Women With Handcuffs

by Sacchi Green

  “I’m glad. You deserve a night off from work.” I heard her laugh again, but like her voice, her laugh had also changed. It was lower and breathy, more like a deep chuckle than the sweet, tinkling laugh I heard earlier.

  My body was pressed against the balcony railing, and Jane was pressed against me. She started rubbing my erect nipples through the fabric while kissing my back, shoulders and neck gently. She kissed me with her mouth open, and I could feel her warm tongue on my skin. My breathing was fast, and I started to moan. “Do you want me?” she asked.

  “Oh, god, yes.” I answered. “So much, ma’am.”

  She pushed my legs open with one of hers and started rubbing the top of her thigh against my cunt. My hands tightened on the rail for support and I almost came. “Not yet, darling; only when I allow you to.” Jane had complete control over me and she knew it.

  Her words made me almost come again, but I held it in for her, to please her as she was pleasing me.

  One of her hands made its way from my breast to the back of my neck, and she pushed my head forward until I was nearly bent completely over the railing. Her other hand trailed off my breast and down my back before stopping between my legs. “Do you want this?” Jane whispered. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

  I could barely stand at that moment, much less speak. I had never been with someone so glamorous, so exciting. She was all I had ever wanted but had never been able to find at any of those girl bars. She was my fantasy come true: a powerful, decisive woman who could turn a tough vice cop into a submissive little girl.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I used all my strength to give her the answer I knew she wanted. I felt her fingers push inside me, and I used all my willpower not to come without her approval. It felt incredible to be penetrated by her, to know that this stunning woman, dolled up from head to toe in expensive black lingerie, wanted to fuck me, a simple public servant. I pushed back onto her hand, wanting her completely inside me, needing to be filled by her perfectly manicured fingers.

  She released my neck only to grab a fistful of my hair and hold me in place, pounding her fingers in and out of my pussy, fast and hard. I could feel my cunt soaked and dripping, and knew that soon I would not be able to hold off the orgasms that were threatening to come, with or without permission.

  “Please…”

  “Please what?”

  “Please, please…”

  “You know what you must say. I will not allow you release until you ask correctly.”

  “Oh, God…please ma’am, please let me come.”

  “That sounds like a request, not a question.”

  My pussy ached from the amazing cunt-fuck she was giving me. I was dripping all over her hand and my thighs. I wanted to come so badly, why was she torturing me like this?

  “Proper young ladies ask for permission from their mistress. They do not make requests,” she reminded me.

  Thank you, god. Perhaps she had taken pity on me. “Ma’am, may I please come?”

  “You may.”

  The multiple orgasms rocked my body so hard, it was a surprise I didn’t knock us both to the floor. She kept her fingers deep inside me the entire time, which made me come even harder. I continued to hold on to the railing as orgasm after orgasm ripped through me, forcing me to shake violently against her, but she held on the entire time without removing her fingers from inside my cunt.

  Once I had stopped shaking, she led me to the king-size bed. The sheets were soft, yet crisp at the same time, the pillows like giant marshmallows. She poured herself more champagne and held it up to my lips so I could drink. We were both lying on the enormous bed, Jane in her black lingerie, and me in the wine-colored teddy. My body was starting to recover from the incredible fucking she had given me. I turned and asked if I could kiss her, but instead she grabbed me by the hair and pulled me close. We started kissing as violently as she had just fucked me, and my clit immediately reignited.

  After a few minutes, she pulled her face away from mine. “Remove my panties and service me.”

  She didn’t have to order me to eat her cunt, since it was the only image running through my head. I moved over her neck and her corset, kissing my way down her body. I must have removed her panties too fast, because she told me to slow down. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  Once I was in position and staring at her striking pink cunt, I pressed my face against it and inhaled. Her pussy smelled sweet and she was as wet as I was, her juices pouring from between her legs and over my face. I licked around the outside of her cunt, at the fold between thigh and crotch, and she whimpered. I kissed and nibbled her inner thighs, near her cunt, hearing her moan and feeling her shiver. I was enjoying this just as much as the fucking she had given me, and I hadn’t even gotten started on the entrée yet.

