Bad Cop, Worse Cop


Fuck me, but Victoria Lynne was a goddamn knockout. I took in a thin, tiny tanktop with the bra well exposed, and a pair of denim shorts that barely covered anything and seemed painted onto her hips beneath the hastily-fastened seatbelt. She was looking at me curiously, her tapering face cocked to one side. When she spoke, her voice was deep and confident. "Excuse me," she began, her tone making it clear she didn't think she needed to be excused. "Are you by any chance Officer LaFratta?"

I was shocked. I've stopped a lot of cars, and almost nobody ever says an unsolicited word. I glanced down at my nametag. "Why do you ask, Miss?"

"If you are," she went boldly on, her green eyes sure and sharp, "I was wondering whether maybe I could have a private word?"

I blinked. Old Larry had drummed the lesson into me well: always, no matter what anyone does or says, always look like a cop. So I covered my confusion with a carefully neutral expression, one I'd once practiced in front of a mirror. "Remain in the car please, Miss." I shifted my attention back to the driver. "I'll be back in a moment, Ms Donato. Do you mind taking the keys out of the ignition, please?"

I strode away from the car, listening for giggles or low voices or hissing whispers; nothing. For a wild, freakish moment I wondered whether I could get away with hauling Tori out for a quick body search. I wouldn't really have much of an excuse; from the quick glimpse I'd gotten, there was no room to hide anything in her skimpy clothes. If she chose to file a complaint, I'd be fucked and not in the good way. Still, it might be worth the risk, just to feel her warm body underneath my hands...

Hell, might as well do the others at the same time. My tired dick began to tighten.

The computer spat back nothing at all when I ran Gianna Donato's license. Of course. The unspoken rule among students at the high school was that if you were nice to the cops, they would just confiscate your booze and run you home; they wouldn't start a paper trail unless you acted like an asshole. That rule worked out fine, since we cops tended to agree with it too.

I had just wrapped up the initial search, and was beginning to sink back into my seat and contemplate life while I left poor Gianna and her buddies to marinate in their own stress, when all of a sudden I started hard enough to hit my head against the roof of the car as someone tapped at my passenger window. My hand went straight to my gun before I glanced over, wide-eyed, into a pair of green eyes and a pointy-chinned face pressed against the glass.

What the fuck?

Our eyes met and dueled for a moment through the glass, her face self-assured and sinister. I paused, then lowered the window. "I told you to remain in the car, Miss," I attacked, feeling my eyes narrow as she leaned into my cruiser slightly. Shit! Those tits! Her cleavage was like the Grand Canyon.

She ignored me. "If you're Officer LaFratta," she went on, "then we need to talk."

I let her wait a moment, but her eyes never left mine and it was instantly clear she wasn't about to be intimidated. I took my hand off my gun and relaxed, but only a little. "I'm Officer LaFratta," I admitted, my voice gruff and carefully pitched. "Do I know you?"

"Better than you should," she replied at once, nodding. "You're the cop that's been creeping on my Pixboox."

I felt like somebody had just punched me hard in the chest, right above the solar plexus, where it doesn't really hurt; it just rocks your world to its base, knocking the wind clear out of you. Holy fuck. I must have let my mouth drop open, because I remember having to make a distinct effort to close it again and shove it back into that hard, expressionless line it ought to have.

Over in the window, Tori just smiled. It was a grim smile, the one the cat shows to the mouse. Her teeth were slightly crooked, I noticed; it hadn't been that obvious on the app, though in fairness I hadn't been looking at her mouth much. "Creeping pretty hard, too," she went on softly, conversationally, as if she was discussing the unseasonably warm temperatures lately. "I can tell you like the dirtier pictures."

"Excuse me?" I had nothing to say, nothing at all.

"Excuse you?" She flickered her eyes over me as I sat there, then frowned thoughtfully. "I probably shouldn't, should I? Is there really a good excuse when a police officer looks at online pictures of teenagers' boobs?" She seemed to think about it while I just stared dully up at her, utterly fucked. Then she shook her head vigorously, setting her tits briefly a-jiggle. I looked away, my brain screaming as it tried to figure out just how much trouble I was in. "Nope. Can't think of any. Can you, Michael P LaFratta of 41 Shelley Street?" She smiled again. "Apartment three, if I remember correctly?"

