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A Reckless Redhead

(Jamie McCloud)

By JJ Argus

Copyright 2017

Smashwords edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters are over eighteen.

Chapter One

Jamie was halfway up the pole as she threw her hips and legs out and swung a full circle around it. She dropped as she swung, which added more centrifugal force and let her extend her body all the way out sideways, her fingers sliding around the pole until her legs, inevitably, swung swiftly in and down and she clamped the pole between her thighs.

She let herself drop backwards then, hanging upside down, legs gripping the pole as her lower torso twisted and rolled and arched, her hair sweeping the floor of the stage. She dropped her arms until her hands were on the stage, then loosened her legs and carefully allowed them to spread open wide.

There were some shouts from the crowd and some whistles and applause.

She closed her legs, then slid gracefully down the pole until her shoulders were on the stage. She let her legs fall back over her head then, bending back until her feet were on the floor, then pushed hard with her hands and arms, using her stomach muscles to right herself.

The room was filled. There were hundreds of men there, and some women, looking up at her as she danced and spun. That was both exhilarating and mortifying. She was completely naked, and the lights were bright.

She was a blonde tonight. It was a temporary dye, something called hair mascara. She was nervous about her red mane. There just weren't that many tall redheads around and in certain circles she was well-known.

Besides, tonight she wanted to be seen as a sex kitten, as a creature of sex and hedonism. And blondes made more money. She didn't need the money but it was an ego thing. And it wasn't like the money hurt either..

She swung her hair as she took a long, straight-legged ballet leap forward, grasped the bar again, and swung around it once more, then dropped to her hands and knees, crawling lithely across the stage, her tongue sliding across her lower lip, heat in her eyes, a flush to her face.

The flush was real. This was only the second time she'd stripped in a public place like this, both times because of her boyfriend Danny's persuasion. It turned him on to see her turn on men, and it turned her on too – which also turned him on.

Maybe they were both just perverts, but for her, a lifelong tomboy who disdained all that 'girly' fixation on looks and hair and makeup and clothes, and had never worn anything which she thought might make her look 'slutty', stripping was like a wild surrender to the dark side of her nature, a side she had long suppressed.

It was something forbidden! It was not only forbidden in terms of acting like a slut, it was forbidden by the terms of all that feminism and equality held dear. Her female friends would be appalled, especially the ones who admired her for being a confident, assertive woman in a job which was still largely seen as a man's territory.

Here she was, giving in to the worst aspects of sexist culture, letting herself be sexually exploited for the pleasure of a bunch of dirty male perverts! How could she!?

Maybe she'd been brainwashed, she thought, by Danny, who had entirely shifted her world view about sex and sexuality by turning every sexual encounter between them into a wild, dark, thrilling production which left her dazed, gasping for breath, and trembling in the afterglow of multiple orgasms.

How could she not be a lot more interested, a lot more excited, a lot more hungry for sex and all that surrounded it after those kinds of experiences?! And it was always the outrageousness, the forbidden nature of what he and she did that turned her on so much.

As it had now. Her body thrummed with sexual pressure like a high tension power line. Her lower belly felt moist and hot and heavy, and her breasts felt swollen, her nipples hard and tingling. Every time she posed or positioned her body in a particularly graphic way, such as sliding her hands down the pole while keeping her bottom high and her legs wide, she felt another jolt of delicious dark hunger inside.

Outrageous! Forbidden! Slut! Whore!

She took a running jump, flung a hand up and out to grasp the bar, and swung around it again to land on the other side, then pulled herself into the bar and wrapped her leg around it. She moaned softly at the pressure against the swollen lips of her sex, then lowered her hands, grasping the bar at about head level, which allowed her arms to squeeze her breasts in together around it as she slid down slowly, licking the pole seductively as she did.

She let herself slide down until she was sitting on the stage floor, the bar still jammed against her crotch, then lay back, arching her back, grinding her sex up and down against the bar as people yelled and applauded.

She shuddered and raw heat swept through her as she ground her sex against the bar. The bar was stainless steel so produced little friction. That was a good thing because she was awfully close to having an orgasm, and her orgasms were intense, which made them loud and very... noticeable.

She yanked her long legs up and back, rolled up onto her shoulders, then rolled over completely and pushed herself up on her hands so she was standing with her hands and feet on the floor, legs straight, her bottom to the audience of hungry men.


