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The address on Mick’s registration papers was more like I had imagined a Lamborghini would be parked.
Warburton was a chic coastal village built upon and between a series of hills running perpendicular to the coastline, giving a tightly rolling look to the town. It had many beaches stretching long and golden before a deep blue sea; one run of hills extended high out into the ocean as a headland, but before the hillside left the confines of the coast, a run of houses had been built along its crest – each of the houses with million-dollar views, and consequently of million-dollar construction.
Mick’s secret address was no different. It was a townhouse, new and modern with a slim frontage, a singular garage (where I assumed the Lambo formerly resided, and possibly home to the old Ford he pretended to drive to ‘work’), and a glassy façade all the better to avail of the ocean-and-beach view.
I was feeling less and less sorry for our Mick, I must admit. Secret Lamborghinis… leaving his wife-and-mother-of-five every day to go to a job he didn’t actually do… and now, a secret million-dollar townhouse with spectacular ocean views? “Never mind ‘arsehole’. This guy is a total prick,” I commented to myself.
There was no evidence of anyone home: all doors shut, no lights on, nothing to be seen through the windows. A cursory knock on the door brought no answer, and an ear to the door heard no noise from within, so I took a look around and – satisfied there would be no witnesses – I smashed a small glass panel in the ornate front door and let myself in.
At times like this, I’m not the kind of girl to worry about warrants or search orders. Smash first, ask questions later. That’s another of my mottos.
An alarm panel beeped warningly near the door, so once I let myself in I poked at some numbers, hoping desperately that this particular model made use of the Universal Police Override Code – and it did, the warning beeps cutting off. “Thank you, U.P.O.C.,” I smirked.
The house was no less impressive inside than out. My smart-casual heeled shoes clip-clopped across the marble-tiled alcove before sinking into the gloriously soft, luxuriant and expensive carpet beyond. The entrance opened into a large space, a bit of a living-room with lounges arrayed before an enormous flat-screen plasma panel, which itself was surrounded by the speakers, subwoofers and satellites of a marvellously complex-looking audio unit. It would have to have some power behind it, to properly fill the enormous room with its two-storey-high vaulted ceilings.
I couldn’t help but whistle in appreciation. Prick or not, our Mick definitely had fine taste.
There was another door to the side, just past the kitchen, leading into the garage – which was empty. The whereabouts of Mick’s ‘work car’ was still unknown, which rankled me. It was clear that part of his ‘real’ morning routine was to leave home in the Ford, stop somewhere and swap it for the Lamborghini – the question was, where? If he didn’t leave the Lambo parked here overnight, where did he leave it?
“Shit,” I muttered as I shut the door on the garage. I hate unanswered questions.
A staircase at the back of the living room led up to a landing, from which a couple of bedrooms could be accessed. The first, naturally enough, held a very large and comfortable-looking bed – though my detective’s mind was asking, ‘if he goes home to sleep every night, why exactly does he need a bed here…?’ – and the second was exactly what I was looking for: a home office, with book-lined shelves, a desk and computer, casino şirketleri and a large filing cabinet.
“Paydirt,” I grinned.
I started with the computer, but didn’t get far: it was logged in and locked up, with a password required for access. I tried a couple of possible passwords – ‘lambo’, ‘gallardo’, ‘lying¬¬_bastard’ were all that occurred to me – and with no success, I retrieved my phone and put a call through to my favourite tech-support officer back at the station.
“PC Barker,” came the answer.
“Hi Andy…” I cooed down the line, with a deliciously dirty grin as I loaded my words with the utmost in slutty sultriness.
I was treated to a sigh in response. “Detective Jennings,” he greeted, warily. “Sorry: it’s Detective Sergeant, isn’t it?”
“Yes, thank you,” I confirmed, primly. “I didn’t suck all those cocks for nothing, you know.”
“Uh huh,” he returned, unimpressed. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“I need another computer cracked.”
“Got a warrant for this one?”
“Warr…rant?” I replied, as if I was sounding out the word for the first time in my life.
Another sigh. “Jennings…” he chastised.
