Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee STP 5 by peregrinf

   Finishing my post-workout shower I dried myself off and worked at
restoring my hairdo with brush and blow drier, still mulling over that
erotic evening with Maria, only our second.  What had I been thinking as I
led her up to my room?

   Of course I hadn't been thinking.  How many hormone-crazed high school
freshmen think?  The uniform for dinner had been "house-standard," which is
to say, the same as The Program's.  Maria hadn't hesitated to shed her
clothes when she saw me and Mom and Elaine all together in the altogether.
Since she'd told me she was bringing her toothbrush there really wasn't any
doubt what was going to happen.

   The devil was in the details.

   The details were that I, a sexually liberated bisexual teenager, was
leading a lush, naked, beautiful Hispanic cop up to my bedroom with one
hand, while dangling a pair of handcuffs in the other.  As far as I was
concerned my intentions were obvious.  Yet she'd trailed me up the stairs
as meekly as a lamb to slaughter.  Why?

   I hadn't thought of it then, but now, as I fluffed my 'do, I remembered
a conversation I'd had with Mom when she and Elaine had first hooked up. 
She'd told me that the only time she could forget her responsibilities as a
single working mother was when she was a sub to Elaine's domme.  Then she
could forget the worries and responsibilities and indulge in a few precious
hours of sexual and psychological release.

   I realized now, from my perspective as a high school senior, how hard it
had to have been for Maria, a young ambitious policewoman, fearing that at
any moment her cover might be blown, that she might have to make a
literally life-or-death decision.  I could see how submitting to me was a
very attractive proposition.  No wonder she'd so willingly gone along with
me.  It certainly revealed a remarkable amount of trust.

   Behind my closed bedroom door I had turned to face her, and tumbled into
the depths of those beautiful dark eyes....

   * * *

   It took me a moment to gather my wits.

   "Now what?" she asked.

   "Cops and robbers." I dangled the handcuffs in front of her, my heart
racing, my nipples so hard they hurt.

   Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating, and she licked her lips.  "You've
got the cuffs.  I guess that means I'm the robber."

   "And you are so busted," I whispered, leaning close to give her a soft,
sensuous kiss.

   Was she ever busted -- beautifully busted!  She had tits I'd never have
-- full, lush, firm boobs capped with dark nipples, areolas the size of
fifty-cent pieces that were already eagerly puffed up.  Bust-challenged I
might be, but even at fourteen I was a good six inches taller, looming over
her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body.  Her scent was
intoxicating.

   "I'm going to frisk you.  Assume the position." I made a twirling motion
with my finger.

   She didn't hesitate, turning around, reaching for the frame on either
side of the my bedroom door, spreading her bare feet, taking a step back,
leaning on her hands.  For a moment she held her head up, looking nervously
back over her shoulder at me, a "like this?" look in her eyes, her ripe
lips parted sensuously.

   Oh God!  Even from the back she was beautiful, very fit but very nicely
rounded, too, her arms strong, broad shoulders, from there her back
tapering to her waist, womanly hips lush and nicely rounded, buttocks
strong and smooth, a tuft of hair visible in the crevice between her
thighs, legs shapely and firmly muscled.  Her satin-smooth skin was a shade
of butterscotch that made me want to eat her up.

   At my nod she turned away and her head went down submissively.  She drew
a deep, shaky breath, sighed it out, the nervous tension yielding to
sensuous softness.  She abandoned herself to the moment, and to me.  Her
nipples, those lovely dusky nipples, were stiff peaks on the swollen cones
of her areolas.  Her firm ass clenched, dimpling, relaxed, clenched again.
A sexy little shudder made her tits tremble, and I knew this was going to
be a night to remember.

   How many fourteen-year-olds, male or female, ever had a cop as luscious
as this at her mercy?  Leaning over her, deliberately breathing in her ear,
I gently used a foot to nudge her feet a little further apart, and a little
further back, putting more of her weight on her hands so she was even more
vulnerable.  Reaching around her I very deliberately draped the short chain
linking the cuffs over the doorknob in front of her.  She couldn't help but
see the cold, shiny bracelets, their ratchet jaws open, waiting for her.

   Oh, was I going to enjoy this night, and I was going to make sure she
did, too.

   Maria's thick, black hair was drawn back in a ponytail by a scrunchy --
bright red, her favorite color, a perfect accent for her ebony locks.  I
drew the hair-tie off, flipped it away before spreading her hair over her
coppery shoulders.