She straightened as the music finished, then pranced off stage, scooping up her 'outfit' along the way.

“Let's have a hand for Hannah, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. “All the way from Yale university in New Hartford.

The outfit was a skirt, knee-socks, flat shoes, a button-down shirt and a blazer. In her experience, women at university didn't often dress like that but she hadn't picked it. The announcer had told everyone she was a college girl who needed money. She had no difficulty understanding why. Men were more aroused by the thought of an 'ordinary' girl stripping because she was middle class and needed money for school than some professional whore.

She went backstage and put on her clothes again. Already there were a number of requests for lap dances, enough to keep her busy for half the evening. She wanted to catch her breath first, not so much from her energetic dancing but the way her body's inner heat was making her pulse race, but the woman hustled her down the stairs and back towards the rear where there were 'champagne rooms'.

The champagne rooms were classy. Each was an individual little booth separated by floor to ceiling wall. Each had a little chandelier over a wide leather love seat. There was no wall to the corridor, but a pair of thick velvet curtains were held back by ties, and would be closed while the dancer was inside.

Lap dances lasted as long as a song did, and cost twenty dollars. That meant you stripped quickly, or had an unhappy customer. Of course, pleasing the customer in that term wasn't her aim. Jamie's own ego and the thrill of seeing herself as this wild, sexy nymphet made her want to turn them on as much as possible.

She quickly stripped for her first customer, a balding, middle aged guy who could have been a clerk or a banker for all she knew. Then she was 'dancing' which mostly meant she moved her body in time to the music.

She started out by dancing in front of him, bending over a number of times when her back was to him, then turning and climbing onto his lap.

Every time she thought about what her friends or family would think if they had the slightest notion of what she was up to she felt a breathtaking rush of dark, seething energy!


She porpoised in and up, letting her swollen breasts and hard nipples slide up along his chest, then up just past his face until she arched backward, way back, across his legs. She straightened up, turning, rolling so that she was draped across his lap on her back, arching and rolling her hips up and down in time to the music.

God, she thought. I can't believe I'm doing this!

But she was! She rolled over, into a position Danny had put her in a number of times, ready to be spanked, again rolling her hips, raising her bottom up and out. Then she slid forward, rolling back so she was straddling him again, her back to him, her buttocks grinding down against the erection she could feel in his pants.

This was soooo degrading! Why did that thrill and excite her!?
She moaned realistically – because it was real – arching and twisting, her hair swinging as her face filled with heat, and the erection under her abruptly deflated.

Next customer.


She didn't do a full four hour shift. She wasn't sure if that was because Danny would be bored without her that long or if he just didn't want her to become used to it, to become jaded and no longer filled with heat at what she was doing.

Knowing Danny, probably both.

She gave a few lap-dances to complete strangers, and then she had a quick shower – which was interrupted by Danny as her soapy hands started to slide up and down between her legs.

She gasped, then felt another pulse of heat as he looked at her.

“Are you feeling a little... hungry, slave girl?”

“Yessss,” she breathed.

“Good. I like you hot and bothered. I don't want you having an orgasm at anyone's hand but mine.”

“Try to stop me!” she said, taunting him.

He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the wall.

Jamie gasped, but didn't resist, feeling another wild thrill rush through her. It was another oddity. She'd put a lot of time and effort into becoming a martial arts expert to defend herself. But at the same time, it really turned her on to be manhandled – during sex anyway.

Danny turned off the water, then picked up the soap himself in his other hand. He began to soap her up as he held her against the wall. When he'd done her front, he pulled her forward by the throat, then pulled her hands up behind her neck and held them there with one large fist as his other hand soaped up her back and buttocks.

He soaped her up between the legs, but his fingers mostly avoided direct contact with her clitoris. Even so she felt surging waves of hunger and heat sweep through her until he rinsed her off, and then dried her.

She dressed in the outfit he'd selected for her, a sparkly blue club dress with a high neck that wrapped around her throat. It was backless, and had a big teardrop opening in front to show some cleavage. It also showed lots of side-boob depending on how she moved.

It was short, tight, and even so was slit up the hips on both sides. It was also thin and silky, and strained across her breasts, with her nipples pushing very obviously into the soft material.

