Femboi Hooters Pt. 08

Brendan's day in the office was much less turbulent than he expected it'd be. Sure, he knew his colleagues were staring at his breasts and his painted fingernails, but nothing was said -- at least not directly to him. He remembered Jessica's advice from last night, and he stood prepared to call out comments within earshot, but he knew there was nothing he could do about what his colleagues were thinking, or about what they might be saying behind his back.

It didn't stop him feeling anxious. He jumped at shadows and couldn't stop sweating. Just before lunch, he raced to the bathroom and locked himself in a cubicle, trying to ward off a panic attack. Of all the places in the world in which to draw deep breaths trying to calm down, a communal male bathroom would have to be somewhere towards the bottom of the pile.

If he could be just half as brave as Jessica had been, he'd live.

Five o'clock arrived, and the day was done. Brendan logged off, packed up, and stepped onto the elevator. Thankfully, he was alone. His distracted mind was on autopilot, preparing to walk to the bus stop nearby. It wasn't until he reached ground floor that he remembered he drove in today. He walked towards the carpark, found his wheels, turned the key, and drove home.

He turned the stereo off. He wanted to drive in silence.

As he drove, he thought about Steph. Or, to be more accurate, he thought about what his apartment might look like after she'd been to move her things out. He hadn't heard from her today, but after yesterday's tense text exchange, he assumed she'd visit today to take her clothes and furniture away. He expected his apartment to feel just a little emptier.

He'd had no contact with Jessica since he dropped her off at Walmart this morning. He smiled as he wondered how she was doing. He made a mental note to call her later.

Brendan stopped at a red light and got lost in thought. It was the angry beep of an impatient driver behind him that jolted him back to reality. His foot pressed down on the gas pedal.

Arriving back home, he parked the car, rode the elevator, and opened the front door.

His jaw gaped open in shock. Almost everything of value was gone. She'd taken her clothes, her CDs and her books, and while he was prepared for that, he was shocked to find she'd also taken the bookshelves. Brendan's books -- or, to be more accurate, the books Stephanie didn't care about or want -- were stacked on the floor in piles. At least the piles were neat and orderly.

Their microwave oven was gone, as was their couch. Their tiny dining table had disappeared, as had the stools they sometimes used for quiet breakfasts on weekends. There was literally nowhere left to sit. A small clock that held sentimental value for Brendan -- his mom had given it to him as a child -- had disappeared.

Brendan's stereo and speakers were nowhere to be found. And while Steph had left their internet router in place, she took the fucking TV.

Other than his clothes, his records and his books, now orphaned and shelfless, the only thing of his she hadn't taken was their bed.

Brendan had steeled himself for the worst, but this was far worse than anything he could've ever imagined. It felt like he'd been burgled, but there was no point calling the insurance company. No claim could be made; he knew who the thief was.

This was way too much. He wanted to flop down onto the couch for a seriously deep cry, but the couch was gone. Instead, he sat on the edge of their bed -- his own bed now -- and finally, with his head buried in his hands, the tears came. He wasn't crying for the loss of her or for the loss of what they'd had together; all that shit was like bitter ashes now. His tears were for himself, for the uncertainty of his life, of 'what happens next', of 'who the fuck am I now', and of feeling unanchored and adrift on this night when he knew he'd be alone in a violated space until tomorrow morning.

Wiping his eyes, he walked to the kitchen in search of water. She'd left her key on the counter. At least, he knew she wouldn't be back.

Brendan knew it was time for dinner, but he wasn't hungry.

*

Brandy's appetite was non-existent as she began dressing up. She wiped her eyes and pulled her Femboi Hooters tank top over her head and shoulders, feeling the tight white fabric cupping her tits. She stepped into her tight orange shorts and donned her cap. With some trepidation, she located her small makeup kit: in her purge, Steph mustn't have found it. She applied mascara, blush and lipstick, and with a brow pencil, she gave herself some pretty freckles. She brushed her hair, and found it was now just long enough now to tie back in a small ponytail. She spritzed some perfume onto her neck and pulled her orange boots on.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Dressed to slay. The only question was where to go. She grabbed her car keys, placed her makeup kit in her handbag, and went out for a cruise.

*

Brandy drove aimlessly, her mind on autopilot. It was dark now, though streetlights and blazing neon were bright. Other than finding a random cock -- or, even better, multiple random cocks -- she had no plan in mind. The night was young, and she was in no hurry.

She lowered her window, feeling the wind play across her cheek and neck as she drove. Her left elbow rested casually on the door frame; her right hand tweaked and nudged the steering wheel. Reaching into her purse, she found a stick of gum. She popped it into her mouth and began chewing.

Suburbia just wasn't doing it for her. She wanted to drive faster. She approached an interstate onramp and took it.

Brandy started motoring west on the I-70, but she didn't get very far. She heard a siren, and red and blue flashing lights splashed across her rearview mirror, demanding attention. She checked herself. She hadn't done anything wrong, so the siren must be for someone else.

She kept driving, but the siren and lights didn't go away. Eventually, the cacophony was right behind her. She heard an aggressive male voice bark a command through a megaphone. She couldn't make out the words, but the meaning was clear.

She placed her boot on the brake, indicated right, and gently pulled over onto the side of the highway. The siren and flashing lights followed her, rolling to a stop behind her. Out of politeness, Brandy turned her hazard lights on and waited.

The siren had stopped now. All she could hear was the hum and roar traffic roaring past her, but the flashing lights were still on.

She waited, chewing her gum, with no idea what she'd done. For a second or two, she wondered who'd win in a fight between those red and blue lights and her tiny orange hazards.

