0 comments/ 46388 views/ 2 favorites Decoy By: tonysnow My wife being a police officer always excited me from the moment we met, her confident self sufficient manner and fantastic good looks were a definite turn on. Despite Susan's petite stature of 5'4" it was evident from her firm athletic build, that she could handle herself well if she had to. Her short Strawberry blonde hair framed her pretty face and sparkling Emerald green eyes. At age 45 she still had the body of an 18 y/o and her 38D tits were as firm as one. At times, depending on the make up or what she wore she would look even younger. Susan's ass was deliciously shaped like a black girl's. Whenever she wore heels her ass would stick out even more so than usual, giving it that bubble butt appearance men like. Also when she wore heels her walk was like a runway model's, sashaying from side to side. I loved it! Shortly after being assigned to vice Susan, obviously due to her youthful looks, was selected to decoy cop duty. But unlike most decoy assignments in which the female cop dresses as a street hooker, Susan's was to dress up like a Catholic high school girl. It seemed that one of the local schools had complained about perverts milling about the school too close for comfort. Luckily, Susan had attended a Catholic high school for girls and had kept her uniform. Needless to say she had no problem getting into it despite the years she last wore it. Looking at her wearing the pleated plaid skirt and button down white blouse made me imagine what a "hottie" she must have been back then. I could tell Susan was into it. Susan would sometimes wear a thong underneath or shear white panties and knee highs with black patent leather Mary Jane style shoes. Sometimes she would wear bare skinned thick platform shoes called Buffalo heels. She showed me this trick she learned back when she was in high school of rolling the skirt's waist band up to make it shorter; this way when at school the skirt would meet the school's strict skirt length regulation but once away it could be temptingly shortened. The stories of her shift's adventures filled our evening conversations. It was easy for Susan to see how excited I got when she told me of them from the bulge in my pants as she spoke, we would fuck like dogs shortly afterwards. Much to my surprise Susan agreed to my request of her wearing the uniform for me during sex. A few times she would wear it as she told me what had happened during her shift and seeing that my cock was bulging she allowed me to jerk off as she spoke. Susan finally confessed that being dressed this way made her wet remembering the slut that she was back in her younger days. And this is where it all began... After my cajoling, and yes begging, she agreed to wear the "outfit" out in public with me. My cock jumped when she said she would do it, but little did I know at the time that Susan was just as excited as I was. I suggested we go to the mall, since maybe going to a bar would defeat the mood if she had to be carded to be served, Susan agreed. She also agreed, as difficult as it may have been, not to be a cop that day but just enjoy ourselves. As we walked into the mall quickly Susan became the focal point for all the men, young and old, single or with female companions. Susan had rolled up her skirt as she showed me before and had decided to wear cotton panties under her uniform skirt. The Buffalo platforms she wore gave her the appearance of being taller and enhanced her ass. Susan said she wanted to go to the shoe store and asked me if I wanted to come with her or stay and do my own thing. I told her that with her dressed the way she was doing my own thing involved either fucking her hard or jerking off while looking at her. Susan smiled and gave me a quick peck and headed off to the shoe store. I watched her as she swayed away, her short skirt just teasing. When I looked away I saw that I wasn't the only one appreciating her, a group of college aged guys were nudging each other and grinning. One of them looked at me and gave me the thumbs up! Through the display window I could see that Susan had no problem in getting the attention of several salesmen. The one she decided upon was an older gentleman, who looked to be in his 60's, well groomed and fit. His name tag read "Don". Watching, I could see his on his face the appreciation of Susan's ass as she walked to the seat. When she sat her already short skirt rose even higher, giving the sales staff who some how managed to position themselves in front of her a perfect view of her white cotton panties. Don sitting on the stool in front licked his lips subconsciously. Susan seeing me through the window smiled and winked at me. Almost, as if to say watch the fun about to begin. Susan crossed her legs when he returned with the shoes she asked about, giving him and all for that matter a view of her exposed thigh and part of her ass. Don shifted on the stool, apparently feeling the strain of his stiffening cock. Susan must have been aware of his condition because I saw her point to another pair, causing him to stand; the bulge in his pants now at eye level. Even from where I was standing, I could see that the bulge was very large. The look on Susan's face showed her surprise as to the size as well. Without missing a beat Don reached for the other shoes and proceeded to put them on for her, his hands caressing her calves as he did. Susan parted her legs slightly and slid forward, the moisture of her pussy coming through the fabric of her panties. I was sure that not only could Don see her wet pussy lips he