They went dancing at a local club. Jamie still had lots of energy, though the constant sexual pressure was starting to drain that just as it was starting to really frustrate her. Danny's previous tactics had always been to have her coming as often as possible. This was the first time he'd tried to actually prevent her from having an orgasm!

On the other hand, he was also stoking the fires inside her as they danced, his hands gliding over her body, caressing the sides of her breasts, sliding under the short skirt, in front and in back to make her gasp and moan and causing her hips to buck against his fingers before he pulled them back.

“Let's go to the hotel,” she moaned, on several occasions.

“Not yet.”

They sat down, and he sat her on his lap, across his lap, gripping her hair and kissing her hungrily.

Jamie kissed back even more hungrily, her hand sliding up and down his chest as she leaned in against him, moaning softly into his mouth.

His other hand was stroking her body, caressing her thighs below the skirt or even her bare hip as it slid up into the slit. It stroked up and down her ribs, where they were bare at the sides, and his fingers dipped in beneath the top of her dress, massaging her nipple.

But his hands stayed well away from her sex.

Normally she wouldn't have had a problem with that. Jamie was not, or at least, did not used to be an exhibitionist. That was fading, obviously, with him exposing her to public sex and her stripping. But it would be different here. Those were unique environments. People saw what they expected to see. This was not the same sort of situation.

Which made any public display of sex both more embarrassing – and more darkly thrilling at the same time.

When the other couple introduced themselves and asked to sit down she didn't think it was a coincidence. He was young, strong and handsome, with broad shoulders and a powerful chest. She was tall, sleek and gorgeous, with long hair in dreadlocks. They were both very, very black.

Her name was Naomi, and his was Malcolm. And when Malcolm asked her to dance she could hardly say no, especially with the smirk on Danny's face. Her heart beat faster, though, as Malcolm took her hand and led her out onto the floor, seeing Naomi and Danny following together.

From the start, it was obvious Malcolm was a great dancer, and also obvious that either he had an awful lot of balls, or he'd been given the word by Danny, because he was as free with his hands as Danny had been!

The affect was a lot more intense, though. She didn't even know this guy, after all! They'd barely been introduced, and already, in a public place, his hands were sliding along her ribs and his fingers were pushing in beneath the top of her dress to caress her bare breasts!

He ground himself into her from behind, as Jamie danced breathlessly, and his hands caressed her belly before one slid down to stroke her thigh. It quickly slid back up again, and then in through the slit along her right hip until his fingers were probing her sex!

Jamie felt a wild jolt of heat and energy at the touch, her head swiveling anxiously to see Danny dancing with Naomi, and both watching her! She felt Malcolm's fingers slide up and down the line of her sex, then find her clitoris and stroke her there even as she and he ground their hips in time to the music!

The sensations that sent pulsing through her body made her shudder and gasp in dark, seething heat and need! But she restrained herself desperately. She was on a dance floor, for Gods sakes!

Then Danny was dancing with her, as well, grinding into her from the front, just as Malcolm was from behind. His hands slid down her back and onto her buttocks as Malcolm drew his hands upward and pushed them in through the open sides of her dress.

She gasped as Danny tugged her skirt up in back, up to her hips! His hands gripped her bare buttocks as Malcolm squeezed and kneaded her bare breasts! She felt her heart beating faster and faster, her pulse racing, as Naomi moved in on the side, dancing and rolling her hips and watching.

And Danny pulled the dress up higher, peeling it up over her hips, up her sides, up over her breasts to bunch up beneath her arms!

She was virtually naked on the dance floor! And this was NOT a strip club! If people noticed...

But nobody seemed to. It was dark, crowded, and the lights were flashing as the music wailing. Malcolm and Danny had her covered on either side, and Naomi was on the third. A wall was on her other side.

And Malcolm's fingers slid into the mouth of her dripping sex, curving in and up as his thumb found her clitoris.

She came helplessly, but Danny, reading her as always, gripped her throat and then crushed his lips down on hers to swallow her breathless scream of pleasure! She rode Malcolm's fingers frantically, crying out again and again in the midst of a dancing, gyrating throng of people.

