35 - Officer Cox
Cordelia
“Logan,” I holler, skipping my way to the kitchen. I left him downstairs making us a hot drink whilst I freshened up in the bathroom. “I’ve had such a lovely…day.”
The words abandon my tongue. Logan’s not busy pouring our drinks as I expected. No. He’s leaning casually against the kitchen counter, with his arms folded over his chest. Dressed as a police officer.
“It’s officer Cox to you, sweetheart,” he drawls, taking a single step away from the counter.
My first instinct is to laugh, but when I notice the heat of his stare and his fingers flexing with devious intent, I snap my lips shut.
The metal cuffs hanging at his waist jingle and the sound alone sends my heart into a frenzy.
He’s wearing a bulletproof vest with a long-sleeved white shirt underneath rolled up to the elbows.
The material clings to him like a second skin, showcasing those mouthwatering biceps.
A black flat cap perches atop his head, rimmed with a thin strip of monochrome chequers.
There’s even a walkie-talkie type device pinned to his vest. My eyes fly to where he’s now slapping a baton against the palm of his hand, taunting me.
My pants are soaked and he’s not even touched me.
“Oh?” I giggle, unable to help myself from provoking him.
“Do you find this funny, Miss Rousseau?” He enquires in a dry, inescapably predatory tone. An eyebrow quirk. “Sit.”
“A little,” I reply with a smile, but I park my arse on the cold plastic chair to appease him.
Logan walks slow circles around me, keeping enough distance so he can hold eye contact at all times.
“I do believe you’ve been a naughty girl, Miss Rousseau.”.
I show my teeth in a sardonic grin, but he doesn’t break character. “What have I done, officer?” I ask, feigning an innocence that's not replicated in my expression.
“Oh, I think you know,” he quips, slapping his palms down on my bare legs. The sting sends heat straight to my pussy. “Stand up. Strip search.”
My thighs clench together, pussy already aching to have him inside me. But I don’t move from the seat. If he’s saying I’ve been naughty; I can be naughty.
His eyes darken, flashing with something akin to annoyance.
“Stand,” he orders, and this time his tone is sharp, menacing. Daring me to disobey.
I stand, and he wastes no time pulling the jumper over my head.
Then his fingers flick the metal catch on my belt, and my skirt slides down my legs with ease.
All the while, his calculating gaze never falters, locked in an intense battle with my own.
I step out of the material pooled around my feet and Logan whips the skirt away, flinging it across the room carelessly. My skin prickles with goosebumps.
“Arms out.”
I stick my arms out like a scarecrow, and he closes his fingers around my left boot.
Taking the time to pat me down, slowly making his way up, fingertips caressing my legs and leaving the skin tingling with sensation.
When he reaches my breasts he comes to a halt, his steely eyes sparked with excitement.
They’re bigger than they were thanks to the swelling and accumulation of milk.
Every feather-light stroke, every graze of his fingers, is deliberate; designed to tease and titillate.
His stormy eyes return to mine whilst he runs his hands down my arms. Then he arches a brow, lifts his chin slightly and moves onto my right breast. Giving it just as much attention as the left. Once satisfied, he continues over my hips and down to the floor.
Whilst he’s crouched down, he pretends to pluck something from my boot. filled with suspicious looking white powder.
“What have we here?” He questions, standing to dangle a small plastic bag in front of my face. It’s half-full of white powder that’s most likely flour, but for all I know could be actual cocaine.
“That’s not mine,” I cry. “I have no idea where that’s come from.”
“Uh-hm,” he hums in disbelief. Then he twirls his finger in the air, gesturing for me to turn around.
“You’re under arrest, Miss Rousseau, for the possession of class A drugs.”
“You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Wow. He’s taking this very seriously.
I fucking love it.
“Upstairs,” he commands, marching me that way.
As soon as we’re in his room, he bends me over the bed, ramming my cheek up against the quilt.
With my hands behind my back, the angle is more than a little awkward, not to mention restricting.
A hand slides under my dress, trailing a slow path over the curve of my arse.
The warmth disappears momentarily and is replaced with an almighty thwack.
I hiss loudly; despite the delight I get from his red-hot handprint searing my bare skin.
He bends down, leaning over me, lips inches from my ear, cock rigid against my buttocks. His hot breath tickles the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a shiver of pleasure to my core.
“Naughty girls get punished, Cordelia,” he purrs, dancing his fingers across the reddened skin. I want to argue that technically I haven’t been naughty, but he slaps me again and fists his hand in my hair. “Remember that.”
My hands are pinned behind me long enough for him to snap on the metal cuffs, and tight enough to pinch the skin.
Then he stalks across to the bedside table to retrieve the baton, running his hands across the black plastic, smirking like the fucking devil.
Stormy eyes sweep to mine as he squirts a generous amount of lube and rubs it over the plastic shaft.
Panic hits when he disappears behind me.
His hand slides over my back, pinning me in place. Exactly where he wants me.
