Tales of the CPA - Thin Blue Line

[jeepster]

Tales of the CPA - Thin Blue Line


Part 1

I smile at the crowd as they gather around me - me and the two pretty teenagers who are bent double and holding their ankles. Their skirts are up and their panties are down, so the chilly evening breeze is biting into their soft skin and sensitive openings. I can imagine their dread at their impending punishment. But they'll have to wait for it - I want a good-sized audience. And of course, the waiting only makes it worse. By now they'll be silently wishing that I was already tanning their soft behinds - this could be halfway over by now!

I swing my strap alright - but only for the amusement of the crowd. It dances through the air, twirling and waving. People are jostling to get to the front, phones out to film the action. But the men present aren't just gawking at my victims - they are sneaking sly glances at me. As well they should. I'm five-nine, athletic figure with a perky pair of B-cups that don't even need the support of my sports bra. My long brown hair is wrapped in a bun and hidden under my uniform cap, but I'm always careful with my makeup and my face is lovely to look at. My skirt wraps around a slim waist and clings to my firm round ass. I let my hips sway as I walk to and fro, letting the anticipation build. I know that they want me. All men want me.

It doesn't take much longer until a solid circle has formed around us. Nobody else will get a view unless they are tall enough to look over people's heads. It's time to begin. I step to the side of the first girl and tap her bottom with my strap. "Are you ready young lady?"

"Yes ma'am, I am ready to be punished. Please give me what I deserve!" is the dutiful response.

Does she really deserve a dozen swats merely for bumping an old lady on a crowded footpath? Who cares - she's getting them anyway! And so is her friend, who I have determined to be her "accomplice." They were shocked when I told them both to bend over - but they know better than to argue. Any objection would merely earn them another dozen each for "obstruction."

I take a step back and twist my body, raising my arm high. I've perfected my technique through many hours of practice, and although I'm not as strong as the male officers you still don't want to be the one on the receiving end of my leather. I step forward again, my hips rotating as I bring my arm down in a powerful swing that delivers its energy like a whipcrack.

*WHACK!*

"Ow!" the girl lets out a sharp cry of pain. She wasn't expecting me to hit so hard. "One, thank you ma'am!"

I step back again. Give her a few seconds to let the burn reach maximum and then -

*WHACK!*

"Mmmm! Two! Thank you ma'am!"​


The young women who I strap think I'm a heartless bitch who doesn't know what it's like to experience a public spanking. They couldn't be more wrong. Like any other pretty girl, I got the strap from the age of thirteen - and I've been on the receiving end of a rubber glove more times than I care to remember. That was one of the reasons I joined the force - I naively believed that as a cop I would be immune to these indignities. It was a rude shock to find out that even as a policewoman, when off-duty I have the same rights (or lack thereof) as anyone else. Showing my police ID to smirking male officers didn't save my behind - I was ordered to "bend and present" the same as before. And don't get me started on the searches. "You know what to expect!" they tell me after I've stripped off in front of them. "Bend over and spread those cheeks!" All the men I work with are keen to have me over the table - and you can bet they give me the hose every single time. Not the regular one either - I get the 'special' version: extra long, extra thick. It goes so far up my ass I expect to feel it tickle my tonsils. But the fun doesn't end there. You think two pints of ice-water is bad? I get four. I'll be on the table, shivering with cold and full to bursting, waiting desperately for permission to use the bathroom as they amuse themselves by performing a "double-check" of my vaginal channel.

Of course, any failure to cooperate means another strapping - and so I have to meekly submit, allowing myself to be thoroughly, painfully explored. It's not easy to go to work when everyone has spanked you, seen you naked, and made you squirm and gasp on the end of their fingers. They joke about it all the time - ask me if my bum is still sore, if I'm still tight - or if I need another session in the search room to remind me to "be a good girl". There have even been times when they've cooked up an excuse to strap me the moment I finish my shift. I have to bend over and flip up my skirt, then pull down my G-string to give them a good view while I take my swats.

"Skirt?" I hear you ask? Oh yeah - they changed the uniform rules. Female officers don't wear trousers anymore - we wear microskirts. Half my ass is on display when I patrol - another marketing tool that makes the public approve of the hiring practices. We don't get to drive either; we have to be feet on the ground (as long as we are still young and pretty enough to be eye candy). When we are no longer advertising, we get sent to desk jobs.