   Then, standing between her spread feet, close behind her, I began my
"frisk," a leisurely stroking rather than a hasty pat-down.

   She flinched at my first feathery-light touch.  Starting on her forehead
I combed my fingers through her thick tresses, then went back to her face,
reaching around her head, brushing her dark eyebrows, receiving butterfly
kisses from her long, dark lashes, touching the fold at the corner of her
eyes, tracing the fullness of her nose, scratched by the sharp edged
diamond decorating her left nostril, stroking her soft, round cheeks, her
skin like satin.

   Closing my eyes, leaning my bare pussy gently and intimately against the
firm curve of her warm naked ass, I tried to relate what I was feeling with
my fingertips to the face I knew so well, a face shaped by her mix of
Spanish Conquistador and Aztec, or perhaps Mayan.  I wondered fleetingly if
this was how blind sculptor Henry Carver "saw" me, my fingers moving down,
the soft fuzz above the bow-like curves of her lips, the breath puffing
from her nose and mouth.  I teasingly slipped my index finger into between
her lips, the wet velvet of her welcoming tongue sensuously tasting me, her
strong white teeth gently scraping me, her lips sucking, as I slowly
withdrew.

   Moving on, I explored the curves of her ears, teasing the gems in her
lobes, then down the sides of her neck, feeling the strength there.  I
couldn't resist briefly wrapping my hands around her throat, squeezing
gently to measure the strength there, before stroking my palms out to her
shoulders, then sliding my fingers up the insides of her well-muscled arms,
feeling her hands tensing against the doorframe, feeling back down the
outsides, the stubble in her armpits rasping my fingertips before I groped
forward around her to trace the abundant curves of her breasts, their
fullness lifted by the position of her arms.  She gasped, her chest heaving
as I teased her, brushing her nipples ever-so gently, making them stiffen
and swell even more before my hands cupped the lush mounds, weighed them,
tested their firmness, sensing their muscular foundations, the strength of
her chest and torso.

   I pinched her tits and she moaned.

   As I leaned even closer to reach around her I tongued her ear and she
whimpered, cocked her head in a way that pleaded for more.  Teasingly, I
blew softly in her ear, licked her lobe before I nipped at her neck, my
hands sliding down her body, marveling at the strength I felt there, how
her tummy muscles squirmed in reaction to my delicate touch.  I toyed with
her navel ring, probed the hollow and she sucked in a breath.  She was
trembling, but not, I knew, from the strain of her position.  This was in
anticipation of what was to come.  Stroking the swell of her abdomen my
fingers traced the joining of thighs and pelvis, at last encountering the
thick curls of her pussy-bush.  I tugged at the hairs there, her ass
clenching, her pelvis working invitingly.

   Backing off, I continued to tease her, massaging the strength of her
glutes, running a single tickling finger down the crack between her
buttocks, squeezing her hips before kneeling to run my hands down the
outsides of her legs to her ankles, her feet, her toes, then back up the
insides of her legs, closer and closer to my ultimate goal, stopping when I
felt the first tickle of hair between her thighs.  From behind, my left
hand found the tropical forest cloaking the crevice that was home to her
precious flower.

   I was a lewd female Indiana Jones, testing that steamy grotto with its
precious treasures.  Cupping her pussy I wiggled my fingers, massaging her
full outer labia's softness through the cushion of wiry hair.

   Leaning over her, my lips close to her ear, making sure she'd feel my
hot breath, I whispered, very softly, "I'm going to be very, very thorough.
For all I know you might have some contraband tucked away, maybe even a
weapon.  I am going to do a cavity search."

   She shuddered.  It wasn't an objection.

   "Both cavities," I added, building the suspense.  I was trembling myself
with the knowledge that there was no way for her to keep me from exploring
her most intimate depths, not that she wanted to.  Drawing my left hand
back to the crack of her ass I slid the right down her tummy to cup her
pussy from the front, pressing down the curls, my middle finger breaking a
trail through the forest to nestle in the hot, slippery crevice between her
inner lips.

   Her sigh was an exhalation of total surrender.

   I pressed deeper between her rippled petals, the tip of my finger
finding the tunnel of her vagina.