I looked back at her in temporary defeat, but still calculating, still figuring I could salvage something. I was a fucking cop, dammit, and this little nymph could kiss my ass. "You're in serious trouble, Miss, if I find out you've engaged in cyber-crimes." I swallowed, searching for words that might work. "Identity theft is a serious offense."

"Cyber-crimes," she repeated flatly. She stared at me hard, letting me know she realized I had jack-shit to go on. I saw her sigh, then look sideways as she rested her elbows on the car window. "You guys should have realized awhile ago," she pointed out gently, "that every kid in this town knows who 'Lindsay Doyle' is." She raised a lazy, long-fingered hand to brush at her stringy hair, tucking it calmly behind her ear. "Some of us even know how IP addresses work, too," she added sweetly.

Shit. Shit, shit, and fuck. "If you've got questions or complaints about the way the East Adams Police Department run their cyber-security operations," I pointed out, retreating into rote, "you may contact Chief James Brandino. He's assigned myself and another officer to look into serious allegations of substance abuse and illicit behavior among certain populations at the High School."

She flapped her hand dismissively. "By 'another officer,' you mean Megan's mom? Jesus." She put her hand back down. "Half the shit we drink comes out of her liquor cabinet. Besides," she finished with a slight, unmistakable snarl to her lips, "I think Brandino told you to check into teenage drinking. Whatever. I don't think he told some fake chick named Lauren to look at shots of me waving my ass at the camera." She winked. "Did he?"

She had a point. But so did I. I looked up at her from under my brows. "Do you girls have any alcohol in your car tonight, Miss?"

"Quit calling me 'miss,'" she snapped. "You know my name." She waited.

I heard myself sigh. "Victoria."

Her narrow mouth grinned slowly. "Tori."

"Any booze in the car, Tori?"

"Sure there is. And honestly?" She glanced at the Nissan. "Gianna's not drinking. She's stupid, but not that stupid. But here's the thing, Michael," she went on, her voice falling further as she stuck her head into the car. Those eyes were mesmerizing, but not as mesmerizing as those tits. "She can't get a ticket."

I stared at her. "Can't?"

"Can't." Tori winked at me then, slowly and deliberately. "If she gets a steep ticket, her dad won't let her go to Allie Schultz' Halloween party." I could smell her in the car now, a mix of body wash and the slight tang of sweat. I thought about things for a moment, the two of us just staring. It was like having a conversation without speaking. "Know what I'm saying, Officer?" She wasn't mocking me, really, or at least she didn't sound like she was. I understood.

"You're not going to tell them, are you?" It was more a statement than a question.

She reached into the car and began toying with the shotgun I had racked next to the computer. "See, I like my friends," she started. "Don't get me wrong. They're a great bunch of bitches. But they're slow, Michael, you know? So slow." She sighed. "Not like me. So no, they've got no clue. They think there's a kid out there somewhere named Lauren who just loves looking at East Adams girls dancing in their thongs." She frowned a bit. Her breasts ebbed and flowed, magical as only firm young tits can be. "Is this thing loaded?"

"Hands off the weapon, Tori." I said it in the flat, police-mode voice that said it wasn't a suggestion. She snatched her hand back as if it had been scalded. "Allie Schultz? Halloween party?" I smirked. "I'm supposed to care about that? She was all over the road."

"We were distracting her," she replied smugly. "You could write her a warning? Maybe just, you know, a slap on the wrist?"

I stared. Sure I could. I could also take the shotgun and blow my own dick off. "Just because I could write her a warning, doesn't mean I will," I shrugged. "All over the road. Plus, the drinking."

She chewed on her lip, looking consciously sexy, and squinted in thought. "You ever let a motorist talk their way out of a ticket, Michael?"

I held her green gaze, then nodded slowly. "Sometimes," I admitted. "Maybe."

"Well, so, here's the thing. I'm sure Gianna would love the opportunity to come back here and let you know how sorry she is."

I frowned sourly. "By talking?"

Tori's smile was slow and cruel. "Well, she'd be using her mouth, that's for sure." She winked again. "Should I tell her to come give it a try, Michael?"

I thought about it for a second, and it was my dick giving a tired lurch that made me nod at last, heavily. "No promises, Tori."

"I'd never expect any, Michael." She nibbled one more time at her lower lip. "Excuse me a sec." She pushed back off the car, all fluid motion, and then she set off into the night, her body moving confidently through the spotlight beam.