could probably smell the sweetness of her juices. As if on cue, Don seeing no one was around them raised his hands higher up the inside of her thighs and slowly brushed her pussy with his thumbs. Susan closed her eyes halfway, lust showing on her face, hard nipples showing through her white blouse. Here Susan the woman took over and not the cop, who would've probably put a hurting on Don. Instead, she opened her thighs even more. Don seeing, the invitation ran his right index finger along the slit of her pussy through the panties. He then pulled her panties to the side, fully exposing her pussy to him and rubbed her swollen clit with his thumb. After a few more strokes he inserted two fingers inside, drew them out and licked them. I almost came right on the spot at the sight of all this. With more customers entering the store Susan and Don had to end their brief encounter. Don's face showed total surprise as I greeted Susan with a big hug as she walked out. When we got to the car, Susan reached for my cock, pulled the zipper down and took my hard cock out and into her mouth. I melted as her lips stroked my cock, her tongue tracing up and down the veins on the shaft. Susan let out little moans as she buried her head all the way down on my lap. As she sucked she would also twist and turn my cock downward with her hands, hard firm strokes. Unable to hold it any longer, I came. No not a dramatic porn movie explosion but a long quiet one, cum just oozed out slowly. Susan milked my cock with her hands to get as much out and licked the sides slowly. As I said, this was only the beginning of my adventures with my private decoy cop. Decoy "That must be his plane now. Now, remember what you've been told about what your role is." Floris Bourek leaned back in the cushy backseat of the Lincoln MKT Town Car and turned to look directly at the Lebanese beauty sitting beside him. Jamila Maloof, model thin, with long, silky auburn hair, and light-brown, flawless skin, flashed her fluorescent-blue nails in front of her face and effected an expression conveying both boredom and slight irritation. She was dressed in a scoop-necked beige shell and brown jacket over tight stressed blue jeans and fire-engine-red spike heels. She pretty much screamed of being in the profession Floris had hired her to be in. "Yes, you've told me," she answered back, a bit pouty. "You've been paid to do it all—either with the man coming in on that corporate jet from Miami or with me—but you are only a decoy so that we can be in public all of the time and it looks like just the two of you are having a good time. But you may not be asked to do anything but have a good time. And when you are told that you need to go powder your nose, you go, and you spend some time at it." "Yes, I understand." "Then get rid of the pout. This isn't going to be about paying attention to you." But it was about people paying attention to her and they both knew it. As a decoy she was also to be a distraction. And to any red-blooded man, there was little doubt she'd be a distraction from anything else going on around her. Bourek turned his eyes again toward the corporate jet that had come to a standstill by a hangar in the private aviation section of Reagan International Airport, the not-so-international-scale airport in Virginia directly across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C. The airport had originally been built in 1941 as a transportation hub for U.S. congressmen and senators who had to travel back and forth between the capital and their voting districts frequently. It was being used now in Bourek's business more for privacy and misdirection. The man they were waiting for had come from London, where he was based, but had flown to Miami to enter the States and on to here, rather than the larger and more alert Dulles International Airport, in the Virginia suburbs, or the Baltimore-Washington International Airport, in the Maryland suburbs. And there he was, standing at the top of the stairs, framed in the opening into the jet's cabin. Ashur Khoury, the London-based international businessman of Syrian descent. The man who would be flying out again late tomorrow after business talks with Floris Bourek, talks that had to be concluded successfully no matter what it took. Bourek checked the photograph in the file he held in his hand to make sure the man really was who he was expecting. In this business you always had to check and recheck. Then he climbed out of the car, leaving the backseat door open, and walked over to the bottom of the stairs up to the plane. Ashur Khoury, having checked the photograph in his own file to ensure that the man meeting the plane was the one who was supposed to be meeting the plane, came down the stairs, a smile on his face and his hand extended. The two spoke briefly on the tarmac, each also scanning the environment to evidence of surveillance, and then Ashur Khoury climbed into the back of the town car, his eyebrows raising and his smile widening when he saw Jamila sitting there. As the Lincoln drove off, Bourek entered the small private charters terminal. His own car was parked at the other side of that building. * * * * "I thought the capital was a large city," Khoury murmured as the Lincoln glided along. "Yet, we are in the country so quickly." He wasn't really saying this to Jamila. He hadn't said anything to her at all, yet. He certainly hadn't made any move to come closer to her. He'd said it in Arabic and to himself. So he was surprised when she laughed and answered, in English. "This is called Rock Creek Park. It's a large