Cops and Robber

Cops and Robber

Vicky got off the bus at Oak River Drive. The beige Ford was parked in the usual place. After a quick look around, and activation of the highly illegal CarPop phone app, the door unlocked.

It had taken her thirteen seconds to steal Jacob Farmer's car. After getting out of the area, Vicky used her cell phone to access Hannah Simon's hacked Uber driver account and put her on duty. Ms. Simon worked nights and would likely be sleeping now. She wouldn't notice the activity.

At the convenience store on the corner of 12th and Walters, Vicky hacked Gerald Roush's rider account and requested a car.

The computer records would show that Hannah had dropped Gerald at 427 Baker Street at 1:35 pm, though neither were anywhere near the place. Vicky's presence would go unnoticed.

In a grey sports bra and matching leggings, with a small bag around her neck holding the all-important cell phone, Vicky jogged to her destination. 17 Pine Tree Lane was just a half a mile away, but she crossed from the city into unincorporated county land. The police department and sheriff's department jealously guarded their respective turfs, so the abandoned Ford and Uber hacks would never be connected with the burglary Vicky was about to commit.

Vicky was a modern cat burglar. A quick Amazon hack had gotten her a list of cat owners. Cat treats, cat toys, and a pet door had been delivered to this house four months ago.

Taking busy schedules and procrastination into account, the pet door should have been installed by now. At 5 foot 3, weighing 96 pounds, Vicky could fit through there.

The lawn boasted a forbidding 'Beware of Dog' sign, but Vicky wasn't fooled. "Nice try, buddy. You didn't order dog food," she murmured to herself. The sign in the window read, 'Protected by Cortez Security.' It was just as easily dismissed. Cats run and jump and knock things over. That ruled out motion detectors. And unless you want Fluffy or Mittens to trigger an armed response, there would be no alarm on the kitty door.

The gate to the backdoor was locked, but Vicky had a special magnetic device that moved the tumblers and opened the lock. Once in the back, she found the rear door, complete with pet entrance.

Everybody should be at work right now. Vicky would pop in, grab cash, jewelry, and electronic devices. She'd find a purse or backpack to carry it in and walk out the front door. Twenty minutes, tops.

She knelt down by the pet door, observing everything. This was the risky moment. A sick child, a retiree, vacation time, a graveyard shift. There were reasons that someone might be home in the early afternoon.

The shed door was locked and the hose was tightly coiled. Nobody was doing any gardening. The barbecue grill was pushed up against the house. No backyard cookout was planned.

Slowly, Vicky pushed the pet door open. She saw no movement within. Carefully, she slid her right arm through the opening, as silently as possible. With one hand on the kitchen floor, she eased her shoulder in, then tucked her head under and through.

Now came the tricky part. She pushed forward with her knees until her breasts squeezed past, one at a time. If she'd been any bigger than a B cup, this would have been impossible. The little pouch carrying her cell phone and lock magnet was sheltered in her cleavage and made the transition without catching on the lip of the entrance. Finally, she pulled her left shoulder through the door and rested, halfway through, on her hands and knees.

Vicky stopped and listened very carefully. Any noise from a television, radio, dishwasher, or clothes dryer would mean someone was in the house. She heard nothing. No sneezing or snoring or crying baby. No running water. The lights were off. The coffeemaker was off and empty. Nobody was home.

Her hips were too wide for the pet door. She'd nearly gotten stuck the first time she'd done this. But if she tilted her pelvis, she could come through at an angle. She straightened her knees until she was in a pushup position and started shifting her weight.

Suddenly, there was a hand pressing down on the small of her back. A male hand, by the size of it. Vicky gasped. Her eyes went wide with panic. She was pushed back down onto her hands and knees.

From outside the door, a deep male voice said, "Hang on there, little lady. I don't believe you live here."

She tried to pull away, but he was preventing her from twisting, so she couldn't fit through the door. Backing up wouldn't be any easier. Without careful maneuvering, her shoulders and breasts would get stuck.

"This looks like Breaking and Entering to me," said the voice. "What do you think, Earl?"

A second male voice spoke in agreement. "I would have to say you're right, Hank. We have caught ourselves a criminal."

Vicky stared at the kitchen floor and took several deep breaths. "I didn't take anything," she said. "This is my cousin's house. I lost the key."

"What you saying' in there? You has got to speak up on account of the door between us."

"I said this is my cousin's house!"

"Lyin' makes it worse, Missy," Hank said. "I know the people who live here. They don't have no cousins, 'cept for one grouchy old man in Alaska. They is not on speaking terms."

The hand was lifted from her back, and instantly replaced with something cold, heavy, and narrow. Vicky realized it was the garden hose as Hank and Earl wrapped it twice around her waist. "That will keep you in place while we decide what to do with you," Hank said.

