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Good Cop, Bad Little Girl by Rose St. Andrews – Sample

Chapter One

Good Cop, Bad Little Girl by Rose St. AndrewsNaked, and with her legs spread ever so slightly, Ellen lay over the arm of her couch. The position allowed her to rub against the rough fabric better, and this way her legs didn’t touch the floor, which made the sensation all the more thrilling as she loved the feeling of helplessness.

Ellen was a mass of contradictions. She was a police officer, a detective specializing in robbery and homicide, and she was tough and determined, a thorough and careful investigator. Yet, she was barely five feet, petite, and had almost no real figure. Her daily workouts kept her fit, and she had practically no body fat and a very small chest.

She didn’t care about what she looked like, though, as her career was what mattered to her. That and her fetish.

Ellen had been obsessed with spankings since—well, for as long as she could remember. She recalled watching an episode of I Love Lucy when she was growing up where Ricky spanked Lucy. After that, she was hooked—on both the show and spanking. She wasn’t disappointed in the former; several other episodes had spankings. But the latter was a different matter. When she was a teenager, no matter how much she teased her boyfriends, she got nothing. Now, as not only an adult but a police officer, she tried to ignore her craving. After all, how would it look to the department if they found out?

That was why she was now across the couch, her right hand smacking down on her upturned ass as she tried to give herself a spanking. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it was a turn on, and as she rubbed her clit against the couch arm, the dual actions got her hot. Most days, she could at least get close to cumming.

The phone rang. Guess this won’t be one of those days.

Getting up, she grabbed her cell. “LT?”

“You said that like you weren’t expecting it to be me, Ellen. What’s up with that?” he chuckled.

“Eh, you never know, lieutenant. It could have been one of the others guys in the squad.”

“True. Anyway, sorry to call you on your day off, but we need you here ASAP. Got a new case that looks like it’s tied in with that string of non-burglaries you’ve been investigating.”

Ellen snapped to attention. “Oh, yes, sir! I’ll be right in.”

She sprinted to her bedroom and tried to dress. It wasn’t easy; her place looked more like a locker room or the apartment from that movie her dad always loved: The Odd Couple. Her dad was a real Oscar Madison type, and she definitely took after him. She eventually did find her clothes and dress, loving the feel of her slacks against her aching ass, but not because of her poor attempt at a self-spanking; instead, her new tattoo was the catalyst for the sting she felt. The first one had been a pair of stars—one on each cheek—which she found very symbolic. The new one was the outline of two butterflies, likewise one on each cheek. She’d gotten the idea when she heard that Cher had the same on her behind. So now, over time, she could add colors to each, and thus get herself some delicious pain.

Yes, it’s a poor substitute. But what other choice do I have?

Once in the precinct, she got the full skinny from Lt. Adams, and headed out to the address in question. Sitting in her car, she had to wonder if this ‘victim’ would be like all the rest. Over the last two months, she’d investigated a series of break-ins and arson where the victims claimed nothing had been stolen and didn’t want the case pursued. They even refused to file claims with their insurance companies over the damage caused by the fires. Yet, Ellen had been unable to find a link between the victims. They appeared to have nothing in common. They lived all over the five boroughs of New York, had different professions, different backgrounds, and totally different social, political and religious affiliations.

She finally reached the stately home of William and Abigail Greenwood, and one look told her where these people stood: at the top. The house screamed money and power. A lovely brownstone with a yard, which meant the place must have cost a mint. Ellen was ushered inside by an actual butler and met the couple in William’s study. In an instant, she knew the same perp was responsible for their crime.

The scene was exactly the same: a corner of the room had been burned and charred, yet it had clearly been a very controlled fire. Whoever set it was careful to not stoke up a huge blaze. As the fire inspector had told her, they weren’t trying to burn the house down. Rather, they were out to destroy some-thing, the fire inspector was sure of that, given how small and intense the flames had been. The question was: what? The answer had eluded Ellen, as no one was willing to admit a crime had even been committed.

Introductions followed, the butler was dismissed by Mr. Greenwood, and then Ellen examined the scene.

“So, Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood, what can you tell me about the incident?”

“We were out clubbing last night when we got a call from the fire department,” William said. “A neighbor had seen flames through an open window and called them. They arrived, were able to quickly put out the fire, and then called us.”

“Your servant wasn’t at home?”