park running through Washington. It's over three times larger than Central Park in New York City. Do you know that park?" "Yes, of course," he answered in English, perhaps a little huffily. "You speak Arabic." "But of course," she answered. Khoury frowned. He wondered if it had been wise to use a decoy who could understand them if they spoke in Arabic. But then it occurred to him that Bourek perhaps couldn't speak Arabic. Still he was a bit unsettled that this woman could. Jamila took the hint that she was showing herself to be smarter than many Arab men wanted their women to be. She went silent and turned her head toward the window and watched the water tumbling through the creek bed running parallel to the road. But Khoury too felt that this wasn't going as he wanted. He would be with this woman until he got back on the plane. "I thought we were going to go watch tennis," he said in English, trying to use a controversial voice without an edge to it. "We are. The tennis stadium is on the edge of the park," she answered, turning toward him and giving him a tentative smile. "Do you like to watch tennis?" "Yes, of course. It was on my list of how I would like to spend the day." "As I was on your list?" He didn't answer, and once more Jamila had the impression that she was speaking out of turn. She couldn't help it. She was an American, born and raised in Chicago. It was her parents who had come from Lebanon. And the man's accent told her he was Syrian. Even in the Middle East, a Lebanese woman would not be as diffident with her man as a Syrian woman would be. Bourek had told her just to keep her mouth shut and to play her part. She would do her best to do that, although there were things she naturally wanted to know. She certainly was being paid enough for two days of work to play the role Bourek was assigning her. She lowered her eyes and did what she could to look demure and subservient for the remainder of the drive. "The stadium looks larger than I thought it would be," Khoury said at length, which was Jamila's signal to look up. She knew nothing about tennis matches—certainly nothing about professional tournaments—and she realized as soon as the driver opened the door to let her out that she was dressed completely wrong—at least for attending a tennis tournament. Everyone else was dressed for the heat. Her flashy spike heels alone put her out of place. But then she saw the heads of all the men passing by snap around when they first saw her, and she realized that she, in fact, was dressed just right for attention. Bourek had told her to dress for attention. She didn't ask him why, but she was pleased that, unwittingly, she had succeeded. She put on her oversized sunglasses while the driver handed Khoury their tickets for both the afternoon and evening sessions. They would be arriving near the end of the afternoon session rather than the beginning, but the price, even though high, was incidental to what was at stake in Khoury's visit and his sense of well-being. Keep the attention on you, not on the visitor, Jamila remembered Bourek telling her, so she stood up straight, pushed her chest out, smiled broadly, and positioned herself a bit in front of Khoury as she walked beside him, his hand possessively gripping her elbow, into the stadium. Their seats were in a box near one of the corners of the stadium, high up in the box section. There was a group of four chairs, two in front of two. Khoury went into the bottom row first, and Jamila slipped in beside him in the aisle seat. They had entered after the fifth game of an on-serve men's semifinal match. Jamila remained standing as long as possible before play started so that anyone looking over at them would more likely be looking at her rather than at Khoury. Khoury was voicing his pleasure that the players were both ones he had seen play before when Floris Bourek slipped into one of the box seats in the row behind them. There was no interaction between the two men during the next two games of play, but at the next sit-down and commercial break, the match being televised live, the two men stood and stretched. A third man, perhaps in his late twenties and gym-trained muscular, stopped and hailed Bourek as he came up the aisle to the top of the box section. The two greeted each other as if they were friends, during which Bourek touched the sitting Jamila surreptitiously on the shoulder and murmured that she needed to visit the ladies room. He made a great to do about the young man who had just appeared sitting in the empty seat beside him, but when the young man agreed to, Bourek followed Jamila out, leaving Khoury conversing with the young man over his shoulder. After two more games, having reached another commercial break, Bourek returned. Khoury and the young man no longer were talking, and when Bourek looked into Khoury's eyes he received a slight shake of the head and shrugged. Jamila returned just before play resumed, leaving three men who had been following her closely to scramble to be seated somewhere before the first serve of the next game. Before the first serve, the muscular young man who had been invited to sit beside Bourek had disappeared. During the games, Khoury obviously wanted to talk to someone about play. But for some reason he didn't interact with Bourek at all. He was stuck with whispering this and that to Jamila, who did her best to respond in some acceptable way, but, truth be told, she didn't have the foggiest notion how tennis was played and was fighting boredom as much as she could. What she wanted was for the man to show some affection or