  She grabbed hold of my hair again and guided my face. “Eat my pussy. Now.”

  I started licking and sucking her labia and clit like I was getting paid for it. Well, technically, I was.

  As I licked her pussy and she became more and more wet, I began to feel the waves of an orgasm making their way through her body. Her thighs tightened on my head, and her body began to lift from the bed. I clamped my arms around her legs to hold her down and began furiously sucking her clit, then gently biting it, circling with my tongue slowly, then flicking my tongue rapidly. She was moaning so loudly and shaking so much that I knew I was giving her what she deserved. If only I could receive a commendation for this! I slowed down to make her wait for it, but she gripped my head in both hands and ordered me to continue. She started rocking her hips back and forth as if she were fucking my face and then erupted into a skull-rocking orgasm that almost threw me off the bed.

  After she had finished coming, she pulled me up to her and started kissing me gently, licking and sucking my lips and tongue slowly, tasting herself. Her body continued to tremble against me.

  “That was very good, Detective.” I froze for a minute. What? Did I hear her correctly, or was my brain so fucked (literally) that I was hearing things? Then she chuckled and spoke again. “You must be very good at what you do. You figured out exactly how to service me without being given any clues.”

  Was she from Internal Affairs? Was I going to get fired? Screw it. It had been worth it.

  She kissed me again deeply. “Relax, Detective. You aren’t being reprimanded. Not yet, anyway, but I’m sure your superiors would like a few words with you for not following proper procedure.”

  I looked at her silently for a minute. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Kate Fellows, and I am the CEO of Roundtable Publishing. We own your city’s daily newspaper, along with about 300 others across the country. One of our editors wanted to write a piece on the prostitution sting, denouncing it as a waste of taxpayer dollars when you have so many other, more serious, crimes in Miami. The article would have alerted the public to the fact that there were going to be undercover cops posing as prostitutes. There were some legal questions involved.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, but my brain must have kicked into detective mode. “All your little speech tells me is how you found out about the sting. What were you doing cruising the streets, trying to pick up a hooker?”

  “Curiosity, mainly. I wanted to see what a cop dressed as a hooker would look like. I wanted to know if I would be able to tell the difference. “

  “That still doesn’t tell me why you tried to pick me up.”

  “I picked you up because I wanted to have sex with you. Plain and simple. No mystery to solve, Detective.”

  “Did you know I was a cop?”

  “Not at first, but once you leaned into my window I knew you were interested in me and experiencing an ethical crisis of your own. To act on your desire and go against departmental procedure or to try and… What is the term? Oh, yes. Bust me. Your internal struggle was all over your face, which excited me even more.”

  She trailed her hands along my shoulders and sides, looking at me earnestly. �
��There is nothing for you to be upset about, Detective. You didn’t let on that you were a police officer, and I didn’t let on that I already suspected you were. We’re even.”

  I thought about what she said. Being a detective and the daughter of a detective, what really bugged me was that I hadn’t figured out that she wasn’t an ordinary Jane.

  She kissed me and I kissed her back. Then I heard that soft, throaty chuckle again. “Now, then. Aren’t you supposed to carry a pair of handcuffs?”

  RIDING THE RAILS

  Sacchi Green

  Hey, Jo! Josie Benoit!”

  That voice from my past went all too well with the Springfield Amtrak station, visible through foggy windows and blowing snow. I’d gone to college not far from here, and so had the voice’s owner.

  “If it isn’t Miss Theresa,” I grunted, and kept on tugging at the sheepskin jacket caught behind a suitcase on the overhead rack.

  “I never forget an ass,” Terry said pointedly, casing mine as I reached upward.

  “Sure as hell wouldn’t have known yours.” My jacket finally yielded. I tossed it across the voluptuous décolletage of my seated companion.

  A few minutes earlier Yasmin had been whining about being cold. Now, of course, for a new audience, she shrugged off the covering with an enthusiasm that threatened to shrug off her low-cut silk blouse as well. Not that it had been doing much to veil her pouting nipples.

