jiggle that let you know they were all natural. They were so perfect even a blind man would stare. He couldn't help but feel a jolt in his groin as his dick awakened in his thin pants. He looked away quickly, trying to get control of himself, hoping she hadn't noticed. He refocused on the task at hand, not seeing the flash of amusement crossing her face.

"You gotta do better than that," Frank said. "You expect me to believe that you two work for a magic make believe Christmas man, dressed like that?" he asked, letting his skepticism for Christmas and Santa shine through. "Or, is the more likely case that you two are breaking into my mom's house and robbing us blind?" He was always good at reading the tone of an encounter, in case things went wrong. And with these two... he wasn't scared or worried. He was more confused.

"We haven't stolen anything, Frank," Patrice said calmly, speaking to him for the first time as she stared him down. Frank tightened up at this.

"How do you know my name?" Frank asked, looking right at her, unblinking, upset. These two didn't strike him as the type to do research on their marks.

"Because you're on the list," she said calmly.

"What list?" Frank asked.

"The 'Naughty or Nice' list!" Morgan interjected. Frank shook his head.

"You're really sticking with this story?" Frank asked, almost impressed at their devotion to this wacky alibi.

"It's... it's the truth," Morgan said with a nervous grin.

"So... you're telling me that that you work for Santa Claus, who is real, apparently, the beacon of all that is good and nice... And you're dressed like that?" he asked, eyes glancing down at their chests despite knowing better. It was just to make his point, he told himself, not an excuse to look at their perfect tits.

"It's the new dress code," Morgan said, tugging at her top, trying to pull it up to cover herself a bit more. "I'm still not used to it."

"Do you like our outfits, Frank? I think you do," Patrice said, a small grin crossing her lips. Frank glanced down again at her mountainous breasts, for just a moment, despite himself. He sensed he was losing control here, and he had to regain it. He shook his head, trying to ignore her question.

"Okay... I'm just gonna call the police," Frank said, preferring to do things by the book since he was currently off duty in a town he had no jurisdiction in. Luckily, there was a phone on a nearby table, and he moved to grab it. As he did, the black woman began mumbling something under her breath with her eyes closed, getting his attention. "What are you doing?" he asked, stopping and looking at her. suddenly, a ripple burst from near her, like a small soundwave traveling through the air, making his ears pop. His eardrums buzzed for a moment, making him rub his ears, and when his hearing cleared, he was struck by a notable silence. "What was that?" he asked.

"Silence charm," Patrice said simply. "Like she was supposed to do. Now no one outside this room can hear us."

"What?" he said, still confused. Shaking his head, he ignored her and grabbed the phone, only to hear no sound coming from it. He looked up at her, perplexed.

"It interferes with technology too," the black woman explained. "Just so we're not recorded or caught by any alarms, or... have the cops called on us..." she stated, smirking slightly, raising her eyebrows. "Is that enough proof for you?"

"What proof?" he asked. "You probably just ripped out the phone lines," he explained.

"Frank, there are reindeer on the roof right now," the black woman said calmly.

"Seriously?" he asked, almost annoyed at how much they were sticking to their crazy story. "Dressed like that, you two are probably, I don't know... strippers, or hookers... looking for something to sell." Suddenly, the black woman whistled, not too loud, but loud enough. Then there was what sounded like horses' hoofs stomping on the roof. This shocked Frank, and he jumped slightly at this sudden, unexplainable noise. No... it couldn't be...

"No!" he said, confused. Santa wasn't real! None of this stuff was real. But... damn, those did kinda sound like reindeer hooves on the roof. This was a trick or something. Had to be. "No. If Santa was real, you wouldn't be dressed like that!" he, said, still harping on the point.

"It's seriously the dress code!" Morgan said.

"You sure seem obsessed with what we're wearing..." the black woman stated with a small smirk. She was starting to feel like she was getting more in control of the situation. Frank was clearly confused, back on his heels. She loved making men uncomfortable, and with her body, she was used to it.

