New: To Serve and Protect

This one is paced like a novel, with more concentration on plot and character development than "good parts." Hope you enjoy it.

BOOK I


"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 1
by c.w. cobblestone



The steel blade poked Ken's Adam's apple. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to swallow.

"Your money, mo-therfucker." The gruff voice wasn't joking.

With shaky fingers, Ken fished his billfold from his pocket and handed it over. The kni-fe lifted from his neck. The victim kept his eyes closed.

There was a chortle. "Damn, girl, you don't belong with this little faggot. You're mine now. You hear me, bitch? I got your fine little ass."

"Fuck you," Rachel spat.

Ken heard a feminine grunt and pulled his eyes open. Rachel was trying to ward off the brute but was unable to stop him from dragging her to the ground while he held the kni-fe against her torso.

She glowered at her husband as the man pawed her tits. Ken reclosed his eyes. He didn't want to see.

A booming voice cut through the black: "Drop it, asshole."

When his vision came into focus, Ken saw the robber on his knees with his hands in the air. He locked eyes with Rachel for a nanosecond before they both turned to the huge cop who leveled a pis-tol at the thug.

With a deftness that belied his size, the officer stepped forward, kicked the kni-fe several yards down the alley, yanked the punk to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back.

As the cop's partner retrieved the kni-fe, the arresting officer turned to the couple. "You guys okay?"

Ken licked his lips. "Er ..."

"No, we're not okay." Rachel bared her teeth. "This so-nofabitch tried to ra-pe me."

The officer scowled as his partner led the suspect down the alley. "I'll call an ambulance."

"No, that's not necessary. I'm fine now, thank you."

"Are you sure, ma'am?"

"Yeah, he didn't do anything except grab at me a little. You showed up before he could do anything. Thank you so much."

The cop nodded. "You're welcome. I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm okay, too," Ken added.

"Um, that's good news, sir." The man whose nameplate said Parks knitted his brow. "What are you two doing here anyway? This is a pretty bad neighborhood."

Rachel grimaced toward her husband. "It was his idea."

Ken blinked twice. "I wanted her to see how others don't have it as good as we do. She grew up privileged. So, we supported a local restaurant in the neighborhood, away from downtown, and then went for a walk."

"I told you it was a stupid idea." Rachel huffed.

Officer Parks nodded. "She's right. You really shouldn't go walking around neighborhoods like this. You stand out, and you're just asking for trouble."

"What do you mean we stand out?" Ken squared his shoulders. "That sounds kind of racist."

The officer chuckled. "Whatever, sir. Listen, I've got to go talk to my partner for a second. You two don't go anywhere, okay?"

Parks didn't wait for an answer before turning and ambling toward his scout car down the block, where his partner had secured the suspect in the backseat.

Rachel slapped her husband's arm. "Jeezus Chryst, do you have to start with that bullsh-it now?"

"What?" Ken held out his hands. "You heard him. That was an obvious racist comment. He thinks because we're white, we must think the same way he does. Fucking white supremacist Nazi. He's a cop. All cops are the same."

"Are you kidding me?" Rachel's eyes burned. "That man just saved our life. I swear to Gawd, you're getting ridiculous with this sh-it. Live in the real world, Ken."

Ken sighed. "You sound just like your fa-ther, you know that? You've changed, Rach."

"We're not at State anymore, Ken. You live in Fantasyland. I told you — you can't fix the world by pretending you're poor, and eating in restaurants in the middle of sh-itty neighborhoods where people try to fucking ra-pe you. I almost got ra-ped, Ken! Don't you even care about that?"

"Of course, I do. Look, I'm sorry." Ken bowed his head. "You're right, okay? This was a dumb idea. I'm sorry."

Rachel stared down at her 5'7 husband. "Why didn't you do something?"

"What could I do? He had a kni-fe."

"I don't know. Something. Try."

Ken's mouth went dry. "I ... I ..."

"Oh, whatever, Ken." Rachel turned away and saw Officer Parks approaching with pursed lips.

"You're lucky we saw him pull you into that alley," he said. "There's been a series of robberies in the area, and I think this is our suspect. It's the same MO, using a kni-fe, and he matches the description, with that scar on his chin. We're thinking he may also be responsible for some recent sexual assaults, especially since that he tried that with you. We'll know after we run a DNA test."

Tears came to Rachel's eyes. "OMG. I ... I ..."

She fell into the copper's arms sobbing. He hugged her back.

"It's okay, ma'am. We got him. He can't hurt you."

Ken's ears burned as his wife lay her head against the much-taller police officer's chest. The cop patted her shoulder, repeating, "it's okay, it's okay, shh, he can't hurt you, it's okay. Shh. Shh."

Rachel finally pulled away and looked up at her savior. "I'm so sorry. I'm not usually like this. It's just ... it just hit me how ... how close ..."

"It's okay, I understand ... um, Miss ... Mrs. ...?"

"Coolidge. Rachel Coolidge." She smiled at the officer — a little too warmly, Ken thought.

"Trent Parks." He took her hand with a twinkle in his eye.

Ken held out his palm. "Ken Coolidge. Her husband."

Officer Parks let go of Rachel's hand and gave Ken's a quick squeeze. "We're going to need both of you to come down to the station, alright?" He stared into Rachel's eyes. "Are you sure you're okay? I can call an ambulance for you."

"I'm fine," she said, returning the dreamy gaze. "We'll follow you to the station."

During the drive, Rachel reamed Ken a new one. With adrenaline from the harrowing ordeal still surging through her, she released a stream of frustration toward her husband that she'd been holding back for months.

"I can't believe how you acted back there. Lecturing that cop. What the fuck? All he said was that we stand out in that neighborhood. We do. That's not racist. You're getting ridiculous with that bullsh-it."

"Ridiculous? That was obvious racism, Rachel. How can you not see that? You HAVE changed. You're seriously turning into your dad."

"Gawd DAMN it, Ken! Yes, I've fucking changed. It's called becoming an adult. You need to grow the fuck up. You're 26 years old and you still refuse to find a damn job. You think you aunt's money's gonna last forever? How far do you think $700,000 goes, Ken? You've already blown through damn near half of it. I go to work every day and you sit at home playing video games ... and lord knows what else."

"I ... I ..."

"Oh, I don't wanna hear it, Ken. Grow the fuck up! And, yes, maybe I am starting to become more like my dad. At least he wasn't a candy-ass whiner."

"Ugh. Could you please stop calling me that?"

Rachel scoffed. "Well ... you are. My dad was 100% right."

"Your dad never shut up about my major. Neither one of you did. 'It's a useless, candy-ass degree.' I got so tired of hearing that sh-it. There's nothing 'candy-ass' about majoring in Feminist Studies. But you wouldn't let it go, would you? You still don't. Stop calling me a candy-ass, okay? Stop being your fa-ther, Rach. Seriously."

Rachel gripped the steering wheel. "Look, Ken, maybe now isn't the best time to bring this up ... or maybe it's the best time."

"Bring what up?"

"I've been wanting to tell you for a while now ..."

Ken threw up his hands. "What? Tell me what?"

"I ... I ... I know what you do with my panties."

Ken's ears got hot. "I ... wha ...?"

"You stretch them out. You think I don't notice? Don't even try to lie, Ken. I found my red ones in your desk drawer."

"I ... Rach ... I ..."

"Look, if you're gonna do that sh-it, can you at least get your own and not stretch mine out?" Rachel nosed the Honda into the 38th Precinct parking lot. Before Ken could say another word, she exited the car. He followed her into the facility.

After a brief wait, they were both surprised to be greeted a chubby guy in a cheap suit.

"I'm Detective Janowitz. Please follow me."

Rachel looked around the squad room. "Is Officer Parks here?"

"Well, Ma'am, he's the arresting officer, but I'm the detective working the case," Janowitz said. "He's briefed me on the circumstances of the arrest, and if you don't mind, I have a few questions to ask."

It took about an hour for the detective to get through the procedure, and he left his card with the couple, telling them he'd be in contact. The entire time, Ken heard a ringing in his ears — the sound of shame from knowing his sissy secret had been exposed.

The Coolidges barely said a word to each other on the drive home. As soon as they entered the house, Rachel made a beeline for the shower. Ken holed up in the rec room with his laptop, composing a social media post recounting the attempted robbery and sexual assault. When Rachel was finished in the bathroom she hunkered down on the couch and got lost in her own computer.

Ken was checking his inbox when Rachel stormed into the rec room and fired the remote at him.

"What the fuck are you thinking, putting that sh-it on Facebook, you stupid, candy-ass so-nofabitch? Delete that sh-it now!"

"I ... honey, I'm sorry." He rubbed his head where the changer had bopped him. "I just wanted to share what happened. It's already got a ton of likes."

"I don't care how many goddamn likes it got. Delete it, Ken. Right now, goddamn it."

"Okay, okay," Ken bit his lip and spiked the post, although he did so with a heavy heart, since it had already gotten 14 likes and garnered five expressions of sympathy.

"I can't fucking believe you." Rachel turned and stomped toward the front door. "I'm leaving."

"Where you going?"

"I don't know. Out. I don't want to be here right now."

"Look, Rach, I'm sorry. I deleted it, okay?"

"Whatever, Ken." She snatched up her purse and slammed the door behind her.

Ken moped in the living room with his shoulders slumped. When he snapped out of it he noticed that Rachel's laptop was still open. He looked around the room to see if anyone was watching, even though he lived alone with his wife. The coast was clear, so he sat on the couch and began trolling through Rachel's online history.

Blo-od rushed to his head when he saw the Google search: "Trent Parks, police, Marysville."

His temples pounding, Ken sle-epwalked to his desk in the rec room. He opened the bottom drawer with his right hand while the left one fumbled with his fly.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 2
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken squirmed on the couch watching the door all night, bursting with questions but fearing the answers.

Where was Rachel? Was she leaving him? How long had she known about his crossdressing? Could she possibly see him as anything other than a wimp after he'd stood by and let that creep maul her?

Even before the attack, Rachel's disdain for her husband had been growing, and she'd taken to calling him a lazy "candy-ass" with a "Fantasyland" worldview — her late fa-ther's favorite put-downs. Was Rachel becoming a reactionary like the single Army colonel who'd raised her? Was her eye starting to wander? Why had she Googled that cop? After the assault, she'd cried on HIS shoulder — why hadn't she turned to Ken in her moment of need?

The diminutive trust-fund husband fidgeted in the darkness, his manhood circling the drain. He'd exposed himself as a coward and watched his wife make goo-goo eyes at the macho officer who'd saved her. She'd known about the crossdressing for some time. The thought that Rachel had discovered his kink made him queasy. Recalling how she'd flirted with the tall, square-jawed flatfoot churned his insides even worse.

Ken finally fell asle-ep feeling completely washed out.

Noon came and went the next day with still no sign of Rachel. Since it was a Saturday, Ken knew she wouldn't be going to work, and figured she'd probably rented a hotel room, like she'd done after previous arguments.

This time was different, though. This time, he knew that she knew who he really was. The thought terrified and depressed him.

Ken had other thoughts. Naughty thoughts. Sissy thoughts. He tried to push them aside. They kept coming.

With his blo-od running hot, he slithered to the rec room and opened his desk drawer. After wiggling out of his sweatpants, he stepped into Rachel's red panties — and then the front door slammed shut. In a panic, Ken tossed the underwear back in the drawer and scrambled to pull up his sweats before hurrying to the front room.

"Hi, honey," he said, breathing heavily with his cheeks and ears burning scarlet.

"What were you doing in there?" Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Were you wearing my panties just now?"

He hung his head. She scowled harder.

"Were you? Answer me."

Ken gulped. "I ... I ..."

"You were! You little ..."

"Rach. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry." Rachel sniffed. "You got that one right."

"Come on, hon. Don't be that way."

"Whatever, Ken, I'm exhausted. I don't want to talk right now." She breezed past him toward the bedroom, where she plopped onto the mattress without undressing.

While she slept, Ken whipped up a huge meal, working silently so he wouldn't disturb her. He wondered why she was so exhausted. Had she been up all night? Where? With whom?

More questions he didn't want answered.

By the time Rachel stirred, the table was set and late lunch was served. She sighed at the spread.

"Ken, we need to talk."

He grimaced. "What's wrong, honey? Aren't you hungry?"

"Not now. Sit down."

Ken wrung his hands. "What ...?"

"It's everything, Ken. You won't work. All you do is play video games. And ..."

"And what?"

"Your ... thing."

"Wearing ... your ... your panties?"

"Yes, Ken. I'm sorry, but it creeps me out."

"But ... why? Don't tell me you're transphobic now, too. Are you?"

"No, jeez, Ken, I'm not transphobic. It's just ..."

"Just what?"

"Well, the idea of my own husband being a crossdresser doesn't do it for me. You know I'm not transphobic — I was good friends with Darla in drama class, remember? I don't care what other people do in their bedroom. But you? You're my husband."

"And I love you."

"I love you, too, Ken. I really do. But things need to change."

Ken shrugged. "What? Tell me what and I'll change."

"First of all, you need to find a job. Seriously, I'm not playing this time. I don't care what kind of work you get — just do something."

"Um ... okay?"

"And..." Rachel crinkled her nose. "Look, Ken, you can dress up however you want when you're alone — but you need to get your own panties from now on, and stop stretching mine out. And don't expect me to do any of that stuff with you."

"But ... why? What's so terrible about it?"

"I didn't say it was terrible. It's just not for me. Sorry, but the idea of my husband prancing around in girl's clothes is a major turnoff. I don't care what others do, but I like men. Women don't turn me on, and neither do men in girls' clothes."

"I ... I'm sorry, Rachel."

"I'm sorry, too. Have you been doing this all along?"

"Um, ever since I was a kid. When I was little, Sandra used to dress me up in her clothes and, like, be mean to me and make fun of me."

Rachel cocked her head. "Your sister started you on this?"

"I guess so.."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Ken shrugged. "I dunno. Look how you're reacting now — if I'd have told you early on, how would you have taken it? You probably wouldn't have married me."

Rachel nodded. "Yeah, probably not. No offense, Ken, but that's not my thing at all. I love you, but I can't lie. It just ... well, it creeps me out, thinking about you running around behind my back wearing my panties. You never told me about any of this."

"I know, I'm sorry." Ken blinked. "It's okay, Rach. I won't ask you ... you know, to do anything."

"Okay. And you'll look for a job?"

"I promise. First thing Monday."

Rachel filled her plate. Ken smiled while she ate.

After dinner, she told her husband she was going outside to get some air. As he cleared the table, her voice drifted in from the open kitchen window.

"Hello, yes, could you tell me if Officer Parks is working tonight?" There was a pause. "He is? Great. Can I please leave him a message? Yes, thank you. Please ... yes, tell him to please call Rachel Coolidge at 429 820-3251. I was the victim in ... uh, the case on Darvin Street; the guy with the kni-fe. Okay? Great, thanks."

Ken's stomach felt squishy. Bile flooded his gills. He dashed to the bathroom and puked in the toilet.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 3
by c.w. cobblestone


When two uniformed police officers strolled into the Foxtrot Coffee House laughing, Ken wiped his hands on his apron and seethed.

The taller of the two cops stepped up to the counter. "A couple large coffees to go, please, one black, one double-double. And I guess I'll take one of those strawberry scones over there on the end."

"Throw in a bran muffin, too, would ya?" With a grin, the second officer patted his considerable belly. "I'm trying to eat healthy."

"Well, I've got news for you, Officer Zachary." Ken sneered at the cop's nameplate. "You won't be eating anything here. We don't serve your kind."

"I'm sorry — what?" The stout cop frowned.

"You heard me. You'll have to take your business elsewhere." Ken popped his lips. "Nazi cops aren't welcome here."

A thick accent boomed from the kitchen: "Oh! Nazi? Why you say? No!"

Ken flinched. He hadn't realized Pradeep the owner was within earshot.

The potbellied cop faced the boss. "Your employee here says you don't serve police officers."

"No, no, is no true. No true. Police love here. All time. Free coffee." Pradeep pointed at Ken. "You! Fire. I pay you to end of day. Go! Get out. You fire."

"I'm ... fired?" Ken stood on his tiptoes.

"Yes, fire. You work here three month ... all you do complain every time. You fire. Now get out."

Ken whipped off his apron and threw it in Pradeep's face. "You can't fire me — I fucking quit. Who wants to work for a place that supports white supremacist cops anyway?"

"I from India, you stupid-ass. No white suprema. Now — get out."

Ken folded his arms. "Make me get out."

The pudgy officer stepped forward. "Listen, sir, I suggest you leave now, unless you want me to write you a disorderly conduct ticket."

In a fit of rage, Ken shoved the cop — and got coldcocked. The officer squeezed the cuffs on the belligerent barista and wrenched him to his feet.

"Police bru-tality! Police bru-tality!" Ken bellowed as the officers led him out of the coffee shop. "I'm suing! Everybody saw it!"

The corpulent cop tossed Ken into the rear of the squad car and rode jump while his partner drove to the police station, ignoring the priso-ner's constant stream of profanity from the backseat. After being booked on charges of assaulting a police officer and disorderly conduct, Ken was allowed his one phone call from the precinct front desk.

Rachel picked up on the third ring. "Hey, babe. This is a nice surprise."

"Uh, hey."

"Who is this? Ken?"

"Yeah. Who did you think it was?"

"Um ... I don't know."

Ken frowned. "What came up on caller ID?"

Rachel cleared her throat. "Um ... Marysville Police Precinct 12. But it sounded like you, so ... uh ... I ... I wasn't sure who it was."

Ken thought that was strange but didn't have time to contemplate it. He cleared his throat. "Um ... honey ... listen ... um ..."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Well, you're gonna laugh."

"Ken ... what's going on?"

"I'm ... I'm in jail."

"You what?"

"Uh ..." Ken licked his lips. "A couple of fascist cops came into the shop and started insulting me, and I told them we didn't put up with hate speech. But then, Pradeep overheard us, and of course, the rightwing so-nofabitch takes the cops' side. So, not only do I get fired, but they lie on me and say I assaulted one of them."

"What the hell, Ken? You're in jail AND you lost your job? Are you fucking serious?"

"It's a bunch of bullsh-it, Rach. Pradeep's an asshole. And I didn't assault anyone. I was just trying to leave. This cop was blocking my way, and I tried to kind of push past him, and the fucking Nazi punches me in the face. I swear, as soon as I get out of here I'm getting a lawyer and suing their ass." Ken glanced at the wall clock. "Um ... I'm supposed to be arraigned at 2:30. I'll need you to come bail me out. Uh, okay?"

"What? How much?"

"I don't know yet; they decide that at the arraignment is what the guy told me."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Well, I'm at work right now, Ken. I can't deal with this sh-it. I get off at 5, and I'll come get you then."

"That's too late. They said the latest you can post bail is 4."

Rachel huffed. "Well, then, I guess you'll just have to spend the night there."

"Spend the night? Seriously?"

"Yes, Ken. I can't leave work until after 5. There's nothing else I can do; I'll come get you in the morning. Now, I told you we're really busy right now, and I can't talk. Okay? I've gotta go."

"Okay, Rachel." Ken shifted the phone in his hand. "I love you, Rach."

"Ugh, luvu2."

Click.

The last thing Ken heard before his wife hung up was a pained sigh.

Ken stood mute during his video arraignment. A not-guilty plea was entered on his behalf and bond was set at $20,000. He was escorted back to the precinct lockup to await transport to the county jail the following morning. The forlorn inmate spent the next few hours on the floor of a cramped cellblock that held more than a dozen men. Initially, Ken had sat on one of the benches, but a giant baldheaded dude with face tattoos shoved him off and copped his spot. Ken, who was literally half the guy's size, wisely said nothing and hunched on the floor with his head down.

Just after the clock struck 5pm, the door rattled and the priso-ners all looked up. The guard pointed at Ken. "You. Coolidge. Let's go."

Ken jumped to his feet and scurried toward the cell door, searching the guard's eyes. "Um, I made bail? It's after 4, though."

"Just follow me."

Ken tailed the turnkey through the hallway, rounding a corner and coming face-to-face with the familiar, hulking figure of Officer Trent Parks.

The cop nodded once. "Hey."

"What ... what's going on?" Ken glanced around the room.

"Your wife called me."

"Rachel? What do you mean she called you?"

"She asked me to get you out of jail, that's what I mean." Parks scoffed. "She says you don't know when to keep your mouth shut — and judging from the way you acted the night she was attacked, that's not hard to believe."

Ken wiped his hands on his pants. "I ... she ... when ... how ... um, how did Rachel get your number?"

"I got HER number from the file and called her." Parks fingered his holster. "About the case. This was a while ago. We, uh, needed get her witness statement cleared up. And we, um, went over her testimony ... for the trial."

That sounded like utter bullsh-it to Ken, and it reinfor-ced his belief that Rachel had been fucking the officer who'd saved her from being ra-ped. Ever since Ken had overheard his wife leaving a telephone message for Parks three months earlier, there had been way too many late nights ... too many showers ... too many evasive answers ... too many excuses that didn't make sense. Ken had long been convinced something was amiss, and an affair with the handsome cop seemed like the most plausible explanation.

The fact that Rachel hadn't mentioned discussing her testimony with Officer Parks sealed it for Ken. He figured if she wasn't screwing around, she wouldn't have kept that from him, since he also was slated to be a witness in the trial. Unless, as Ken suspected, Parks' story was bullsh-it, and he hadn't called Rachel to talk about the case, but had instead phoned her for a different purpose. Ken already had good reaso-n to be concerned after hearing Rachel leave that message for the cop while she'd pretended to be outside getting air. When the jealous husband got a chance to look Parks in the eye, he became convinced his hunch was correct.

Despite his growing anger at the realization that this flatfoot was most likely nailing his wife, the opinionated, unemployed barista had the good sense to keep his trap shut and avoid pissing off the benefactor who was about to spring him from jail.

"Officer Zachary says he'll drop the charges if you apologize." Parks stared down at Ken. "It'll be like this never happened. I suggest you take the offer."

Ken nodded. "Um, I will ... uh, thanks. Um, thanks a lot."

"No problem." Parks crooked his finger. "Come with me."

The two men exited the precinct building and walked through the parking lot toward a scout car, where the chubby officer who'd arrested Ken waited with folded arms.

Ken stood before Zachary shifting from foot to foot. "Um, I'm very sorry, Officer. I was just really frustrated that I got fired, and I want to apologize."

The cop sniffed. "You were talking major sh-it back there, boy. You're lucky Trent here put in the good word for you."

"T-thanks," Ken said. "I'm really sorry about that."

Parks patted Ken's shoulder. "Okay, we've got to go take care of the paperwork. This never happened; the charges will be dropped as soon as the assistant DA signs off on it — and he's a buddy, so it's a done deal. You're all set. Go back inside and get your stuff, and then you can go. Tell Rachel I said hi."

"I ... I will. Thanks again." Ken watched the two cops walk away.

In a surreal haze, Ken stumbled back into the station house and the desk sergeant returned his cellphone, belt, shoelaces, wedding ring and wallet. From there, Ken took an Uber back to the coffee shop to pick up his car before heading home. His scowling wife met him at the door.

"What the fuck, Ken? Jail? Jail, for chrissakes? And you lost your job? Are you kidding me with this bullsh-it?"

"Honey, I'm sorry, it wasn't my fault. All I did was try to get past the cop, and I kind of nudged him out of the way, and he punched me right in the face. I'm suing those pig bastards."

"You're not suing anybody, you whiny, candy-ass so-nofabitch." Rachel bopped her husband upside the head. "What the hell's wrong with you, Ken? Grow the fuck up, for chrissakes. Do you have any fucking idea how lucky you are that the cop dropped those charges? Trent says you could've gotten five years in priso-n."

"Trent says!" Ken's teeth flashed. "Trent says? What going on, Rachel? He didn't go through all that sh-it to get me out of jail for nothing. Are you seeing him?"

Rachel sighed and looked away.

Ken glared. "Are you?"

"What if I was?"

"OMG, are you serious?"

"What?" Rachel threw up her hands. "When's the last time you paid me any attention, Ken?"

Ken massaged his temples. "OMG ... OMG ... I can't believe this."

"Well, you haven't touched me ... it's been months."

Ken huffed. "Because I know you're not into me. You're not interested anymore."

"I never said I'm not into you — I'm just not into you wearing panties."

"Okay, here we go. Let's have it, Rachel."

"I already told you that's not my thing, Ken."

"So, why don't you just divorce me, then, if you hate what I do so much?"

"Listen, you're the one who hid it from me all these years, so don't even try that sh-it. We could've done other things without the panties and sh-it, but you never even asked. You've been ignoring me." Her lip curled. "And don't tempt me by talking about getting a goddamn divorce, Ken, because I'll go downtown first thing tomorrow and file the papers if that's what you want."

"N-no. No. That's not what I want." Ken stared at his shoes. "Look, I ... I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry about all this, too, Ken. But ..."

"But what?"

She drew a breath. "I'm not going to stop. Seeing him."

Ken's head popped up. "What the fuck, Rachel? Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious. You have your panties ... and whatever you do when you're in the rec room. That's fine. You have your thing and I'll have mine."

Ken's eyes watered. "And, so ... I'm supposed just stand by and let you fuck this guy?"

"Look ... Ken ... there are a lot of marriages like that. You do your thing and I'll do my thing. I won't do anything to embarrass you, don't worry."

"Embarrass me?" Ken waved his hands in the air. "You're fucking another guy. That's not embarrassing me?" He broke down sobbing.

Rachel stroked her husband's hair. "Sorry, honey, I know this is hard. But it can work."

"Work? How?"

"Honey, I still love you. That's why I asked Trent to get you out of jail. I could've let you sit in there all night, and maybe go to priso-n for five years. But I didn't, did I?"

"N-no." Ken sniffled.

"I knew if I had Trent help you, you'd probably figure out what was going on. But it was worth the risk because I love you. Very much. I'd do anything to keep you out of jail." Rachel fiddled with Ken's earlobe. "Okay?"

Ken nodded, tears snaking down his face. His wife pecked him on the cheek and wiped her lips.

"See?" She smiled. "Everything always works out, doesn't it? Now ... I'm fucking starving. Feel like ordering a pizza?"

