The Family Beef
By Barry William

My name is Kyle Denton, and I’m a cop in a big, East Coast city that I will choose to keep anonymous for now. I work day-watch out of North Precinct. It took me ten years on the job to get out of the trenches on the South side and I was glad to be back in the civilized world. I even got weekends off.

My first week on the right side of the tracks went pretty well, and I was starting to really like the change. All seemed right with the world – until Friday.

Friday started off pretty shitty, and only got worse as the day wore on. First, I’d gotten called into the sergeant's office for screwing up a police report. Then I went to court over a drunk driver I’d arrested last month. The guy had a slick defense attorney who made me look like an idiot who didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, and I wound up losing the case. I can’t tell you how much I hate losing a case. I missed my lunch because of court, and was hoping to simply hide for the rest of the shift and do nothing. I planned to just go home and pretend the day never happened.

But then, going home would be no picnic, either. Case in point - My mother-in-law would be home when I got there. She was coming in from Cleveland to stay for the entire week, which meant there was no way I would get laid for days. Sally, my wife, has this thing about having sex when her mother's in the house; she just won't do it. And, it had already been a week, because she’d been on her period. Sally’s period always creates some funky sexual irony for us. See, in a normal week, I’m lucky to get a goodnight kiss every other night. But during her period, Sally is twice as horny as usual, and wants to get laid every day. However, I don’t care for ketchup on my hotdog, if you get my drift. So, when her monthly visitor arrives, it’s my turn to get a week’s worth of headaches. How’s that for a twist?

You might think I could at least get a hand job during Bleak Week, but no, Miss Prissy wouldn't do that; it doesn't say you can in the Bible! Can I hear an “Amen,” brothers and sisters?

What’s that, you ask? A BJ? Ha! It's been ten years, my friend, just about the same amount of time as we’ve been married. And why doesn’t Sally give head? Well, W.W.J.D., brother? Certainly not a blowjob, that’s for sure.

Anyway, back to Friday afternoon. All I wanted to do was hide out for the remainder of my shift. But, with only an hour to go until the weekend, I got a radio call to cover another officer on a family beef. Tom Porter, the laziest dayshift slug I’ve ever met, was assigned primary on the call, so I was kind of laughing, knowing he would get stuck with the paperwork.

Well, Tom, that snake, got there before I did, and broadcast over the radio that the suspect/boyfriend had already left, but might still be in the vicinity, so he’s going to do an area check. He added that the victim would be standing by for a report.

That self-serving prick!

It was my Friday, and common courtesy said that Tom should have taken the paper for me, but like usual, he was trying to skate, and just do an area check. God, I hate the slug. No doubt he would check Starbucks first.

Well, I’m a stand up guy, so I just bit the bullet and drove to the female’s address to take the report without complaint. I came from the south side, pal, where cops aren’t afraid of a little work, and don’t shit on their brother officers. Still, maybe the next time Officer Porter’s getting his ass kicked in a fight, I might stop to check Starbucks on my way to cover him.

Anyway, it wasn’t worth arguing over, and who knows, I thought, maybe I’d even end up with a little overtime from the paperwork.

Well, things began looking up the moment I arrived. The front door was open, and when I knocked, I watched the victim run down the stairs to answer it. She was pretty damn cute, a little twenty-five-year-old platinum blond. Of course, the first things I noticed were these hundred-proof tits rolling around like two puppies playing under a blanket. Her skirt was about mid-thigh, and she wasn’t wearing any stockings, so of course I began to wonder if she was wearing anything under it.

She introduced herself as - no lie - Crystal Bush, which almost made me fall over. That’s what gave me the first whiff that something wasn’t on the up and up. But, another whiff made something else start to go up and up, so I threw caution to the wind, and listened with rapt attention as she started telling me all about her boyfriend.

He’s an asshole and a jerk; he’s controlling; he calls her names like “two-dollar-whore,” and “cunt;” he lies; he cheats; you get the picture. The usual story. You know, the names are changed to protect the…Well, there are no innocents, but you get my drift.

Anyway, I was half listening to her while staring at her rack and trying to keep Private Happy at ease, when my ears picked up on something.

“Can you repeat that?” I asked.

“I said, Ralph, my boyfriend, he made me do a video against my will,” she said. “It was humiliating, and I want to know if it’s illegal for him to do that.”

“Uh, what kind of video?” I asked innocently.

“You know,” she said, “That kind of video.”

“Really?” I was making a heroic effort to keep the delight out of my voice, and sound appropriately shocked. That kind of video huh?