She reached over for her makeup kit. If she was gonna get busted, she might as well look her best for the mugshot. She switched on the interior light, adjusted the rearview mirror, and began touching up her makeup.

There was plenty of colour outside -- well, red and blue, at least -- but still no movement. She checked her phone, and as she scrolled through her Insta feed, she didn't hear the footsteps.

"Good evening, ma'am," came a voice. Brandy turned to see a man leaning in through her open driver's side window.

"Hello," Brandy replied. "What seems to be the problem, officer?" She laid eyes on a handsome State trooper. As the blue and red lights flickered, she studied his face. Caucasian, brown eyes, strong jaw, and the hint of a goatee on his chin. Subtle hint of aftershave. She couldn't appraise his body from this angle, but she assumed he was well-built.

The officer guffawed. "You bein' serious with me right now, ma'am?"

Brandy was a little shocked. "I can't think of anything I've done wrong." She noticed another trooper, an African-American gentleman, standing a few yards clear. She presumed they were partners.

The trooper leaned a few inches closer. "You appear to be driving an unregistered vehicle, ma'am."

"No, Officer," replied Brandy, "that can't be true. I paid my fee three weeks ago."

"Hmm," said the trooper. "That's not what our computer says."

"Is that why you took so long getting out of your car to come over and meet me?"

The trooper gulped. "Are you on the way to work, ma'am?" He noticed her Hooters uniform.

"Yes sir, I am," Brandy answered with what she hoped was a disarming smile. "I'm a Hooters girl."

At the mention of Hooters, the African-American trooper's ears pricked up. He stepped a little closer.

"Unfortunately, I think someone's gonna miss out on their buffalo wings tonight. Unless, that is, you can prove your car is registered, because our computer tells a different story."

"Mind if I check my emails?" she asked. "It'll be in here somewhere." She held her phone up.

"Be our guest."

"And then you two can be on your way," continued Brandy. "I mean, I'd hate for a silly misunderstanding like this stop you from keeping our city safe." Brandy opened her email app and began scrolling. The cops glanced anxiously at each other as they watched their suspect chew gum.

Traffic flew past.

Brandy found the record the cops needed to see. With her thumb, she marked the conversation as unread so it'd be easy to find later if she needed it. But first, she was gonna have some fun. "I'm sorry, officer, but I can't seem to find what I'm looking for in my emails." She pretended to look flustered, breathing shallowly and irregularly. "I'm not sure what happens from here, but I give you my word as an honest God-fearing Christian that I paid my registration fee."

"That ain't what our computer says," said the African-American trooper, speaking for the first time. "Our computer says you's drivin' an unregistered vehicle." His voice was deep and resonant.

Brandy's pussy twitched in response. With a voice that deep, she assumed he must have a gigantic cock. Hopefully, if things panned out right tonight, she might find out. "Do you need me to come to the station?" She chewed her gum, pouting.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the first trooper. Brandy assumed he was the senior of the two. "I believe that would be appropriate. I'm sorry that we seem to have apprehended you on your way to work, but if everything appears to be as you say, we can furnish you with a document that explains why you were unable to attend work this evening." He paused, smiling awkwardly. "Just so's you don't get into trouble."

"Maybe I could call Hooters as my one phone call." Brandy paused. "That's still a thing, right?" she asked, pulling her keys from the ignition. She stepped out of the car and locked it. "Suspects get one free call at the station? Or is that just in the movies?"

"You've still got your cellphone, but if you wanted call your place of work from the station, that'd be fine by us."

She twirled her keyring around her finger as she looked the officers up and down. Tall, broad-shouldered and masculine. "Is there a suspicion that I've been drunk at the wheel?"

"No, ma'am. That's not why we pulled you over." The trooper ogled Brandy's tits. They were way bigger than his wife's.

"Do you want me to blow into the bag anyway?"

The officer adjusted his stance. "It's an electronic breathalyzer unit."

"Yeah, but I'd still have to... like... blow into it, right?"

Neither trooper answered her suggestive question.

She dropped her keys into her handbag. "By the way, my name's Brandy." She smiled disarmingly.

"I'm Officer McBride," said the white guy, "and this here's my partner, Officer Slade." Handshakes weren't in order.

"Nice to meet you both," whispered Brandy. They stood on the side of the interstate. "What happens now?"

"Like I said, we're gonna take you to the station," McBride replied.

"Are you gonna handcuff me first?" asked Brandy.

"Ain't no need for no cuffs, ma'am," replied Officer Slade, "this is just a routine traffic infringement." His deep voice was doing strange things to her.

"I think I'd prefer it if you cuffed me," she replied. "Just in case."

"Just in case of *what*?" asked an incredulous McBride.

"Just in case my car turns out to be unregistered. I mean, for all you know, I might be lying to you. The State of Missouri might be out of pocket a few hundred bucks, and you might need to keep me locked up overnight." Brandy paused. "I'm a naturally cautious girl, so just to be on the safe side, maybe it'd be better if you cuffed me."

None of this made any sense to either trooper. McBride had been on the beat for five years, Slade three, and they'd been partners for two. They'd never encountered a suspect who *wanted* to be cuffed. They shrugged. Slade produced the equipment and McBride locked her wrists behind her back. They held the top of her head as they ushered her into the back seat.

"Is my car gonna be safe on the side of the highway?" she asked, bobbing down.

Slade replied. "You's insured, aintcha?" He watched Brandy's bright red mouth chewing her gum. He adjusted his pants.

The drive downtown was silent.

