U.S. of Free Use - Busted

Amber Witt was still getting ready for work when she heard three sharp knocks on the apartment's door, so she waited for her husband Greg to get it. When the knocks came again, sharp and efficient, she was instantly exasperated. She hollered, "Honey, someone's at the door. Can you get that?"

Amber held the eyeliner pencil away from her for a moment and breathed steadily through her nose, staring at her own fuming face in the mirror. Her eyes flashed dangerously and red color rose in her cheeks and spread down across her heaving décolletage. She didn't know why she had to tell him; he could hear the doorbell just as clearly, and yet it wasn't until she said something that she heard him scamper from his desk in the office to the front door. Plus, he knew this morning was a big deal for her. Slowly the storm cloud passed, leaving her at a steady simmer of annoyance. Amber finished applying her makeup and stood back from the vanity mirror, making sure she looked perfect. It wasn't necessary; she knew she looked damn good. Amber was tall, just shy of six feet, with long legs, curved hips, a small waist and perky C-cup breasts. They would've been bigger but she was an exercise freak and chose a flat stomach over heavy, swinging knockers. They still jiggled invitingly in her low-cut dresses and unbuttoned shirts, and that was good enough for government work.

On this day she was giving an important presentation to the biggest client her firm ever had, and she was dressed to impress. She wore her suit blazer and skirt set, navy blue with white trim, and her satin white blouse with the pearl buttons.

Amber didn't just have the body; she had the face to match. She had a long nose, thin elegant eyebrows over her bright green eyes, and auburn hair she wore in a severe pixie cut. The softest thing on her was her full and pouty mouth, which pouted even more when she walked into the kitchen and saw who sat at her table.

Three men waited patiently for her, and they all looked up at the sound of her high heels on the hardwood floor. The first was her husband Greg, looking even more nervous than usual and stirring his mug of coffee incessantly. The second was their chubby neck-bearded neighbor Spencer Knowles, and the sight of him slurping coffee through his wide fishy lips had Amber making a mental note to throw away the mug later. The third man, with his coffee clutched in one meaty fist, was a uniformed police officer. He gave her an efficient smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Witt. I'm Officer Hank Grabowski and I wanted to ask you and your husband a few questions." He took a big swallow, then nodded toward the empty chair across from them.

Amber smiled apologetically. "I'm very sorry, but I'm giving an important presentation this morning and really must be going. I'm sure Greg will be able to clear anything up."

"Sorry, but it really must be both of you. I just have a few questions. Please, have a seat."

Amber glanced at her watch and sighed, then caught herself and decided that a little less visible annoyance might go a long way. She pulled out the empty chair and adjusted her blazer as she sat so that her tits were pointing right at the officer, and when she sat she lined up her legs the same way. She crossed them with deliberate carelessness, letting the skirt ride high on her pantyhose-clad thighs.

The officer, a broad man with a strong chin and warm brown eyes, obviously liked what he saw and he didn't try to hide his appreciation. Unfortunately, Spencer liked what he saw too. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him adjusting himself inside his loose cargo shorts and felt a shiver go through her perfectly poised body. That was when Amber noticed the box that sat on the table in front of the officer. It was about the size of a shoebox but printed on the side was HARRIS COLLECTIBLE ACTION FIGURES, which meant one thing to her: this box that now sat on her pristine dining room table had originated in her slovenly neighbor's apartment. She resisted further shivers, and the desire to dry heave.

Officer Grabowski opened a notepad and clicked his ballpoint pen. "Alright Mr. and Mrs. Witt, how long have you lived here?"

"Um, about a year and a half," Greg answered hesitantly, then looked at her as if he wasn't sure. Amber nodded, and internally rolled her eyes at her hamster of a husband.

"And you moved from Pittsburgh, correct?"

"Yes," Amber spoke up. "I secured a position at a marketing firm downtown, The Murphy Group." she paused for him to recognize the name and be impressed, "and Greg works remotely for a software company in Toronto. So he could work basically anywhere."

"I see. How do you like it here in San Diego?"

"Oh, like any city there are downsides," Amber cast an unsubtle glance in Spencer's direction. This cop came off as a real alpha male type, the kind of guy who grew up walking all over nerds like her neighbor, and her husband for that matter. She imagined she and Officer Grabowski had a shared disregard for pathetic beta males. "But overall we're quite pleased. Aren't we honey?"

