SAM DAVID - PARTNERS When I left the police force and became a private detective, I believed that I could get further with my feminine curves than I did with my badge. That once I took off the uniform, I’d be able to manipulate the weak-willed masculine sex with empty promises and vagues references. A bat of an eyelash and any piece of information I could hope for would be at my fingertips. It didn’t take long to discover that this wasn’t the case. It’s true that men – the men I most commonly interact with, anyhow – can be easily distracted if enough fur is flashed in their direction, but once their minds get on that subject, it’s like everything useful contained in their minds is quickly ejected. Perhaps if I was willing to actually follow through with the promises contained in my not-so-innocent winks and caresses, I’d be rewarded with whatever information, leads, or confessions I need, but the thought of doing so makes my fur bristle. No, I found my solution to be in a different direction. Once I began dawning the three-piece suits and overcoats held possession by the opposite gender, I found that those who hold the keychains of the underworld became more easily manipulated. To be honest, I can’t confidently guess what the reason for this is. It could be that there’s no pleasure to be had in a woman that looks as though she means business, so they’re eager to stay on subject. Or perhaps, if I may speak without modesty, my talents truly shine when I’m on even ground with those I work with. Regardless of why it’s so necessary, I’ve been wearing men’s suits for so long that my wardrobe has been completely consumed by them. If I do still, in fact, own a skirt and heels, they’re buried somewhere so deep in my closet that it would take a search and rescue team to find them. Despite this, I’ve never been mistaken for a man, at least not from the front. My small chest and angular jawline are the only features that could even remotely be considered masculine. My wide hips and small shoulders betray the truth about what I conceal between my legs. Even my name, Samantha David -- always shortened to a duo of male first names – adds to the illusion but doesn’t seem to throw off the scent. Maybe if I spoke in a deeper voice, but no matter, the point is I found success in the in between. The case I was on when I bumped back into him was one that didn’t seem too hopeful. My client’s wife was murdered, and after a long and drawn out investigation by the police, a trail of evidence finally pointed vaguely at his own brother. To say that things stank like a burning dumpster factory would be an understatement. The evidence was meagre, and while much of it should have been thrown out as circumstantial, it was still considered to be enough to put a man behind bars. My client admitted that he’s not convinced that his brother wasn’t responsible for the death of his wife. The marriage wasn’t exactly a satisfactory arrangement in the sibling’s opinion, and the wife was held in quite low regard. Despite this, my client wanted to be certain that justice was served to the correct table and is willing to pay a substantial fee to see it through. As embarrassed as I am to admit, it would be wrong to say the trail had gone icy, rather it had started out below zero and just descended from there. I was already thinking of ways to break it to my client that this was a lost cause. That was until I caught a lucky break in an unexpected way. I was invited to the New Years Eve Police Charity Ball as a guest for my previous work with the force. I was feeling lonely and thought that rubbing elbows with a few of them might salve that particular rash, so I put on my best tuxedo, then figured that would be overdoing it, so I changed over to a dapper suit. In the dim light of that auditorium, the moment I set eyes on him, a bolt of nostalgia almost convinced me that my days on the police force were something I actually longed for. The one thing I miss about the force was the ties I had with my old partner, and in that short space of time, all the frustration and disappointment from my time there vanished beneath the rug. From the look on his face, he was feeling something similar. “Sammy,” he simply greeted. Max Burrows. A towering German Shepherd. Fluffy on the outside and, you know what, fluffy on the inside sometimes, too. Tries to be hard boiled, but more than a little soft. He was the muscle and I was the brains is what a lot of people assumed, but I don’t think that’s giving Max enough credit. He might not be the sharpest needle in the haystack but he’s smart enough to be dependable. On the other hand, there’s no denying that his Canine frame greatly outsizes my Raccoon self. Maybe it’s better that people thought there was some balance in our partnership. “Detective Burrows,” I replied with a teasing edge. “You look like someone pulled a wad of gum out of a cow’s mane and stuffed it into a tuxedo. Were you pre-drinking before you pre-drank?” A laugh. He still knows me. “Yeah, I guess I’ve made a bit of a mess of myself. It was just a rough day, I just needed a few somethings to take the edge off. Had to investigate a pretty gruesome crime scene.” “I thought those were your favourite. You were always so optimistic. ‘Well, Sammy, at least it’s cheerfully colourful,’” I mocked him in a voice as close to his baritone as I could muster. “Haha, don’t kid. Blood’s only bright red when it’s fresh, the blood here was at least two weeks old. And you’d think I’d get used to the smell, but I guess I only see it this bad once and a while. I just start to forget the smell when ‘bam.’" I tried to keep his lips moving, so he could be easily guided to the information I wanted. “So what happened?’ “It’s all speculation right now,” he said with his hands raised defensively, “But it would seem that a man went a little Norman Bates on his family. Couple kids; I always hate to see that.” “Norman Bates? He killed them in the shower?” “What?” “Norman Bates is from Psycho. The movie where Janet Leigh gets stabbed in the shower then dumped in a swamp.” “What? No, that’s not what I’m thinking of. An axe. He killed them with an axe.” “So, like Jack Torrance from The Shining? He ‘Jack Torrance’d’ his family.” His face scrunched up a bit at the comparison. “Geez. You always were a stickler for the little details. Let’s change the subject, I’m trying to wash the image of human kindling out of my mind and would prefer not to keep revisiting that memory. What have you been working on? You’re a private dick now, aren’t you?” It was easier than I expected to get him on the right line of thought. Maybe it’s the years of working together. “That’s correct. The case I’m working on is a bit frigid, I’m not sure there’s much hope of solving it.” “Well, let’s hear it. Maybe if you bounce it off me I can give you some ideas.” “Hmm,” I hummed, feigning hesitation. “Okay, well, are you familiar with the Faure murder case?” His eyes rolled to the side in thought. “Uh, vaguely. I remember the woman was murdered, apparently by her brother-in-law. Yeah, it’s coming to me. Something didn’t seem right about that case. It went on for so long, I thought I’d have to rip it from the paws of the detectives handling it. The file on it is a mile long, from what I remember.” Not particularly surprising, considering how much circumstantial evidence was built into the mountain that fell on the brother-in-law. “We’re on the same page, it seems. That file’s in records?” Burrows gave a nod that he caught himself midway through. “Those are classified, Sammy. You aren’t a cop anymore.” “No, I’m not. But don’t go spreading that around.” He exhaled a visible sigh, his chest heaving and deflating. He knew he couldn’t dissuade me, and I knew he could tell what I was thinking. He’s not stupid. “Maybe there’s a mystery you could help me with,” he said after the silence confirmed the end of conversation. His eyes moved south of my belt, “Do you wear boxers or briefs?” “Neither,” I replied as ambiguously as possible. It worked, he was noticeably confused. “So, panties? Or are you going commando?” “That’s one mystery that I doubt you’re ever going to solve.” --- I had to act fast. While Max was drunk, he wasn’t so sloppy drunk that I felt he was going to forget what he told me. He knows me too well to think I wasn’t going to go for the files, but I can’t bank on him not regretting the information he shared. As soon as I could, I made excuses, grabbed my coat, and headed straight for the precinct. Thanks to the holiday, it was likely to be practically empty, with all the officers either off or out doing ride checks. I was happy to find that no one had bothered to fix the lock on the second floor window above the dumpsters; some things never change. I descended the stairs into the basement and carefully made my way through the hallways to the archives. I met no one on the way, but maintained a brisk swagger. The best way to avoid being questioned when trespassing is to look as though you belong there. I’m thankful I chose the suit and not the tuxedo. The door to records was propped open. Not anything unusual, it’s not like they lock the door during regular hours. I was happy to find it empty. Again, as long as you look calm and like you’re not doing anything wrong, most people won’t question you, but fewer people seeing me means less risk. I located the cabinet for Fa-Fe, and drew it out wide. Disappointment seized me instantly. There was a big gap in the files, and I knew what had happened. I was still missing a “why” but I figured I’d learn soon, and sure enough, the voice came from the doorway. “Looking for something, Sammy?” came Max’s smug voice. What a cliche. “Ugh,” I sighed, slamming the cabinet door. I turned to him, giving my most unpleasant sneer. Sure enough, he had a big fat pair of files in his paw, holding them aloft just as smugly as his voice implied. “What’s your game, Max?” “Game? Is that what you should be asking? You’re the one caught trespassing in a police station.” “Obviously, you knew I’d come here, so I’m asking: Why the ambush?” I think something about my blunt responses caught him off guard. The