Black Nylons by Brian She leaves her mark by leaving a single black nylon Update: 09/11/1997 to misc2 {This is a consensual, non-violent story with a little bit of fetishism. It is NOT a submissive-dominant story by any means; no one in this story is whipped, beaten, called "master" or "mistress", or forced to do anything their free will dictates dangerous. The whole premise of this story is a woman wearing black nylons (circa 1952 or so, the Mickey Spillane period?) who is a sort of "super heroine" who leaves her mark by leaving a single black nylon. If this sounds a bit far fetched, imagine all the stories I've read about X fucking Y and it seems that none of them have a single flaw on their bodies! This is a work of fiction, but the characters at least seem real. Brian} ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Another taxi dancer killed in the West End section of Beantown. The Boston Globe and Record American shouted these headlines as far as they could across the papers. It was June 22, 1952, and so far 6 girls were dead; nearly all of them from seedy origins. Boston's finest were baffled. They needed someone to infiltrate all of these "dens of iniquity" and catch this asshole red handed. They had one secret weapon at Precinct 5 who could pose as one of these B girls and catch him red handed. ------------ Her well-defined leg stretched above the twin bed to roll a bunched up stocking over her ankles, past her calves and over her thighs. She made sure that the 10 denier, shiny mesh stocking had no runs and her seams were straight before she attached it to the four garters on either side. Then she slid her black dress on, quickly making what she had on under her a mystery. Roberta "Bobbie" Johnson was a pro at catching men red handed. Her looks, plain but very appealing when she applied makeup and other items, spoke 25 but her age was really 36. Bobbie could play the act without flinching or reservation. She had been part of Vice during the war, when she foiled the Black Market scheme in Jewish-predominant Roxbury in 1942. She was familiar with every ambulance service, hospital, hotel, hooker, pimp, madam and burlesque hall in Boston proper. Sometimes, though, she did vigilante work when the Boston Police Department did not wish to get their hands dirty when gangsters were involved. All she had to do was remove a black stocking from either her legs or her purse (she carried extras in case of emergencies) and criminals would know all to well that she had been there...Bobbie had a 100% capture rate, something the BPD was proud of and criminals were in deep fear of. At 9:12, the phone rang, just as Bobbie finished applying some makeup. "Hello?" she said matter-of-factly. "Bobbie, this is Detective Ross. How would you like to pose as a taxi dancer?" "Hey, Joe," Bobbie said in an down-to-earth tone. "Serial killer at it again?" "How'd you guess?" "It ain't time to sell tickets for the Policemen's ball." Bobbie laughed like Elmer Fudd. "Taxi dancer sounds like fun, but I'd rather be at Scollay Square doing the bump-and-grind." "Burlesque is not on the menu tonight. But we do have some nice dancer du taxi, " said Ross with a hint of wryness. "Well, I have the right accessories for it, so why not? I'm wearing a black dress and black nylons...if you can call that my modest dress for tonight." More laughter, this time from both sides. "Ever hear of a place called Hurley's Heights in Charlestown? Get on the Main Elevated to City Square and walk two blocks down Main." "Doesn't sound like a bad idea. I'm at home on Comm Ave right now. I can be there in an hour and give you a report by 2pm tomorrow." "Perfect. Headquarters good for you or should I come down to Saint E's Hot Dog Stand and Morgue?" "Now we're getting fancy with our meeting places, are we? HQ's fine." ------------ The Main Elevated car rumbled into City Square station at 10:34. Bobbie looked at the directions she wrote down and walked towards main street. Her heels clicked a rhythm as she found Hurley's, and outside there were three bouncers beating the daylights out of some sailor. The Naval Police came up and dragged the poor sailor into the car, and proceeded to beat him there, too. Bobbie put on a wisecracking floozie accent and queried, "What happened?" One of the bouncers smiled and said sarcastically, "Taking out the garbage, dear." The other two laughed as if someone told the punchline to the traveling salesman joke. Bobbie smiled and said, "Is it ladies night in there?", lifting her skirt as she spoke. One of the bouncers said, "Yes, ma'am. Always ladies night. Only thing is, ladies don't go home to the same place." More brutish laughter. Bobbie made a face and muttered "fresh!" as she entered the bar. What a dump, commented Bobbie as taxi dancers teased sailors and the bartender poured drinks into cups, steins and...shoes. One taxi dancer staggered in Bobbie's direction, and proceeded to vomit in front of her. Everyone laughed heartily, except for Bobbie and the now-sobbing taxi dancer. The two went into the ladies room, as Bobbie cleaned the girl up. "Can't seem to hold those Shirley Temples in, huh?" Bobbie said. "I'm sorry, really," said the girl. She was no more than 20 years old, despite the fact that she was 5'9". "What's your name, honey?" "Kathryn, but everybody calls me Katie." "Katie, I'm Bobbie. Can you keep a secret?" "Sure." "I'm an undercover Boston Police officer..." Katie nearly screamed, but Bobbie caught her mouth and clamped her hand over it just in time. "I'm not here to arrest anyone yet, but I am here to catch a serial killer. He's going after girls like you." Bobbie released her grip and Katie suddenly looked quite relieved. "There's this square looking guy who comes here every Thursday and he always leaves with women wearing black nylons or black silk stockings. I've known of four girls who've dated him and they always appear in the newspapers..." Katie choked back a sob, as Bobbie reached into her bag for a handkerchief. "Katie, would you mind coming down to Headquarters tomorrow afternoon and give our own Sgt Lucy Kenner a description? I'll come here this Thursday to check out the scene, and I'll ask the department to give you immunity and maybe a place to stay. If we catch this man, there's even a $5000 reward...enough for one year's salary {In 1952, $5000 was roughly the same as $25,000 today. Brian}. Will you do it?" Katie said with a gleam in her eye, "Sure." "Come down to Police Headquarters at 3pm, but before then, call FA7-8010 and ask for Sgt Kenner." Bobbie turned Katie around and said, "Katie, your seams are crooked." Bobbie placed her hands on either side of her stocking and twisted it so the seam lay flush with the back of her thigh. "This is the first time I wore silk stockings before," said Katie shyly. All Bobbie did was smile. ------------ "Our perp seems to have a fix for nylons," said Bobbie to Captain Thomas Hanford. "One of the taxi girls identified him as a bookworm who goes to MIT. You'd think he'd stick to the books instead of the broads." "Good work, Johnson, but is our taxi girl due today?" "3 pm sharp...Lucy Kenner is going to become Picasso during that time." "Good." Hanford came from Southie, but he was once a sergeant for The Royal Air Force in Northampton, England. To everyone, he was "Cap'n Tom" because he treated everyone fairly and never raised his voice when reprimanding. "Now in your report, this suspect comes every Thursday and leaves with girls in black hosiery." "Definite fetish. With our luck, he probably likes toe sucking and placing his big toe in vaginal cavity." Johnson shuddered at what she just said. "Meaning that you're going down Thursday to find him? All I advise is that you be careful...Lucifer and himself know what he'll do to you, and I can't lose an undercover police woman as valuable as you are." "Flattery gets you nowhere, but in this instance I'll make an exception. What about handcuffs, firearms, and the like?" "Good enough. Maybe $5 in case he wants a hotel room." "I think I'll put on my best pair of silk stockings that night," Bobbie thought devilishly as she bit her lip. "A glimpse of stocking may arrest the visual senses