"Let me go," Vicky pleaded. "Can't you just let me go?"

"Could do," Hank said. "Tell the truth, I have me a powerful dislike for the people who own this here house. What ya think, Earl?"

"Maybe. They is unpleasant people to be sure. But we got a duty."

"Oh, that's right. I almost forgot. Here that, girl? We got a duty."

"Here's the thing," Earl said. "Hank and me, we're cops. And when we catch a criminal-"

"That's you, Missy," Hank interrupted.

"Right you are, partner. Right you are. And when cops catch a criminal, what is it we do with them?"

"We arrest them," Hank said. "That's what we do."

Vicky rested her head on the kitchen floor. Getting arrested had always been possible in the career she'd chosen. But this was just humiliating. Captured while stuck in a doggy door. "Just do it, then," she snapped.

"What's that?" Earl said. "Let me remind you to speak up a bit."

"Arrest me! Get me out of here and put the cuffs on!"

"Might have a teeny problem," Hank said.

"Problem?" Earl asked. "What problem? Us is cops. Girly here is a robber."

"Not that simple," Hank told him. "We is city cops. This here is county land. We ain't got no jurisdiction."

"I do believe you're right," Earl said. "And come to think of it, ain't we off duty?"

"We sure as shooting are."

Vicky began to feel some hope. These guys couldn't arrest her. This whole Home and Gomer routine was just to mess with her. All right. She could play along. "What is the solution, officers?"

"I'm thinkin' on it," Hank said. "I'm a city cop, but I live just across the street. This is my neighborhood. I has me a responsibility, even to the neighbors I don't care to speak to. But I can't arrest you myself and it will take the county boys a good couple hours to respond to this situation, seeing as it ain't an emergency and city cops don't especially get along with county cops. They will not be rushing to assist."

"We got poker, Hank. Don't forget the poker game."

"You is right, Earl. That's what you're interrupting, girl. Ever' Monday afternoon, the day shift cops, pllllowe got a poker game. My turn to host. I got to get back across the street before the other guys arrive. I don't got time to wait for the slow-ass sheriff's deputies. But a criminal's got to pay for her crimes. Ain't that right?"

"Right you are, Hank."

"I don't have any money," Vicky said.

"They's other ways to pay, ain't there, Hank?"

"You is so right, Earl. What do you suggest?"

"She could serve drinks at the poker game."

"Invite a criminal into my house? Think again," Hank scolded.

"Poker, Hank. How about poker?"

"She ain't invited," Hank said.

"Not the cards," Earl argued. "The girl!"

"I don't believe I'm following," Hank said, in a tone that suggested he knew very well what Earl was recommending.

Vicky gasped as a rough finger inserted itself under the waist band of her leggings. It started tugging downward. Of course, Vicky realized. This was always where it had been headed.

"Let me get this straight," Hank said. "You is not suggesting we play poker with the girl. You is suggesting we poke the girl herself. We poke 'er."

"That is it, precisely."

"Well, I don't know. We ain't seen her face. I don't like to poke an ugly girl."

"That's so," Earl agreed. "Hey, girl! Is you pretty in there or is you ugly?"

Vicky thought about that. It seemed they were maybe offering her a way out. "What happens if I'm ugly?"

"Then we call the sheriff and Earl and I git late to the poker game while we wait for you to be arrested."

"What happens if I'm pretty?"

"Then we gonna poke you good, girly!"

"Earl, we is city cops. In the city, we call it fucking. So, Missy? If you is pretty, Earl and I is gonna take turns fucking you as you is so conveniently presented your hindquarters to us."

"And then?" Vicky asked.

"Well, Earl here is powerful well endowed. Most girls is scared to bed down with him, that's the truth. And I ain't no slouch in that department myself. If we fuck you back and forth, you gonna be mighty sore. Maybe that's punishment enough for your criminal act."

"I am beautiful," Vicky assured them. "I am gorgeous."

She felt the leggings being peeled down off her ass. The kitchen was dark, with minimal light from the windows, but the afternoon sunlight was hot on her butt. One of the men was kneeling between her legs and took hold of her hips. She braced herself for penetration.

Luckily, she was already wet. Burglarizing a house always turned her on. She occasionally needed to stop in mid robbery to masturbate, using her victims' belongings as sex toys. Toothbrushes, cigars, teaspoons, even a harmonica once. And she loved to open a drawer and find someone's porn stash. She always made a point of snagging a souvenir. These cops were going to find her welcoming.

The head of somebody's penis was between her legs, underneath her, pressing up against her sex. It was hot and throbbing and she wanted it. He pulled back, guided himself with fingers and pushed.

Ready or not, it didn't go in easy. Hank had not been lying about 'well-endowed.' Vicky wasn't sure which of the cops was entering her, but the man's dick was stretching her pussy wider than it had ever been. Slow and patient, he stuffed her full of cock.