G-strings are part of the uniform. Why? So they can inspect my bum any time and make sure I'm meeting the fitness requirements. (Of course, they always pull down my panties anyway.) I have to put in hours at the gym every week to keep myself in shape. My performance reviews involve holding my ankles and getting spanked for every failure - and of course, I have to express gratitude every time the leather meets my ass. Saying "Thank you Sir!" after each swat is an automatic response, taught to me by years of meek submission and too many strappings to count.

So, being a cop doesn't spare me at all - in fact, in many ways it's worse than what most women experience. I'm also required to assist with training sessions. Where do you think police learn to perform searches and administer enemas? At the academy of course. But they need someone to practice on. Sure, there are girls who get press-ganged into "community service", but there aren't always enough. So guess who has to fill in? Yep - me. And any other WPC who's worth looking at (which is nearly all of us now that they started choosing us for our looks.) I'm a senior constable now, but most of my juniors have explored my holes during their training - which makes it hard to assert my authority over them.

Why don't I tell people how I get treated? Simple - it's forbidden for me to publicly criticise police procedure - and if I'm fired, I'll be even more vulnerable. At least while I'm on duty I have protection, but as a member of the public I'll be fair game at any time - and you can bet those bastards will be on my case. They don't forgive any kind of disloyalty. I don't dare try and get even when I'm on duty either - if I was dumb enough to do that I'd be a marked woman. Unless you want to be the next Tara Zanish, you don't risk pissing off thousands of men armed with leather straps and latex gloves.

So I'm well-experienced on both ends of the invasive procedures that police inflict on young women. I know how it feels to spread my cheeks to allow thick male fingers to explore my tight spaces. I know exactly how it feels to have a hose shoved up my ass. Which is why I enjoy doing it to other women. It's the only time that I can feel in control again. And while I'm not a lesbian, I have to admit, it's fun to stick my fingers up a teenage girl.


The CPA changed everything. Women went from equality to virtual sex slaves, subject to the whims of men in authority. But it wasn't just the power transfer that matters - it's the social conditioning. You get trained to submit. And you get trained to be slutty. After you have bared yourself in public, spread your cheeks to be searched, and traded sexual favours (both at school and in police stations) to avoid yet another walloping, you can no longer pretend that you are innocent, or that you have any notion of bodily privacy. Men have learned to accept this as well - they know that their girlfriends, (or even wives,) aren't exclusive. They know that we get strapped and searched on a regular basis. They know that we have to get on our knees and suck cock to reduce the harm done to our soft behinds. And for the most part, they are okay with it. They even enjoy it. All my boyfriends have loved to fuck me while I tell them, (in graphic detail,) about my latest strapping, or what happened when I was dragged down to the station. I learned to play it up, to exaggerate the humiliations that I had endured, so that their excitement would give them more intense orgasms. I know that most of them set me up for more strappings - either directly or through Bounty Hunters. And a few even encouraged me to go beyond the usual "oral service" and spread my legs to clear my tab. They loved the idea of me opening up to male authority, allowing myself to be used and fucked. Because that's what women are these days - toys. Officially, we have the same rights, (or lack thereof,) as men. Technically, men can be strapped and searched too - but it almost never happens. So on paper, we are equals. In practice, the (90% male) police have the authority - and 95% of the victims are young women. (Some of the cops are gay, and they make the most of the opportunities that the CPA gives them.) So you learn your place: bare-assed and bent over, legs wide. There's not point being prudish - because then the ONLY time that your special places get explored is when you bend over a search table to be violated. You will get fingered by random men, (sometimes women,) on a regular basis. So you might as well do it on your own terms. Have some fun to balance out the indignities.

As soon as you turn thirteen you can be caned, strapped or paddled. Usually your headmaster gets first go, and you will bend over his desk so he can flip up your skirt, pull down your panties and whip your firm little ass. Sometimes the cops will get to you before he does, and you have to show it all in public. The embarrassment is short-lived: after the first few swats you can only think about the fire in your bum and the dread of the next kiss of hard leather.


At sixteen you're old enough to be cavity-searched, so unless you want to lose your virginity to a pair of gloved fingers you find a guy to do it before then. And since you're now of legal age, the cops will often allow you to trade sexual favours for mercy.