Great start to this story CW!!

herboy63

Thanks. Since prior to your comment I'd gotten literally no feedback on this story, I figured nobody liked it, so I didn't bother going through the painstaking process of fixing all the "bad words" to eliminate the asterisks. I rewrote a lot of stuff I'd previously posted here, which I've updated above, and will post below the rest of the chapters that I've written so far. Perhaps the lack of feedback is because this isn't a "jerkoff story" where it goes from one hum-iliation to the next. But as long as I know at least one person enjoys reading it, I'm happy to continue posting updates to this ongoing story, but when literally nobody comments, it's not worth the bother. So, thanks again.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 4
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken simmered from his vantage point outside the bathroom. His arms were folded, his brow was furrowed and a raincloud hung over his head.

Rachel stopped humming and eyed her husband through the mirror. "Did you want something?"

Ken huffed. "What? I can't stand in my own hallway now?"

"Oh, come on, already." Rachel shook her hair. "Are you seriously gonna start this again?"

"Well, gee, Rachel, forgive me if I'm not used to this yet. It's not exactly fun watching my wife get ready to go out and fuck her boyfriend."

"So, don't watch me." Rachel licked her baby finger and used it to smooth her mascara.

"Seriously?" Ken's jaw dropped. "That's your response?"

"Yeah, Ken, if it bothers you so much to watch me get ready, then don't watch me. Don't try to ruin my night just because you want to mope around and whine like a little candy-ass baby."

"Come on, honey ... this isn't easy for me — okay?" Ken's lip trembled.

"Okay, babe, I get it. This isn't easy for anyone. But you can't keep doing this."

"Why ... why can't we just go back to how it was?"

Rachel stiffened. "You mean when you were lying to me? When instead of making love to me you were sneaking panties out of my drawer and stretching them out in the goddamn rec room?"

Ken pushed back his hair. "Come on, Rach, what the fuck? Are you gonna hold that against me for the rest of my life?"

"I'm not holding anything against you, Ken. You are who you are. And I didn't know who you were when I married you. Because you lied. I thought you had a low sex drive — come to find out, you liked other things. You weren't who you told me you were."

"Well, if you want the truth, you're not exactly the same perso-n I thought I married, either, Rachel. You've changed. A lot. And, besides, you lied to me, too."

"When did I ever lie to you?" Rachel frowned, holding her eyebrow pencil aloft.

"When did you lie?" Ken balled his fists. "YOU MEAN OTHER THAN WHEN YOU FUCKED ANOTHER MAN BEHIND MY BACK????"

Rachel's shoulders slumped. "Listen, Ken, I'm getting tired of this. I really am. I'm not going through this sh-it every goddamn time. If you can't handle it, then maybe we should just—"

"Just what? Get a divorce? The problem would be solved if you'd stop seeing the so-nofabitch, but you're telling me my only choices are to keep putting up with it or get a divorce?"

Rachel adjusted her bangs. "That's the thing, Ken — the problem wouldn't be solved."

"Yes, it would. The problem is, you don't like me acting jealous when you're getting ready to see him. If you stop seeing him — boom, problem solved."

"That's not what the problem is, Ken. Why do you think ..." Her voice trailed off.

"What?" Ken's face squinched up. "Why do I think what?"

"Nothing."

"Why do I think WHAT?"

Rachel sighed. "Okay — why do you think I started seeing Trent in the first place? If I stopped seeing him, it wouldn't solve our problem, Ken. Our problem started a long time before he came along."

"So, you're saying the problem ... is my ... um ...."

"Sneaking around wearing my panties? Never having sex with me? Yes, Ken, that's a problem. Now, I'm not going through this again. You lied to me. For years."

"Because I love you, and I didn't want you ... to do what you're doing now."

"I love you, too, Ken. But I'm not—"

"Listen, honey, if you're saying the problem is that I didn't pay enough attention, then I'll start. I don't need to wear ... you know, my stuff. We can just make love without any of that. I think you're sexy, babe. I'm sorry if I didn't show you, but I really do. You turn me on like crazy. You always have. I'm sorry I wasn't what you needed me to be. But I can try. Please? Will you please let me try to make it up to you, Rachel? I'm so, so sorry ... about everything. Can't we start over? I would give anything if we could just start over again. Please?"

Rachel grimaced. "Oh, Ken. I'm sorry, honey. It's way too late for that."

Ken's chin dropped to his chest. "I ... I ..."

"Listen, hon, I love you. I really do — but I've got to finish getting ready, okay? We keep going round and round, and we never get anywhere. Now, I'm late."

With a groan, Ken stomped into the living room and punched on the television. After flipping through a few channels, he landed on MSNBC. Rachel's humming restarted and it took Ken a minute to recognize the melody as Beyonce's "Break My Soul." A picture of Donald Trump flashed on the TV screen. Ken's ears burned. He gritted his teeth. If his soul wasn't broken yet, he thought, then it was damn sure getting there.

When she was done primping, Rachel kissed her husband on the forehead and breezed out the door. A split-second after she left, Ken hopped up, dashed across the living room and peeked out the front curtain. He caught a glimpse of his wife's dark-stockinged legs as she slid into the Honda. Licking her lips, she backed out of the driveway.

Ken hastened to the rec room, where he donned the new teddy he'd bought for himself. He jacked off until well after midnight.

He went to bed after three orgasms, but he hardly slept, which was the norm whenever Rachel spent the night with her boyfriend. The lonesome hubby rousted out of bed at 8:30am to prepare for a 10-6 Saturday shift at The Bean Machine.

With bags under his eyes and leaden spirits, he slogged through a drag-ass day full of headaches. One of the machines malfunctioned. Ken burned his forearm on hot metal. Two baristas called in sick, leaving the crew at half-strength. Worst of all for Ken, just before quitting time, a smug-looking police officer came in and demanded a large coffee and two glazed sinkers without even saying please. Ken filled the order, sneering at the "cops-and-donuts" cliche. He thought long and hard about spitting in the prick's coffee but decided against it. He didn't need to lose another job and piss off the missus.

Rachel was kicked back watching TV when Ken limped into the house — and she looked rested and well-fucked, he thought with clenched teeth as he plopped down next to her on the couch.

"Hey." He shifted on the cushion.

"Hey." Rachel pressed the mute button. "How was your day?"

"It fucking sucked. I burned the sh-it out of my arm on the dishwasher." He showed her the wound.

Rachel winced. "Ow."

"Yeah. And then, Rhianna and Dave called in sick and Dick-Nose didn't bring anybody else in, so it was fucking crazy all day. One of the Bunn machines went down — people had to wait on their coffee and were bitching nonstop. And—" Ken almost carped about having to wait on the cop but he stifled himself.

He lumbered to the kitchen and fixed a bowl of Fruity Pebbles before rejoining his wife in the living room. The couple watched TV in silence until Rachel's show ended and she popped a question out of the blue: "So, you said Sandra was the one who got you into dressing up?"

Ken cho-ked on a mouthful of cereal and milk dribbled down his chin. He wiped it off. "Wha ... what?"

"Sandra. She got you into it?"

"Um ... why are you asking me this?"

"I don't know. I was just wondering how it got started, I guess."

"You never wondered before."

"Well, I do now. Is that okay?" She shrugged. "I want to know more about it."

"Um ... it's kinda embarrassing to talk about, to be honest."

"It's okay, hon. Go ahead. I think it'll be good for you to talk about it."

"Well, um ... okay. I, uh, I think I was in first grade when it started. Maybe second grade, but I seem to remember it was first. I know we were still in Rushville. Anyway, one night when Mom wasn't home, Sandra took me to the basement and ... she made me put on her panties and her yellow Easter dress."

"And you said she was mean to you?"

"Well ... yeah. Uh ... this is ... like, really embarrassing."

"It's okay, honey." Rachel stroked her husband's hand. "What would she do to you?"

He drew a breath. "Um ... well, yeah, she'd make me dance around ... and I'd have to clean her bedroom while she hit me with Ol' Blue, and she'd call me names and stuff."

"Ol' Blue?"

"Yeah, that's what she called this blue plastic thing she'd hit me with."

"Aw, honey, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, it hurt. Really bad. But Sandra liked it because it didn't leave marks, so my mom never found out."

"OMG. How long did this go on?"

Ken blinked back a tear. "My whole chi-ldhood, pretty much. Sandra went to college when I was 14, but even then, she'd do it when she came home for breaks if our mom wasn't around. I guess it only stopped after Aunt Char left us that money and I moved out."

"So ... because Sandra made you wear her clothes, that turns you on. Do you also get turned on by girls being mean to you like she was?"

"I ... I ..." Ken squirmed on the couch, wiping his sweaty palms on his pantlegs.

"It's okay. Do you like that? It's not that big of a deal. I just want to know."

Ken squinted. "Rachel, why are you asking me about this all of a sudden?"

"I don't know, Ken. I just was wondering about it. You're my husband."

"But you never cared before. You said it creeped you out."

"No, Ken, what creeped me out was the idea of you sneaking behind my back and stretching out my panties like some little pervert. All that time I thought you just had low testosterone. When I found out the reaso-n why you weren't paying attention to me, I'm sorry — it creeped me out."

"I'm know. I'm sorry I went behind your back. But ..."

"But what?"

"Well, if I'd have told you about it back then, you probably would've broke up with me."

"Maybe. There's really no way to know for sure, is there?" Rachel leaned over and kissed her husband's ear. "We can't do anything about the past, honey. All we can do is fix the future."

For the rest of the evening, Ken ached to ask his wife what she'd meant by that, but he feared what she might say. He wasn't sure whether he was more afraid that "fixing the future" entailed divorcing him — or if it meant she might start taking a more active role in his sissy sex life.

Rachel dropped the subject, although Ken could think of nothing else as he pretended to watch television with his beloved, faithless bride. He was so out of it he didn't notice what was playing on the screen.

"Bad boys, bad boys / Whatcha gonna do? / Whatcha gonna do when they come for you ...?"

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 5
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken raised his right hand while trying to stop the other one from fidgeting.

The bailiff looked him in the eye. "Do you swear or affirm that the testimony you're about to give is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, under penalty of perjury?"

"I do." Ken's lips formed a tight line.

"Have a seat, Mr. Coolidge." Municipal Court Judge Rafael Ortiz gestured toward the witness stand.

ADA Phyllis Turnbow approached the podium. "Hello, Mr. Coolidge." She smiled. "How are you today?"

"Fine, thanks." Ken straightened his tie.

"Can you please give the court your full name?"

"Um, Kenneth Raymond Coolidge."

"And how old are you, Mr. Coolidge?"

"I'm 26."

"And where are you employed?"

"The Bean Machine coffee house. I work as a barista."

"Okay, thank you." Turnbow folded her hands. "Now, Mr. Coolidge, can you tell the jury what happened on the night of June 12?"

"Well, my wife and I had just had dinner at the Blue Ribbon Diner, and after we ate, we went for a walk," Ken said, repeating the lines he'd rehearsed with the prosecution team days earlier. "When we turned onto to Darvin Street, as we were passing an alley next to an abandoned house, a man jumped out with a kni-fe and put it to my throat. He told us to go into the alley or he said he would ki-ll us."

"And, Mr. Coolidge, do you see this man in the courtroom?"

"I do."

"Can you please identify him for the court?"

Ken pointed at the glowering mugger.

"Let the record reflect that the witness identified the defendant, Mr. Edward Whittaker." Turnbow nodded at Ken. "So, after Mr. Whittaker put a kni-fe to your throat and told you to go into the alley, then what happened?"

"He, uh, tried to ra-pe my wife."

Whittaker's attorney, Al Chase, jumped to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. There's no way this witness can get inside my client's head to determine what he was TRYING to do that night."

"Sustained."

ADA Turnbow bit her lip. "Okay, Mr. Coolidge ... then, can you please tell the jury what you actually saw Mr. Whittaker do to your wife?"

Ken glanced at the defendant. "Well, he put the kni-fe against her ribs, and kind of pulled her to the ground with him. Then, he ... started grabbing her ... you know ... her breasts."

Turnbow nodded. "What happened next?"

"Um ..." Ken swirled his tongue, trying to work up saliva. "Um, that's when I heard Officer Parks yell 'drop it!' and the next thing I knew, Mr. Whittaker was in handcuffs and everything was over."

"Thank you, Mr. Coolidge. No further questions." Turnbow spun on her heel and clicked toward the DA's table.

"Your witness, Mr. Chase." Gesturing toward Ken, the judge invited the defense to begin the cross-examination.

Chase leaned on the podium. "Good afternoon, Mr. Coolidge. You say you ate dinner at the Blue Ribbon Diner. That's in Marysville. You live in Rivertown. Why did you drive all the way to Marysville for a meal? Is the food at the Blue Ribbon Diner that good?"

Ken sat up straight. "Well, I wanted to celebrate Juneteenth by supporting an African American-owned business that wasn't downtown. You know, support the underprivileged neighborhoods. And I wanted to show my wife that not everyone has it as good as we do, which is why we went for a walk after dinner, so she could see all the blight first-hand. She was kind of an army brat, and her fa-ther shielded her from a lot of that stuff, um, before he died."

Chase jammed his hands in his pants pockets and walked in a tight circle before stopping and rubbing his chin. "Mr. Coolidge. Would you say your wife is a beautiful woman? A sensual woman?"

"Objection, Your Honor!" Turnbow thundered. "This line of questioning is entirely inappropriate."

"Objection sustained." Judge Ortiz frowned at the defense attorney. "Watch yourself, Counselor. The court is well-aware of your reputation for antics, and I give you fair warning, sir, that this behavior will not be tolerated."

"Sorry, Your Honor." Chase turned and faced the witness. "Mr. Coolidge, what can you tell me about a perso-nal relationship between the alleged victim, Mrs. Coolidge, your wife, and the arresting officer in this case?"

"OBJECTION!" Turnbow bellowed.

"Overruled," Ortiz nodded at Chase. "You can continue on this line of questioning, counselor, but you better get to where you're going fast."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Chase tilted his head. "Mr. Coolidge? Is there a romantic relationship between your wife, the alleged victim, and Officer Parks, the arresting officer in this case?"

Ken twisted his wedding ring. "Um ... I ... she ... they ..." He looked up at the judge. "Um, Your Honor, do I have to answer that?"

"Yes, you do," Judge Ortiz said. "And I would remind you, sir, that you are under oath."

Ken searched the courtroom for moral support but there was none. Since Rachel and Parks were still scheduled to testify, they were sequestered in adjacent witness rooms. Jurors who moments earlier had seemed on the verge of falling asle-ep leaned forward in their seats with pricked ears.

"Answer the question, Mr. Coolidge." Chase adjusted his glasses. "Is there a sexual relationship between the arresting officer in this case and the alleged victim?"

As addled as he was, Ken thought of the perfect answer: "I ... I mean, I've never seen them together, so I ... I really don't know anything for sure."

"Well, did your wife ever TELL you she was having an affair with Mr. Parks?"

Turnbow stood. "Objection. Hearsay."

"Sustained," the judge said.

"So ..." Chase scratched his ear. "Um ... er ... you're trying to tell me, Mr. Coolidge, that you wouldn't know if your own wife was having an affair?"

Ken shrugged. "I dunno. A lot of guys' wives have affairs and THEY don't know about it."

The courtroom erupted with laughter. The judge slammed his gavel and called for order.

Chase flipped through his notes. "Uh ... er ... I ... no further questions, Your Honor."

The judge addressed the ADA: "Ms. Turnbow? Redirect?"

"No, nothing, Your Honor," she said.

Judge Ortiz nodded at Ken. "Okay, sir, thank you for your testimony. You're dismissed."

With a hot face, Ken hurried out of courtroom. He figured Trent was going to be similarly blindsided by Whittaker's lawyer during his scheduled testimony that day. As Ken exited the courthouse and walked to the restaurant where his wife had arranged to pick him up after the hearing, he composed a text to warn her:

"FYI that defense atty was asking if you and Trent were having an affair. I said I didn't know because I never saw you together so he dropped it and they let me go. He'll probably ask Trent. Just letting you know. I don't have Trents number but if theres any way you can warn him you might want to. Then you can figure out what you want to say when you testify Monday. Love you so much. See you at the All Star when you're out of sequester. xoxox"

Ken's thumb hovered over the "send" button for a quick tick before pressing it. He feared relaying the message might vio-late some rule about communicating with fellow witnesses, although in the end his love for Rachel and concern for her well-being won out. After sending the text, he found a booth at the All-Star Café and hunkered down to wait for his wife to come get him after she was released from sequester.

An hour passed. Then two. Six cups of tea with lemon and stevia later, there was still no sign of her.

Ken had been sitting in the restaurant since 2:30. The courthouse closed at 4. It was 4:58 and Rachel wasn't answering calls or texts. Ken paid the bill and headed back to the Municipal Court building, but after circling the facility three times rattling doors, he gave up. Rachel had driven them to court that morning, so Ken walked to the lot where she'd parked her car. It was gone.

Panicked, Ken took an Uber home. He exhaled with relief when he spotted Rachel's Honda in the driveway, although a strange F-150 was parked next to it. A sour taste formed in Ken's mouth. It didn't take a genius to figure out who the truck belonged to.

When the diminutive husband trudged into the house, Parks' face twisted with rage. He sprang off the couch, grabbed Ken by the shirt and effortlessly lifted him up with one hand, with his other fist cocked and loaded. Rachel stood nearby, covering her mouth.

Ken dangled there yelping. "Ow, ow, honey, ow, please."

With his nostrils flared, Parks squeezed Ken's shirt-collar tighter and lifted him higher. "YOU LITTLE PANSY SO-NOFABITCH, WHO THE HELL YOU BEEN TALKING TO?"

Tears streamed down Ken's face. "Ow, I don't know what you're talking about, ow, please, honey, please."

Rachel sidled up her lover and touched his arm. "Come on, Trent. Let him go."

Parks obliged, releasing his grip and allowing the little cuckold to drop to the carpet with a thud.

Rachel scanned her husband's face as he lay prone on the floor. "Ken, who have you been talking to about Trent and me?"

"I haven't been talking to anyone." Ken pulled himself upright and wiped his leaky eyes. "I swear."

"Bullsh-it." Parks, who was out of uniform and wearing a tight tee-shirt that showed off his muscles, jabbed his finger in Ken's chest. "That fucking lawyer asked me about it on the goddamn stand today and I had to admit it. Only three people in the whole world knew about us: Rachel, me — and you."

"I didn't tell anyone," Rachel said.

"I damn sure didn't," Parks growled. "That leaves you."

"I didn't tell anyone." Ken's eyes were blo-odshot. "I swear. I was surprised when that lawyer asked me about it. That's why I sent you a text, so you could warn Trent before he went on the stand."

Rachel and Trent retook their seats on the couch next to each other, leaving Ken standing there.

"I'm probably gonna get suspended over this bullsh-it and maybe even fired — did you know that when you started running your mouth, you fucking little twerp?" Trent shook his head, his disgust for Ken palpable. "And it might fuck up the case, too. The fucking little prick wants a mistrial; he's claiming I tainted the case by getting involved with a witness."

"Do you really think the judge will throw out the case, hon?" Rachel asked her lover. The term of endearment slapped Ken in the face.

"Who knows? Ortiz loves criminals, so it's possible."

Rachel glared at her husband. "I can't believe you were out there flapping your lips, you candy-ass little prick. Who did you tell?"

Ken waved his hands back and forth. "I'm telling you — I didn't tell anyone." He started bawling again. "Please. I swear. I never said a word."

Rachel sighed and touched her lover's hand. "I don't know, hon."

Parks stared at the wimp. "Are you absolutely sure you didn't maybe accidentally tell someone? Someone you talked to ... maybe in a store ... a bar?"

"No, no, I swear, please," Ken blubbered. "Why would I tell anyone? It's not something I want anyone to know."

"Maybe you were trying to get me in trouble at my job," Parks snarled.

"Or maybe you were running around whining about how bad you got it, and how terrible I am." Rachel chortled. "You sure as hell do enough of that."

"Rachel, please, I don't know how to make you believe me! I did NOT tell anyone about this. Who would I tell?" He gazed deep into her soul through the tears in his own eyes. "Come on, Rach. I'm telling the truth. I swear!"

Rachel glanced up at her boyfriend. "I don't think he's lying, hon."

"Well, fuck." Parks exhaled. "Then someone must've followed one of us. Probably me."

"Why?" Rachel squeezed her boyfriend's knee. "Who would anyone follow you?"

"You wouldn't believe what some of these sleazy-ass lawyers will do to win a case," Parks said. "This guy Chase is out to make a name for himself, and he's pretty aggressive. Slimy mo-therfucker will do anything."

Rachel sniffed. "For a stupid case like this? It's not exactly the crime of the century. I mean, it was an attempted ra-pe. But nobody even got hurt."

"Hell, I don't know. Yeah, the more I think about it, I can see that squirmy little cocksucker paying some idiot private detective a couple hundred bucks to follow the arresting officer around for a few days, and maybe get some dirt on him. It happens. In fact, that's probably it." Parks slammed his fist into his palm. "Well, FUCK ME! I can't believe I let some fucking prick follow me without seeing him."

Rachel rubbed her lover's back. "It's okay, honey. We'll figure out what to do. I hate to see you so upset like this."

Ken stood there with his mouth open, bowled over by his wife's audacity. She and her boyfriend had just wrongfully accused him of outing their affair; the huge cop had manhandled him — and Rachel was worried about THAT so-nofabitch being upset? Ken seethed in silence watching his wife comfort her paramour.

After enduring several minutes of being ignored, Ken turned to Parks, cleared his throat and went for it. "Um ... so, then ... uh, I guess we'll see you in court Monday. Take it easy." Ken gestured toward the front door.

Parks smirked. "Oh, am I being kicked out now?"

Rachel kissed his ear. "No, babe. You're not going anywhere." She looked up at her husband. "Come on, Ken. We need to talk."

Ken followed his wife into the rec room of all places, feeling like a chastised puppy, though he'd done nothing wrong. He had no idea how that lawyer had found out that Rachel and Parks were fucking. Ken knew he hadn't told anyone, so he figured someone must've followed one of them as Parks had suggested. The attorney certainly seemed sleazy enough to have pulled the stunt.

When the couple got to the rec room, Rachel planted her hands on her hips. "Listen, Ken, I don't want a bunch of crap. He's spending the night."

"Here? With you? Are you fucking serious, Rachel? How much more of this sh-it am I supposed to put up with?"

"You don't HAVE to put up with anything, Ken. You can leave anytime you want to."

Ken buried his face in his hands. "OMG, what is going on? The whole world's gone fucking crazy."

"Yes, it has, Ken." Rachel nodded. "Everything HAS gone crazy. That's why he's staying over. Fuck it, everyone knows now anyway. What do we have to lose?"

"But honey, what about me?" Tears filled Ken's eyes. "What about MEEEEEE? Don't you love me no more?"

"Yes, of course I love you, Ken. But ... I'm sorry. Things are different now."

"Different? How are things different? Either you love me or you don't."

"I DO love you." Rachel sighed. "But, honey, I have feelings for Trent, too. And he has feelings for me."

Ken hung his head. "OMG, this is a fucking nightmare."

Rachel stared at her husband. "Ken, we need to figure this out. Find some way to make it work. It's either that, or we get a divorce. You said you don't want that. I don't either. But I'm not doing this anymore, Ken. Okay? Do you? Want a divorce?"

Ken's lips motorboated. "N-no."

"So then ... try to deal with it. Okay? I know it's not easy, but we'll all get through this. I'm still here, Ken. I'm not going anywhere. There's a way to make this work. We'll figure it out somehow. I love you. Alright?"

"Yeah, you love me — but he ... he's the one who gets to sle-ep with you ... and ... and make love to you." He wiped away a tear. "It's no fair."

Rachel smiled patiently and patted his shoulder. "I love you, Ken."

With that, she turned and strolled away. The shattered husband followed her, his face wet with misery. He couldn't look Parks in the eye as he slinked past him on his way to the guest room.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 6
by c.w. cobblestone


The hardwood bench was hell on Ken's ass cheeks because he'd been sitting there for four hours already with only one break. But he wasn't about to miss his wife's turn on the witness stand.

Having already testified himself, Ken was released from sequester and allowed to watch the proceedings. He sat in the back of the courtroom with a Bernie Sanders cap pulled low over his eyes, wearing a pair of old glasses he hadn't needed since his Lasik surgery years earlier.

The revelation in open court that a Marysville police officer was sle-eping with the alleged victim in an attempted ra-pe case drew media attention, with three TV crews and a reporter for the Marysville Daily Record showing up to cover the proceedings. Ken knew the testimony he and Parks had provided during the last hearing would likely attract the press, and that it was an easy matter for reporters to troll social media to find pictures of the people involved in the case, so the outed cuckold hoped his disguise might fool them. He'd briefly considered avoiding court altogether, although in the end he decided to go. He was afraid of being hounded by reporters, but he needed to hear what his precious wife had to say.

After Rachel was sworn in, she took the stand and shimmied in her seat, blinking under the glare of the TV cameras. Ken felt sorry for her. He also thought she looked pretty in her yellow dress, and despite his apprehension and shame at her now-public infidelity, he was uplifted by her elegance. And, even though she was about to embarrass him beyond comprehension by what he knew was going to be mortifying testimony, Ken said a prayer, thanking the heavens that he was married to such a beautiful angel.

ADA Turnbow approached the podium. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Coolidge."

"Good afternoon."

"Can you tell the court your full name?"

"Rachel Tamara Coolidge. My maiden name was Becker."

"How old are you, Ma'am?"

"Twenty-seven."

"And where do you work?"

"I'm chief loan officer for Beaverland Credit Union."

"Okay, Mrs. Coolidge, thank you." Turnbow glanced at her notes. "Now ... Mrs. Coolidge, can you tell me what happened on the night of June 12?"

"Yes. My husband and I had dinner at the Blue Ribbon Diner. I told him I didn't think that was a very good idea, because Marysville has some pretty bad neighborhoods. But we never went to Portland for his birthday like I had promised, so I figured I owed it to him."

"Okay. And what happened after you left the diner, Mrs. Coolidge?"