"Oh yes," Greg beamed.

"Hey, that's great." The large policeman picked up his coffee and had another long sip, then pointed at the red band that encircled Amber's wrist. "Are you in the menstruation phase of your cycle?"

Amber was caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic but recovered quickly. "No, um, follicular. Which is great because we're trying to have a baby so we get very hopeful when I'm fertile. Maybe this month, honey." She reached across the table and took Greg's hand. He gave her a warm squeeze and nodded eagerly. Good boy.

Spencer made a sniffing sound, as if he had stifled a laugh, and Amber fixed him with a cold stare. Before she could wonder what that was about, Officer Grabowski continued. "How long have you been trying?"

"Almost six months," she responded confidently, squinting for a moment as if to double-check her math.

"I'm sure you know your neighbor Mr. Knowles," Grabowski motioned to the man sitting beside him, and Amber was dismayed to see a delighted smile spread across Spencer's chubby cheeks. Grabowski wasn't looking at either of them; he had lifted the top off the box and set it aside, looking into it as if it held bad news. "Last week Mr. Knowles came to me with some very disturbing information, and I was hoping you could help me sort it out."

"OK." Amber uncrossed her legs and sat forward in her seat, trying to see what was inside the box. She didn't completely give up her flirtatious advantage though: she ran one hand inside the open collar of her shirt as if to adjust her necklace, and spread the material to expose the swell of her breast in her lacy bra cup.

The officer pulled a thick stack of photographs out of the box, removed the rubber band that bound them and fanned them out in front of Amber. Greg craned his head to see, and Amber's mouth went dry.

"Can you verify these are all photos of you, Mrs. Witt?" Officer Grabowski asked.

They were all of her, she knew that immediately, but looked through them carefully while her mind tried to work out where this conversation was going. They were all pictures of the sidewalk outside Spencer's ground-floor window. Some of them included her face, but all of them showed an enticing view of her body. There she was after a long day at work, leaning against the front stoop of their building with one leg raised, checking the heel of her shoe and flashing her little red panties in the process. There she was on a weekend, wearing jeans and a sweater so thin that it that showed the soft curve of her belly button and the outline of her hard nipples. Greg was in the background hailing a cab, but for some reason Amber had turned toward the window, one hand squeezing a sweater-clad breast as if she was offering it up. There she was, bent at the waist in her ridiculously tight workout uniform, stretching before a jog. The shorts were incredibly short, showing off her long legs and hugging the contours of her cameltoe like a second skin.

"Notice the red bracelet in every picture," Grabowski said somberly. "Notice the date stamps. There are almost two hundred pictures here, spanning nearly the entire year and a half you've lived in this building."

"I...guess I must've been on my period in some of these."

The cop nodded. "Maybe, but there's enough information here that it doesn't add up. You're well aware of the law, I'm certain: you can try for a baby for one year's time before you're forced back into free use rotation, and after six months you must seek fertility treatments."

"But like I said, we've only been trying for six months." Amber heard the note of whining in her voice and hated it.

"Sure, right, but then why have you had a red bracelet on for so many days scattered across the last year and a half? Literally none of these pictures show you wearing a green bracelet. What, in your estimation, are the chances?"

Amber opened her mouth to speak but Grabowski raised his voice. "And another thing: what are you trying to do here, in these moments? If I'm not mistaken you're regularly putting on a show for your neighbor, even though he knows he can't use you. Certainly it's not illegal to be a shameless prick tease, but you seem like you've got something out for poor Mr. Knowles here."

"He's always staring at my body!" she said angrily.

"You're always showing me your body!" Spencer retorted.

Grabowski held up a hand, quieting them both. "Let's move on. So you're trying for a baby, right? Well then whose are these?" He pulled several empty alcohol bottles from the box, laying them on the table in a clinking row. They were all wine coolers.

"Wait, was this pervert going through OUR GARBAGE??" Amber pointed one perfectly manicured nail at her neighbor, but Officer Grabowski ignored her.

"Again, whose are these?"

Amber glanced at her husband, who spoke up. "Oh, they're mine. Yup, I love 'em."

The cop snorted. "Pretty fruity, Greg. But again, what does that prove? If Amber's trying to get pregnant, I'm sure she wouldn't be consuming alcohol. However, there's also this."

