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Category: Erotica/Multicultural-Interracial Erotica
Description: A blend of interracial sex with a hint of bdsm and lots of gangbang action... This is a story about a cop. An honest cop by the nickname of Deek and Deek is as tough as nails. It's about when Deek met Kate. It's not a nice love story because Kate's story is dark. It tells about the depravity she encountered from a host of people. All of them out to bring Kate down into the depths of decadence and debauchery. Kate was on this downward spiral until she happened to meet our hero, Deek. This story has a lot of what you've come to expect from Shooter. Sex and lots of it. It has group sex and interracial sex between black men and white women. It has a bit of S&M and a bit of girl on girl sex too. You'll love and respect Deek and you will come to admire the toughness of Kate as this story unfolds.
eBook Publisher: Fiction4All/Black Stud,
eBookwise Release Date: March 2011
2 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [83 KB]
Reading time: 58-82 min.
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
Watching people is what I do. I'm a cop. She first caught my attention a few days earlier. I was watching a pawnshop that we thought was involved in a fencing operation. I saw her get out of a car and make her way down the sidewalk toward me. She was young, that was obvious, but she moved as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. I guessed her age at maybe eighteen or nineteen, but I recognize I am the world's worst age guesser. By the way, my name is Jimmy Deacon. Most of my friends call me Deek. I'm single and have no intention of changing my status.
I love my job and I'm good at it. I clear more cases than any other cop in my precinct. I do it because I hate having a crime that remains unsolved. I'm also an honest cop. I don't say that in any bragging way. It's the simple truth. I know I'm not the only honest cop, but it seems that we are a dying breed.
There's simply too much money out there. There are temptations coming at every cop from all directions. The temptations coupled with miserable pay equals...well, you get the picture. There have always been temptations for an officer of the law, but the narcotics trade has opened up a brand new ballgame.
It's just too damned easy for a policeman to pick up some of the loose money that's lying around. It's easy for a cop to turn a blind eye to dope business because it doesn't seem to make a damn difference. Bust one and two pop up to take their place.
When I joined the police force, I made myself a promise to keep clean. I realize I sometimes take it to an extreme. I won't even accept a free cup of coffee. Again, I'm not bragging, just stating a fact. This honesty, which I realize is close to an obsession, makes it hard to keep a partner. The others on the force are scared of me and that's a mystery because I have never ratted on a brother officer. Never have and never will. They should know that, but I suppose they don't want to be the first I squeal on. Well, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. This was why I'm alone as I watched the lass.
I saw her the next day also. She got out of the same old car. I noticed that there was a black man driving and another black man in the passenger's seat. Not that seeing a white girl with a black man is unusual these days of liberal enlightenment. I have a 'live and let live' approach to things like that. Of course in my business the 'let live' part is sometimes ignored by others. I had a pimp try to cut me open once and that was a major mistake on his part. Not only did I arrest him for felony assault then, I busted his ass every week until he left town.
There was something about the object of my scrutiny that arrested my attention. I saw that she was cute, not exactly pretty, just cute, but her expression was strained. Melancholy maybe. Resigned may even be a better description. For someone so young she looked like someone who had seen too much and had too much of the world's weight on her.
The second time I saw her I shifted my position to watch where she went and saw that she entered a coffee shop a block on down the street.
I was off duty for a couple of days and when I got back to the stakeout, I saw her for the third time. Nothing about the way she moved or looked had changed. She still looked cute and still troubled. On that occasion she got out of the car and again there were two black men in the vehicle. I couldn't see them well enough to see if they were the same two as before. The beat up old car was the same, I was sure of that.
Shortly before noon I was relieved for a lunch break and I decided to try the coffee shop. I didn't have any trouble finding her. She moved listlessly from table to table taking orders and delivering food. I saw, when she got to my table, that the name tag she wore said 'Kate'.
"Hi Kate," I said. "Cheeseburger all the way with fries."
"'Kay," she muttered, "What to drink?" I told her that Coke would be fine. She asked me if Pepsi would be okay and shuffled away with my order. I don't know why servers ask that. I've never heard anyone refuse Pepsi if Coke wasn't available. Who the hell is that loyal to a brand? Since I wasn't in any hurry to get back to the mind numbing task of sitting in a car watching a pawnshop, I lingered over my lunch.
Apparently that day was payday. The manager handed out pay envelopes to the waitresses and cook. About fifteen minutes after the eagle had flown, two black men came in and took a seat at the counter. Kate went over and put her pay envelope in the outstretched hand of one of the men. Neither of the three said a word, and the two men left.
Over the next couple of days I saw Kate being delivered to her coffee shop and each time I felt something stir in me. Pity, maybe. No young person should have to look so fucking sad and world-weary, but as far as I could tell there was nothing illegal about the situation. It was simply none of my business, so, of course, I made it my business anyway.
For the next week I ate lunch at the coffee shop every day including my days off. Kate didn't appear to notice me or any other patron of the shop. Some days she came with two black men and some days just one.
"How you doin' Kate?" I asked one day. Her eyes slowly rose from her order pad to look at me. I noticed around one eye that it was a yellowish purple where the makeup didn't cover it. There was also a small bruise on her cheek. It was obvious that Kate had been smacked around.
"Fine. What'ch need?" I ordered my usual burger and fries. She brought my Pepsi without me asking or discussing the absence of Coke, so I figured she had recognized me.
"I see that you aren't wearing a ring," I said when she brought my food. "Care to take in a movie or something?" Kate looked startled a moment and shook her head.
"Can't," she muttered. "I got...someone. Come back again," she added and left me. During that exchange I revised my appraisal of her. Probably twenty or so. She had a nice figure under the de-feminizing waitress uniform. Her hair was untidy like she hadn't seen inside a beauty shop in a while, but she smelled clean. I made a point of looking at her arms to see if I could see tell-tell needle tracks. I wasn't about to waste my time on a junky. I didn't see any sign of needle tracks, but I knew that didn't prove anything. Junkies are clever. Sometimes they shoot-up between their toes. However her skin tone didn't indicate a heavy drug user. Without giving it too much thought, I made Kate a project. There was something about her that appealed to me and I couldn't say what it was.