And that's how I came to play doctor with the twins. Every orifice I had was violated in the space of an hour, the twins' inventiveness unending and deliciously, delightfully titillating. In the middle of the anal sex, Blake paused for a moment and whipped out a camera, the pincers still dangling from my clit.
"What?" I gasped. "No!"
I knew I looked a mess, nude, my pink bits red and inflamed with all sorts of clamps squeezing and pulling, obscene and sexual at once.
But he merely shushed me.
"You've never looked so beautiful," he soothed, clicking away as the flash popped. "Seriously, we might never get this chance again," he admonished as the shutter whirred.
And I couldn't help but pose and preen a bit, loving the attention, the delicious wrongness of what was happening.
"You're not in any of these," I'd whined when we were back home, looking over the developed pictures. "I barely see any cock."
"Baby, you're a thousand times more beautiful, who would want to see Bryan and I posing naked with medical instruments jammed in our behinds?" asked Blake.
But I knew there were gay mags that would pay a lot of money for that stuff … and all sorts of men and women who would die to see identical twins stuffing each other, lovingly fucking each other's asses.
"You never know," I said with a sly smile, a twinkle in my eye. "You never know."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blake
"So what's up?" asked our sergeant as we walked into his office. The sarge was a great guy, in his fifties but still buff, a devotee of the gym.
Bryan and I had taken some time off to come by on the precinct on the pretense that we were investigating potential career options. Callie had given us the perfect opening.
"But do you know anything about police work?" she'd asked quizzically. "I mean, walking a beat can be so tiring, so different from school. Is there anyone you could talk to about what it's like to actually be an officer?"
My twin and I had barely kept a straight face because we were full-fledged police officers, stationed undercover at Canterdale High to ferret out a drug ring. Posing as mid-semester transfers had been pretty easy so far, but it also felt silly to fake anxiety about SATs and college applications when none of that applied to us whatsoever.
"Honey, we'll stop by the local precinct next week," I'd promised. "Maybe there's some cop on a coffee break who could talk to us about his experience on the force."
And so we had the perfect in. We'd swung by the precinct after classes let out, our backpacks slung casually over our shoulders, nothing more than two high school boys exploring career options.
Thankfully the front desk knew exactly how to treat undercover cops. Our receptionist gave no indication of knowing us despite the fact that she'd seen our mugs every day for the last three years.
"Can I help you?" she'd asked impersonally.
"Sergeant Collins, please," I said.
"Of course," she said, dialing upstairs. "Just one moment."
And we were whisked upstairs, none of our colleagues giving any indication that they knew us as we strode past their desks. I did feel something hit the back of my shoulder and turned quickly to see what it was.
"Psst!" cracked Jack, one of our friends. "You like being in an episode of Grease?" he asked.
I figured he was referring to the movie with John Travolta, when Travolta was way too old to be in high school. But hey, people can suspend disbelief at least temporarily.
"Shut the fuck up," I growled under my breath. This was so unprofessional, anyone could be watching the exchange.
But at that moment the Sarge appeared at the door to his office and gestured to us. "Come in boys, I'm happy to talk to you about what it's like to be a police officer," he said with a believably straight face.
"Come on," said my brother, shooting Jack a dirty look before disappearing inside the office. And so it was with a relieved sigh that Bryan and I settled into the comfy chairs in front of the desk, letting go of pretense for a change.
"So how's it going?" asked the Sarge, one eyebrow raised. "How's that trailer working out for you?"
Oh right. The city budget being what it was, the precinct couldn't afford to put us up in a rented house or apartment. So they'd installed us in a ramshackle trailer on the edge of the school zone with Sergeant Collins as our supposed "guardian," our long-lost uncle.
"It's fine," I said nonchalantly.
"At least there's heat and hot water," my brother quipped.
But the Sarge was suddenly serious.
"How's the investigation going?" he said. "I've got to feed the beasts at City Hall soon. The Adams, parents of victim Brian Adams, have been pressuring the Mayor for results and he's been knocking on my door," he said, shaking his head.
I felt bad for our boss. That's the thing about moving up the management ladder – you barely get a chance to do any actual police work, instead spending all your time managing superiors.
"We got a big break," said my brother, unzipping his backpack. "We found this."
And out came an unidentifiable shape wrapped in plastic.
"What the fuck is that?" asked our boss, perplexed.
"Hold your breath," warned Bryan. "Best to blast the AC, open the windows."
And my twin set the package on the Sarge's desk, carefully unrolling our precious cargo. Because despite its gory exterior, it actually contained key evidence. The plastic fell apart to reveal a dead cat, semi-thawed and decomposing, its eyes unseeing, set in an eternal unblinking stare.
"God almighty!" raged our Sarge. "This better be good, you've just stunk up my office."
"Just give it a sec boss," I chimed in, as my brother continued with the honors. Because now he'd snapped on a pair of gloves and was pulling the cat's abdomen apart … to reveal five packets stuffed with white powder.
"Oh shit," breathed Collins. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Probably, yeah," smirked my brother. "It's likely heroin or cocaine, packaged conveniently into a dead animal where no one would think to look."
"How did you get your hands on this?" asked our boss.
My brother shrugged. "Luck, more than anything. Our lab partner fainted during the dissection and we ended up having to do a weekend make-up. During the make-up, there must have been some mix-up when it came to the specimen and we got this instead," he said, gesturing to the dead cat.
"Shit, who's transporting this stuff?" said the Sarge, a disgusted look on his face. "I mean, what the fuck, are they killing animals to use as couriers?"
"My guess is no," I said. "You can order these things on-line, they're shipped straight to the school. My guess is the dealer is connected to the school in some way, intercepting the cats without anyone noticing, and then stuffing them full before retrieving the goods for final retail."
"It's gotta be that fucking science teacher," growled our boss. "Grimes did you say his name was?"
"Nah, it's not Grimes," I said confidently. "No one running a drug ring could be so dumb as to accidentally lose track of goods the way this dealer did." And I meant it. There had to be at least 5Gs worth of pure cocaine in there.
"So it's someone else then," mused our boss. "Any other leads?"
"Still working on it," I said promptly. "Give us some time, we'll crack it Sarge," I said confidently.
"Well speed it up, I can't keep City Hall off our backs for much longer," said our boss. "Two weeks max and I've got to say something."
"We'll have it solved by then," my brother chimed with assurance. "Trust us, we have a secret weapon," he winked.
And I knew he was referring to our girl, our lover, our everything … Callie.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Callie
My lovers strode in the door, confident, their pace unhurried, warm grins for me as they set down their backpacks.
"So how'd it go?" I asked anxiously. "Was someone available to talk with you? What did you think?"
Truth is, I was kind of anxious about the twins going to the precinct. On the one hand, I absolutely respected Bryan and Blake's decision to apply to the Academy. There's nothing sexier than a man in blue, and my lovers have the intellectual and physical chops to be police officers. But on the other, I was concerned about the danger. As rookies on the force they'd be assigned to the toughest beats, patrolling housing projects, the Tenderloin, places where random gunshots still rang out at night.
"It was great," said Blake easily. "There were a couple guys off-duty, they were only too happy to spend a couple minutes shooting the shit about their jobs."