She almost fainted at the explosive pressure in her skull! Not only was the orgasm intense, but she couldn't breath with Danny's hand around her throat! Her hips bucked violently as her body was wracked by convulsions, and the wild storm of pleasure threatened to consume her from the inside.


They practically had to carry her out of the club, like a drunk. The fresh air outside helped as they led her across the street to the parking lot and over to Danny's car. But there Danny took control of her, peeling the dress up again, this time over her head so she was completely naked.

She was already flushed, but felt a new heat come to her face under the gaze of the other couple. Danny spun her roughly around, slapped her bottom stingingly, then handcuffed her wrists together behind her back. An instant later he spun her around again, swept off his belt, dropped the loop around her throat, and tightened it, then jerked down to force her onto her knees.

She shuddered as the three looked down at her and the air blew softly across her tingling nipples.

Malcolm undid his zipper and pulled a long, thick black cock out, and Danny handed the belt to him. He jerked it sharply and she gasped and stumbled forward against him. He gripped her hair with his other hand and pushed himself into her mouth.

Moaning, gurgling, still dazed, Jamie sucked and licked as he pumped in and out, then swallowed him as he yanked her forward and drove himself deep into her throat. He held her there tightly, firmly, eyes glinting as he pumped his big cock in and out of her throat for long seconds, until her head was once again pounding from lack of oxygen.

He pulled out and she coughed and gulped in air, gasping for breath. Then Danny took the belt and she saw he was hard, as well. He rubbed himself over her face, then shoved himself into her mouth and did the same as Malcolm had, burying himself in her throat, using her mouth and throat in a rough, almost cruel fashion!

All while Naomi looked down on her, both figuratively and literally, which, of course, redoubled her sense of humiliation.

Danny pulled out, and then it was Malcolm's turn, then Danny's, then Malcolm's. The men could hold out a while like this as they took turns, but Jamie was becoming light-headed from the continued oxygen deprivation, and swayed dazedly.

They took turns more frequently, saying something to each other she couldn't even hear through her own heart pounding in her ears. Then Malcolm pulled out, fisting himself, and came – spraying himself over her face! Seconds later Danny did the same!

This was not something anyone had ever done to her before. It wasn't something Danny had ever mentioned wishing to do. And compared to all the shocking, wild, outrageous things she'd already done it didn't seem so terrible, though of course, she had always seen it as just about the most disrespectful thing a guy could do.

There had been a time not very long ago when she would have beat the crap out of a guy who did it. Now she just felt a sense of dazed relief that she could breath again.

They pulled her into the back seat, and as the two men got into the front, Naomi got in back with her. She began to slide her hands up and down Jamie's body as Danny pulled out of the parking lot, then kissing her, and licking the come off her face.

She gripped her blonde hair, jerking back on her head, kissing her savagely, her other hand sliding between her legs.

Jamie cried out weakly as three long fingers slid up inside her and began to pump in and out, the woman's thumb finding her clitoris and stroking roughly and quickly against it. Her mouth slid downward, sucking and chewing and biting at her breasts.

Her slick fingers pumped in and out in long, smooth movements, then was joined by a fourth, making Jamie shudder and ache. Danny watched her in the rear view mirror, and Malcolm turned around often, watching them hungrily.

They got back to the hotel, but she wasn't given a dress. It was a small hotel, after all, in southern Connecticut, and it was after one in the morning. Danny went in first, then signaled, and Naomi and Malcolm pulled her out of the car and led her inside.

Stark naked. Still cuffed.

The small lobby was empty, though there was a sign that said 'ring bell for service'. There was an open door behind the counter, and the sound of a television came from it.

Malcolm and Naomi marched her over to the lobby and pressed the button, then led her inside. A few moments later, Danny joined them.

Breathless, heart thumping, pulse racing, and her body filled with a dark, powerful sense of heat and arousal, Jamie stood between them as they ran their hands over her body, fingering, stroking, squeezing and caressing her as the elevator rose the three stories to the top floor.

Inside the hotel room Danny and Malcolm got drinks and sat watching as Naomi stripped, then got into bed with her.

Jamie was still handcuffed, and still helpless, as the Black woman slid between her legs and atop her, kissing her way up her body until her lips were on Jamie's again. She lifted her legs up and pressed them back against her shoulders, grinding her sex against Jamie's as the men looked on.