"Because... because you both are, like... spilling out of them," Frank said, trying to avert his eyes from all the juicy flesh they were displaying, not wanting to get caught in that trap. "If you two are robbing us, those outfits are impractical. And if you're story is true, it makes even less sense!"

"Old Saint Nick got remarried, and his new wife's a real piece of ass," the black woman stated. "But she's so much more than that... she's a ruthless, cutthroat cunt of the highest order! She's the best! So, things have changed up north, and that all comes from her. She likes having her girls display their best assets. Do you agree?" Despite the danger of the current scenario, she couldn't help but let her eyes drift over the man in front of her. Even dressed down, he looked good, his thin, comfy clothes over his tall, fit form. She had seen his profile on the list, including a picture, so she knew a little bit about him. She always enjoyed a man in uniform, and he looked as good in one as he did dressed down. And he had grown in a bit of a beard, which really worked for him. Patrice was enjoying what she was seeing in front of her. If this hadn't happened, or if they had more free time, she might even make a move on him. She was into it, and she sensed that deep down, by the way he kept staring at her tits, that he would be too, which is why she couldn't help but tease him slightly with her comments. But alas, she couldn't afford to waste any more time. And besides, things had gotten beyond funny business at this point. She focused on the task at hand, trying to get her way out of the mess Morgan got them into. Luckily, they had some methods to get out of situations like this, if she could just be subtle about it.

"Just... okay," Frank stammered, ignoring her, trying to figure out what to do. "I don't care what you guys say. You guys aren't fucking Christmas elves."

"We can prove it. You see?" Morgan said, running over to the big gift bag sitting on the table, pulling out a wrapped gift before he could say anything. In his work, he never let a suspect's hands leave his line of sight. But things were so off the reservation at this point that he was having trouble sticking to the normal rules. "We're delivering gifts. We're not taking anything. We are what we say we are."

"Yeah, and then there's this," the black woman began, moving to reach into a small side pocket of the gift sack, but this time, Frank spoke up.

"Hey!" he called out, stopping her in her tracks with his voice. "Keep your hands where my eyes can see." She rolled her eyes and made a show of lifting her hands up.

"Okay, Officer..." she said mockingly, assuaging to his request, annoyed that her plan had been foiled. She then pointed to her nearby tablet and looked at it. "I can tell you that you're on the..." she paused, reading off the list "Ugh, the 'Nice list.' You've done good for the community, you've never once taken advantage of the power of your badge, and you are devoted to your wife and daughter." Patrice sneered. She looked up at Frank. "Boring. You're no fun."

These were all true. He always tried to do his job right, and help out whenever he could. And, obviously, he loved his wife and daughter more than anything. They were his world. But anyone who knew him or his family would know that. He was still not convinced.

"And, uh..." Morgan began, seeing that he hadn't been won over yet. "We can do magic. Like... we can do this..." she mumbled something and gave a flourish with her hand, and for a few moments, snow began falling inside the house. Frank eyes widened. How... how was this possible?

"And this..." the black woman began. She said a new incantation under her breath, before pointing at Frank and shooting what appeared to be beams of light, like mini-fireworks, out of her fingers. They served no purpose and had no effect. It was purely for show.

Frank couldn't explain what he was seeing. Suddenly, these two women were performing magic, like actual magic, beyond mere sleight of hand. It didn't make sense. None of this did. But... it did support their story. No... NO. This couldn't be real. Santa wasn't real. None of this was real. It couldn't be!

"No! You are not Christmas elves! You two are robbing us!" Frank said, angry, not having any better explanation. "I don't care what tricks you two do. This ends with you in jail." But seeing how he was starting to get upset at the things he was seeing that he couldn't just explain away, Patrice began pushing her advantage.

"Frank, this ends with us doing our job, and you not remembering a damn thing..." the black woman said confidently, in what could only be perceived as a threat. He looked at her, not knowing what to do, sensing that he was losing his control over the situation. Finally, he gathered himself up and found a plan.