I wasted no time; I'd done this before, many times. I undid my gunbelt, a little clumsily, and let the ends flop into the seat. I quickly unbuttoned my uniform shirt, reached in with practiced speed, and pulled the trauma plate out of its Velcro compartment over my chest. The vest immediately lost its straitjacket feeling of mass, and I set the trauma plate on the passenger seat beside me. I buttoned the shirt back up, glancing up to see Tori, bent easily and sensuously at the waist, leaning in to talk to Gianna just as she'd leaned in to talk to me. They'd be back soon, I knew, and I got calmly out of my car, letting the door close quietly behind me as I settled into the backseat.

The seat for perps. The hard plastic backseat. The easy-to-clean backseat.

They came back a few moments later, Tori leading the way with Gianna shuffling hopefully behind. I saw three more faces, pale in the light of my spot, pasted to the Nissan's rear window. I didn't want an audience, but some things can't be helped. As I sat and watched them approach, I thought about Old Larry and what he would have said, how he might have acted.

That always worked.

Gianna Donato was not a young lady I'd seen naked; no shower pics for this one. She did post more than enough risqué content for me to get a decent sense that she'd dealt with plenty of cock, which was good; I don't really get off on inexperienced girls. She was a little distant, a little wary as she walked along, but she seemed game: yoga pants, down to her calves and with those transparent panels the new ones all seem to have. Her legs looked good under there, but then she was an athlete of rosy eighteen; of course her legs would be nice and tight. Up top she was wearing a lycra tanktop: tits decent, if nowhere near the gorgeous rack that her friend Tori was throwing around, but that was hardly her fault. I could see a hard, flat expanse of tanned stomach, her belly-button piercing glinting in my spotlight. At her shoulders were the lacy reminders that she liked expensive bras, this one a nice dark wine color.

"Miss Donato," I called, leaning out the back window. "Come sit back here." She hesitated a moment, not at all sure that she should be getting into the back of a cop car with me, but what choice did she have? She was facing $396.44 in fines so far. She came around the drivers' side, and I opened the door for her as I scooted across the slick plastic seat. Tori, completely at ease, came crunching over to the passenger side so that she could watch. I looked up at her quizzically as she leaned in again.

"Moral support, Officer," she simpered. "Is it okay if I stay here for Gianna? She gets nervous."

"Please?" Gianna had a higher, less intelligent voice as she plopped down onto the seat beside me, trying to keep back. "I'm very nervous, sir."

"That's fine." I cleared my throat and, with Tori's green eyes watching me closely, I started in on my spiel. When it came out, my voice was Larry-raspy. "Your friend Victoria speaks very highly of you," I lied. "She says you've got a Halloween party you're committed to going to?"

"Yes sir." She sat demurely, her hands in her lap. She looked obscurely like a nun. "It's something I've been looking forward to."

"It's important to live up to your commitments," I pointed out grudgingly, as if she hadn't even spoken. "You've promised to go? Maybe, to help set up? Clean up, that sort of thing?"

"Yes sir." She hesitated before she said it.

"Good. That's good. It shows you're willing to take responsibility, to help out your friends." I'd done this kind of thing a half-dozen times before. Tori was watching me closely from over her my other shoulder. "You've earned some very serious citations this evening. Now, I could write you a warning instead, Ms Donato, but I'd need to know you were ready to take responsibility for your poor choices tonight."

She said nothing until Tori cleared her throat. "Yes sir?"

I stared at her, my face emotionless. "How are you prepared to show me you're willing to accept responsibility for those choices? That you understand how serious they are?"

Gianna gnawed at her lower lip, but she'd pinned her eyes to my crotch. Oh, she knew. She knew what she'd be sucking on, any minute now. The rest of this was just foreplay. "Are you prepared to do whatever it takes to convince me?" I pressed. She squinted at my pants again, and then dragged her eyes up to mine, and now I could see a tiny glimmer of hope there, mixed with triumph; every woman likes to know she's making a man hard.