She rolled Jamie onto her side, lifting her top leg high, sliding her sex in between them, scissoring her. Then she grabbed her blonde hair, yanking her head back as she began to grind her hips in a quick, rolling movement that made Jamie cry out and filled her with a dark sexual fever.

She could feel her upper leg being forced further and further back as the Black woman leaned inward, gasping and whimpering as her sex burned and the wild, raw, carnal heat beat at her mind.

Then she saw movement in front of her as Malcolm moved to stand next to the bed.

She was on her side, her head now yanked back by Naomi so that it was right at the edge of the bed. Now Malcolm put a knee on the edge of the bed and pushed himself into her mouth – then deep into her throat.

Her head began to pound from lack of oxygen again, and then the orgasm hit. It was an explosive release of sensations that swamped her mind and swept it away, leaving her as nothing but a trembling, shaking animal writhing in the storm of ecstasy.

The orgasm went on and on, until she thought it would never end, even as her mind began to fade and black dots danced before her eyes. She didn't care about breathing, though. She was in rapture, gripped by such pleasure she wanted to do nothing, not even breath, which might cause it to fade!

Finally she was breathing, though she didn't know it. She gasped in pain as she was roughly yanked around by the hair, and then she was belly down, bottom up on the bed, her face jammed against Naomi's naked sex.

She felt hands on her buttocks, felt herself being penetrated, felt that deliciously familiar ache as a large, warm cock pushed deep into her body, then licked almost instinctively as her hair was yanked. She was aware of Danny watching, holding up a camera, but it didn't impact on her mind.

Her mind was... floating. There were no higher conscious thoughts in it. She licked because Naomi kept telling her to, and kept tugging on her hair and slapping on her face to make her do it. She licked and grunted as she felt hips slapping against her buttocks, felt large, powerful hands moving over her body, felt the surging heat rising once again.

Chapter Two

Jamie groaned as the alarm went off. It was a clock radio, and soft music, rather than the ringing of a bell, but it served the same function as her eyes fluttered slowly open. The sun had risen but barely. It was brightening outside, but still early.

She lay in bed, blinking, and felt the rush of yesterday's events coming back to her. She felt the familiar whiplash of embarrassment and shame mixed with dark, almost exultant delight at what she'd done. God, she was such a whore! If anyone found out... !

And she used to be such a good girl...

She threw back the sheets, wincing a little as she sat up. She examined her wrists and frowned. The handcuffs had left red marks because of how violently she had been thrashing around. She would have to do something to disguise that today.

She slipped out of bed and padded naked across the room and into the en-suite, flicking on the lights. She winced again to see herself in the mirror, then glared at her breasts, which still had bite marks on them! That stupid bitch had bitten her too hard! What did she think she was, a cannibal?

Even so, the memories were imbued with pleasure, a pleasure so scaldingly hot it tightened her chest.

That she had done that... ! God! If anyone ever found out... !

She stepped into the shower, though she had showered and shampooed before they had headed home. She wanted the last of the blonde out of her hair. Blonde was for... sluts, or slut wannabes. Redheads were serious people.

Even if some wise-asses did insist they had bad tempers.

And stronger sex drives.

When she'd met Danny she'd had a normal sex life. Not that anyone hadn't ever playfully tied her up, of course. But that was nothing like the dark, nasty, kinky games Danny had involved her in. He was her first 'older man', at thirty, he was eight years older than she was.

It was easy to dismiss all the other guys she'd dated as boys compared to him. He was a lot tougher, stronger, smarter, more sophisticated, more … savvy, and he had an air of tough self-confidence about him. When she went somewhere with Danny, men looked at her only very discretely. No one wanted to mess with him.

And he'd managed to lure her to the dark side, one thrilling, shocking, wicked, wanton sexual encounter at a time, getting her to do things which amazed her, and which would have horrified her only months earlier.

She still marveled at the memory of stripping in the club! But God, it had turned her on so much to be dancing around naked with all those guys staring at her, with their lust and hunger and heat beating at her body!

Thankfully, she was hundreds of miles away from there, now.

She turned off the water and dried her hair and body, then stepped out onto the bathroom rug and started in on her hair.

