Missing Person

Missing Person

It’s what I like best about my job; the unexpected, the unpredictable and, occasionally, the serendipitous. And in those terms, this particular day had topped any other.
I’d been asked by the control room to allocate a call that had come in. A woman wanted to report her mother missing. All my officers were busy. It was a run of the mill job and so, rather than allocate it, I said I’d deal with it, it would get me out of the office, away from the paperwork.
I made my way to the informant’s address where I listened to an attractive woman in her mid twenties telling me about her missing mother. The husband sat, passively, and nodded. The woman struck me as a little neurotic.
‘… It’s been going on for a while now officer, ever since my father died a couple of years ago, but it’s been getting worse recently. We never seem to know where she is. She’s been missing for two weeks now. I’m getting concerned.’
I asked whether they’d made any enquiries with friends and relatives. They had but could give me little information about the mother’s social life. I took a report, promised to keep them updated and left. There was nothing to suggest that the mother had come to any harm; it seemed to be a case, oddly enough, of an overprotective daughter. Still, there were procedures to follow.

I decided to visit the mother’s address, make a few local enquiries then pass the report on to one of my officers. I didn’t mind helping out but I didn’t want to get tied up unnecessarily.

The woman lived on the top floor of a very smart block of flats. Not expecting a reply, I knocked on her door whilst deciding which of the neighbours to make enquiries with first. The door was pulled open, forcefully, and a feminine voice, sharp with rebuke, hissed:
‘You’re late!’
The woman, plainly shocked, instinctively put a hand up to cover her breasts. I was obviously not who she’d expected. Likewise, she was not what I had expected. Her daughter had painted me an entirely different picture.
Before me stood a woman I knew must be in her mid-forties but could easily have been ten years younger. And she was fit. Ash blonde, shoulder length hair, blue eyes. She wore a red, silk robe, but not much underneath. I dared not look too hard and tried to keep my eyes directed towards her face. I always try to be professional.
‘Mrs Firle?’
‘Yes?’
Her voice had softened.
‘My name’s Sergeant Franks, I’m sorry to trouble you, your daughter was concerned, she said she hasn’t seen you for a couple of weeks. She was worried something might have happened to you.’
The lady broke into a smile.
‘Oh, do come in sergeant. I’m sorry if I startled you I was expecting someone else, he should’ve turned up ages ago.’