"Okay..." he began. "If I can't reach the cops, I'll take you there myself." For the first time, he made a move towards them. He still had the bat in hand, but he wasn't gonna use it. No matter what parlor tricks these two could do, he figured he could detain them swiftly. He got the vibe they weren't gonna put up much of a fight. He'd had years of experience in police work, and these two were women in skanky outfits that claimed they were Christmas Elves. It should be easy.

How wrong he was.

As he started moving towards the two women, looking to subdue them, Patrice realized that things were reaching a crux. Suddenly, a jolt of inspiration hit her. It was a risk, certainly, and it might mess up her schedule, but she needed to take full control of the situation now. She weighed her options as the married man approached her, until finally...

"Fuck it..." she said, coming to a decision. Reaching down to her chest, she deftly undid the single large button holding her top together. Before anyone could stop her, her top blew apart, revealing her massive, bare breasts to the married man. Nothing she could have said could have slowed him down.

But this stopped him in his tracks.

Wow. They were absolutely mammoth. Just gigantic... and round... and smooth... and big. They were so fucking massive! He couldn't get over how huge they were! Some might say they were too obscenely big, but in the moment, to Frank, they were perfect. Vaulting off her chest, almost the size of fucking volleyballs, firm and full and round, they somehow fit perfectly on her tall, slim, imposing frame. Despite their intense size, they were perky as hell with very little sag and hard upturned nipples. God, even her nipples were perfect. Hard, suckable nubs, standing proud, surrounded by dark, round, perfectly sized areolas, eager for a hot, wet mouth. They were indeed perfect. Her entire rack was perfect. The perfect, sexy, dark black skin. The size. The shape. Each massive breast, so full and so round, so big they both spilled off her sides and pressed into each other in between, forming a natural chasm of soft, endless cleavage. Her flesh was so smooth and dark, and her cleavage was so deep, that it felt like it was of an almost endless depth that you could never escape. They were fucking perfect. Frank was enraptured.

"What do you think of these, Frank?" Patrice asked confidently, arching her back to really show off the size and shape of her big black breasts. Frank never took his eyes off of her exposed tits, but he found enough will to speak out a few words.

"It doesn't... matter," he croaked out, unable to pull his eyes from her huge boobs, and unwilling to pay any compliment to these clearly amazing tits, despite his apt stare.

"C'mon, Frank..." she urged him, sliding her hands up and cupping her big breasts. "You can tell me the truth. Do you like my big tits?" Still looking at them, he formed an answer.

"No," he said, not looking away, trying to ignore the jolts of lust emanating from his crotch.

"Oh, Frank..." she said, mildly annoyed as she squeezed her own big boobs lightly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You're a do-gooder, nice-list white-boy who married his high school sweetheart. Only ever been with one girl, and never used his badge to take advantage of all those bad girls you come across. A guy like you would never admit to the fact that he prefers girls with big tits."

It was true, Frank thought. All of it. Well, maybe not the last part. But yeah, Frank was a good guy. He tried to do good in his life and work. Sure, he'd come across some bad girls in his time, ones who made offers of the explicit variety to get out of trouble, but unlike some officers, he had never gone down that road. He was too loyal to Denise, the one and only girl he had ever been with. He couldn't imagine ruining that. And not even the biggest, most perfect pair of tits he'd ever seen could ruin that. But damn, Patrice's pair were really big...

"No..." he began. "I don't prefer girls with big boobs." Patrice rolled her eyes at this.

"Hon, all men like girls with big tits better," she affirmed with a confident smirk. "I think deep down, even though you barely know us, you already like both of us more than your wife, just cause our tits are SO much fucking bigger than hers!"

"No..." he said, baffled by such a ridiculous assertion. "Boob size isn't important. Size fucking doesn't matter." He had never once been overly affected by a big pair of tits in any major way, let alone use that as a metric to evaluate women.

