Women With Handcuffs

by Sacchi Green

  Nicole didn’t respond and instead strolled around my garden, casually looking at the flowers and bushes, gently squeezing a fig on my fig tree. The fruit was ripe and popped easily, sending honey-thick nectar down Nicole’s hand.

  “Oh, wow, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “That’s okay. There’s plenty more.”

  Nicole looked at her hand and brought it up to her mouth. She looked at me and sensuously licked the juice from her hand. The way her tongue slid across her skin, that’s how I wanted her tongue to slide through my pussy, catching my juices. Jesus, I might come right now.

  Nicole standing there in her uniform, her hand wet and her eyes dark with desire, sent my insides out of control and, despite the heat, goose bumps tracked my arms.

  Nicole went to the tarps and picked one up, then walked over to me. Thinking that she wanted to sit, I scooted over a little more. But as I turned my head upward, she threw the tarp down and knelt on it. The little NYPD pins on her shirt collars glinted in the lamp light in my yard, and I stared at them as she reached up to undo my shorts. I looked around with a little panic but relaxed when I realized that my neighbors could not see us, thanks to the high fences.

  My shorts and underwear were now on the ground. The stone bench felt hard but cool under my butt. As her fingers skimmed the inside of my thighs, my skin prickled and I prayed that it didn’t make any hair on my legs stand up.

  When her hands reached the top of my thighs, she reached around to my buttocks and yanked me forward. Taken a little by surprise by her forcefulness, I lost my balance and started to fall backward, but my hands instinctively went behind me and caught the back edge of the bench.

  She lifted my legs so that the backs of my thighs rested on her shoulders and my heels flanked her ribs. I was now literally at the edge of my seat, knees in the air, and Nicole’s face was descending. I closed my eyes and waited to feel her tongue in my pussy, but it seemed like I was waiting, and waiting. I opened my eyes to see her looking up at me with a smirk. She was torturing me, but I knew it was only to assert control. I could see how she probably made a great cop.

  Finally, she lowered her head and her tongue made contact with my clit. My head fell back and I let out an “ahh” as I crooked my arms and leaned back on my elbows.

  Her tongue circled around, skirted off to the sides, glided along the edges of my lips, then tickled my hole. It stiffened and slid inside me. Nicole tongue-fucked me for a while before coming back up to my clit.

  As she lapped me, she lightly brushed my entrance with her index finger. Then two fingers. Then she slid them in. She sucked and fucked me simultaneously, and I could feel my wetness coating her cheeks as her face grazed my thighs, first one side then the other. Her other hand reached up, skimmed over my stomach and underneath my tank and bra. She cupped my breast and squeezed. I moaned some more.

  Her thrusts got harder and faster, and she sucked on my clit, hard beneath her luscious tongue. Little explosions began in my belly and grew until I was almost breathless. The sensation rolled through me, taking over my muscles and veins, until my orgasm would not be contained any longer.

  Throughout my shuddering, I clamped my jaw shut, even though low guttural sounds escaped my throat. I couldn’t be too loud because if my neighbor found out what I was doing, she’d call the cops and complain about indecent exposure or something. That’s all I needed. Little did she know that the cop who usually responds to her complaints was between my knees sucking me off.

  Nicole’s fingers retreated and I heard a slight slurping sound as she pulled her face away. She wiped her cheeks on my thighs, gently brought my legs down and stood up. Her uniform had not suffered in the slightest from our carnal encounter. I, on the other hand, was completely disheveled. My shorts and underwear were in a heap, my shirt was pushed up over my breasts and I was soaked. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and caught my breath. Nicole was looking at the fence separating my property from my crazy neighbor’s.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Just looking to see if there are any spaces where your neighbor could look in.”

  “No, it’s pretty tight.” Thank god.

  I walked over to where she stood and turned her around. I pushed her up against the wooden fence, put my arms around her neck and kissed her. My tongue easily slid through her red, swollen lips, and I tasted myself on her tongue. I moved my hands down her chest, over the pins, over her NYPD badge and name tag, across her hard nipples, down to her pants. It occurred to me, briefly, that she’d removed her utility belt. Too bad. That might have been interesting.