“Come on, Andy: just crack one more computer for me. Just one little-widdle itty-bitty lil computer,” I added, putting on a cutesy girly-girl’s voice because I knew he found it immensely irritating. “Please?”
“Dammit Jennings, I got in so much trouble for the last one I cracked for you…”
“It belonged to the son of a judge! You didn’t mention that before I did it,” he told me, reproachfully.
“That judge’s son was a bad, bad boy,” I reminded him. “I would never have busted him without your help, Andy.”
“Yeah, and I got busted back to Probation for my efforts,” Andy added.
I rolled my eyes – he was still sulking about that? I let him fuck me daily for a bloody month in apology for his silly little demotion. ‘Build a bridge and get the fuck over it,’ I thought to myself.
“Come on, Andy!” I said instead, goading and beguiling. “Just come and crack one last computer for me. I’ll make it worth your while… again…”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Well? Don’t I always make it worth your while?”
Andy sighed, and I could tell he was giving in. Again. “You are such a slut, Jennings,” he accused.
“Guilty as charged,” I grinned. “Can you come over right now? I’m up in Warburton.”
“No, I’ve got a conference in fifteen minutes. Won’t be able to get up there until, well, probably just before clock-off.”
“Oh come on, Andy!” I scolded. “You really gunna put off a piece of me, for some useless bloody conference?”
“It’s a lecture on ‘ethics in the force’.”
I laughed at that. “Wonder why they didn’t invite me?” I pondered. “I’d make a hell of a guest speaker.”
“Wouldn’t mind seeing that ‘presentation’,” said Andy, and despite all his prior reproachfulness I could hear him grinning at the idea.
“Well, hurry on over and I’ll give you a private presentation. Hands-on, and all,” I added – and despite having been serviced by Ian barely an hour before, I felt myself getting hot and wet at the thought of another rogering. I have mentioned how I like sex, right?
“I’ll be there in a couple hours. Okay?”
I snorted with frustration. “But I’m horny now!”
“You’re horny all the time, Detective Sergeant.”
“True. Well, be as quick as you can, will you?”
“That’s not what you usually say…” he teased.
“Yeah yeah, very funny.” And with that, I hung casino firmaları up on him. “Cheeky bastard,” I mumbled, with a pout.
I’m terrible at waiting for things. Even worse at waiting for sex. When the mood hits me, I have to deal with it, one way or the other – so I stripped off my skirt, stepped out of my heels, and even as I started checking through Mick’s filing cabinet I had two fingers rubbing and massaging at my moistening mound with a firm purpose.
I was glad to discover that Mick kept his records in straight and proper order, as it made it exceedingly easy for an outsider to come up-to-speed with his affairs. He had notes, dockets, diaries and titles aplenty, and as I kept stroking away at my hardening, tightening little clit I found a pen and a spare piece of paper to outline everything I found.
A check of his bank statements showed that, nearly two years ago, our Mick had won the lottery – at the top of a new account, singular in his name and kept secret from his wife, was an opening deposit of ‘fifteen million dollars and zero cents’ from the State Lotteries and Gaming Commission. I had suspected as much; the whole thing reeked of a sudden lottery win, and a sneaky little decision to keep it all to himself was very much part of Mick’s MO. “Lucky lotto-winning prick,” I muttered.
He hadn’t been shy in spending and investing his winnings – two years later, our Mick owned a fair bit of property. His place back in town, where he ‘kept’ the wife and kids, was still under mortgage – probably only to maintain the white-collar façade for the sake of his missus – but he owned several other properties outright, including the townhouse in Warburton, a couple of acreages out in the valley, and a few commercial properties in the city and back in town which seemed very lucrative, spinning him quite a sum of money in rental income.
He had an extensive shares portfolio too, which he seemed adept at self-managing – even in these financially-trying times it seems he had been doing quite well, with a neat tabulation of monthly trades and earnings showing that overall, he had been coming out a bit richer with each day that went by.
As I went through the details of Mick’s wealth, and as I kept touching myself deeply, pleasuring myself with naked and rampant abandon, I found my feelings towards him changing. Sure, he was a bastard for hiding all of this from his wife… but then, I also found myself grinning a little at the sheer gall of it.