"Well, my husband wanted to take a walk. Again, I didn't think it was a good idea, but he really wanted me to see this neighborhood, so I finally agreed, as long as we stayed on the main street, which was Darvin. And when we passed this abandoned house with boards on the windows, a man jumped out of the alley and put a kni-fe up against my husband's throat and told us to get in the alley."

"And, Mrs. Coolidge, is this man in the courtroom now?"

Rachel pointed at the defendant. Whittaker blew her a kiss.

Turnbull frowned. "Let the record reflect that the witness identified the defendant, Edward Whittaker — and, Your Honor, I'd also like add that the defendant's behavior is entirely inappropriate."

Judge Ortiz scowled at Whittaker. "Sir, there will be no further such displays. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." Whittaker muttered a few more syllables under his breath but the judge let it go.

ADA Turnbull cleared her throat. "So, after Mr. Whittaker told you to go to the alley — and before I get to that question, what did Mr. Whittaker say when he told you to go to the alley? What were his exact words?"

"Well, he had the kni-fe up against my husband's throat, and he said, 'get in the alley, bitch, or I'll cut this little sissy faggot's head off.'"

There were chuckles in the courtroom. Ken squeezed his eyes shut.

Turnbull continued: "And then what happened?"

"Um, Mr. Whittaker tells my husband 'give me your money,' so he did. And then he, um, the defendant, started saying a bunch of dirty things to me, like 'you're mine now, bitch.' And then he stuck the kni-fe up against my ribs and pulled me down on the ground ... and started grabbing my breasts and trying to undo my pants. I was trying to fight him off but he was too strong."

"And where was your husband during this?"

"Well, he was just kind of standing there. You know, sort of in shock."

Ken squirmed in his seat as his heart pumped hot blo-od to his ears.

Turnbull nodded. "And what happened next?"

"Well ... Officer Parks was standing across the street with his gun, and he yells, 'drop it, asshole.' And Mr. Whittaker drops his kni-fe and puts his hands up. Officer Parks and his partner arrested him and took him to their car."

"I see." The ADA shuffled papers on the podium. "And, Mrs. Coolidge, after that initial encounter with Officer Parks, was there any further contact with him?"

Although Ken was upset with his wife, he felt horribly for her as she blushed at the question, while the reporters all sat forward with their notebooks at the ready.

"Yes, we had contact after that," Rachel said. "Officer Parks and I developed a romantic relationship."

"And how did that come about, Mrs. Coolidge? Did he contact you?"

"Oh, no, I called him. I called his precinct and asked him to call me about the case."

Turnbull nodded. "And DID you want to talk to him about the case?"

"Um, no, Ma'am. I wanted to see if he might want to meet me for dinner sometime."

"So, you were hoping to have an extramarital affair with Officer Parks?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes."

Several people in the courtroom stirred and murmured. The reporters scribbled.

The ADA continued: "So ... what happened?"

"Well, Officer Parks called me back the next day and I asked him if he could meet with me to talk about the case. So, we met at Thursday's Chi-ld the next day."

Ken gritted his teeth, recalling Rachel's excuse that night. She'd said she needed to help her cousin get ready for a wedding shower. Ken had overheard his wife leaving the message for the cop the previous evening, so when she threw out her cover story about where she'd be, he was convinced she was lying her ass off — and her testimony had just proved it.

Turnbull set down her pen. "Mrs. Coolidge, what happened after you had dinner with Officer Parks at Thursday's Chi-ld?"

"Um, we went to the Spartan Inn and ... had sexual relations."

Ken begged the earth to swallow him whole. Like all his other recent wishes, this one didn't come true.

Turnbull turned away from the podium and strolled past the jury box. "And, Mrs. Coolidge, during your entire relationship with Officer Parks, did he ever try to convince you to give false testimony in this case, or to skew the facts in any way?"

"Oh, no, Ma'am. Never. In fact, he kept stressing how I needed to tell everything exactly how it happened."

"And do you feel your relationship with Officer Parks compromises the jury's ability to hear the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

Defense attorney Chase jumped to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. How can this woman possibly testify to what the jury will hear? Is the witness a mind-reader?"

Turnbull stepped forward. "Your Honor, I'm not asking the witness to read the jurors' minds. I'm just asking her if SHE thinks her relationship with the officer compromises her ability to tell the jurors the truth about what happened."

"Then, perhaps counsel should rephrase her question," Judge Ortiz advised.

"Okay, thank you, Your Honor." Turnbull looked at Rachel. "Mrs. Coolidge — do you feel your relationship with Officer Parks compromises YOUR ability to tell this jury the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about what happened the night of June 12?"

"No, Ma'am. One thing has nothing to do with the other."

Turnbull smiled at the jury. "Thank you, Mrs. Coolidge. No further questions."

Judge Ortiz nodded at Chase. "Your witness, sir."

Whittaker's sleazeball attorney cocked his head and stared at Rachel for several unsettling seconds. "Do you love your husband, Mrs. Coolidge?"

"Objection!" Turnbull yelled.

"Sustained." The judge scowled at the lawyer.

Chase glanced at the jury and shrugged. "Mrs. Coolidge: Did you ever tell your husband you were having an affair?"

"Objection!" The ADA held up her index finger.

"Sustained."

Chase turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I'm trying to show that the witness's husband DID know about the affair, which would subject him to perjury because he claimed in earlier testimony that he didn't know."

Ken gasped. When the reporters all craned their necks to look at him in the back row of the courtroom, he realized with a sinking feeling that his disguise hadn't fooled anyone.

Judge Ortiz leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Chase, what I think you're doing here is, you're trying to dig up lurid details that are not relevant to the trier of the fact. I believe the presence of television cameras in the courtroom is prompting counsel to attempt to make this trial a circus — and I can tell you right now, Mr. Chase, I will NOT tolerate that in my courtroom. I know your reputation for this kind of nonsense and I won't have it. Do you understand me, Mr. Chase?"

Chase nodded. "Yes, Your Honor."

Ken heaved a sigh of relief, although it was a small victory. At least nobody would know that he'd been putting up with his wife's affair like a sap for several months. And he wouldn't be facing perjury charges. While he hadn't actually lied on the stand, he sure as hell didn't want to have to get up there and testify again. With everything that had been heaped on him lately, Ken figured he'd take any little win he could get.

Chase returned to the podium and threw out a bomb: "So, Mrs. Coolidge. Is it true that Officer Parks has had it out for my client for a long time, and that you and your husband conspired with him to cook up this outlandish story?"

"Objection!" Turnbull pointed at her counterpart. "Your Honor, counsel can't just accuse the witness of a criminal conspiracy with absolutely no facts whatsoever to back it up. We've seen the body-cam footage from the two officers that shows Mr. Whittaker's actions on June 12. There's been no conspiracy to make up the facts — the facts of this case are recorded on video for the jury to see."

The judge squinted at Chase. "Do you plan to offer any evidence that the witness conspired with her husband and the arresting officer to give false testimony? Or, are you just throwing out more garbage in the hopes it might taint the jury and grab headlines?"

"Your Honor, that's why I was asking whether or not the witness's husband knew about the affair." Chase nodded toward Rachel. "They don't want the jury to find out that Mr. Coolidge knew all about the affair, because they don't want anyone to know THAT THE THREE OF THEM GOT TOGETHER TO FRAME MY CLIENT FOR THIS CRIME FOR WHICH HE IS COMPETELY INNOCENT, AND NOW THEY'RE TRYING TO HIDE THE FACTS FROM THIS JURY BECAUSE THESE WITNESSES ARE IN A RELATIONSHIP TOGETHER AND THEY'RE ALL LYING FOR EACH OTHER!!!

Ortiz pounded his gavel nine times during Chase's diatribe, each strike louder than the previous one. "Mr. Chase, I'm going to give you one last warning. Another outburst like that, and I WILL have you thrown in jail for contempt of court. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Thank you." The judge turned to the jurors. "If you would please strike that last question from the record, and the jury will disregard that testimony." He frowned at Chase. "Does counsel have any further questions for this witness, or evidence that she or any other witness engaged in any kind of conspiracy to alter the facts in this courtroom?"

Chase bowed his head. "No further questions."

Turnbull declined redirect, and Rachel was dismissed. A bailiff escorted her into an anteroom. Ken scurried out of the courtroom, reporters at his heels. They closed in on him as he waited in the hallway for the elevator, peppering him with machine-gun questions.

"Mr. Coolidge, how long have you known about your wife's affair?"

"Do you have any message for your wife, Mr. Coolidge?

"What do you have to say about Mr. Chase's claim that you made up the story about your wife's attack?"

"Mr. Coolidge, is there any truth to anonymous reports that you're involved in a poly relationship with your wife and Officer Parks?"

"Are you a threesome?"

A court bailiff finally came along, escorted Ken to a private elevator and scuttled him out of a rear entrance. When he was safely in the Honda, he texted Rachel:

"That was bru-tal but you did fine. I luv u. I'm in the car. Be careful lots of reporters. Do you want me to pick u up somewhere?"

While he was waiting for a return text, Parks' F-150 peeled into the lot and parked next to the Honda. Rachel gave her lover a quick kiss and rolled out of the truck. Before she could get in her car, a TV truck careened into the lot and a reporter jumped out with a cameraman trailing behind her. Another television truck rolled up, followed by a third.

Instead of going to her husband, Rachel ducked back into Parks' truck and asked her lover what she should do. He told her it was probably best that they face the music and get it over with. So, he got out of his truck, took her by the hand, and they marched toward the reporters. When Ken saw their public display of solidarity he felt like dying — but he also sensed that his best move would be to go with it, rather than to continue hiding in the car. With grim determination, he wiggled out of the Honda's passenger seat and joined his wife and her lover in front of the TV crews.

A greasy-looking reporter held up his microphone. "So, are you three involved in a poly relationship?"

Parks sneered at the chubby muckraker. "No, this isn't a poly relationship. What kind of ridiculous question is that?"

"But you do have a relationship with the alleged victim," the reporter persisted.

"Yes, I do. I met Mrs. Coolidge and we ended up falling in love. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Isn't that against department regulations, to get involved with a victim?" another journalist asked.

"That's a gray area, and all I can say about that is, my union is looking into it. Look, people, the bottom line here is, Mr. Whittaker assaulted Mrs. Coolidge. My partner and I were lucky enough to be driving by, and we were able to stop it. And then, I met Mrs. Coolidge, and ... well, okay, it was love at first sight. You want your headline? There it is. Big deal. I met a woman and fell in love. I know she's married, and I feel bad about that, but this isn't exactly the first time that's ever happened, is it? It just happened. I love her and she loves me. If there's something wrong with that, then I'm happy to suffer whatever consequences come my way. I didn't do anything wrong. Nobody did."

One of the journalists held her mic in front of Rachel. "Do you have any comment, ma'am?"

"No." Rachel squeezed Parks' hand and gazed at her shoes.

The reporters turned to Ken.

"Mr. Coolidge, how do you feel to hear another man say he's in love with your wife, and that she's in love with him?"

"How do you feel that she's holding his hand and not yours?"

Ken gulped. After drawing a breath, he opened his mouth and let it fly: "Look, I don't know why you're all focusing on this TMZ, National Enquirer crap, when the real focus should be on what happened to my wife on June 12, and all the inequities in the criminal justice system that caused it. My wife and I are currently trying to work out all our marital issues, and I'd appreciate it if you'd let us do that in private."

The sleazy reporter nodded. "But are you a threesome?"

"No, we're not a threesome."

"Mr. Coolidge, are you okay with your wife having an affair with Officer Parks?" another reporter asked.

Ken exhaled. "I love my wife, okay? We're trying to work things out. What else do you want me to say?"

The reporter leaned in. "So, there's nothing to Mr. Chase's accusation that the three of you conspired to frame Eddie Whittaker?"

Parks answered for Ken: "That's the stupidest question I've ever heard. Did you see my bodycam? Did you see Officer Yung's? Listen, I can't talk any more about the case because the trial's still going on. Just look at the video. That'll tell you the truth. Okay? Are we done?"

With lots of footage to work with, the reporters dissipated. Rachel, Ken and Parks heaved simultaneous sighs.

"Well, fuck, at least that nightmare is over." Parks kissed Rachel's hand. "You want to go somewhere and grab something to eat? Might as well; everyone knows about us now anyway."

"Hell yeah, I'm starving," Rachel said.

Ken played with his sleeve. "Um ... do you guys mind if I come?"

Rachel and Parks looked at each other.

"What do you think?" Rachel asked her boyfriend.

Parks grinned. "Sure, why not? You did a good job with those reporters, Kenny — except that sh-it about equity in the criminal justice system. If you want to come eat with us, I don't want to hear any of that namby-pamby bullsh-it. You hear?"

"Yeah, sorry, no problem, man. No politics." Ken put on a smile. "I just wanna eat."

"Alrighty then, let's go eat!" Parks boomed, taking Rachel by the shoulder and escorting her to his truck's passenger side. She hopped in, and then Parks slipped into the driver's seat and pulled out of the lot.

Ken followed in his wife's Honda.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 7
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken trailed Rachel and Parks into the crowded sports bar, watching them turn heads with every step. They chose a booth near the back. Ken settled in across the table from his wife and her boyfriend, feeling every bit the pathetic third wheel. At the same time, he was grateful to be included. He had asked to tag along, and steeled himself for whatever hum-iliations came with that. He figured anything would be better than spending yet another night by himself pining away in front of the television.

When the waitress took orders, she complimented Rachel and Parks on being "such an awesome-looking couple," although she added: "Your friend seems kinda sad."

"He's bummed out because his goldfish just died," Parks said, inducing a giggle from Rachel.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry about your goldfish." The woman pouted.

Ken nodded. "T-thanks."

After the waitress wrote down the orders and left, Parks leaned over and ruffled Ken's hair. "You're so much fun to fuck with, Kenny."

"I actually did have a goldfish when I was a kid," Ken offered in a quaky voice, but by then, nobody was listening.

Ken played with his napkin while peeking across the table at his wife and her muscular boyfriend. Rachel was thrilled to be on her first public date with Parks, even though their affair had been exposed as part of an embarrassing sex scandal. Amid the throes of bliss, though, Rachel also felt sorry for her hangdog husband, and could tell he was struggling to hide his sorrow. She made a conscious effort to keep the PDAs with Parks to a minimum so as not to hurt the poor dear.

Normally, Rachel would have been writhing on her boyfriend's lap while they swapped spit, since they could hardly be near each other for more than a few minutes without going at it. But dinner maintained a G rating throughout. Shortly after everyone's food arrived, Parks asked Rachel for a taste of her filet, and she resisted the urge to feed him fork-to-mouth, instead cutting off a piece and leaving it on his plate. When she showed Parks her cellphone after her Instagram friend had sent her a funny meme, she made it a point to turn the phone around so Ken could see, too.

While that wasn't enough to assuage Ken's anguish, he put on a brave face and tried to act like one of Three Musketeers. Instead, he felt more like the Dynamic Duo's faithful little mascot. Odd man out. Pathetic third wheel.

In addition to his mushroom burger, Parks had ordered a shot of Jack — then another, and yet another. It seemed to Ken that each refill made the off-duty cop's smirks a little snider and his tone more condescending.

Parks was halfway through his third whiskey when he sneered at Ken. "So, Rachel tells me you met in college. You got a degree in Feminist Studies?"

Ken squirmed. "Um, yeah. I know you probably don't think it's very practical, but I learned a whole lot about how things work in the world."

Rachel cut in: "And we're not gonna talk about how things work, because you said no politics tonight, remember?"

"Right, no politics." Ken sighed. "It's been a crazy couple days, and I just want to have a nice meal, without a bunch of BS."

"Amen to that, little man." Parks lifted his glass. "Here's to a nice meal without a bunch of BS."

Ken cringed at being referred to as "little man," but he played it off. Everyone clinked and took a dri-nk.

By the time dessert came, Rachel was working on her second Tequila Sunrise. Feeling impish, her inhibitions lowered by al-cohol, she dipped her finger into Parks' ice cream and held it to his lips. He licked it off with a wink. She then reached her other hand across the table and scooped up a fingerful of Ken's sherbet. He stuck out his tongue, expecting the same playful treat his wife had given her beau — but she tapped him on the nose instead, leaving behind a huge orange dollop. Rachel and Parks fell into each laughing other while Ken wiped off the mess with a napkin. He for-ced a grin and tried to be good-natured about his wife's demeaning little prank.

Parks began talking about his job as a cop, which segued into a discussion about his military service. When he mentioned that he'd been in the 101st Airborne Division, Rachel squealed.

"OMG, my dad was a Screaming Eagle. He was a colonel at Fort Campbell, although when he was younger he was a trainer at the Assault School there."

"Your dad was a Black Hat? Wow, no sh-it, he must've been a badass." Park grinned. "I was at Fort Campbell, too. When was he there?"

"Well, he retired back in 2014, and died four years after that, so he would've been there from about 1993 until he retired. He was the Garriso-n Commander for the last 15 years or so."

Parks shrugged. "Oh. I got there in 2015. Must've been right after he retired."

"I wish he could've met you." Rachel showed him a photo of her dad on her cellphone. "You two would've gotten along great."

Ken took that as a major slap in the face, although Rachel didn't notice. The late U.S. Army Colonel Everett C. Beck had despised Ken from day one. The military lifer was convinced that his only daugh-ter was too good for her effeminate, idealistic, shiftless hubby, and he never stopped haranguing her about marrying him during her senior year at State U. The crusty old widower stayed on Ken's case, calling him all sorts of hum-iliating names, including "candy-ass," which was still in heavy rotation long after the authoritarian bastard had croaked. Until the day he died, Colonel Beck had accused Rachel of using Ken to rebel against him, picking someone who was the exact opposite of her strong-willed, masculine fa-ther. The concerned dad repeatedly warned her that she'd eventually come to regret her decision to marry "that candy-ass loser who lives in Fantasyland."

So, it was like a kick in the nuts for Ken to have to sit there and listen to his wife gush about how her prick of a fa-ther would've loved Parks. But the dejected cuckold somehow managed to maintain his fake smile throughout the demoralizing conversation. Although it felt like he was passing a kidney stone, Ken even praised the colonel when Parks mentioned how well he'd raised Rachel.

"Boy, your dad must've been a real solid dude to have produced someone like you," Parks told his lady.

"Oh, she takes after her fa-ther a lot," Ken offered, his attempt at jumping into the conversation falling flat.

Rachel's eyes danced as she leaned into her lover. "Yeah, Dad didn't like Ken much."

Parks scoffed. "Naw? I can't imagine. Now, why didn't her dad like you, Kenny?"

"Um, I don't know." Ken flicked the salt-shaker.

"Because he was a Feminist Studies major," Rachel said, causing Parks to crack up while Ken slumped in his seat. "Tell Trent what my dad always called that degree."

Ken searched his wife's eyes. "Aw, come on, honey. Let's not, okay?"

"What?" Rachel scoffed. "My fa-ther thought you were stupid for getting a candy-ass diploma. That's not exactly a secret, Ken."

"I wasn't stupid, Rachel. All right?" Ken sipped his Moscato. "It's not a 'candy-ass diploma.' I learned a lot, okay?"

"Yeah?" Parks leaned back in his seat. "Tell me what you learned in Feminist Studies."

Rachel frowned. "I thought we weren't gonna talk politics."

"No, I wanna hear it." Parks smirked. "I just might want to sign up for that class someday. So ... what all do they teach you in Feminist Studies, Kenny?"

Ken folded his hands on the table. "Well, you learn things like implicit bias, where men will just assume that women can't do everything as good as a man can do—"

"But women CAN'T do everything as good as a man can do." Parks guffawed. "Any third-grader knows that."

Ken blinked. "Um, well, I guess that's one perso-n's opinion. We all have our opinions."

With a twinkle in his eye, Parks continued needling his lady's husband. "That's not just my opinion, Kenny. There's a lot of things women can't do that men can."

"Such as?" Ken squared his shoulders, mentally preparing his talking points.

"Well, they can't pee standing up for starters." The inebriated officer threw back his head and cackled.

Ken was fired up and ready to debate his wife's palooka about the need to stamp out the patriarchy, but before he could go into his spiel, Rachel interrupted him by pointing out a far more urgent matter — their faces were plastered on several of the sports bar's big-screen television sets that were tuned to the WCHR Channel 5 Action 7:00 Newscast.

Rachel's eyes teared up as she noticed people at the other tables gawking at her. "OMG, this is so fucking embarrassing."

Parks slammed his dri-nk. "Come on, baby, let's get the fuck out of here." He stood up and helped Rachel with her chair before turning to Ken.

"Go ahead and pay the bill." He nodded at Rachel. "I'm gonna get her home."

Without waiting for an answer, Parks turned and guided his sweetheart out of the pub.

Ken kept his head down until the waitress brought the check. He thought he detected a wisp of a smirk, but he left a sizeable tip anyway.

The poor cuckold was looking for any reaso-n to feel like a bigshot.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 8
by c.w. cobblestone


In the end, Al Chase the ambulance-chaser failed spectacularly in his attempt to smear witnesses and distract the jurors in the matter of the People vs. Edward Charles Whittaker III.

Deliberations lasted only two hours before the jury found Whittaker guilty of attempted ra-pe, armed robbery and felonious assault. During his sentencing hearing, Whittaker cussed out Ken, Officer Parks, Judge Ortiz, his own lawyer, Chase, and Assistant District Attorney Turnbull. The defendant reserved his raunchiest comments for Rachel, and was thrown out of the courtroom after screaming "I bet my dick's bigger than your cop boyfriend's." The three-time loser with previous convictions for assault, robbery and dru-g possession wasn't physically present to hear the judge hand down the 25- to 50-year priso-n sentence, although the defendant tuned in via livestream with two bailiffs hovering behind him.

A week after the sentencing, Parks learned his own fate: A 30-day suspension without pay for conduct unbecoming. By then, the press had moved on to other stories, and "the case of the cop who fell in love with the married victim" was largely forgotten. Officer Parks' suspension merited just a small item on Page 2C of the Marysville Daily Record, while only one of the three TV news stations in town even bothered covering it, and that was merely an eight-second blurb.

Parks' decision to face the media head-on had been a wise one, and Rachel thought it showed real leadership. It reminded her of the colonel, who'd always stressed to his daugh-ter that she should face challenges rather than retreat from them. The witnesses in the Whittaker trial didn't run, so reporters had nobody to chase. By confronting the blo-odthirsty muckrakers in the parking lot outside the courthouse, Parks, Rachel and Ken had neutralized the controversy and turned it into a one-day story. They'd stood up straight and answered all questions, thus releasing the pressure-valve. With nobody hiding anything, and no real "scandal" other than a police officer admitting that he'd fallen in love with a married woman, and the husband saying they were trying to work it all out, the story faded relatively quickly.

During his hiatus from active duty, Parks pretty much lived with the Coolidges. Ken didn't get many opportunities to sle-ep in his own bed, and he resented the constant outside presence in his home. Making it worse, the idle cop was starting to belittle his defeated rival at every turn while acting like he was merely joking, which made Ken seem like the bad guy if he tried to stop the needling. Rachel loved it, and would roll around laughing at her boyfriend's pranks and put-downs, chiding her husband if he attempted to retaliate in any way.

Ken also suspected that Parks and Rachel had been up to something. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but since the trial, he'd detected a change in the three-way dynamic, as if his wife and her lover were in on some private joke, or making plans he wasn't privy to. Ken felt a constant knot in his stomach, as if he sensed a hidden iceberg lurking around the corner.

Everything came to a head one Saturday night about halfway through the suspension. Rachel and Parks were cuddling on the couch watching TV after they'd both sucked down a considerable amount of al-cohol, when the cop's stomach started to grumble.

Parks peered across the room at Ken, who sat slumped in the easy chair. "Hey, Kenny, since they taught you in Feminist Studies that men should do women's work, how about fixing me a sandwich?"

Rachel slapped his thigh. "You're so crazy! Stop it!"

"What? I'm just doing my part to defeat the patriarchy. Men can make sandwiches, too. Huh, Kenny?"

Ken rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man."

After a few seconds ticked by, Parks smacked his lips twice. "You know, Ken, I actually wasn't joking about you making me a sandwich. I mean, if you don't mind, that is. I'm kinda settled in here."

Ken blinked. "What? Are you fucking serious?"

"Whoa, dude. I mean, if it's that big of a deal, don't worry about it." Parks shrugged. "Sorry, man, didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend him?" Rachel scowled at her husband. "Bullsh-it. Ken, go make him a damn sandwich, and stop acting like an idiot."

"Rachel?"

"Rachel what? Are you really gonna be a damn baby because someone asked you to make a sandwich? Someone who probably saved both our lives, by the way?"

Parks laughed. "Yeah, that's right, you both owe me. I was watching this show the other day about how in the old days if you saved someone's life they had to be your slave forever. So, guess what, Kenny?" He snapped his fingers. "You gotta be my slave. Now, go make me a sandwich, slave."

The drun-ken Rachel giggled, prompting her boyfriend to playfully grab her wrist. "I don't know what you're laughing about, girly — I saved your life, too, so I got two slaves now."

She struggled to free herself but Parks wouldn't let go.

"Say, 'yes, Master,'" he goaded.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Rachel tried harder to pull away from her massive lover, to no avail.

"Say, 'yes, Master.'"

She smirked. "Yes, Asshole."

Parks started tickling her and she caved immediately. "Okay, okay, stop, yes, Master, yes, Master, stop!"

The cop sat back with a smug expression. Rachel slapped his shoulder.

"Damn it, Trent, you left a mark on my arm." She showed him the tiny abrasion. He took her forearm and examined it.

"Aw." Parks pouted at Ken. "Here, Kenny, come kiss her boo-boo."

Ken snorted.

Parks looked Ken in the eye, still presenting Rachel's arm. "Seriously, come kiss it."

Rachel grinned. "Come on, Ken." She puckered. "Make boo-boo better."

"Oh, all right, jeez." Ken sighed, tramped across the room and pecked his in-toxicated wife's forearm before stomping back to his chair.

As soon as Ken's ass hit the seat, Parks said: "So ... were you gonna make me that sandwich, Kenny?"

Ken rose in a huff. "All right, all right. What kind do you want?"