   It sucked me in, welcoming my invasion!  I wriggled it into her, as deep
as my fuck finger could reach, my palm pressing hard against the soft
cushion of her pussy, her hot vagina clutching my finger.  Impishly, I with
drew it out a ways, added a second finger, penetrated again, deliberately
stretching her folds, curling my fingers to stroke the front wall of her
cunt, the thick flow of her juices flooding the spongy, nerve-loaded patch
of her G spot.

   She groaned.

   As I maintained that distraction by wiggling my fingers my other hand
was preparing to open a second front -- or is rear the right word,
considering the point of attack?  -- two fingers invading her sopping
vagina from below, making it four fingers stretching her as I gathered her
juices, using them to paint the pucker of her butt-hole with her own
lubricants, doing it again, and yet again, as much to stimulate her cunt as
to drench her anus with slipperiness.

   With the fingers of my right hand still buried in her cunt from the
front, I began carefully working the slimy tip of my left bird finger into
the resisting pucker of her asshole.  I delicately wiggled it, twisting it,
auguring my way into her hot, dark depths.  It was only one finger, but it
was relentlessly penetrating her.  There wasn't much lube left, so there
was a lot of friction.  I keep my nails clipped short, so I didn't need to
worry about that.  Her sphincter resisted, relaxed, clenched again,
relaxed, yielding a millimeter at a time.  From personal experience I knew
what she had to be feeling -- I'd been penetrated back there myself, more
than once, by more than just a finger -- and I envied her that a delectable
itching stinging sensation, a feeling made all the more exciting by the
naughtiness of the invasion.

   Beachheads established in both openings, I pressed my advantage,
exploring the walls of her cavities as she gasped and moaned, shaking, her
arms locked straight, leaning heavily on her hands, accepting my assault. I
worked a second finger into her ass, stretching her sphincter more. 
Through the thin barrier I felt the fingers in her cunt, wiggled them
against each other, pinching gently, pumping in and out.

   Both openings were body-hot, but the two portals felt so different!  Her
vagina was wet, slippery, soft-petaled, welcoming.  Her anus was tight,
resisting, the sphincter clutching, a band gripping my fingers, beyond that
rubbery constriction the inner walls felt like greasy velvet.  I loved the
wickedness of the act.  She was whimpering and panting, while I was in a
sexual clench of my own at the very idea of what I was doing.  I pressed my
right hand hard against the arch above her cunt, rubbing, pinching and
rolling her clit against the bone, fingers stroking her G Spot.  Wiggling
the fingers of my other hand in her rectum I pressed my palm against her
tailbone.

   All of a sudden I was rewarded by all the muscles in her crotch, front
and rear, going into the clench-clench-clench of an orgasm, her pussy
flooding my hand.  I was humping my pussy at her ass, rubbing my clit
against my own wrist, thereby shoving my fingers even further into her
rectum.  My own guts knotted in sympathy with a coming of my own.

   Through it all she held her position, arms locked, stiff and straight,
leaning hard on her hands, her stomach muscles rippling, her ass pushing
back against my hand as if trying to drive my wriggling fingers even
deeper. She was straining from head to toe, her head tipped back, cords of
muscle standing out in her neck as she grunted with her coming -- uh, uh,
uh, uh -- before relaxing in convulsive stages -- clench, relax, clench
again, relax more -- finally sagging, sweating, panting, quivering with
aftershocks but resolutely maintaining "the position."

   She flinched as I slowly withdrew my fingers from her depths, her anus
pinching shut, my fingers sucking from her vagina.  Unable to resist the
temptation I sniffed, first the sweet musk of pussy on my right hand, then
the earthy stink of shit on the left.  Leaving her leaning there, trying to
catch her breath, I wiped my hands on some tissues before reaching for the
cuffs, deliberately rattling them off the doorknob.

   That drew another shiver from her.

   Knowing how it was done from watching TV, I struggled a bit, finally
using both hands to snap a cuff on her right wrist before helping her
regain her balance.  Drawing both hands down behind the small of her back I
cuffed them together.  Then I gently turned her around to hold her against
me, all hot and sweaty and sighing -- happily, I assumed.  With her hands
trapped behind her back she couldn't hug me back, so she squirmed instead,
her tits warm cushions against me, her cheek against mine, panting in my
ear until I drew away.

   "You have the right to remain silent," I informed her between hot, deep,
tongue-tangling kisses, then gave up trying to remember the rest of it I
was so filled with love and desire.  "But I'll make you sing like a bird
before this night is out."

