Cuffs

by Loki Renard

  The slapping stopped as Lara started to cum, her knees drawing up as her hips lunged against Jerry's mouth. Jerry could see her pussy moving, clenching against emptiness as her inner walls convulsed with the force of their release.

  And then it was over, the tension left Lara's body, her hands slid away from Jerry's bottom and she was free to swing her leg back over Lara's body and snuggle up the right way.

  “You sure know how to get what you want,” she said, kissing Lara softly.

  “I could never resist a pretty ass,” Lara replied, wrapping her arms around Jerry and pulling her into a tender embrace. Thoroughly satiated, the lovers surrendered to sleep.

  Chapter Five

  One night lead to another and before Jerry knew what was happening she was in a full blown relationship with her boss. The first few weeks of their relationship was bliss. Between illicit sexual congress in several locations throughout the station and the work that kept them both busy, all was well - until a vice mission got held up in the bureaucratic stages.

  “Another three hundred kilos crossed the city border last night,” Tanner said. He was a slight man with a thick mustache which was a thing of beauty to behold. The mustache was so lustrous that it was often all anyone could remember about him but in that moment, the frustration in his eyes was much more evident. “Was caught in a routine traffic stop. Hoffmeier is going to be pissed.”

  “Why haven't we got Hoffmeier yet?” Solomon asked. Solomon was the oldest on the team, in his early fifties and wrinkled up like a prune due to excessive sun exposure in his youth. If it had ever happened, Solomon had seen it. “That psycho is going through drugs like a mower through grass. He's a menace.”

  “He's a flesh dealing, drug trafficking scumbag, that's what he is,” Jerry piped up from the corner of the room. “We should have had him away months ago.”

  “Your girlfriend won't authorize the mission,” Tanner informed her.

  “What? Lara... Ashcroft won't authorize this?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Fuck that,” Jerry said. “There has to be a mistake. I'll go sort this out.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” Samson leered. Rick Samson was an ex-jock with all the attitude and growing waistline that went with it. He was halfway through his second sticky bun and looking at starting a third any moment. “You sort her out. Maybe we can watch.”

  “Maybe you can suck my dick,” Jerry said on the way out.

  “Present it!”

  “Fuck off!” She threw the words over her shoulder, then made her way down the hall to Lara's office where she knocked twice, then let herself in.

  Lara was behind the desk, reading spectacles on, the thick black frames contrasting with the fire red of her hair for devastatingly hot effect.

  “Jerry,” she smiled and pushed her glasses up into her hair. The simple gesture made Jerry's lower muscles tighten. The chemistry between them was unbelievable. Every time she laid eyes on the woman she had to restrain the urge to hump her thigh like a dog.

  “Hey,” Jerry said. “Uh, question about a work matter.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The Hoffmeier case. Tanner says it's on hold.”

  “It is.”

  “Tanner says three hundred kilos of glass went through the city borders last night. When are we going to move on this scumbag?”

  “Alan Hoffmeier is an extremely dangerous man, and a top priority, but we don't have what we need to go ahead yet.”

  “I know we don't, that's why we need to perform this operation. We're the police. We investigate and gather evidence.”

  “It's not safe.”

  “Nothing we do is safe,” Jerry pointed out. “This case has been building for five years. All we need is this last operation and we put this scumbag away for good.”

  “There's every indication that Alan has been tipped off. Since that shipment was stopped, deliveries have stalled, chatter is quiet. If you go in there trying to get a confession or evidence you're likely to end up dead. And I don't need to tell you it won't be a quick, painless end.”

  “I know what I'm doing, Lara. The entire team does,” Jerry tried arguing, even though she had the sinking feeling that went along with fighting a losing battle.

  “I'm not going to authorize this.” Lara spoke with a finality that made Jerry want to scream and stamp her foot. It was so damn frustrating.

  “Fine,” she said. “Then I'm not going to lick your pussy until you scream my name.”

  Lara quirked a brow. “Oh no?”

  “No,” Jerry said. “You and Miss Kitty will be on your own.”

  “Are you going to withhold sex if you don't get what you want during work hours?” Lara smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “I'd like to see you try.”

  “I don't need to try,” Jerry fumed. “I'll just not do it.”

  “Come here.”

  The words were almost whispered, but they were effective. Jerry's feet were in motion toward Lara's desk before she could stop herself. She was standing next to Lara's thick leather chair before she realized what had happened.

  “No,” she said. “I'm not falling for this... no...mmmphhh...”