She shut the door behind me then led me through to a lounge. I followed her, mesmerised. She was wearing stiletto heeled, thigh length, black leather boots that came up almost to the cheeks of her bottom. A red, silk gown was tied loosely at the waist. She didn’t appear to be wearing anything else; although I thought I could see the trace of a thong outlined by the thin silk of her robe. She showed me to a sofa, then sat opposite in an armchair, crossed her legs and sat back, relaxed and totally unconcerned. My eyes were drawn to an area of flesh between the top of her boot and her robe, exposed as she’d crossed her legs. I looked back up to her face. She was watching me, amused.
‘Do you like my boots?’
‘Yes, they’re very… pretty,’ I said.
‘Pretty?’ She laughed. ‘I’ve not heard them described that way before.’
I felt a little sheepish.
‘Mrs Firle, you’re obviously fine, I’ll let your daughter know. She gave me the impression that you were… ‘ I struggled to find the right word, the lady helped.
‘Not coping? Confused? Helpless?’ She laughed. ‘Sergeant, my daughter may have told you that my husband died several years ago. I’m afraid she’s expected me to play the part of the grieving widow ever since. I was very happily married and before he died my husband made me promise to carry on living life to the full, which we had always done and I’ve continued to do. I have a very full and busy life. I love my daughter to bits, but she’s very prim and proper, always has been, don’t know where she gets it from. Did you meet her husband? He doesn’t help the situation. She would have been better off married to a wet dishcloth.’
I laughed.
She studied me.
‘You’re very handsome, sergeant.’
I was taken aback by her forthrightness, her confidence.
‘Thank you’, I said, again a little sheepishly. I wasn’t used to a woman like this. My eyes had strayed back to her thighs.
‘Well, I had been expecting someone else, but my evening appears to be ruined. Would you have a drink with me sergeant?’
‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m on duty.’
‘Oh, come on, just one? One won’t hurt?’
Normally, I would refuse outright. It’s not that I’m a complete stickler for regulations; I just like to have a clear head when I’m working.
‘Okay then, just one.’
She smiled at me, got up and walked slowly out of sight into the kitchen. The lady had unsettled me. The lustful stirrings I felt were a danger sign of which I usually took notice. I should have got up and left, but I didn’t. She returned carrying two glasses of wine. I swear she’d loosened her robe. She stood by me and extended an arm, to give me the glass, then changed her mind. She turned, and with her back to me, she bent over and put the glasses on a coffee table. As she bent over, her robe rode up from the black leather boots revealing her bottom, inches from my face. Covering her plump pussy was a thin, black leather thong. I felt my mouth watering. She remained in this provocative pose whilst she put coasters underneath the wine glasses. And just as I was about to reach out and caress her thighs she stood up and turned around. What the hell was I thinking?
‘There,’ she said, and was about to say something else when the doorbell rang. With a mock, horrified expression she put her forefinger to her lips, then sat on my lap. She leaned toward my ear.
‘It’s my date,’ she whispered. ‘Keep quiet, I’m not interested in seeing him tonight.’
The doorbell rang again, then there was a knock on the door.
‘Simone, are you there?’
Another knock.
‘Simone? I’m sorry I’m late, I couldn’t get away.’
Simone looked at me, mischievously. Unconsciously, my hand had rested on her bottom in an attempt to steady her as she sat on my lap. I left it there. She moved her face closer to mine and I felt the tip of her tongue lick my chin then move upwards over my lips and finish on the tip of my nose, causing my spine to tingle. My cock was now uncomfortably erect.
‘Am I naughty?’ she whispered.
I’m cautious by nature but I felt the signals so far merited a response. Only a fool would miss an opportunity like this.
‘Very,’ I replied.
She ran her hands over the thick body armour protecting my chest and shoulders.
‘I like the feel of this,’ she whispered. She ran her hands over my arms which were covered by the thin material of a short sleeve shirt. ‘Mmmm, strong arm of the law…’
I could still hear the knocking in the background, the enquiring but disappointed voice. She kissed me and I returned the kiss, reaching up and cupping one of her breasts. The caller at the door had finally given up.
She whispered in my ear.
‘Not answering the door, worrying my daughter, I am a very, very naughty girl aren’t I?’
‘You are,’ I said.
‘And what do police sergeants do with very, very, naughty girls?’
‘We do very naughty things to them,’ I said, playing along. ‘Naughty girls need to be punished.’
She put her hand on my belt and tugged at my handcuffs.
‘Do they need to be restrained?’ she said.
‘Oh yes, we always restrain them, we’re always in control, and you’ve been such a bad girl that I’ve no other option but to punish you. Stand up and turn around.’
She smiled.
‘Of course officer anything you say. I’m in the hands of the law now.’
I stood up behind her. I put my hands around her waist, and pulled her towards me, pressing her bottom into my hips. She arched her head back into my shoulder, exposing her throat which I gently gripped. I explored the contours of her neck and the shape of her ear with my lips and tongue, enjoying her scent and the arousing sounds of her short, soft gasps. I ran my hands over her belly and her breasts, enjoying the textures of her smooth skin and the fine silk. I felt the thin but soft leather of the thong covering her pussy and as I reached around to caress her bottom I could feel the soft leather ties at the side of her thighs and the smoothness of her boots on my legs. She was a sensual feast. I whispered in her ear:
‘Put your hands behind your back, palms facing outwards, thumbs together.’
She complied. I handcuffed her.
It was a warm early September evening and two large glass doors which led out onto a large rooftop patio had been opened. I led her through the doors and out onto the patio where the noise of the traffic could be heard, murmuring below us. Simone hadn’t spoken. Her eyes were half closed and her lips parted.