and soon arrest criminals. What a novel concept." ------------ Thursday came, and Bobbie arrived at Hurley's at 9:30. The same scene with the bouncers and the sailors occured, but this time other police officers from the Charlestown precinct were arresting the bouncers, while the ambulance drivers were setting the sailor up on the stretcher so he could be taken to Mass General. The Charlestown cops knew Bobbie was undercover (Brighton precinct phoned them ahead of time to tell them she would be there), so they left her alone. When she entered the bar, she heard the ambulance scream away. She walked up to the bar and ordered a Suffering Bastard. "Get a load of this broad, Gerry. She had the moxie to order a heavy drink!" Bobbie countered, "And I also have the moxie to arrest you and pull your liquor license if you blow my cover!" she hissed as she showed her badge in her bag. "One Suffering Bastard it is," said the burly bartender. One hour passed. Still, no sign of the suspect. Bobbie was still on her SB and she looked at the people dancing. Sailors hand the tendency to swing the girls low, exposing their stocking tops. Ah, the joys of swing, thought Bobbie ruefully, wishing they would play some tunes by Thelonius Monk (too bop), Miles Davis (too angular), or Sonny Rollins (just right). Another sip and she was done with her Suffering Bastard. Just then someone tapped her shoulder. "Excuse me, would you like to dance?" Bobbie then remembered to strike a taxi dancer attitude when she turned around. But she was never more surprised to see a well-dressed, handsome man. Bobbie nearly fell out of her chair when he offered his hand. Bobbie found out that this guy's name was Bert. He was a MIT professor of biology, and even though he hated the sleaziness of the scene, he thought it well to dance and have a good time. Bobbie liked his honesty, and they continued to dance on until 2:30. Then they were asked to leave. As people streamed out to Main Street, Bert asked Bobbie, "Say, my car is just down the street. I know it's late and it's kind of abrupt, but would you like to stay at my place for the night? I don't think you'd like to sleep in a roach motel." Bobbie agreed, but she remembered to be careful. ------------ Bert lived on Harvard Street, just over the Brookline line, in a well-furnished apartment. "Would you like a drink?" Bert offered, to which Bobbie politely refused. "So tell me, Bobbie, you're a secretary for Bollack and Hennesey?" "Yep. Stenographer, that is." "Beacon Hill?" "Yeah. I hate climbing up that hill during the winter, where it's so icy." "I have an idea," Bert offered. "Place your feet on this stool." Bobbie felt a bit uneasy, but she complied. "Would you mind taking off your shoes? The ottomans are on 10-day trial offer." Bobbie stood up and using the chair for support, removed her shoes one by one and placed them beside the chair. Then she placed her feet on the stool, smiling with a little more confidence. "That's great." Bert looked at her feet for a bit, then mm-hmmed for a bit. "Are you wearing silk stockings? You don't have to answer if it's too personal." Yes, that is too personal, Bobbie thought vehemently, and her fears began to quickly jell. But she replied, "Yes. I bought them at Field's Hosiery for $1.50 a pair." Bert then smiled. "I don't mean to put you on the spot. I did research on the silkworm and their reproductive properties. The more reproductive they were, the stronger the silk they produced." Bert placed a hand on Bobbie's ankle, and suddenly a chill shot through her spine. "Why do you look so afraid," Bert asked calmly. Bobbie spat out, "I didn't come here for a quick trick, bub. You said you wouldn't do anything sleazy." ------------ "That's what all my victims thought, dear." Bert changed from a professor to a cold monster. "They thought I would take care of them. And they always fall for that silkworm bit. Just like you." "What do you want, exactly?" Bobbie asked carefully. "Take off your silk stockings, so I can add them to my collection of other dames who I killed." He withdrew a Smith and Wesson from his pocket, which was incentive enough. Bobbie rose from the chair and placed her leg on the ottoman. "Lift your dress up so I can see your thighs," Bert demanded. Bobbie complied, raising it enough so he could see her silk stockings being tethered by her garters. "You will roll the stockings down your legs, slowly." Bobbie placed a foot on the ottoman, her skirt still bunched upon her waist as she moved the buttons back to release the tab. She began to roll it down when Bert said blankly, "No. Release the other garters first." She did so. "Left stocking first, then right." Carefully she rolled the nylon down her legs, then towards her ankles and off her toes. "Lovely. Ever thought of working in Scollay Square?" Bobbie bit her tongue for fear of getting shot - no need to spit out a wiseacre remark if Smith and Wesson's governing the conversation. She began to remove her right stocking when there was a knock on the door. "Stay in that position until I return." He left, and Bobbie withdrew a small ampoule of Ponzhak gas (strong Mace derivative used in the Soviet Union) she kept in case of dire emergencies. She placed it in between finger and the stocking, and her plan was to throw the gas onto the floor. The gas was an opiate, and Bert would fall to the floor. ------------ Bert returned, still holding the gun. "Continue on. I want to see that stocking off your leg." Bobbie continued, and by the time it reached her ankle, she looked up at the smirking face of Bert and threw the ampoule right onto the floor. Quickly she dove to the floor, as Bert choked and wheezed, landing to the floor. Bobbie called the Comm Ave station, and soon nine police cars converged on the Harvard Ave building. Brookline police assisted too, and an ambulance was called on the scene. Ross and Hanford rushed in. "You OK, Bobbie?" asked Ross urgently. "See? You can get a man in more than one way with a pair of black silk stockings," laughed Bobbie as she pulled her nylons on. ------------ Bert was actually a psychiatric patient who left the Shattuck not more than one year ago, Bobbie found out. Even though Katie (the taxi dancer she met before) gave her erroneous information before, eventually she gave Sgt Lucy Kenner the correct information that Bobbie was given the day before. Katie smiled as she left the precinct. "Now I can afford a pair of silk stockings...as well as rent and food for the next few years!" she beamed to Bobbie. Bobbie raised her hand and led Katie to her desk. From one of her drawers she withdrew a box full of silk hose and nylons. "My personal thank-you for giving us a big lead on Bert. These silk stockings are not strong, and they do run, but they sure feel good on those days you feel down." Katie quickly removed her old stockings and tried on the black silk ones. "Mmmmm....now I know what you mean! Thanks so much." Bobbie smiled and relaxed in her chair, satisfied that a perpetrator was brought to justice by a simple seductive item. Black Nylons Chapter II {This is a consensual, non-violent story with a little bit of fetishism. It is NOT a submissive-dominant story by any means; no one in this story is whipped, beaten, called "master" or "mistress", or forced to do anything their free will dictates dangerous. Bobbie Johnson (physically) can be thought of as a wisecracking Niki Smith (The Guess? girl) who is very, ahem, voluptuous. Also, for all those who lived in the Boston area during the 1950's, some of the places I mentioned are as accurate as I can perceive them. Any correction will be cheerfully corrected. In Chapter II, about 5 years have elapsed (1957). Bobbie has been promoted to Captain of Vice and Katie (the taxi dancer) works for her. Also, two new females, Rikki Hamp and Marcia "Chi-Chi" Rodriques, are undercover workers in Scollay Square (now Government Ctr.) Brian} ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Repost: Black Nylons, Part 2/4 (mf, fet?) 1957, the year that Bobbie got a brand-new Chevy after she foiled a Mafia attempt in the North End. Nineteen mobsters, perhaps the most wanted in Massachusetts, were sealed