Parks pursed his lips. "I'll take some of that pastrami you got in there. On rye bread. Mustard."

Ken exhaled. "Um, there's only one piece left. I was planning to have it for lunch tomorrow."

"OMG, are you kidding me?" Rachel cocked her head. "That's fucking rude, Ken. Go make him a damned pastrami sandwich, already."

Throwing up his hands, Ken marched off to the kitchen to feed the man who was fucking his wife.

"Put a pickle on there too, Kenny, would ya?" Parks called after him.

With his ears burning, Ken fixed the sandwich, plodded into the living room and dropped it on the coffee table.

Parks untangled himself from Rachel's embrace, sat up on the couch and took a huge bite. "Mm," he said with his mouth full. "Those Feminist Studies classes really paid off, Kenny. Who says a man's place can't be in the kitchen?"

Ken scoffed. "Yeah, whatever, that's just fucking stupid. Enough already with all the feminine crap, okay?"

Rachel frowned. "Oh, don't even try it, Ken. You know you're in touch with your feminine side. Why keep lying to everyone? Be yourself, why don't you?"

Ken's jaw dropped. "Wha ... what?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Rachel stared a hole through her husband's eyeballs.

Ken blinked. "Wha ... wha ... honey??? What the fuck?"

Parks took another bite of his pastrami sandwich and chewed with a grin, enjoying the show.

"We shouldn't keep secrets, Ken." Rachel smiled at her husband. "We should tell him."

"Honey, please, why are you doing this? Please, I'm begging you."

"Oh, Jeez, Ken, it's not that big of a deal." Rachel turned to her lover. "He likes wearing women's clothes. Big whoop."

Ken bolted into the guest bedroom in tears. He sat on the bed sobbing until he heard someone open the door. Thinking Rachel had come to console him, he was surprised to see Parks enter the room. The despondent husband stood up and backed into a corner.

With a smile, Ken sat on the bed and patted the mattress. "Come here, Ken. Sit down."

Ken froze. "What?"

"I'm not gonna bite you, man, come sit down."

Ken inched across the room and found a spot on the opposite side of the bed.

"Listen, Ken, I know I'm always fucking with you, but I'm just kidding around, busting your chops. Guy sh-it. But, honestly, Ken, this is no big deal." Parks scooted closer. "Seriously, dude, you're making this a lot worse than it needs to be."

"Well, what the fuck." Ken wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "That's my private fucking business, man. She didn't have to do that. It's fucked up."

Parks rested his hand on Ken's shoulder. "I know. She's pretty dru-nk. She doesn't mean any harm. You know she loves you, right? She's trying to do this the right way."

Ken scoffed. "Yeah? Well, if she loves me, she has a funny fucking way of showing it."

"She just wants you to be happy. Look at me." Parks pinched Ken's chin and turned his head until they made eye contact. "You hear me? All she wants is for you to be happy, Ken, and she knows you're not happy with how things are now. She knows you have this other side, this secret thing you keep from her, and she's trying to figure out how to make it all work together. Both of us are."

Ken's eyes narrowed. "Have you guys been talking about me?"

"Well, yeah, dumbass, that's what I'm trying to tell you. She talks about you all the time. She's worried about you."

"No ..." Ken looked at his hands. "I mean has she been talking about my ... you know ... telling you my private business? Before tonight?"

Parks sighed. "Ken, we tell each other everything. I confessed my secret to her, too."

Ken's head popped up. "What's your secret?"

The cop's baby blues pierced Ken's soul. "Well, I never thought of myself as bisexual ... but when Rachel told me about your crossdressing, I really started thinking about the idea of having you in the bedroom with us ... you know, as a slave. Dressed like a girl, though. Ever since she told me about you ... well, it's weird because that never turned me on before. I wasn't sure how Rachel was gonna take it, but I finally went ahead and told her. She said she likes the idea, too, because it would bring you into our relationship, and you wouldn't feel left out all the time. She's just been waiting for the right way to bring it up. I guess she figured tonight was the time."

"Ah ... buh ... uh ... waaaaa ..." Ken trembled from head to toe and couldn't breathe, let alone formulate words. He released a squirt of urine that left a small, round spot on his fly.

"We all need to be who we are, Ken." Parks rested his hand on the smaller man's knee. He gave it a quick squeeze and stood up. "We can talk more about this in the morning. Good night."

Ken lay in bed staring at the ceiling all night, too stunned to move.

BOOK II



"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 9
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken cursed the rising sun and covered his head with a pillow but he couldn't make the day go away.

He hid in the dark until the tinkling in the bathroom and clinks from the kitchen announced that Rachel and Parks were awake. With a sigh, the bleary-eyed, frazzled cuckold sat upright. He knew he'd have to drag his ass out of bed and face his wife and her lover eventually, so he figured he might as well get it over with.

His entire body ached from spending a sle-epless night frozen in one position. He planted his feet on the floor and perched on the edge of the mattress, rubbing his eyes and working up the courage to move. Drawing a butterfly breath, he willed his legs into action, rising and plodding through the guest room door.

Rachel looked up from the coffeemaker and adjusted the belt on her robe. "Hey, you."

Ken stopped in his tracks. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out.

The toilet flushed and Parks strolled in from the bathroom wearing just boxers. "Morning, dude. How you holding up?"

Ken managed to croak two syllables: "Okay."

Keeping his head down, Ken scuttled to the john and did his morning business. He returned to the living room just as Rachel drifted in from the kitchen with a steaming cup in each hand. She offered Ken his tea, garnished with the usual lemon wedge and dash of stevia. After a brief pause, he accepted it but was unable to meet her gaze. Rachel kissed his cheek before serving Parks' coffee and joining her lover on the couch.

"Trent says you two had a talk last night." Rachel smiled at Ken, who teetered in front of the sofa in his pajamas.

Ken dunked his teabag. "Y-yeah."

"Honey, I'm sorry about the way it happened." Rachel winced. "I had way too much to dri-nk. I honestly didn't want it to go down like that, Ken. But I've been trying to think of a way to bring this up for a while now, and I guess I just wanted to finally get it all out there. So, I kind of pushed the envelope."

Ken scrunched up his eyebrows. "Is this why you started asking me questions a while back about what happened with Sandra when I was a kid? You never wanted to know anything about it before — you said it disgusted you. Creeped you out."

"I know, honey, I'm sorry." Rachel sighed. "I wasn't very nice about it, was I? I guess I do take after my dad. I'm really sorry about that."

"Um, that's okay, Rachel." Ken shambled over to the easy chair and settled in. "I know it was a shock for you to find out the way you did, with me not really being truthful and doing it behind your back. I know that wasn't fair to you, honey, but I was so ... embarrassed about it. I still am. It's really fucking embarrassing, you know?"

Parks hunched forward. "Bro, I get it. You think I'm not embarrassed? Sh-it, I never fantasized about another dude before in my life. I mean, I ain't no damn fag, believe me. But when Rachel told me you liked dressing up in women's clothes ... I ... I just started thinking about you being my slave. And it fucking turns me on, bro. What can I say?"

Rachel tapped her beau's knee. "This one's into all that dominance and sub-mission stuff. I don't mind it a little rough, a little spank here and there, but nothing too much."

"And I'm really a top, not a bottom, so that's not an option for us. Her being dominant to me, I mean." Parks folded his arms. "So ... how about you, Kenny? Rachel says when you were a kid your big sister used to dress you up in her clothes and be mean to you ... and now that turns you on?"

Ken looked away. "I ... I don't know, man. What the fuck. This is a fucking nightmare."

"It's okay, bro," Parks said. "Like I said, this sh-it's embarrassing for me, too. But fuck it — I'm not afraid to admit it. I've had fantasies about you, Ken ... where you're on your knees ... wearing a pink tutu ... while Rachel whips you, and pegs you with one of those huge dildoes with the bumps on it. And I'm there, too. You know, with you as our sex slave. For both of us. Blowjobs and stuff."

Ken blanched while Rachel suppressed a snicker.

Parks tightened his lips. "So, does it turn you on to be treated like a sissy slave, Ken?"

Blinking a mile-a-minute, the hum-iliated hubby muttered, "I dunno ... I ... I mean, maybe ... if she ... um, if she did it."

Rachel adjusted her robe. "You know, I was looking on some of the crossdresser websites trying to figure all this out, honey, and apparently a lot of guys who dress up are into other stuff, too. Did you ever hear of cuckold?"

Ken flinched, spilling tea.

Parks chuckled. "Yeah, he knows about it. What do you think, Kenny? Is that maybe something you might want to try?"

Ken's jaw moved but his throat muscles weren't working.

Rachel rose, sashayed across the room and perched on her husband's thigh. With a mischievous grin, she reached under his pajama pants and started jerking him off. "Will you be our little sissy slave, Kenny? Would you like that? Huh? Would you like to be included in our sex life? Doesn't that sound fun? I'm willing to try something new if you are, honey. Would you like it if I made you clean the house in your girly clothes? And whipped you? Or poked you in the butt with a big dildo? Would you like to be Trent's slave, too, sweetie? Both of our slave?"

"I ... I ... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Ken's hips jerked, bounced and twitched as he shot Superman thunderbolts into his wife's palm — by far the most powerful, testicle-churning orgasm he'd ever experienced.

Parks smirked. "I think that's a yes!"

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 10
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken covered his face. It felt hot to the touch.

"Move your hands. Now!" As a police officer, Parks was used to giving commands and his tone was firm.

The petrified pansy dropped his arms to his sides and squeezed his eyes shut while bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Rachel squealed. "OMG, you look so cute. You did a great job on your makeup, honey. That teddy looks SO sexy on you ... and those little socks are just darling." Grinning, she reached forward to adjust the crotch. "Although THAT naughty thing seems to be getting in the way. Didn't you just cum? You little horndog."

"We should get him a cock cage." Parks sneered. "How's that sound, Kenny? Ever fantasize about having your cock locked up?"

Ken licked his lips and whispered, "yes."

Parks cupped his ear. "I'm sorry, what's that? I didn't hear that right, Kenny — have you already forgot how you're supposed to address me?"

Ken swallowed. "Um, yes, Master."

"Attaboy, Kenny. We might make a slave out of you yet." The cop grinned at his lady.

"This is so much fun." She leaned in for a kiss.

The couple twisted tongues while Ken stood before them needing to pee. When the brief snog session ended, Parks eyeballed his new plaything.

"We've gotta do something about that name." Parks looked his subject up and down.

Rachel grimaced. "Yeah, Ken isn't a very good name for a sissy slave is it?" She smiled at her husband. "Do you have a name for yourself, honey? You know, in your fantasies?"

"I ... I ..."

"Come on, honey, tell us."

"I ... well, it's ..." Ken scratched his elbow. "Sorry. It's really, really embarrassing."

"Kenny." Parks locked eyes with the twitchy crossdresser. "How many times do I have to tell you? There's no such thing as being embarrassed around here anymore. Now, tell us. That's an order."

Ken gazed at his feet, which were encased in pink, ruffled ankle-socks that matched his teddy. "Um ... my sister always called me ... um, Cinderella."

Rachel bit her lip to prevent a giggle from escaping. "Um ... okay. And do you fantasize about being called Cinderella while you're dressed up and being treated like a slave?"

Ken nodded, earning a quick reprimand from Parks: "Is that how you're supposed to address her when she asks you a direct question, slave?"

"Sorry. Um, yes, Mistress."

"Yes, Mistress what?" Rachel's eyes danced.

"Um ... yes, Mistress, I do think about being called that."

"Do you think about it when you beat off?" Rachel smirked. "Being called Cinderella?"

Ken shut his eyes. "Yes, Mistress."

"Then from now on that's what we'll call you. Cinderella." Rachel turned to her boyfriend. "Sound good to you, babe?"

"Hell, yeah, it's fucking hot." Parks massaged his growing cock. "You know what? Do a little dance for us, Cinderella."

Ken's jaw dropped. "Wha ... what?"

Parks twirled his finger. "You heard me. Dance, slave."

The sissy wrung his hands. "I ... I feel stupid."

"DANCE, GODDAMN IT!" Ken bellowed, jolting Ken into action, although it was a half-hearted effort.

Rachel started a rhythmic clap. "Come on, Cinderella. Do it. Just like you did for Sandra. Dance for us, Cinderella." She chanted in synch with her clapping: "Cin-der-el-la! Cin-der-el-la! Cin-der-el-la!"

His face burning hot, Ken swayed back and forth, feeling utterly ridiculous.

"Hang on." Rachel thumbed through her cellphone and pressed a button. The first bouncy strains of Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," rang out, prompting a guffaw from the suspended cop.

"That's the perfect so-ng for a little girly slave." Parks leaned forward and slapped Ken on his lacy ass. "Come on, sissy, let's go, shake that moneymaker. And if you don't show some goddamn enthusiasm and put a little more oomph into it, your ass is gonna be freshly-mowed grass. Now, let's go, slave!"

Throwing inhibition to the wind, Ken went to town, prancing, skipping, twerking, snapping his fingers, licking his lips and shaking his hips. He released all the sissiness that had been bottled up inside him for years, putting everything he had into being as faggoty as possible while Rachel and Parks cuddled on the couch leering at the flouncy performance.

As the so-ng faded out, Rachel pushed the "stop" button. She and Parks broke into applause.

"Good job, Cinderella." Rachel grinned. "That was great, sweetie."

"Yeah, good job, slave. You're a natural-born sissy if ever there was one." Parks smacked his lips. "Now, I'm getting a little hungry, there, Cinderella. How about running in the kitchen and whipping us up some grub?"

"Um, yes, Master. Um, what should I make?"

Parks shrugged. "Bacon and eggs. Scrambled. Cheese in the eggs."

"Yes, Master." Ken turned to Rachel. "Um, did you want anything, Mistress?"

Rachel grinned. "This is so great. Yes, Cinderella, I'll take some cottage cheese with peaches. And a nice glass of orange juice."

"Yes, Mistress."

"OJ for me too, and bring it first," Parks piped in.

"Yes, Master."

Ken scampered to obey, holding down a smile.

Rachel giggled and leaned into her boyfriend. "OMG, this is so cool."

As he bustled back and forth in the kitchen, Ken tried to cook up the perfect breakfast. He metaphorically pinched himself while he worked, hardly daring to believe that his lifelong fantasy had actually come to life. Since puberty, Ken had masturbated to visions of mean girls beating and hum-iliating him like his sister had done. His imaginary vixens would degrade him in various ways — including fucking other guys under his nose and taunting him about it.

After Parks showed up, though, Ken pushed that part of the fantasy out of his headspace as he suffered through the real-life anguish of being cuckolded by a manlier rival. Ken had harbored nothing but resentment for the alpha cop from the day he'd entered the picture, especially since the Feminist Studies major wasn't exactly a back-the-blue guy to start with. But as the sissified hubby cracked an egg and dropped yolk into the sizzling pan, it dawned on him that for the first time, he was glad Parks was around. In this new paradigm, the musclebound police officer's presence in the relationship was not only welcome — it was essential.

Parks was the portal through which Ken's fantasies could become reality. The cop had already been into BDSM before he met the Coolidges, so when his girlfriend told him that her wimp of a husband was a secret crossdresser, it piqued his curiosity. The more Parks thought about dominating the little pussy, the hornier it made him.

Rachel's entry into the S&M lifestyle was paved by her lover's interest in the practice. Right after her attempted ra-pe, when she told Ken that she'd known his sissy secret for some time, she'd made it clear that she wasn't interested in having a crossdresser as her primary sexual partner, and told him to "go do your thing" without her. But since she now had a veritable Adonis to satisfy her womanly needs — someone who also was highly interested in exploring her husband's submissiveness — Rachel had no problem accommodating Ken's kink. In fact, she was finding the budding threesome to be great fun.

The arrangement allowed Ken to be included in his wife's torrid relationship with Parks, while both men got to live out their sexual fantasies — three birds with one stone.

Ken was flooded by bliss, relief and anxiety as he put the finishing touches on breakfast. When the bacon and eggs were ready, he arranged them neatly on a plate from the good China cabinet. After setting the platter on a tray next to Rachel's cottage cheese, he lugged the load into the living room with his heart aflutter.

Rachel clapped as Ken approached with the tray. "Yay! You're such a good little slave for us, Cinderella. But didn't you make anything for yourself."

Ken gulped. "Um, no, Mistress, I wasn't sure if I should."

"Now, that's some good slave-thinking." Parks smiled. "You're doing real good to start out, you know that, Cindy-Poo?"

"Thank you, Master. I ... I'm trying."

Parks pointed to a spot on the floor near the couch. "Why don't you kneel there while we eat?"

Ken obeyed and watched his new masters enjoy the breakfast he'd prepared. Rachel leaned down and offered her husband a bite of yogurt. He sucked the spoon clean. Parks joined in, breaking off a piece of bacon and presenting it to Ken. Like a dog, the sissy used his teeth to nibble the treat from his superior's fingers. Parks patted him on the head. "Good slave."

When the meal was over, Ken took the dishes to the kitchen and washed them before reporting back to the living room, where Rachel and Parks were lip-locked. The subby hubby stood there with his head bowed, feeling an inch tall watching his wife make out with another man. It also thrilled him beyond belief.

They finally came up for air and Parks rubbed his ramrod cock through his boxers. "Want to go in the bedroom?"

"Mm, oh yeah." Rachel smiled. "Ready, Cinderella?"

Ken gulped. "Y-yes, Mistress."

The amorous couple rose from the couch and Ken followed them like a puppy dog into the boudoir. Rachel shrugged off her robe, exposing her naked body. She winked at her husband. "I love you, Cinderella. You know that?"

"Yes, Mistress. I ... I love you, too."

Parks shimmied out of his boxers, exposing his elongated, hefty cock. "I think Cindy-Poo is wanting a little foreplay," he said, scanning the room until spying one of Rachel's belts. Slipping it from its spot on the door rack, he handed the makeshift whip to his lady. "Here you go, baby. Put some stripes on that little sissy's ass."

Rachel took it and sighed. "Ken, are you sure you want me to do this? I mean, Cinderella?"

"Y-y-yes, Mistress," the sissy whispered, his chattering teeth making it difficult to communicate.

"Take off that teddy and bend over the chair, slave," Parks ordered as he relaxed in bed naked with his hands propped behind his head and his huge schlong flopped across his thigh. "Count each one out loud and thank her."

"Yes, Master."

Once Ken was in position, Rachel took up a spot behind him. Cringing, she swung the belt, which ticked against her husband's flesh.

"One, thank you, Mistress."

Parks scoffed. "Oh, come on, babe, he can take more than that."

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt him."

"Hey, Cindy-Poo — tell your mistress you can take a lot more than that," Parks said. "Beg her to hit you with all her might."

Although it was difficult to talk while bent over, Ken complied. "Um ... will you please hit me with all your might, Mistress?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, please."

Rachel shrugged. "Okay, then, if that's what you want."

"That first one doesn't count, either," Parks piped in.

Shooting a grin to her lover, Rachel cocked the belt. "Ready, Cinderella?"

"Yes, Mistress."

WHAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP!

"Yeeeeeeeeeeow!" Ken straightened up and rubbed his cheeks.

"Bend back over, slave!" Parks bellowed, and the sissy instantly obeyed.

Rachel clucked her tongue. "Uh-oh. Somebody didn't say 'thank you' like they were supposed to."

"One, t-thank you, Mistress."

"Nope, that one don't count, either." Parks smirked. "And if you forget to count again, I'll be the one giving 'em to you — and you won't like that, I promise. Got it?"

"Yes, Master."

Rachel raised the belt a third time. "Ready?"

"Yes, Mistress."

THHHHHHWWWWWWWAPPPP!

"YEOWCH! One, thank you, Mistress."

Rachel giggled. "Ooh, look, it left a huge red mark. I'm gonna make another one, okay, Cinderella?"

"Y-yes, Mistress," he sobbed.

"Aw, you're crying. Does it hurt?"

"Y-yes, Mistress."

"But you like it, don't you?"

He paused. It hurt like a so-nofabitch and every neuron in his body screamed no. But he found himself saying, "y-yes, Mistress."

"Okay, then. Let's make another stripe. Ready?"

She didn't wait for an answer.

FWWWWWWWWWWITTTT!!!

"Ow, ow, two, thank you, Mistress."

After administering 20 of her best, Rachel's face was blotchy. She was trembling. Her heart felt like it was about to blow through her chest. "OMG! Wow, is that a fucking rush. Woo-hoo! Damn, that's fun!"

Parks shook his dick. "Get your ass over here, girl. And you — don't move your little sissy ass, you hear? Stay bent over just like that."

"Yes, Master," the sobbing, upside-down pansy blubbered.

Rachel was as hot-to-trot as she'd ever been, diving on the bed and clawing at her lover like a hellcat in a patch of Horny Goat Weed. They fucked up a storm, fueled by the presence of their simpering submissive, who held his topsy-turvy position admirably throughout his masters' loud, bumpy ride.

It didn't take long for both Sex Olympians to cross the finish line, and they screamed through a simultaneous climax that threatened to knock pictures off the walls.

After a moment of silence, Rachel sighed. "Did you like that, Cinderella?"

"Yes, Mistress." Even though his wife's earlier hand-job had churned his guts out, the sore-assed sissy was as horny as he'd ever been, too.

Parks yawned. "I need a nap. But first, someone's got clean-up duty to attend to."

Rachel giggled. "Come up on the bed, Cinderella."

Ken could hardly breathe as he righted himself and tiptoed toward his reclining masters.

Parks patted the mattress. "Come on, Cindy-Poo. Ladies first."

The next few minutes were surreal for the newly minted sissy slave. As he licked what seemed to be an endless river of cum from his wife's pussy, Ken felt like he was twirling in the eye of a cyclone while riding a rollercoaster amid the sound of a thousand bumblebees.

The chaos inside Ken's head got even more intense when Rachel tugged his earlobe and said, "okay, sweetie. Trent's turn."

It was a life-changing dick-suck for both sucker and suckee, reshaping how each man saw himself and breaking down major internal barriers. By the time Parks pulled his cock from his supplicant's mouth and smacked it against his nose three times, everyone in the room was keenly aware that they'd just crossed an invisible-but-permanent demarcation line into a new dimension.

With the sex mess cleaned up, Rachel yawned. "We're gonna take a nap, now, Cinderella. Want to stay in here with us?"

"Um, yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress."

Parks pointed to the foot of the bed. "Why don't you lay down there, Cindy-Poo? You can be our foot-warmer."

Ken gulped. "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

Rachel giggled and smiled at her husband. "Are you happy, Cinderella?"

"Y-yes, Mistress." Tears welled up in the sissy's eyes when his beloved wife mouthed the words "I love you."

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 11
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken's shoulder muscles were on fire and his neck was sunburned. It was the best vacation ever.

Rachel and Parks relaxed on chaise lounges, smiling at the Atlantic Ocean from their perch on the balcony.

"Faster, slave," Rachel said, waving her hand in front of her face. "It's hot as hell out here."

"Yes, Mistress." Ken picked up the pace with the large palm leaf that cooled his reclining masters under the Caribbean sun.

Parks took a sip of beer and turned to his girlfriend. "Want to go for a swim?"

Rachel nodded. "Yeah, good idea. I'm dying." She lifted her sunglasses and addressed her husband. "Go pack up some towels and the beach blanket." She sneered. "And change into your bikini, too, Cinderella."

"Yes, Mistress." Ken stowed the palm leaf and retreated into the hotel suite. Within a few minutes the provisions Rachel had ordered were packed, with Ken taking the initiative to add a bag of Doritos, a few bottles of water and suntan lotion. Once the satchel was ready, he removed his teddy and changed into the mortifying pink two-piece bikini Rachel had purchased for him in the hotel gift shop. Ken had begged his mistress not to make him wear the suit in public, but his request was vetoed. She told him there was nothing to worry about since they were thousands of miles from home — and besides, she said, it would be fun to embarrass him.

Once everything was packed, Ken trailed his wife and her lover out of the suite and onto the nearby beach, staying 30 feet behind them as ordered. He fluctuated between eyeballing Rachel's juicy ass and watching other beachcombers ogle his attractive masters, while he did his best to block out the people who were cracking up at how ridiculous he looked in his sissy two-piece. There had been no attempt to make Ken pass as female; he was just a skinny little guy wearing a little girl's bathing suit that was way too tight. Ken trudged after his amorous superiors as the sneers, snickers and cackles followed him like footprints in the sand.

Ken flinched when Parks suddenly screamed "you mo-therfucker!" and took off sprinting down the beach toward a man holding a camera with a telephoto lens. The shutterbug tried to run away but the athletic Parks quickly tackled him.

The burly cop pinned the man to the beach floor by the neck. "Who the fuck are you? Why are you taking pictures?"

Rachel came jogging up, followed by Ken, who made sure to stand several yards away from his masters.

"What's going on, hon?" Rachel squinted. "Who is this guy?"

"Some asshole who's been following us taking pictures." Parks looked around to ensure nobody was watching and then slapped the sh-it out of his priso-ner. "Who the fuck are you, mo-therfucker? Tell me now, or I'm gonna put my fist down your fucking throat. Why are you taking pictures of us?"

"Man, I'm just an amateur photographer. I don't—"

SLLLLAPPP!!!

"Don't bullsh-it me, mo-therfucker. Why are you taking our goddamn picture?"

"Okay, okay, someone paid me to do it," the guy gagged with Parks' hand on his neck.

"Who?"

"I ... I don't know. Some dude just dropped off the money."

"Bull fucking sh-it." Parks gave the punk another slap. "Tell me who paid you if you don't want that goddamn camera shoved up your ass right now." He popped him again.

"Fuck, alright, it was Al Chase, the lawyer," the man croaked. "Screw this sh-it; that asshole just paid me to take pictures — I'm not getting my ass beat for him. Can I get up, please?"

"No, mo-therfucker, not until you tell me why he paid you to take our goddamn pictures!"

"Sir, I swear, I ... I don't know." The man begged Parks with his eyes. "I swear. He just said he wanted me to take pictures of the three of you together."