The next few years conditioned me to accept my fate: public strappings, the "finger and flush" routine at the station, and sexual forfeits (in all of my orifices.) My school uniform changed as well, growing skimpier every year. By the time I was in sixth form my blazer was little more than a cheerleader's crop-top. My blouse was barely enough to cover my bra, secured by only a single button. My midriff was fully exposed and my skirt was nothing but a strip of fabric encircling my hips. We used to call it "the flag" because it did nothing except display the school colours. It was so short that it didn't even cover the lower half of your bum. And no, it didn't cover your mound either. Even when standing still, my scantily-clad pussy was showing, because the uniform requirements included a G-string. On a bright day, and given the right angle, you could see straight through the translucent fabric - especially since it clung to every contour of my anatomy.

Naturally, having all that flesh on display made it easier for the plods to spot us. We got used to bending over on a weekly basis - usually more than once. Of course, this was in addition to the canings we got at school, and the spankings that most of our fathers were happy to administer. So the portion of your ass that was left exposed was frequently showing the bruises from your latest punishment. Trying to cover yourself was pointless - if you put on a long skirt when going to or from school some snitch would report you for a "uniform violation" - which meant a caning first thing next morning.

It became an accepted part of society. Girls were (supposedly,) naughty by nature. They needed regular correction to keep them in line. And corrected we were. The initial anger and resentment I felt at being whipped for male amusement soon faded into resigned acceptance. This was my place, there was nothing I could do but accept it. There's no upper age limit for a police strapping either, so it was going to be part of my life until my looks faded and I was no longer an object of lust.


But one day, while holding my ankles for yet another dose of leather justice, it occurred to me - why not be on the OTHER end of the strap? Why couldn't I be the one in charge, instead of the one bending over?

Technically, there's no reason why the police need female officers anymore. Men are bigger, stronger, and more capable. It used to be that only women could search other women, but with that requirement abandoned, why hire women at all?

Public relations.

Mostly to counter the perception that the force is a misogynistic organisation that exploits women, they have a quota for at least 30% female officers. Female officers are relegated to traffic stops and ticketing offences, not dealing with violent crime. Thanks to our strategic placement in areas that generate lots of fines, we perform well in the statistics. It isn't because the force doesn't want women that we remain a minority - far from it. They would LOVE to have more young ladies at their disposal. After all, we have no real rights, and our bodies are theirs to command. The only reason there aren't more of us, (despite a well-funded recruiting campaign,) is that there aren't many women who are both willing to join and attractive enough to make the grade.

Attractive? Oh yes, that's a major, (though not officially acknowledged,) factor. Supposedly we are assessed on merit, but when I first entered my trainee class I soon saw that there were only a handful of girls, and all of them were pretty. Very pretty. My suspicions were soon confirmed when one of our earliest sessions was on the correct use of the strap (an instrument dear to the hearts of police command.) The female recruits practised on the other women. The male recruits practised on - the female recruits. So while not one single man had to receive leather, all of us girls got beaten black and blue. The one cadet who dared to raise an objection about this one-sided approach was promptly told that she had been "randomly selected" for a block training session. After watching her get strapped down and walloped by every man in the class, the rest of us quietly decided not to object to the curriculum.

The same went for the searches. Since the ones getting fingered in police stations are almost exclusively young ladies, (yes, the gay officers have fun with young men,) we were told that women were the most logical tools for training. So I, and the handful of women in my class, had to kneel on the bench and spread our cheeks while an instructor cheerfully demonstrated the procedure that we had all been through countless times before - a procedure that was then repeated by every man in our group. Of course, when it came to our turn to practise, we had to explore each other. After all, girls have two holes and men only one, so there was no point in us practising on a man.

But the fun didn't end there. All police have to be fully trained in the use of the colonic tube, so we got that as well. Several sessions, first the standard hose that we were all used to by now, (we were all pretty enough to have been searched multiple times,) and then the "special" hose that is far bigger and thicker. It's something normally reserved for troublesome girls who are deemed to need some "attitude adjustment" - but the guys need someone to practise on, so there I was, head down, ass up, cheeks spread, while my backdoor was invaded like never before. Six times. When I saw the other girls after that training session it was obvious that some had been reduced to tears. One quit immediately - which only increased the pressure on those who remained. Three women instead of four meant that now we would be the practise dummies for eight men each instead of six. But we grimly endured the training - simply because all of us wanted to be the ones on the giving, rather than receiving end. We wanted to have the power over others that the men had over us. But we paid a high price for it.

