Unusual, Butt Not Quite Cruel

This story contains elements of violence towards law enforcement that I do not endorse or condone in any way, shape, or form. They are presented here to establish a mood and show the caliber of the main character, and justify his, er, "punishment". Anyone who takes issue with the [limited] violent scenes in this story (which are in no way sexual), please e-mail me at the address in my profile. Otherwise, please enjoy. Feedback is appreciated, and encouraged. ;-)

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Dust and the smell of powder hung thick in the air under the bridge. It was dry there, but just beyond the huge steel and concrete pilings the low dismal skyline of the outer reaches of the city peered back through the rain and gloom. The cops shouted to one another across dark spaces, the air under the bridge stinking from fear and blood as much as from the firefight. Light filtered in from the single flickering-orange sodium street lamp. From his cover, Nick dropped the last bullet into his .44 Magnum, the weight of the long-barreled revolver feeling good in his hand. He took aim and calmed his breathing. The weapon kicked hard, and he felt it all the way down into his back, absorbing the recoil with his body. With years of practice under fire, the barrel barely wavered. The lamp exploded in a shower of sparks, and darkness jumped up all around him.

He smiled as he listened to the cops shout to one another in the dark confusion and fire a few shots at shadows, then ran to his next cover, keeping low. His motorcycle was behind the cops' line. He was pretty sure they didn't even know, and it had just been a lucky byproduct of their sloppy ambush. Sloppy or not though, Tony and Erik were dead, and he was the last one. It was supposed to be a clean drop: grab the money in a duffel, take it back to the safe house, and tie one on at the titty bar. Instead, here he was with two dead buddies and probably ten cops waiting scared in the dark to shoot the first thing they saw moving. He had to get to the bike. The Boss would deal with the hostage, he needn't worry about that. He just had to get out of there.

Nick crept quietly around the back of another piling, then darted behind an abandoned car. He could hear the cops talking, whispering, and shouting to one another. Amateurs.

"Do you see anything?"

"Use the fuckin' lights!"

"Fuck no! You saw what happened to Miggins and Toomy when they turned on their flashlights! It's like a fuckin' homing beacon for these fuckers!"

"How many are there?"

"Gotta be at least four, maybe five...fuck!"

They carried on, finally starting to organize and move with cover. They were going to flank him. Superior or not, he didn't have a silenced weapon and he was one guy against many. Nick breathed slowly and silently as he inched around a corner and saw the back of a cop, peering around another corner. Quickly, he crouched on one knee and leveled the barrel with the cop's back, fifty feet away. The magnum bucked and roared, and the bullet cracked into his back between the shoulder blades. He made no sound as he hit the dirt with a puff of dust and lay still. More shouting, and another head peeked around the corner. Dumb. The revolver bucked once more and a sickening crunch sounded as the bullet passed through the cop's forehead and out the back, painting the piling behind him. Nick ducked back just in time as an arm and a submachine gun came around the corner and a hail of 9mm-auto came his way. Dust billowed as the rounds hacked off bits of concrete from the piling. Nick calmly replaced the three rounds in his revolver and darted to another hiding place. To close. Just as he jumped for cover a bullet caught his heel, missing his flesh but blowing his shoe right off. Caught in the open, he rolled and returned fire, discharging four rounds before he heard a scream in the dark. He scrambled to cover. More shouting.

"Ahh, I'm hit! I'm hit!"

"Michaels and Connor are down! We need an ambulance NOW!"

"Spread out! Watch your back and keep low! He's using armor-piercing rounds!"

"Hold still, Johnson, stay down!"

"Chaco, Wood! Spread out to the north and east! Keep behind cover, we got him pinned!"

Breathing hard, Nick reloaded again. Last six bullets. He heard quick footsteps, then an officer got the surprise of his life as he rounded the corner, keeping low, and nearly stepped on Nick. The two quick, instinctive rounds into the cop's chest lifted him right off the ground and spun him to land on his belly. But Nick didn't notice the round black object lying on the ground at his feet until a second too late.

He awoke in a haze with a pounding headache. His eyes were bleary and his ears rung like the bells of Notre Dame. His face stung from where bits of the flash grenade's plastic shell had struck and cut him. He was cuffed, hand and foot (and hand to waist) in the back of a SWAT van. Ambulance lights swirled through the open rear door, and two heavily armed SWAT officers stood by the tailgate talking. They took no notice of his awakening.