Parks reared back as if to strike the guy again, but paused. He sighed ... contemplated the ocean for a moment — and then bitch-slapped the slimy lawyer's spy into oblivion. The cop then yanked the camera from its strap around the man's neck, stormed to a nearby paved path and smashed the whole contraption to smithereens on the concrete, telephoto lens and all.

Leaving the man lying in the sand moaning and holding his swollen face, Parks grabbed his girlfriend and marched toward the hotel with Ken scurrying to keep up.

When they returned to their room, Parks immediately phoned his longtime partner, Officer Ji-Ho Yung. "Hey, brother, what's happening? Listen, I just caught this asshole following me and taking pictures down here in St. Thomas, and he says that piece of sh-it lawyer Chase paid him to do it. I don't know what the fuck's going on, but I'm gonna need you to—" There was a pause. "What? Oh, wow, seriously? Sh-it. Well, all right. Yeah. Gotcha, brother. Bye."

Rachel cocked her head. "What's going on, babe?"

"I have no fucking idea. Yung says he can't talk to me right now but he can't say why. He says I'll find out from the captain when my suspension is over, but he's not allowed to talk about it. That sounds like a fucking IA investigation to me. What the fuck are they investigating me for? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Do you think that guy taking pictures has anything to do with that?" Rachel touched her lover's shoulder.

Parks shrugged. "I don't know. IA's looking at me for something, that much I know — I could tell it in Yung's voice. There's no other possible reaso-n for him to say he couldn't talk to me. Whether that has anything to do with that piece of sh-it lawyer paying someone to follow us, I ... I don't know. It just seems too fucking weird to be a coincidence. Let me see if any of my peeps can shake something loose. Excuse me, babe."

As Parks walked onto the balcony composing a text, Rachel snapped her fingers in Ken's direction. "Call Room Service and order me a shrimp salad." She called out to the balcony: "Honey, I'm ordering room service. You want anything?"

"Yeah, mushroom burger," Parks hollered before returning to his phone.

Ken blinked. "Um, is it okay if I order myself something, Mistress?"

"Yeah, yeah." Rachel's attention was focused on her massive boyfriend, who circled the balcony staring into his cellphone with a furrow in his brow.

Parks kept his head in his phone until after sundown, although when he finally set it aside, he had only dug up a few tidbits of information.

"Chumley says IA is for sure looking at me for something, but he said everything's on lockdown. He said the fucking feds might even be involved. He thinks it's something big because the chief keeps calling for updates. And Devo says that cocksucker Chase probably has something to do with this, too, because the department has him under investigation, although he said he doesn't know what it's about. Man, what the FUCK!"

Rachel walked over to her lover and rubbed his neck. "I'm sorry, honey. What do you think this is?"

"Fuck if I know." Parks huffed. "I haven't done anything, so I have no idea what IA's looking for. And I'd like to know how long that dickhead has been following us around. Why the fuck would Chase pay someone to follow us now, anyway? The trial's already over. None of this makes any fucking sense."

Ken raised his hand. "Um, Master?"

"What?"

"Um, do you think they're investigating you because you helped get me out of jail?"

Parks huffed again. "Man, I don't fucking know. Maybe. That seems kinda chicken-sh-it, though. And I didn't really do anything other than ask Zachary; all the paperwork's got his name on it. Nah, that ain't it. Chumley said this looks like it's huge. Why would the chief be calling every day to check up on an IA investigation about me getting you out of jail? Fuck. I can't figure this sh-it out — what would be the point of taking pictures of us now?"

Rachel played with her lover's fingers. "Maybe blackmail?"

The cop stared out the window. "Chryst, I don't know, maybe." He punched his palm. "Mo-ther FUCK. Well, I guess the rest of this vacation's fucked."

"It doesn't have to be," Rachel kissed her beau's ears, head, neck, shoulders and back. "There's nothing we can do about any of this right now, baby. And we're already down here — we might as well try to enjoy these last three days. You can deal with this sh-it when we get back, but right now ... try to forget about it and have a good time. Okay?"

Parks nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Worrying about it won't do any good. But, goddamn it, this sh-it pisses me off." He glared at Ken. "You! Get your sissy ass over here."

Ken rushed to his master and stood at attention with his hands folded in front of him.

"Um, yes, Master?"

"I'm pissed off, Cinderella." Parks frowned. "You know that?"

"Um, yes, Master, I can tell. I'm sorry, Master."

"Yeah, me, too. Like Rachel says, there's nothing I can do about Chase, or any of this IA bullsh-it until I get back. But you know what I can do?"

"Uh, no, Master?"

"Well, I can get out some frustrations. That's what." Parks fixed Ken a steely gaze. "You think you can help me with that?"

Ken gulped. "Y-y-y-es, Master."

"Go get my belt."

His heart thumping, Ken rushed to the closet and retrieved the thick leather implement. He passed it to his master with a shaky hand.

"Get undressed and show me that ass." Parks rose to his feet, slapping the belt against the palm of his hand.

Ken was bent over in preparation for his beating, so he didn't see his wife mouth the words "not too hard" to her lover. The poor sissy took a serious ass-whipping and bawled his little eyes out, but he had no idea how much worse it could've been had his wife not implored the frustrated cop to go easy on him.

After 30 strokes, Parks handed Ken his belt. "That helped," he said. "But, you know what?"

"N-no, Master," Ken sobbed, his ass on fire.

"I think I want you to suck my dick right now. Is that okay with you, Cindy-Poo?"

"Yes, Master." Ken sighed. It wasn't his favorite chore, but after a few weeks of oral service, he was used to it.

Rachel kissed her boyfriend's ear. "I'm glad you're trying to forget all that crap. This is our time, babe."

"Yes, it is. I love you, baby." Parks sneered down at Ken. "Nice and slow, now, sissy. Try to relax me. Okay?"

With his master's cock in his mouth, Ken nodded and continued bobbing.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 12
by c.w. cobblestone

Parks strode into the Coolidge home with his forehead in a knot.

Ken had just finished a shift at the coffee shop and hadn't changed out of his Bean Machine uniform. He shivered as the alpha dog's presence filled the room. Rachel adjusted her position on the couch, leaning away from Ken and subconsciously signaling to her lover that she preferred him.

"How did it go?" She tilted her head to accept her paramour's kiss after he'd let himself in with his key.

"Well, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. But there's a LOT going on." Parks snapped his fingers at Ken. "Bring me a beer."

Ken hopped up and scurried to the kitchen while Parks copped his seat on the couch. "I can't talk about the details yet, baby, but I don't think I'm in any kind of trouble. They were looking into me because they needed to make sure I was clean. Mostly, they were asking me about other people. That's really all I can say about it right now, though. A whole lot makes sense now. It's some crazy sh-it. But I'm not in trouble, I don't think."

Rachel nuzzled her nose into her boyfriend's chest. "Well, that's the main thing — as long as you're okay. Can you say if the IA stuff has anything to do with Chase paying that asshole to follow us and take pictures?"

"No, baby, I really can't talk about it. Wish I could. Sorry." Parks smiled and accepted his beer from Ken. "Thanks, sissy. What do you say, Cindy-Poo — you up for giving me a nice foot-rub?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good." Parks pulled Rachel into his embrace. "Go get changed. And hurry up."

"Yes, Master."

Rachel and Parks cuddled and watched the news while Ken toiled at his master's feet, looking quite the pansy in his slutty makeup and baby-blue teddy. The submissive husband was immersed in the same calm waters that had soothed his sissy soul since he'd embarked on this incredible sexual and emotional journey weeks earlier. For Ken, life had never tasted so sweet — it felt a hellova lot better than being pissed off about every topic under the sun.

Ken knew things were different when he heard a news report on the TV behind him featuring a snippet of a Donald Trump speech — and the Feminist Studies major wasn't fazed. Ken, who'd attended BLM rallies carrying "ACAB" and "Defund Police" signs, was now grateful to be allowed to rub this cop's feet. Ken had never been happier. Rachel had never been happier. Perhaps she and Parks were becoming a bit spoiled and demanding when it came to how they treated their eager little toady — but their entitlement and the inequities that defined the relationship were the very source of Ken's felicity.

As Ken was about to apply cream to Parks' heel, the cop yanked his foot back, sat up straight and bellowed, "What the fuck!"

Parks leaned forward on the couch, riveted by the news report. Rachel's eyes got big. Ken turned around to see what was going on. The sleazy WCHR Channel 5 Action News reporter Evan Carso-n smirked onscreen in front of an oversized photo of Ken, Rachel and Parks sitting together in the sports bar where they'd had their first public outing following Rachel's testimony in the Whittaker trial.

"Shocking new accusations by firebrand attorney Al Chase in documents filed Tuesday in Municipal Court seeking a new trial for Eddie Whittaker, the man convicted in November of armed robbery and attempted ra-pe. If you remember, this case was marked by a bit of a sex scandal — the arresting officer, Trent Parks, was suspended for 30 days without pay after Action News revealed that he'd had an affair with the victim, Rachel Coolidge, who is married. In his filing Tuesday, Chase alleges that Mrs. Coolidge, along with her husband Kenneth Coolidge, conspired with Officer Parks to entrap Mr. Whittaker. According to this filing, Parks has harassed Whittaker for years, and he instructed the couple to parade around in one of Marysville's most crime-ridden neighborhoods, where Whittaker is known to hang out, in an attempt to make themselves look like easy targets. Chase alleges in the 22-page filing that this was 'classic police entrapment,' and he's seeking a new trial. Chase further claims in the filing that Municipal Court Judge Raphael Ortiz tainted the jury with inflammatory comments toward the defense. No date for a hearing has been set. We'll stay on this story for any new developments. This is Evan Carso-n for Channel 5 Action News. Back to you."

"OMG. Are you fucking kidding me?" Rachel held her hand over her mouth. "So, that's why that guy was taking pictures." She shuddered. "Ugh. I still can't believe that little prick of a lawyer sent someone all that way. And it just seems so weird that all this would happen right when internal affairs is looking into you. There's no way they're not connected."

Parks chuckled. "I'll tell you everything when the time comes, baby, I promise. I just can't right now. It'll all make sense when the time comes."

"It's okay, I get it." Rachel kissed her boyfriend's neck. "Police work. Some things have to stay classified."

"Thanks for understanding, baby." Parks rubbed his stomach and frowned at Ken. "I'm hungry — what can you whip up real quick, sissy?"

"Um ... I could make a sandwich, Master. Or I've got Fruity Pebbles."

"No, I don't want no goddamn Fruity Pebbles. Go ahead and make me a sandwich. You got pastrami?"

"Oh, yes, Master, I always make sure to have extra because I know it's your favorite, Master."

"OMG, what a little brown-noser." Rachel giggled as her eager-to-please hubby scooted off to the kitchen.

Ken served the sandwich in less than two minutes flat. When Parks was sated he turned his focus to another hunger that gnawed at him. He pulled Rachel close and she melted in his arms while Ken stood nearby, awaiting further orders after taking his master's empty plate to the kitchen.

The brawny cop broke off his kiss and smirked at Ken. "Go get the bedroom ready, slave."

"Yes, Master." Ken literally ran from the room.

Rachel chuckled at her hubby's enthusiasm, telling Parks she thought it was "cute."

"Yeah, he's a funny little guy, isn't he? He fucking loves it." Parks helped his woman rise from the couch and led her by the hand into their love nest, where Ken had turned down the bed, lit candles, and was waiting on his knees with his head bowed.

Rachel stood over her humble hubby with both arms raised. "Want to help me get undressed, Cinderella?"

"Yes, Mistress." Ken clambered to his feet and removed his wife's clothes with trembling fingers while Parks relaxed on the bed playing with himself.

When she was nude, Rachel joined her lover on the mattress. He wasted no time, grabbing her by the shoulders, rolling her over and sliding his considerable cock into her juicy pussy.

"Hey, Cindy-Poo," the alpha cop called over his shoulder. "My booty sure could use a friend."

Rachel giggled, sending a jolt of degradation through the sissy as he climbed onto the bed and positioned himself behind his master's muscular ass. With a sigh, he lowered his face, burrowed his nose between the cheeks, and tasted the earthy bitterness.

"Ah, yeah, just like that." Parks picked up the pace, pounding his cock into Rachel's flower. Each thrust and parry rocked Ken's head up and down, as though he were saying "yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," and affirming how perfect his wife and her stud were together.

As the fucking grew more intense, it became harder for Ken to keep his tongue where it belonged, and he felt like he was trying to stay on a mechanical bull. Eventually, the bucking became so violent the cuck turned his head and abdicated his booty-duty, drawing a growl from his master.

"Get that goddamn tongue in there!"

"Yrs, Mrstr," Ken replied through a mouthful of ass.

As her ecstasy mounted, Rachel reached behind her lover's pulsating torso and grabbed Ken's hair, prompting a yelp from the supplicant sissy. She held on for dear life as Parks hammered harder and harder. Finally, the stallion arched his back in a climactic thrust that was hard enough to knock Ken's face out of the way for an instant before the slave's tongue quickly relocated its stinky target.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" With a scream that threatened to have neighbors dialing 911, Parks blew his load deep into Rachel's belly. The satisfied stud rolled over, dislodging sissy from ass.

"T-thank you, Mistress. Thank you, Master." Ken wiped his mouth after expressing the requisite gratitude for being allowed in the bedroom during their lovemaking.

Rachel patted her husband's head. "Go brush your teeth. Hurry up."

Whenever he'd had his tongue up an asshole, Ken was required to disinfect his mouth with a cupful of mouthwash and a dollop of Crest before he was allowed to lick his masters' genitals clean. He made quick work of the e coli germs and spent the next 15 minutes or so lapping semen and girl-juice from body parts, while Rachel and Parks cuddled and whispered in each other's ears.

After every drop had been licked up and swallowed, Rachel reached down and ruffled Ken's hair.

"Good night, Cinderella. You can stay and be our foot-warmer if you want to."

"T-thank you, Mistress." Ken curled up at the bottom of the bed as four feet found homes on various parts of his torso. The slave's cock throbbed, although he was under strict orders to refrain from touching himself. As he drifted off to sle-ep, Ken wondered how horny he was going to be after wearing a chastity cage for weeks on end. Parks had ordered one from a website a few days earlier, and since then the sissy had been greeting each day's arrival of the mail with a mixture of dread and perverse excitement.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 13
by c.w. cobblestone

Ken clambered into the bedroom with a newspaper under his arm.

"Mistress! Master! Wake up." Ken was home from his 6am run, which he was required to do daily after Parks had told him he was getting chubby. Following his jog, Ken had stopped in a gas station to get water, and the headline that screamed from the newspaper rack had knocked the wind out of him.

Rachel and Parks sat upright, rubbing their eyes and frowning.

"What the hell's going on?" The cop blinked in the sudden light.

"Here." Ken hurried to set the newspaper on the bed so both his masters could read the 1A article:

CITY COUNCILMAN, LAB TECHS FACE CHARGES IN FEDERAL PROBE
Source: Councilman bribed technicians to change DNA sample to protect serial rap-ist, lover

MARYSVILLE — City Councilman Warren McBride is expected to be arraigned in federal court Thursday on charges that he bribed two Marysville Police Department lab technicians to alter a DNA sample that connected a 59-year-old attempted ra-pe and armed robbery suspect to previous sexual assaults, a source involved in the federal investigation said.

According to the source, McBride has had a longstanding, secret sexual relationship with the suspect, Edward Whittaker. After Whittaker's June arrest, he told the married councilman he would expose their affair if he didn't help him avoid priso-n, the federal source told the Daily Record.

The councilman allegedly gave $25,000 each to lab techs Sheila Carso-n and Joseph Hooper to taint a DNA sample that proved Whittaker was responsible for five sexual assaults in the Marysville area from 2018-2022. Carso-n and Hooper were fired Monday, Marysville police officials confirmed, although they would not comment on the federal investigation.

The accusations against McBride, Carso-n and Hooper are laid out in an indictment that's expected to be filed Thursday in U.S. District Court. McBride faces public corruption and bribery charges, while the two lab techs each will be charged with public corruption and altering evidence, the source said. All three defendants declined to comment when reached by the Daily Record.

The investigation began after McBride allegedly offered Marysville Police Officer Ji-Ho Yung $10,000 to sabotage the body-worn camera footage showing Whittaker's arrest from his device, along with video from partner Officer Trent Parks' bodycam. According to the source, Yung alerted his department about the bribery attempt, and a joint internal affairs and federal investigation was launched.

Whittaker was arrested June 12 after the armed robbery and attempted sexual assault of 27-year-old Rivertown resident Rachel Coolidge. He used a kni-fe in the attack, and he matched descriptions given by previous ra-pe and robbery victims. After his arrest, Whittaker submitted a DNA swab, although because the sample had been purposely tainted it didn't match the previous Marysville ra-pes, the source said. In November, Whittaker was convicted in Municipal Court of attempted ra-pe, armed robbery and felonious assault. He's serving a 25- to 50-year sentence in the Central City Correctional Facility.

Whittaker has previous convictions of assault, robbery and dru-g possession. According to the source, Whittaker's DNA had previously been collected by authorities, but the sample was among thousands that were lost in an evidence storage facility fire in 1999, prior to the samples being digitized.

During his trial, Whittaker was represented by attorney Albert Chase, who filed a motion last week in Municipal Court seeking a new trial, in which he claimed one of the arresting officers, Parks, had conspired with the victim and her husband to entrap Whittaker. Parks and Coolidge testified during the trial to having a sexual relationship. Following Whittaker's conviction and sentencing, Parks was suspended 30 days without pay for violating a department rule prohibiting arresting officers from fraternizing with victims during their open investigations.

According to the federal indictment, McBride paid Whittaker's legal fees. The councilman also allegedly gave $15,000 to both Chase and Channel 5 news reporter Evan Carso-n to work in concert to dig up and publicize information about Officer Parks and the Coolidges that might bolster the claim that they'd conspired to entrap Whittaker. In Chase's motion for a new trial, he claims the officer enticed Whittaker into robbing the couple by having them walk around in a dangerous neighborhood at night and making themselves easy targets.

Channel 5 Vice-President Samir Saad said in a statement that Carso-n is on "sabbatical" but had no further comment.

###

Rachel blinked at her boyfriend. "Wow, what the fuck. So, this is what's been going on."

Parks smirked. "I still can't say anything, babe. But you figure it out."

"Wow, this is so fucked up." Rachel leaned on the bed, scanning the bombshell story. "Are we gonna have to go back to court now?"

"I may have to." Parks shrugged. "You guys may, too. I honestly don't know."

Ken cleared his throat. "Um ... excuse me ... Master?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Um ... it says in there you're not supposed to fraternize with victims in open investigations ... does that mean if they call us back to court, you won't be able to ... you know ... see Rachel?"

Parks smirked at the sissy. "Aw ... what's wrong, Cindy-Poo? Would you miss me?"

The blushing sissy hung his head.

Rachel squealed. "OMG, I think someone has feelings for their master. Do you love your master, Cinderella?"

Ken's ears got hotter. He closed his eyes and bit his lip.

"Do you?" Rachel cocked her head. "Tell me, Cinderella. That's an order."

He had to swallow three times to say the little word: "yes."

Rachel held her hands to her face. "That is so precious. Tell your master that you love him, Cinderella. Say, 'I love you, Master.'"

Ken tried to hold his cheek muscles down but he couldn't stop himself from smiling. He clasped his hands in front of him and stared at his shoes. "I love you, Master."

Parks nodded. "That's a good thing, Cindy-Poo. It's good for you to love your master." He glanced at the clock and grabbed his cock. "I've still got about a half-hour before I've got to get ready — how about you come show me how much you love me, you fuckin' little sissy?"

Book III


"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 14
by c.w. cobblestone

Ken wiggled his toes to stimulate circulation. His oversized "Back the Blue" t-shirt fluttered in the breeze while he stood at attention trying to prevent an angry worm from escaping his grip

Parks looked up from his cellphone and scowled at the wuss. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Um, you told me to bring you a worm, Master."

"And you were standing there holding it all this time?"

"Uh, yes, Master. It looked like you were texting something important and I didn't want to interrupt you."

"I was texting your mistress." Parks rolled his eyes. "When I told you to get a worm, I meant for you to put it on the hook, dumbass — not stand there holding it like a fucking idiot."

"Oh. Sorry, Master."

"Whatever, just give me the damn thing. And fetch me another cold one. You can have one, too, if you want."

"Oh ... Master ... thank you so much, Master, I appreciate it." Ken offered the nightcrawler. Parks plucked it from his subordinate's grip and hooked it. With a flick of the wrist, the avid outdoorsman cast his line into the Orange River.

After serving Parks' Michelob, Ken twisted open his own bottle and swallowed several gulps, savoring the wet sting going down. With an instant buzz on, he stumbled toward his camping chair and kicked over the tackle box, scattering its contents across the dock. "S-sorry, Master," the embarrassed pantywaist squeaked as he darted around scooping up hooks, bobbers, sinkers and lures. Parks watched his hapless slave with an amused smirk.

Once the mess was cleaned up, Ken sank into his camping chair, held the fishing rod between his knees and pulled another worm from the carton. He fumbled around, poking himself in the thumb three times before hooking the bait. After stealing a glance at Parks, he stood, drew a breath, reared back, whipped his rod forward — and caught the hook in a weeping willow.

"Jeez — again?" Parks huffed. "What the hell! What kind of damn pansy are you?"

Ken blushed and fiddled with the sleeve of Parks' hand-me-down t-shirt that was several sizes too big. "S-sorry, Master. I told you, um, I've never been fishing before."

"Yeah, obviously. I guess they don't teach that in Feminist Studies class, huh? Well, I'm not cutting that goddamn line a 'loose every five minutes. Just sit there and keep quiet — I'm trying to fish, and you're getting on my damn nerves." Parks frowned as he tugged at his rod, making the bobber dance in the water.

"S-sorry, Master." Ken sighed.

Parks angled for a few minutes before glancing at his forlorn companion. The wimp's bottom lip quivered and his shoulders drooped. He looked like he'd just lost his only friend.

"Oh, for chrissakes, here, sissy, hold this." Parks handed Ken his rod before stomping over to the tree, pulling down the limb and cutting the fishing line with his kni-fe for the third time. Shaking his head, the alpha male put another hook on the line, baited it and handed the rod over. "Now, come here, stupid-ass. Let's do this again."

Parks positioned himself behind Ken and took hold of his hand, guiding it back slowly before lashing it forward. The line hit the water with a plop. "See? You've got to keep that wrist straight. That's the trick."

"Oh, okay. Thank you, Master."

"No problem." Parks secured his own rod and leaned back in his chair. "Now, try not to get it in the tree again, okay?"

"Yes, Master. Thank you."

"I want a nice, stress-free day, away from all that court bullsh-it. I'd appreciate it if you didn't get on my nerves. Alright?"

"Yes, Master, I won't."

The conversation came to a screeching halt when Parks hooked a large-mouthed bass. As Ken looked on with envy, the veteran angler reeled in a big one.

"Woo-hoo!" Parks held up the prize. "Looks like dinner's on me." He dropped the fish in the bucket with the smaller bass he'd caught earlier, and then recast his line. After silently gazing at the water for a few minutes, he squinted at Ken. "Hey, did you get those Ronna Johannes tickets last night?"

"Oh, yes, Master, I ordered them right after you told me to. Mistress wanted her tennis skirt ironed, and those take a really long time with all the pleats, so I didn't get a chance to forward the e-tickets when they came. I'm sorry, Master — I'll do it as soon as we get home."

"What seats did you get?"

"Um, they weren't selling anything in the first 10 rows, but I was able to get Section E in the 19th row, if that's okay. It was the best they had available, Master."

Parks nodded. "The 19th row's not bad. Good job, sissy."

"Thank you, Master. I think Mistress will be happy."

The top dog scoffed. "I heard her bitching you out this morning. What was that all about?"

"Oh, um ... there was a big mark on her shoe."

Parks snickered. "Boy, she's becoming quite the spoiled brat, huh?"

"Um ... I dunno, Master. Kind of."

"Well, blame yourself. If you agree to be somebody's slave, don't be surprised if they start treating you like a slave."

"I ... I know, Master. It's okay. I should've seen that mark. I don't know how I missed it. I feel bad."

Parks squeezed his dick. "Boy, she was pretty wild last night, huh?"

"Oh, yes, Master. I thought she was gonna have a heart attack, she was screaming so loud. You guys were doing it so hard! The bedpost kept pounding and pounding."

Parks chortled. "I came a lot, huh?"

"Oh, yes, Master. It was, like, a whole gallon."

"How'd it taste?"

Ken blushed. "G-good. Thank you."

"No problem, Cindy-Poo. You done good last night. That little tongue of yours. It's nice having you around, sissy. This is all working out great, huh?"

"Yes, Master, t-thank you, Master." Ken felt a tear forming in his eye but he blinked it away.

"How long's it been since you've been out of your cage?"

"Um ... nine weeks now. I ... I was gonna get to cum Monday but Mistress pushed it back another week."

"Uh oh. What'd you do?"

Ken gulped. "Um, I didn't do anything, Master. She said she felt like being a bitch."

Parks slapped his knee and hooted. "Well, she's sure turning into one. Man, I honestly don't know how you do it. I'd go insane if I had to go a week without cumming, let alone months."

"I ... it's not easy, Master."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't think it would be. But you know you love it. That's why she does it. Right?"

"Yes, Master."

The two men fell into silent reflection for about 20 minutes until Ken's bobber jerked once ... twice ... a third time. It dipped below the water's surface before popping back up. "I got one, Master, I got one!"

"Hold 'er steady," Parks advised. "Reel it in slow ... slow ... slow — now pull!"

Ken yanked his rod back and whirled the reel with a thrilled grin. His eyes widened when he saw the fat bass at the end of the line. It was far larger than the one his master had caught earlier.

Parks leaned over the dock and netted Ken's catch. "Jeez, look at that baby!" He lifted the fish for Ken to see. "That's a keeper if ever there was one! Good job, Cindy-Poo!" He gave his happy slave a high-five, and then took a cell phone shot of the proud lil' fisherman holding up his catch.

Smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, Ken watched the experienced angler unhook the fish and drop it in the bucket with the other two. The sissy blinked. "You think we got enough for dinner now, Master?"