The table is the worst. Not only because you are strapped down with your legs spread wide, but because you are face up and the man invading you gets to look you in the eye and gloat over your misery. Fingers aren't the end of it. You can count on a speculum exam before he's finished. Think that's bad? Imagine having a crowd of men around you, all laughing and joking - and taking their turn. It would be a mercy if you could slink away in shame, but you have to come back next day - and they don't let you live it down. So my dream of being above the CPA turned into a nightmare. Every man I work with has explored me, and most have strapped me at least once. When I became a Senior Constable I was bluntly told that I had to "assess" every new officer who came to the station. Guess what that means? Yep. I have to let him give me the finger and flush. And if I don't give him a passing grade, he gets to retest - on me. So naturally I rubber-stamp them - something that police command can point to as being "approved by female volunteers." So I'm officially part of the process, a "willing participant" (as if I had a choice,) who helps them justify the sexist regime. My (forced) stamp of approval allows them to claim that the humiliating procedures inflicted on young women are little more than a medical exam, and nothing to make a fuss about. Of course, those girls who DO make a fuss are promptly taught the error of their ways by a good thrashing.

To be fair, I'm not innocent when it comes to enforcing the CPA. Yes, I like bending a girl over in public so I can strap her firm young ass. Yes, I like to have a girl on the table so I can explore her tight little holes. Those are the only times that I can feel in control, be on top for a change instead of being just another helpless woman meekly baring her bottom for the strap.

You would think that female officers would target young men, right? Get some payback for what men have done to us for years? Well, no. I was warned not to try that by an older WPC. She'd made that mistake herself, and paid a high price for it. After strapping a few teenage boys she found herself being targeted when off-duty, getting reported by strangers for supposed offences, and in some cases she was sure that she'd been set up by Bounty Hunters. Men don't like the idea of having to bare all in public, so if a woman is dumb enough to use her power like that, she gets put on a list. Her details will be all over the spanking forums, together with the reasons why she deserves special attention. So I restrict myself to spanking women, lest I get the same treatment.

The girl counts off as I continue her strapping. Her legs are trembling now, and her ass has a bright red stripe across the lower section of her buttocks. I know exactly where it hurst the most - and I'm careful to put every swat in the same place. The pain gets worse with each blow, and her voice trembles.

"YEEOW! Eight.. thank you (sniff) ma'am!"

*WHACK!*

"AAAAAHH! N-nine, thank y-you m-ma'am!"

By the time I have finished she is audibly crying. I know how badly she wants to stand and rub herself - but I don't give her permission. She'll have to stay there, ass on fire, while I deal with her friend. The second girl flinches as I tap her tight little ass to check my range. She's been bent over for nearly ten minutes now, and every swat laid onto the bare backside of my first victim has sent a fresh chill through her body. Ah, the anticipation... I know that feeling well. Your stomach turns, your heart pounds, your breath is fast and shallow. The longer you have to wait for your swats the more your spirits drop. It's almost a relief when the strap finally hits you.

Almost. Because it hurts like hell. Three strips of horsehide, eighteen inches long, sewn together to form a strap so stiff it behaves more like a paddle, only bending slightly as it makes contact with soft, sensitive skin. In my hand it is a cruel implement - but used by a heavyweight spanker it is more like an instrument of torture. Some of my strappings left bruises for a full two weeks, and I couldn't even sit for a few days. I just wish I could dish it out with the same force as the men, instil the same level of fear as they do - and do as much damage. Because when you've been thrashed more times than you can count, you want revenge. I can never risk doing that to a male officer, but tanning the bottoms of young women does give me a great deal of satisfaction. On a couple of memorable occasions I have even managed to strap an off-duty WPC - much to the delight of my male colleagues, who are always keen to see some "girl-on-girl" action.

"Are you ready?" I ask as I tease her with my strap.

"Yes ma'am, I am ready to be punished. Please give me what I deserve." Her voice is quiet and mournful.

"Excellent!" I nod approvingly. Step back and then -

*WHACK!*

"Eee! One, thank you ma'am!"

*WHACK!*

"Ooooo. Two, thank you ma'am!"

I deliver her punishment slowly, always stepping back after each swat to give the audience a good view. Soon she is sporting an angry red stripe like her friend, and her moans and gasps become louder.