interest in her or, better yet, tell her more about his business, but he seemed cold in that way. She wondered if Syrian men were all this distant with their women in public. He was a big, muscular man, and she assumed he would be forceful and possessive when they were alone later that night. But why couldn't he show some interest in her now? He made her feel like she was just an object. The fact that she'd been paid to be that—just an object—didn't assuage her slight irritation. Besides, it was hot out here in the clothes she was wearing. She leaned forward and slipped her jacket off, leaving just the scoop-necked, sleeveless shell. She smiled in spite of herself. Men all around in the boxes were looking at her rather than the play on the tennis court. At least other men here weren't cold toward her. The match went three sets and ran to where there was only a half hour before the first evening match was to start. Before the last game of the match, Bourek had gone out of the stadium. When he returned he had an order of Pad Thai in a Styrofoam box and a can of beer in his hands, which he left on his chair and whispered, without looking at her, that it was for Jamila—that he and Khoury had business to discuss. To Khoury, he whispered "At the end of the lane on the far side of the Grand Stand court, which is off to our left," and then he left. After a few minutes Khoury was gone too. With a sigh, Jamila reached back and took her meal. She'd be here alone until the next match started. But she'd never really be alone here. There were a hundred eyes watching her. But, by design, they watched her so attentively that they didn't seem to have noticed any interaction between Bourek and Khoury at all. That was her major purpose here. To be a distraction and a decoy. They didn't stay long during the evening session. At the break between the first and second set of the first match, a men's doubles semifinal, yet another young man came up the aisle from below, was greeted as a friend by Bourek, and invited to sit with him. And, as before, Jamila discovered she needed to powder her nose and Bourek departed behind her. The feature of starting a new set was that the stadium was closed to returning seat holders for three games rather than two, so Bourek and Jamila were gone for nearly twenty minutes. The man who had appeared this time was younger than the first, and thinner, and his features were more feminine than masculine. He moved like a dancer. He also was a chocolate brown. He and Khoury exchanged words between the rows up until the break was over, and just before the match resumed, the young black man, named Jared, slipped down into the seat that Jamila had vacated. When Bourek and Jamila returned, Jamila was left sitting on the upper row of the box with Bourek. The four of them left the stadium for good on the next changeover two games later. * * * * Twilight was marching along although it was barely 8:00 p.m. when the foursome was broken up into three separate, supposedly unrelated segments—the couple of Ashur Khoury and Jamila Maloof and then Floris Bourek and Jared separately—who left the tennis stadium by three separate routes. Bourek had called ahead, and the Lincoln Town Car was waiting in the shadows outside the outer gate to whisk them off. Bourek took the front passenger seat and Khoury sat in the center of the backseat, between Jamila and Jared. There was a bit of touching and whispering in the backseat as they moved north into downtown Bethesda, but everyone was still a bit stiff. They were taken to the Bethesda Blues and Jazz Supper Club for a late meal and an early start on boozing. There was little talk at the tables as they ate. Only Jared seemed to be mesmerized by the sweet jazz sounds that accompanied the meal, and he did most of the talking, even though they had separate tables. Khoury and Jamila were sitting at one and then, at the table next to theirs, Bourek and Jared. Khoury and Jared were sitting beside each other even though at separate tables, and Bourek had to intercede from time to time when it became too obvious that Khoury was following what Jared had to say and not paying attention to Jamila. Still, Jamila and Khoury sat very close together, establishing to anyone around and not paying deep attention to them that they were a couple. Bourek and the driver had left the others in the car and checked the supper club out before they'd entered. He had told them that, if something looked "amiss" in the club, only Jamila and Khoury would go in. But they hadn't found anything or anyone in the club to disturb their comfort level. After a couple of cocktails each and two bottles of wine, they drove back toward downtown Washington to Night Club 9:30, where they loosened up considerably in a crowded room with a hard rock band and free-flowing booze. Bourek wasn't that worried about who might see or listen in on them in this club, because it was hard to tell in a smoky room with high-decibel sound going and strobe lights bouncing off the walls that anyone was with anyone else. Khoury obviously wanted to dance, as Bourek observed him from the adjacent table, moving his body and feet with the beat of the music. Bourek rose and went behind the table and barked something in the ear of Jamila, who had been just a step or two above passive all night. She shrugged, pulled Khoury up on his feet, and pulled him out to join the morass of people swaying against each other on the dance floor. After observing the dancing for several minutes, Bourek turned and said something in Jared's ear. Jared smiled and left the table