*

The patrol car pulled into the basement of the police department building. Slade and McBride helped their suspect up from the back seat and guided her into the elevator. The doors opened and closed.

"Sorry for disrupting your evening, ma'am," said McBride, clearing his throat, "but we need to make sure everything is above board and squeaky clean." He watched her chewing her gum. He could barely take her eyes off her mouth. Fuck, those bright red lips would look so good wrapped around his dick. "Maybe this is just a simple administrative error," he continued, "but right now, unfortunately, your story doesn't gel with the information in our system, so hopefully we can clear this up quickly and you can be on your merry way."

'Not if I can help it,' Brandy thought to herself. She checked them out again. Up close, McBride looked muscly as fuck, like he'd been spending all his spare time pumping weights in the police gym. Under the elevator's bright lights, she noticed an intricately patterned tattoo on the back of one of his hands. Slade's neck, shoulders and chest were immense, and a quick glance down told her he had a serious weapon concealed inside his pants. He looked like he might've been a college football star before joining the force.

The elevator doors opened, and the troopers guided her out towards the arraignment desk. "Potential unregistered vehicle," barked Slade, and the desk officer began typing. "Pulled her over on the interstate heading west. Suspect claims her vehicle is legally registered, but that ain't our story."

Brandy suppressed a whimper. Just listening to his deep voice was enough to make her want to leak. She wanted him to take her into a vacant cell, pull her cheeks apart, grab her hips, and let him pound the...

"OK, let me take a look," said the desk clerk. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated. She found the record, recited the license plate, and the troopers checked their notes. Seconds ticked past as Slade perved at Brandy's fat rack.

The clerk noticed the suspect was cuffed. Unless there'd been a change of policy she hadn't been notified about, she didn't think cuffs were required for cases such as this.

It was a match. "Her vehicle is legally registered," said the clerk. "I'm not sure why our system would've told you it was unregistered, but I can confirm that payment has been made and the vehicle has a legitimate roadworthiness certificate. So unless there's any other reason to detain her, she's good to go."

McBride approached Brandy, looking genuinely apologetic. He held the key to her cuffs in his hand, about to unshackle her. "We're very sorry, ma'am, but hopefully you understand that..."

"Wait," said Brandy, her hands still manacled behind her back. "There's something else I need to tell you. It's important." She glanced around furtively. "Maybe I still need to be detained."

McBride raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Is there a quiet room we could use? To be honest, it's... it's a little embarrassing." She chewed her gum.

The cop's cock twitched. Fuck, her lips were juicy. They looked like they were made for sucking dick, and it'd had been so long since his last blowjob. "Yeah, probably. Wait. Lemme check." After discussing office logistics with the desk clerk, he led Brandy to a small interrogation room a little down the corridor. He held the door open for her.

She was still handcuffed. "Wait, what about the other guy?"

"The other guy?"

"Your partner."

"You mean Officer Slade?"

"Yeah," said Brandy. "Shouldn't he be here too? I thought you said he was your partner, and as far as I understand from watching cop shows on TV, partners do everything together. So, like, umm... doesn't he need to be here too?"

She was testing his patience. McBride cut to the chase, raising his voice a little. "Why are we here, ma'am? Kansas City's roads aren't the safest in the country, I've got patrol work to do, and I hope for your sake you're not wasting my time. You said there's something else you need to tell me. I'm waiting. What is it?"

Brandy played for time. "I think we should wait until your partner is here. Just so there are witnesses." She bit her bottom lip seductively.

McBride cracked his knuckles impatiently. "This had better be good."

Brandy licked her luscious red lips. "Trust me, officer, it will be." She continued chewing her gum.

McBride couldn't take it anymore. "Spit that out," he commanded. This was his turf, not hers.

"I can't, officer. My hands are tied behind my back. Unless you want me to spit it into your hand?"

McBride's cock began to strain against the front of his pants. As he held a hand underneath Brandy's lipsticked mouth, he felt her warm breath on his skin. She looked him in the eye as she let the gum fall from the end of her tongue. It dropped, laden with drools of her spit, into his palm. "There you go," she smiled. "Problem solved."

McBride's heavy boots tracked towards a trash receptacle in the corner of the room. Her gum clung to his skin. Upturning his hand, her discarded waste fell to the metal base, landing with a small thud. He wiped his hand on the back of his pants and took the opportunity to subtly adjust his crotch. He reached for his walkie-talkie. "Slade, we're in room 304T, get your lazy ass in here pronto. We're not done with the Hooters girl."

'You're not even close to being done with me,' thought Brandy to herself.

His partner was taking a piss. His long flaccid meat pointed toward the urinal. A thick yellow stream cascaded down, smashing into the receptacle like a waterfall. Slade packed his meat back into his pants and zipped up. "On my way," came the muffled response. Seconds later, the door burst open. "What's up?"

"She says she's got something else to tell us," McBride explained.

"Somethin' else? Her?" asked a confused Slade. "The clerk said her tags are paid fo', so ain't the bitch good to go?" He turned towards Brandy. "Ain't you got wings to serve?"

"These handcuffs are chafing my wrists," she pouted.

Slade's eyes bulged. "What the fuck, bitch? Like, *you* is the skanky ho what wanted 'em on in the first place. I swear I ain't ever had no bitch who..."

Brandy stepped forward. "Can you take them off now please?" she pleaded. "I mean, the clerk out there said I'm good, and if I can be honest with you boys, I've spent the best part of the last half an hour with an itchy ass I can't scratch."

Boys? They weren't used to being addressed like that, especially not while in uniform. They glanced at each other, then at Brandy's tight orange shorts.

