The Bill

Story by Ada

Sparrow grunted as she pulled her cuffed hands under her butt and wriggled her legs through. Now that they were in front of her, she could work on them quicker.

 “Just nicked a fuckin’ carton of fags,” she muttered, picking at the cuffs with a safety pin. “Fuckin’ pigs.” She was squatting in the shadows of a subway platform. Luckily, it was 3AM, so she didn’t see a single person around. Her ears picked up the clack-clack-clack of heels on stone. That cop was still after her!

Police Officer Wendy Boothe puffed as she trotted down the stairs, one hand on the rail. She had no idea someone could run so fast when their hands were cuffed. Now her quarry was trapped here in the station. Her heart pounded as she crept onto the subway platform. The thrill of the chase exhilarated her. She took her pistol from her holster, knowing that things could easily turn violent with a punk like her perp.

Wendy caught a glimpse of movement and swung her aim towards it. An arm snapped out of the shadows like a striking snake and a metal cuff latched to her wrist. She gasped in surprise and her arm was dragged behind her. Her gun clattered to the floor as her other wrist was caught by strong fingers. The other cuff hooked round her wrist. She struggled vainly and realized she’d been handcuffed to a graffiti-covered pipe like a rookie.

Her eyes fell on her attacker as she picked up Wendy’s gun. It was the blonde punk she’d booked for shoplifting! The tough-looking girl’s body was criscrossed with leather straps over her grimy shirt and scandalously short shorts. A spiked dog collar wrapped around her neck and an anarchist “A” was shaved in the stubble on her head. Intricate tattoos crawled down her arms and legs, partially obscured by layers of ripped fishnets and opaque tights. She wore a pair of scuffed clodders on her feet. Everywhere were buttons, logos, spikes, chains and rings. Wendy was shocked and ashamed that someone with so much jingling adornment could get the drop on her. Her eyes widened as the girl picked up the gun.

“How– how did you get out of my handcuffs?” Wendy demanded, her voice cracking.

“I’m Harry fucking Houdini, that’s how,” the girl drawled, checking the sights on the gun. She slowly swung it towards Wendy’s head.

“You don’t want to kill me,” Wendy said shakily. “You’re not–”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Sparrow sneered and put the gun up. She tucked the pistol in her nylons. “Nah, I’m not gonna kill ya, luv. But you did fuckin’ try to arrest me. All I wanted was some smokes.” Wendy gasped as Sparrow twirled open a five-inch butterfly knife. The punk girl sauntered close, blade glinting in the harsh light. Sparrow flicked the knife close to Wendy’s blouse, deftly slicing off a button.

“Then you had to stick your– big– snout–” she punctuated each word with a twitch of her wrist, cutting off each button.”in– my– fuckin’– are you crying?”

“N-no,” Wendy sobbed as mascara streaked down her face. She felt so helpless and vulnerable like this. Worse was the throbbing between her legs. She couldn’t believe she was getting off on this treatment! She squeezed her legs together, praying the punk girl would just have her fun and leave her in peace before she noticed the growing lump in her skirt.

“Don’t lie,” Sparrow teased, tearing Wendy’s badge off her shirt. “…Constable Wendy.” She tucked the badge into her boot and snaked her hands into Wendy’s shirt, fingers crawling over the policewoman’s breasts. Without warning, she tore the white blouse clean off. Wendy gasped at the feeling of cool air on her suddenly bare skin. She was thankful for her brassiere.

“Cor! You got some nice hooters,” Sparrow purred, cupping Wendy’s breasts. She slid her hands around Wendy’s back to unsnap her bra when her hip bumped into something spongy-hard under Wendy’s skirt. “Huh? Whatcha got goin’ on downstairs?”

“N-nothing!” Wendy squeaked. “Nothing at all!”

