Kleptomania

"I have a job for you, Kate." the man behind the desk said.

Lieutenant Katherine O'Donnell shifted uncomfortably, "Why the hell don't you get more comfortable chairs Captain. What's the job?"

She was well aware that Joe Hammond was leaning forward to get a better view as she twisted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. What the hell? Fifty years old and divorced, he deserved some excitement. She rewarded him with a brief glimpse of powder blue panties and the whispering sound of sheer nylon as she crossed her long legs.

His voice was husky as he answered. "You know Rochelle's Boutique on Fifth Avenue?"

"I've seen it, but I've never gone in. On a cop's salary I couldn't even afford to buy a bra in there."

Mention of a bra caused her precinct commander's eyes to drift down over her tight sweater. "Yeah," he muttered. "A really fancy joint. Its customers are mainly the country club crowd, yet they have quite a lot of shoplifting."

"That's not so unusual." She was currently studying criminal psychology for her master's degree. "A lot of rich women are in to shoplifting. After all, kleptomania is a disease that can afflict anyone, whatever their financial position. In any case, what does it have to do with us? The uniforms normally handle that stuff."

"True, but there are whispers on the street that the owner and his store detective have been blackmailing some of their customers. In return for not pressing charges, they demand sexual favors. There haven't been any direct complaints. They probably choose their victims carefully, women with influential husbands who would do anything to avoid the shame of prosecution."

"What do we know about these guys?"

"The owner is Henry Rochelle. No prior record although there have been a couple of unresolved sexual harassment complaints from female employees. The store detective, Jack Simpson, is something else. He's ex-army, Special Forces. He was court-martialed and dishonorably discharged for insubordination.

He also has a couple of nasty assault convictions. A mean dangerous guy."

"I guess you want me to go in and steal something, see what happens?"

"Well, yeah, but you'll have to build up to it. You need a cover they can check on. Something that will convince them you're vulnerable to that kind of blackmail. I'll get Sgt. Rodriguez to set something up for you. He'll give you a story and the necessary documents"

Kate nodded as she gratefully eased her five-feet ten inches out of the hard chair. Heading for the door, she could feel Joe Hammond's eyes on her and couldn't resist exaggerating the swing of her hips. She was well aware of the impact on the old lech as he watched her gluteus muscles rippling under the clinging silk skirt.

It was a month later when she again sat opposite Joe Hammond. "How's it going, Kate?"

"Good. I think I've pretty well established myself. I've bought a couple of dresses in the last couple of weeks and they've had plenty of time to check on my cover story. By now they should know I'm the wife of a bank president, and that I have a prior conviction for shoplifting."

"Do you think they've taken the bait?"

"The second time I went in, Rochelle introduced himself. I had the feeling he had checked and knew my background. Otherwise, why did he take such a personal interest? I think they're just waiting for me to make a move."

"OK, I talked to some of the uniforms who have been in the store. They say it's tied up tighter than Fort Knox with hidden security cameras everywhere. They even have them behind the mirrors in the fitting rooms."

She felt a hot wave of embarrassment wash over her as she remembered stripping off in front of one of these mirrors while trying on dresses and underwear. Shit, she thought. These slimy bastards have been ogling me. "That's illegal. If we knew about it why didn't we stop it?"

She could see from the reflective look on his face that Joe Hammond knew why she was perturbed. No doubt the old rake was pissed because strangers had been able to see more of her body than he ever would. There was a faint smile on his face as he replied, "You're right. But you know we often turn a blind eye to things like that if it helps catch the bad guys. Anyway, what did you think of Rochelle, and did you see the store detective?"

"You were right about Rochelle. He's really smooth and some women are attracted to slime balls like that." In fact, she had found Henry Rochelle to be a lot more attractive than she was prepared to admit. A perfectly proportioned six foot four two hundred and twenty pound body gave him an overpowering physical presence. When he turned on the charm and showed those perfect white teeth set in bronzed classical features, it was difficult for a woman to remain unaffected. She had kept reminding herself that this man was probably guilty of several crimes including rape."I think I saw the store detective hanging about," Kate continued. "A huge bear like man. About six-eight and wide as a barn door."

"That's him. A very dangerous customer. You're going to need help on this case. I've briefed Jenner and Bronson. They'll back you."