"Yeah, but like my partner said," McBride protested, "you wanted the cuffs on in the first place, so..."

"Or maybe you could scratch my ass for me? Like, if that's easier? The waistband of my shorts are elastic, so all you'd need to do is reach your hand down under the elastic and into my panties."

Slade stepped back, his eyes wide. "The fuck you say to us jus' now bitch?"

"My ass," said Brandy. "It's itchy. Right at the top of my crack. Could you be a gentleman and scratch it for me? Wouldn't take any more than a second or two. Please? Would you mind?"

The troopers looked at each other.

"I'm innocent," protested Brandy. "I haven't done anything wrong, and yet for some reason my wrists are locked together behind my back, and, like I mentioned, I can't scratch my desperately, desperately itchy ass crack."

"Why's yo' ass so fuckin' itchy anyhow?" asked Slade, scratching his chin. "You got hives or somethin'? You been rollin' aroun' in poison ivy or some shit?"

"I might have a concealed weapon hidden in my ass crack. You won't know if you don't check." She paused for a second. The air in the room felt still. "Aren't you gonna stripsearch me to find out?"

Slade got up in her face. "If you's brought a concealed weapon into a police station," boomed Slade, "then truss me, you's gon' in a world o' pain. And no, bitch, we ain't gonna uncuff you."

Brandy's cunt was on fire. Just listening to his voice made her knees tremble.

There was a sexual tension in the air that neither Slade nor McBride could comprehend. They'd each arrested college chicks who were so drunk that the only course of action was to bring them in, write them a ticket, and lock them up until morning. Desperately drunk women offered desperately drunk favours, and the offers of desperately drunken blowjobs never moved the dial.

Something about this felt different.

Brandy tracked backwards towards a vacant wooden desk. She rubbed her orange-clad ass against one of its corners, trying to scratch her itch.

"Listen up, bitch," Slade began.

Brandy interrupted his train of thought by letting loose a deep moan. "Wait a second, officer. I nearly got it then, but not quite. Let me try again." She continued rubbing her ass back and forth across the corner of the desk, trying to find and quell the elusive itch.

The troopers were stunned. "The fuck is this?" Slade whispered to his partner.

Something about wearing the Femboi Hooters uniform made Brandy feel so horny, so slutty, and yet so in control. After a tense few seconds, she found the spot she was searching for. She squirmed as she frantically rubbed her crack up and down against the wood. "Finally got it, boys. Fuck, that felt good."

"Don't you be callin' us boys, bitch," Slade boomed.

Brandy's ass moved away from the desk. "What would you prefer me to call you instead? Men? Hunks? Beefcake? Ladykillers?" She moved closer to McBride. "Studs?"

McBride visibly gulped. There was no point denying it, he was hard as a rock right now. He'd do anything to jam his tongue into her pretty mouth.

Brandy smiled. She knew the cops were on the hook. "You gonna check me for weapons now?" she cooed, flashing her eyelashes. She glanced down. "Ooh, what have we got here? Looks like you boys have concealed weapons of your own." She licked her lips. "Big ones, too, by the looks of it."

McBride cleared his throat. "I don't know what game you're playing, ma'am, but..."

"I bet your wives or girlfriends are happy with your... natural endowments." Brandy paused for a second. "Am I right?" McBride could feel her breath. "Does your wife give good head? I bet she's not as good as I am." She gazed into his brown eyes, licking her fat red lips. "Wanna find out?"

Brandy assumed McBride, a State trooper, would be a dominant force of nature, but right now, he was like a rabbit caught in bright headlights, about to be run over. His partner stepped in.

"Let me remind you where you is right now, missy," boomed Slade. "You's in a police station, and while you's free to go, I got no fuckin' idea why you's still here, shootin' yo' mofuckin' mouf off 'bout concealed weaponry and demanding to be searched."

"Is it true what they say?" asked Brandy.

Slade blinked. "Is *what* true, bitch?" he boomed. He could barely peel his eyes away from her incredible rack.

"Is it true that... y'know... black men are bigger... down there?" Brandy whispered. "I mean, that's what they say in porn, and while I've watched enough BBC clips to last me a lifetime, I've never seen one in real life." She glanced down again. "You look big to me, Mr Slade. Maybe not Mandingo big, but still big enough to do some serious damage. Just saying." She paused for a second, letting the sexual tension build. "And your partner over here made me spit my gum out while you were gone, so my mouth is free now." She licked her lips. "You know what I mean by that, don't you?" She smiled a slutty smile. "Yeah, you do. Of course you do, big boy." She winked at him.

Slade gulped. His mouth felt dry.

Both officers knew this was incredibly wrong, but they were mesmerised by her. They wanted her so fucking bad.

"Uncuff me, and we can have some fun. And just so you know, McBride," Brandy cooed, "I love it in the ass. I don't know if I could take your partner in the butt, but I think I could take you. I'm not saying you're small, the outline through your pants looks big, but fuck, let's be honest, your partner's BBC is ginormous, and I don't wanna go from the police station to the emergency room." She paused a second. "I've scratched my itch on the outside, but my asshole is still itchy on the inside." She kissed him on the cheek, leaving a bright red mark of lipstick. "You wanna scratch my ass from the inside, don't you?"

McBride's will was broken. He glanced over at his partner. "I'm... I'm gonna uncuff her," he stuttered.

"You sure 'bout that?" checked Slade. Sure, he wanted him to uncuff her too, but they both knew the consequences could be severe. They could get fired for this. Brandy knew that too, but she wondered if there was more to it than that. With a name like McBride, the Caucasian trooper might be Irish. He might be Catholic. He might be about to commit adultery and sodomy at the same time. He might be about to consign his soul to hell.

