Shirley Gets A Fucking From Steve
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Shirley JeanChapter 7 free porn video
Tuesday, after seeing Connie off to work, I used her Subaru wagon to pick up most of my clothing. The landlord and I parted on friendly terms; he was getting free money for the last two weeks of the month. I knew it would rent again quickly because students were always looking for cheap housing.
The rest of the week I picked up a few more things each day and cleaned the place. Saturday morning Connie and I emptied the pantry and the refrigerator, and by Saturday evening my move was complete. We celebrated by making love, gently and thoroughly.
Through the rest of August and September, I stayed busy learning my job. I clipped my phone to a newly purchased vest, got a new holster that fastened to every pair of pants I owned, and quit wearing skirts and dresses to work. On my first payday, I splurged and bought six new sports bras—tight, black and comfortable.
Reading night was out; practice at the range became the norm. I spent a fortune on ammunition, but my scores steadily improved, little by little.
We used eight different databases to get our information. Current and former addresses, credit reports and criminal records were available with a few keystrokes or a mouse click. In addition, we could run prints and photos into the system for a match on a person of interest. My biggest problem was remembering the passwords, which changed every week or so without notice.
I memorized faces of kids and adults by the hour, waiting for the phone to ring. Connie was in and out, as were Lois and Amy. I got a little tense the first time I was left alone in what we termed our dungeon, but I swallowed my apprehension and kept going.
My other adjustments were personal in nature and had to do with Connie. I took over the cooking duties for our household; her idea of a balanced meal was canned soup and crackers. Remembering where I'd put things was a minor hassle, as was the size of the house. I'd never lived in a house this big.
The sexual side of things took a bit more from both of us. Before moving in with her, our intimate interludes had occurred four times a week or so, depending on menstrual cycles or mood. Afterward, I was delighted to find Connie constantly ready and willing. I'd be cooking or washing a pan and she'd slip in behind me quietly and cup my breasts, then rub my nipples and kiss my neck. Often, this would result in supper being delayed or forgotten.
Connie continued to worship my body—it's the only accurate description I can come up with. She washed my hair in the shower, rubbed my feet (if you don't think that can be erotic, think again) and was always ready to apply moisturizer in the places I couldn't reach. She painted my toenails too, a chore I didn't always have time for. I stopped shaving my underarms and trimming my pubic hair at her request. After the itching stopped, I found I liked feeling natural.
Connie used the smaller toys in her collection on me, knowing I didn't like the bigger ones all that well. I don't mind something being inserted, but I don't like feeling as if I'm being spread open. For her, one or two of my fingers was enough. She also continued to play with my ass, and as time went on it became a regular part of our lovemaking.
My only continuing concern was oral sex; that is, me going down on her. She didn't care much for it at first—maybe she thought she smelled bad or something—but once we talked about it I was allowed to do it more often. I liked hearing the noises she made when she came, knowing I was the cause. You may call it what you wish, but I liked pleasing her.
Connie purchased a few wardrobe additions for me; the bras showed most of my breasts, and the panties left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The teddies and nighties were similar, and I particularly liked the short ones that tied or buttoned in front. I felt especially naughty when she would untie the strings to reveal the treasures hidden beneath.
In short, we both made adjustments to a new and very loving relationship that was strong, faithful and secure. We were happy.
September 3rd, we got a call at the office about three o'clock and decided to work it together. The missing girl was Sarah Burnes, age twelve, and had been reported missing two days earlier by her mother. The picture we had, a school photo from sixth grade, showed her as a freckle-faced cutie with a big smile. We drove to South 12th Street and entered the trailer park where the mother lived. The lights were out in the trailer, but we knocked anyway. There was no answer.
The mother, Melinda, worked as a waitress at a steakhouse nearby, so we drove there and asked for the manager. He said she hadn't shown up for work for two days. We sat in the parking lot, thinking.
"What would you do if you ran away?" Connie asked.
"Go to a friend, if I had one."
We drove back to the trailer park and found a spot on the street several doors down from her house.
"I'll stay here and watch the trailer. You go knock on a few doors and ask if they've seen her. Maybe you can find out who her friends are. Keep your phone on."
I nodded and stepped out of the car. It was chilly, and I was glad I'd worn a heavy jacket. It's not unknown for it to snow here this early in the year, and I was concerned for Sarah's welfare.
I knocked on doors, showed Sarah's picture and asked my questions. Everyone seemed to know her, but no one knew where she was. I hit pay dirt halfway down the block; an old, ramshackle singlewide that had seen better days. The mother, Cecily Hayes, had a daughter who was friends with Sarah. I questioned the daughter, Sally, and thought she was lying. I played what turned out to be the trump card.
"Sally, I know you're protecting her and I respect that. It's what friends do for each other. But now her mother has come up missing too, and I don't know what to do. Are you sure there's no other place where she might be? It's getting cold outside."
Cecily cleared her throat and bellowed, "Sarah! Come out here!"
Slowly and sheepishly, her face as red as a fire engine, Sarah entered the living room of the trailer. She had a garbage bag in one hand and a small sports bag in the other. She wouldn't look at me.
She was about five feet tall and cute. Her freckles contrasted nicely with her pale skin, and her short red hair added to her aura of innocence. She was dressed in OshKosh bib overalls and a light-blue turtleneck, with high-top sneakers on her feet.
Cecily said, "Sarah honey, this nice lady is here to take you home now. If it gets bad again, you can come back. Okay?" Sarah nodded and hung her head. "Y'all go on back in Sally's room and get ready to leave. I want to talk to this lady alone."
When the kids had left the room, Cecily said, "That woman is a no-count trashy whore, doing drugs and having men over in front of her child."
"That may be," I said, "but I don't think her activity has gotten the attention of the Police or she'd be in jail."
"That's where she belongs, for sure," Cecily nodded.
I called Connie and told her I'd found Sarah, then started slowly walking down the street with Sarah in tow. We got to the car and I opened the back door, gently urging her to get inside. She slumped on the back seat and started crying.
"My mom's gonna kill me," she bawled.
"Not while I'm around," Connie said. "Sarah, do you have a key to the house?"
She nodded, looking at me for the first time. I smiled to reassure her I wasn't a threat.
"Well, give it up," Connie said with her hand outstretched.
Sarah fished inside her shirt collar for the chain and pulled it over her head.
Connie took it from her and said, "You two stay here. No matter what, you stay here. You understand?"
Sarah nodded meekly and I said, "Okay, boss."
Connie laughed and walked toward the dark trailer. She used a penlight to see the lock, and I watched her step inside.
Sarah said, "Ain't no lights. They was turned off two weeks ago."
I watched the penlight beam move around inside the trailer for about twenty seconds, then Connie burst through the back door of the place, running toward me. She motioned me to come to her and mimed phone. I got out of the car and walked over to her.
"What's wrong?"
"Sarah's mother is in the back bedroom with a needle stuck in her arm. She's dead. Call the cops."
I dialed 911, got the dispatcher and related what we knew. Connie lost her lunch in the grass by the fence. I lost mine by the back of the trailer after looking through the back door. The smell was horrific.
Ten minutes after my call, emergency vehicles and flashing lights surrounded the entire park. Sarah looked wild and scared in the back seat.
She kept asking, "What's wrong? Where's my mom?"
I didn't have the courage to tell her.
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