“I don’t call this nothing,” Sparrow said suspiciously, pinching the lump. Wendy gasped. “Now this I gotta fuckin’ see.” Sparrow nicked the button off Wendy’s skirt and tugged the garment off. Wendy whimpered, shifting and wriggling her legs in an attempt to stymie Sparrow’s efforts, but it was in vain. Soon Sparrow was face-to face with the unmistakeable protuberance in Wendy’s conservative knickers, a spot of wetness marking the tip.

“Shittin’ell!” Sparrow gasped. “You’re some kinda he-she!” She yanked Wendy’s panties down her legs and nearly got bopped in the face with the thick organ in the process.

Wendy shook her head. “No– just been like that– forever,” she whimpered. Her cock dripped precum and she struggled briefly against her bindings.

“Fuck me sideways,” Sparrow remarked in astonishment as it bobbed to ‘full mast.’ “Hmmm, that’s not a bad idea.” She tugged at, then tore her shirt away from her tits. “‘Ain’t no lad can’t resist a little diddy ride,’ my Nan’d say.” Sparrow cupped her tits and squeezed them around Wendy’s cock. She grinned as she rolled up and down, giving Wendy a right fine tit-fucking.

Wendy moaned blissfully. The punk she’d sought to arrest was tormenting her with her sexuality, doing things she’d never thought possible. Twenty-five years of nothing but ‘Rosie Palm,’ and suddenly, she was getting a ‘diddy ride’ as the punk called it. Wendy felt conflicted. She wanted to cum so badly she could taste it, but she wasn’t that kind of girl!

“Y’know, good girls don’t get off on shit like this, right?” Sparrow said as if reading Wendy’s mind. She paused. “Only pros ‘n slags like to get their jewels polished. Then again, you’re not exactly a girl, huh?”

Sparrow snatched Wendy’s other handcuffs from her belt and snapped them around the base of Wendy’s balls and the narrowest part of her cockshaft. She marveled at the tight fit.

“W-wait!” Wendy whined. “I was so close…”

Sparrow grinned and stood, brushing her knees off. Her tits bounced enticingly, pierced nipples glinting in the light. She leaned against Wendy’s body, grinding up and down. Her fingers crawled around Wendy’s back and popped the clasp of her bra open.

“Betcha’d fuckin’ like that, eh?” Sparrow taunted. “Bust your nut all over.” She roughly kissed her way up Wendy’s breasts, collar and throat. She planted a few messy, sucking kisses on wendy’s jaw, cheeks and lips. Wendy was to horny not to recipriocate. She clumsily frenched with the blonde punk, smearing her lipstick.

Sparrow reached down and gripped Wendy’s cock. She started to slowly jerk it back and forth, prolonging the sensation. Wendy moaned inarticulately.

“You’re such a fuckin’ slag,” Sparrow purred. “A goddamn bike. Here, I’ll prove it.” She took her hand off of Wendy’s cock.

“Please,” Wendy sobbed. “I- I need it…”

“See?” Sparrow resumed her sexual torment, tugging on Wendy’s prick with the ease of a pro. “Complete and utter slut. Say it!”

“I- I’m a slut,” Wendy babbled. “A loose woman, a tramp! Please, just let me spend!” She heard a rumbling sound, but thought it was the pounding of her blood as she fumbled towards orgasm.

“Louder, bitch!” Sparrow crowed. She could feel the train approaching.

“I’M A SLUUUUT!” Wendy shouted as the train pulled into the station. She hardly noticed as her hips quivered and her cock jerked in Sparrow’s expert fingers. Torrents of jism spurted out in thick globs, landing with quiet plops on the ruined fabric of Wendy’s uniform.

Sparrow continued to jack Wendy’s dick, drawing a seemingly endless supply of milky spooge. She licked and nibbled possessively at Wendy’s neck and jaw, eliciting more moans and gasps from the besotted policewoman. Ragged strands of cum hung from Sparrow’s fingers as she coaxed the last drippings of cum from her new plaything. Wendy shivered as she felt Sparrow’s brerath carress her spit-slicked skin.

“Told ya.”