in Charles St. Jail for a good long time. But Bobbie had not changed one bit, except for a nicely cropped hairdo and a pair of seamless lode green nylons gracing her legs. Katie Samuel, once a taxi dancer and now Lieutenant of Vice, walked over to Bobbie's desk and leaned into it. Bobbie smiled as she typed her report. "Hello, Katie. You seem to be free from your work." "And not a minute sooner," Katie laughed as she sat down at Bobbie's desk. "That horse-fixing/prostitution ring case is driving me mad. I had to become Little Miss Floozie for three weeks, which brought back the good old days of waiting on the corner and lifting my skirt. So much for being humble." Bobbie laughed so hard, she had to cover her mouth. Katie went on to describe the time a little old man, sweet as could be, asked if he could "plug in his plaything" in the middle of a song; the time one of the horses decided to take an unceremonious dump on her shoes, and how one of the jockeys cleaned up her legs only to feel them up. Bobbie was now crying and laughing uncontrollably, as Lt. Captain Joe Ross came over to the desk in curiosity. "Say, is Kate telling you the time Great Smokes took a great dump on her feet?" he asked half-jokingly, as Bobbie dried her eyes and composed herself. "I'm sorry, Joe, but it's such an uplifting experience," Bobbie said. "The whole department could hear you, but your Captain, and there's not much I can do." Ross extracted a newspaper bunched under his suitjacket. "I hope your legs are in filly condition," smiled Ross. "Madam Chao in Cambridge heard about you and she needs some help." "Madam Chao and the House Of Chao, " said Bobbie crisply. "We've busted her fifteen times for heroin possession and eighty-three times for maintaining a bordello. Yet she seems to be a nice, grandmotherly woman." "She's coming to the precinct about 2:30. It seems that her bordello needs a little monitoring." "Hmm...a captain undercover. Just like the good old days. Who else will help me?" "Chi Chi and Hamp." Bobbie smiled. She liked the wisecracking Chi Chi and the girl-next-door appeal of Hamp, and they would turn out to be good foils. She nodded her head while she held her tapered fingers on her lips. "Great. I think the old black silk-stockings will have to come out." --------- Madame Chao smiled as she was led into the office by her old, almost withered husband. Madame Chao spoke no English, but her husband, a mathematician at MIT, spoke almost accent-free English and was willing to translate. are prosperous,]" said Mme Chao via Mr Chao. "Have come here for your liquor license to be renewed?" Bobbie quipped. Madame Chao laughed readily. "[No, my little friend. You've busted me so many times I don't bother to renew. I have a job for you. My wicked sons are trying to take away brothel. Very corrupt bad apples, I say. Become madam for a week and I will testify against them.]" Madame Chao walked over to Katie and placed her hands squarely on her legs. "[My dear, silk stockings on white limbs are most attractive. But even better when seams are straight.]" Katie rolled her eyes as Mme Chao twisted the suntan nylons, making the seams pencil straight. "[Honorable Johnson, would you like to become the proprietor of my house so you can stop my sons?]" "Yes, I will. And I will try my best to bring them to justice. IF you don't break any rules afterwards." "[Rules? No rules when worm and womb are frolicking in the Mound of Venus.]" Then Madame Chao laughed once more. --------- Chi-Chi and Hamp had come in for the midnight shift. Chi-Chi was in the middle of putting on a new pair of black silk stockings for the brothel in Chinatown. "Nothings more precious than black gold silk," cooed Chi-Chi as she slipped a stocking up her smooth calves. "Up and around everywhere, my legs hiss a Mojud morse code." Hamp had already finished dressing, as she affixed a pair of strappy heels to her ankles. "You have the address to this bordello, or are we going to get lost like we did the last time?" Chi Chi smoothed a hand up and down the seams of her stockings, swinging her leg up and down for effect. "Relax. I didn't know there was a Shriners convention at that bar last time," laughed Chi-Chi. She clasped garters to each side of her stocking and walked towards the locker. "I bought a pair of backless heels that go with the dress. Out to be normal for that type of place." Hamp twirled around in her floral print dress. "Ah always gotta be the country girl!" she giggled, to which Chi Chi muttered, "And obnoxious, too" as she zippered up her black dress. "We've gotta meet Bobbie at nine. Let's get going so we can beat all of the C1 traffic." Chi Chi applied a cot of mascara and pouted her lips to apply a blood-red lipstick. After she clamped her lips together to distribute the lipstick, she collected Hamp and they headed to Chinatown. --------- Bobbie was in the middle of directing girls when Chi Chi and Hamp arrived. "Shriners Convention again, girls?" she said under a strained voice. "Nope, and we're sorry we're late," said Chi Chi. "Girls, would you mingle with the guests after you put your coats away and freshen up." Hamp and Chi Chi did so, and the two retired to the bar. Two hours passed. Once in a while, as a signal to Bobbie, Chi Chi would tug at the tops of her stockings in code. N o t h i n g 's d o i n g was one code. Another was I f o r g o t t o b r i n g a n e x t r a p a i r o f n y l o n s. D o y o u h a v e a p a i r ? Bobbie tapped (with a pencil) in response Y e s, b u t t h e y d o n ' t g o w i t h t h e s h o e s y o u ' r e w e a r i n g. Bobbie then came over with two young, freshly scrubbed college men in tow. "Chi Chi, Alicia, this is Tony and Steve. They wish to purchase your services. Tell me, boys, are you at least eighteen?" "Yes, Ma'am," they said simultaneously. "The house rules are that you may not impose any harm on these ladies or I shall have to call the police," said Bobbie seriously. Chi Chi let out a snort of laughter as Bobbie continued. Chi Chi, you shall go with Tony. Alicia, meet Steve." "Rooms 19 and 20, if you please." Bobbie extracted two keys from her pocket. "Protection is provided upstairs...have a good time." --------- Chi Chi and Tony entered the room, and Chi Chi turned on the lights. "Kind of warm, isn't it?" Chi Chi set the mood, and she found Tony to be handsome. "My fee is $25 straight and $50 for other kinks." Tony silently withdrew a $100 bill from his wallet and placed it on the table. "Can we just talk instead? I'm not into sex all that often...I'm getting married." "No blow jobs? No around the worlds? Are you...no, you're not queer. Are you afraid?" "A little." "You know what I'm afraid of?" Chi Chi softened. "Guys who make sex too rough. It takes a tender touch for a man to make love." Tony looked at her legs. "I like what you're wearing on your legs." Chi Chi certainly couldn't bust this kid for being sincere. "Thanks. Have you ever seen a pair of silk stockings before?" "Ah, no." Chi Chi began to undress, and she did as far as her bra, garter belt, silk stockings, and backless heels. "Tell, me, Tony, are you scared looking at me now?" "No." "Could you strip naked for me, honey?" Slowly but efficiently, Tony became naked. He had a giant erection waving in the breeze, and of course he felt uncomfortable. Chi Chi was flabbergasted on how pure and strong his erection was, but despite ethics she wanted to wrap her hand around it and feel it pulse around her hands. She led him over to the bed and lay him down. She placed a foot under the scrotum of his already engorged penis and began to slowly rotate the bottom of her stocking foot on it. "Does it feel good, Tony?" Chi Chi moaned as Tony began to squirm. Her sheathed foot began to trace shapes and forms of his penis and stopped long enough to unhook her bra. She twisted her nipples as she continued to rub silk against scrotum. Chi Chi took her foot away and placed it on the soft bed. One by one she unclasped her garters and unhooked the garter belt from her waist. She placed a hand on either side of her stocking and rolled it down seductively her thighs, keeping eye contact on Tony as he erection grew very hard. When