expression on his face implied that he was disappointed about not getting to lord over me for longer. “Ambush?” I guess he was going to play innocent anyway. “Sammy, after all our time together, you think I’d do something like that?” I folded my arms, silently communicating my desire for him to cut his shit. It worked, as he dropped his arm to the side and stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him, locking it. My mind caught a hint of what he had planned, but I buried it as unlikely. “I planned on handing you the files, Sammy, I just want something in return.” I raised a brow. “What?” “I, uh…” Suddenly the cat had made off with his tongue. My mind returned to its initial theory. No, it couldn’t be. “Well?” He seemed bashful. He scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat. He was like a teenager about to ask me to the dance. “I, uh…” he repeated. “I was thinking that, maybe in return, you would let me…” Oh no. I was right, wasn’t I? “It’s just, there was something I was always hoping we could do when we were partners, but I didn’t want us to wind up in trouble for it.” “You want to fuck me, is that it?” It looked like I smacked him across the face. His jaw dropped, before he quickly reset it and tried to maintain some semblance of cool. “Yes,” he replied before raising his hands defensively. “I mean, I’m not going to force you or anything, but I was hoping…” “You’re practically blackmailing me here, threatening to reveal my trespass, and now you’re giving me an option?” Silence as he considered his words. Finally, he slapped the file onto a nearby desk. “All right, you got me. I was too cowardly to ask without a bit of leverage.” I laughed in response, shaking my head at him as I approached him. “You’re a good guy, Max. You’re just not always that bright,” I gave a roll of my eyes and a frustrated sigh to try and exaggerate my annoyance and prevent myself from appearing too enthusiastic. I knelt down and grabbed his belt. I began to tug it loose before I felt his hands on my wrists. “Woah, woah! Here? I didn’t mean we were going to do it here.” I looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. “Did you really think I was going to walk out of here without my file? I’m not going to let you take it and tamper with it or sober up and change your mind. Besides, you’re the one who locked the door.” “Well, I just assumed you’d want to go somewhere more private.” “Like where? I know how I dress, but I’m not going into the men’s room.” As he continued to make half-hearted protests I once again tugged at his belt, his hands still over my wrists but his grip slackened. I glanced up at him as I worked and caught him looking to the corner of the room, no doubt at the security camera hanging there. While I was certain that no one would be actively watching the feed and assumed that he’d remove the recording, the mere idea that someone might be watching almost had me grinding my thighs together, if I’m being honest. The humiliation he’d receive would just be sweet revenge. As I unbuttoned his fly, his attention finally came back to me. I looked up into his eyes as I hooked my fingers around his waistband and slowly pulled his pants down over his tail and to his thighs, exposing him into the circulating air. I saw him swallow hard and break eye contact to look back into the corner. Was he nervous? I would expect this from a teenager, but not an experienced cop. While he was looking away, I took him into my mouth, catching him off guard. I knew I had his attention from that point on. He was still slightly soft, but he was quickly getting harder. I pushed my hand into the small of his back as I ran my lips across his shaft. I was rewarded with a surprised moan. “Anh, Sammy. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” I pulled back, releasing him. “I’m pretty sure I have some idea.” I went back to work, caressing his length with my lips, running my tongue over its surface. It was true, this is something I wanted, as well, but it’s generally considered inappropriate to date your partner. We weren’t that anymore, well, not in the professional sense, but… The idea of being with Max still held some appeal. I don’t think I realized how much I missed the big Shepherd. Another moan as he ran one hand across his head and placed his other on the back of my head. “Sammy,” he repeated breathlessly. Mmm, music to my ears. Eventually, he could take no more. I knew the tactic. He picked me up with little effort and sat me on the edge of the weathered oak table. Taking my necktie in his hand he pulled me into a kiss, deeply locking our lips together. I felt his hand at my waist, running along my belt towards the buckle. Gently, with only his fingers, his lips never leaving mine, he undid my belt and pulled it apart. Immediately he shifted to fumbling with my fly. He pulled his lips away from mine and released my tie, before looking into my eyes and with a smirk whispered, “It’s time I get to the bottom of a certain mystery.” Slowly, he unzipped my fly, putting pressure firmly against my crotch. He