for the dance floor. He too had been dancing in his chair, straining at the bit to be out on the dance floor. After a few minutes, Jamila came back to the adjacent table and sat and found, without too much trouble, where she had placed her vacant stare. Bourek knew that Khoury and Jared would be dancing close together—and probably touching each other. He wasn't shocked. This was part of the plan. Jamila hadn't been a decoy just in terms of being flashy looking and being a distraction from Khoury and Bourek. It had been made clear to Bourek that Khoury wanted the company of a young man while he was in Washington. But to have gone straight to that in a date for the man for his two days here would have been to invite attention. Attention was the last thing Bourek wanted to invite during his talks to sell surplus arms to Syria through a London cut-out company. Everything about that transaction was illegal, but Khoury's company had demanded to settle the deal face to face. Beyond knowing that Khoury wanted a young man, Bourek had had no idea what kind of young man. He had provided for two kinds. Khoury had rejected the athletic blond, but he seemed quite pleased with the willowy and somewhat effeminate young black musician. He didn't care if Khoury and Jared were lost in the tangle of the dancers on the Night Club 9:30 dance floor and were feeling each other out. He knew, though, that Khoury would not come back to the table satisfied with the night continuing just as it was. He left the club room and went back to a more quiet hallway, where he made a phone call. Where Bourek had stopped to make his call was right outside the door to the men's room. What he didn't know was that in a men's room stall and backing onto the wall just on the other side of him, Khoury had Jared pinned to the wall, the young man's trousers and briefs on the floor of the stall, his legs hooked on Khoury's hips, and his mouth open wide and sucking in air, as Khoury thrust up inside him hard with his cock, again and again and again. Khoury and Jared came back—hand in hand until they hit the edge of the dance crowd—to their tables and reached immediately for their liquor glasses. Khoury looked happier than he'd looked all day and showed every indication that he wanted to go right back out on the dance floor—and wanted Jared to go with him. Bourek laid a hand on Khoury's arm, though, and leaned into his ear. "We are leaving—going to the next place." "But we just got here. I'm having fun here," Khoury said, showing a pouting and obdurate expression. "You'll like it better at the Green Lantern," Bourek said. "It's a gay nightclub. I've already booked a private room there for you and Jared. They have some interesting toys. After that we'll go directly to the hotel. You can have Jared for the night there." Beaming, Khoury reached for his jacket that was draped on the back of a chair. * * * * Jared was lying in a black-leather sling suspended by gleaming silver chains from the ceiling of a small room with black walls, ceiling, and floor. His arms were stretched up, gripping the chains at the top corners of the sling, and his feet were in stirrups high on the chins at the bottom corners of the sling. His buttocks were raised off the surface of the sling by his own strength as he met and counterpunched the thrusts of Ashur Khoury's cock inside his ass channel. His eyes were big as saucers and his mouth was open and slack from the effort to belt out the yips and moans brought forth by the pounding his was taking. Khoury, tall and beefy and a bit plump, was standing on the floor between Jared's raised and spread legs. His naked torso was crouched over Jared's and his fists locked on Jared's wrists. He was staring down into Jared's face, savoring the changing expressions from every thrust, withdrawal, and thrust of the not long, but slug-plump cock. Both the young black man being balled and the Syrian arms buyer balling him were having a ball. In the main club room, Bourek and Jamila sat at the same table, sipping their drinks, watching male strippers dancing on poles on the stage, and biding their time. It was obvious that Jamila was becoming increasingly discomforted. She had an exotic look about her that was being mistaken as that of a beautiful transvestite in this gay club, and interested men were floating around, coming ever closer to asking if she was here alone or really was with that bruiser of a sour-faced man who was sitting at a table with her but not interacting with her. "They've been in there more than a half hour," she hissed. "The Arab is getting what he wants now. Can I go? I can find my own ride." Decoy Ch. 02 As the saga continues...my decoy cop wife, Susan, having seen how excited I had gotten on our first outing to the mall with her dressed as a Catholic high school girl indulged me even more. Susan continued to wear her Catholic high school girl uniform off duty for me, or should I say for "us". Since it was apparent that her love of exhibitionism was well balanced with my lust for voyeurism and the fucking that followed was animalistic, such "sexcapades" occurred with regular frequency. Just the thought of seeing Susan wearing the short blue plaid skirt and cotton buttoned down white blouse made my cock hard. At 5'4", with 38D tits and shapely legs and bubble butt ass made her an attention getter to say the least. Her strawberry blonde hair, which some people call more appropriately especially in this case as "dirty blonde", framed her very pretty face and green eyes. She would alternate from looking like the proverbial innocent virgin