  Once I’d unbuckled her belt, I undid her pants and lowered the zipper. Still kissing her, I slid a hand inside her underwear. I so craved to feel her warm, wet pussy on my face that I just pulled her pants down and knelt in front of her. “Spread ’em,” I said, in imitation of cop theatrics, and kissed her in her center. She was slick and felt smooth on my lips.

  “Wait, wait,” she said breathily. She moved over a few inches to get her back off a decorative butterfly I’d nailed to the fence. I stood up, moved over to stand in front of her, then unbuttoned her shirt and pulled her sports bra up to release her breasts. Her nipples were hard and fleshy between my teeth, and I could feel her squirming under my ministrations. Her hat was on a chair and I bent to pick it up. I put it on her head. She looked puzzled for a moment, then a bemused smile lit her face.

  Working my way down again, I licked her salty, sweaty skin. Her tight stomach quivered when I kissed it, and she let out a broken sigh when I finally slipped my tongue into her pussy. Closing my eyes helped me dissolve into the pleasure of eating out Officer Nicole Brewer. I felt her move and opened my eyes. She slid down slightly, anchored her back against the fence, which spread her wider and gave me more to look at, more to lick. I crouched all the way down onto my heels and inched my way closer so that I was directly beneath her, my knees on her pants. With my head tilted up, I covered her with my mouth.

  She began grinding into my face and pushing my head harder into her pussy. My neck started to protest, and it felt like it would break. But I didn’t care. What a way to go. Maybe if I were naughty enough, she’d cuff me.

  Her blue shirt hung open, covering half of each breast to the nipples, her badge golden in the light. The hat was tilted down, shadowing her eyes. Rivulets of sweat trickled down her temples, and a light sheen covered her cheeks. God, she is so fucking hot!

  I ran my palms up her thighs and latched onto her hips. As she moved harder and faster against my face, I gripped her and pulled her down even harder. Her hands left my head to find purchase on the fence behind her. Fingernails scratched the wood slats, and that was the only sound as Nicole came hard but quietly. Totally in control.

  When she finished, I pulled away and licked my lips. A sharp pain in my neck kept me from straightening my head for a minute, but when I finally did, the pain gave way to euphoria. The woman I’d fantasized about for months was finally mine and her essence was on my face, cooling in the slight night breeze that had picked up. Nicole adjusted her pants, then helped me up.

  “Yum,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  “Definitely.”

  A thought occurred to me. Now that I’d had my fantasy woman, what next? Now that I’d tasted her, felt her, I wanted more. I didn’t know what to do once I’d adjusted my clothes. So I looked around but watched from the corner of my eye as she fixed her bra and buttoned her shirt. She plucked off her hat, wiped her forehead, ran her hand through her hair and put the hat back on.

  With her hands around my waist, she pulled me to her. We had to tilt our heads at sharp angles because of the hat, but it was worth the crick in my neck. Our kiss was warm and moist and infused with the flavors of our desire.

  “I’d like to see you again,” she said.

  My head almost exploded, and a wild pleasure swept through me.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Sta
nding there with Nicole, dark and formidable, I took a mental snapshot. I wanted to always remember how she looked at that moment. Nicole in a uniform was better than any other woman naked.

  “But will you wear the uniform for me again, Officer Brewer?”

  “Ah, I shouldn’t have worn it this time. I’m off duty.”

  “Why did you?”

  She smiled devilishly. “Because you essentially said that it turns you on.”

  My face got hot again. “Well, I’ll take you any way you come.”

  “Hmm, I like the sound of that.”

  “Mmm hmm. Just keep responding to those complaints.” I smiled.

  Nothing good ever comes from a cop on your doorstep? Only if the cop comes in…and comes.