“L-Logan,” I stammer, trying to turn my head to get his attention. But he’s too busy sliding my knickers down to my ankles. “Wait. What are you doing with that? That things fucking huge!”
“Not as big as my cock,” he scoffs.
I push my arse towards him, which in hindsight is a completely idiotic thing to do. But I’m trying to get enough leverage to stand the fuck up. To save myself from whatever awful state of affairs I've managed to dig myself into by accepting this man back into my life.
“What have I told you about shoving this in my face, vixen?” He reinforces his words with a bruising pinch of my buttcheek. An embarrassing squeal escapes, only to be muffled by the bed sheets. “Time to start training it.”
“What the—?”
Something cold and wet pushes against my back hole, and every one of my muscles turns to lead. Not excluding the ring around my ass.
“Logan–”
“Relax,” he tells me, fingertips sliding across my skin. “It’ll be so much more pleasurable if you do.”
“Relax!” I screech. “How the fuck can I relax?”
The last words come out as a shriek as he pushes the head of the rod inside me. My eyes ping open at the intrusion. The stretch, the pressure. The pain. He splays his fingers across my back, pressing down to stop me trying to squiggle away. Not that I have anywhere to go.
“Hold still.” Logan purrs, reaching around to fondle my pussy. “Just let it sit for a minute. Get used to the feeling.”
“Wait until I shove something up your arse, dickhead,” I growl into the sheets, which gets me a slap between the legs. My body jerks in response, resulting in me sitting back further on the damn thing. A hiss slips between my clenched teeth.
“I’m being generous, vixen. I could have just shoved my dick straight in there.”
What’s fucking generous about this? The man’s delusional.
“Oh, Thank you, oh mighty one. For forcing a baton up my arse instead of your girthy cock,” the words drip with sarcasm as I roll my eyes at his audacity.
“You’re pushing it, Cordelia,” he rumbles, “and you’re not exactly in the position to do that. I however— “
I bite down on the cotton sheets to stop myself from screaming as he eases it further. Concentrate on your breathing, Cordelia, not the prick strumming your pussy like strings on a guitar, whilst snickering like a bloody sadist.
The plastic is smooth and cold as it sits there having no right invading my tight hole.
Logan pinches and flicks my clit, whilst pushing the device deeper.
The length presses against my walls, stretching me wider in a glorious cocktail of pain and pleasure.
My toes curl against the carpet as each rhythmic stroke of my pussy edges me towards my climax.
“Good girl. You’re taking that so well for me.” His fingers glide through the slickness between my legs, alternating between dipping inside and playing with my clit. “You love being treated like a whore, don’t you? That cunt is dripping for me.”
“Logan! I’m close,” I cry, literal tears streaming down my cheeks.
“How much do you want to come for me, vixen?” He asks tauntingly, switching from an excruciatingly slow pace to a heart stopping turbo.
My mouth flies open but nothing but a moan materialises.
At my silence, he relinquishes his touch, and I want to yell in frustration at the loss of his expert fingers.
“Answer.”
One simple word that sends a chill of excitement up my spine. The urge to provoke him, to not bend to his will is compelling, but I’m genuinely concerned about what he’d do in retaliation.
“A fucking lot, Officer,” I spit, through gritted teeth.
And with that he falls back into a rapid rhythm. I come hard, screaming at the top of my lungs in ecstasy. The dizzying high is so raw, only intensified by the anal penetration. The baton slides out of my body, and I swallow a gasp.
Logan grunts impatiently behind me, and hauls me up by my ponytail, before dropping me on my knees.
Obviously, the gentle treatment doesn’t extend to the bedroom.
He grips his zipper and tugs, grey eyes ensnaring me, in case I miraculously slip free of the handcuffs and do a runner.
His cock springs free, leaving me helpless when he presses the tip to my lips.
I drop my jaw obediently and he thrusts it straight to the back of my throat, pushing me up against the side of the bed with the force.
He pulls out, granting me a moment's breath before driving back in. And with the second thrust he roars in triumph, shooting his hot cum down my throat. My gag reflex kicks in, but he doesn’t budge, plugging my mouth with his dick as the thick mucus-like fluid swirls around my mouth, coating my tongue.
A jolt of panic hits as he encourages me to swallow, which I’ve never done before. Never had the urge to. It looks foul. But I’m almost positive he will just keep me imprisoned as long as it takes.
When I steal a glance up, his grey-blue eyes are fixated on me, a slight tilt to his head, lips curving on one side. “Swallow.”
I shake my head vigorously, as much as I can with his fucking cock stuffing my mouth, which only fuels his fire.
That smile breaks into a full-on smirk, and he cocks an eyebrow.
“I have no problem staying like this, vixen,” he shrugs, gesturing to my utterly helpless position. “Swallow my cum like a good girl.”
My eyes turn icy, my breathing labours around his member. But I have no doubt he’ll hold me like this until I obey his order. So, reluctantly, I shut my eyes tight and force it to slide down my throat.
He ensures I’ve swallowed every last drop before pulling out and kissing me with a passion reserved only for me.