school girl to porn school slut by applying either very little make up or too much. I of course preferred it when she wore Ruby red glossy lipstick which accentuated her pouty full lips and left its mark on my cock shaft after one of her famous blowjobs. On this occasion, Susan went with the innocent virgin look. Wearing no make up and her hair in pig tails she looked even younger than before. But the experienced eye of any man could tell that underneath her uniform there was a hot body and a wet pussy to be had under the right circumstances. As she had done before, she rolled up the waist band of her skirt to shorten its length, revealing even more of her white firm thighs above her ankle socks and Mary Jane style shoes. To add to the innocence, despite her 20/20 she wore eyeglasses for effect. The eyeglasses had no strength in the lenses so they did not impair her vision but were just like looking through a window. Susan kidded that these were her special "Horn Dog Watchers" which allowed her to pick out the perverts in the crowd and how I stood out from all of them. All I knew was that the sight of her made my cock stiff with lust. Also, not knowing what would happen when we went out with her looking that way excited me. Normally Susan's role as a decoy cop was to bait and apprehend gropers and molesters that lurked the streets and school yards, but this hunt was different. This hunt was for us. So off we went. As we entered the park we walked separately so as not too appear as a couple and thus making Susan more vulnerable. Um, I mean more approachable. I could see the heads of several men who were sitting on the benches supposedly reading their newspapers pop up. Some went back to their newspapers but a few stared at her much like how lions stare at the prey before them. I could tell what was running through their minds, only because I was having the same thoughts. Although, I wondered what was worse to know. To know how Susan's full breasts actually felt cupped in your hands, the wetness of her pussy as you plunged your cock deep inside her or be one of these men who are imagining and anticipating it. Surprisingly, Susan sat across from a much older looking gentleman who appeared to be in his late 70's and the least threatening or for that fact interested of the bunch. I deferred the choice to her, since after all not only was she the expert but the bait. As she sat, her already short school skirt rose higher exposing the inside of her thighs. I took a seat on bench across from where she sat but off to the side. The man looked at me for a moment as I sat down, his expression blank. I nodded acknowledgement and turned my gaze back to Susan who was fiddling with the contents of her pocket book. Absentmindedly, or so it seemed, her thighs parted as she searched making clearly visible to me and the old man, her shear white panties. The white triangle of fabric that covered her pussy appeared damp and commanded our attention. The man shifted in his seat, surely to relieve some of the pressure from his crotch. Susan broke away from her search and asked him if he could help her find her keys, saying that maybe another set of eyes would be more fruitful. As asked, the man rose and went to her side to offer his assistance. She placed the pocket book between them and partially twisted towards him, her right knee slightly resting higher on the bench. I could see from where I was sitting that the old man must now be getting one hell of a view of Susan's pussy. Apparently, the view proved to be too much for him because without hesitation he leaned and reached over and placed his hand high on the inside of her thigh causing Susan to gasp in surprise. Seeing that no attempt was made by her to pull away or signs of protests, he proceeded to touch her pussy. I was amazed at such a bold public move. The old man was in a trance! It was obvious he didn't care who was watching. Although, to anyone quickly passing it would appear just like an old man helping out his granddaughter look for something. With no words spoken, he caressed her thighs, Susan's eyes closed at the touch. He slowly outlined, up and down, her pussy lips with the tip of his index finger before slipping his fingers underneath the fabric. Running his knuckles across her pussy he caused Susan to bite her bottom lip. Did she cum? I couldn't tell from where I sat, but it looked as if she had. My cock ached at the sight of this old man "molesting" my beautiful wife in front of me. But after all this was what Susan and I wanted from our hunt. I waited patiently to see how this would unfold. The old man said something to Susan which I could not make out. But shortly afterwards he stood up and extended his hand to her which she accepted. As they walked towards a gathering of trees and bushes I followed intently. The lust must have been so strong that at no time did either one give it a second thought to turn around to see if anyone was following. So I vigilantly followed. They stopped in the middle of a clump of trees, well hidden from public view and began to kiss. I could see their tongues darting in and out of their opened mouths, his hands running up and down her body. Reaching underneath her short skirt and cupping her ass, pulling her into him as he did. Susan's hands now on the old man's crotch, feverishly working his belt and zipper. Apparently not knowing what he wanted, since it was all good, the old man pawed Susan's tits, his hands all over her. As she freed his cock from his pants, he reached behind her and grabbed her ass cheeks with both hands and held