“Yeah. And, I’m so embarrassed! I just want to get rid of it, but I don’t know if I’m allowed. It’s not like me to take pictures of that kind of stuff.What do you think I should do, Officer?”

Is she serious? I thought. I could think of a lot of things she could do, none of which I could tell her, of course. Private Happy was definitely coming to attention now, and I was trying not to show it. Thank God I had my report case to hide it.

“Well,” I said, “This is a community-property state, so anything you guys own together belongs to both of you. That means you can pretty much do anything you want with that video.”

Like show it to me, I didn’t add.

“Is it legal for him to make me make a video like that?” she asked again.

“Well, yeah, unless he forced you to do something against your will.” I decide to go out on a limb here. “If you don’t mind my asking, exactly what did he make you do?”

“Oh my God, it’s so embarrassing to talk about,” she giggled, not sounding too embarrassed. “You know, just, just sex stuff. He made me strip down, and touch myself, and he made me, you know, go down on him on camera. But mostly, just play with myself.”

“I see.” Well, that wasn’t quite true. I wanted to see. Time to go farther out on the limb.

“Well, uh, I’d probably have to actually view it myself to determine whether or not there’s a crime involved. I mean, ahem, there are varying degrees of forcible compulsion, and, um, I’d hate to take that kind of video to a district attorney if it wasn’t something criminal. I, ah, I think I should probably evaluate it first, if it’s okay. You know, to cover all the bases.”

Like first base, second base, a home run. She rolled her eyes a little, and giggled like the quintessential dumb blond I was beginning to suspect she really wasn’t. Then, she actually reached out and squeezed my arm. Her fingernails were long, and painted the same red as her lipstick. This was almost like a setup my frat bros would have done for me back in college.

“Well, if you really don’t mind, I’d like to show you. If you don’t think you’d be too uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? I was already pretty damn uncomfortable; being that an out-of-control woody was sprouting in my uniform. But I smiled, and told her I’d be okay, and without further ado, she went over to the TV and popped the tape in. She bent over to do it, and if she was wearing any panties, they were definitely butt-floss, because I couldn’t see anything but the bottom of her twin moons, and damn, did they look fine.

I sat down on the couch in front of the TV, and Crystal sat down right next to me. At this point, I was afraid to talk, because I couldn’t trust my voice. I was nervous as a schoolboy.

On the tape, she was dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a pullover T-shirt. She was seated on the bed, and there were several empty beer bottles on the nightstand next to her.

“Go ahead, bitch, take ‘em off!” this male voice said gruffly.

“Ralph, I really don’t want to--”

“Master! Call me Master! And just take off your goddamn clothes!”

Was that a smile that crossed her lips in the video? I didn’t have time to think of it, because, on the TV, her clothes started coming off. First went the top, releasing her two luscious melons to spring forth, and bounce hither and yon like so much Jell-O. They were even better than I had anticipated. Then the jeans peeled off like the skin of a banana, and last but definitely not least, off came the panties.

Oh dear God, was she hot. Tiny, well trimmed blond muff (okay, she is a real blond), and petite, baby smooth pissflaps surrounding a tiny little pink dimple, with a shadow hinting at the wondrous delights concealed within. And nary a stray hair or piece of stubble to mar the perfect smoothness of that supple skin. It took all my concentration to not spew my opinion of her into my uniform pants.

She proceeded to follow her master’s directions as he ordered her to finger herself, and lick her fingers dry. This went on for several minutes, until he put the camera down and entered the picture himself. He was naked, and sported what had to be a ten-inch popper.

He grabbed her by the hair and made her go down on him, and as she did so, she maneuvered her way around so that her ass was facing the camera. At this point, all you could see was her cloven undercarriage, wide open, moist, and rosy pink.

No forcible compulsion here. Not at all. “Wow,” she said. “I didn’t mean to turn you on.”

I looked up, and she was staring at my uniform. Like hell she hadn’t meant to turn me on.

My own throbbing man handle was outlined against my trousers, straining to get out. I was quite obviously way into the action, and Jesus, did I get embarrassed.

I tried to adjust my bone, but there was no hiding it. Then, incredibly, she moved over and straddled me, one knee on either side, with my root right in the middle. Her skirt was just long enough to hide whether or not she was wearing anything under it.

“Mmmm, maybe I should help you get rid of that,” she murmured.