  TORN OFF A STRIP

  Elizabeth Coldwell

  It’s quiet for a Friday night, rain seeming to keep even the lowest of the lowlifes off the streets. Hawkes and I are getting takeout coffee and donuts from the diner on Main Street when the call comes in. Some kind of disturbance at a party, from what I can make out over the static. It’s a familiar story: the neighbors had been willing to ignore the loud music and general rowdiness till they heard what sounded like female screams and punches being thrown; then they got alarmed and called us.

  “It’ll be nothing,” Hawkes grumbles, sliding back behind the wheel of the patrol car. Seems to me like it’s a little more of a squeeze for him than it used to be, and maybe he should do something about that burgeoning gut of his. I could say something, but he never really takes advice from his Aunty Pamela, as he insists on calling me even though the guy’s only a couple of years younger than I am. “Damn waste of our time going over there, if you ask me.”

  “Well, as long as they keep paying us to waste our time like this…” I’m not quite as cynical as Hawkes, even though I’ve spent more than enough time on the beat to have all the idealism of my rookie years burned clean away. I still see some good lurking in the average citizen, though I sometimes wish they’d make more of an effort to sort out their own petty domestic disputes before turning to us for help.

  The address given to us by the dispatcher is in a nice suburb, on a street of small, wood-framed houses painted in cute pastel shades. It reminds me of the street I lived on as a kid. Though, growing up, I never saw a sight quite like the one that greets Hawkes and me as we step out of the patrol car into the downpour. A blonde, handcuffed to the porch railing. She’s dressed in a uniform which, I realize as we near her, is a costume-shop fantasy version of the one I’m wearing. As many shirt buttons have been fastened up as can offer her a veneer of respectability, but her big tits are straining to be free of their confinement, and her thigh-high stockings are ripped in a couple of places. Close up, she can’t be more than twenty-one, twenty-two at the most, the last traces of puppy fat still filling out her heart-shaped face. There’s a half-inch of black roots visible in her tangled, peroxided bob. She’s a spitting, cursing, furious mess, and just the sight of her sets a pulse beating hard and fast between my legs.

  “Thank god you’re here, Officer,” a woman is saying to Hawkes. She has rollers studded in her mousy hair and a face pinched from lack of sleep, and I assume she’s the one who called in the complaint. She stares at the blonde with a look of fierce distaste as she shelters under her umbrella. “Should have known when we saw the little hussy arrive she’d be trouble.”

  It’s easy to picture the woman peering through the slats in her blinds to check who’s ringing next door’s doorbell, nosiness masked with a thin veil of neighborly concern. Sometimes her type are a help; more often they’re just a hindrance.

  “I think we can take it from here,” Hawkes replies. He turns his attention to the group of five or six young men who emerged from the house at his knock. A couple are shirtless, and most of them are clutching beer cans. That, combined with the disordered look of a house where a bunch of guys live without a regular female presence, tells me all I need to know about the party taking place here.

  “Does someone who was in the house want to tell us what actually happened?” I ask, anxious to stamp some authority on a situation that still threatens to get out of hand.

  Hawkes glares at the neighbor till she gets the message that she isn’t needed anymore, and she shuffles off in fluffy mules, somewhat bedraggled by now, back to her own house.

  “They’re keeping me against my will,” Blondie pipes up, only to be roundly ignored.

  “Look, Officer—er—Farley.” One of the shirtless guys, with the look of a surfer dude who’s somehow found himself stranded a thousand miles from the nearest ocean, reads my name off my shirt. He’s slurring a little, but he’s still pretty lucid. I’ve had to make sense of much worse before now. “We were throwing a bachelor party for my brother, Joel, and we hired her—” he throws a contemptuous gesture in the direction of the handcuffed blonde, “to provide a little entertainment, you know?”

  One of his buddies starts chipping in, talking over the top of him. Beer does that, makes you loud and self-important, though the way he’s attempting to force himself center stage makes me think he’s always seen himself as alpha frat boy. Through the jumble of conversation I pick out the gist of the story. Blondie arrived at ten, as arranged, and went through a strip routine to some old Def Leppard number that had all the guys drooling. When Surfer Dude describes how she’d rubbed her big, bare tits all over his brother’s face, I think he’s damn near going to come in his shorts. Thinking about the scene has my own juices trickling into my panties, even though I’m doing my best to stay professionally detached.