He pulled a plastic baggie out of the box, and inside were several used condoms. Amber glared at her husband, who lowered his head and sighed. "I...um...have an STD," he muttered. "One of the incurable ones. Herpes. So...as you know, I have to wear a rubber when I...use women."

"Right, that makes sense," Grabowski nodded. "But since you're married one would assume she's already got it. You're trying to get pregnant, so of course you don't use contraceptives with your wife. I guess you brought used rubbers home with you to dispose of them in your own trash?"

Greg stared at his hands on the table top, and nodded slowly. "I, um, don't like to litter."

"What a Boy Scout," the cop muttered. He pushed the box aside and flipped a few pages back in his notebook. "But, this evidence and your hazy responses suggest some very serious deception. And I don't know if you noticed, but I'm here in a professional capacity." He waved his hand at himself, drawing attention to his uniform.

"Jesus Christ," Amber began to bluster, rising to her feet. "I don't see why you're considering anything from a garbage-diving loser as fact, and I don't see why we need to sit here and be accused of-"

"So I engaged in a little something I like to call asking some fucking questions and listening to the answers," Officer Grabowski overrode her. He glowered at Amber until she sat down again, with much less poise than before. Then he consulted his notepad again. "I spoke to your doctor, Mrs. Witt, and he informed me that you haven't raised the issue of fertility. Not once. You say that you've only been trying for six months, which just happens to be the cutoff for when you'd need to inform your doctor and start taking some measures, but I suspect you've been letting people think that you've been trying to conceive much longer than that. So I spoke to your boss, Mr. Steven Krause, and once he thought about it he realized that he'd never seen you without your red bracelet. He brought in a few of your other male colleagues and they confirmed my suspicions. I even talked to a few of the regulars from your gym and they were able to tell me the same thing. Trust me, they've noticed you. As one of them said, 'she really loves to show off.' Sounds like your neighbor isn't the only one you've been teasing with that off-limits puss of yours."

"And Mr. Witt," Grabowski turned in his seat. Greg literally shrank away from him. "I visited your doctor as well. Confirmed that you've got a clean bill of health, no STDs at all. Yeah, a nice secretary named Julie helped me out with that info. I'm sure you remember her from your office visits, right Greg? Bubbly little thing, barely out of college, really knows how to deepthroat a cock? When I was there I questioned her, and then I asked her to show me how you used her after your last appointment. Tell me, did she get the hiccups after she swallowed your load? Damn that was adorable."

Amber turned on her husband with fury in her eyes. "You've actually been fucking other girls? You said I was enough!"

Greg spread his hands out innocently. "Aw, c'mon...you won't even let me cum inside you!"

"You'll be lucky if I let you cum in your own hand from now on, you lying fuck!"

They were interrupted by the cop's hearty laughter. "Oh man this is everything I thought and more! So let me make sure I got it straight: Amber's been wearing a red bracelet ever since you moved here so she doesn't have to let any guys fuck her. She couldn't get birth control from her doctor because then the jig would be up, so she makes her own husband wear a condom. On top of that she somehow convinces you that you shouldn't get to fuck anyone else even though she's a frigid bitch, and meanwhile she's shaking her tits and ass at every other man who she won't let fuck her. Do I have that about right, Greg?"

Greg hung his head and nodded. Amber made a noise of protest.

"Good lord, Greg! What kind of man are you?" Officer Grabowski shook his head sadly and stood up, gesturing for Amber to rise as well. She sighed and stood with arms crossed, her chin cocked defiantly. The officer grabbed her arms and uncrossed them, sliding the red bracelet off her wrist. "So I'll tell you what we're going to do now. I'm going to escort you to your doctor's office-"

"I have a presentation to make in forty minutes!" Amber fumed.

"AND at your doctor's office we'll get you birth control and a green bracelet."

"Sweet Jesus, I'm going to get fired."

"Oh I don't think so," the cop smiled wickedly. "In fact, I think you're about to get a lot more popular at work."

Amber covered her eyes. "Fuck."

"Yes, and lots of it. In fact..." Officer Grabowski grabbed Amber by the shoulders and gently led her back to the living room couch. When the back of her legs stopped against it she sat and stared up at him with a pout on her lips and a dark look in her eyes. "Before we leave this apartment I'm required to verify your renewed compliance. That means you get fucked no less than two times, to a man's completion, in my presence."