McBride's brain had short-circuited and melted down. Right now, he was thinking solely with his dick. Hr produced the keys, reached behind her, and fumbling a little, he unshackled her. Brandy shook her wrists, letting blood flow back into her hands and fingers. "That's a relief!" She reached back to scratch her ass crack some more. "Have either of you ever been cuffed?"

"Only in training," confessed McBride. "Just to give us the experience, so we'd know what it felt like."

"And how did it make you feel?"

"Uncomfortable. They hurt."

"I'm thinking they could be fun in the bedroom. Like, you could cuff your wife and fuck her ass senseless." Brandy paused. "Ever tried that? Or maybe you're not allowed to take the tools of the trade home?"

Neither Slade nor McBride answered. McBride desperately wanted to kiss her, feeling his hungry tongue rubbing up against hers, but he didn't want to make the first move.

Brandy looked down again. Their boners weren't going anywhere. She whipped her tank top off now, giving the cops their first look at her naked, juicy rack.

"Holy shit," McBride whispered as he laid eyes on the most perfect set of tits he'd ever seen in real life. Slade let loose a whistle in response.

"You like these puppies? You like what you see?" Brandy cupped her jugs with her palms, giving them a little lift. She kissed McBride's neck, then his lips, and as his mouth opened, her tongue penetrated deeply. He'd never been kissed like this before. He couldn't help himself; he moaned into her mouth. Gingerly, he squeezed one of her breasts. "You like that?" she smiled, breaking their juicy kiss. McBride's eyelids were droopy with lust.

She knelt in front of him, unzipped his pants, and fished out his dick. About seven inches long, maybe a little more, and easily girthy enough to get the job done. She looked up at him as she kissed the tip. She sucked the head of his dick past her bright red lips, teasing it with her tongue. Fireworks detonated at the base of McBride's brain as Brandy wrapped her wet mouth around his shaft, sucking him deeper and deeper into her slutty throat. "I meant what I said before," she cooed, taking a breath. "I fucking love it in the ass. Does your wife?" As she felt his shaft thicken a little more on her tongue, she got her answer.

Slade stepped a little closer and flopped his cock out. Nine and a half inches of solid black meat pulsed in front of Brandy's face. "Wow," she whispered. "That's easily the biggest dick I've ever seen." She tried to wrap her hand around the shaft but failed miserably. She stretched her jaw as wide as possible, and it hurt as she tried to suck him.

"Thought you said you was good at this, bitch," taunted Slade.

Brandy's eyes were watering already. She took the BBC out of her mouth and stroked his shaft. "I guess I didn't know what I was getting myself into."

Slade tugged himself in front of her face. "That's right, ho, you didn't. You talked a big game, so put yo' sassy fuckin' mouf to good use. Suck this shit."

Brandy spat into her palm and smeared spit up and down the length of Slade's glistening telegraph pole. McBride's dick waved in front of her face again, so she stroked them off together, one in each hand. "You boys have been partners for a while?" she asked.

"Two years," said McBride, trying to put his brain back into gear. "We've been troopers for longer, but that's how long we've been working together."

"Two years," Brandy repeated. "You ever done anything like this before?"

"No, ma'am."

"You ever seen each other's cocks before?"

"No," replied McBride, "but I always guessed he would've been bigger than me."

"Because he's black?"

McBride nodded. "Yeah."

"If I was a boy," said Brandy, "and I had what you had, I'd be mighty proud. You've got a nice dick, McBride. Smooth and fat, just how I like 'em. It's not your fault your partner is black." She sucked the tips of both cocks into her mouth, making them touch.

"Woah," said Slade. "Don't rub my dick up against his."

"Why not?" teased Brandy.

"I ain't into that shit."

Brandy shrugged. "Whatever." She sucked Slade's BBC for a few moments while she stroked his partner, then alternated. After a few moments, she stood up, facing McBride. "You want my ass, don't you?"

McBride nodded. He hadn't had anal sex since college. His wife wouldn't ever let him. These days, she barely let him fuck her at all.

"You wanna kiss me again first?" Brandy's face was a mess, but her mouth was like heaven. McBride pressed his lips to hers, and she grabbed the back of his head, pulling him into her. He tasted the tongue that had been teasing his partner's cock.

"You don't get my pussy," she cooed, kissing his neck, "just my ass. But you gotta eat it first." She stuck her thumb under the elastic of her tight orange shorts. "You like eating ass?" Her clitty was hard already, but it was so small, neither of the troopers suspected anything.

"My wife... she doesn't..."

Brandy got on all-fours, arching her back. "I'm not your wife, and you can do anything you want with my butt."

The sin of sodomy was inescapable at this point, but McBride told himself he wasn't committing adultery if he only fucked her ass, and not her pussy. He didn't know there was only one hole down there, and not two.

McBride kneeled behind her, pulled her shorts down, and got to work. His tongue lapped at the sweet, tangy hole hidden between her cheeks. He tasted sweat. "Yeah," seethed Brandy, "eat my ass." She beckoned for Slade to move closer, and as he kneeled in front of her prostrate frame, she sucked his gigantic BBC back into her mouth. He fucked her face, and even though she gagged, she wanted more.

She was wet enough now. Brandy reached back and grabbed a fistful of McBride's hair, pulling him away. "Fuck me, trooper boy."