she reached her toes, she pulled her stocking off with a flourish and placed it on Tony's erect member. Then, she wrapped a warm hand on Tony's penis and began to stroke it. Man, this boy is big, she muttered as she stroked the penis, which when she bent it resisted becoming soft. She heard him grunt, a signal that he was on the verge of climax, and she blithely continued until he erupted. Stream after stream of semen shot through the stocking onto the heel, which amazed Chi Chi no end. When she touched his penis again to remove the stocking, she didn't realize he was capable of coming again, and how violent his eruption was. Her hands and the reinforced foot of her stockings were coated with semen, and to make show of it Chi Chi licked her hands sexily. After Tony composed himself, he withdrew a $20 bill from his pants and gave it to Chi Chi. Chi Chi was tempted to bust him, but she didn't. To hell with ethics, she thought as she retired to the women's room to pleasure herself. --------- Two more hours passed. Chi Chi borrowed another pair of stockings from Janise, an older woman who was like her grandmother, while Hamp was sitting patiently at the bar. Bobbie walked over to Hamp and bought her a club soda. "Tough night at the races, Hamp?" Bobbie asked quizzically. "You bet. I only made about 16 weeks of my salary tonight," she said grinning. "I like the Chinese Dragon lady getup...very fetching." Bobbie blushed as she twirled around. She had bought a black wig that could be twisted and turned into a bun, and in that bun hung two Chinese chopsticks. With a bow, Bobbie said, "I thank you, honorable Hamp." Just then two small men - dwarves - came over to the bar. "Excuse me, madam...we would like to make an offer to you. Is there a place we can talk in private?" said the first dwarf. "Yes, I guess so." Bobbie suspected that these two cute little men carried even cuter guns and had a cute thing for cutting people down. These could be Mme Chao's cute little sons. --------- "I am Ying Tso, and this is my brother Yong Tsi", introduced the first dwarf. "We are sons of Chao, and we wish to give you protection." "If our mother told us we are merciless, bloodletting thieves with no morals, well, that's heresy," said Yong. "We are not interested in killing people for our own advancement." Bobbie thought for a moment. "How much protection will you provide?" she asked, hoping that they'd say for a few dollars and a percent of the take. "All we ask for is $500 per week and 25% of all the ladies' take," smiled Ying. "We are humble and honest people. There's no reason you should not function without overhead." "All right. But I'll make the deal even sweeter. $750 per week, and 35% of the take, plus my two best girls in the brothel." Bobbie picked up the phone and told the operator, "please send in Chi Chi and Hamp." After a couple of minutes the door knocked. Chi Chi and Hamp came in, but holding hands. "Chi Chi, Hamp, please meet Ying and Yong. They will send us protection. Please, girls, show our new...guardsmen your wares. I'm not paying $750 a week for just ordinary girls." With that Chi Chi and Hamp began to undress one another. Each button was taken off slowly and sensuously, every zipper unattached quietly. Hamp set herself on the desk as Chi Chi unbuckled her shoes and placed tiny kisses on her tan stockinged toes; then she began to lick the inner part of the thigh were the garter and stocking met. Chi Chi made sure to unhook the stocking slowly and bring it down while kissing each part of the leg. "You see, my girls know how to love men as well as those of their own sex," Bobbie hinted. Chi Chi placed two fingers inside Hamp and almost immediately Hamp began to moan; then as Chi Chi pushed them slowly in and out, Hamp arched her back and let out a choked scream. Warm juice ran out of Hamp's sex, and as soon as Chi Chi planted her fingers inside herself, she had her own juices running out of her hand. Ying and Yong laughed as Hamp and Chi Chi arranged themselves. "[Wow, what an act!]" gasped Yong in Chinese, who was whistling as he laughed. "[This young broad really has her act together. Nothing like Mom ever did!]" chuckled Ying. "All right. We are convinced. You girls will become stars in this brothel, like Sacco and Venezuela." "Sacco and Vanzetti," Bobbie corrected. "And I would like to add just one more thing to this deal, but I must warn you that you may not be pleased to see what I give you." In the desk drawer Bobbie extracted a pair of handcuffs and her badge. With a flourish Bobbie took off her wig, letting her cropped hair breathe. "Gentlemen, I am not a madam. I'm Bobbie Johnson, Captain of Vice, and this two girls are Marcia "Chi Chi" Martinez and Rikki Hamp, and they work for me." As Hamp and Chi Chi wrapped the cuffs around their wrists, Ying and Yong spoke angrily to one another. "[You sonofabitch! I knew that she stood out like a sore thumb.]" shouted Yong. "[Shut up,]" screamed Ying, "[We would have had two lovely broads under our thumbs if you hadn't had a boner for the Hispanic one!]" --------- Two weeks later, Mme Chao returned to the office. She was alone. "I come to see Bobbie. Husband not home. He work today," she said to Chi Chi as she walked over to Bobbie's desk. "Bobbie, I come say thank you for putting sons in prison. Nice boys, nice attitude, but attitude stink. No Chinatown gangster like my father." "They were nice, and I'm glad they didn't use their guns." Bobbie smiled as Mme Chao laughed. "Boys never had balls to use guns," Mme Chao continued, laughing to herself. "I also come to say I quit madam business. Learning how to speak English from my husband. You did good as madam." Mme Chao extracted something from her pocketbook. It was one of Chi Chi's black silk stockings that she had used on Tony. "One of friends not discreet with seed. My girls always use towel or washcloth to clean. But with little wash and hang, it'll be good and new." Chi Chi's face was never redder as she picked up the stocking from the table and muttered a curt "thank you" as Mme Chao bowed. Bobbie looked at Chi Chi with a mock look of contempt, but Chi Chi lost her composure and began to laugh. Ross walked over to the desk and asked, "Did Katie tell you the story about the dumping horses *again*?" But when he saw the stocking in Chi Chi's hands, he caught himself. I gotta keep out of these inside jokes, he thought as he went for a cup of coffee. Black Nylons Chapter III Bobbie Johnson (physically) can be thought of as a wisecracking Niki Smith (The Guess? girl) who is very, ahem, voluptuous. Also, for all those who lived in the Boston area during the 1950's, some of the places I mentioned are as accurate as I can perceive them. Any correction will be cheerfully corrected. In Chapter III, a couple of months have passed. Bobbie is still Captain of vice, but joining her is another Vice captain from Atlanta named Yolanda Beart, who can be approximated by Lynne Thigpen (Carmen Sandiego/LA Law fame). Yolanda is a very upstanding, righteous woman with the same wisecracking sense of humor as Bobbie. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bobbie had just finished writing the report on her investigation on the Conrail scam in Allston when a dark-skinned woman approached the desk. The woman bent over and spoke in a drawl, "Excuse me, secretary, where can I find the Captain of Vice?" Bobbie looked from side to side, and then cracked wide a smile. "Roberta Johnson, Captain of Vice." Bobbie extended her hand and quickly the woman accepted it. "Name's Yolanda Beart. Atlanta vice sent me up to investigate a supposed white supremacist ring that has spread up north. They wear brown shirts and white sheets no matter what the weather is," sighed Yolanda. "Are you talking about the Order of Electrical Workers 59?" "You really are as smart as they said you were," said Yolanda reservedly. "I hear that they were going to burn down a few of the three-deckers in which the newly-hired black workers live in Dorchester. At least up north it's not as bad as it is in Atlanta...Bubba and his henchmen use the work 'nigger' as if it were punctuation, and I got a 30 day suspension for kicking him in the nuts. Goddamn gorilla deserved it." Yolanda grinned without a hint of guilt. Bobbie rose from the desk and made a motion to walk to the coffee machine. "I'll introduce you to the other members of the department..." "All I want is a cup of coffee and no fanfare, please." said Yolanda modestly, holding up her hand. --------- During the week, Bobbie and Yolanda made a plan to infiltrate OEW 59. "I don't want anything to do with sex or giving these shock boys a thrill..." Yolanda said, but Bobbie grinned and said, "I've done that many times before. Just with a lift of the skirt and a glimpse of stocking and the men simply beg for those metal handcuffs to go on." "Being a Baptist, I normally would throw Biblical Scriptures in your face, but I'm used to seeing spectacled bookworms do the same thing for the hookers in the Red Light district." quipped Yolanda. Just then Katie walked into the room. "Yolanda, this is Katie Bronson, one of our undercover vice officers." Quickly the two women exchanged handshakes, and Bobbie continued. "Katie will work as one of the secretaries at OEW 59. Katie used to be a taxi dancer, but she survived the Academy and she's been working for us for 3 years." Yolanda grinned slightly, thinking that if she asked Katie a probing question, Katie would either waffle or answer brilliantly. "Well, ah, Katie, what made you become a police officer, especially of vice?" "Experience." "In what?" "What do you mean?" "If it's too probing a question, stop me. But what I'd like to know is why you gave up taxi dancing and are now working for the police force." Katie was a little shocked, but she took a deep breath. "I don't know, Captain Beart. Maybe I was tired of turning tricks for subway fare home." "You don't need to be catty, dear," growled Beart. Obviously, this woman was not pleasant if crossed the wrong way. "You should have told me it was none of my business, and I would have understood." "I wasn't being catty. I was being truthful. You see, Bobbie pulled me off the streets after a serial murder was lurking on the streets. I hated giving fellatio to drunken sailors for $5, and I got a reward for catching that jerk. So in all fairness, Ms. Beart, I'm here to pay Bobbie back and to remove some criminals off the streets." Yolanda stood back and crossed her arms. She glared for a moment, first at Katie and then at Bobbie. Then she began to laugh, and hard. "I'm sorry I tested you that way," said Yolanda after gaining some composure. "I have the tendency to be quite direct, and I hope I didn't embarrass you." Bobbie smiled and winked at Yolanda, who then raised a thumb to acknowledge that the test they devised worked. --------- "So you're our new secretary," said Sid Smith, the leader of OEW 59. He was a rugged man, with a stone face and a blank attitude. "Miss, ah, what's your name?" Katie thought quickly, "Miss Linda Caverly," the name Yolanda and Bobbie had devised. "Yeah, Miss Caverly, all we want you to do is handle the phones, type up items that we give you and do errands. Now, how many words do you type?" At work, 38, she thought. "50 words, sir." "Good." Sid picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers. "Hey, John, bring down those flyers for me." Soon, a robust man came downstairs with envelopes and paper, cigar dangling from mouth. "This is John, our printer. You give Katie instructions, and I'll go fix myself a nice cup of Joe." Sid left the office, shutting the door gently behind him. "You don't have to worry about him until you take letters for him," said John gently. "How fast can you seal envelopes?" Katie took a packet of them, and sealed them all quickly. "I'm impressed. Take care of these and call me at 6630. I'll bring more down then." John then whispered, "Coffee's in the left hall. Nickel a cup and cream's in the fridge." Katie nodded her head and began to seal the envelopes. Just then she began to read the paper. BURN THE NIGGERS DOWN NO SPICS AND KIKES IN OUR WORKPLACE SEND THE DOG-EATING GOOKS HOME MAKE DORCHESTER AND OEW59 WHITE AND PROUD Katie was not only shocked, but she rose to go to the bathroom to vomit. However, there was no women's room, so Katie went to the door marked "restroom" and wretched there. She noticed women on the stalls splayed out in different nude poses, some with giant breasts, others with Betty Page like poses, complete with black mesh stockings and bondage. Katie wretched some more, then composed herself long enough to wash her face and adjust the seams on her stockings. She returned to the desk and folded more items into the envelopes. John came downstairs with more items, and noticed that Katie was shaken. "First day on the job jitters?" smiled John. Then he noticed Katie had one of their fliers in her hands. "Hey, listen, my parents came from Poland and the Nazis wiped their house out, and the Communists threw them out into the streets," said John. "All I do is print it up. I don't have anything to do with this, hear?" whispered John. Katie smiled, and then went back to her work. --------- "Holy son of Caesar's ghost," gasped Yolanda. "They're not just happy with racism but they're also perverts. What I wouldn't give to kick their asses all the way to Hell..." Bobbie nodded in agreement. "I think we should activate plan B." Yolanda looked puzzled. "Our initial plan was to infiltrate. Now all we have to do is bust them." "I think this Sid Smith character will be awfully pleased to have a real live dame present," Bobbie said with a wicked grin. "Don't tell me...you're going in there." Bobbie sat down in her chair and raised her skirt a bit to unclip the suntan nylons from their garters and roll them down her legs. She placed them in the drawer and opened another one to extract a package. She opened the package and extracted two black silk stockings from it. "Uh, Bobbie, what are you doing?" asked Yolanda tersely. As Bobbie bunched the silk stocking she had extracted from her drawer, she said, "Sometimes, you need the higher-ups to get the gangsters effectively." As soon as she clipped the stocking to the garter, she snapped the garter hard against her thigh. "Bang!" Yolanda said to herself with a grin. Bobbie bunched up the other stocking and said, "Exactly." --------- Bobbie found OEW 59 on the South Boston/Dorchester line on Dorchester Ave. Pretending to be a representative of the Houston OEW, she entered with an air of importance and was dressed to the nines in a black dress, black heels and a veil. "Excuse me, Miss, I would like to see Sidney Smith, please," she said to Katie. "He's at a meeting right now," said Katie with a professional attitude, knowing that all of this was a charade. "Oh, he is? Well, I'm Agatha Kresson, one of the female leaders of the Houston OEW. He should be expecting me for 11 am." Katie looked up the schedule. "Oh, I got the message this morning, Miss Kresson. The meeting ought to end in five minutes." "Call me Aggie. I appreciate that, miss..." "Katie Bronson." "Well, Katie, you are doing a fine job. I'll sit and wait." "Yes, Aggie." Five minutes passed, and Sid emerged from the office with a very fat, bloated man with a thick Southern accent. "Ah hate those nigguhs and weyeah gonna blast 'em out to God's green pasture..." Suddenly he saw Bobbie (as Aggie) decked out in black finery. "Lord in Heaven! What a piece of snatch!" uttered the man. In response Bobbie raised her fingers and pointed it in his fat face. "I want your name so I can send it to the home office in Houston. I will not be called a piece of snatch by anyone. Do I make myself crystal clear?" "Well, who the fuck are you to tell me..." "I'm the one to tell you that I will not tolerate any foolishness. I am Agatha Kresson, new investigator for OEW 59. I WILL chop your everloving redneck balls off if you refer to me in that tone. Do you understand?" "Yes, ma'am." The fat slug walked away sheepishly, after that tongue cutting session occured. "Are you Sidney Smith?" Bobbie asked curtly. "I am." Sid's expression did not change much, other than to raise his eyebrows as an approval of Bobbie's moxie. "I'm Agatha Kresson. I called this morning for a meeting." Sid would pass up this dame for nothing, Bobbie