"O, Christ, not them." She couldn't stand the two sergeants named by Hammond. "I've had nothing but trouble from those two since I was promoted. They think I got ahead of them because I'm a woman and they don't even try to hide their contempt for me." She shuddered as she recollected the constant jibes and sexual innuendos.

"I'm sorry, Kate but they are the best we have. Don't worry I'll have a word with them. I think I can promise they'll behave themselves from now on."

"OK," Kate reluctantly agreed as she rose to her feet. "If it was just Rochelle I could handle him by myself."

From the way he looked at her beautifully proportioned one hundred and fifty pound body it was clear that Joe Hammond had little doubt about her ability to beat the crap out of most men. "Yeah, I'm sure you can, but watch out for Simpson. He's a trained killer and could be a real handful even for the three of you."

Still thinking of having to work with the two intractable sergeants, she tossed her thick shoulder length black hair and there was a slight sneer on her patrician features as she turned to leave. She didn't forget, however, to roll her ass for the old man. It improved her humor to think of the frustration she was causing him. His lust was such a palpable thing that she could almost feel his large gnarled hands going under her skirt and sliding up her stockinged legs.

Two days later Kate, accompanied by sergeants Jenner and Bronson, sat in an unmarked car a block away from Rochelle's Boutique. She was giving them a last minute briefing. Having in mind the condescending way she had been treated in the past by these jerks, her tone was cold and officious.

"Now we're pretty sure that the back room where they take shoplifting suspects is sound proofed. So we'll have to rely on the alarm." Kate was referring to a radio activated device that had been issued to them. All she had to do was press the button on top of a special pen she carried and it would sound a signal in a small receiver carried by Sergeant Jenner. "When I signal," she continued, "Come running. It will mean they've sprung their blackmail threat. Mind you," she couldn't resist a sneer, "I would probably be better off without you two."

"Yes ma'am," said Bronson with uncharacteristic politeness. "You can count on us. We won't let you down."

Snorting her skepticism, she left the car. Heading for the store she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Jenner's upraised finger and heard the hissed- "Pompous bitch."

When she entered the boutique she was startled to hear someone calling her cover name, "Good afternoon Mrs. Johnson. How are we today?" It was Henry Rochelle, the owner, walking toward her, with hand outstretched.

Despite her training and experience it was difficult to remain totally cool as Rochelle accompanied her among the racks of clothing. Standing so close that he constantly brushed against her, he would sensually finger flimsy nylon and satin underwear and offer suggestions about what she should try. He was completely uninhibited in speaking about the relative merits of various garments and how they might suit her.

"Now here's a very lovely item that would really enhance your beautiful creamy skin texture." He was holding up a pair of green satin panties and a matching bra. Reaching out with his free hand he gently brushed his fingers over her hand and wrist, causing goose bumps and she shivered involuntarily.

"Just imagine how these would feel against your skin. Why, your husband wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you if you wore these." And a moment later,

"Of course, you would drive him absolutely nuts if you also wore this" He was holding up a green satin garter belt in one hand and a pair of sheer nylon stockings in the other.

By the time she finally escaped to a fitting room with a number of dresses, panties and bras, her skin felt hot and she was blushing like a schoolgirl. As she entered the small room and closed the curtain behind her she saw Rochelle scurrying toward the back room. Her searching eyes also observed the enormous figure of Jack Simpson, the store detective, moving in the same direction. Going to watch the cameras, she thought.

Standing before the full length mirror, she experienced mixed emotions. There was both anger and embarrassment in knowing she was being watched. At the same time there was an erotic piquancy in the situation. Proud of the body she kept in excellent shape with daily exercise, she reluctantly admitted to herself that she got a buzz out of knowing the men would be watching and lusting after her. In any event, if they followed up as expected, they would soon be in custody, paying a heavy price for their impertinence.

"Enjoy it, assholes," she thought as she began to undress. Taking off her light spring coat she hung it on a hook, kicked off her black high-heeled pumps and removed every stitch of her clothing. Then she sensuously drew the flimsy nylon stockings up her legs and fastened them to the garter belt. She selected the matching set of lime green satin panties and bra. With lingering hand movements she smoothed the clinging material over her curves while slowly pirouetting before the mirror. "How does that look, scumbags? Eat your hearts out."