McBride lined up on the runway. He pressed his cock against Brandy's anal opening, and she opened wide to let him in. His cock sank into her sweet rectum, and he heard her moan. He pushed a little deeper. "Fuck yeah," she whispered. "You feel so good inside me."

McBride's cock started to twitch. He pulled out fast.

"What's up?" asked Brandy, looking back over her shoulder.

McBride was trying so hard not to cum.

"Was it what I said?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry," said Brandy. "I'll keep my mouth shut." She didn't know how quiet McBride's wife was on the rare occasions she consented to sex. Slade rammed his big black cock back into Brandy's face, which helped keep her slutty mouth from talking. McBride slowly pushed his dick back inside her warm, wet ass.

Her jaw was aching, and she took Slade's BBC of her mouth for a rest. "Fuck," she seethed. "You're so fucking big." She gazed at his cock with a combination of admiration and disbelief.

McBride gripped her hips as he picked up the pace.

"You boys have got such nice dicks," she complimented. "I feel so full." She sucked one of Slade's heavy nuts into her mouth, getting it nice and wet, and then the other. "Your balls feel so full," she said, looking up at him. "I can't wait for you to feed me your sticky fishies." His black shaft stiffened a little more as she sucked him back into her, feeling her wet tongue lashing across his sensitive tip.

McBride's forehead was caked with sweat. Her warm asshole squeezed tightly around his shaft. She looked back over her shoulder, licking her slutty cocksucker lips. "Give me that fat Irish dick." She began pushing back on him. "I'm gonna fuck the cum out of you." She squeezed her sphincter, and the detonation sequence commenced.

Expertly, she squeezed him out, and while McBride was confused for an instant, it all made sense soon enough. "Cum in my mouth," she demanded.

Two strong, sexy men, one black and one white, stroked their dicks off into her mouth. McBride was already twitching, and it didn't take long for him to bust. She gulped him down.

"Your turn," Brandy smiled at Slade, her tongue smeared with semen. Slade pushed himself into her jaw and jerked himself off into her mouth. He oozed a little. Brandy had never tasted cum this thick or sweet; it was almost like candy.

After the lava came the explosion. Slade's enormous balls spewed so much sperm into her mouth it spilled from the corners of her lips. Her fingers reached up to catch what she could; she didn't want to let a single drop go to waste. Eventually, Slade's fat slab began to soften, and she sucked the overflow back into her mouth, licking her sticky fingers clean.

Neither of them had worked out that Brandy was actually a boy, which pleased her immensely. Firstly, because her clitty was now so small as to be barely noticeable, but secondly, because two police officers trained in the art of suspicion had no clue. It built her confidence sky high.

Brandy felt satisfied beyond belief, but for the troopers, post nut clarity landed like an anvil dropped from an aircraft. It left a deep, deep crater, shaking the very earth. Both officers knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they'd be fired. In any modern-day police station, cameras were everywhere. They knew their amateur cop porn had been recorded. They zipped themselves up. It was all over, their careers were done.

"You'd better get out of here now," whispered McBride. Already, he felt like he was someone else.

"We's gon' get fired for that," Slade confessed to his partner. His massive black hands were shaking.

Their employment futures weren't any of Brandy's concern. All she wanted tonight was to find some cock, and as it turned out, cock found her. Fate works in strange ways. She didn't know -- and neither did the troopers -- that the cop shop's CCTV cameras had been deactivated that night for an urgent systems overhaul. Neither trooper slept that night. They expected damning footage to surface and for justice to be meted out, but the wait was agonising because neither knew when the hammer would fall. It took them two weeks to learn that no footage existed.

Brandy pulled her tank top back on, making sure her huge tits were snug, and hitched her shorts back into place. Without another word, she left. Standing outside the station, she summoned an uber. Five minutes later, she was in the back seat of a car heading back towards the interstate. It wasn't easy to instruct the driver where to stop, and there was a great deal of nervousness dropping a passenger off on the side of a major national highway. Brandy promised to leave a big tip, and that's all it took. "Just here," she said, as she spied her car parked on the shoulder of the road.

The uber driver stopped for the briefest length of time before merging back into fast-flowing traffic. Brandy found her keys -- they'd sunk to the bottom of her handbag -- and opened the door. She rubbed her red wrists; they still stung from where the cuffs had rubbed. She turned on the interior light, fixed up her makeup, and drove away.

She didn't want to go back to her empty, gutted apartment tonight. Instead, she drove to Ingleside. Everything was quiet. Maybe the warring parties had negotiated a temporary ceasefire. Pulling up outside Jessica's building, she reached for her phone. Her number rang.

"Hey," said Jessica. "What's up?"

"Hey," Brendan replied. "Are you at home tonight?"

"Yeah. Are you OK?"

Brendan sighed. "I'm not sure. I think I could use some company. I'm parked on the street outside your building."

"Come in. I'll let you up."

Two minutes later, Jessica heard a soft knock at her door. She was surprised at what she saw -- Brendan was wearing his Femboi Hooters uniform. "Sorry, I didn't order any wings tonight," laughed Jessica, but as she saw a single tear drip from his eye, she knew it wasn't the right moment for jokes.

"Can I come in?" he whispered.

"Yeah, sure." She held the door wide open. "Want some wine?"

"Yeah, thanks," he replied. She poured him a glass of her tipple of choice -- the cheapest French wine available from the corner store. He didn't recoil until he'd swallowed it.

"Rough night?" Jessica sat on her couch and invited him to sit beside her.

He exhaled deeply as he began to tell his tale. "I thought I could use a quiet night at home tonight. Work was difficult to cope with, and in some ways it was even harder because I knew Steph was gonna be moving her stuff out while I was there. I expected to come home after work to find the place looking different, because, like I said, when I got home after work, all her stuff would've been gone, but as it turns out, she took everything."