thought. "Yes, your secretary called this morning from the Houston office. Damned if I want to pay $18 for a collect call," Sid grinned. "Please, come into my office." Sid turned to Katie and said, "Hold all my calls, Katie." --------- "So you're going to burn down all those nigger's houses on West Sixth and Dot Ave," said Bobbie after a generous amount of small talk. Bobbie played the part of union moll to the hilt, even though in those days women never got to that high of a position. She crossed her legs, making sure that the faint hiss of silk gave Sid a message that she was not the bitch to cross. "We plan on doing it next Friday. Care for a Chesterfield?" Sid offered as he presented his box of cigarettes to her. (Bobbie loved Chesterfields, but she made sure her colleagues never saw it; in fact, she remembered the morning she had to stand in -16 degree cold and the cigarette stuck to her lips.) "You have good taste, Sid, even in cigarettes." Bobbie extracted one and bent over towards Sid to have the cigarette lit and to give Sid a scent of her perfume. Bobbie took a puff, letting the smoke rush out of her mouth. "Sid, I must say that Houston will put in a commendment. Your John Birch ties and the quick turnover of minorities have made OEW 59 quite stellar." She lifted her skirt a bit to expose a little more leg. "In fact, that's not why I'm here." When she said "here" she let it trail a little longer as she leaned over to Sid, whose expression had changed but little. Bobbie rose from the chair, and seeing that the shades were open she closed them. Then she sat roughly back on Sid's desk and raised her skirt, this time to above her stocking tops. "What would it take, Sid, for you to kick out more minorities? Another kickback from Southies Favorite Senator?" She eased herself and began to unbuckle her shoes. "How about a new office in Beacon Hill?" she oozed sexily as one garter after the other unclipped. "Maybe a pair of silk stockings from yours truly to your wife?" "Why you tramp..." Sid began, but Bobbie put a finger on his lips. "We wouldn't want to have this escape to the secretary, now wouldn't we?" she said seductively, knowing that Sid had a giant erection in his pants. "Let's say if you fuck me, I'll bring you to the biggest heights you ever got to," she said as she brought her silk stockings down her supple legs as far as her ankles, then dangled her feet ever-so-closely to Sid's crotch. He was raring to go, but Bobbie wanted this stone-faced prick to have a massive case of blue balls. Resting her foot against the desk Bobbie pulled a stocking off her leg and draped it around his neck. "You're ridiculous, sister!" "I am?" said Bobbie with mock coyness. She extracted a pair of handcuffs from her bag and went around Sid's chair to lock his hands together. Then she sat on the desk again, laughing throatily as Sid tried to wriggle out of the seat. "You're a crazy bitch!" Sid growled. "I've got a giant hard-on and you're handcuffing me to the goddamn seat! I hope the secretary doesn't hear us." "Oh, I assure you, she won't." Just then the door burst open. Yolanda and Katie had their guns posed together as other policemen rushed in to arrest Sid. "C'mon Bobbie, you have to get dressed," said Yolanda in mock urgency. "I think the lynching's going to occur right when we bring him and his buddies to HQ." "And Bobbie," Yolanda grinned, "Atlanta thanks you." --------- OEW 59 DISMANTLED RACISM CITED AS PEROGATIVE CAUSE Commissioner Warren Beart from the Atlanta HQ called Bobbie when she was reading the headlines of the Boston Globe. "My wife says you did an impressive job in knocking out OEW 59," said Beart. "All of the Orders of Electrical Workers are under investigation, and 99.99% of them have racism as one of their factors for closing down. My wife was right...you are one of the best Boston has to offer." "My pleasure," Bobbie beamed. "How's Yolanda?" "Still fighting crime, I'm afraid," quipped Warren. "She's the Captain of Vice, you know." Bobbie said teasingly, "I wonder if cronyism is a crime in Atlanta..." "Only for the whites, Bobbie. The black just do a harder and better job at it. But that's not really true. We all have that opportunity to do a fantastic job, regardless of color. Prime example is right here." "I hate to cut you off, but I have a meeting to go to in 10 minutes. It's been nice talking to you." "Same here. Goodbye." The phone clicked and Bobbie hung up her extension. Bobbie brought her chair back and raised her skirt. When no one was looking, she brought back an elastic garter and snapped it hard against her thigh. "Thwack" was its response, but her stocking top had a giant hole at the welt. I must stop doing this, snickered Bobbie to herself as she rolled the brown nylon down her leg. --------- Black Nylons Chapter IV (Note: As of 10-25-1993, Black Nylons will lose the "Formerly Silk Stocking Club" header and all of the "Parts" will become "Chapters." All will be reposted to alt.sex.fetish.feet and alt.sex.stories so that those who never got the stories or who never read them before can get the opportunity.) {This is a story I've written over the past few weeks, and it is not just a description of body and/or sexual functions/descriptions either. It's sort of a fetish story, but right now it's leaning to more of a police story with scenes of fetishism. (For those of you under 18 or were looking for "Bambi's Studmuffin Beats It Off" or "How Much Can A Penis Spew?" or "Long Description of A Sex Act Between Two Improbably Beautiful People Who Will Break Up As Soon As a New Partner Comes Up", first you will be bored to tears, which will make you beg your parents to unsub from a.s.s. or a.s.f.f because I write stories with a plot in them. Second, once your parents/girlfriend finds out you've gotten into this news server, you'll be either be in deep trouble or thankful that someone finally had the intelligence to write something more than "suck dick" or "big tits." or "hairy snatch".) If removing stockings sexily isn't your game, hit 'n' or equivalent now. Chapter IV opens in 1967. Bobbie is retiring after 26 years of service, Hamp and Chi Chi were killed in the line of fire. Cheryl, Bobbie's sister, is just like her sister, only more sarcastic. And, like Bobbie, she wears nylons and garters (except in one incident, where she struggles with a pair of pantyhose...someone requested a pantyhose story... Enjoy. Bobbie was collecting all of her belongings from her desk, humming the first few bars of "Sunshine of your Love." Normally, cops would cry and weep after a retirement party, but Bobbie kept everything in perspective. She was 51 years old now. Her hair was salt-and-pepper gray, she had varicose veins, and she didn't worry about the visits from Stalin each month. She was well decorated and she felt that she did a job well done. She opened one of the drawers and discovered an old pair of silk stockings she had as a spare. Bobbie never gave up her nylons, even though pantyhose was now more prevalent and more convenient. She brought one up to her cheek and stroked its sheerness. Oh, how silk brings back memories; but as soon as tears sprang to her eyes she quickly placed them into the box and placed more stuff into it. Just then Cheryl arrived. With auburn hair and a wide smile that counteracted her somewhat large figure, Cheryl was quite a piece of work. She also swore like a midshipman, which brought the witticisms of Bobbie into Lenny Bruce territory. "Hey, Bobbie, are you going to blow the waterworks on this nostalgia shit or are you still packing?" Cheryl was half Bobbie's age, but sometimes Bobbie didn't believe it. "Can you talk any louder," said Bobbie curtly. "I can scream 'rape' all over HQ and everyone from the National Guard can run into this police station like that," Cheryl quipped, snapping her fingers for emphasis. "I might as well show you what's going on," said Bobbie briskly. She handed Cheryl a sheaf of papers, thinking that Cheryl would balk at the fact that vice would now be going after dope pushers and LSD hawkers. She was right. "You fucking bitch!" was all Cheryl could utter. "I transferred from The Bronx with all those Mafioso gangsters