Then, making sure she was not obscuring the camera behind the mirror, she pinned two dresses and some underwear into the inside of her coat with safety-pins. Still wearing the new underwear, she stepped into her own green silk flared skirt and white short sleeved blouse. Donning her coat, she left the booth carrying one of the new bras. Holding it up, she smiled sweetly at Rochelle who was back outside the fitting room. "I'll just take this today."

Henry Rochelle was impeccably polite as he placed the bra in a small bag and charged the cost to Kate's fake Master Card. "I hope we will see you again soon, Mrs. Johnson."

As she reached the front door, she found it blocked by the huge bulk of Jack Simpson. "I am going to have to ask you to come to the office with me, Mrs. Johnson." His tone was polite but left no doubt about his determination.

Kate made a few token protests but, with his big paw under her elbow, she allowed him to propel her to the back office. As they entered, Simpson kicked the heavy door closed behind them. Rochelle was already there.

She scanned the large office with professional eyes. One side of the room was occupied by a large, unencumbered, mahogany desk. Two deep leather chairs were placed before the desk and a seven foot long matching sofa was against the left wall. On the opposite wall were several TV screens and a door into what she supposed would be a bathroom. The entire floor was covered in thick piled red carpeting.

Rochelle's voice was cold and sharp, "I'm very disappointed in you Mrs. Johnson. What will your husband say when he hears you have been stealing dresses?"

Playing the part expected of her, she assumed her most haughty expression and exclaimed, "How dare you accuse me of stealing. You will be hearing from my lawyers about this."

Simpson snorted contemptuously and Rochelle smiled coldly, "Come now, Mrs. Johnson. If you cooperate, then maybe we can come to an arrangement if you insist on continuing with this charade, we will have to call the police. Now, please take off your coat."

Acting like the spoiled wife of a bank president, about to be caught in the act of shoplifting, her shoulders slumped resignedly. "Please let me pay for the things," she pleaded. "My husband doesn't have to know, does he?" Slowly she took off her coat and Simpson, who was standing behind her, took it from her, saying "What about the underwear, boss?"

Rochelle chuckled mirthlessly, "Whether we keep this to ourselves, Mrs. Johnson, is going to depend on your degree of cooperation." Then looking at Simpson he continued, "Yes, Jake we need the underwear. Why don't you take it off her?"

Having already removed the special pen from her bag and, feeling Simpson's hands on her shoulders, she pressed the spring loaded top of the pen and held it down for several seconds. It hadn't occurred to her that they would attack without any preliminaries. She had been expecting a verbal proposition; if you want us to drop the charges you will have to submit, but it seemed they were not about to ask her permission. Things were developing too quickly.

Thank god her men would be in soon. Simpson's grip was tightening and it was clear he was going to try and carry out his instructions. Dipping her body as she had been taught in the academy, she spun and aimed a raking kick at Simpson's groin. Had it landed they would have needed an ambulance to get him out of there. As he turned slightly and deflected the force of her kick, she recalled that this man had received training far more extensive than anything known to most Police Academy instructors.

Feeling the first tremor of fear, she fervently prayed for the arrival of her two sergeants. Simpson moved with surprising speed for someone of his bulk. Before she could attempt any further kicks or blows, he had moved in close. He wrapped his massive arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides, and effortlessly heaved her from her feet. The special pen and her pocket book dropped unnoticed to the floor.

It was shocking that, despite her height and weight, Simpson was holding her in his arms with her feet dangling as though she were a rag doll. Flailing her legs, she dislodged her kidskin pumps which fell silently to the thickly carpeted floor. Her desperate kicks were landing ineffectively on the hard muscular legs of her assailant. Face to face she felt his hot breath on her cheek as he chuckled at her feeble attempts to escape. Her size and strength combined with the academy training had given her an arrogant confidence in her own ability that was being rudely shattered by Simpson's great strength. What the hell had happened to those two asshole sergeants? They must have heard the alarm and should have been here by now. Expecting that help would arrive at any moment, it hadn't yet occurred to her to announce that she was a police officer.