ran his fingers through the crack in my pants, feeling my underwear. He popped the button and began pulling. I stood up slightly, to allow him to pull down my pants over my tail, exposing my pink and white, butterfly printed panties. I felt my cheeks grow warm in irrational embarrassment. Slipping a hand down the back of my panties, he grabbed the base of my tail and pulled me close. “I just lost a bet,” he whispered. I couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m actually surprised they’re so… cute,” he added. “I’m still a woman where it counts,” I teased. “I like them on you,” he said, dragging my pants off the rest of the way. “I think I’ll leave them on.” He hooked his arms under my knees and parted my legs, lifting them up and moving in between them. I laid back, trying not to expose how turned on I really was. He pressed his cock up against the crotch of my panties. His big, German Shepherd equipment looked massive against my smaller raccoon frame. I almost couldn’t take it anymore as I bit my lip, waiting. He reached down, tugged the crotch of my panties to the side, and pushed his way in. I couldn’t help but gasp. It was a tight fit, but it felt amazing. A euphoria washed over my body as I gripped at the edge of the desk. He quickly built up momentum with his thrusting, only a moment to make sure I was comfortable until he was already pounding himself into me. The desk creaking under the force, a moan building higher and higher in my voice. Oh, he was letting out that frustration, slamming into me with a rapturous fervor. The rhythmic creaking of the desk, my moans mixed with his occasional grunts. Oh, I was already going to climax. How I held back all those years that we were together. Dangerous situations where we depended on each other, quiet moments on hot summer days where I just wanted to lie naked with him beside a cool fan, late nights when temptation would become almost too much to bear. It had all been built up, and now here I was. I was cumming. I arched my back and ran my fingernails down the chest of his shirt. My muscles contorted, my teeth clenched, the ecstasy climbed from up my womanhood and into my chest. The reaction seemed to send him over, as well. It was surprising to see he still had something in reserve, but he somehow thrusted ever harder until I received my hot reward. It felt like it filled me to the top, as I let out one long moan and allowed my body to go slack. I could hear his heavy breathing, feel his hot breath against my calf as he lifted my leg to give it a kiss. “Sammy,” he whispered. “Max,” I replied. He withdrew, pulling me up to sit on the edge of the desk. He brought his hands to cup my face and pulled me into a kiss. It was deep, affectionate, loving. It was the perfect way to bring us back down to reality, to see each other through the fog of passion. We embraced, holding each other closely as he caressed my back. “Sammy,” he said again, drawing himself back to look into my eyes. “I…” something sorrowful seemed to cross his expression for a moment. I tried to warm his mood with a slight smile. “We should go out for coffee some time.” It was right on the mark, a smile lit up his face. “I’d like that,” he said. --- I was back in the office, still enraptured by the afterglow of my time with Max. I never realized the pent up sexual frustration I felt in our time together was mutual. I rolled the idea of a relationship around my head for a while and didn’t find any dissension from my doubts. Sure, I’m a Raccoon and he’s a German Shepard -- it’s always been an odd pairing -- but we gelled well. We understood the baggage we carried, and that can help bring people together. That would wait, however. As much as I wanted to pick up the phone and immediately find my way back between the sheets with him, I had work to do. The contents of those two glutted folders painted quite the picture. A great deal of the collected evidence had been conveniently swept under the rug when the case reached the courts, and even the most untalented investigator could see where the trail all led. It’s a tale as old as time; the son of a particularly influential governor seems to have been romantically entangled with my client’s wife, owing to a long history between the two. Something happened along the way, my theory would be that guilt finally got to her and she broke it off with him. He didn’t take being shut out of her life so well and murdered her. If he couldn’t have her, no one could. Daddy couldn’t have his son sent to prison, so he pulled some strings and passed some money around and suddenly all this evidence is determined to be circumstantial, leaving only a tenuous trail that could be pointed wherever it was convenient. My side of the bargain was complete, so I handed the paper trail to my client along with my best wishes. It’s up to him now to pursue it, take a chance, and see if he can set things right. In my opinion, with the right people involved, things will work out for the best. Even in this city, as infested with crime as it is, people love a good story.