  Lara had reached up, taken her by the collar of her shirt and drawn her down into a lip lock that chased all sensible thought from her head.

  “You shouldn't stamp and pout,” Lara said, releasing her from the kiss. “Unless you want a spanking. Is that what you need, Jerry? A sore bottom to remind you who is in charge here?” She kept a grip on the collar, making Jerry bend at the waist in a position that exposed her buttocks in a very suggestive way.

  “I don't...OW!”

  Jerry didn't get the chance to tell Lara she didn't want a spanking, for she had already been drawn forward over Lara's thighs and her superior's hand was clapping against her cheeks in a quick, swift motion that stung even through her cargo pants.

  “You come in here and tell me what decisions I should make? Oh no, baby, that's not going to happen,” Lara said, increasing the intensity of the swats until Jerry had to bite her lower lip to stop from crying out.

  The sound of the spanking was traveling, Jerry was sure of it. There wasn't a damn thing she could do about that. All she could do was not add to the embarrassment and maybe gain an edge of plausible deniability in the aftermath.

  “Come on, Lara, quit it,” she said, gasping through the slaps. “This isn't fair.”

  “Oh it's not?” Lara gave the sagging back of her pants a quick tug. They fell to Jerry's thighs, leaving her in a pair of black panties that covered her butt well enough, but didn't provide much protection against Lara's punitive palm. “I figured, seeing as you came in here and lectured me on how to do my job, and then threatened me about withholding sex that this was a very fair response.”

  “Oww! Lara!” Jerry squealed, discovering that a palm over panties imparts a heck of a sting, especially when imparted by a toned arm accustomed to frequent gym sessions. “I'm sorry, okay, I'm sorry. Now quit it!”

  “Ohhhh... so close,” Lara said, laying another volley of swats across the center of Jerry's cheeks. “You had it right with the sorry, but you don't tell me when to quit it, baby. I decide when you've had enough, just like I decide when you go out on undercover missions. Understand?”

  The question was punctuated with a stinging swat that made Jerry's hips dance.

  “I understand,” she said, willing to say almost anything to make the punishment stop. Oh god, if any of the guys saw this shit, she'd never live it down. “I understand and I'm sorry.”

  She felt Lara's hand still and then sweep across her cheeks in a tender caress which just barely grazed the soft mound between her thighs. The motion was comforting, but it was also the spark which set flame to the desire she'd been restraining since she got into the office.

  With no shame at all, Jerry spread her legs and lifted her hips, hoping for more touches. Lara hesitated for a moment, then let her fingers glide down between Jerry's thighs and cup her
pussy.

  “I'll tend to this after work,” she said, squeezing gently. “In the meantime, you go about your duties, understand me, Schwartz?”

  “Yes, Ma'am,” Jerry said, disappointed, but wise enough to know when she was getting out ahead. Lara let her up and she quickly scooped up her pants, avoiding her lover's gaze. It was damn hard to look Lara in the eye when she'd just got done spanking her. “I'll see you later.”

  “You bet,” Lara smiled.

  Jerry shuffled out of Lara's office, half expecting to come face to face with a bunch of smirking cops. Fortunately nobody was there. They were all in the break room, talking shit and complaining about Lara.

  “So what's happening?” Tanner asked the question as Jerry sauntered in. “Are we going out?”

  “No,” Jerry said, flat. “Ashcroft won't authorize it. We're holding static.”

  “Fuck!” Samson slammed his palm down on the table, making the mugs atop it jingle. “This bitch is going to ruin everything.”

  Jerry shot him a death stare. “Don't call her a bitch.”

  “Just because you're tongue deep in her pussy most nights, doesn't mean I can't say what I think.”

  “Fuck you, Samson.”

  He grabbed his package. “My cock's right here any time you want it, Schwartz.”

  “Have you two quite finished?” A cool, collected feminine voice broke into their spat. It was Lara. She was standing at the door of the break room, arms folded over her chest. Jerry didn't know how much of the exchange she'd heard, but it didn't seem to matter. Her pissedness was equally distributed over all the officers present.

  “You will maintain a presence in the neighborhood, but you will not attempt to extract a confession, or push for a transaction. Alan Hoffmeier just sustained a serious loss. He is going to be working through his contacts, looking for a leak. Anyone who tries pushing now is going to be in grave danger.”

  “And if he packs up and heads out? Takes our case with him?”

  “Then that will be unfortunate,” Lara said, unconcerned. “But my priority is department safety.”

  A cold silence met the announcement as she scanned the room, her gaze a silent dare for anyone to speak up. They didn't of course. Everybody loved talking shit, but nobody wanted to go head to head with Lara Ashcroft.