A lot of people wondered why she didn't just cut it short. It was a pain keeping it this long, after all. She'd always pretended she simply didn't care about fashions when it came to hair, leaving it pretty much as it fell, at least until college when a roommate showed her a few simple things to do which made it much more manageable.

It wasn't like it fell halfway down her back, anyway. It was just... a few inches past her shoulders. It also didn't follow the redheaded pattern of being very thin. It was actually quite thick and soft – which was why Danny enjoyed using it as a handle so much.

She brushed it out as she blew the hot air across it, frowning, because it didn't look like all the 'mascara' was gone. She'd had to screw around with her hair color a few times in recent months because of her notoriety, and had wound up having to dye it red.

It had come out as a deep, coppery red, but some of the tint was still there, lightening it considerably, almost to the old ginger color she'd had most of her life.

Which didn't bother her except that people would remark upon it.

She sighed and padded back into her bedroom. She opened her lingerie drawer and took a pair of black cotton Calvin Klein bikini panties out of it, slid them up her legs, then pulled on a matching sports bra. No way was she wearing anything lacy or frilly to work.

She checked the weather on her phone. It was cool out . She made a face. One of the affects Danny had had on her was her desire to dress – provocatively – even at work. She liked tight, form fitting clothes, liked being eyed hungrily by the men she met.

Of course, that meant she couldn't always wear her vest, but hey, what were the odds of needing it?

Today, though, she put on a t-shirt, then the best, then pulled on a Rangers jersey on top.

She hopped on one foot as she pulled faded jeans up one leg then the other, then thrust her feet into a pair of sneakers.

Her belt had a small holster for her handcuffs, another for ammo, a third for pepper spray. She clipped her Glock to the back, just past her right hip, and her badge to the front, left side of her belt. She clipped her phone onto it, then tugged the jersey down to cover them all and headed downstairs, taking them two and three at a time.

“Breakfast is ready!”

The shouted call brought her up short of the front door. She muttered, looked up at the clock and turned her head.

“I'm running a little late.”

“No you're not. Get your butt over here.”

Her mother went to considerable effort to pretend her kids weren't grown up yet. Well, Colin was still in college, but even he was twenty. Her brother Dale was twenty five and had been on the job as a uniformed cop for two years, but the three of them still ate at home. Why? Because her mom was a good cook, very inventive, and the food was free.

So was their board. Dale, as the oldest, got to live in the separate basement apartment. She had the top floor of the four story (not including basement) Brooklyn brownstone to herself.

The NYPD paid well, but given the cost of even a modest apartment in New York, leaving home was very hard with free rent and food as an incentive to stay. That, of course, was clearly her mother's plan, and it was working.

Her father had already gone to work as she wandered into the kitchen. He worked in Manhattan and insisted on driving his car in. It was odd for such a liberal, but he didn't seem to feel a lot of interest in mingling with the great unwashed on the subway.

Her brothers looked at her in surprise then smirked.

“It's gingergirl!” Dale said.

“Hey, Rusty,” Colin added.

“Ha, ha,” she replied, sitting.

“Did your dye fade, honey?” her mother asked, frowning at her hair.

“No, I was just...experimenting. I like my old hair color.”

“Why?” Dale asked with a grin.

“Because I do!”

She had even brushed it, out of habit, the way she used to before she dyed it, with thick bangs hiding most of her forehead.

“Eat,” her mother said, ladling out pancakes.

“I'd rather just have some – .”


Grumbling, she started to cut into the pancakes and fork them into her mouth. She reached out to slap Colin's fingers away from her hair, and glared at him as she ate.

“You got in late last night,” her mother said.

“Yeah, well, traffic on the interstate,” she muttered.

“How was the fishing, nature girl?” Dale asked.

“I don't fish. But it was a nice campsite,” she said carefully.

“Lots of nature going on, I bet.”

She gave him a flat stare. “I can take you,” she said.

“Not on your best day, girly,” he replied with a broad grin.


The subway ride was crowded but peaceful for its predictability. She kept the lower part of her hoody zipped to avoid anyone seeing anything they shouldn't – like her badge or gun, got off on 57th Street, and walked briskly towards the precinct house on West 54th.

When she arrived at her desk Geraldo Batista was arm wrestling Randy Baker while Lyle Jefferson looked on and made mocking comments.

Hey, Red,” Jefferson said.

“Boys,” she said, with raised eyebrows.