“Yeah, maybe you should.” I lifted the front of the skirt for a peek, and all I could see was the bulge of my trunk disappearing into that smoothly shaven cleft. She began sliding back and forth on my rod, moaning, and leaving a glistening trail across the front of my pants.

My hands, moving entirely of their own volition, found her tits and let them out of her shirt to play. I believe in that saying, ‘if you love something, set it free.’ I busied myself with her headlights for a while, and sat back to enjoy the ride.

Well, I’ll make a long story short.

She did an about face on me, hauled out my crank, and did the right thing while giving me a face full of sloppy muff, at which I happily slurped and lapped for several minutes, until I could take no more. She’d swallowed my sword to the hilt, and, unable to hold back, I fired a round number one down her throat. She just said, “Mmmmm,” and we both licked our chops for a few moments.

Well, having a mouthful of liquid Viagara, I had happily lost none of the lead from my pencil. I think she was also clairvoyant, because she turned around and buried her face in the pillow, as if she’d read my mind. Her ass went right up in the air; her little pink split now open, wet, and hungry, just like on the tape.

I buried my vein-laden meatpipe in her tunnel and hit the afterburners. My hips repeatedly slammed into her ass hard enough to make small pressure waves ripple pleasantly through it. I continued doing this for a while, steadily building up to another crescendo. And, from the way her moans sounded, I knew she was building to one of her own. This time though, I was Master. I was in control, and I was going to make sure she left with a favorable impression of our city’s finest.

Finally, her fingers dug deep into her pillow and she screamed. I could actually feel her Love Canal going radioactive, pulling at me with little fingers, and it got incredibly slippery. She’d gotten so wet that at first, I thought maybe she had peed on me, but then, clear, sweet voodoo butter oozed from her pore to drip down my sac, and she began shaking and writhing like she was having a seizure. God damn, could this bitch twitch. She came so hard she pulled the cushions off the couch, and I thought she might claw her way through to the floor.

One last blast, and then I laid my spastic elastic against her tight little back-door pucker. I pushed until party time, driving her face deep into the couch, and fired round two, covering her back in hot white lines. In rapt explosion, she began screaming, “Oh, Ralph! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Ralph! Oh, God!”

The Jesus and God part I could understand. All women pray at times like this, but Ralph? Wasn't that what she said her boyfriend's name was? I disengaged, and asked her about it. To my amazement, she apologized sheepishly, and explained that she and her boyfriend Ralph had made this tape for her to play with while he was out of town. He was a long-haul trucker, and was on his way to Arizona with a load of cold-rolled steel. (I had taken his place with a load of hot-rolled steel, a fact I declined to point out to her right now.)

When he’s gone, she said, she likes to play this game where she coerces men into the house - cops, TV repairman, Mormons, census takers, Jehovah’s Witnesses, whatever - and fucks them blind. When he comes home, she tells him all about it, and they get off playing like he’s the guy she “suckered” into balling her.

Well, not having been born the previous day, I figured she did more than just tell him about it. There had to be another camera around here somewhere.

I asked her if her little scheme worked very often, and she laughed and began telling me some stories. There was a meter reader from the electric company who used this long wrench on her (wench on a wrench?), and an eighteen-year-old parochial school senior whose virginal seed was spilled for the first time while learning another meaning of "love thy neighbor." But her favorite of all was an ambulance crew she did last year.

She’d called them complaining of shortness of breath, and ended up fucking one guy on the gurney in back while the other drove around town with the lights and siren on. Then, they pulled over, switched roles, and she fucked the other one at fifty miles per hour through stop signs and red lights. Better than the mile high club, she said.

All this was great, but I have to admit, I was starting to feel pretty used. Even so, what could I say? I certainly hadn’t minded when I was giving her my version of the family beef, had I?

I told her I needed to use the bathroom, and conducted some business of my own, and then it was time to go.

Seriously hoping I hadn’t missed anything on the radio, I looked at my watch, and damn if my shift hadn’t ended a half-hour ago. I’d been on overtime for the entire puppy part. I’d made about fifteen bucks to bone her from behind. Now I felt like a male prostitute.

As I headed back to precinct to put my car to bed, I reflected that today hadn’t ended up all that bad, after all. I wondered if Crystal would get mad when she realized that I’d found the video she’d surreptitiously made of my “investigation,” and spirited it away in my report case. Just for shits and giggles, I took the one she tempted me into bed with, too.

Stealing those videos was the first crime I had ever committed, and now I felt like a criminal, too. Still, I was able to find some humor in it.

What was she going to do, call the police?