   "You got a rubber hose or something hidden away I don't know about?" she
asked breathlessly.

   "Or something," I answered, guiding her over to my bed so she could sit
down.

   "You gonna leave me like this?" She tested the cuffs, working her
shoulders, making her breasts wobble delectably.

   "I have the keys," I admitted, having palmed them with the cuffs.  This
domme thing was still new to me.  "On my bureau."

   "Leave them there," she answered, fulfilling my fondest hopes by letting
herself down on her back and wriggling, trying to get more comfortable, her
breasts wobbling.  I helped by lifting her feet and swiveling her around on
her butt to lie lengthwise on the bed, a pillow behind her head.  With her
shoulders drawn back her tits jutted up awesomely.  As if to emphasize her
vulnerability she sprawled one leg to the side, the pink ruffles of her
pussy blossoming, a jungle flower in the lush foliage at her crotch.  "Do
with me what you will, Chiquita.  I will never confess," she announced
defiantly.

   Then she giggled.  "Except, maybe, to my priest, who would never believe
it.  Though on second thought, knowing his parish, he has probably already
heard it all," she added, a shadow darkening her eyes.

   "Don't go there," I told her, distracting her with a kiss.  "Don't go
anywhere.  I need to wash my hands.  Then I think my prisoner needs a sip
of water and a sponge bath before I give her the third degree."

   * * *

   What a memory!

   After I stowed the hair dryer in my swimming bag I contemplated the few
clothes I had with me before rolling them up and stuffing them into the bag
as well.  Today was Saturday, which meant I had a posing appointment.  Even
though it was early in the day and a bit cool I saw no reason to get
dressed only to have to undress when I got there, except for tennies on my
feet, of course.  It certainly wouldn't be the first time I bicycled
through the town like Lady Godiva, and it had been a couple of years since
anyone had tried to run me off the road.

   As I put the finishing touches on my hair, using the locker room mirror,
I remembered how I'd skipped to the bathroom after that wonderful frisking.


   * * *

   When came back I was juggling a bowl of warm water holding a washrag in
one hand, a towel over my arm, and a cup of cold water in the other hand.
My breath caught in my throat at the sight of her.  She was so beautiful,
and so helpless.  I walked toward her, wondering what she saw in me, a
scrawny teenager.

   She sees a tall, sexy teenager, The Stick chided me, and she loves you!

   And I loved her, and not just because she'd come to my rescue.  But why
me, and why her?

   Ours not to reason why, The Stick answered.  Treasure it.

   "What are you going to do to me, Chiquita?" she asked, making no attempt
to conceal anything from me, not that she could, of course.

   Stand tall!  The Stick reminded me.  You're in charge here now.

   I did what I wanted to do.  Without a word, I sat on the bed beside her,
setting the bowl on the bedside table.  I helped her raise her head, I gave
her a drink, then set the cup aside when she'd had enough, and wrung out
the washcloth.  I began wiping the sweat gently off her face, her nostrils
flaring wide, the tiny diamond sparkling, a star against her dusky skin
with its spray of freckles.  I wiped her cheeks, her lips, those
wonderfully full lips, using the towel to blot her dry.

   Oh, I wanted to kiss her, so I leaned close.  She licked her lips,
puckered in anticipation, but I held back, teasing myself as much as I
teased her.  Our eyes met, hers so dark and mysterious, and somehow she
knew, and I knew, that getting there was half the fun.  All that was needed
was for her raise her head, less than an inch, or I to lower mine, but she
didn't!  I didn't!  We were so close to kissing we could feel each other's
breath ...  and somehow that stirring of the air between us was more erotic
than the touch of our lips would have been.

   Drawing back I finished wiping her face, her ears, brushing her thick
dark hair away from her cheeks, her neck.  When I went for the throat she
lifted her chin.  Once again asserting my control, reminding her of her
vulnerability, I wrapped my hands around her strong neck for just a moment,
my thumbs touching the soft curve beneath her jaw, where the slightest
pressure could cut off her air.  I felt her throat work convulsively as she
swallowed, her eyes closing as she entrusted her fate to me completely.  I
really had the feeling she would have surrendered her very life to me at
that moment!

   Of course I relented, and she drew a deep, shuddering breath, her
breasts lifting, her nipples, everything about her once again betraying her
arousal, lightning sparking between her eyes and mine, and in that moment I
knew she would offer her very life to protect me.  It made my eyes sting.