"Three fuckin' soldiers for four good cops. What a fuckin' waste," the cop spat.

"Worse than that, Hommis. We killed the first two bangers when we rolled in. Ran over one, and shot the other guy in the back when he was runnin'. One guy killed four cops."

"Fuck. With what?"

"Get this: a fuckin' revolver."

The cop just shook his head and jabbed a gloved thumb in Nick's direction.

"So he know where this guy is? I mean the guy we're lookin' for?"

"With a shot like that? Hommis, this guys a fuckin' hitter, I'd bet my balls. He probably knows the gang from the inside out. And once our specialist gets through with him...well, he'll be tellin' us whether he's ever thought about his mum when he's jerkin' off!"

The cops laughed as they closed the doors.

An hour later, Nick sat in a police station. He was quite surprised the cops hadn't just killed him and dumped his bullet-riddled body in a dumpster. They wanted information pretty badly, apparently. He smiled to himself. Having been through fruitless police interrogations before, he wasn't phased; in fact, he was sort of looking forward to it. It was fun to mess with the red-faced, pot-bellied detectives. The interrogation room was ordinary. Thick, soundproof walls of white-painted cinderblock dominated three walls of the small room, the fourth being taken up by a bank of dark windows. One-way glass, Nick knew. A single camera, a green light blinking, was poised in a high ceiling corner, watching him. He smiled and blew a kiss to it.

Suddenly, the door on his right opened and in walked an interrogator Nick had not been expecting in the least. She was silent at first, and simply moved purposefully about the room, her high heels clicking smartly on the concrete floor. She went to the windows and drew the heavy felt curtains, then stood on a chair and unplugged the camera. The green light dimmed, then winked out. She turned to him.

"Hello Mr. Tartan. I'm Agent Tawny Barry. Or should I just call you 'The Scot'?" She said. Nick stared back impassively. Most men would have been swayed right when she walked through the door. Agent Barry was tall, to start with. Six feet is tall for a woman. She looked about in the early 30s by Nick's guess, and her body hadn't aged an hour since her 18th birthday. What flesh that was exposed was smooth and perfect. She wore a professional pinstripe pantsuit and jacket, though Nick could see the bulge of the hefty shoulder holster. Hardly a harmless young lass. Her dress was conservative, but it couldn't hide the truth; not the gun, not her long, strong legs, not her wide, curvy hips or her perfect bubble-butt, or her huge, round breasts. Light freckles dotted her perfectly symmetrical face, which was unobscured by make-up. It needed none anyway. Her eyes were a spooky green, and her hair was slightly curly and midnight black, tied in a tight bun with a plain black band.

She appeared to absently flip through a file as she sat very close to him, on the table. Nick watched her soft ass strain against her pants as she slowly sat down. Did she do that on purpose? He thought.

"That is you, is it not? The Scot? The infamous hitman?" Agent Barry said, setting the file down on the table and folding her arms under her tits. They swelled, and the tiny amount of her breast flesh that Nick could see at her collar moved.

"I don't know who that is, Agent Barry," he said convincingly. She raised her eyebrows and stared at him for a moment. Then she smiled. Nick frowned.

"Call me Tawny," she said, standing up, "Do you know who I am?"

"I would assume you're with the FBI, judging by the 'agent' bit of your title," Nick ventured. He watched as Tawny removed her jacket and laid it across the back of a chair. A huge Desert Eagle hung in her shoulder holster. Definitely an experienced shooter, Nick thought.

"I'm actually an outside consultant. 'Agent' is something they add when I'm working. Do you know what I do?" She asked.

"I assume you're here to try and get me to say something I don't know," Nick laughed, "As usual."

"Well, you're wrong there," she said, taking off her shoulder holster and gun and hanging it over the same chair, "You do know something. And I'm going to get you to tell me what you know."

Nick shrugged. "I don't know what you mean," he said. Tawny seemed to ignore him. She wore a tight-fitting, stretchy knit shirt under the jacket, and it looked scarcely capable of holding back her boobs. Her nipples stuck out hard against the fabric, right through her bra. What the fuck is she doing? Nick thought.

"And this is how I'm going to do it," she said. She reached into her purse and brought out a small bottle of Baby Oil and a little jar of Vaseline, both of which she placed gently on the table. Nick eyed the items for a moment, then gave her strange look.

"What is it?" he asked, expecting some sort of illegal truth-serum hidden in the bottle. She smiled.

