A very drunk Mrs. Carson

Your face fills with color at the extreme heat coming from this woman's expression.

She raises her right arm and waves the empty mug in front of your face, her words slurring. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"Well--"

Carson pushes her way inside before you can say another word, a slim bottle in her left hand occupying her attention as she seats herself on your couch, occupying your previous seat, and stretches out against the cushions. The sight causes your jaw to drop halfway and your member to jump to attention. The form-fitting yoga pants and t-shirt she was wearing were pressed closer to her body when she stretched, giving you a glimpse of a thin but functional bra containing her easily C-cup breasts and a pair of shapely legs hardened from at least a decade of chasing down suspects.

She abruptly looks up at you and grins cheekily. "Well, doc? You gonna start my session or what?"

You're confused for a moment before realizing her meaning and just going with it, seating yourself on a nearby recliner. "Well...what would you like to talk about?"

Detective Carson waves the mug at you. "I assume you meant to get more out of me about...before when you let me take this?"

Your lips purse. "That's entirely up to you."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes."

She stares at you for a moment, eyes suddenly sober before glassing over again as she takes another swig from the bottle. "Well...if you must know, we were happily married for fifteen years. Fifteen years of blood, sweat, and tears. And dreams." Her eyes take on a glassy quality. "Dreams that died with him. Now I'm just..." she shrugs, "aimless. Purposeless." She waves the bottle at you. "Not unlike you." She snorts. "Guess that's why I took this job. Peace, quiet. I read your file. Spotless other than these charges, but I've seen desperation do things to people. Still, if you'd have wanted to make trouble, you'd have done it already."

"True," you admit, more to get her to keep going than actually respond. You're enjoying this just a bit, the way her breasts strain at her tight shirt every time she takes a full breath and lips tremble against the bottle when she takes a swig.

"Thing is...you don't just remind me of him. You remind me of..." she takes a shuddering breath, "this."

You watch, half embarrassed, half enraptured, as she places the bottle down and reaches slender fingers under the waistband of her pants, her wrist shifting around slightly as her chest heaves with each motion. Her viridian eyes slide half-open, peering at your openmouthed expression from behind half-closed lids. A smoky look enters her eyes as she smirks at you.

"Enjoying the show?"

You're immediately tongue-tied, scrambling for words until she cuts you off.

"I know he is."

She motions at your lap, where sure enough, your member is creating a bit of a tent in your loose vinyl shorts. You immediately burn up in embarrassment.

The masturbating detective lets out a laugh, her full breasts jiggling with the motion as her laugh lines reappear. "There's no shame in it," she assures you, a soft moan interrupting her speech. "I'm certainly not." She moans again, the sound barely more than an exhale as her eyes slide shut. She opens them again to pin you with a smoldering gaze. "Would you like to do more than watch?"

You stare at her for a while, mouth completely agape as she brings her other hand up to squeeze a breast through her shirt and bra. "I..."

"Come on," she says with a sultry whisper and smile. "I don't bite." Her smile turns mischievous. "Unless you want me to."

You resume blankly staring, mind at war with your body. On the one hand, she's horny, eager, and decidedly smoking hot. On the other, she's also very, very drunk. Nonconsensual sex via inebriation is not a charge you want to add to your situation. That, and you were raised better than that.

But she's just so willing...