  After that, she’d been persuaded to go upstairs with the bachelor boy, though from the way they tell the story, she didn’t need much in the way of persuading. She sucked his cock a little, fucked him every which way, waited till she thought he’d fallen asleep—then lifted his wallet. He’d seen her but hadn’t been quick enough to stop her leaving the room. Surfer Dude and Alpha Frat, alerted by Bachelor Boy’s yelling, grabbed her as she tried to leave the house. Cue a furious altercation that ended with Blondie being fastened to the porch rail with the cuffs she’d brought as part of her outfit and the phone call bringing us here.

  “It’ll teach me to do a bit more research next time,” Surfer Dude finishes up. “Not just hire some chick who leaves her number on the wall by the pay phones in McMullen’s.”

  Throughout all of this, Blondie continues to protest her innocence, though she’d be better off saving her breath. I’ve got her pegged. Strictly amateur hour, doing a saucy little strip show here and there to help pay her way through college. Too young to realize that robbing the guy you’ve just fucked, particularly when all his friends are partying downstairs, isn’t the most sensible way to make an extra few bucks on top. The way Surfer Dude is talking, at least a couple of them would have gladly paid for a helping of what Joel, the groom-to-be, had just had.

  But maybe once was quite enough for her. They say all strippers have daddy issues, but I can tell that isn’t true in Blondie’s case. From the way I’ve caught her looking at me, desire and confusion blazing in her big brown eyes, she is clearly struggling to deal with the fact she’s more attracted to women than men, and she hasn’t yet figured out what to do about it.

  I know all she needs is a little guidance, a little help from someone who’s already walked that same path, and I’m just the woman to give it to her. I look at Hawkes, scribbling something in his notebook, and a wicked thought occurs to me. It means crossing a line, taking a risk that could see me thrown out of the police department if I’m caught, but I can’t help myself. The sight of her, restrained and ready to burst ripely out of that slutty costume, taps into every dark, dirty fantasy I have when I lie in bed at night and run my pocket rocket vibrator over my clit.

  I tap Hawkes on the shoulder. “Tell you what, why don’t you take the guys inside and start getting more coherent statements from them while I get Blondie’s side of the story?”

  He doesn’t look
thrilled, knowing it’s going to take him a while to get even one version of the story straight, but he nods and starts to usher the revelers inside. When they’re all safely out of the way, I turn my attention to Blondie.

  “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” Standing close to her, she smells of sex and some cheap dime-store perfume. It’s an enticing combination, one I could breathe in for a while. “Why don’t you start by telling me your name?”

  “Vixen.” When I stifle a laugh, she pouts at me. “I’m telling you, it’s Vixen Molloy. Check my ID. It’s in my breast pocket. I’d get it out for you, but…” She gestures to her bound wrists. She’s not being outright hostile, but there’s a challenge underlying her words.

  Just as there’s a challenge in fishing her ID out of the cheaply tacked-on shirt pocket. Through the thin fabric I can feel the warmth, the softness of her breast, taunting me with its nearness. I retrieve the laminated card and squint at it. Sure enough, she’s called Vixen. I suppose it saved her the problem of deciding on a stripper name.

  I turn my attention to the cuffs that have been used on her. A quick examination reveals them to be the kind you can buy in any adult toy store. “The keys to these things, they in your pocket, too?”

  She shakes her head. “One of the guys took them. Said he’d hand them over to the cops when they arrived.”

  “Okay, so it looks like you’re not going anywhere for a while.” I glance at the neighboring windows, all shuttered and dark now that the excitement has died down. “Suits me. I can do what I have to do here.”

  “And what do you have to do, exactly?” Again that little hint of defiance. Just enough of the brat about her to have me creaming as I think about spanking her ass till she learns how to show due respect to an officer of the law.

  “Pat you down. Make sure you haven’t lifted anything else from the house.”

  She shakes her ratty blonde head. “Uh-uh. Just the wallet. I thought I could get out of there before he even noticed it was gone.”