Abigail shook her head. “We have a cook and a butler, but both had last night off, and neither lives here.”

“I see. And the fire department told you the fire was small and contained, yet also clearly set deliberately, correct?”

The two looked shocked, looked at each other, and then her.

“Um, how did you know that?” William said.

“I have six other cases just like it. So, here’s the big question: Anything missing? I mean, I know things were lost in the fire, but can you tell me what items?”

“Abby, dear, show her the list.”

“I wrote everything out,” she said with a nod, holding it out to Ellen. “We found bits and pieces scattered about the room. After all, not only were they burned, they were also drenched by the firemen.”

“Fire fighters, Abby, dear,” William corrected her.

“Thank you,” Ellen replied, taking the list and reading it. “Hmmm… riding crop, ping pong paddle, leather strap, two rattan canes, and two books. Books?”

Abigail nodded. “First editions of Tarzan of the Apes and The Count of Monte Cristo, both signed by their authors and quite valuable.”

“Ah, now I see. Um, were the others at all valuable?”

“Monetarily—no,” William said. “But they were very special to us.”

“Um… okay.”

He turned to Abigail. “Perhaps we should tell her.”

“Ohhh, I don’t know, Bill. You think she’ll understand?”

“Abby, she’s a police officer; I’m sure she’ll be discreet. Detective Bookman, my wife and I have a spanking fetish. The objects in question were part of that, which is why they were locked away with our other valuables in this room.”

Ellen’s jaw dropped. “I-I… um, I see. Um… wow. I mean, thank you for sharing something so personal, and yes, I will be very… tactful in my report,” she said, tightening and relaxing her butt muscles. “So, do you think the fire was set by someone who didn’t approve of your… fetish and the books were just… collateral damage?”

Abigail twirled her strawberry-blonde hair about her long fingers. “Hmmm, no, I don’t see that as being possible. Our servants have been with us for years. They’re a very nice couple and they share our fetish. It’s part of the reason we hired them.”

William nodded. “True, and the only other person who knows—and comes around regularly—is Mistress Cassandra, and she is the very soul of discretion.”

Ellen jotted down some quick notes. “I see. Do you have an address or phone number for her? I’d like to ask her some questions, and don’t worry, I’ll be… diplomatic.”

“I’ll get you her info,” Abigail said. “She works with Master Robert; so he may answer the phone when you call. Just explain the situation and he’ll speak to you. Oh, in fact, I’ll call them before you do; give them a heads-up that you’ll be contacting them.”

“Good idea, Abby. Some kinky people are reluctant to speak to the police, Detective. I’m sure you can understand why.”

“Oh, of course, and I appreciate you being open and willing to discuss something so clearly personal to you.”

They talked a bit longer, Ellen getting more details concerning the crime, which was very helpful and excited her. She so loved working a case, but she also got excited in another way. The more she heard about their fetish, the faster her breathing got.

Later, back at the precinct, her small hand trembled as she held a tiny slip of paper. It was his private number. She licked her lips and dialed, then promptly hung up before the first ring. Her blood was pounding in her ears. There was no way she’d be able to hear him.

Get ahold of yourself, girl! Shit, you’re a highly skilled police officer, not some giddy cheerleader. Now, focus, and call him!

She took a deep breath, ordered her body to sit still, and dialed.

“Good afternoon, this is Robert. How may I help you?” a golden voice said.

Ellen gagged. Her tongue choked off her voice, and her jaw just sort of wagged for a moment.

“Hello, are you all right?” he said. “I hear someone, but you seem in distress. Do you need a doctor?”

“Yes!” she squealed, then cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m sorry… frog in my throat.”

Once more capable of human speech, she explained the situation and was invited to his office.

Later, Ellen chewed her lip as she pulled up to the address.

What the hell sort of place is this going to be?

She got her answer, and her jaw dropped. The sign outside his gleaming white office said: “Dr. Robert Fox, M.D., CVT”. It took a moment, but she was able to figure out what his alphabet soup designation meant; he was a cardiovascular thoracic surgeon!

Shit, this guy is a-a-a master? I never would have seen that coming, never in a million years. So, let’s see what this guy is like.

She was ushered into his large and plush corner office—awards and degrees filled the walls—and she squirmed at the sight of him. Close to six and a half feet tall, he had a muscular body, piercing blue eyes, and a smile that could melt steel.