  Terry, brushing snow off her shoulders and shaking it from her hair, rightly accepted my remark as a compliment. Fourteen years ago she’d been on the lumpy side; now she was buff, and all style: sandy hair lightened, cropped, waxed just right; multiple piercings on the left ear and eyebrow, giving her face a rakish slant; studded black leather cut to make the most of the work she’d done on her body.

  I’d have felt mundane, with my straight black hair twisted up into a utilitarian knot and my brown uniform not ironed all that well since my last girlfriend had taken off, if I ever gave a damn about appearances. Which might have had something to do with why she took off. Which had a whole lot to do with why I hadn’t got laid in two months and wasn’t finding it easy to resist Yasmin’s efforts.

  “You just get on?” Terry asked. “Didn’t see you in the station. No way could I have overlooked your little friend.” Her eyes raked Yasmin, who practically squirmed with delight.

  “Been on since White River Junction,” I said shortly. It was more than clear that Terry expected an introduction. “Yasmin, Terry O’Brian. We were in college together. Terry, Princess Yasmin, fourth wife of the Sultan of Isbani.” It was some satisfaction to see Terry’s jaw drop for an instant before her suave butch façade resurfaced.

  “Ooh, Terry!” Yasmin warbled, jiggling provocatively. “I didn’t know Sergeant Jo had such nice friends!”

  “The princess somehow…missed…leaving New Hampshire with her husband’s entourage,” I said. “They’d been visiting her stepson at Dartmouth. I’m escorting her to D.C. to rejoin them.” As far as I could tell, it had been a combination of Yasmin’s laziness and the head wife’s hatred that had culminated in Yasmin’s missing the limo caravan and her absence going unnoticed until too late. I was developing a good deal of sympathy for the head wife.

  “The weather’s too risky for flying or driving,” I added, “but the train should make it through. Not supposed to be much snow south of Hartford.”

  “Well, now,” Terry said, sliding into the seat facing Yasmin, “I’ll be happy to share security duty as far as New York.”

  “Don’t get too happy.” I sat down beside my charge. There were suddenly more limbs between us than could comfortably fit. I tried to let my long legs stretch into the aisle, but that tilted my ass too close to Yasmin, who wriggled appreciatively against my holster. I straightened up. “This is official business. The last thing I need is an international incident.”

  Why the hell hadn’t I told Terry to fuck off in the first place? Did I hope she’d distract Yasmin enough to take off some of the pressure? The tension had been building all morning. Even the subtle, insistent rhythm of the train had been driving me toward the edge. Or maybe it was just that the little bitch was too damned good at the game, and too clearly driven by spite. I don’t have to like a tease to call her on it, and if I hadn’t been on the job I’d have given Yasmin more than she knew she was asking for. If it left my conscience a bit scuffed, what the hell; other parts of me would have earned a fine, lingering glow.

  But I was on duty. She was doubly untouchable, and knew it. Seven more hours of this was going to be a particularly interesting version of hell.

  “Keep it professional, Jo,” Lieutenant Willey had said. “This one’s a real handful.”

  I’d noticed. Several handfuls, in fact, in all the right places, with all the right moves. “Don’t worry. I know better than to fuck the sheep I’m herding.”

  She should have slapped me down for that. Instead, she rolled her eyes toward the door. I saw, too late, that the troublesome sheep had just come in. No chance she hadn’t heard me. Anger sparked with interest sharpened her kittenish face, segueing into challenge as she looked me up and down.

  “You’re off to a great start,” the lieutenant said drily. “Just bear in mind that the Sultan wants her back ‘untouched,’ and I’d just as soon not have to argue the semantics of that with the State Department.” Something in her usually impassive expression made me wonder whether our charge had come on to her. If so, I was sure sorry I’d missed it.

