Breaking Down the Law

"Let it be. I want it to tickle your pretty pussy while you slurp on my dick like a nice big Popsicle. Go, slut! Continue."

The fly was indeed a torment, as it landed on her splayed-open vagina, tickling her with its minute adjustments. On some weird level, however, it was stimulating her, tickling her clitoris and providing a constant reminder of how bare her lower half was.

Apparently, her rush strategy was failing. She felt her prized uniform being torn from her upper body too, and moaned around his cock while this happened, trying to object. He was rough, bursting buttons and tearing cloth at a few points. "Don't talk with your mouth full, my cop whore," he complained. He was using up too much camera time, and pocketed it for now. Her bra-encased tits sprang free, and he sighed, feeling them up, bouncing them in his hands while she continued to suckle him. "Are these little nipples hard for me?" he asked in a singsong voice, taunting her. She didn't respond. She hated talking 'with her mouth full', especially with it full of a stranger's erection; it was the ultimate indignity.

Ripping the bra off too, left the young policewoman completely naked amidst the trees. Another fly buzzed down, landing on her back and crawling around there. She moaned in misery, feeling the two insects toying with her body even as this strange drug-user molested and raped her mouth...or rather, made her rape herself on his dick. Heather found herself having to raise up off her knees a little to reach his dick when it slipped from her mouth, and this made her breasts bounce a little each time. Her tough, wiry young body, naked as the day she was born, was revealed to the whole world, her uniform cast apart in pieces and scraps around her. Her humiliation was nearly complete, thought Caspar -- for this day, at least. But he definitely wanted her to drink his cum. Nevertheless, to make things worse for the buxom young cop, she offered her the choice. "When I blow, bitch, you can either guzzle it down, or take my batter all over your face. Up to you."

Already naked, Constable Westfield contemplated with dread the idea of walking back to her car with uniform torn (or stolen, depending on his food) and her face crusted over with dry cum. She chose to swallow, hating the thought of his fluids being inside her. She told him so, when her mouth was free. Caspar considered making her beg, but thought better of it. Better to leave some degeneration for later. He grabbed her nipples, one per hand, and squeezed firmly, making her squeal around his thick tool as it dribbled with her own saliva.

Feeling his balls tighten, Caspar drew out the camera again. He let it rake over this fine white woman's athletic body, let it take in her frantic sucking and the beauty of the blowjob she was reluctantly providing. He slapped her tit with his spare hand, watching it bounce and knowing he would love showing this to his friends later. Her tight lips glided up and down the long tool, the whole thing shining with her spit as though she were polishing his knob with her drool. And seeing a cop do this...was so hilarious, and so delicious that Caspar felt like giggling like a small child.

He wanted to see her eyes, though.

Heather felt her head bobbing rhythmically along the strange phallus, in time with her own heart's beating. His request for her to choose to swallow or not clued her in that this encounter was about to end -- after twenty minutes of furious blowing. She had never been so embarrassed or dehumanised in her life. All was blackness, and the taste of cock in her mouth, and occasional choking as it pushed into her throat. The knowledge she was giving him pleasure, overwhelming pleasure in exchange for her capture and rape -- was horrendous.

Suddenly, she could see again. Blinding, painful -- she could see a little. She saw something shining in the sun, as she glanced up in pain, mouth still garishly grinning whenever her lips were free from their busy work. Was it some kind of electronic...was it a cell phone? A CAMERA? She objected noisily, and pulled away and off of him -- or so she intended. Heather's face was impaled by a strong hand on the back of her head, and she was forced to deep-throat the foreign cock once more. Hot jizz pumped into her throat as the cloth was thrown back over her face again, before she saw anything more than rough details of a face through the blinding sun and the epiphany of this being filmed. It fired again and again into her throat, and she felt like she was drowning in his cum, but she swallowed dutifully, afraid of choking. Nevertheless, she choked a fair amount. Her breasts swung freely with the uniform almost entirely sliced off her torso, and the flies dislodged at last as she writhed on his dick, impaled by the throat. As she pulled back, he had more cum to spare, and her lips were coated with it, though at least her face was spared the cum treatment. "Clean me", he commanded briskly, and she did, lapping at the shrinking but messy dick. This was the worst part by far, knowing he was being cleaned up by her small, delicate tongue. She heard footsteps crackling through the grass and her handcuffs popping off at last. The steps headed away.

Caspar's parting words to her were "catch you later. Keep this a secret, and the film stays with me. I think I know what Mr. and Mrs. Westfield will think of this little film of mine. Think about it...it'll look beautiful once it's edited. As I said -- catch you later..."

Heather, hardly heeding what he said, curled into a ball, wrapping her freed arms around herself. She already knew she would keep this a secret, a dreadful secret, simply hoping nothing worse would come of it. She coughed up cum onto the soil, but knew that most of it was already inside of her, a part of her now. She cursed his name into the dirt, knowing he was gone and would not hear. Still...she had to admit, she was still somewhat wet. When she was quite certain he was gone, and she was alone, one finger grazed over her wet pussy. Teasing...beginning to...