"Yeah, but we better gut 'em and clean 'em here." Parks chuckled. "Rachel will ki-ll us if we get fish guts all over the kitchen."

"You got that right. Anything gory freaks her out." Ken paused. "Um, Master?"

"Mm?"

"Could you please text that picture to Mistress?"

Parks smiled. "Sure, hang on." He composed a quick message to go along with the photo — "Cinderella got the prize catch, almost as big as he is lol" — and pushed send. A few seconds later, he turned his phone around to show Ken the return text: "glad u boys are having fun I kicked Sheila's ass xoxo"

"Mistress is so good at tennis," Ken gushed. "She could've probably went pro if she wanted. She was the best player at State, for sure. I went to every match."

Parks leaned back in his camping chair and swigged his beer. "So, what should we do about her birthday? Give me some good present ideas, or places I can take her."

"Um ... maybe bungee-jumping?" Ken shrugged. "She always wanted to try that."

"I don't know, maybe. What other kind of stuff does she like?"

As Parks scaled, gutted and cleaned the day's catch, Ken dutifully listed his wife's preferences and dislikes, and the two men spitballed gift ideas for her upcoming 28th birthday. By the time they were ready to call it a day, Parks hadn't yet decided on a present, although Ken's suggestions had given him several places to start.

Cracking open one last Michelob, Parks took a slug and nodded at the dock. "Alright, sissy, clean all this sh-it up and let's get going."

"Yes, Master." Ken hopped into action, picking up empty beer bottles and policing the area while Parks leaned against a railing, sipping suds and watching his slave at work. When the dock was spotless, Parks picked up his rod and slung it over his shoulder before heading toward the truck. Ken grabbed the rest of the gear and followed.

Parks frowned as they approached his F-150. "Damn, I didn't think we splashed that much mud coming in here. You'll need to get that before tomorrow."

"Oh, yes, Master, I'll wash it as soon as we get home."

Parks nodded. "Make sure you get those whitewalls good this time. They're looking kinda dingy. You gotta really scrub those hard. Put some elbow grease into it, sissy! Build up those muscles!"

"Yes, Master. S-sorry, Master."

When both men were settled in the truck, Parks leaned back in his seat and sighed. "You know what I'm thinking, Cindy-Poo?"

"Er, no, Master?"

"I'm thinking I could use a quick one before we hit the road." He gave the sissy a wink. "How 'bout it, hot-lips?"

With a gulp, the slave leaned over the truck seat, twisted his head around the steering wheel and started blowing his master like Kobayashi scarfing a hotdog on the Fourth of July. Parks grabbed hold of his little bitch's hair and took him for a painful ride until finally arching his back and blowing globs of spooge down his throat.

The blaring radio prevented conversation during the ride back to Rivertown. When the boys got home, Parks headed inside with dinner wrapped in newspaper while Ken put the fishing gear in the garage. Once everything was stowed, the sissy reported to the living room, where Parks and Rachel relaxed on the couch.

Rachel smiled as her husband approached. She thought he looked cute swimming in her boyfriend's too-big t-shirt. "Nice catch, Cinderella. Maybe next time, you and your master can go lion-hunting together and you can bring back Simba."

Ken giggled. "Thank you, Mistress, that was a huge fish. I guess I got lucky." He blinked at Parks. "Um, excuse me, Master, I was wondering ... do you want me to wash your truck now or should I clean up and start making dinner first?"

Parks shook his head. "Nope, I'm in charge of the grill tonight. Lay out all the utensils and put the spice rack out on the patio, and then you can go get started on the truck."

"Yes, Master."

Parks manned the grill chatting with Rachel, who relaxed on the patio watching Ken toil in the driveway washing and waxing the F-150. It was gleaming by the time Parks announced that dinner was ready.

"Go change and get plates," Rachel told Ken as he neared the deck. She curled her lip. "Wash first."

"Yes, Mistress."

After cleaning up and changing into his serving dress, Ken brought silverware, napkins and two plates out to the patio. He set the table and sank to his usual mealtime spot on his knees, free from the gaze of nosy neighbors, thanks to the privacy fence.

Rachel and Parks enjoyed a relaxing fish dinner under the setting sun. After devouring his filet, Parks patted his stomach.

"That didn't quite do it," he said. "Hey, Cindy-Poo, go bring me that other piece of fish."

"Yes, Master." Ken scurried to the grill and transferred what was supposed to have been his portion onto Parks' plate.

"Thanks, sissy," Parks smirked as Ken set the plate in front of him. The alpha cut off a small slice of the filet and tossed it on the deck floor. "There you go, Cindy-Poo. Bon appétit."

Rachel grinned at her lover before further hum-iliating their slave. "Don't use your hands," she said. "Eat like a dog."

"Yes, Mistress." Ken dropped to all fours, nibbled the chunk of bass from the deck and swallowed it. He knew bending over like that made his panties show under his dress, and he felt exposed as his masters' smirks beat down on him like the sun at high noon.

When Ken finished his paltry dinner, Rachel pointed to the grease spot on the wood where the fish had landed. "Go get a rag and wipe up that mess, Cinderella."

"Yes, Mistress."

Ken hurried back with a rag and bottle of disinfectant. As he knelt and started scrubbing the deck, Parks stood and led his lady into the house. "You can finish what's on my plate if you want to, Cindy-Poo," the cop called over his shoulder as he opened the sliding door.

"Thank you, Master." Ken smiled when he saw that Parks had eaten only about half of his second helping of bass, meaning the lil' fisherman could enjoy his catch without having to slurp it off the deck floor.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 15
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken wiped the counter, cussing under his breath at the hateful, immature dickheads he worked with at the Bean Machine.

Seth and Connor had just hocked loogies into a police officer's coffee while the cop's back was turned. The customer accepted his order with a smile and strolled out of the shop sipping from the Styrofoam cup.

"Hee-hee, fucking pig." Seth high-fived his pimply-faced coworker after the flatfoot had left the premises.

"We got his ass." Connor fingered his nose piercing, a habit that annoyed the hell out of Ken. "That's four cops this week — and it's only Wednesday."

Ken huffed. "Does it make you feel like you accomplished something to spit in people's coffee? What the fuck, that guy didn't do anything to you."

Connor sneered. "Uh-oh, look at Kenny-boy. His wife's boyfriend's got him brainwashed."

"Yeah, I saw your wife's squeeze on the news again," Seth said. "They got him coming out of court — he sure looked sexy in his uniform."

"I bet your badge-bunny of a wife thought so," Connor crowed.

Ken wiped harder, taking out his frustrations on the counter. "Don't worry about my wife. Just don't act like fucking assholes."

Connor shoved the smaller barista from behind. "What the fuck you gonna do about it, cop-lover?"

Ken turned around and looked up at his rival. "Just don't do that to customers anymore. Alright?"

"Or what? You're gonna tell Dick-Nose on us?" Connor shoved Ken again.

"Fuck you!" Ken snarled.

POW!! Connor's fist smashed into Ken's eye. The diminutive Nancy-boy who'd never been in a fight in his life fell to the ground and curled up in a ball.

"What the fuck?" Mr. Decker the manager stormed out of the office. "I saw the whole thing, Connor. You're fired."

"Fuck you, Dick-Nose, I quit!" Connor whipped off his apron, slammed it to the ground and marched out of the shop.

Decker bent down and touched Ken's shoulder. "You okay?"

Ken nodded. "Y-yeah."

"You want me to call police and press charges?" The manager sounded like he was hoping Ken wouldn't take him up on his suggestion, even though he was required to ask. Decker breathed a sigh of relief when Ken shook his head.

"Just leave me alone, okay?" The defeated man sniffled.

"Why don't you call it a day?" Decker patted Ken's back. "I'll pay you for the full shift."

Ken thanked his boss and headed home. He stumbled to the guestroom and plopped on the bed, where he spent the rest of the afternoon.

Rachel walked through the door at the usual time, about a quarter to six. "Cinderella? Where are you? Why isn't dinner ready?" She was used to being greeted by a kneeling sissy slave in the foyer and the smell of heaven coming from the kitchen when she got home from the credit union each evening. With a furrow in her brow, Rachel checked the dining room before opening the guest room door. She gasped. "OMG, sweetie! What happened to your eye?"

Ken looked at his wife through his one good peeper. "I ... some guy hit me at work."

"Hit you?" Rachel sat on the bed, lifted Ken's head and rested it on her lap. She stroked his hair. "Who, sweetie?"

"C-Connor. Some great, big asshole that works with me. Well, he did work there — Dick-Nose saw him hit me and fired his ass."

Rachel leaned down and kissed her submissive hubby on the head. "That's terrible, honey. What did he hit you for?"

"Um ... him and Seth spit in a cop's coffee and I told them to stop." Ken sniffled. "They do that sh-it all the time."

Rachel shook her head. "Fucking idiots." She kissed Ken's head again. "Listen, you don't have to make anything tonight. Let me order something before Trent gets home. You in the mood for pizza?"

"I ... I can make dinner, Mistress. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Mistress. I was just about to get up anyway."

Rachel kissed her husband a third time. "Well, just something simple tonight, okay? Maybe tuna salad?"

"Yes, Mistress, I'll have it ready in a few minutes." He lifted his head from her lap and struggled out of bed.

"You're so loyal, Cinderella." Rachel rested her hand on her husband's butt, feeling the lacy material of the panties he was now required to wear under his clothes each day to work — one of the many new rules the now-kinky wife had added to her sissy spouse's growing list. "I love you so much."

Ken sniffled. "I ... I love you, too, Mistress. Did you need an orange juice or something before I start on dinner?"

"If you could grab me a La Croix and bring it to my bedroom, that'd be great. I'm gonna go change." Rachel patted Ken's butt-cheek. "Thank you, sweetie."

Ken hurried as fast as he could, fearing he might miss out on one of his favorite rituals. He prepared the glass of seltzer water with a lime wedge in less than a minute, sighing with relief when he got to the master bedroom just as Rachel was about to shimmy out of her slacks. With the one eye that worked, he gazed at his sexy wife, silently imploring her.

Rachel smiled. She loved this ceremony as much as he did. "Would my little sissy like a kiss?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Ask nicely."

Ken dropped to his knees in front of her. "Mistress, please may I kiss what belongs to Master Trent?"

"G'head, sweetie." She pulled her lacy panties aside, exposing her bare vagina. "One nice kiss."

Ken buried his nose in his wife's sacred warm spot, brushing his lips against hers, doing his best to ignore the pressure his excitement was causing inside his chastity device.

Rachel tugged his ear. "Okay, honey, that's enough. Only one kiss. It's time to get started on dinner; Trent will be home soon. I'll be down in a minute."

Although he had a headache from having been clocked by his former coworker, Ken forged through it and had a serving of tuna salad ready by the time Parks ambled through the front door in his uniform.

"Sissy! I need a beer out here!" the master of the house bellowed, falling onto the couch and propping his feet on the coffee table. Within a few seconds, Ken came rushing out in his serving frock with his master's Michelob.

Parks sat up straight. "Jeez-us, what happened to you? That's a hellova shiner!"

"He got in a fight," Rachel answered as she drifted out of her bedroom.

Parks smirked. "Yeah? Go ahead, boy! Did you kick the other guy's ass?"

Rachel sat next to her lover and leaned in for a kiss. "Don't joke, honey, this guy was a lot bigger than him. He hit him because he spit in a police officer's coffee and Ken told him to quit."

"Wow, no sh-it." Parks blinked at Ken. "What the fuck, man. If you want, I'll have the mo-therfucker arrested for assault. Who is this asshole?"

"Um, that's okay, Master, he got fired, so I don't have to deal with him anymore." Ken smoothed out his dress. "T-thank you, though."

"No problem. That's fucked up." Parks rested his feet on the table again and sighed. "Ugh. It was a hell of a day for me, too. That fucking defense lawyer is an asshole."

"Oh no, didn't it go well?" Rachel asked, stroking her lover's arm. She and Ken had been excused from their jobs during the attempted ra-pe trial, but since they weren't scheduled to testify in the federal public corruption case against the former councilman, they'd been going to work every day and relying on Parks and media reports to stay up on the trial. Parks had been brought in on three separate occasions to testify. Because it was federal court, where cameras weren't allowed in the courtroom, the media relied on artist's renderings during the proceedings, and filmed the principals only as they exited the courthouse. While the media's focus was mostly on Councilman McBride's bribes and his longtime affair with a serial rap-ist — a juicy enough story on its own — the subplot of Parks having been sexually involved with one of the victims in the case was sometimes also mentioned in news reports.

"Ah, it was fine." Parks sighed. "They just ask a bunch of stupid questions, that's all." He sucked down the last of his Michelob and wiggled the bottle at Ken. "Another one."

"Yes, Master."

After serving the beer, Ken set the table and reported back to his masters in the living room. "Um, dinner's ready."

Rachel nodded. "Why don't you go ahead and eat at the table tonight, sweetie?" She looked at her lover. "That all right with you, hon?"

"Of course — you da man, Cindy-Poo." The burly cop reached his out palm. "Now, give me a hand, would ya?"

Ken thought it was odd that his athletic master would need help getting up from the couch, but he offered his hand anyway. The second Parks took Ken's grip, he ripped a loud fart. "There's a kiss for ya, sissy!"

Ken locked eyes with his master and they both cracked up. Rachel shook her head and smiled at the antics of her two crazy boys.

While Ken was allowed to sit at the table like an equal, he was still called upon to fetch refills, which kept him from feeling too hoity-toity. After dinner, Rachel and Parks relaxed and watched the news. When the dishes were done, Ken grabbed the foot lotion and joined them in the living room.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetie, you can skip my feet tonight," Rachel said.

"It's okay, Mistress. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

Ken nodded. "Of course, Mistress."

With a sigh, she propped her feet on the stool. "You're so good to me, Cinderella. Go ahead."

Ken was about 10 minutes into the massage when he heard a news item on the TV behind him that made everyone in the room flinch:

"Well, we finally know the identity of that hero police officer who rushed into the burning Carver Building two years ago and saved five chi-ldren and their three dogs. The hero cop, who had requested that he not be publicly recognized, was revealed Wednesday in federal court during the corruption trial of former City Councilman Warren McBride. The former councilman is accused of bribing two Marysville Police lab techs to alter a DNA sample that linked the McBride's longtime lover, Eddie Whittaker, to five sexual assaults. Today, our Bob Eaton was in the courtroom, where the hero officer was identified — and it turns out, this officer recently made other news. Bob?"

"Yes, Cynthia, during a discussion today about a bribe former Councilman McBride allegedly offered to Marysville Police Officer Ji-Ho Yung, the defense asked why a bribe hadn't also been offered to his partner, Officer Trent Parks. Parks, along with Yung, arrested Whittaker on June 12th of last year after he attempted to assault a 27-year-old Rivertown woman. As you perhaps recall, it was revealed that Parks and the victim had a romantic relationship, and the officer was suspended for 30 days — but as it turns out, Parks has another entry in his perso-nnel file that tells a different story. Parks was the officer who heroically entered the burning Carver Building two years ago and saved little Jenny, Jerry, Javion, Joseph and John Chamberlain, along with pet beagles Bouncy, Bubbly and Boo-Boo from their 4th-floor apartment before firefighters could arrive on the scene. The hero cop passed out after rescuing the last of the dogs and was rushed to the hospital. The City Council had planned to give this hero cop a citation but the officer asked his department to keep his identity anonymous. Well, he's not anonymous anymore. The subject came up when it was asked today why Officer Parks hadn't been offered a bribe. It was said that he had a reputation in the police department as an honest cop, and that would've been a waste of time to try to bribe him. For the Channel 3 News Team, I'm Bob Eaton. Back to you."

Rachel and Ken both stared at Parks with their mouths hanging open.

"Honey ... wow. That was YOU?" The Milky Way twinkled in Rachel's eyes.

Parks shrugged and shifted on the couch. "I ... hell, I dunno. I wish they didn't make such a big goddamn deal out of it."

"Big deal?" Rachel shook her head. "It IS a big deal! It's a huge deal!"

Ken rubbed lotion into his mistress's heel and nodded. "That's pretty awesome, Master. That was all over the news when it happened."

"Well, I don't like a bunch of goddamn attention. This court bullsh-it has been such a nightmare. Now this. I just want to be left alone to do my damn job."

"That's why you're such a fucking hero." Rachel pulled her foot from Ken's grip and shot her lover a smoldering stare. "OMG, I want you so fucking bad right now. You know that?"

Trent smirked at Ken. "Well, sh-it, Cindy-Poo, I guess there's a silver lining after all! I think your mistress is horny. Go get the bedroom ready, and let's see if we can't take care of that for her."

"Yes, Master." Ken hopped up and darted toward the boudoir, the hem of his serving frock swaying to and fro with each hurried step.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 16
by c.w. cobblestone


The legal odyssey that started with the attack on Rachel and Ken in an alley off Darvin Street culminated in the convictions of a city councilman, two lab techs and a serial rap-ist, along with the disbarment of a sleazy lawyer and an unethical journalist's firing.

Councilman McBride was sentenced to 14-25 years in federal priso-n for his corruption, while the two Marysville Police lab technicians he'd bribed got a minimum of eight years each. With Whittaker's untainted DNA presented as evidence, a Municipal Court jury found him guilty on five counts of criminal sexual assault, and he was sentenced to life in priso-n without the possibility of parole.

Meanwhile, Al Chase the ambulance chaser was disbarred for ethical viol-ations, and Action News asshole Evan Carso-n lost his job after it was revealed in court that the crooked ex-councilman had bribed both men to work together in an attempt to taint the jury and smear Whittaker's victims and the officer who'd arrested him.

While justice had prevailed in the criminal proceedings, however, there was no closure for Rachel, Parks or their sissy slave. Long after the bad guys had been punished, the three principals in the case faced fallout from the events of June 12 — the night their lives changed forever.


Because of the sex scandal that had been fueled by the attorney and the reporter, people still pointed and whispered when the "throuple" appeared in public separately or together. At the credit union, Rachel absorbed the occasional snide remark about her public infidelity, while Parks, an intensely private man by nature, was constantly getting his balls busted by his brothers in blue about fucking a married witness. Ken was so used to his fellow baristas at the Bean Machine mocking him about his wife being a "badge bunny," he barely even heard the jibes anymore.

During a post-dinner ritual about a month after the corruption trial ended, the fed-up threesome conceived a lifechanging plan.

"That bitch in the next cubicle made another comment about women who cheat on their husbands," Rachel told her boyfriend as Ken sat on the floor rubbing her feet. "I know she said it for my benefit. I've about had it with that snide bitch."

"Yeah, I never hear the end of it in the squad room." Parks scowled. "They were really on my ass about it the other day. I mean, I know they're just fucking with me, but it gets on my damn nerves. And you can't show those assholes that it bothers you or they'll do it twice as bad." He sighed. "Sometimes, I just want to get as far away from Marysville as I possibly can, and go somewhere where nobody knows me."

Rachel nodded. "Tell me about it. I've been thinking the exact same thing."

"Yeah, but who wants to start all over?" Parks shrugged. "Pull up everything and move?"

"Actually, to be honest, I'm about ready to." Rachel shifted her foot in Ken's hand. "Seriously, I've been thinking a lot about this, baby. I'm sick of that damn credit union — I'm sick of this whole fucking town."

Parks nodded. "Yeah, me too. For real."

"Couldn't you find another police officer job somewhere else?" Rachel rubbed her lover's thigh.

"Oh, they're hiring everywhere. Departments are begging for cops. That wouldn't be a problem." Parks sighed. "What I'd really like to do is start my own private detective agency. All I ever wanted to do since I was a kid was to be a detective, but I don't think that's ever gonna happen at MPD. Captain Nowicki told me he'd have promoted me three years ago, because he said I'm a better detective than half the dickheads he's got on the squad. But it's all political. The chief's friends get those jobs — you don't sniff a gold badge unless you know someone or blow someone, and I ain't doing either one. I'd love to start my own agency; I know I could do it the right way. Maybe someday, when I've got enough money saved ..."

"How expensive could it be to start up a detective agency?" Rachel shrugged. "I wouldn't think it would be too bad."

"Oh, it's not, but you'd probably need at least a couple hundred grand to get started, if you wanted to do it right. There's a lot of expensive surveillance equipment ... and you wouldn't want to do it out of your house — that's Mickey Mouse — so you'd need to get an office." Parks stared out the window. "I've got about $30,000 saved up now, and I've still got the condo I could sell, and maybe get $100 thou out of that. I should just sell the damn thing now — I hardly ever sle-ep there anymore, anyway. But even if I got a hundred out of it, I'd still be short. I don't know; maybe by the time I'm ready to retire I'll have enough."

Ken, who had been quietly rubbing Rachel's feet, cleared his throat. "Um ... excuse me, Master?"

"Yeah, sissy, what?"

"Uh ... well, I was just gonna say, um, I've still got about $375,000 in the bank from my inheritance. I ... you could use that to help. Start up your business, I mean."

"What a great idea, Cinderella!" Rachel beamed. "That's so sweet! Boy, you sure do love your master, don't you?"

Ken blushed. "Um ... yes, Mistress."

"So, how would that work?" Ken frowned. "How much interest would you charge? And how long would I get to pay it back?"

"Oh, no, Master, I wasn't talking about loaning it to you — I was just going to, um, give it to you, Master. A ... a gift."

"OMG, that is so awesome of you." Rachel lifted her foot from her husband's hands and touched her big toe to his nose. "You're so loyal, honey. I can't believe how good you've turned out. You're SUCH a sweetie. Thank you for being such a good slave for us, Cinderella."

"Um ... y-you're welcome, Mistress."

"You ARE a VERY good slave," Parks agreed. "But ... I'm sorry, I don't think I can take you up on that. I do appreciate it ... but, nah. I'll have to pass."

"Honey, why not?" Rachel stroked the back of her lover's hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just don't want to use up all his savings." Parks shrugged. "That's his money. His family left it for him. I don't want his damn inheritance money. I don't take charity."

"It's not charity, Master." Ken searched the cops eyes. "The money's not doing me any good sitting in the bank. I'd be glad to give it to you to start your business, Master. I really would."

Parks rubbed his chin. "I don't know ... maybe you could invest in the firm or something, Cindy-Poo, so you're not just giving me money. Maybe you could even work there."

"What could I do at a private detective agency, Master?" Ken smiled and threw out a self-deprecating joke: "All I've got is a Feminist Studies degree, Master."

Parks cracked up. "You're crazy, sissy, you know that? Seriously, though, there's a lot you could do ... come to think of it, there's a lot both of you could do."

"Me?" Rachel scoffed. "What the hell could I do?"

"OMG, are you kidding? With your business savvy? Plus, a lot of private detectives' clients are suspicious wives who want to catch their husbands cheating." Parks smiled at his lady. "You'd make a great decoy — what guy wouldn't want to pick you up in a bar? And, Cindy-Poo, you're such an unassuming little sh-it, you'd be perfect for sitting in the bars and shooting secret videos, or even following people ... you know, once I taught you how to do surveillance. Being 6'5 has its drawbacks; it's kind of hard for me to blend in. But you? Nobody would even notice your little ass."

"So, rather than finding another credit union job, I could just work for the firm," Rachel mused. "It would be like a family business."

Ken looked up at Parks. "Master, please take the money. This is something I really want to do for you — and, actually, for me, too. It sounds like working for a private investigator would be a lot more fun than burning my arm on some coffee machine all the damn time."

Parks pushed his hair back. "Wow. I ... I ... yeah, sh-it. Are you guys sure?"

"Yeah," Rachel and Ken said simultaneously.

"Well ... okay, then." Parks clapped once. "Sh-it, let's try it!"

Rachel gave her beau a huge bearhug. "OMG, this is so exciting! I really think this could work, honey." She lifted her lotion-lathered foot from Ken's grip and wiped it on his dress. "Cinderella, I think this calls for something special. Why don't you pour a couple glasses of that Merlot I've been saving?"

"Yes, Mistress." Ken clambered to his feet.

"And pour yourself a glass while you're at it, sissy," she said. "Tonight's special."

"Thank you, Mistress."

After Ken served the wine, the threesome toasted their new arrangement.

"To the Parks Private Detective Agency!" Rachel smiled and lifted her glass. Her two boys clinked.

Three glasses of Merlot later, Rachel was feeling frisky. She reached her hand into her lover's sweats and squeezed. "Mm, looks like someone's waking up."

Parks leaned back his head and sighed. "Damn, that's nice."

"Want to go?" Rachel nodded toward the bedroom.

"Yeah. Cindy-Poo, go get everything ready — I gotta go take a quick leak."

Rachel nudged her behemoth of a boyfriend. "Um ... hey, remember we were talking about doing that thing ... um, with Cinderella?"

Parks frowned. "What thing?"

"You know ... in the bathroom." Rachel smiled at her man. "Remember?"

"Oh, that's right!" Parks guffawed. "I forgot all about that; thanks for reminding me." He stared at Ken. "Cindy-Poo, I got a special treat for you tonight. I want you to get undressed and go lay down in the bathtub, okay? Hurry up — I'll be there in a minute."

"Y-yes, Master." With a pounding heart and a feeling of looming dread, the sissy plodded off to do his master's bidding. He stripped naked and lay prone in the cold porcelain tub until Parks strolled into the bathroom, followed by a grinning Rachel.

"Can you guess why you're in here, Cinderella?" Rachel smirked.

"Um ... I don't know, Mistress." Ken was lying his ass off — he knew damn well why he was there.

"You're gonna take a nice shower, sissy." Parks untied his sweats. "A GOLDEN shower, that is. Your crazy-ass mistress thought of this the other day. Isn't she a hoot?"

"Um, yes, Master."

"Mm hm. Now, what do you say, sissy? About the gift you're about to receive?"

Ken closed his eyes. "T-thank you, Master."

"Thank your Mistress — it was her idea."

Ken was only able to enunciate "thank you Mi—" before the acid rain hit his lips.

"We're celebrating tonight, Cinderella," Rachel sang. "Say 'cheers!'"

"Chrrssmmgghhh," the sissy slave gargled through a mouthful of urine.