*WHACK!*

"GAAAH! Eight!" She pauses to catch her breath. "Thank y-you... ma'am!"

The crowd is having a great time, and I'm sad that it will end soon. Still, there's always another strapping somewhere. The next few swats draw short screams from my target - clearly she isn't a tough cookie.

*WHACK!*​ I give her the final swat.

"YEEEOOOOOWWW!" she shrieks. "T-t-twe-elve, th-a-ank y-you... m-m-maa'm!" she forces the words out.

I smile with satisfaction as I admire the scene in front of me. Two weeping girls, bodies shaking and legs trembling as they hold their ankles and wait for permission to stand. Their small, bleached assholes are starting to gape a little - a result of having their buttocks spread wide for an extended period. Of course, this just adds to the fun of the crowd since it looks like they are inviting some backdoor action. But I'm not done yet. I like to end my shows with a flourish. I swing again, slicing across the backside of the first girl. My arm doesn't stop: it swings in a full circle as I pirouette and take another step. My hand comes down again, delivering a resounding CRACK!​ to the second lass.

"AAAAHHH! EEEEEEEE!" the pair howl. It's impossible to contain a scream if you aren't prepared for the swat. Catching them by surprise makes their performance more entertaining. I turn to face the crowd and take a bow, making sure that my skirt rides up to display half of my pristine white ass. My G-string is buried between my cheeks, so all they see is bare skin. Cheers and applause erupt.

I leave the girls well-flogged bottoms on display for a few more seconds before telling them they can stand. They straighten up slowly, legs stiff from being bent over so long. Tears are running down their cheeks and their makeup is smudged. They yank up their thong panties and rub furiously at their behinds, looking at me with a mixture of anguish and resentment.

"Well done girls!" I say cheerfully as I rehook my strap. "You may go now!"

I spin on my heel and stride briskly away, already looking for my next victim...

It's Friday night and there are plenty of pretty girls to pick on. All dolled-up for their night out, wearing their shortest skirts and most revealing tops. I spank several more bottoms before my shift is over.

"You should be more grateful!" I laughingly tell my last customer. "That bruised ass is going to make you popular on the dance floor!

It's true - men love a red ass. They love to hear about your strapping, to imagine you bent over and on display. Spanked girls fuck better too, because they lift their hips to keep their hypersensitive rear end off the bed. I can attest to that myself.

I'm in a good mood as I return to the station to sign off. But my mood evaporates the moment I see the duty Seargent. He's wearing a smug grin and has the twinkle in his eye that means I'm in for it...

[Belinda]

Steve,

In this world even police women are entitled to the same unbridled humiliation. Such a great tale Steve. Well done.

Belinda

[SteveBurke]

Steve,

In this world even police women are entitled to the same unbridled humiliation. Such a great tale Steve. Well done.

Belinda

Thanks Belinda! And don't worry, the night is young and our pretty policewoman has plenty of humiliation coming her way!

[jeepster]

Part 2

Sarge is of average height, but solidly built like a rugby player. His black hair is streaked with grey and his face is wrinkled with the lines of age - and radiant with delight.

"We've had a complaint lodged about you, WPC Brown! he says with delight. "It seems that you gave a non-regulation strapping!"

Oh shit. My heart sinks. It's going to be one of those days...

The regs state a maximum of twelve swats per offence. Since cops are enthusiastic about spanking pretty girls, they soon learned to "stack" additional, usually concocted, offenses in order to deal out harsher punishments. This resulted in some girls getting thrashed beyond what even police command could justify, so the raincheck option was introduced. A girl had to take her first dozen there and then, but could choose to defer additional doses and collect them at a police station later on. This in turn led to the discount system, where cops would offer to reduce the additional swats if they were permitted to give them on the spot. After all, knowing that a girl is going to get strapped later isn't nearly as much fun as doing it yourself. So it's common to see a girl take extra swats. But that happens within a recognised system - one that I strayed from. I'd collared the girls for a single offense only - which meant my parting shot was non-regulation. Some ungrateful bastard in the crowd must have dobbed me in. If I were a man, this indiscretion would be ignored. But I'm not a man, and like every other attractive woman, my ass is a target.

GODDAMMIT! What a shitty ending to a good day!

"Um... I must have lost count," I answer lamely. I know there's no getting out of this.

"Well YOU might have, but the girls didn't! They clearly said 'twelve'. Are you deaf?"