The view from the rooftop was fantastic. The city lights added a glow to the skyline. I led Simone over to the balcony railing and told her to bend over. She did as she was told. She hadn’t uttered a word but was breathing heavily. I took several paces back so that I could take in the view.
Simone’s legs, encased in elegant, leather boots, were slightly splayed. The cheeks of her bottom were now half revealed, as her silk robe had ridden up when she’d bent over. Her breasts rested on the smooth, tubular, balcony railing. I unzipped my trousers. My cock was now so hard I had difficulty taking it out. But once freed of its discomfort, into the wispy breath of the night air, it stood out, lustfully rigid, tingling and pulsing with desire. I moved up behind Simone, eased the leather thong to one side and plunged into her. She gasped and arched her back. I held the sides of her hips as I began to fuck her and then moved my hands around her body enjoying the feel of her smooth skin, the texture of her boots, the soft leather ties of the thong and the delicacy of her fine, silk robe. She was gasping and moaning. Her head had dropped and was lolling over the balcony. I stopped for a moment, held deep inside her, and unfastened a baton from my belt. Gripping her hip with one hand, I gave a sharp flick to the baton which made a cracking sound as it fully extended. The unexpected noise made her jump and I felt her contract around my cock.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, unable to turn around.
‘I ask the questions, I do the fucking, I’m in control. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ she said, with a sharp intake of breath and she pushed back, impaling herself more deeply. I felt the weight of her smooth bottom as it pressed firmly against the rough material of my uniform. I slipped the end of the baton under her chin and slid the cold metal rod toward my other hand. Then, holding onto each end, I gently raised her chin. Her back was arched, head raised in the air, hands cuffed behind her back. She was gorgeously helpless. I began to fuck her again, moving slowly, rhythmically. Each time I withdrew and squeezed back into her, her bottom pressed back eagerly to meet me. I could feel the soft leather thong, lubricated by her juices, massaging my cock as I moved backwards and forwards
I couldn’t maintain the controlled rhythm, I was too excited. I slid the baton from under her chin and threw it on the ground. I gripped her hips and began thrusting and as my excitement mounted I gripped Simone’s upper arms and pulled her back toward me. She arched her back further and her loud exclamations that accompanied each thrust of my hips, faded into the night air.
As I reached the verge of ejaculation, I stopped. It was an almost impossible task but my desire to prolong this blissful encounter was stronger. I withdrew, pulled her upright and turned her around.
Simone’s mouth was open, she was panting. I bent down, put my arms around her thighs and lifted her over my shoulder. I caressed her bottom and wriggled my fingers in her lush pussy as I carried her through to the lounge. I lay her gently on the sofa and removed the handcuffs. Simone reached out for my cock and began to lick and kiss it. I pulled back, I didn’t want that, I just urgently wanted to fuck her and feel those long, elegant, leather adorned legs wrapped around me.
I stood her up, parted her robe and pulled at the thin leather ties at the sides of her hips. The thong fell to the ground. A small but thick quiff of soft pubic hair lay neatly on top of the creamy flesh between her legs. I buried my nose in her, my tongue glided over her soft belly. I needed to taste her, but was desperate to be inside her again. I stood up, gathered her up in my arms, carried her across to a dining table and lay her on top of it. Perfect. The table was cock height. I undid my trousers, yanked them down and squeezed into Simone who had raised and opened her legs to accommodate me. As I pumped back and forth I felt Simone’s legs wrapping around my back, the sharp heels, the soft leather. I pumped harder, more urgently. Simone reached up and gripped each side of my body armour, at the shoulders, pulling herself towards me. We kissed, hungrily, lustfully. I was bent over the table, supported by my hands. Simone was now wrapped so tightly around me that I had to thrust forcefully to raise my cock from her pussy, the sensation of each exquisite thrust intensified by the look of pleasure on her face. I gave way, I couldn’t hold back. For a few seconds I was utterly lost in pleasure.
Simone lay back, panting.
‘Fuck, that was good,’ she said.
I just nodded, too drained to talk.

Since that encounter she’s been a daily intrusion in my thoughts. I had hoped that the experience would be the start of a rewarding relationship but Simone never responded when I tried to contact her. Eventually, I got the message. I had naively thought that Simone’s submissive enjoyment was an indication of her need to please and a sign of her attraction to me. Instead I had simply been a playful fantasy, one of the no doubt many encounters that she engineers entirely for her own pleasure. In an odd way, I feel rather used.