“Detective Bookman, a pleasure. Please, be seated. Can I offer you something?” he said, gesturing at an elegant leather chair set before his imposing oak desk.

“I… um, I’m fine, and I appreciate your willingness to talk to me.”

“Bill and Abby are friends. Anything I can do to help them, I’m more than willing to do.”

“Thank you, Doc… Mas… um, what do I call you?”

He chuckled. “My friends call me Bob. Please, feel free.”

“Then please call me Ellen. I’ve left messages for Mist… um, Cassandra, but she hasn’t called me back. What is your relationship with her: friend, co-worker… um, co… dominant?”

“Oh, you are quite the newbie, aren’t you?” Bob said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms back behind his head. “We’re friends, and we occasionally do sessions together. It depends on the person or couple. In the case of Abby and Bill, as Bill is what we call ‘the bottom’, he prefers Cassandra.”

Snap! Ellen broke the tip of her pencil on her pad. “Wait, Mr. Greenwood is the-the… submissive in their relationship?”

“Not what you expected, eh?” Bob said with a grin.

“No, not at all.”

Images of Bill and Abby flashed in her mind. Both had tall, solid builds; Abby had legs that seemed to go on forever and muscular thighs that looked as if they could crush a walnut. Bill was president and owner of his own software company. When she’d talked to them, he was the one who had appeared to be in control.

“It’s quite common, Ellen, for people like Bill, high pressure executives to crave a little… release. The act of giving up control, of allowing someone else to call the shots can be not only exhilarating but also a real stress reducer.”

“Amazing, I never would have thought that. So, okay, as Cassandra is unavailable, let me ask you—why break in to just destroy things connected with the victim’s fetish?”

“Well, are you sure that’s the case with all of the break-ins? Abby didn’t give me any details on the other victims.”

Ellen nodded. “I reviewed the files of the fire marshal, and all of them mentioned finding remnants of canes, straps, and so on in the fire.”

Bob sat forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “Huh, that is odd. I mean, I’d conclude that the thief not only knows the people, but knows of their fetish, and is using that for some reason.”

“Maybe the perp doesn’t approve of their fetish.”

“I don’t know; that seems like an awful stretch. Why go to so much trouble, take such a risk, just to manifest their disproval in such a… fiery manner?”

Ellen chewed her pencil. “Huh, good point. Mrs. Greenwood made the same observation; I just wanted a second opinion on the matter. Would you mind looking over this list, see if you recognize any names?”

Bob took the sheet of paper from her outstretched hand and studied it. “Hmmm, um, Xavier and Pam, I know them. Nice couple, Pam is a hardcore sub who… oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say anything else without their permission. After all, this is a very private matter. Um, and Maggie, I’ve seen her at several clubs.”

“Also submissive?”

“Yes, she is. Did you suspect that?”

She nodded. “Yes, but it’s nice to have confirmation. Well, this gives me another angle to consider. Thank you for your time, Doc-Bob, and when you speak to Cassandra, please tell her that I would like to talk to her.”

He rose as she did and smiled at her. “Of course. Oh, and if there’s any-thing else I can do for you, Ellen, please feel free to contact me.”

She swallowed hard and squirmed, her thighs tingling. “I… um, thanks.”

On the drive back to the precinct, Ellen blasted the A/C right at her, trying to cool off her blushing face. On the plus side, she felt better—on multiple fronts. She had an avenue of investigation to pursue on the case, and she had an avenue of exploration to consider on her interest.

No sooner was she back at her desk then she got a call from forensics.

“Yes, Hal, what’s the word?” she said.

“Ellen, I went over the trace evidence from the last incident, and I’m confused by something. The fire department’s report and the physical remnants I was sent agree completely, except for one item; this book The Count of Monte Cristo.”

“Oh, what’s wrong with it?”

“Well, didn’t you say it was a first edition? The fire report just said ‘copy of book’, and there’s an important distinction.”

“Yeah, that’s what the victims told me. So, what’s the problem?”

“The copy I was sent is in English. Granted, it’s badly charred, but there are enough fragments for me to see that. Here’s the thing, that book was written by Alexandre Dumas, who was French. For this to be a first edition, it should be in French.”

A puzzle piece slid into place in Ellen’s mind. That was the answer. “Thanks, Hal, you just broke the case.”

“I did? Well, then I guess you owe me a drink,” he said happily.