"Everything?" Jessica waited, sensing there was much more to come.

"Well, not quite everything, but almost. The bed is still there, thank fuck, otherwise I'd be sleeping on the floor. She took the bookshelves, the TV, the kitchen table, the microwave, most of the linen, and most of the pots and pans. She left a few knives, forks and spoons in the kitchen drawer, plus a couple of plates and bowls. Seriously, the place is almost completely empty."

"Fuck, dude, what a bitch."

"She even took the couch," he continued. "Like, there's literally nowhere to sit down other than on the edge of the bed, the toilet bowl, or the floor. The one positive is she left her key on the kitchen counter, so at least I know she won't be coming back." He sipped his wine. "Anyway, I'd hoped to come home from work this afternoon and just chill out, trying not to lose my shit, but after what I saw, I couldn't stay there tonight. No way. So I got dressed up and went out for a drive. I didn't know where I was headed, only that I wanted to find some cock."

Jessica waited for Brendan to continue. He finished the rest of his Gallic antifreeze and asked for more. She poured generously.

"So I'm cruising down the interstate with no specific destination in mind other than just to drive for a while, hoping to clear my head, when I get pulled over by a couple of State troopers. They said I was driving an unregistered car, which I knew wasn't true. I guessed there'd been some kind of fuckup with their computer system, and when they said they wanted to haul me in, I didn't complain. In fact, I asked them to cuff me."

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "Why?"

Brendan answered with a wordlessly suggestive grin.

"But your car is legit, right?" Jessica's fingers brushed her black hair back as she leaned into the conversation.

"Yeah. Of course it is. I wasn't worried about that at all. I even found an email on my cell to prove it, but I didn't want to show it to them. I could've probably sorted the whole thing out on the edge of the interstate, but I wanted them to take me to the station to see if we could have some fun." He sipped his wine before continuing. "So the desk clerk clears it all up in a matter of minutes and I'm good to go, but the troopers who pulled me over were hot as fuck. Total gymrats. One was an Irish-American dude, and the other was black."

Jessica's cock began to thicken under her skirt. She could see where this was heading.

"I won't tell you the whole story right now, but the Irish guy fucked me, and I sucked the black dude's cock. He was fucking enormous, easily the biggest dick I've ever seen in real life, like my jaw is still aching like a motherfucker" -- he rubbed his jaw -- "and they both busted in my mouth." He paused for a second. "And then I drove over here, because I didn't want to go back to the apartment." He took a deep breath. "Home doesn't feel like home anymore."

Jessica hugged him tightly.

"Do you know what I mean?" he asked, craning into her shoulder. She felt his tits press gently against her arm.

"Yeah, dude, of course I do." She knew how unanchored he must feel right now; she'd felt this before herself. All she wanted right now was to be the port in a storm he desperately needed. "You can stay here tonight if you want to."

"Thanks," Brendan sobbed, wiping his eyes. "I need to go to work tomorrow, though, and I didn't bring any office clothes."

"You can always drive home and change if you get up early enough. I mean, you've done it once before, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," came Brendan's unenthusiastic answer. Things in his life were changing so fast -- his partner, his address, his sexuality; maybe he needed to change his job, too. He remembered he had an appointment at Hooters later tomorrow, but right now, showing up at the office in the morning didn't feel like a priority. He'd been away too much this past week or so, and even though his workplace was liberal and accommodating, all businesses have their limits. Maybe he needed to quit before he was fired. "Can we go out?"

"Tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Jessica ventured, "there's a goth night I sometimes go to, it's on every second Thursday and it's on tonight..."

"I've never been to a goth night before," Brendan interrupted. "Can we go?"

"Well, yeah, sure we can... but... umm... like, you've had a challenging day, are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Brendan bounced up and down on the sofa cushion, suddenly full of energy. Maybe it was the cheap French wine. "Yeah, it is. Let's go out."

Jessica smiled. "OK, but I need to get dressed first." She looked down at the cheap cotton pyjamas she was wearing. "I can't go out like this. Give me half an hour or so." She went to the kitchen and carried the half-consumed bottle of wine across to Brendan. "This'll keep you occupied while I get ready." She looked him up and down. "You know what? I reckon it'd be hot like fire if you went to a goth club dressed like a Hooters waitress."

"Wait, but doesn't everyone wear black at goth clubs?"

"Most people do, but cosplay is a thing, too. You'll fit right in."

Brendan beamed from ear to ear.

"Back soon." She put some music on for him.

Brendan sipped his wine and waited. After about twenty minutes, he got up and went to find her. "Fuck off!" Jessica shouted. "I'm not ready yet!" She slammed her bedroom door in his face.

And with those words, Brendan was drafted into the 'sit on the couch for hours feeling time slow down to a complete stop while you wait for your goth girlfriend to get ready to go out' fraternity. (At least his wait was less than an hour. Full disclosure: the author's record wait is two and a half hours. In Brendan's case, it was totally worth it.)

Ten or fifteen minutes later, Jessica tiptoed into the living room. "Do I look OK?" she asked.

Brendan stood up to face her. She wore a tight black tee that showed off her tits, a short red skirt, a pair of stripy black and purple tights that stretched all the way from her toes to her cock, and a pair of bright red Doc boots.

He picked his jaw up off the ground. "Holy shit, Jessica. You look amazing."

