The Stake-Out
written by:
Naughty Miranda

The fourth time I came was the most intense yet. I couldn't believe I had another drop of cum in me; thought she'd drained my balls dry with the last long go round. But somehow my cock summoned up enough strength to paste one final thick spurt of white on her tongue, while the sensations rode through me like an express train on speed.

Jackie drizzled a little out through closed lips, watched as it plopped on the tip of my cock, then licked it back up with a soft laughing moan. Then she tucked my soft prick back inside my jeans, zipped me up and sat up in her seat.

"That's all folks."

So now you know why I picked her as my patner.

+++++++++++++++

You really had to laugh. I mean, seriously laugh. Anybody who puts that much effort into showing what a manly, manly man they are is going to be either gay... which is only if a problem if they've not realized it yet... or an impotent stalker. My money was on the latter, not because he'd actually stalked anyone (that I knew of... but this is a big city), but because the profile we'd built up around him didn't leave too much room for error.

And any wriggle room it did leave him would doubtless be plugged by some other sad dysfunction.

But we codenamed him Straight Guy because somebody told us that's what he called himself in the chat rooms where he occasionally hung, and the other sites where these armchair survivalists go to stroke one another's arsenals.

A file somewhere will remind me where we first picked up on him, but he's been under surveillance since late last fall, and the great thing is, he's stupid enough that he's done most of the hard work for us. A few little lures on a few favorite websites, a couple of trackers on his IP address, and by the end of first that weekend, we knew everything about him. Including the fact that he's reading this report, and sneering it off because he doesn't think it's possible.

Or, even better, he doesn't realize it's him.

That's one of the things I loved about this job. We hide in plain sight, as the old cliche goes. It's not quite entrapment, because our target has to make the first move. And because we have sufficient high tech firepower to make it look like he did, if he doesn't bite soon enough. Law enforcement comes to us when they need someone smeared who they think is too smart to smear themselves; government comes to us when there's a loose cannon at large. Do you remember... no, I'd better not. You might have been one of the people voted for her.

Someone did, after all.

Straight Guy. The bait was simple. Like I said, we knew the websites he liked to frequent, we knew the times he liked to visit them. And we knew the kind of stuff he looked at. Then we created one that he could not avoid being drawn to, made sure all of the triggers were sitting on show... words, ideas, situations, little things that we knew would stick in his throat... and he did the rest. It's amazing how willingly people will click on buttons and links and pictures on a website, especially if it's one they've been using for a while.

Reel him in slowly.

We bugged his phone, then called him up.

The first few calls would look like your standard junk; the phone rings three times and then it hangs up. I often wonder, in these days of Caller ID, who could ever be so stupid as to answer a call from "Unknown Name Unknown Number." It's like they want to be scammed, or harassed or abused. "Private Caller" is just as bad. That's why we use them both. Another test of the target's smarts. I'll leave you to figure out that equation.

Friday night is stake out night. For me, anyway. Lower ranks get the weekday shifts, when nothing much happens and the hardest part is actually staying awake. Weekends are when the action goes down, even if that largely consisted of taking photos through his shades, and watching him masturbate to some online porn stories.

Jackie laughed. "Well, at least it proves he can read."

"So long as the words aren't too long," I replied, then laughed myself as she conjured a sentence of almost unrepeatable filth from words of four syllables or more. I raised an eyebrow. "Later, maybe," but she just giggled. "I love it when you play hard to get." Her hand was on my lap. "Or maybe just hard."

Perks of the job. You spend too long parked in the same place, and some watchful neighbor will be calling the cops. Suspicious Activity, which is so poorly named. Suspicious Inactivity would be a lot more appropriate.

So, we give the cops something to look at when they finally come to check us out. They get officious, we flash our badges, they get the picture. And when they're on stake out duties themselves, a few of them return the favor. We all love a girl (or a guy) in uniform. Even Straight Guy. We've got photos of him looking at enough of them.

Jackie was stroking my cock through my denims, her head on my shoulder as we both watched the house. I tried to tell her the first time, making out with your partner is not in the job description. But Jackie knew handjobs like the back of her hand and anyway, you try to tell a woman anything when her tongue's coiled round your knob end.

She was still being circumspect at the moment, her fingers just massaging enough to get me good and hard, but nothing so dramatic that I needed more than the feel of her kneading. I still didn't talk to her, though. I knew from experience that she wouldn't be responding; she got a look in her eyes at moments like this, somewhere between rapt concentration and zen-like imperturbability. Like the only thing she had on her mind was the thing that she had in her hand.

But she didn't miss a thing outside, and when the curtain in the house twitched a little, her free hand was on the camera so fast I didn't see it move. She fired off a round of photographs that I knew from past ops would be as clear as day, and all the while her other hand kept on stroking my cock.