and you're giving me this dossier on a bunch of granola-mainlining peace freaks? Gimme a fucking break!" "Listen here, Cheryl," hissed Bobbie. "The BPD is not giving you $250 a week to give the motorcycle crews and ambulance service blow jobs. I will personally transfer you to a desk job if you can't cut the grain. In fact, it's IS the Mafia who is supplying all this shit to these hippies and they are dying. Instead of a 5 microgram dose of LSD these people take 500 micrograms. And they go to the Shattuck for a unscheduled PERMANENT vacation. Am I making myself perfectly clear so far?" l Cheryl was flabbergasted. Anytime the word 'blowjob' came out of her mouth, Bobbie threw up! "Yeah, yeah," resigned Cheryl. "I can't hear you, dear." "Yes, Bobbie." Then Cheryl hung her head a bit and said, "I'm sorry, Bobbie. I didn't want to ruin your retirement day." Bobbie placed her hands on Cheryl's shoulders and laughed. She placed her fingers under Cheryl's chin and raised it to eye level. "You're still the wild child, sister. But here you have to watch your mouth." Bobbie looked around the office. Man, I'll miss this place, Bobbie said to herself as tears welled in her eyes. All she could do was break down and cry. Cheryl caught her immediately, giving her sister some comfort...like a sister should. --------- It was 6:00 when the alarm clock rang. Cheryl did not have to report to the office until 9 - she lived in Allston, but was stationed in Brighton - but she got up early anyway because she liked to take a shower and prepare for the day with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. After she dried her hair, Cheryl decided to put her hair into a braid. Cheryl reached in the drawer for a pair of pantyhose she bought for $1.25 at Woolworth's. After she opened the package, she put a little moisturiser on her legs and began to bunch up the hose in her hands. After putting her feet into the hose she began to pull each nylon up her leg, but these pantyhose felt a little too constrictive. They were nice and sheer, but like Bobbie she preferred a little air conditioning and sexiness that the nylons offered. As soon as she pulled them towards her thighs, they felt even more constrictive, and she felt her legs beginning to embolize. She tried yanking them more up her thighs, jumping up and down to get them up to the panties. But alas, the pantyhose wouldn't give, and Cheryl sat back on the bed disgustedly and yanked the pantyhose off. But Cheryl knew how to remedy the frustration. After she folded the hose and put them in the drawer, she went over to the right-hand side of it where her nylons were. Like Bobbie, she had good taste in stockings, especially the black ones. She selected a pair of off-tan Fields Hosiery size nines and placed them on the bed. She went to the next drawer and selected a white garter belt, not utilitarian as usual, but very lacy. She drew the luscious 15 denier nylons on her legs, attaching each one to two garters. She purred as the mesh clung to her thighs, like liquid copper to white snow. I would never give these nylons up for the world, she sang as she danced around the room, loving the swishing sounds that the hose gave as she rubbed one leg against the other. It was nearly 6:30 when she finished dressing, and after she put a nice coat of red lipstick on, she left her apartment. -------- In 1967, flower power and drugs were rampant. Boston was certainly no exception; even though Cheryl had arrested hippies and guided OD victims to the black hearses at the scene, she didn't fully realize how bad the problem was. She got a tip from one Sarah in Brookline, who owned the Babcock Women's Book Nook in Coolidge Corner. It was a funny contrast between Cheryl's professional business-policewoman look and Sarah's granola-crunchy hippiness; Cheryl's made up face to Sarah's bare face, etc. "I know of two people who have been passing around super-acid, and not just in Brookline," said Sarah matter of factly. "I take 2 micrograms of acid and that's even too much for me." Cheryl thought for a moment. Should she arrest Sarah for the mere mention of taking acid, or just leave her alone? "Do you know who supplies 500 microgram killers?" Cheryl queried. "Not really. I know my friend Yowsley does, but his max is at 5 micrograms. You know what I think?" Sarah sighed, leaning her chin on Just then Sarah reached over to the bun on Cheryl's hair and untied it. Loose waves spilled over her shoulders, and Sarah began to laugh. "What the fuck did you do that for?" Cheryl said with appropriate shock. "You're a pretty girl. Have you ever made love to another woman?" Sarah mused as she brushed Cheryl's hair over her eyes. "Not in this life!" Cheryl snapped back her hands. This woman is a lesbian, Cheryl thought alarmingly. "So far you've been co-operative, but do something like that again, and I'll cream you AND put you in the can, you fucking dyke!" "I knew you would react this way," said Sarah crisply. "I'm actually married, and you're uptight and anal retentive. You're nothing like your sister Roberta. She accepted things a lot better than you do." Cheryl's mouth dropped a foot. "Y-you know my sister?" "Sure. I used to work for in Precinct 5 myself. Me and my husband Joel live on Corey Street in West Roxbury, and I left the force to have kids and a wonderful family. I worked in Homicide as a lab specialist. What are you now?" "Lieutenant of Vice." "I went as far as major until I married Joel." Cheryl rolled her eyes not because she was tired of hearing this bovine effluvia (bullshit), but because she had a lot of things on her desk at HQ and she needed to get to them. "Tell you what," said Cheryl briskly. "If you come down to HQ after work, can you positively ID the guy so we can get an all points bulletin out?" "Can do." Sarah extended her hand out and the two women exchanged handshakes. "Who should I see?" "Lester Gray is the person to see. He's my superior in vice, and he's also a soul brother on loan from New York. 6 pm good for you?" "Excellent." Cheryl looked from side to side and whispered in Sarah's ear, "Now about Joel...is he..." "Yes, he is." Sarah chuckled, winking to Cheryl spuriously. "He's a busy bear when it comes to look for honey." --------- "I dig the fact that we're going after acid heads, but I suggest a little more, ah, in-to-itness than dressing for the scene like a widow." Lester Gray looked at Cheryl's disguise of a small black dress with soft black nylons and black sling heels. Cheryl's hair was done up in a ponytail and her perfume was subtle. "Lester, buddy, the perps who are selling this super acid are actually these rich old people who want nothing to do with these hippies. Besides, it gave me an excuse to wear my black nylons." Cheryl raised her leg and placed it on the stool, straightening her seams quickly and setting the leg down to the floor. "I was expecting granny dresses and flowers in your hair, " countered Lester. Cheryl pursed her lips in mock thought. "Sorry, Les. This is a gala affair." "Well, all I want you to do is to be careful. Many fucking lunatics out there than usual, ready to kick ass whenever and wherever." "No kidding." Cheryl applied fresh pale pink lipstick to her lips, then ground them together to distribute it evenly. "Do I look mysterious?" "Man, I dig the threads and I gotta retread my head," shouted Lester. "Yow" was the last thing Lester said before Cheryl left; just then Wanda Sherry, desk sergeant, walked over to his desk and shook her head. "Crazy Vice Department" was all she could mutter. --------- Cheryl was outside smoking a Chesterfield - it ran in the family - when a swarthy man stepped beside her. He wasn't black, maybe Mediterranean. He spoke no words as he extracted a postage stamp from his wallet. Supposedly, it was a catalyst for about 5 mcg of acid. He licked it once and waited for the effect of the acid to take place; but nothing happened. Quickly he stuck out his tongue and made a grimace. "Fair trade...bah!" he managed to spit out. "This is bloody Tabasco sauce on a postage stamp." The man swore in Italian. "Lucas Yowsley gave me a 5 cent stamp with Lea and Perrins tabasco sauce!" He then turned to Cheryl