She grinned. “Yeah, okay, add it to my tab.”

“Uh-huh. You know that tab is getting pretty long there, girl. One of these days you really need to cash it out.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” she snickered, and hung up.

Her next call was to the Greenwoods with news of what she’d found. They were furious to learn that this hadn’t been a mere bit of arson but an actual theft. After that, she called all the other victims. While reluctant to talk to her at first, once she explained the situation, they were much more forthcoming with details on their lives.

Ellen spent the afternoon collating all the data, and then presented her findings to Lt. Adams.

“All of the victims have one thing in common: A club in Queens that caters to… exotic tastes, shall we say?” she said.

Adams grinned and nodded. “Bingo, I’d call that probably cause to investigate the place. Well done, Ellen. How in the world did you figure this one out?”

She licked her lips. “Oh, just doing like you taught me, LT, being a good cop.”

“Ellen, come on, aren’t you sucking up there just a bit much?”

“Hey, got to stay a brown noser in good standing, don’t I?” she chuckled.

Ellen led the investigation of the club, and a week later she had the criminal in custody, and all the stolen items were recovered. The perpetrator had been a bartender at the club who had used his position to eavesdrop on and chat up the victims in order to learn about those who had valuables that fit his profile. He then broke in to their homes, stole what he was after, and set fires to cover each theft. As the clients were reluctant to talk—given their fetish—the thefts went unreported.

A week later, she was back in Bob’s office.

He sat there smiling at her. “So, Ellen, I hear from my friends that congratulations are in order. What brings you back to see me?”

“I… um, wanted to… ask you about… something,” she said, chewing her lip.

“Yes, I had a feeling you might have a question for me. I’ll be more than happy to give you just exactly the answer you need.”

“What? You… how did you… know?”

Bob chuckled. “Ellen, I’ve been doing this for close to twenty years. I’m pretty good at reading people. So, would you like to do a session?”

“Y-yes please,” she squeaked.

“Certainly, and is there a particular scenario you would like to live out, or just a straight discipline session?”

“I… um, yes. I mean, yes, I have something in… mind.”

His smile spread from ear to ear, and the sparkle in his eyes made her knees tremble. “Splendid. Please, tell me all about it, and we’ll see about making it come true.”

Ellen’s mouth went dry and she had to clear her throat to speak. “Well, back when I was a kid, I… got in some juvie—uh, juvenile—trouble, and the police always gave me a pass on it, because of my dad. Well, there were times when I wished I was back in the 1950’s, back in the days before Miranda when cops could be a little… rough in their questioning practices and give me just exactly what I really deserved.”

“Huh, okay, I can work with that. Now, what about boundaries?”

“Boundaries? You mean you want to limit the scene to one location? I thought that was a given,” she said, very confused.

Bob chuckled and shook his head. “No, no, physical boundaries. Goodness, Ellen, you really are new at this. Do you want to stay completely clothed or is some degree of undress—even bare bottom—acceptable? What about implements? As this is your first time, I would suggest the hand only, unless you really want to try a paddle, strap, or something else?”

“Bare! You-you mean you’d see my… see me… I um… yes,” she choked out.

“Yes, what? Yes, you’re okay with bare?”

Ellen’s mind went blank. There was nothing in her except a single image: herself, buck naked, over Master Robert’s lap getting spanked until her ass glowed and she bawled like a baby. She could feel her body trembling and heating up, and she gave herself an internal slap. Girl, settle! Deep breaths, focus, think, and answer his damn questions, you nitwit.

“Yes, b-bare bottom is… good,” she managed to stammer softly. Oh, brilliant. You’re a regular Rhodes Scholar.

“And implements?”

“Um, I’d love-like, like it to just be your… hand,” she said, her focus shifting to those large strong yet supple hands of his.

He nodded. “Fine. Now, as this is your first session, I will insist on safe words. If things start to get a bit rough for you, just say ‘yellow’. I’ll then ease off. If for any reason you get too scared to go on, it hurts too much for you to take, you say ‘red’. The very second I hear that word, the session ends—no questions asked.”


“Absolutely, and don’t be embarrassed if you do use it. I’ve done sessions with some very strong women who broke and used it long before I expected. Everyone is different; each of us has our own limits.”

“Wow. Okay, I’ll remember that.”

“Splendid,” he said with a smile. “How does Saturday sound to you?”

“Um… nice,” she squeaked.

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