BOOK IV


"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 17
by c.w. cobblestone

The tall man tottered on crutches toward the JMR Theatre complex, gritting his teeth and grunting with each shaky step. About 200 feet behind him, an effeminate little guy wandered the sidewalk, pretending to be engrossed in his cellphone. Every few yards, the girlish small fry would stop and act like he was composing a text, so as not to close too much distance between him and his quarry.

After buying a ticket for "The Revengers IV: The Awakening," the lanky dude hobbled through the theater lobby, wincing like he had a knife stuck in his back. Keeping an eye on his target, "Detective-in-Training-Bra" Ken purchased his own ticket. The man disappeared into Cinema 2. Drawing a fluttery breath, Ken flipped on his infrared camera and followed him into the darkened chamber.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust before Ken saw that the tall guy had slung his crutches over his shoulder and was jogging up the stairs with no limp in sight. Ken aimed his camera and filmed the man's swift ascent, making sure to get a good face-shot when the subject turned around to take his seat. With his prize in the bag, Ken scooted out of there.

Upon returning to the Glass Slipper Investigations office downtown, Ken rushed to Rachel's desk waving his camera. "I got it, I got it! I followed Jenso-n to JMR, and sure enough, as soon as he went inside the theater he stopped using the crutches and started running up the stairs."

Rachel looked up from her computer. "That's great work, sweetie. Go ahead and upload the video and get the report done for Aspen, and then I have a bunch of stuff I need typed."

"Yes, Mistress."

Rachel frowned. "Don't call me that at the office, Kenny, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Sorry, it's habit. I'll have the report done in a few minutes, ma'am."

Rachel and Ken were still legally married, but since moving to Rock Hill Village she'd been pretending to be his big sister, telling people that she and her boyfriend were letting him live in their home while he helped out at the agency.

Prior to the firm's Grand Opening, Parks had proclaimed that no slave should hold the same position as his master, so as a private joke he appointed Ken to the rank of "Detective-in-Training-Bra," although the sissy's W2 form had him officially listed as administrative assistant.

Despite his titles, Ken's stake in the business was actually higher than his master's. Ken had invested $200,000 of his inheritance, with Parks adding another $120,000 after selling his condo and kicking in part of his savings. Ken had begged his wife's lover to take the money as a no-strings gift, but the straight-shooting lawman had refused, and instead convinced his subordinate to invest in the firm. Rachel and Ken had sold their house for $380,000, so between that and the money left in Ken's inheritance they had a nice cushion to work with when they picked up and left the Marysville area.

The Three Musketeers — or the Dynamic Duo and their faithful little sidekick — used the startup money to lease an office downtown and purchase cutting-edge surveillance equipment and subscriptions to investigative databases. A portion of the funds also was devoted to marketing the firm. Ken held one title of importance at Glass Slipper Investigations — Director of Social Media — but that just meant it was his responsibility to troll Facebook, Instagram and other platforms every morning for possible clients and marketing opportunities, although he wasn't allowed to post anything without running it by one of his masters first.

It was Rachel's idea to call the company "Glass Slipper Investigations." She said the name represented the two men in her life — Cinderella and Prince Charming — and also played up the detective angle, since the prince in the fairytale tracked down the slipper's owner and lived happily ever after. Parks thought the name was a stroke of genius, as did the sissy slave, although his vote didn't count, despite his status on paper as the company's majority stakeholder.

Business was slow at first, but it picked up considerably after Parks impressed Aspen Insurance Company executives by quickly locating and repossessing a $500,000 Lamborghini MSRP following unsuccessful attempts by three more-established detective agencies. After that, Aspen hired Glass Slipper for all its investigative work, which provided the firm with a steady source of income.

Ken uploaded the damning video that had captured a clear shot of the insurance scammer's face just after he'd skipped up the theater steps. As he typed out his report for Aspen, the lil' gumshoe smiled, knowing his work had made his mistress happy, and that his master would be similarly pleased.

Parks returned to the office at about 6:30pm accompanied by an elderly man who cradled a bulging manila folder to his chest. The square-jawed detective smiled at his effeminate assistant. "Kenny, please see if Mr. Karr would like something to drin-k."

Ken hopped up from his desk outside the spacious office shared by Rachel and Parks. Although the dominant couple was careful to treat their slave like a normal human being at work, they kept him in a subordinate role. There were two smaller rooms where Ken could've put his desk, but Rachel and Parks had decided that their slave shouldn't have his own office, so those spaces were repurposed, and the "Detective-in-Training-Bra" was relegated to a station in the lobby just outside his masters' luxurious suite that featured a picture window with a view of the downtown riverfront.

With a polite smile, Ken approached the wrinkled client. "Sir, would you like some coffee? Or a cold bottle of water?"

"Some water would be nice, thank you," the old man replied in what sounded to Ken like a sad voice.

After Ken served the client's drin-k, Parks invited the elderly man into his office and waved him toward a chair. "Have a seat, Mr. Karr, and let's get some information. Kenny! I need you in here with your notebook."

Ken, who had just sat down, pulled a pad from his desk drawer and joined Rachel, Parks and the client in the expansive office. There was an extra chair Ken could've used, but he decided against it. The sissy was afraid if he sat down, Rachel might somehow construe that as being disrespectful. He was scheduled to be released from chastity later that night and didn't want to give her any excuse to cancel it like she'd done so many times before. It had been months since Ken had last enjoyed an orgasm, so just to be safe he remained standing with his little pad in hand, ready to take notes.

Parks leaned back in his seat. "So, Mr. Karr ... tell us about your granddau-ghter."

"Well, she's been missing for five days now, and I can't get the police to take it seriously. They say she probably ran away, but I know Jenna — she would never run away."

"When's the last time you saw her?"

"Thursday morning. She ... she never came home from school. I called the school and they said she never got there that day."

Parks nodded. "And how old is she?"

"Jenna's 13. The missing perso-ns officer told me girls that age who disappear usually turn out to be runaways. He said they're investigating the case, but he didn't sound like he was putting too much into it. The cops did one press release but that was it. I've been putting up flyers everywhere, but the police haven't really been much help."

"That happens a lot, unfortunately," Parks said. "A lot of times, police are reluctant to expend too many resources on these cases, because so many times when girls your granddau-ghter's age come up missing, it turns out they DID run away." The private eye straightened up in his seat. "That's what we're here for. Do you have a picture of Jenna?"

The client flipped through the papers in his manila folder and produced an 8x10 glossy school picture of a young girl with braces.

Rachel smiled. "Mr. Karr, your granddau-ghter is beautiful."

Tears came to the old man's eyes. "Yes, she is. She takes after her mo-ther; God rest her soul. Jenna's all I have. Please, I know she didn't run away. My Jenna would never do that! She's not one of these girls who chases boys or goes to parties. She's a good girl."

"And I promise you we'll do everything we can to find her for you, don't worry, Mr. Karr," Parks said. "Now, we'll need you to give us her computer; do you happen to have access to her social media accounts? Passwords, anything like that?"

"Well, I don't understand all that Myspace chatroom stuff, with the Worthwhile Web and all that. But ... here." The man offered his folder. "Everything I have is right here. You can keep that."

Parks thumbed through the folder before setting it on his desk. "Thank you, Mr. Karr. Is there a good time tomorrow when we can pick up Jenna's computer, and take some pictures of her bedroom? It'll take about a half-hour."

"Any time, I'm retired. Just call first."

Parks nodded. "Okay, wonderful. For now, I think we have everything we need to get started. Kenny will be dropping by your place tomorrow. Kenny, make sure to call Mr. Karr tomorrow and see what time works best for him, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Parks stood and extended his hand. "Thank you so much for your time. And thank you for trusting us to find your granddau-ghter. We'll get right on this, Mr. Karr, and we'll be in touch. Kenny, would you show Mr. Karr out?"

By the time the client left it was past 7pm and time to close shop. The sissy rode home in the backseat as usual. When the trio returned to the quaint cottage they shared in on the outskirts of Rock Hill Village, Ken changed into his serving frock and started dinner while Rachel and Parks relaxed in the living room. Since they had been so late getting home, the slave had asked his masters if a quick stir-fry would suffice, and they'd both given the thumbs-up. Dinner was served in minutes.

Rachel and Parks chatted for a while about where to start on the Jenna Karr missing perso-n investigation, ignoring their kneeling servant like they generally did during meals unless refills were needed. Rachel had just taken a drin-k when a reminder popped up on her phone that made her giggle, causing her to snort seltzer water.

"Ooh, guess what today is?" She turned her phone toward Ken and sang: "It's Sissy Cummy Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!"

Ken licked his lips and shuddered.

Parks smirked. "How long's it been, sissy?"

"Um ... 88 days not including today, Master."

The top dog scoffed. "Not that anyone's counting."

"Well, gee, now, I don't know," Rachel mused, holding a forkful of food near her mouth. "I'm not sure the little sissy has earned a cummy. Cinderella, do you think you deserve one after how wrinkled the back of my jacket was at the seminar? I was absolutely mortified."

"I ... I'm so sorry, Mistress, please, I'm so sorry." His blubbering apology notwithstanding, poor Ken had done nothing wrong. Rachel had noticed the rumpled condition of her blazer during an investigator's conference she'd attended with Parks two weeks earlier, and when she got home she blistered the little sissy's ass. But it hadn't been his fault — he'd meticulously ironed the linen garment, although the material was so delicate, by the time Rachel and her boyfriend arrived at the seminar in Jamesville, 130 miles from home, the back of the jacket was a mess.

Weeks after getting whipped for no reaso-n, Ken now faced the prospect of double jeopardy for a crime he hadn't committed in the first place by having his much-needed release pushed back. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

Thankfully for Ken, the hero ex-cop came to the rescue. "Jeez, cut the poor guy some slack, Rachel. You already made him wait 2-3 times — it makes MY balls hurt to think about it. Let him cum, already."

Rachel heaved an overdramatic sigh. "Oh, Trent, you're such a pushover." She smiled at her husband. "Well, Cinderella, your master feels sorry for you, so I guess you can have your little cummy. Bring me my purse and then go get Betty Boop."

"Oh, Mistress, thank you so much, Mistress, thank you so much," the little wuss gushed as he sprinted toward the foyer. Within seconds, he was back on his knees, holding the purse in one hand and a stuffed Betty Boop doll in the other.

Rachel told him to stand. She fished her keys from her purse and unlocked her slave's chastity device.

Parks hooted. "Oh-BOY, that little thing means business. You horny, there, Cindy-Poo?"

"Y-y-y-y-yes, M-m-m-m-master." Ken could barely speak through chattering teeth.

"I can tell. I feel bad for ol' Betty there." Parks chuckled. "You're gonna tear that poor girl a new asshole. No wonder she looks so scared."

Rachel sneered as she opened her cellphone's stopwatch app. "Ready, Cinderella?"

"Y-y-y-y-yes, M-m-m-mistress."

"Go."

The sissy flopped to the floor as if he'd been shot and started humping the stuffed doll like his life depended on it.

Parks cupped his hands over his mouth. "Get 'er, sissy, show 'er who's boss. Go ahead, you got it. Look at that little booty going up and down. Watch out, you're gonna pull a muscle! Yee-haw, tear it up, Cindy-Poo."

Lost in a phantasmagoric vortex, the pansy slave heaved one final thrust before convulsions overtook him and he flopped back and forth with his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Ooooooooooooooooooooooooh," the ridiculous-looking specimen moaned as he came all over the doll.

Rachel stopped the clock. "Twenty-two seconds. That's 22 with the strap. Lick up your mess and then go bend over your bed."

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." Ken began the distasteful task of slurping cum from Betty's face. He wasn't looking forward to those 22 stripes across the ass, either, but it was the price he had to pay for cumming — one of the many rituals cooked up by his loving wife, who had taken to being a dominatrix like a fish to water. Rachel got a cruel kick out of being snotty and unreaso-nable with her husband, or embarrassing him in front of her boyfriend and watching him squirm. She knew her abu-se was everything the little candy-ass pansy had ever dreamed of.

Rachel felt proud of herself as she watched her effeminate husband lick spooge from his Betty Boop doll. With the help of her lover, she'd taken a crumbling marriage to a bitter, whiny loser and turned the situation into a positive for everyone. Rachel enjoyed a loving, mutually-supportive relationship with a strong, handsome, honorable man, and had a contented, fulfilled servant who focused his energy on worshipping the ground she walked on instead of bitching about politics all the time.

After the doll had been licked clean, Rachel rose from her lover's strong embrace and followed her slave to his bedroom, eager to bust his ass with the strap and make him cry. She smiled, thinking to herself that while her conservative fat-ther certainly wouldn't have approved of the kinky path her life had taken, he'd at least have been happy that she was happy — and the old colonel would've been positively thrilled that his only dau-ghter had finally found a man who was worthy of passing on the blo-odline.

cwcobblestone

You deserve far more praise for your work than you are getting.

Great character development, great storylines in this and all your work.

Definitely among the best of the generous writers on this site.

YouKnowWho

Thank you, I appreciate it.

Fantastic work!! Great story.

Of all your recent stories, CW, I like this one the best. Very nicely done indeed.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 18
by c.w. cobblestone


Rachel smo-thered her grin with both hands.

"OMG, Cinderella, you are SO PRECIOUS!!" She fixed Ken's pigtail. "You don't look a day over 14. Isn't he perfect, honey?"

Parks nodded. "Perfect is right. He's such a dinky little shi-t, from a distance he'll pass for a little schoolgirl in that uniform, no problem. You make great jailbait, Cindy-Poo — and I've got a feeling you're gonna lure this pervert out from under his rock today."

"Er, thank you, M-master." Ken squirmed in his disguise, feeling frightened, humiliated — and excited at the possibility of adventure.

Parks sat next to Rachel on the bed and went over the plan while the slave bustled through the morning routine. "Now, remember: when you're out there on the street, you need to keep your head in your cellphone and act like you're not paying attention to anything. That's what attracts these creeps — vulnerable targets and opportunity." He held out his foot and wiggled his toes.

As Ken knelt to put his master's sock on, he managed a sickly smile. "I'll be honest — I'm scared to death, sir."

The alpha male rolled his eyes and presented the other foot. "You'll be fine, sissy."

Rachel rubbed her lover's thigh, smiling at Ken as he rose after helping his masters into their shoes. "You're gonna be great, sweetie." She spread her legs. "Here, come kiss my pussy for luck."

Ken was back on his knees in less than two seconds, bleating a stream of thank-you's before leaning forward and pecking his wife's cameltoe through her slacks. The poor, locked-up sissy hyperventilated, causing his masters to chuckle.

"That's enough," Rachel tapped her husband's head. "We don't want you too worked up out there."

Parks rose stood up and clapped once. "Okay, then — you guys ready? It's almost 7. Let's get this party started, shall we?"

Operation Jailbait had been conceived a few days earlier, following a forensic analysis of Jenna's hard drive and interviews with classmates. The girl's emails and social media posts were mostly about homework, magic tricks her grandfat-ther had taught her, and her cat, Thomas Ediso-n. There wasn't a single mention of boyfriends, partying or sex. Jenna appeared to be a wholesome 13-year-old kid with no discernable reaso-n to run away from home — exactly what her distraught grandfat-ther had asserted from the beginning — and Parks was convinced she'd been abducted.

After deciding to focus the investigation on a possible kid-napping, Parks instructed Ken to run the plates of every vehicle parked along Jenna's normal school route to see if any belonged to registered sex offenders. Using the agency's portable license plate reader, Ken got zero hits after three passes through the area at different times of the day. A check of the Department of Corrections registry showed no sex offenders living within a two-mile range of Jenna's school, either. That told Parks that perhaps Jenna's kid-napper had driven to the neighborhood.

The detective also had a hunch that the pervert might come back to the scene of the ab-duction, so he hatched Operation Jailbait — using Ken as bait. The plan was to disguise the little fella as a schoolgirl and have him wander along Jenna's daily route with his nose in his phone, loitering in remote, dark areas while pretending to be texting, thus making himself vulnerable to would-be predators. If any drivers slowed down to check "her" out, Ken was under orders to record their license plate numbers with the spy camera hidden in his necklace. The plates would later be checked against the sex offender registry, and, Parks hoped, perhaps lead to Jenna's kid-napper. Parks and Rachel planned to follow Ken in a backup car in case things went south.

Since the diminutive Ken was Jenna's size, he fit perfectly into one of her spare uniforms from the parochial school she attended. When Ken asked Mr. Karr if he could borrow the skirt-vest-and-blouse combination, the old man looked at him funny but said nothing. The grieving grandpa was ecstatic with how hard the firm was working to find his beloved Jenna, and he was fine with whatever unorthodox methods it took to bring her home.

Parks' plan was a longshot, but his hunches were usually correct, as his captain at Marysville PD had known full well. Capt. Osborne had made several attempts to have the muscular young officer promoted to detective, only to be rebuffed each time because the chief had wanted his buddies to get those positions. Osborne, an old gumshoe himself before making rank, had always told Parks, "you've got a nose like a blo-odhound on cocaine."

A thick fog hung over Rock Hill Village for the launch of Operation Jailbait. Parks and Rachel dropped Ken off at the corner of Front and Cayman Streets, and the boss-man gave his underling a last-minute pep talk. "This fog is perfect — it'll make you even harder to see from the street. That's a good omen. I'm glad we decided to spend the money and get the better necklace-cam with the infra-red option — it'll cut right through this shi-t and read those plates, no problem. Remember, we'll be in the car behind you. I've got to stay 30-40 yards back so nobody sees us, but we'll be right there. Okay?"

"Y-yes, Master." Ken tugged at his plaid skirt's hem. "Um ... I'm scared, Master."

Parks smiled. "That's okay, Cindy-Poo. Everyone's scared during their first big undercover case. That's perfectly normal. You can do this. Just act like you're totally lost in your phone. And make sure you turn toward the cars if they slow down so that necklace-cam can get their plates. Just don't be too obvious about it. And if someone gets out of their car, or calls you over, get the hell out of there fast."

"Got it, Master."

Rachel touched her husband's cheek. "I'm so proud of you, Cinderella. You'll do great."

As Ken exited the backseat, Parks added: "Remember, once you get a block from the school, turn around and take side-streets, and then walk this route again. We'll be right behind you the whole time. Break a leg." He flashed a double thumbs-up.

"Thank you, Master ... Mistress. See you in a bit." Ken shut the door, smoothed his skirt and started strolling while gazing into his cellphone as he'd been instructed to do. After he'd gone a few blocks, a man in a blue Ford Focus tapped his brakes. With a thumping heart, Ken stopped walking and acted like he was sending a text, positioning himself so that his hidden camera could record the license plate. When Ken saw a line of geese crossing the street in front of the car, he realized why the man had stopped.

"False alarm," he chuckled to himself as the geese filed past the waiting motorist.

Ken was on his third pass through the route when a white van slowed down and the driver craned his neck. The sissy kept staring at his phone, but twisted his body to record the van's license plate with his camera.

Watching from the backup vehicle, Parks noticed the van's brake lights flash. He smiled like a proud papa when he saw that his slave was standing in the proper position to get a clear shot of the plate. The longtime cop perked up when he saw the van pull a sudden U-turn. Something told Parks the motorist was up to no good, so he put his car in gear, planning to drive down the street to intervene — but seemingly out of nowhere, a garbage truck pulled in front of him, blocking both his path forward and his view of Ken and the van. Parks started to back up, but an SUV barred the way as the driver waited for a man in a Jeep to abdicate his parking space. After tapping his horn and getting no response, the quick-acting hero ex-cop told Rachel to take the wheel, threw the car in park and jumped out.

The burly private eye darted around the garbage truck and peered through the fog.

The van was gone. So was Ken.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 19
by c.w. cobblestone

A silvery flash penetrated the cocoon of nothingness. A second point of light materialized. Colors formed. Shapes floated by. The images in Ken's head congealed. A white van. Black whiskers. Yellow teeth. A red rag that smelled funny.

Immediately after regaining consciousness, Ken realized that his hands wouldn't budge because they were trussed behind his back. When his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he recoiled — a young girl was sprawled on the floor next to him with her hands similarly bound.

Ken coaxed his throat muscles into action. "J-Jenna?"

Her gaze burned with fear. "Who ... who are you?"

"I'm ... um, my name's Ken. People have been looking for you. Your grandfat-ther—"

"Grandpa! Is he okay? Please tell me he's okay." Tears formed in the girl's crusty eyes.

"He's fine, other than being worried about you. That's why he hired us."

"Hired you?"

"I'm with a detective agency; your grandpa hired us to find you." Ken looked around the dimly lit room. "Are you okay? Where are we?"

"I ... I don't know. I haven't left this room except to go to the bathroom down the hall ever since that ... man took me."

Ken cocked his head. "What man? Do you know who he is?"

"I have no idea." The girl frowned. "Why are you wearing my school uniform? What's going on?"

Before Ken could answer there was a rattle at the door a split-second before it creaked open and the lights went on. Two men, one fat one skinny, stood in the entrance with their mouths hanging open.

Fat Man pointed at Ken. "What the fuck, man? That's a fuckin' dude!"

"What!!?" Skinny Man leaned through the doorway and covered his mouth. "Oh, shi-t, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Didn't you look at him, you stupid fuck?"

"Yeah, and it looked like a girl." Skinny Man shook his head. "I ch-loroformed her and threw her in the back of van, and then tied her up; I didn't check her fuckin' face for pimples, for chrissakes. It looked like a goddamn girl, straight up. Still does. Look at the little punk; it's hard to tell even now, let alone out there in the fog."

Fat Man punched the wall, causing Jenna and Ken to jump. "You fucking moron! How stupid can you be? What the fuck, man? Tomas tells you to find another girl and you bring back a goddamn dude in a fucking dress? Well, you can explain that shi-t to him when he gets here tomorrow. I want nothing to do with it. This is all on you — and if we end up not getting paid because you're such a fucking moron, I'm taking it out of your ass! You hear me, mo-therfucker?"

The thin criminal squinted at Ken. "Wait a goddamn minute — why the fuck were you out there walking around in that uniform, anyway?"

Fat-Fuck scoffed. "What do you think, stupid-ass? He's a fucking decoy. An undercover cop. They're looking for the little virgin. Congratulations, dickhead — you were supposed to get another girl and you picked up an undercover cop."

Thin Man yanked a pis-tol from his waistband. "Well, then, we need to take care of the mo-therfucker right now, then, don't we?"

"Hang on, not so fast." Fat-Ass pushed down the barrel of his accomplice's gun with one hand while unzipping his fly with the other. "Let's have a little fun first. I say we run a train on this pretty little schoolgirl — make his last few minutes on earth something special. Sort of a going-away present — and we can show the little cherry here what she can look forward to after Tomas gets a hold of her ass."

"Fuck yeah, let's go." The skinny pervert's lips formed a leer.

"Me first." The chubby guy stepped toward Ken, waving his greasy cock about an inch from the bound victim's nose. "Ready for some fun, faggot?"

Ken didn't answer — he was busy praying. So was Jenna, who was too scared and disgusted to watch.

"You need to flip up that skirt, pretty thing, and bend your sweet little ass over." Fat-Ass spit on his hand. "We're gonna have us some fun tonight."

But before the "fun" could begin there came a sudden POP! accompanied by a flash of light and the tinkle of shattering glass. Smoke filled the room. Through the swirling gray vapors, a barrage of angry commands rang out simultaneously: "DROP THAT FUCKING GUN!!! LAY DOWN ON THE GROUND, MO-THERFUCKERS, OR I'LL BLOW YOUR MO-THERFUCKING HEADS OFF! LAY DOWN RIGHT NOW!!!"

Both thugs obeyed the staccato instructions of the S.W.A.T. officers who swarmed the room. Someone untied the victims, and Jenna fell bawling into Ken's arms. He patted her heaving shoulder. "It's okay, it's over. Sh. Sh. The police are here now. Sh. It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get you back to your grandpa." The moment reminded Ken of that fateful evening two years earlier when Parks had comforted Rachel after saving her from being ra-ped. Despite the grave situation Ken was in, he cracked a bit of a smile as he cradled the sobbing girl. It felt good to be someone's protector.

Jenna was rushed to the hospital. Although Ken insisted he was fine, the officers convinced him to let the ambulance take him in for a checkup as well. The EMTs hooked Ken to an IV and joked with him on the way to Rock Hill General Hospital. He was wheeled to a private triage area, where a nurse took his vitals and left to tend to other patients.

After about 10 minutes, Rachel poked her head through the curtain. "Can I come in?"

"OMG, of course, you can." Ken was like a puppy wagging its tail when he saw his gorgeous wife, who slipped past the curtain and settled in next to him on the hospital bed.

"You okay, sweetie?" Rachel rested her hand on her husband's thigh. "You've been through so much. I was so worried about you. Both of us were."

"I'm fine. Just a little rattled — those guys were gonna fucking ki-lll me. No ... they were gonna ra-pe me — and THEN they were gonna ki-lll me. What the fuck! Did that even just happen? I doesn't even feel real."

"Oh, it's real, all right — and you're a real hero, honey." Rachel leaned down and kissed Ken on the side of the head. "Now, both my boys are heroes! Trent's so proud of you! You should've heard him talking to the cops about what a great job you did."

Ken blinked at his wife. "What happened? How did the police find us?"

"Trent found your necklace-cam on the street; it got yanked off when that creep grabbed you. Trent called the police and reported that he'd witnessed an ab-duction, and told them he probably had the van's license plate number on the camera, since you did such a great job of recording. They uploaded the video at the precinct and ran the plate, and sure enough, it came back to a registered sex offender, a guy named James Albertso-n. He had you in his house over on Trowbridge Street."

Ken held his head in his hands and started convulsing. "I'm sorry ... it's all just kind of hitting me right now. I'm sorry ..."

"No need to be sorry." Rachel rubbed his back. "You've been through a lot, sweetie. It's okay."

"I ... I love you so much ..." Ken glanced at the curtain and lowered his voice. "Mistress."

"Aw, I love you, too." Rachel touched her lips to Ken's ear. "Listen, have the doctors seen your cage yet?"

Blo-od drained from Ken's face; in the excitement, he'd totally forgotten he was wearing his chastity device. Thankfully for him, medical staff hadn't yet asked him to take off the school uniform or the frilly panties he wore beneath it.