and smiled sweetly. "See that guy who looks like Santa Claus but should really be called the devil?" "Which guy?" Cheryl inquired. The man pointed out to a white haired man with a beard. He looked more like an avatar than a dope pusher, and he looked like Santa Claus. Why would a friendly man do such a mean thing? "That is the legendary Lucas Yowsley. Guy should have his balls taken out." Cheryl thought of a plan. Maybe I'll seduce him and arrest him at the scene. Not a bad idea, as she made a sexy walk towards the man, who was talking to two nymphet jailbaits who immediately turned their noses up when they saw Cheryl. The old man lit up when he saw Cheryl, but the blonde wasn't so thrilled at Cheryl invading their space. "What a cunt," she snarled. "Can I say something to the both of you?" The two girls advanced, but Cheryl gave them a hard right cross. The catfight was underway, and the guards who were at the door intended to watch as Cheryl tore off dress and made a nice scrape at the white nylons of the blonde, while the red-haired girl's breasts spilled out when Cheryl pulled the bodice of the gown cleanly from top to bottom. Yowsley had seen enough. Quickly he took the scruffs of the red-haired and blonde haired girl's necks and banged their heads together. Cheryl was recovering on the floor, with most of her clothes torn while the guards threw the now-naked girls out the door. "Dear, are you all right?" The deep-voiced, white-haired Yowsley checked Cheryl for bruises and scrapes. Gently the man lifted her up and dusted her off. "You have more moxie than my ex-wife did. Can I escort you upstairs to see if you are all right?" "Thanks loads," said Cheryl nonchalantly. Maybe Santa Claus is real, she thought to herself as her head pounded. --------- "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lucas Yowsley, drug connoisseur and gentleman of society," he said as he walked up the stairs to his private room. "What say you to my lovely mansion?" Lucas presented it as if it were a prize. "Lovely," Cheryl muttered, her jaw beginning to swell slightly. "I suppose you always help women in distress." opened the door with a old-fashioned key. Inside was a romantic four-poster bed. "My humble abode, my friend." Cheryl was amazed at how the thick, plush carpet filled the soles of her feet. Cheryl sat on the bed and nearly toppled over - it was so soft and it moved so quickly! "Not so fast, my dear. You shall break the waterbed!" Lucas laughed. "I shall be back in a second so I can get some ice for your chin." Cheryl reclined on the bed. Bliss! she thought as she fell asleep for a bit. After an hour, Yowsley returned with the ice. Gently he shook Cheryl's shoulder, and he pulled up a giant throne chair. "HJYowsley placed a sheathed foot in his lap, inspecting it, rolling it in his hands and caressing it carefully. Lucas moved her pinky toe up and down, tracing it lightly. "Here's the ice, dear." He handed her a bag full of ice chippings and he gently placed it on her cheek. He noticed that her nylons had runs in them, and her feet were starting to swell up. "You have the most stunning legs to match your quaint eyes." Cheryl blushed. "Thank you so much," she said sincerely. "You feet are beginning to swell. I hope you aren't offended." "They kinda hurt." Cheryl bent over and began to rub her feet, but Yowsley took her hands away." "I think a foot massage is in order. Would you like one?" Cheryl moaned, giving Lucas an indirect yes. Lucas said to her silently, "If I put a run in your lovely stockings, I shall buy you a new pair." He pushed Cheryl's dress up, and once he saw the garters and stockings, he said to himself, "What a lovely sylph!" While caressing her thighs Lucas tenderly unhooked the garters and dropped them slowly to the ground. Inch by inch he gently brought the black nylons down, kissing her legs languidly as the nylons reached her ankles and placed a tiny kiss on each toe. Then Yowsley began the massage, rotating Cheryl's toes and soles until Cheryl gasped in ecstasy. Quickly she raised her skirt and took down her panties, exposing her Delta of Venus that was slick with juice. Recognizing his own modesty, he began to quickly turned away. "Other times I would allow you to do this, but I beg you, don't have an orgasm on the bed!" he pleaded as Cheryl placed a finger on top of her clitoris and rubbed it frantically. But soon Lucas saw Cheryl's hips quiver madly as her vagina spewed out womanly juices onto the sheets. "Halleujah!" Yowsley said, chuckling slightly. "I've never seen a woman...spend so much. My wife would just trickle out, but you..." Yowsley kissed his two fingers, also taking in the musky scent of her sex. "I think I wanna trip now," said Cheryl languidly. "Got anything stronger than 5 micros?" "Well, I never supply more than 10 mcg's. But..." Lucas extracted a sugar cube from his pocket. "500 mcg's. It is perhaps the most potent hit of acid I can supply." Cheryl moaned a bit as she rose from the sheets. She straightened her dress out but decided to walk around barefoot on the lovely carpet. Oh, I hate to arrest the guy, she thought winsomely, but I have to sooner or later...but not until I stay the night. --------- Cheryl arose in the morning, entirely nude with her nipples erect. Her hands traveled to her sex and as soon as she rubbed the thick nubbin of her slick clitoris she fired right off into orgasm. She noticed a robe on the chair, with a set of jean shorts and a white T-shirt next to them. Quickly she pulled these things on, and progressed downstairs. There she found Yowsley with a non-Santa like expression on his face. It was more resignation than anger, and he arose from the seat and quickly extended his hands. "Lieutenant Johnson, I realize you have investigated my doings in injuring others," he said somberly. "There were some people who didn't need the drugs, so I thought I would teach them a powerful lesson. I'm quite sorry, miss." Cheryl looked at Yowsley, and she noticed tears coming out of his eyes. But she put those feelings aside and reached for the telephone. "Sorry I haven't called Les. Yes, I stayed the night. Nice castle, of course. Yeah, send a squad car to 166 Lee Street in Brookline. What do you mean, that isn't our jurisdiction? Oh, okay. I think he's going to confess. Brookline will take care of him then. Great. You should check out the nice threads Yowsley gave me. Wanna know what I did? Yep. Full report by tomorrow morning." "Well," Cheryl said regretfully, "Brookline police are on their way. I don't have the power to arrest you, but I'll wait and give them my affidavit." "Dear, I think you and your sister exemplify the best in Boston police technology," said Yowsley slowly. "I shall be in jail for many years, but I want to thank you for not being a typical anti-establishment cop." All Cheryl did was smile. --------- "Lucas Yowsley was sentenced to 35 years at Charles Street Jail," said Lester to Cheryl with a bored sigh. "It don't make me happy that a guy who's seemingly good would go out and push acid. But hopefully he'll remain the gentleman he is and get out in 10 years for good behavior." Cheryl decided that day to wear the hippy look. Her hair was brushed out so long and flowing that it reflected the light. A blue-green granny dress flowed upon her calves, naked except for a pair of white wool socks. "Girl, I hope you realize that this is a business and not a costume party," Les witted. "What happened to the tight-ass police bitch that gave assholes a reason to think twice?" "Like, it's not groovy to give these cats the anti-Establishment rap." Cheryl cackled until tears ran down her face. "Hey, I met up with Sarah this afternoon, and we got into this deep discussion about the new feminist movement." Leaning towards Les with a wicked grin, Cheryl whispered, "Don't expect to see a bra on me because it's a sign of male oppression and breast worship." Cheryl peeled off her white wool socks and walked over to the coffee machine to pour a cup of coffee. "Damn, my feet are cold..." she gasped. Les chuckled to himself. "Serves you right for going barefoot in the office," he mumbled to himself, well out of Cheryl's earshot.