Amber gave a disgruntled sigh, blowing her bangs up in a puff of air, and started to remove her blazer. She had an educated guess about why her pretty mouth had been maneuvered to the level of the cop's bulging uniform pants, so that mouth dropped open in shock when the officer stepped away and looked back to the table.

"Mr. Knowles, please come over here and give Mrs. Witt the full attention she's been craving outside your window."

Spencer pushed back from the table and stood up, giving Amber a view of the total package. He was short and squat, with dirty blond hair that lay across his skull in wisps and a scraggly beard. He wore a stained comic book shirt as usual, this one featuring some sinister hooded creature called Moon Knight. Below his bulging gut he was wearing loose cargo shorts that were tented out in front. And she could tell from the victorious smile on his face that he'd been patiently awaiting this moment. In return for his amateur detective work, he'd been promised access to her body.

"Ugh," Amber shivered as Spencer stopped before her and stroked her face reverently. "It's losers like him I worked so hard to avoid fucking!" She started to say something else but Spencer's hand had stroked down her cheek to her mouth and he pushed his thumb between her lips, as if he expected her to suck it. He pumped it slightly, then dragged the spittle-covered hand down her smooth neck and over her blouse.

Amber spit dryly to get the taste of his hand out of her mouth. Spencer ignored her, dropping his hands to her tits, hefting them blissfully. The white silk blouse, her lacy bra under it and those magnificent globes it held were soft on soft on soft and Spencer felt like he was in heaven. He squished and groped them until she gasped in pain, then started to undress her. He fumbled with the pearl buttons of her blouse, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, and finally opened her shirt to the waist, revealing a sliver of her anger-reddened chest and her heaving tits. She glared up at him with her hands flat on the couch cushion while he parted her shirt and stuck one meaty paw into her bra, curling around her breast and feeling her thick nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

He grinned at her possessively, rolling the nipple and feeling it respond and harden. Suddenly his eyes rolled upward and he shook a little, pumping his hips three times at her. "Uhn, uhn, uhhhhnnnn," he groaned.

Amber made a disgusted sound and craned her neck to address the policeman. "He just came in his fucking shorts from touching my tit, does that count as one of the acts 'to a man's completion'?"

The cop shook his head.

She sighed and returned her gaze to Spencer, who had pushed down his baggy shorts so they pooled at his feet. He had a big wet spot on the front of his boxers, and before she could comment on that he pushed them down too. There was his choad of a dick, poking out of a thatch of light brown pubes. She could see his scrotum through the hair underneath, wrinkled and swollen as a peach.

Spencer spit in his hand then stroked his cock back to full hardness. It didn't get much longer, but it grew thicker and his foreskin peeled back, displaying a head the size of a plum. It was even light purple in color. Fresh precum dribbled from the slit at the end.

"Ok, hang on," Amber said, and finished undressing herself to save her pristine outfit. She laid her blouse and then skirt carefully aside, leaving her in a bra, panties and pantyhose. Taking her time, she rolled her pantyhose down her tight stomach and toned legs, then reached behind herself and unsnapped her bra. She set it down on the pile and leaned back on the couch, keeping her panties on and pressing her creamy thighs together virginally, hopefully.

Officer Grabowski turned to Greg. "Man, your wife's a real uppity bitch isn't she?"

"Um," said Greg.

"Thanks Greg," she called from the couch, just before Spencer put his hands on the back of her head, leaned forward and popped the thick dome of his penis between her red lips.

"OHHHHHHH," the man sighed as his cock made the short trip of sinking all the way into her mouth. His pubes tickled her nose and his round gut rested on her forehead, but at least his cock didn't come anywhere near the back of her throat. She thanked God for small favors.

Greg turned to the officer. "Should I...go?"

"Nope, I'm going to need a witness to the acts. And you'll need to sign some forms after."

Greg nodded miserably, then turned to watch Spencer Knowles' lumpy butt cheeks flex as he pumped in and out of his wife's stern mouth. Greg knew it felt like heaven; she'd blown him regularly when they were dating. The marriage had been very different, with her rarely going out of her way to offer him pleasure, and Greg worried about the punishment he'd get later. Amber Witt was the queen of the simmering grudge, and there was nothing passive about her aggression.