"No sir," I look at the floor.

"Report to Smith for your search, then come back here for a disciplinary hearing."

FUCK! Smith is the most junior constable we have. It figures the Sargeant would send me to him, just for the additional humiliation of asking a rookie to stick his fingers up inside me. Smith is going to be delighted. At least I won't get the gyno table tonight - it will be booked solid already.

"Yes sir," I reply glumly.

So now I'm in one of the search rooms, with Smith grinning like an idiot as he watches me undress. Most of the guys ignore my clothes and get straight to the action, but Smith likes to drag it out. After I've stripped naked he tells me to lie on the bench and spread my legs. The usual position is knee-chest, but he likes me on my back so he can see my face. I spread wide to show him my smooth lasered pussy. I can't protest - he's in charge now, and of course any failure to comply means the strap. I've already got a date with sarge, I don't need any extra swats.

Smith nods approvingly at my display. He's a skinny, nerdy type with sandy coloured hair and glasses. I'm guessing he doesn't get much attention from women, so my search is going to make his day. "Wider!" he commands.

I comply. My toes are now pointing at opposite walls, legs nearly horizontal. "That's good. Now spread your lips."

Bastard! I carefully open my outer lips with my fingertips, showing him all the pink I have.

"Excellent! Now stay there while I check your clothes."

He picks up my shirt and pretends to check it - but his eyes never leave me. I stare at the ceiling, trying to pretend that I'm somewhere else as he plays with each piece of clothing. It actually feels like he's invading my personal space as he fingers my uniform - a psychological warmup to when he fingers me.

He checks my G-string last, shaking it as if the tiny scrap of fabric could actually contain anything. Then he holds it to his face and sniffs it. "Very nice!" he nods approvingly - and then puts it in his pocket as a souvenir. He's goading me, trying to get a reaction, but I ignore it.

"Alrighty then! Time to get down to business!"

He pulls on the gloves, making a show of it like they all do. The thin latex creaks as he stretches it over his hands. The sound both thrills and chills me. My stomach turns and Pavlovian conditioning makes my pussy moisten. That sound is always followed by a thorough invasion of my tight little holes, the connection resulting in a visceral response that I can't control. I'll even admit to keeping a box of gloves beside my bed to use when I masturbate. No matter how my fantasies start, they usually finish with me on my knees, legs spread and face in my pillow as I bury my fingers inside myself. I think about my experiences in search rooms and nightclub restrooms, naked and helpless as a man in uniform happily explores my special places. Right now, I'm ashamed of being aroused - and aroused at being ashamed.

I use that sound to tease the girls I search. I smile at them as I pull on the gloves, and once they are on the table with their cheeks spread I put my hands next to their ear and stretch the latex a for a few seconds, just to give them the full benefit of the anticipation. I watch as Smith snaps the gloves loudly.

"Anything to declare?" He grins smugly.

I declare that you are an obnoxious little prick! I think silently. I dare not say it out loud. "No sir," I reply humbly.

He puts his hands underneath my thighs and slides me down the table so that my ass is right on the edge. Then he reaches for the lubricant, smearing a generous amount onto the first two fingers of his right hand. He places his left hand on my thigh and his lubed fingertips at my entrance I'm still holding my outer lips apart and he can see the opening of my channel.

"Look at me!" he orders.

And this is why I hate him. It's bad enough that he makes me spread like I'm on the gyno table and open my pussy for him, he won't even let me close my eyes or stare at the ceiling. I meet his gaze and try to look indifferent as he slides his fingers into me.

He's gentle, but not out of consideration. Going in fast would make me clench up involuntarily - this way he can explore me more deeply. He pushes all the way up to the end of my tunnel and presses firmly against me as he works his fingers around in circle. "How does that feel?" he asks.

"It feels fine sir."

Actually it feels more than fine - it feels good. Smith has surprisingly skilled fingers and he's made many women cum on the search table, much to their embarrassment. He gently brushes my clit with his thumb and I flinch at the touch. He smiles again. "Tighten!"

I squeeze his fingers as hard as I can, increasing the pressure inside me. His eyes are locked on mine. "That's good!" he nods in satisfaction. "Now keep it tight while I perform your search."

"Yes sir."