“I'm just putting this pussy in his place,” Baker said through clenched teeth.

She passed by and stuck her finger into his ribs hard enough for him to gasp and flinch, and Batista slammed his fist down in triumph.

“Ow! Shit, McCloud!” Baker complained, rubbing his ribs.

“Don't use the P word as a pejorative,” she said primly. “Respect the P.”

“I got lots of respect for pussy except when it's wearing a penis,” he grumbled.

“You calling me a pussy, white boy? Let's go again!” Batista said, slamming his elbow on the desk.

“Why it such an insult for someone to suggest you're a girl, Geraldo?” she demanded.

He looked at her indignantly, swallowed his first response and then said “Cuz I ain't.”

“Uh huh.”

Nora Richards walked in, yawning, clutching a cup of coffee and a purse.

“What's up?” she asked sleepily.

“Batista was just informing us he wasn't a girl,” Jamie said.

“Good thing, or he'd be one ugly girl,” she replied.

“He's ugly enough as a guy,” Baker said.

Foster's door opened and Taylor came out. Jamie made a face. There were a lot of cops she got along with well, but Taylor was not one of them. He was an insufferable suckup and a lousy cop, as far as she was concerned. She hadn't found anyone yet who disagreed with her either. Except for Lieutenant Foster, who happened to be his uncle.

That hadn't mattered when Sergeant Mueller, her partner, had run the squad. But he was out for another several weeks with a broken leg, and that left her with … Taylor.

She reached down and pulled her phone out, adjusting it with the app Danny had gotten for her, then settled it back into her pocket. It was a voice activated recorder. She already had enough to file a sexual harassment complaint against him, but was hoping to get something less personal.

Not that she intended to file any complaints if she could avoid it. If she got enough she'd either present it to him and tell him to find another home, or give it to Foster and let Foster get rid of him. Foster wasn't going to defend him against that if she had proof, not given who her grandfather was.

Taylor licked his tongue along his lower lip as he looked at her, and Jamie ignored him. Batista had informed her last week that he had seen Taylor putting up a photocopied picture of her on the bulletin board in the men's locker room.

It was taken by Danny while she was wearing nothing but a thong in the kitchen of his apartment. Her back was to the camera – mostly, and she was on the balls of her feet reaching up to the top cupboard for something. Her right breast was partially visible too.

Her camera had been stolen with that picture on it, and then recovered by the detective squad. Someone there had clearly gone through it and taken that picture out to pass around. It had gotten her a lot more hungry stares at work, but most people didn't dare comment openly given her habit of facing guys down – sometimes physically.

Batista said certain guys liked to pat her ass 'for luck' as they went out the door, though.

Probably because they didn't dare try it in real life.

The picture never stayed up long. The first sergeant to see it ripped it down, but it kept getting put up.

That would have mortified her at one point in her life – actually at almost all points of her life. But her experiences with public exposure, thanks to Danny, had kind of inured her against embarrassment at guys seeing her butt.

It's not like it wasn't a really nice butt, after all. Everyone seemed to think so. On the occasions she had to shower at the precinct she could almost count on one or more of the gay female officers giving her longing looks.

That used to bother her more than it did now too.

Since her experiences with Victoria Bryant she'd tended to feel less embarrassed and more of a sense of ego flattering pleasure, even when women looked at her with lust. She still wasn't really into girls as such, but on the other hand, being 'used' by them, roughly, in front of Danny, was a wild thrill she couldn't resist.

Of course, then there was Willow. That still confused her. Willow was younger than her, a silly little goth with a suicidal view of life. She had deserved Jamie smacking her around, certainly. But the weird, wild sexual thrill Jamie had felt while having the girl completely under her control had startled her.

She knew Danny had turned her into something of a submissive, maybe even a little bit of a sexual masochist. But how that played out with getting off on slapping Willow around was something that confused her. Bryant said that it was simply an extension of her own dark thrill excitement at the submission and domination game.

After all, if she found the idea of herself being 'manhandled', being roughly used, being 'forced' then she'd probably find the sight of some other beautiful young girl being treated the same way to be a turn-on too. And doing it herself, well, then she got to feel both sides of the game all at once!