  By the time the train crossed from Vermont into Massachusetts, I realized that Yasmin would come on to any available pair of trousers, no matter what filled them. Even the professionally affable conductor got flustered when she rubbed up against him in passing, and she had a threesome of college boys so interested that I’d made the mistake of laying a proprietary arm across her shoulders and shooting them my best dyke cop look as I yanked her back to our seats. The look worked fine, but it encouraged Yasmin to renew her attack on me.

  “Ow!” she yelped when I tightened my grip on a hand that kept going where it had no business. “Why you are so mean to Yasmin?” Her coquettish pout left me cold, but a definite heat was building where her hand had trailed over my ass and nudged between my thighs. She knew I wasn’t impervious.

  “Let’s just stick to getting you back to your husband,” I said neutrally, aware of the continuing interest of the college kids three seats back. The less drama here, the better.

  Terry’s company, whatever the complications, might be better than being alone with Yasmin. Unless my competitive instincts reared up and made it all exponentially worse.

  Terry could have been reading my mind. “Gee, Jo,” she said, “remember the last time you introduced me to one of your little friends?” Her grin was demonic.

  “How could I forget? You healed up pretty well, though.” I stared pointedly at the scar running up under her pierced eyebrow.

  “Nothing like a dueling scar to intrigue the ladies,” Terry said cheerfully. “You seem to have found a good dentist.”

  “You bet.” I flashed what one girlfriend used to call my alpha wolf grin.

  Yasmin was practically frothing with excitement, jiggling her assets and leaning toward Terry to offer an in-depth view of her cleavage and a whiff of her insistently sensuous perfume. When she balanced this position with a far-from-accidental hand high on my thigh I realized that all I’d done was set her up to try to play us off against each other.

  “So, Terry,” I said, firmly removing the fingers trying to make their way toward my treacherously responsive crotch. “What are you up to these days? Still living in the area?”

  “I’m a paralegal in Northampton,” she said. “Going to law school nights.” Her gaze lingered on my badge, and for a rare instant I was hyperconscious of the breast under it. “Funny how we both got onto the straight side of the law.”

  “No kidding,” I said. “I’d heard that anything goes in Hamp these days, but can you go to court rigge
d out like that?”

  “I could, but I don’t.” I was pleasantly surprised to see a bit of a flush rise from her neck to her jawline. “I’m on my way to New York to do some readings at a bookstore in the East Village. And a bit of…socializing…afterward.”

  “You’re a writer?” My surprise was hardly flattering, and her jaw tightened, even as the flush extended all the way to her hairline.

  “On the side, yeah,” she said brusquely. “Doesn’t pay much, but the fringe benefits can be outstanding.”

  “Hey, if the stories match the get-up, I’ll bet they are! Erotica groupies, huh?”

  Terry caught the new respect in my voice, and relaxed. She let her legs splay apart. I’d already noticed she was packing; now Yasmin stared at the huge bulge stretching the black leather pants along the right thigh, and her kewpie-doll mouth formed an awe-struck O.

  “Loaded for bear, aren’t you,” I said. “Ah, the literary life. I’ll have to check out some of your stuff, maybe get you to autograph a book for me.” I was more than half serious. She started to grin, and then an odd, startled look swept over her face. I glanced down and saw Yasmin’s stockinged foot nudging against the straining black leather.

  It wasn’t a big enough deal to account for my first, raging impulse to break her leg. I managed to suppress it, but by then everything seemed to be happening in slow motion except the throbbing in my crotch. Terry’s presence was definitely making things worse. Much worse.

  Yasmin pulled her silk skirt up so we could get the full benefit of the shapely leg extended between the seats and the toes caressing the leather-sheathed cock. Then she applied enough force that Terry caught her breath and automatically shifted her hips to get the most benefit, and I felt the pressure as though it were prodding against my own clit. But all I was packing was a gun, and that was on my hip.

  I know from experience that you don’t get the optimum angle the way Yasmin was working. But you can get damned close. My girlfriend used to tease me like that in restaurants, her leg up under the table, her foot in my lap, her eyes gleaming wickedly as she watched me struggle not to make the kind of sounds you can’t make in public. She knew I wouldn’t let myself come, because I just can’t manage it without a whole lot of noise.