His fingers continue to explore me, circling, teasing, thrusting. He touches every inch of my insides, working his way around methodically. Then he repeats. His thrusts are firm and rhythmic, his fingers strong but not too large. To my dismay I can feel my own juices adding to the lubrication. I hate that he can get a response from me. I can only hope that he can't tell I'm getting wet. He thrusts faster now, and I can feel warmth spreading through my nether regions as my body surrenders to him. I don't want this to go further, so I fake discomfort, moaning softly and twisting my face as if I'm in pain. Fortunately this works - he gets off on giving women unwanted pleasure, so seeing me in apparent distress bruises his ego. He wanted me to enjoy it, wanted to give me a forced orgasm - which he probably could have done if he continued.

His fingers withdraw, and I let out the breath I had been holding. "Now let's see what's in the back door!" he grins. I gratefully release my pussy lips and take hold of my ass cheeks. My legs are still wide-spread, he already has full access, but I stretch myself open further and wait for the second intrusion.

Again, he uses two fingers, making me gasp as he forces his way into my asshole. I grit my teeth and pant softly as he digs and delves. He goes deep, then gently slides back. Thrusts in slowly... then back. It's annoying that he's better at this than most of my boyfriends have been. And all the while I have to look him in the eyes, feigning nonchalance as he violates me.

But he doesn't stop there. His left hand leaves my thigh and teases my lips. Oh God, no!

In he goes, two fingers now buried inside each of my holes.

"Gnnnnnn!" I can't prevent myself from vocalising my discomfort.

"How does it feel now?"

"Ah!" I gasp as he stretches me. "It feels tight sir! Tight and full!"

"Very good!" he nods again. His fingers are in constant motion, one pair driving into my ass while the other pair partially withdraws from my pussy. Then they alternate. Back and forth, back and forth... I pant softly. It's best to put on a little show, give your searcher his fun so he doesn't take things further -

"OOOOHHHH!"

He has changed technique, now ramming into both of my holes at the same time. "Ahh! Ohh! Gahh!" I grunt as he thrusts into me. My eyes are wide in surprise, and I can see satisfaction on his face. He's abandoned the idea of making me cum - now he just wants to dominate me. God, I wish I didn't have to look at him while he does this! I'd rather be in the usual position, with my face against the table so he can't see my reactions and I don't have to see his smirk. He finger-fucks me for about a minute, then finally withdraws completely, leaving me panting heavily. My legs are still wide and my hands are holding my cheeks open. I'm sore and I can feel the lubricant that drips from my openings.

"Very good! Now prepare for the hose."

This is actually a relief, since I won't have to look him in the eyes anymore. I close my legs and roll over before getting up on my knees. Legs wide, chest down, back arched. I spread my cheeks once more and try to relax while I wait for him to prepare the equipment. He discards his gloves and rolls over the support stand. It has a try attached with lubricant, gloves, and of course, the hose itself. The "special" one. The one usually reserved for girls who are uncooperative, or who failed to collect their rainchecks on time. Twenty inches of silicone, and inch and a half thick. If you don't know what it's like to get one up your backside, you're lucky. I get it every time.

With the stand in position he walks to the refrigerator in the corner and removes a bag of ice-cold water. A four-pint bag, not the standard two pints. I hear him clip it to the stand, then pull on fresh gloves. The fun is about to begin...


When I first "assessed" Smith, he was awful. So fucking bad at administering the hose that I couldn't pass him - and by that I mean I literally couldn't stay in place while he shoved it up me. Fortunately, I managed to convince Sarge that Smith needed more practice than I had time for, so he was allowed to use girls who had been sent to the block. Smith was an enthusiastic trainee, and because I didn't want him near me again he got to have fun for a couple of months before Sarge remembered that he needed re-testing. To my surprise, he was now astonishingly good, working it in smoothly with minimal effort. Practice makes perfect I guess.