   My hands trembling, I resumed washing her body -- periodically dipping
the washrag and wringing it out as I worked my way down -- stroking those
wonderfully full firm breasts, the friction of the washcloth making her
tits swell and stiffen more as I gently blotted them dry.  Again I wanted
to kiss her, to suckle on those cocoa nipples, but held myself back,
building my anticipation -- and hers -- as I continued down her torso,
buffing up her belly-button ring before wiping the gentle swell of her
tummy.

   I paid special attention to bathing her crotch and she spread her legs
as I washed off the sticky juices soaking her thick pubic hair, a thick
patch totally foreign to me in this day of carefully trimmed pubes and
waxed labia.  I amused myself, and her, by using my fingers to comb the
tangles out of the curly strands, then gently, ever so gently, patting her
eager, still aroused rippled pink petals with the warm washrag before
leaning close, close, close to her, drawing her rich scent deep in my
lungs, then breathing softly and hotly on her sensitive flesh.  Her thighs
spreading wider, her pelvis rising invitingly, the muscles of her abdomen
tightening in reaction.

   Then I washed down her strong thighs, her legs, her ankles.  I carefully
wiped her feet, each individual toe with its brightly painted nail getting
wiped, before asking her to roll over.  I spent less time washing her back,
except when I made her rise up on her knees, burying her face in the
pillow. Her hands still manacled in the small of her back, she flexed her
fingers while I took particular care in thoroughly bathing her wonderfully
full ass, the wrinkled crater of her asshole puckering with each stroke of
the warm terrycloth.

   By the time I got back from emptying the bowl and getting rid of the
washrag and towel she had rolled over on her back once again.  I picked up
the keys to the handcuffs and dangled them before her.  I saw her eyes
widen, and she licked her lips before giving her head a terse shake.

   I dropped the keys on the bureau and grinned like a shark.  Her eyes
tracked me as I went to my bedside table.

   I turned down the light.

   "Chiquita!" she breathed softly as I lay down beside her and gathered
her into my arms.

   "Are you ready to talk?" I asked, maintaining my cop persona.

   "Do with me what you will, I'll never confess," she responded with
mocking nobility.

   Then we kissed, softly, warmly, tasting each other, once again breathing
each other's air, this time through our lip-lock.  I inhaled her
exhalations, she inhaled mine.  Mouth to mouth we were sharing our very
breaths, her wind blowing through me, mine through her.

   My heart full to bursting I drew away, and went to work on this
wonderful, powerful, helpless woman, pressing against her full lush warmth
before beginning to kiss a long trail down her body.  I proceeded to
torture her by teasing her with my lips and my tongue as well as my hands
and fingers.  My mouth closed around her tit and I suckled like a hungry
infant, drawing her flesh into my mouth, my tongue working her rubbery
nipple.  When she arched further, offering herself to me, I drew back,
leaving both tits shining with my spit, and worked my way lower, licking
and nipping until, kneeling beside her, unable to wait any longer, I dived
face first between her thighs into the heart of her crotch, my cheeks
engulfed in her wiry curls, my lips and tongue plunging to her hot, wet
depths.

   I wanted to torment her, but I was so hungry I just couldn't hold back,
working my face, my cheeks and lips into her hot, juicy folds, my tongue
probing deep in her vagina.  She was already the victim of so much
stimulation that I was sinking into a swamp, and I did my best to drain it,
scooping with my tongue, and sucking, only to be inundated with fresh
waves, while she shoved her crotch in my face.

   She began rolling and tossing.  "I want you, I want you, too.  I want
you, too."

   She was pleading, and I was more than willing to accept what she was
offering.  Withdrawing momentarily from her cunt, I looked before swinging
a leg over her face, rather than risk breaking her nose or something.  Only
as she raised her head did I wish I'd released the cuffs so she could grab
my ass.  As it was, I had to direct my pussy to her mouth.

   She fastened on my already steaming twat like a leech, her mouth
sucking, her tongue probing and I happily returned to my own meal.  We
dined on each other, ravenously satisfying our carnal appetites.  She found
my clit and I came like blazes.  What could I do but return the favor,
licking her pussy-trigger, my hands cupping her humping ass as I did,
stroking her anus with my thumb, my tongue being busy with her clit.  Her
thighs clamped against my ears until I thought my head would pop, and it
was probably a miracle I didn't smother her with my twat.