Rachel giggled and pulled her keys from her purse. "Here, I'll keep watch while you take it off." Ken unlocked his device and handed it over to his mistress. She tucked it in her purse, then bent forward and whispered: "Don't think this means you can touch that little dick of yours without permission, Cinderella. I don't care if you ARE a hero — you'll always be my little sissy slave. You hear me, bitch? Don't you ever forget it."

Ken smiled. "I won't, Mistress," he whispered back. "I won't ever forget it, for as long as I live. I promise. I love you so much, Mistress."

Rachel pinched her husband's earlobe. "I love you, too, Cinderella. I love the perso-n you've become."

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 20
by c.w. cobblestone

Jenna Karr's dramatic rescue made a big splash in Rock Hill Village. The grateful teen and her grandpa credited Glass Slipper Investigations with cracking the case, and the agency's phone lines lit up with reporters wanting interviews.

"Jeezus, I don't want to talk to those dickheads," Parks grumbled after Ken had passed on yet another message from a journalist. "That's the whole reaso-n we moved out here in the first goddamn place — to get away from all this shi-t."

Rachel sidled up behind her lover's desk and kissed his neck. "Maybe we should just meet this head-on, hon, like you're always saying. Throw the media a bone. Besides, it would be good publicity for the firm — great publicity, actually."

"Yeah ... I know. Goddamn it, I just hate being in the spotlight."

Rachel clapped. "Hey! I've got an idea! Instead of you having to do all the interviews, hon, how about putting Cinderella ... I mean, Kenny out there? I mean, he's the real hero of this story, aren't you, sweetie?"

"I ... I don't know." Ken shuffled his feet.

Parks lit up. "That's a great idea. Hell, yeah. Kenny, you're gonna be the face of this thing. You'll do a press conference. Rachel and me will stand behind you, but you'll do all the talking."

"Um ... but, Master, I didn't—"

The boss frowned. "That's an order, damn it. Now, we're done discussing it. Go write down what you're gonna say, and come show it to me so I can edit it. Understood?"

Ken hung his head. "Y-yes, Master."

Glass Slipper Investigations sent out a release informing the media of a 4pm presser. While Rock Hill Village was far smaller than Marysville, the story had attracted regional attention, and 12 reporters showed up for the briefing.

As the cameras rolled, Ken tugged at the collar on his Glass Slipper Polo shirt and read from a prepared statement. "Um, thank you for coming, everyone. I'm Ken Coolidge, a partner in Glass Slipper Investigations. Last week, Mr. Benjamin Karr hired our agency to look for his 13-year-old dau-ghter, Jenna, who left for school the morning of May 22 but never arrived. We were convinced from the outset of our investigation that she had been kid-napped, so we set up a surveillance operation to hopefully lead us to whoever had abducted her. Now, I don't want to release exactly how we went about solving this case, or the details of our surveillance operation, since we don't want to publicly discuss our methods and possibly jeopardize future investigations. Suffice it to say, during the course of carrying out this operation, I was abducted."

A reporter cut in: "There were reports that you were wearing a girl's St. Bartholomew uniform — is that true?"

Ken tightened his lips. "Yes, I went undercover. As you can see, I'm kind of a little guy, so we were able to make it a convincing-enough disguise, especially since it was so foggy that morning. But, again, as far as the details of how we investigated this, we'd rather not release any of that."

The journalist held up her microphone. "Can you at least tell us how you were kid-napped? What happened?"

"Well, Mr. Albertso-n used ch-loroform on me, which is the same way Jenna had been abducted. I was out for hours after one whiff of that stuff. As the police released earlier, he and Mr. Chekov held us in the house on Trowbridge Street. Lucki-lly, I had filmed Mr. Albertso-n's license plate with a hidden camera on the street earlier, and when he abducted me, I made sure to drop the camera on the ground for my colleagues to find. They alerted the police, who did a great job in quickly acting on the tip and abducting the suspects."

Ken had mostly told the truth, but at his master's behest he'd lied about purposely leaving the camera at the scene. Parks had insisted he throw that line in there, so that the story would focus on how Ken's quick thinking had led to the break in the case, when in fact the ex-cop's Spidey-sense and strategic planning had been responsible for bringing Jenna home. But the intensely-private Parks was more than happy to stand in the back and let his slave take all the credit.

Things turned sideways, though, when one of the reporters asked: "So ... Mr. Coolidge, you and your two partners were involved in a case in Marysville a while back, in which your partner was suspended from his job as a police officer for having a relationship with your wife. Obviously, the three of you have continued your relationship together — is that something you or your partners would care to talk about?"

Ken, the meek little sissy, went off. "I can't believe you'd even bring that up at an event like this. I'm sorry, but that's just low-classed. What we should be talking about here is Jenna Karr being back home safe with her grandfat-ther. I don't see how my perso-nal life, or the perso-nal lives of my partners, has any bearing on this case whatsoever. I mean, how low can you go? This is supposed to be about a missing kid's rescue. Are there any more questions about that?"

From the scowls the other reporters were tossing at the scumbag who'd channeled his inner TMZ, Ken could tell his impromptu speech had won the rest of the media over. "Thank you, everybody, have a good afternoon," he said, turning away from the podium and quitting while he was ahead.

After they'd walked out of the room, Parks ruffled Ken's hair. "Go ahead, Cindy-Poo! Nice job! Way to tell those assholes off!"

The press conference hadn't gone as planned, and their public outing — their second such embarrassment — hung heavily over the threesome's heads for the rest of the day. During dinner, Rachel looked at her kneeling slave and sighed. "We probably should've known that was gonna happen. Oh, well, I guess I can't keep telling everyone you're my little brother anymore, huh?"

From his knees, Ken shrugged. "I don't care, Mistress. Who cares what people think, anyway, you know?"

Rachel nodded. "I agree a hundred percent. Ever since that idiot brought that shi-t up at the press conference, I've been thinking ... let's just be ourselves. Fuck it. We can't run away from this — it's always going to chase us. And, you know, trans people have really become accepted in society."

Ken gulped. "Um ... uh ... so ... um, what are you saying, Mistress?"

Rachel flipped her hair. "Well, to be honest, Cinderella, I don't see why you don't just stay in girl mode 24/7. It's who you are."

"Uh ... Mistress? Please, I don't ... I didn't mean ... please, no!"

"Why not? Nobody would care." Rachel glanced at her boyfriend. "What do you think, hon?"

Parks studied the kneeling sissy. "Well, the only thing I'd be worried about is whether it might hurt the agency if he were to come out — but, shi-t, these days, it would probably help, actually. You're right; nobody really gives a shi-t about it anymore, other than those assholes at the precinct, and I wouldn't have to worry about them busting my balls about it. Sure, baby, let the sissy come out. Why not? Like you say, we might as well be who we are. I don't give a shi-t anymore."

Ken blanched. "But ... but ... I ... I'm not sure I want to, um, come out like that. Please! Dressing up has always been more of a private thing, and I—"

"Nothing's private anymore." Rachel sniffed. "The whole fucking world knows all about us. You heard that asshole reporter; we're never gonna escape it — our business was all over the internet during Whittaker's trial. So, if we can't escape it—"

"—meet it head-on," Parks finished. He rubbed his chin. "You know what? I'm thinking ... this Jenna case got us a lot of good publicity, and Cindy-Poo did it while wearing a little schoolgirl's uniform. It's a perfect story — our Cinderella's own little fairytale. He decided to come out as trans after crossdressing to save the little girl, something he'd been wanting to do his whole life. And he lived happily ever after. Hell, yes, Rachel. Let's do this."

Ken's jaw dropped. "B-but, Master, I—"

Parks held up his hand. "I don't want to hear any more, Cindy-Poo. You're gonna be a sissy full-time from now on, and that's that. It's what your mistress wants. Me too. It'll help the agency — it's a great story. I know it's embarrassing for you, but you'll get used to it. And we won't have to keep looking over our shoulders, because everything will already be out there. And I can get back to solving cases, and let you do all the interviews. Shi-t, you could get on Oprah with that story."

Tears formed in Ken's eyes and his bottom lip trembled. Rachel pouted. "Aw, come here, honey." She patted the dining room chair next to her. Ken rose from his knees and sat down. Rachel stroked his wet cheek. "Don't be sad, Cinderella. Aren't you glad to be our slave?"

"Yes, Mistress, I really am. But—"

Rachel pressed her index finger to his lips. "But what? Have you ever been happier in your whole life, Cinderella? Tell the truth."

"Well ... no, Mistress. But ... I just don't want everyone knowing my perso-nal business."

Parks scoffed. "Like your mistress says, the whole world knows about our 'perso-nal business' whether we like it or not. There's no such thing as perso-nal business for us, no matter how far away we move. Unless we go to a fucking Buddhist monastery in Tibet, anyone who wants to know about us can find out by doing a Google search."

"But ... but, Master ... Mistress ... nobody else knows about me ... you know, my dressing up."

Rachel waved her hand. "Oh, so what? You always make such a big deal about that, and nobody cares. Remember when you decided to quit worrying about that, and give in to who you really were — and you ended up being happier than you'd ever been in your whole sissy little life? Remember what a hateful little shi-t you were before that? Running around whining all the time? Never happy? What's wrong, Cinderella? Are you afraid if you live as a sissy full-time, you might end up even happier than you are now? We all know you're a sissy at heart — why are you afraid of showing the world who you really are?"

"I ... I ... it's just embarrassing, Mistress. Please. It's private."

"Not anymore." Parks chuckled. "Listen, Cindy-Poo, I know you're gonna be embarrassed, and you're probably not gonna like it for a while. But you'll need to get over it. Your mistress wants this. I do, too." The macho cop set his jaw. "Look at me, sissy. Your Mistress and me know what's best for you — right?"

Ken bit his lip. "Y-yes, Master."

"And you know we'd never do anything to hurt you. Right?"

"Yes ... Master."

"Good. Then, do as you're told. Be who you are. And don't give your mistress any shi-t about it, either. Got it?"

Ken wiped away a tear. "Yes, Master."

Rachel giggled. "OMG, this is gonna be so much fun! We're gonna go shopping and get you a whole new wardrobe! And don't worry, sweetie, I won't embarrass you — I'll call you 'Cindi' in public, not 'Cinderella,' I promise."

End of Book IV

**

STAY TUNED for the further adventures of the lil' sissy gumshoe and his masters as they take Glass Slipper Investigations to new heights — and tackle perhaps their toughest case involving Ken's sister Sandra, the woman who introduced him into the sissy lifestyle when they were both kids.

Nice work CW!! This was a really fun read.

I second the emotion. Great work!

Book V


"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 21
by c.w. cobblestone


Ken inched out of the dressing room with a droopy bottom lip.

Rachel shook her head. "No, that's not right, either. It's a nice dress but it won't look good on TV."

Ken threw up his hands. "Jeez, how many of these am I gonna have to try on?" He muttered under his breath: "I don't want to do this stupid fucking interview anyway."

"Oh, no, you didn't." Rachel grabbed her sissy's shoulders and scowled down at him. "What's wrong with you, Cindi? You've had an attitude all day — you're gonna start giving me lip, too? And cussing? What's gotten into you?"

"I'm sorry, I don't want to do this. Please, I told you."

"Told me what?"

"I fucking hate this sh-it!"

"Listen, you are WAY out of line, Missy. You want me to bring your master into this?"

Ken looked around to ensure nobody could hear. "N-no, Mistress. I ... please, no."

"Well, then, what's with the damn attitude? Trent specifically told you last night not to give me a bunch of sh-it about this — I don't think he's gonna like it when I tell him you've been doing nothing but. Is he?"

"N-no, please, it's just ... it's just ..." Ken stomped his foot. "Why do I have to do this, Mistress? This is so embarrassing. Your dress is way too tight. People keep staring at me — you heard those girls laughing when we passed them on the escalator. It's fucking horrifying, Rachel. Please, I'm begging you."

"My dress fits you just fine."

"That's not the point, Mistress! Why do I have to do this? Why? My whole life is ruined."

"OMG, what a little drama queen." Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed. "We went over this last night, Cindi. It's for the agency. We don't want any more surprises — what if we solve another big case and then some reporter comes out with pictures of you in drag? The focus should be on Glass Slipper, not our perso-nal lives. So, we're putting everything out there and turning a potential problem into a positive, like Brent always says. Dad used to say the same thing — take control of situations and turn them to your advantage. Lemonade out of lemons and all that. Instead of this being some giant scandal, the media's gonna eat it up. That Channel 3 producer was excited as hell when I talked to her; I could tell. You're gonna be famous, Cindi."

"But, Mistress, I don't WANT to be famous."

"Jeez, enough with the drama, already. You sound like a broken record. This is a great plan. Trent's a genius — that story he cooked up is made for TV. 'The Transgendered Private Eye who decided to come out after going undercover in drag to rescue the little girl.' I don't know if your master was joking or not, but I honestly think you COULD get on Oprah."

"Well, that's just fucking great! I'll go on Oprah, then! Why don't I go on Joe Rogan, too? And fucking 'Wheel of Fortune' while we're at it?'" Ken slapped the sides of the dress he'd tried on. "And then the whole fucking world will know all about my PRIVATE GODDAMN BUSINESS."

Rachel's lips tightened. "That's it. Get changed. We're going home."

"Please, listen, I ... I'm so sorry, I just—"

"Sorry, my ass. You've completely ruined what should have been a fun shopping trip. Whining, cussing and carrying on. You know who you sound like right now? The old Ken, that's who. A whiny-ass, candy-ass loser who does nothing but bitch when he doesn't get his way. Well, I won't have it. We're gonna deal with this disrespect as soon as we get home — and I wouldn't plan on sitting down any time soon if I were you, I can tell you that right now."

Ken again glanced around to ensure nobody was within earshot and started begging. "Please, Mistress, I didn't mean to disrespect you. I really didn't. Mistress, please, understand, it's just—"

"It's just nothing." Rachel scowled. "Too late. There's nothing to understand. Now, get changed — and then we're gonna do something about that attitude."

Rachel made Ken sit in the backseat on the ride home, whereas he'd been allowed up front during the trip to the mall, as he usually was whenever Parks wasn't with them. The angry wife blared her music the entire trip, making conversation impossible.

Parks grinned when his lady and their slave entered the living room. "And here I was thinking I was gonna have to get up and make my own sandwich. How about a quick pastrami on rye, Cindy-Poo? And a pickle. I'm starving, so on the double, okay?"

"Yes, Master." Ken scurried toward the kitchen.

"Your little 'Cindy-Poo' is in major trouble." Rachel leaned down and kissed her lover. While Ken fixed his master's sandwich he could hear his wife complaining about how he'd behaved at the store. After the snack was served, Parks ordered Ken to kneel in front of the couch.

"The hell's going on?" the muscular lawman asked through a mouthful of food.

"He keeps whining about not wanting to come out as trans. Says it's his 'perso-nal business.'" Rachel made air quotes with her fingers for the last two words, followed by a scoff. "I think he's getting a little too big for his panties if you ask me."

Parks took another bite but this time, he waited until he'd swallowed before speaking. "Perso-nal business, eh? Hm, that's interesting. Tell me something, Cinderella: Are you Rachel's slave?"

"Yes, Master, but—"

"But nothing. Are you her slave or not?"

"Yes, Master."

"Are you my slave? Yes or no?"

"Yes, Master."

"Well, then ... it seems to me if you're our slave, then your perso-nal business is OUR business. Am I right?" Parks glared at his subordinate, who dropped his gaze.

Rachel joined her boyfriend in staring down the squirming sissy. "You should've seen how disrespectful the little bitch was in the store. He actually cussed me out, honey — I couldn't believe it. The little pansy cussed me out."

"He what?" Parks' nostrils flared. "Slave, what do you have to say for yourself? Cussing out your mistress? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Master, I didn't really cuss her out ... I said 'what the fuck' and a few other cuss words, but they weren't directed at her, I swear, Master."

"So, you're calling my woman a liar?"

"N-no, Master ... I ... I ..." Ken searched his wife's eyes. "I would never cuss you out, Mistress. Please. You must've misunderstood, please, I would never, Mistress."

Rachel sniffed. "Well, you sure as hell were cussing and carrying on like a whiny little candy-ass bitch. I don't care who you were cussing at, it was disrespectful as hell and I won't tolerate it. Now, then — get your little sissy ass in your bedroom and bend over the bed."

"One sec, hon." Parks held up his hand and bore a hole through Ken's soul with a steel-blue stare. "Cindy-Poo, we need to nip this sh-it in the bud right now. If you want to stop being our slave, then you need to tell us. That's not what I want, and neither does your mistress. But if you don't want to serve us anymore, just say the word and we can accommodate that."

"Oh, no, Master, please, no, that's not what I want at all. Please, Master, Mistress, I want to serve you. Please, I do."

"Well, then, you need to stop all this bullsh-it, take your ass-whipping and let's move on. I know you're embarrassed about coming out, but you'll get over it. In the long run it'll all turn out for the best, watch and see. It'll help the firm and it'll be good for you perso-nally. Don't you trust me, Cindy-Poo?"

"Y-yes, Master, I ... I do."

"Do you trust your mistress?"

"Yes, Master, of course, I do."

"Do you trust that we have your best interests at heart — even if you might not like our decisions sometimes?"

"Um ... yes, Master."

"Then stop all this goddamn whining. Or the next time it'll be me whipping your ass. You want that, sissy?"

"No, Master."

"Then get with the program. Why are you so worried about coming out, anyway? Because you're embarrassed?"

"Y-yes, Master. When I wore Mistress's dress to the store, people were laughing at me. It's embarrassing, Master. I don't expect you to understand."

"No, I do understand. I'd be embarrassed as hell to have to wear a damned dress in public. I understand that just fine. But, see ... here's the thing, Cindy-Poo: I'm not a sissy. I'm not the one who fantasized about dressing up as a girl all my life. I'm not the one who stole my wife's panties out of her drawer and stretched them all out of shape. You are. This is who you are, Cinderella. You're a sissy. Now, I'm not to blame for that, and Rachel sure as hell isn't. It's nobody's fault; it's just how you were born. Embrace it. Be yourself. If people laugh at you, that's their problem. What do you care what other people think, anyway?"

"I ... I ..."

"Just be who you are, Cindy-Poo, and stop worrying about what other people think." Parks chomped his pickle. "Okay? We good?"

"Y-yes, Master."

"And you're gonna stop whining?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good. Then take the ass-whipping like a man, or a reaso-nable facsimile thereof, and then do what your mistress says from now on. She wanted to have a fun shopping trip with her little girlfriend today and you ruined it for her."

Rachel snorted. "This little candy-ass pansy isn't MY girlfriend. He's lucky he's still my slave."

"Mistress, I'm so sorry."

The adulterous wife smiled at her lover while talking to her husband. "Not as sorry as you're gonna be. Now, then — shut your mouth and get in the bedroom. Time to put some stripes on that candy little ass of yours."

Rachel went to town on the sissy's butt-cheeks, leaving them red, swollen and crisscrossed by the time she'd finished administering 50 good ones. After she was satisfied that the first part of the lesso-n had been properly taught, she draped the strap over Ken's shoulders as he bent over the bed weeping. "Put that away and go stand in your corner until I say you can leave — and while you're standing there, I want you to think about how lucky you are to be our slave, and how happy you are to be coming out, so the whole world can see what a little fucking sissy you are. And I also want you to think about what you're gonna say on Channel 3. Got it?"

"Y-y-yes, M-m-m-mistress," the pansy sobbed.

Rachel and Parks cuddled on the couch and watched a movie as their slave served his penance in his "time-out" corner nearby. With his panties balled-up around his ankles to expose his blistered ass, Ken tried his best to stand still, hands on his head and nose pressed against the wall as required during post-whipping corner time.

When the hour-and-a-half film ended, Rachel asked her man whether he thought the sissy had been punished enough. Parks shrugged. "Yeah, I need a beer, anyway, so I guess so. You're done, sissy, go fetch me a cold one!"

"Thank you, Master." As Ken hopped into action, he was glad Parks was so selfish, since the poor slave's nose and arms had started to ache as badly as his throbbing behind.

"To Serve and Protect," Chapter 22
by c.w. cobblestone

The fake blonde faked a smile.

"Good morning, I'm Carla Johannsen for Channel 3 Newsday AM. We've got a special guest this morning on our 'Real Talk' segment: Cindi Coolidge, formerly Kenneth Coolidge, of the Glass Slipper Investigations detective agency in Rock Hill Village. Cindi, as you perhaps may recall, was the hero who rescued little 13-year-old Jenna Karr last month by going undercover and dressing in her school uniform. His quick thinking by dropping a hidden camera on the ground for his partners to find led police to his and Jenna's ki-dnappers. Cindi, thank you so much for joining us."

"T-thank you."

"So, Cindi, you've got an incredible story. That undercover assignment ... dressing up in Jenna's school uniform — it really changed your life. Take us back to that time. How did it all come about?"

Ken wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Well, um, ever since I was a little kid, I ... you know, when, uh, I was ... you know, a k-kid ..."

"It's okay, Cindi. Here's some water."

Ken gulped half the glass. "Um, thank you." He licked his lips.

"Please continue, Cindi. You said since you were a little kid ...?"

"Um, yeah, well, I used to ... I've always dressed up, you know?"

"I see." The broadcaster nodded. "And as you grew into adulthood, you kept that desire to cross-dress hidden, correct?"

"Uh, yeah, even after I got married, I kept it from my wife for a long time. But she eventually found out."

"And what was her reaction when she did find out?"

"Well, things were kind of rocky for a while, to be honest. I think she was in shock because I hadn't told her. Looking back, I wish I'd have told her, because that really wasn't fair to her."

Johannsen shuffled papers. "And, of course, there was that incident in Marysville, with the controversy involving the city councilman who bribed lab techs to change the DNA of a serial rap-ist who was also the councilman's lover. And, in the middle of all that, it came out that your wife and the officer who'd saved her from being attacked by this rap-ist were having an affair. And now, you're all three partners in this investigative agency. Can you explain how all that came about?"

"Sure, Carla." Ken drew a breath and told the almost-true story that his masters had concocted: "So, basically, Rachel and Trent fell in love at first sight. I was standing right there, and it was like a light went on as soon as they looked at each other. You could feel the electricity. So, during the course of the legal proceedings against Rachel's attacker, she and Trent started seeing each other. I could tell she was in love with him, but I thought he was a really nice guy, too ... and he handled the whole thing with a lot of class, and ... well, it's crazy, but we all got to know each other and really hit it off. Rachel has been my best friend since college, and I figured why should I lose my best friend just because she happened to fall in love with another man? A man who had saved both of our lives, I might add? It might seem strange to other people, but it all worked out, and the three of us have become great friends. And when Trent approached me about being partners in a detective agency ... well, the rest is history."

"Yes, it is. It sounds like you were able to navigate a potentially tough situation and turn it into a positive. And now, you're all three partners in Glass Slipper Investigations, which already has made quite a name for itself. And that led to your life-changing decision. Now, tell me how you decided to come out and finally start being the woman you are inside."

Ken sucked in more air and repeated his rehearsed lines: "Well, you know, Carla, it was so empowering ... when I put on that school uniform — a girl's uniform, with a skirt — and was able to save Jenna while doing something I'd always dreamed of doing, but had been afraid of ... well, it was like the whole world changed for me, Carla. I realized that wearing women's clothes in public wasn't going to ki-ll me, and in fact, it had helped me save a little girl's life. You know, they say the best way to overcome fear is to face it — take a tough situation and turn it into a positive, as you said. So, after the Jenna Karr case, that's what I did. I decided to just be who I am — who cares what other people think, you know?"

"Amen to that. Have you gotten much support since you came out?"

"Well, yes and no. I mean, my friends are my friends. But some people kind of look at me funny. At first it used to bother me, but not so much anymore."

"You shouldn't let it bother you," the announcer said. "Because you're one courageous woman. Or, I'm sorry, you prefer he/him pronouns, correct?"

Ken tightened his painted lips. "Um, yeah, that's just a perso-nal choice." Yeah, a perso-nal choice all right, he grumbled to himself — a choice his masters had made, because according to them, "sissies aren't women so they shouldn't be referred to as women."

The newscaster smiled. "Okay, then you're one courageous man."

In his mind, Ken corrected her: "My masters would say that's not right either — I'm a sissy." Despite his bitter inner dialogue, however, the slave kept up his cheerful countenance as the interviewer consulted her notes.

Carla Johannsen tilted her head. "So ... that was a real win for your agency, rescuing little Jenna Karr the way you did. Is Glass Slipper working on any new cases right now?"

"Well, we're busy with a few cases for Aspen Insurance, if I could get in a plug for them because they're a great partner. But there's obviously nothing we can disclose about those cases at this time — don't want to let the bad guys know we're coming! And, certainly, we have a few other cases we're working on. So, stay tuned."

The host smiled. "We will stay tuned, indeed. I'd like to thank you for sharing your story with us, Cindi, and good luck with Glass Slipper Investigations."

"Thank you."

"For Channel 3 Newsday AM, I'm Carla Johannsen. We'll be right back."

An assistant producer helped Ken remove the lapel mic from the collar of his dress. The sissy thanked everyone, stumbled out of the Channel 3 studio and wandered through the parking lot in a daze. As soon as he got behind the wheel of his car, he started bawling, releasing all the nervous energy that had built up prior to his live television appearance. The mood improved when he got home, though; as soon as he walked through the door, Rachel and Parks applauded.

"Yay, you were so good!" Rachel smiled. "I'm so proud of you."

"That was awesome." Parks nodded. "You even got in a plug for Aspen! You were a little shaky at the beginning there, but you recovered and really kicked ass. Good job, Cindy-Poo."

"T-thank you, Master. I was scared to death. Could you tell?"

"No ... maybe a little at first, but you did great!" Parks said.

"And that blue dress was perfect for TV," Rachel added. "Told you."

Parks clapped. "How about we celebrate? I know it's still early, but what the hell? Cindy-Poo, go grab that good bottle of burgundy so we can toast our new star Detective-in-Training-Bra."

"Yes, Master."

A naughty grin twisted Rachel's lips upward. "You know what, Cinderella?"

"Um, yes, Mistress?"

"Leave your glass empty and come meet me in the bathroom. I've got some special wine for you."