Simpson had carried her struggling figure over to the big desk where he now pressed her against the edge, effectively pinning her legs. Rochelle was taking something from one of the desk drawers. It was a filled syringe.

"I'm a police officer," she screamed. "You are both under arrest." It sounded ridiculous, even to her, and the two men laughed uproariously. Ironically, the department had done too good a job on her cover. Her assailants were totally convinced she was the spoiled wife of a rich banker and her claim to be a police officer was pathetically ludicrous.

Helpless in Simpson's powerful arms, she could do no more than protest loudly as Rochelle moved in behind her, jabbed the syringe into a bare arm and depressed the plunger. "Just a little something to lessen the shock and heighten the pleasure, Mrs. Johnson," smirked Rochelle. I know you aren't used to big rough men like us. We have to introduce you slowly to the idea of being serviced by full size dongs instead of the little swizzle sticks that bank presidents have between their legs."

Whatever had been in that syringe acted fast. Almost immediately a, not unpleasant, languor spread through her body, numbing her limbs and will to resist. Convinced that the two sergeants had deliberately left her in this fix, she was coming to the realization that there was no help on the way. In any case, as the drug began to take effect, her anxieties seemed to be dissolving, to be unimportant. Simpson had moved away from the desk, still holding her dangling body before him.

"This isn't Mrs. Johnson, boss. Remember, it's a police officer." Breasts flattened against his huge chest, she could feel the rumble of Simpson's laughter as he continued, "Come over here, boss. Slide your hands up the nice police officer's skirt and take back those cute little panties she borrowed from us. But be careful, she might have a pair of handcuffs hidden up there." He chuckled at his own joke.

Turning her head towards Rochelle's responding laugh, she caught a glimpse of naked maleness before he moved out of sight behind her. Christ, he already had his clothes off. Then she felt two hard hands on her legs. They sensuously stroked the backs of her stockinged legs, slowly moving upward, raising her skirt as they went. Tiredly, Kate tried to kick back at him but could manage no more than feeble spasms. The hands were on the bare skin above the suspendered stocking tops. Now they were lingeringly caressing her bottom through the satin material of the stolen underwear. His voice was hoarse as he spoke.

"I was right about what these panties would do for you, sweetheart. I've never seen a more desirable ass."

She felt the warmth of his hand, through the flimsy material, as it cradled and gently massaged her crotch. Fingers slipped under the leg elastic and probed for an opening. Under the drug's seductive influence, her quivering flesh offered no resistance to the penetration. A startled gasp was smothered by Simpson's mouth, as he pressed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. A warm flush was sweeping over Katie and she felt shivering sensations throughout the length of her body as Simpson's tactile tongue reached deep inside her mouth and Rochelle's wriggling finger tantalized her stiffening clitoris. When the finger withdrew it left her with a vague feeling of frustrated loss.

Simpson continued to kiss her passionately as Rochelle slowly peeled the contraband panties over her hips, down her legs and off.

"You'll be pleased to know, Jack, we have our panties back. Now for the bra."

Being a big girl, unused to the role of submissive female, she found Simpson's great strength to be both shocking and, in an odd way, sensually debilitating. Almost, it seemed, without effort he carried her over to the desk and sat her on its edge. Holding her up with one encircling arm, he used his free hand to pop the buttons on her blouse. Unbuckling the wide leather belt around her waist, he yanked the blouse out from under the waistband. He then yanked it down her arms and off. Lifting her again, this time facing away from him, he turned to face the naked Rochelle. "Help yourself, boss."

As Rochelle advanced, she studied him in a drug induced state of euphoria. Not as big as Simpson, he did, nevertheless, have an excellent physique. Broad shoulders and chest tapered to a narrow waist and hips with long muscular legs. She noticed that, though not yet fully erect, the penis dangling below a thick curly bush of brown hair was impressively long and thick. He moved in close between her dangling legs and, with a deft flick of his fingers, opened the strapless front fastening bra. It dropped, unheeded, to the floor and her ample breasts sprung free. With an evil grin he said, "Well Jack, we have all our property, but I think we've earned ourselves something extra. What do you say?" Gripped in his bear like embrace, Katie could sense the growing impatience of the man holding her from behind. She could also feel the heat and hardness of his manhood pressing against her bottom.