"It's Baby Oil and Vaseline, dummy," she laughed. Nick was confused. But it didn't last long. Tawny leaned forward, giving him an eyefull of perfect cleavage and placing a hand on his growing erection. She stroked him lightly through the fabric of his tough canvas pants. Her long pink tongue ran across her upper lip and she jumped her brow at him with fuck-me eyes.

"What the hell--" Nick began, but was cut off as she put a finger on his lips.

"Have you ever wanted something so badly, that you'd give anything to have it?" She whispered. Nick, dumbfounded, nodded like an idiot. Tawny smiled and pulled away suddenly. A folding knife suddenly appeared and flicked open with a twist of Tawny's hand. She came at his crotch with the knife.

"Whoawhoa! Can we talk about this?!" Nick protested, trying feebly to fend her off. With a crazy look in her eye, she stabbed him in the belly. Nick screamed, only to find that he felt no pain. With a quick ripping noise, she sliced his shirt up to his collar, then made two cuts from his waist to his knees just as quickly. The knife was incredibly sharp. "Jesus, are you crazy, lady?!" he shouted, managing to kick at her and miss. She giggled and put the knife away.

"Oh relax," she cooed, "What did you think I was going to do, cut your cock off?"

"What?" Nick said, breathing hard. Out of her purse came three compression-style straps, like something you would use to secure a tent to the outside of a backpack. She tore away his sliced clothing, then clicked them shut into loops and cinched them tight around Nick's thighs, hips, and chest. "What kind of interrogation is this?!" Nick protested, struggling against the new bonds. Tawny giggled and calmly straddled his lap. He was looking right into her belly as she looked down at him. Naked and exposed, Nick's cock began to rise to full attention. In seconds, the proximity of Tawny's hot flesh to Nick's face had inflated his cock to a tall, proud nine inches of hard meat. Never quite touching him, Tawny slowly lifted her shirt. Nick's mouth watered, literally watered, as more and more creamy, delectable flesh was exposed. Her bra was simple and black, and perhaps a cup size too small. As she pulled the shirt over her head and cast it away, she also pulled out her bun and shook her head to let down her hair. A classic move, but no less effective. Nick's mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard as Tawny stepped away, swishing her hips as she took a few strides and turned around.

"See anything you like?" she said with a wicked smile, tilting her hips and putting one hand akimbo. Nick just nodded, wide-eyed. "Would you like to see...a little more?" she asked. He nodded again. "Cat got your tongue?" she giggled. Her breasts shook when she laughed.

"No ma'am," Nick said quietly.

"Tawny," she corrected.

"No Tawny," Nick said, as if under a spell.

"Then tell me what to do," she said, leaning on the table.

"What?" Nick gasped, breathing hard. He wasn't sure why. Tawny rolled her eyes and walked slowly around his chair, trailing her fingers on his naked flesh. She suddenly bent down and whispered in his ear.

"Tell me...what you want to see," she whispered, walking out in front of him again. Nick nodded towards her belt. "This?" Tawny asked. Nick nodded. "Say it," she said softly, fingering the soft leather.

"Take your belt off, Tawny," Nick said, disbelieving.

"OK," Tawny said with the smile of a coed bimbo. She unbuckled the clasp and slid the belt out of the loops, tossing it into a corner.

"And the pants," Nick said, "But leave the shoes."

Tawny paused and appeared to consider. "Well...well I guess so," she said, with a soft frown. Nick's breath caught in his throat at what happened next. She was close to him. Within arm's reach, had his arms been free. Running her hands over her body, she slowly turned her back and put her heels together with a click. Nick heard the soft, slow sound of her button pop free, then her zipper coming down so slow he could hear each tooth uncoupling in the silent interrogation room. The tight, thin fabric of her dress pants hugged every curved like spandex, and he could see no panty line. Nick licked his lips, and Tawny made eye contact with him over her shoulder, a thin, amused smile on her face. She wriggled her hips slowly and pushed her thumbs into the waist of her pants, then made a sweet and sexy show of carefully peeling them off of her hips. Once freed, she moved her thumbs around to just either side of her ass and slowly, slowly pulled them down, all the way to her ankles, never bending her knees. Nick gasped and Tawny giggled as her perfect ass was exposed, barely hidden by a simple black thong that ran up between her buns. The flesh was as smooth and unblemished as the rest of her, and as her hands touched the floor Nick got a quick view of a set of the most full and pouty pussy lips he'd ever laid eyes on, wrapped up in her panties and yearning to be revealed.