   Finally totally sated, we went limp, my head on her thigh, hers on mine,
panting into sodden crotches.  Eventually I recovered enough to stagger
over and get the keys, releasing her cuffs so she could wrap me in her arms
and we kissed and kissed and kissed each other, tasting each other's juices
on our faces.  Finally sated, I dozed in her arms.

   * * *

   My swim bag bungeed securely to the basket of my bike, my helmet buckled
on my head, I climbed on to Old Bessie's saddle for my ride to the studio.
While I have a driver's license, the old three-speed kept me in better
shape.  Besides, I couldn't bear to part with her for anything.  She'd had
to grow with me.  Her seat was as high as it would go now.  I still washed
her faithfully, oiled her workings.  I'd taught myself how to adjust her
gears and brakes and tension her spokes.  At home I stored her in the
garage, carefully kept her locked to a rack or a pole when I parked her in
public.

   How many naked six foot plus blondes do you see on an old three-speed?
With Bessie's limited gearing, when I hit a hill I'd come up off the seat
to put my weight on the pedals, mooning overtakers.  When I coasted down a
hill I was known to spread my legs just to feel the air on my naked pussy,
or crank the pedals backwards with a clickety-clickety-clickety to stretch
unused muscles.

   As I pedaled away from the pool the morning air ruffled my hair, played
its usual naughty games with my bare flesh.  I got honks and waves, an
occasional whistle or whoop.  By now I was kind of a fixture around town,
and nobody'd tried to run me off the road in years.

   When I pedaled through the center-of-town's restored shopping district
with its decorative brick pavement, I angled my pelvis so the vibrations
through the horn of the saddle buzzed my clit.  I don't think anyone knew I
sometimes deliberately came that way on purpose -- I mean CAME that way so
I'd come ...  oh, never mind.  As I planned my route to take advantage of
that, I couldn't help remembering how, on that wonderful night with Maria,
I learned that a detective is never off-duty.

   * * *

   "Are you awake, Chiquita?"

   It took me a moment to blink myself back from the brink of sleep. 
"Mmmmm -- barely."

   "I'm sorry, but I've been thinking.  Do you know if anyone else has
gotten those 'KTP' phone calls, as you call them?"

   Suddenly wide awake again, I rolled away from her on to my back.  Shit!
The idea had never occurred to me.  But then, self-centered and
self-important asshole that I am, I'd been thinking it was some nut case
bugging just me 'cause I was the committee chair.

   "Uh -- no," I admitted.  "Why didn't I think of that?"

   Leaning over me, she gave me a fond kiss.  "Because I'm the detective!
That's my job.  That's why I am paid the big bucks," she answered
sprinkling me with kisses.  "Can you find out?"

   "Sure," I answered, snuggling into her reassuring embrace.  "I've got a
meeting of the committee Monday afternoon.  They're obvious targets."

   "Another thing," she went on in a way that further shook my complacency.


   "What?" I asked warily.

   "Do you read the paper?"

   "Yeah." Sorta, I added to myself.

   "The editorial page?"

   "Uh -- no," I answered, reluctant to admit that all I read were the
sports for the local teams -- well, okay, to make sure they'd spelled my
name right in the swimming results -- the funnies for the yuks, and the
advice columns for ...  well, for the advice and the window it opened into
other people's problems.  Not everyone had a Mom as smart and understanding
as mine.  "Why?"

   "There has been a nasty letter-writing campaign ramping up," she
answered.  "I'm surprised Mrs.  Devers hasn't mentioned it to you."

   "She probably thinks I've got enough to worry about.  Letters attacking
The Program, I assume?"

   "Si.  All about how evil it is, all sorts of tales of the perverted
things going on in it."

   I thought that over, feeling that I'd screwed up again.  I'd been so
involved in the immediate challenges I saw facing The Program inside the
school I hadn't thought of looking outside.  "Think there may be a
connection to the calls?"

   Her hand gently stroked my head, down my back -- oooo, just a little
farther -- darn, she stopped at my waist!

   "The people writing the letters want the same thing your callers do --
The Program dead, that is.  They just use more words to say it, using words
like 'pervert' and 'slut' and quoting scripture, referring to 'Jezebels' or
'Spawn of Satan.'"

   That last had a familiar ring to it.