Vicky was panting and her eyes were streaming with tears. It was painful, but it was the best kind of pain. Once he was fully seated, he paused to give her a moment. The cop evidently had some experience shoving that thing into women who weren't built for it.

As she adjusted to the invasion, Vicky was suddenly aware of a cat that had just entered the kitchen. It was a grey tabby and was clearly wanting to go outside.

"I'm sorry," Vicky told the cat. "Your kitty door is a bit blocked right now. But let me tell you a secret. My kitty door has something jammed in it too." She felt sure the cat understood. It was examining the pet door, its tail held high, and Vicky could see that the cat was also a female. Perhaps she knew a little about a male invading her private spaces.

The cop pulled out and thrust back in. He was not gentle. Vicky's hips and the hose around her waist prevented her from going through the pet door but she was knocked off balance. Her elbows collapsed and she ended up face down on the tile floor as someone she didn't know and had never seen fucked her roughly from behind.

"You is fucking her doggy-style," Earl said. "Does you realize that?"

"Oh, yes," Hank assured him. "As she is so conveniently in doggy position, she gets doggy-fucked."

"Ain't what I meant," Earl chuckled. "I meant you is fucking her doggy-style on account of she is in a doggy door."

Vicky rolled her eyes at the lame joke, but Hank was laughing. Kitty door, she corrected, silently apologizing to the cat. Vicky was starting to enjoy the strange, anonymous fucking, but there was something really odd about having a second man watching, and waiting for his own turn.

The cold floor sliding back and forth under her cheek gave her an idea. Vicky's arms were stretched out over her head, moving and sliding with the rest of her, but she needed them for a moment. She pulled up her sports bra and let her tits press against the tiles. It wasn't the same as having a man's hands on her, but the friction of the cool, textured surface against her stiff nipples felt good, an excellent contrast to the warm sunlight on her ass and the hot cock inside her.

"Just call me 'Swiffer,' Vicky mumbled. The cop was basically mopping the kitchen floor with her face and tits, using his dick as a handy dandy mop handle, just push in, pull out, and repeat to get that floor sparkling.

But then, before she was ready, the cock wasn't the only thing in her pussy. Hank was pumping cum into her, getting the ultimate benefit of surprising this trapped female burglar. "Why do guys always come so fucking quickly?" Vicky grumbled to the cat. "I was almost there. Just a few more strokes would have done the trick." Maybe it was a good thing she had a spare waiting. Perhaps that was the reason cops always had backup.

But Hank was in no rush to leave. He stayed inside her, stroking the cheeks of her ass as his breathless voice came through the door. "Earl, that is some extra fine, grade-A pussy right there."

"Let me have a turn, partner."

"Yes!" Vicky shouted, panting in anticipation. "Let him have a turn. You promised Earl would make me sore. Prove it!"

"Hey, girl!" Hank called. "You is in the wrong line of work. If you is bound and determined to be a criminal, you could do real well as a hooker."

"It's my turn!" Earl insisted.

"Yes, OK. Just let me get out your way."

Vicky sighed with pleasure and relief as one penis left her and a second penis entered. Once again, Hank had not lied. Earl was a big boy. Vicky's eyes went wide as he penetrated, but she welcomed the momentary discomfort as it faded into a wonderfully stuffed feeling.

Now Earl was mopping the floor. Vicky smiled blissfully at the cat, who watched curiously as her face slid back and forth across the tiles. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of Earl's mighty cock pounding her grateful cunt.

The orgasm was not an explosion, but an avalanche, starting slowly as the tingles became gradually stronger, picking up speed, setting off more tingles and shocks, until every muscle in her body seemed to be in its own rollicking climax, destroying her thoughts and her very identity as the tremors swept through her. Vicky screamed her ecstasy into the empty house, startling the cat.

Earl was coming too, pouring into her, but Vicky was barely aware of it. She lay semi-conscious on the floor as he filled her with seed.

The cop gave her a few final thrusts, like friendly kisses goodbye, then pulled out, and the two of them unwrapped the hose from around her waist. Her leggings were pulled back up and Hank gave her a sharp stinging swat on the ass. "Think on what I said. People would pay good money for pussy that fine. We gotta git. Poker game. Don't get greedy in this here house and don't come back to this neighborhood. Good luck, girly."

Vicky simply lay there, boneless and dozing, halfway in and out, until the cat jumped on her back, bringing her back to full alertness. She shook the animal off, tilted her hips and eased inside.

Moving gingerly, as she really was a bit sore from the hard usage, Vicky grabbed a few valuables, and headed out. She glanced across the street to see five or six cops, carrying chips and beer, entering the house on the opposite side. She ignored them and they ignored her. Several crimes had just been committed by her and against her, but they didn't need to know.