"Breast size does matter, Frank," Patrice stated, bouncing her tits in her palms. "It matters when you have tits the size of mine. And it matters when you're married to a woman who couldn't even fill a training bra, even after having a baby. Were you let down when Denise's tits never got big and swollen after she got pregnant? I bet you were. Have you always been let down by how pathetic her chest was? Aren't my tits better in every way?" These slights against his wife woke him up a bit, stirring his anger.

"You need to stop talking about my wife," Frank said angrily, finally pulling his eyes from the black woman's exposed chest to her confident, smirking face.

"And you need to start talking about my big tits!" she replied. "Frank, living your life on the nice list is SO boring. Not even a life worth living. You haven't lived it up in the way you should. In the way you deserve. So... why not start here? Come over here, put your hands on my tits, and give them a squeeze. These tits are your gateway to the naughty list, baby! So let's get started..."

"Not gonna happen," Frank said simply, his resolve strong despite the throbbing of his erection.

"C'mon, baby. We both know you want to. The way you've been looking at them. The way you kept talking about our outfits and undressing us with your eyes. You've clearly wanted this from the start," she replied, but he didn't. He simply stared her down, not willing to play her game. For a moment, a silence filled the room. Through this whole thing, Morgan was off to the side, watching this heated conversation while frozen in place. Frank stared down Patrice, and she looked right back at him, unflinching. "Put your top back on," he demanded firmly, using his experience as a cop to speak with true authority. But she wasn't affected by such a demand.

"No," she said simply. "You can come over here and arrest me, officer. And try not to slide your hands all over my big tits while you do so..." He rolled his eyes at this, as if he would actually do that. That being said, he didn't know what to do here. He didn't want to get closer to her, because she might use the close proximity to pull him into something he didn't want. And they clearly weren't listening to any of the rules he was trying to lay down. All the while, Patrice just stood there, back arched, showcasing her big black tits for him. With a confident grin on her face, she stared at him and shook her tits lightly side-to-side, daring him to touch. But he wasn't about to back down, and neither would she, so they were at a détente.

"Patrice..." Morgan said quietly, finally interjecting into proceedings. As she spoke, Patrice never looked away from Frank. "Maybe we should just go. I don't think we want any extra attention." At this, Patrice turned to look at the younger blonde, mildly annoyed. She looked into her eyes, holding her gaze for a few long moments, as if communicating some wordless message, before glancing at the blonde's chest. "Are you sure?" Morgan asked, and the black woman just kept staring the blonde down. Finally, she relented.

Morgan turned to face Frank, pulling his attention just in time for her to reach forward and undo the button of her top, sending the sides of it flying to her sides as her massive, tanned breasts burst out from within. Frank's eyes went straight for her big breasts. While not as absolutely massive as Patrice's they were far larger than just about any other pair of breasts he had seen. They were just huge. Round, and smooth, with a perfect golden tan and a succulent line of silky cleavage in between. They were firm as hell, standing proud on her slim frame, her hard, pink nipples twisted into rock-hard nubs. Frank, just like with Patrice, was momentarily transfixed by Morgan's massive tits.

And that was all Patrice needed.

With him distracted, she slid her hand towards the gift bag, towards the small side pocket she'd been aiming at before. But this time, with him staring at the blonde's big tits, she was successful, gathering some of its contents into her palm. Sliding her hand out without detection, she was ready to act.

"Hey Frank..." Patrice called out, pulling his attention back to her as she extended her arm, holding out her hand, clenched in a fist, palm up. And as his eyes turned to look at her, she opened her fist, revealing a small mound of reddish powder. He had just long enough to note this fact before she made her move, leaning forward and blowing on the small mound of powder, sending it into the air and right into his face.

He backed up as he breathed in this substance, sending him into a coughing spell. He almost doubled over coughing as this mystery powder coated his nose and throat. It burned as he tried to cough it out, but it was already too late for that. It was already taking affect, and as he kept coughing, he had one hand on the couch to hold himself up. Patrice smiled and relaxed. As Frank struggled for breath, she was breathing a little easier.