"You're about to go to a goth club dressed like a Hooters waitress. My outfit is average compared to yours. You're gonna get so much attention tonight. You're gonna slay. My only request is that if -- no, when -- you end up in the bathroom with a dick in your pussy, text me so I know everything's OK."

Brendan stepped towards her, they embraced and kissed. "Can we go?"

Her keys were in her bag. "Yep," she replied. "I'm ready."

*

They arrived at the club, paid the cover, and walked down the dimly lit staircase. Dry ice and deep bass assaulted their senses as Brendan took in the view. The scene looked like something from a movie. Maybe twenty or thirty black-clad bodies writhed on the dance floor, and two DJs up in the booth spun records. He saw a scattering of people sitting at tables, deep in discussion, and a small handful of anxious loners propping up the bar. This was an unusual setting for him, and his senses were alive as he drank it all in. The thud of the bass reverberated through his ribcage.

Jessica's friend, Raven, bounded over to her from the dancefloor. She wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her in for a hug but nearly spilling her drink in her excitement. "Hey, babe," she shouted, "I didn't think you were coming tonight!"

"Changed my mind," grinned Jessica. "Hey, I want you to meet someone." Suddenly, she stopped. She wasn't sure how to introduce him. Mentally, she kicked herself. She should've squared this away beforehand. She took a chance. "This is... uhh... this is my boyfriend, Brendan." The word felt good to say.

"Ooh, a new boyfriend for my darling Jessica -- what fun!" Raven looked him up and down, noticing everything -- the Femboi Hooters cosplay outfit, his black painted fingernails (so goth), and, of course, his monster rack. She assumed his tits were part of the costume, having no idea how real they actually were. "Hey," she said, holding out a dainty hand for him to shake. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," replied Brendan.

"Nice outfit," said Raven. "Serious attention to detail."

Brendan blushed. "Thanks." He felt completely accepted. He didn't feel judged in any way.

"Come with me," smiled Jessica. She grabbed his hand and guided him over to the bar. "Two white wines, please," she said, as Raven returned to the dancefloor. The barwoman filled two plastic cups right to the brim. Jessica handed over a twenty dollar bill as payment and received four fives in change.

Standing to one side of the dancefloor, Jessica's head bobbed up and down to the dark tunes Brendan didn't know. "Do you like dancing?" she asked him. He didn't hear her clearly, so she repeated herself.

"I'm not very good," Brendan admitted.

"I reckon everyone's good at dancing, they just need to find the right music and mood."

Brendan didn't reply. He'd always been an awkward dancer.

"I'd love to dance with you," she said, necking her drink. "But only if you want to. No pressure."

"Sure." They stepped out onto the floor, and while Brendan's moves were jerky and self-conscious (he didn't know the music), Jessica's were supple and lithe. He pulled her close for a second, just for long enough to quickly whisper something in her ear. "You look so good."

"Thanks," she smiled. She felt his embrace relax. She knew he was releasing her to dance, but right now, in this moment, she didn't want to be released. The dancefloor pulsed and writhed around them, but off in a distant corner, they kissed.

Raven was so happy for her friend -- she'd been lonely for so long, but it looked like she might have finally found someone.

Their kiss ended, and Brendan drowned in her dark Thai eyes. "We should get you home," said Jessica.

"But we only just got here!" Brendan protested.

She held his hand and led him off the dancefloor into a quieter part of the room to talk. "We can come back some other night, but you've got work in the morning, and you need to drive home to get changed first."

"Fuck work," Brendan spat. "I'm over it. I think I'm gonna quit."

"Yeah, I know, work sucks, but, like, you're gonna need an income while you get your shit back on track. I mean, you're gonna need to move soon, and moving costs money, right?"

"I can work at Hooters."

"But you haven't even had your interview yet! They're probably not gonna hire you right on the spot, and you're gonna need to do some training first, plus it's minimum wage so your income will depend on tips, and they might not hire you anyway because... because... because..."

"Because I've got a... a dick?" He never thought of his tiny appendage like that anymore, but he knew what she was driving at.

Jessica gulped. "I wasn't gonna put it like that, but..." Her words trailed off. "Like, dude, this room is my favourite place in the world, and I'm so glad you like it, but we can come here anytime. Besides, I've got work tomorrow too."

The fight went out of Brendan. He knew she was right. Tomorrow was gonna be a big day -- a full day in the office, and a big interview at Hooters at the end of it. "OK."

"Wait, first let me say goodbye to Raven."

Brendan stood alone as his girlfriend ran back out onto the dancefloor. "Hey, we're leaving."

"But you only just got here!" protested Raven.

"That's exactly what Brendan said, but I need to get him home, he's got a big day tomorrow."

"Catch up soon?" Raven made the hand gesture of a phone call, thumb and pinky extended.

"Absolutely. I'll text you."

"Good," said Raven, "because I want all the juicy gossip about your new boy. He's cute. Plus, top marks for his big fake tits. They look so real!"

Jessica knew she couldn't tell her friend everything. She glanced over at Brendan, standing alone, rocking his Femboi Hooters outfit like he'd been born in it. She walked back over to him, took him by the hand, and led him upstairs into the street.

Brendan set an alarm for sunrise, apologising to Jessica in advance. They slept in each other's arms.

He woke at sunrise and made himself an instant coffee before he left. Just as he was about to quietly close Jessica's apartment door behind him, he remembered the clothes she'd selected for him for his interview. They were in a bag, waiting for him, just beside the couch. He took them with him.

Arriving back at his apartment, he dropped the bag of clothes on the floor where his couch once stood, knowing they'd at least be safe from his ex's irrationality. He took a quick shower before dressing for work.