I was a little impressed, frankly, that my tired cock could rise, but it did, thick and hard and trembling like always. It did feel a little numb, but I figured I'd be fine. I might have some soreness later, but that didn't matter. After all, if you can't get it up when an eighteen-year-old cheerleader wants to suck your cock to get out of a traffic ticket, you might as well just cut it off and live as a monk. "What are you prepared to do, Gianna?" I probed softly, and now I was resting my big, strong cop hand on her thigh. The scars on that hand were pink and jagged where I'd put it through the window, but the pain was mostly gone by now. Gently I stroked her with my thumb, and she leaned in with her fat, shining lips parting, her eyes wide and dark beside a ski-jump nose, and then just like that her tongue was in my mouth.

She tasted strongly of cigarette smoke and Diet Coke, both of which I found repulsive, but whatever. You have to make sacrifices in life. I let her suck on my lips for a few minutes, her body moving rhythmically along the seat to wash up against mine, firmly, like she imagined a proper whore would do.

Fuck that. I wasn't interested in waiting; I was on the clock, after all, so I let her know what was up. Harshly I grabbed her left hand, the one that wasn't pinned against me, and pulled it straight across her body and down to my cock. She had to feel it, long and tight in my thick blue police pants, bursting down my right leg; I made sure to plant her palm right down onto my shaft, even molding her fingers around it a little before I left her there to figure things out.

She did. Of course she did; she'd been a cheerleader for years.

She was fumbling for my zipper even before I got my hand safely away, her eager fingers prodding and digging at the fly while my own hand roamed up along her thigh, flickering across her mound and up past the little gold stud in her navel, pushing forcefully up under her soft, sweaty breast, behind the lycra and the wine-colored lace, and gripping hard onto the warm flesh there.

She gasped into my mouth, then jerked her head back with her eyes shining and her hand busy at my waistband. Well, both hands now. She had a reckless grin plastered across her face, and I saw a little string of saliva drooling out of the corner of her mouth. She let me paw at her, her grin growing more and more certain with that special way females have when they know they're going to get some penis.

And she was: my fly at last came spreading open, her sure fingers then fluttering into the slit at the front of my black boxer briefs to clutch, brutally tight and eager, at the naked skin of my moist, twitchy cock. Our eyes both widened then, the two of us spending a few silent seconds groping at each other.

I'd completely forgotten about Tori, watching from the window behind me. But then I found a nipple in there, and let my thumbnail flick across it, dragging, so Gianna giggled breathlessly and leaned in for more tonsil exploration. I shrank back at once with a speed born of police-honed reflexes. "No thanks, Ms Donato," I protested formally. "I've got a girlfriend; I'd prefer you not kiss me." Gianna's eyes went all soft and dewy; they all love hearing that I love my girlfriend, but that's when I heard a snorting giggle from behind me.

Tori knew that was horseshit, as well she should; men who love their women don't usually sit in the back of police cruisers, letting young sluts fondle their dicks while they squeeze critically at said sluts' tits. But whatever; Gianna was biting her lip and maneuvering my dickhead laboriously out of my underwear, I was sending my other hand around to stroke at her spine, and things were moving along pretty nicely. In my mind I was already coming up with something I could tell Dispatch; they typically expected you to write tickets when they sent you after reckless drivers. I'd need something good.

She curled warmly, familiarly, into a ball as soon as she had my smelly purple cock out, dipping down with the competence that comes with long experience to open those thick lips wide and lock them tight around my head. I abandoned her boob in all the motion, but consoled myself by pushing both hands without ceremony down into her pants to sample whatever she was hauling around back there. I was not surprised to find it solid and luscious and warm, her ass filling my hands with the casual lusty thrill of any new filly's body while, with an excited grunt, Gianna quit pulsing her mouth around my cockhead and sank down, impressively deep, letting me feel every millimeter of her wet lips against the sweaty ridges of my dick.

I settled in. With a final hard, bruising squeeze, I took my right hand back out of her pants so that I could sit against the seatback. I let my head loll back against the cheap vinyl headrest, feeling my eyes roll sideways, sneakily, to find Tori as her friend smoked my cock. She was leaning way into the car, her impressive tits hooked over the window frame, both arms folded underneath them. Her face wore a crafty smile as she watched her friend suck me, her green eyes occasionally flickering up to my face.

Gianna's blowjob was comprehensive, thorough, with that extra little zing that said she was really taking pride in her work. I closed my eyes, vaguely happy that at least she was giving me good enough head to really, truly get out of her ticket; I'd have let her off for less capable technique, but I'd have felt bad doing it. I sighed. "This is excellent work, Ms Donato. Really excellent."

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