her tightly his hands separating her ass as he did so. Lowering herself, Susan knelt in front of the old man. His cock although not long was thick and had a huge knob on the tip. Susan wasted to no time in wrapping her red lips around it and taking in as much as she could. It was his turn to gasp now. He stood with his back against a tree and back slightly arched. From where I stood I could see her head bob up and down as she ate his cock. I could also clearly hear the loud slurping sucking noises her mouth was making, a sound that I knew all too well. A few times I heard Susan gag, meaning that she was taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. Susan always loved to "feed" herself when she sucked cock. So as she sucked his cock me with her lips, she firmly stroked the shaft back and forth making his cock head even angrier with lust. With her other hand she fingered her pussy like a wild woman. The old man groaned as if he was being tortured. But it wasn't just him that was being tormented my cock too needed freedom and relief. To my surprise the old man said in a loud voice, "Come out and fuck her! I know you're there watching!" His declaration made Susan suck even harder and now she too was panting and moaning loudly. I stepped out of hiding stood behind Susan. The old man looked at me in silence. I opened my zipper and let my cock out. Susan shifted her attention to my cock. Her lips and tongue on me felt wonderful. She continued to stroke the old man as she sucked me, at times bringing both cocks near her mouth and licking them together. Susan opened her mouth wide and literally shoved both our cocks inside it. It felt very strange to have my cock rubbing against another man's but Susan's licking and sucking dispelled any concerns I had. I only wanted to cum, apparently so did he. As the old man looked at Susan taking both our cocks inside her mouth he came. His cock immediately becoming soft as a glob of his man juice appeared on its head. Susan not one to miss out on an opportunity, smeared his cum all over her lips and face as she stroked my cock at the same time without missing a beat. Being taken by her wanton behavior I exploded, Susan sucked and milked my cock. Her pretty face and white blouse drenched with cum. Although, we've "played" in the park several times since then we never saw the old man again. I often wondered if it was too much for him. And the saga continues.... Decoy Ch. 03 As the saga continues...Susan, my decoy cop wife, who at 5'4" was a sexual dynamo who knew all too well the attraction men and (yes women too) had for her 38D tits and bubble butt. On top of that, her Strawberry blonde hair framed her very pretty and youthful oval shaped face and green eyes that sparkled when she smiled. Her firm athletic build and youthful appearance disguised her 46 y/o age and allowed her to pass for someone much younger, but more importantly she could look innocent or slutty if so desired. I was very lucky to have a wife that would indulge me in my voyeuristic fetish. Susan having seen how aroused I got when she told me of her decoy assignments enjoyed the attention and would often wear her disguise as she told me the details. Once, I was so excited that I subconsciously stroked my cock through my pants as she spoke. Susan seeing my condition told me it was ok if I wanted to take it out and jerk off. She admitted that the sight of me hard or for that fact any man excited her and fueled her own fetish of being an exhibitionist. So there you have it, I lust to watch and she loves to show. We were definitely a well balanced couple. One of our favorite decoy outfits was her Catholic high school girl uniform. Susan educated me on how many perverts roamed the streets, subways, school yards and parks. Little did she know that I myself on occasion had looked lustfully upon a young tart, one too young to be the object of such sexual focus and desire, I feigned outrage to mask my perversion. Susan's school uniform was complete with blue plaid skirt, white button down blouse, knee highs and patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Now, for the juicy details of her disguise! I prefer to call it what they really are, our "play clothes". The skirt which was already short to begin with was made even shorter by her when she rolled up the waist band up, showing much of her firm thighs and shapely calves. Her delicious bubble butt protruded from underneath the fabric and depending how she stood her ass would be very prominent. I often kidded her that she had a black girl's behind and how I often saw black guys do a double take when she walked by them. Susan would just laugh it off and remind me how lucky I was that she didn't go off with one of the many Mandingo warriors that approached her regularly. The blouse was pristine white with 12 pearly buttons. The fabric was shear enough that you could easily make out Susan's braless full breasts and nipples. That alone should've been a tell tale sign that she wasn't what she was claiming to be. Susan actually bought a size smaller so that the fabric of the blouse would be tight around each tit and cause some of the buttons to stretch open a bit, revealing to any onlooker the cleavage on display. The patent leather Mary Jane shoes she wore had a 2 ½ "heel which made her thighs and ass appear even firmer. Sometimes she wore ankle socks or knee highs, but my favorite was when she wore nothing at all and shows her gorgeous bare legs. Speaking of wearing nothing, Susan would often have nothing underneath her plaid skirt, just pussy. Sometimes to please