I looked at the clock on the dash. A little before the hour. He'd left one screen and was now staring at another. The cam on his computer sent the stream straight to my iPad, and I tilted the screen so that Jackie could see it. "It" being everything from his open pants to his fish-gaping mouth.

"Fuck. I've heard of guys who were stuck at the end of the queue when the cock fairy was handing out gifts... but he must have been in another store entirely."

"And where was I?" I said through the laughter that her words had drawn up from the pit of my stomach. She paused her movements for a moment, then stretched thumb and pinkie the length of my cock. "Halfway back," she snorted cheerfully, then fell silent again. I followed suit.

Ten minutes had passed, although Straight Guy had finished after that many seconds. He still sat at the computer, though, eyes closed as who knows what thoughts dragged themselves wearily around his sorry excuse for a brain. Jackie began to unbutton my fly. "What do you say I grab something to eat?"

I wasn't thinking. "We could go get a sandwich." There was a deli a few blocks away, and no rules against either of us leaving the car. But Jackie just sighed. "I brought salami," and her head sank down slowly.

Jackie doesn't suck cock. She worships it. She bathes it, anoints it, and ultimately devours it. But she doesn't suck. We've all met the women who take their slang too literally; the ones who think "blowjob" means blowing on your prick. The ones who think "sucking" means a hickey on your helmet.

Jackie went the other way entirely. For her, a cock is something to drown in, or at least lose her body, her mind and her soul in. I couldn't even tell you what she is doing down there. Not action by action, moment by moment. All I do know is that once she starts, I don't ever want her to stop.

The smooth roughness of her tongue, licking lazily up my shaft. The soft firmless of her lips as they caress my aching balls. The gentle nip of her teeth as she angles my cock like an ear of corn and chews from end to end. I'm back against the driver's seat and she's crouched there beside me, hair hanging low to sweep across my lap, her long back disappearing into the darkness around us. Every fiber of my being is concentrated on my cock. On what she's doing to my cock.

I don't want to cum, I don't want to fuck, I don't want to do anything but lie back in my seat and let her mouth work its magic on me. And when I do finally cum, it's because she has decided that it's time to move onto the next phase of the game. The one where she takes the first blast in her mouth, then deliberately dribbles it out again, back on to my dick where the next burst is flowing, then she scoops up it back up on the tip of her tongue, holds and releases, over and over, till she's drunk every drop at least five or six times. Believe me, it's amazing to watch, which is why she's holding a mirror a few inches from her face, angled so I don't miss a moment of the action.

Which, of course, also means that I'll be hard again before I've even gone soft, so hard that it feels almost alien, a solid bone exploding out of my loins, with every nerve end demanding her most personal attention. And so she starts over. Her record with me is four times in a night. Her last partner told me that he almost made seven.

Straight Guy's lights were out now, and we sat for a while, waiting to see if there'd be any other movement. There wasn't, but Jackie made up for that, her head rising and falling now, and my shaft lit up by so many sensations that even when she stopped her movements; just hanging, holding me motionless between her full bright lipsticked lips, I could still feel her face fucking me.

She moaned low in her throat, coaxing and demanding, and that was the end for me. My hands in her hair gripped and twisted as I bucked, and my whole body spasmed as I held her down and shot my load. And she gurgled and giggled and dribbled my cum, simply so she could suck it back up, and I moaned too because there's not one woman in my entire world who can make me feel this good.

Because I know it's making her feel just as good. The little noises she makes in her throat, the moans and sighs that ... if I didn't know better, I'd say it was her who was getting her rocks off, because she sounds like she's in absolute ecstasy. Which makes me even harder. I love a girl who enjoys her hobbies.

I waited till Jackie finally surfaced, her pretty pixie vixen face glowing with color and some stray splashes of cum, then I keyed the engine into life.

"What do you think, boss?" asked Jackie as we slowly passed the house. "Have we anything on him at all that we can use?"

I thought for a moment. "Nothing new. Well, apart from the photos and the video stream. But really, it doesn't matter. We've already got the good stuff, I think, and anything else is just the cherry on top."

I pointed the car in the direction of the local office that served as our headquarters while this operation was on, but her hand on the wheel made me slow. Almost as though she'd been reading my mind (which is something I already suspected she could do), she looked me in the eye.

"Four in an evening is your best, yeah?" she said.

I nodded.

"And Henderson told you, what, six and half?"

"Thereabouts."

"Fine. Next time you see him, would you give him a message?"

I nodded again, but she didn't see it. Her mouth was already hot on my cock. She bobbed for a moment, till my semi became full, then raised her head a little. I heard my cock plop out of her mouth, and it sounded like a groan of disappointment. Followed by a thrill that almost made me cum on the spot.

"Tell him," she said slowly, "that tonight I got up to eight. Assuming, of course, you think you make it?"


I bit down on my lip. I really didn't know. But fuck, I was willing to try.