   "When I get the names associated with your phone calls it will be
interesting to compare them with the signatures on the letters," she went
on.

   I thought this over.  All this time I'd been concentrating on the
problems I saw within The Program, inside the school.  Of course there was
an outside threat.  There always had been.  I cursed myself for not having
paid more attention to it.  This whole thing might be bigger than I
realized.

   I hadn't worried about the phone calls, much.  I hadn't worried about
the pickets that sometimes appeared outside the school -- more often
lately. They were carefully obeying the court order that banned them from
school property.  There usually was someone keeping a vigil from across the
street, too, usually where they could see the athletic fields.  I couldn't
help wondering what they'd do if I walked up to them one day, in my Program
uniform, and confronted them.

   My mind suddenly jumped to the rise of incidents in the hallways --
maybe it was the "slut" and "pervert" that Maria had said.  Some of the
hallway jerks had used those same words.

   And what better way is there to discredit The Program than by stirring
up trouble inside the school?  The Stick asked.

   Just like her to show up now with a snotty observation like that!  Where
was she when I needed her?

   She was right, of course.  So far it hadn't been anything more than
pinch-and-run attacks, but it wouldn't take much for it to escalate into
something really ugly.  We already knew that.

   Shit!  The feces were headed for the fan from more than one direction.

   "What's wrong, Chiquita?"

   My arm across my eyes, trying to hide, I told her what had been going
on.

   "Does Mrs.  Devers know about it?"

   "Of course she does!  She's the committee's faculty advisor."

   "Sorry.  But you have been known to keep things to yourself rather than
bother us adults," she reminded me.

   I had to confess she was right.

   "So, you don't know who's doing it?"

   "Not yet," I admitted grimly.  "But I've got my spies out, and when I
do...."

   "When you do, you tell Mrs.  Devers, so she can deal with it.  And you
call me, too."

   "What can you do?"

   "There are laws about interfering with The Program, and this may go
deeper than you think," she explained.  "One thing I've learned from my
undercover work is that things are never as simple and straightforward as
they seem.  Street dealers buy from distributors who have bosses yanking
their chain, for example."

   That gave me a chill.  "You think the fanny pinchers might be taking
orders from someone tied in to the phone calls somehow?"

   "And the letter writers," she added thoughtfully.  "They all want the
same thing, in those very words."

   "Maybe it's just a coincidence."

   "A smart cop doesn't believe in coincidences."

   I wondered out loud if it was easier to deal with a bunch of little
problems than an organized campaign.

   "If you rip it out by the roots the rest goes away," she pointed out.

   "But that makes it big and scary," I countered.  "I'd rather deal with a
bunch of small things."

   "Okay, then while you nip the small things in the bud -- inside the
school, that is -- let me dig out the roots.  Just let me know what you
know -- names, places, dates, anything you can get about their background."


   I managed a nod, hiding behind my arm again, never mind that there was a
stark naked almost six feet of me in plain view.

   "Whatever you do, don't try to solve all the problems of the world by
yourself!  I don't want to have to come riding to your rescue again," she
cautioned.

   "Oh, I don't think it'll come to that."

   "You keep me posted," she insisted.  "You've got me on speed-dial for a
reason.  Use it!"

   Reassured, I gave her a hug.  "You care."

   She gathered me back in, wrapping both her arms and legs protectively
around.  I was engulfed in her.  Between my greater height and her rounder
physique I stuck out at the top and bottom of her embrace like a too-long
hotdog in a too-short bun, but I felt protected.  She kissed my clavicle, I
kissed the top of her head.

   "Damn straight I care, and sometimes you're too damn brave for your own
good, Chiquita.  I've seen you go off that high board.  Scares the shit out
of me!"

   This from a hard-nosed undercover cop!  I was tearing up again.  "I'll
be careful."

   "Don't just be careful.  Be smart!  Make sure you have backup before you
go in.  Call me!"

   "Yes'm," I agreed humbly.

   "'Yes'm' my ass!  I hear that from perps on the sidewalk daily, in just
that tone, knowing they'll go right back to doing what they've been doing.
So I give 'em an attitude adjustment."

   "Attitude adjustment?  How do you do that?"

   "I have my ways." She reached across me to my bedside table.  "My my! 
What do we have over here?  These will do nicely for a start."

   Her warm body still pressing mine into the mattress, she dangled the
handcuffs over my face.
   Taking the hint, I offered her my wrists.