me she would wear cotton panties or a thong. I know! I know! What can I say? Many of you must think that I'm crazy to prefer her per pussy covered at all! But there is just something naughty about seeing a woman's ass in white cotton panties or the luring tease of a thong that drives me crazy. Although, I must admit that knowing Susan's shaved pussy was readily accessible and for the viewing excited me also. During one of "hunts" we elected to see what mischief Susan could get into in a crowded subway. Susan reminded me that she was a cop 24/ 7 and if something serious occurred she would have to respond as one. I agreed to respect her position. But to be honest, I was so horny that surely I would have agreed to just about anything! Shit! After all, she was my wife and fuck buddy first before becoming a cop! Being the height of the rush hour crowd we almost became separated as we boarded a subway car. After all, it wouldn't be too much for me if I weren't able to watch Susan and just get stuck on an unneeded smelly subway ride, now would it? But I wasn't to be disappointed. Near Susan stood two young men, who based on the tee shirts they had on appeared to attend one of the local colleges on the subway route. The two, one Latino looking and the other one black had obviously spotted Susan. Susan glanced my way and winked as she held on to the pole in the middle of the subway cart. That was the signal that she was aware that the "hunt" was on. The young men had positioned themselves strategically, one in front, one behind her. The Latino looking dude was in front of her, inches away from her face obviously trying to intimidate her with his stare. In the interim, the black guy had begun bumping his crotch into her ass which was masked by the movement of the train. Susan just looked on as if nothing was happening. At times my view was blocked by other passengers but as people got off it improved. The opportunity arose where a seat became available near Susan, but instead of taking it she remained standing. With a sudden gaze and widening of her eyes she let me know that I should take the seat. I almost lost the opportunity to an old man with a cane. Fuck him! Thinking how he shouldn't be out in rush hour anyway with a gimp leg anyway! Now although the crowd had thinned considerably there were still enough people to warrant the trio by the pole to continue to stand closely together. I watched as the Latino brazenly got closer and closer to my Susan, the large bulge in his pants now obvious and pressing against her. From where I sat I had an eye level view of the show, as his hand now on her hip pulled her closer to him. The black guy now more confident stopped the bumping and replaced his assault with a deliberate slow grind against her ass. Susan must have enjoyed this since she now stood with her legs slightly apart. I could see what appeared as if she was responding to his grinding by pushing her ass out to him. I watched as the Latino now raised his hand, leaned his shoulder against the pole and cupped her right tit, slowly rolling her nipples between his fingers. The hand that was on her hip now was under her skirt and no doubt had found its mark. At the last minute Susan had opted not to wear anything under her skirt, which must have attributed to the look of pleasant surprise on his face. A smile broke out on Mr. Latino's olive colored face as he realized this. Susan half closed her eyes as he rubbed her pussy. Unfortunately, I was unable to see this clearly but by the motion of his forearm I could tell he was fingering her hard. Susan lowered her hand on the pole and let it press against his cock. Being eye leveled, I could see how thick his shaft was and how constrained it was in his pants. I could see Susan had located the head of his cock and was now gently circling it with her long French manicured thumb nail through the material. Once in awhile she would allow her hand to actually come to rest on his cock and stroke it with a tight squeeze. Not wanting to draw too much attention, Susan's movements were slow and deliberate. I could tell on the look of his face, he was ready to cum. Susan must have sensed it as well because she suddenly directed her hand to squeezing almost pinching his cock head, causing the kid to tense up and make a barely audible moan of pleasure. A dark wet spot appeared on his crotch area as he relaxed. Not to be out done the black guy took matters into his own hand, quite literally! He opened his zipper and apparently like Susan wasn't wearing any underwear because his cock popped out with ease. From what I surmised, he now had placed his engorged cock against her ass and was really rubbing against her bare butt. Due to the angle of where I sat, I could only see glimpses of his cock now and then. But one thing was evident, Susan was enjoying Mr. Mandingo! At one time I saw her reach behind her and I assume must have grabbed his cock, shortly after that I saw a stream of cum run down her thigh. Later, Susan confided that she indeed had grabbed Mr. Mandingo's cock and rubbed it against her asshole, which is what made him cum. Once home, Susan gave me explicit details as to how their cocks felt rubbing against her in such a public area and how excited she was, knowing I was watching. I stroked my cock as she spoke and replayed it in my mind's eye. Susan even joined in and fingered herself to a powerful orgasm. We often joked later about how Mr. Latino & Mr. Mandingo probably never realized that they were the hunted and played with or for that matter how close they came to being arrested.