Tawny slowly straightened, watching Nick the entire time and running her hands up her body.

"Mmm..." she moaned, "God I love to be naked!" Tawny tousled her hair and gently stepped out of the crumpled garment, her heels clicking once more on the floor as she kicked it away. Noticing Nick was completely speechless, she accentuated the effect by giving him a little spin on her toes and walking slowly over to him. She slowly knelt between his knees, his cock only inches from her face. He could feel her hot breath on his shaft and twitched in response. She giggled.

"Is there anything else you might want to see? Anything at all?" she asked in a coy voice, gently caressing her breasts through her bra. Nick nodded towards them.

"Let's see those tits," Nick suggested. Tawny gave him an admonishing look. "Take off your bra, Tawny, and show me your tits," he commanded, correcting himself. She smiled.

"Oh, alright," she said. Tawny sidled up even closer, Nick's cock now sticking straight up between her enormous bra-clad breasts and under her chin. Keeping eye contact, she gave him another little run of her tongue over her lips and glanced down at his cock suggestively. He whimpered. She giggled and reached behind her back. Two snaps later, her bra fell away, and her breasts bounced free, walling his cock on three sides with smooth, delectable flesh but still not quite touching him. His cock poised between her breasts about level with her nipples, she pinched the little eraser-nubs and rolled them between her fingers with a soft moan.

"Oh my God," Nick muttered, his mind spinning. They were so close he could almost feel them, as if his brain was filling in the blanks for his eyes. Tawny giggled like a little schoolgirl and bit her lower lip.

"You do like them, don't you?" she said, looking as if she would burst into tears if he said no. This girl is not of this Earth, Nick thought. But he simply nodded, and Tawny smiled back. She slowly stood, still keeping eye contact, and placed her hands on the back of his chair on either side of his neck. Her tits swung close to his mouth, and he lunged forward to get a nipple into his mouth. Tawny quickly recoiled and covered her tits with an arm, wagging a finger at him.

"Ah-ah-ah, Nicky!" she giggled, "Everything from here on in comes at a price."

"What do you mean?" Nick blurted, feeling idiotic as soon as he said so. Of course he knew. He'd just never been in such a situation.

"Well," Tawny said, walking around him again [with Nick trying to follow her with his eyes], "I'll...touch you...but you have to give me something in return."

Nick scoffed. "What do I have that you could possibly want?"

Tawny stopped in front of him and leaned with one hand on the table, he hips angled towards it. "The man. In the blue sweatshirt. Carrying the MP5. What is his name, and who is he?"

Nick laughed, realizing she was referencing one the men he'd been with under the bridge. "Even if I knew who and what you were talking about, what would I get in return?"

Tawny smiled at him. "Well," she began, "I'm very accommodating. Buuuut how about I take this [she picked up the bottle of Baby Oil]...and pour it aaaaall over these [she dribbled it over her tits, letting it run down and over her belly]...then I kneel here [she knelt between his knees, her tits just barely not touching his cock]...and wrap them around your cock and stroke up...and down...over...and over."

"Jesus..." Nick gasped softly, looking down at his crotch. Tawny stared back up at him, her dark hair falling about her shoulders, her glistening tits poised on either side of his cock, and her oily hands holding them, ready to wrap that warm soft flesh around his manhood and send him into the stratosphere.

"Well?" she said, cocking her head slightly and smiling dazzlingly. Nick just nodded, melting inside, willing to do anything to get those tits around his cock. "What's his name?"

"Erik Stern," Nick said, never taking his eyes off his cock and Tawny's tits.

"Who was he?" Tawny asked, jiggling her tits in her hands.

"He was a hitman, from Germany. Operated mostly in Italy, the Balkans, Hungary and Romania. His codename was Brick Wall, and he was responsible for the Greenspan murders on the south side," Nick said quickly, as if hypnotized. Tawny hefted her oily tits.

"Anything else?" she said quietly, smiling winningly.

"That's all I know, I swear," Nick gasped, "Please..."

Tawny seemed to consider a moment, then nodded and smiled again. "Alright, I believe you," she said, "Annnnnd I guess you've earned...this." With her last word, she wrapped her slippery, oily tits around Nick's huge cock. He gasped and groaned, tilting his head to the ceiling for a moment before snapping it back to watch the action. Tawny began to pump her tits up and down his shaft, coating his cock with the baby oil, her flesh sliding over his glans in a continuous stream, sending electric shocks right up his spine.