When it comes to men, I admit to having a weakness for the brash, cheeky ones. And there was something in the cheekiness of Mick’s deception that, slowly but most definitely, was endearing him to my own wicked side. I could imagine myself doing something very similar – if ever I found myself in a relationship, and I was lucky enough to pick up such a large windfall, I am sure I would at least be tempted to squirrel it all away for myself and my sole personal use.
And as my pleasure mounted and ramped up, as I left off examining Mick’s paper files to treat and caress myself with both hands, slipping two fingers of one hand deep into my grasping, quivering cunt with one hand while toying with my clit with the tips of two fingers of the other, I thought back to the image of Mick. I thought back to his picture from his driver’s licence, and I remembered I had an enlarged version in my case file so I pulled it out and drank it in: his face strong and handsome, square of chin, fair of hair and blue of eyes, and I imagined there was a certain cheeky little glint in his eye, the look of a rogue or güvenilir casino a larrikin evident even as he posed for his driver’s licence renewal…
…and as I stared at his picture, I imagined him there with me, there in the room; I imagined him swanning into his office, finding me rifling through his records, and I imagined him pausing to share with me a look – a mutual look, in that not only had he been busted in a lie to his wife about his wealth, I too had been busted in an illegal search of his premises…
…and as I sat back and spread my legs wide, plunging my fingers into myself deeper and faster, rubbing at my gorging clitoris harder and with ever-more determination as my breath grew coarse and started to turn into moans and sighs, I imagined Mick standing over me: strong and purposeful, dashing and handsome, rich and successful, and I imagined him taking me… taking me into his arms, pulling my body close to his, pulling my hips hard against his to make his long, hard, bulging cock known against me…
…and as my orgasm approached fast, I imagined him acting fast, tearing my clothes from me and freeing himself of his own, pressing his naked skin against mine, his lips hard against me in a kiss – his embrace wanton, challenging, demanding – and with precious little ado he’d lay his fingers upon my hot wetness, earning no complaint from me…
…and as my moans and groans took on a new pitch, building higher and flightier as I realised this orgasm was going to be a good one, I imagined Mick treating me roughly: turning me about, throwing me down over the desk, spreading my legs and probing at my hot wet tenderness with the tip of his cock, which of course I imagined to be large and hard, very hard… and I imagined him entering me roughly, pushing into me without warning, and I cried out as I felt it, as my mind served me with the imagined feeling of his cock breaching me so deeply and personally…
…and I wanted it. Oh how I wanted it, how I wanted him to fuck me, to do me rough and hard and harshly, to treat me like the naughty, wicked, errant little slut that I was, to thrust into me hard and fast, to fuck me, fuck me like a bitch, fuck me like the dirty whorey slut that I was…
“Yes…” I heard myself moan, as I imagined his merciless dealings and I brought myself to the brink, writhing and moaning and groaning as I sat spread-eagled in Mick’s expensive leather office chair, my juices running thick and creamy and sticky down my legs. “Yes… yes Mick… do me Mick, fuck me, fuck me… fuck me hard Mick, fuck me…! Fuck me…! Fuck me like a slut, oh yes FUCK MEEEEE!!!”
And I came, I came with a hard and sudden jolt, I arched backwards on the balls of my feet and the tips of my shoulders, pushing the chair back hard against the desk and arching backwards with a cry as I came, and I came, and I came, coming long and hard as I trapped my own fingers deep in my constricting cunt and I kept my other fingers mashed hard into my clit, pressing down hard and making my little nubbin burn and tingle under my rough treatment, my cunt muscles quivered and spasmed and I felt them shoot little jets of my juices all over my hands and the chair below me, and I came, and I came, and I kept coming until I was spent.
Once I settled down, cleaned up and redressed, I revisited Mick’s files and finally found something I could pursue while waiting for tech-boy Andy to arrive. It was a monthly bill from a storage facility back in town: thirty-one days’ rental of a ‘five berth private storage space’.
Right away, I had a fairly good idea what I would find there. If I was a secret lotto winner, where would I park my ‘work car’ during the day and my bright orange Lamborghini at night? Exactly.
And I couldn’t wait to see what I would find in the other four berths.
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