She got to do exactly what she found sexiest and most exciting, to position the 'victim' however she wanted her positioned, to use or 'abuse' her however she wanted. It had been an intense rush! She'd treated Willow like she was HER bitch, and the girl was a natural submissive, giving Jamie an incredible sense of sexual power!

And yet, she still wasn't really that into girls. Danny, of course, was doing his best to change that, first with some nameless blonde in Central Park, then Bryant, and now this Naomi... God!

Her skin had felt so soft – once Jamie's hands had been uncuffed. It was the first time she'd made love with a woman, as opposed to simply being used by one, like Bryant. And... it hadn't been bad at all. At least, not with two hunky men looking on excitedly.

It was never going to replace men on her primary menu, though she knew Bryant had an interest in trying to bring her over to her 'team'.


Taylor had already gotten the car keys before she arrived at work, which meant he got to drive. She sighed and slumped in the passenger side of the black Dodge Charger Interceptor. She signed into the computer and scanned the morning offerings as Taylor pulled away from the curb and out onto 54th.

He turned north on Eighth, then west on 57th, impatiently zipping around traffic.

“So I bet you had a good weekend,” he said.

She rolled her eyes over at him.


“I heard you and your boyfriend were heading north.”

She frowned, remembering who she'd told that to. Certainly not him.

“We went fishing.”

He snorted and she raised her eyebrows, feeling a slight sense of wariness. He couldn't possibly know what she'd really been doing.

“You are not the camping type, McCloud.”

“You don't know what type I am, Taylor,” she replied. “You know virtually nothing about me.”

“I know you're a city girl.”

“Yeah, well, we do a lot of things for our boyfriends.”

“Oh I bet you do!” he said with a sneer.

“If you ever had a girlfriend she might do things for you too,” she said sweetly.

He glared at her, then turned south on Eleventh and picked up speed.

A call about a robbery in progress came in for 49th Street near Madison Avenue and he cursed, swinging the wheel hard over and flipping on the lights and sirens.

Jamie pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. Taylor was looking for action. He was always looking for action. It was one of the reasons he was a shitty cop, in her opinion. The call was on the east side of the precinct. There was no way they were going to get there before half a dozen marked district units so she didn't see the need for speed.

Sure enough, after screeching and twisting around traffic, and hammering angrily on the steering wheel and blasting the horn for cars or trucks in their way, by the time they reached the scene it was just in time to see the perp bent over a blue and white being searched.

That didn't improve Taylor's temper much. He blamed her for not having gotten any action – in more than one meaning of the term – on several previous occasions, and seemed jealous of all the 'action' she'd gotten.

Now the action was over. That didn't stop him from parking and going over to talk to everyone about what had happened. Maybe, she thought, to share in the action vicariously. She just sat in the car and pulled out her phone to check her email and texts.

He got back in the car ten minutes later, still grumbling, and she was still on her phone, checking Facebook.

“Got more pictures?” he asked.

She looked at him coolly.

“Because believe me, everyone in the precinct is waiting for your next release.”

She frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come on. You don't think we don't know you let those pictures out on purpose?”

She felt a flare of anger, but repressed it.

You think I arranged to have my own phone stolen just so it could be recovered, knowing some detective would act like a voyeur and see what pictures he could find?”

“You say it happened that way. Maybe you just put it on the internet yourself?”

“So goofs like you could salivate over it? Sounds pretty lame to me.”

“Salivate? Hell, baby, that picture was enough to make half the guys in the precinct blow their corks thinking about it in the shower,” he said with a leer.

“What you do in the shower is not something I care to dwell on,” she said.

“Maybe I'll show you some day.”

“Not happening.”

“I got a big shower. We could both fit easily, especially since there wouldn't be any space between that tight round ass of yours and my dick.”

“Just drive the fucking car and keep your adolescent fantasies to yourself,” she snapped.

He snorted in amusement and headed down Lexington.

“Just saying if you got more pictures you want to show off, I'll be happy to distribute them for you.”

“Yeah? Then you can use your collection of dildos to abuse yourself while looking at them.”

“I ain't the one who's got dildos, baby, but I bet you got quite a collection.”

“Yeah, sure. The ones that keep showing up on my desk don't come from you.”

He smirked. “Gotta admit, seeing you swallowing that big dildo last week was impressive. Well worth the cost of admission.”

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