  “You may now return to your duties. I have a few tasks for anyone who does not have immediate work to do.”

  The threat dispelled the officers to the tasks of paperwork, patrols and of course, their neighborhood posts.

  Jerry had planned to go hang out in a different part of the station when she was grabbed by Tanner and Samson. They had wily expressions on their faces, expressions she'd seen before. Expressions that had gotten them all into trouble before. She liked those expressions very much. They meant things were about to get interesting.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  “We're going out.” Samson said. “Don't tell your girlfriend.”

  “You're going to disobey orders?”

  “It's not going to matter if we get what we need. Are you in?”

  Jerry was inclined to agree. There was a chance to strike whilst the iron was hot and they would be stupid not to take it.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “Let's do this.”

  Chapter Six

  Jerry sauntered toward the Vanilla Peach club, her small frame covered in a thick black trench coat that had become her signature whenever she dealt with Alan Hoffmeier. Underneath the coat she wore leather pants and a tight vest that stopped an inch short of her belly button. Heavy boots, hard black liner and a devil may care stare prevented her from looking like one of the strippers that frequented the place.

  Usually she would have gone on in, but she was stopped at the door by a bouncer with an acid scarred face. Alan liked to employ men from Eastern Europe. They had different ideas about brutality there.

  “I'm Jinx,” she said, using her street name. “Here to see Alan.”

  The man spoke a few words into a walkie talkie, then pointed a thick finger to the alley behind the club. “Go there.”

  Jerry wasn't any more keen to go back there than she was to shoot herself in the head and stuff herself into a dumpster, which was the sort of thing that generally happened when one met shady businessmen in alleys.

  “Fine,” she said, ignoring her better judgment. Her better judgment would have had her sitting at home, darning socks and keeping an eye on a casserole. Her better judgment was boring. “Whatever.” Shrugging, she made her way around the back of the club.

  She'd been kicking around the trash cans for a few minutes when a metal reinforced door swung open and a rotund man with a generously fuzzy ginger beard stepped out. This was Alan. Alan Hoffmeier, more often known as 'The German'. He was in his mid-forties, afflicted with frequent bouts of syphilis and gout and also happened to traffic a decent portion of the drugs in the city through the fetid portals of the Vanilla Peach.

  “Jinxy!”

  “Hey.” Jerry kept her energy low. Alan had enough for the both of them. It was ten o'clock in the morning and he was clearly drunk. It didn't make him any less dangerous. A lot of people were dead because they'd fallen for his sloppy drunk act. “Just dropped by to give you an update.”

  He motioned her forward, keeping the door open with one foot. “Come in and have a drink.”

  Jerry didn't want to go on and have a drink but she was keenly aware that there were at least three hostile sights trained on her. Alan liked to have the high rises staked out, just in case. Better to drop a squealer from three blocks away than up close and personal. Less messy.

  It wasn't an invitation anyway, it was an order. Jerry shrugged as if she didn't care and followed Alan into his club. As usual, half dressed woman were lounging around the place. Most of them were so high they didn't know where they were. A few were up on the poles, twisting like stuck fish. Their eyes were dull and though their bodies were reasonably shaped for strippers, bruises and the occasional bullet hole marred much of the flesh on display.

  The smell of the place hit her like a pair of month old panties to the face. It was a disgusting pit, not that the owners or patrons would have noticed. They were acclimated to it, like frogs cooking in a pot filled with faeces.

  Jerry forced her sympathy for the girls and her nausea at the general conditions down and followed Alan into his VIP area. It was a booth surrounded by bulletproof glass, though still covered in hinky velvet everywhere possible. Alan was a paranoid man, but he was also slave to style.

  “I hear you are having some trouble getting the product in,” he said. Jerry's cover was that of a drug importer. It gave her enough clout to talk to the other importers, people like Alan.

  “There's a problem at the port,” Jerry said, watching as a waitress sashayed over wearing nothing but a thong. She bought a tray of shots with her, all of which were doled out onto the table. Six each. Six shots to get through before she could leave. There was no question of not drinking. People who didn't drink with Alan lost his trust. And losing Alan's trust usually meant a bullet somewhere unpleasant.

  “Prost!”

  Alan held up a shot and tossed it down his throat, leaving Jerry to follow suit. She wasn't sure what she was drinking. It tasted like raw fire, a flood of the stuff hitting her esophagus like a bunch of tiny flaming fists all punching the inside of her throat at once.