He inserts the tip carefully and I sigh quietly as my small pink ring is penetrated. He slides the first few inches into me, stopping when he feels resistance. I can feel him apply gentle pressure as he twists the hose so that the curved tip can find a way to go deeper. Another three inches disappear into my ass. Pause, twist, push. Pause, twist, push. Normal procedure is to start the water so that it inflates you, making it easier to get the hose in, but Smith prefers to go in dry - knowing that I will feel it all the more as the silicone slides against my inner membranes. Fortunately he's gotten so good at it that it doesn't hurt - but it's an uncomfortable and highly invasive procedure. The odd thing is that Smith's embarrassment at being the only man I've ever failed prompted him to become most adept man that I've ever received the hose from - not that I would ever tell him that. I shudder to think of what those girls on the block must have endured while he was still in the early stages of learning. Still, it probably helped distract them from the pain in their throbbing, soundly-thrashed buttocks. Apart from the times when I was used as a training assistant at the academy, I've never been on the block myself. Always reported to take my swats like a good girl. That had impressed the recruiters when I applied to become a police officer. They said it showed a good attitude toward the CPA. By which they meant, "you've been whipped so many times that you've learned your place." Which I have. And right now, my place is on the bench ,allowing a man several years my junior (in both age and seniority) to use me as his plaything. It never ends...

He works his way deeper, deeper, pausing now and then to lubricate the next few inches. I grunt, gasp and moan as I feel the hose work its way inside me. FUCK! It's so damn huge!

"Ugh. Ahh! Gnnnnn!" I writhe on the table, fighting the urge to let go of my cheeks and grab at the hose. He'd love that - an excuse to give me a dozen with his strap. And of course he'd have to take the hose out first - which means he would have the fun of sticking it back in again. "Oooohhh..." The tip is probably twelve inches in by now. I can feel it twisting, probing, penetrating... violating parts of me that should never have been touched.

Smith is careful but relentless, steadily pushing more and more inside me. Eventually I feel the bulge of the retention plug nudging at my anus. "Push!" he orders. I obey, then moan as he pushes the plug into my asshole. I don't need to fake it - this thing is BIG! It stretches me wider than I can comfortably take - and considering the amount of action my back door has seen over the last ten years, that says something! But that's not the end. Normally I'd be allowed to release my cheeks and relax a little, but Smith doesn't even grant me that small consideration. Without his permission to stop spreading my ass, I have to stay in position, holding my buttocks wide and tight. If I dare let go of them I'll earn a dozen for non-compliance.

He wiggles the hose, making it move inside me. "How does that feel Anna?"

There's only one acceptable answer. "It feels good sir! I love that big, thick hose up my ass!"

He pats my bottom, gently but possessively. "Excellent! Now just hold still."

He opens the valve to release the ice-cold water that floods inside me. "OOOOOOHHH!" I gasp. It's another level of invasion - and one that I can't prepare for. I squirm and gasp as it invades my body, the chill making me shiver.

"Gaahhhh!" I can't help but vocalise my discomfort as the torrent rushes into me. I can feel myself trembling - but Smith can always make things worse. As I struggle to keep position, he grips the end of the hose and slowly twists it. The entire twenty inches is now rotating inside me, giving me unwanted stimulation alongside the shock of the cold water. It feels like a live snake, writhing inside me.

"Ah! AH! AHHHH!" I don't need to fake it - my distress is genuine. My body is shaking from the cold, and my eyes start to moisten with tears as I force myself to stay put. I'm already going to take leather - it's just a question of how many swats are going to get delivered to my backside. And I certainly don't want to face Sarge with a freshly-strapped ass. So I keep my head down and my ass up, hoping that he will be satisfied with the humiliation he's inflicting on me.

No such luck. He sticks two fingers of his other hand into my pussy.

"Uuunnggghh!" I moan. Both my holes are full now, and my body is being filled with the ice water. Smith continues to twist the hose while he burrows around in my snatch. The sensations are overwhelming, pressure inside me, both holes invaded, and that damned hose buried deep inside. It takes about two minutes for the bag to empty. "You're full up now! Smith says with relish. "Do you want time off for good behaviour?

Because of the risk of injury, a girl can't be made to hold her enema for longer than ten minutes - and unlike most rules this one is strictly enforced. But ten minutes feels like an hour when you're cramped and shivering. "Time off for good behaviour" means being allowed to use the toilet as soon as you've finished sucking your searcher's dick. I've taken that option many times - mostly in my teen years - and I can blow a man in about three minutes. (Once again, practice makes perfect - and I've had a lot of practice.) But there's no way I'm doing that with Smith. Not with someone I outrank.

"No thank you sir," I reply. "I'll be fine."


I feel him shrug. "Suit yourself. Ten minutes starts now."

He still doesn't give me permission to let go of my cheeks. And he keeps twisting the hose and finger-fucking me the whole damn time...

By the time he lets me off the table I'm in very low spirits. My pussy is sore, my muscles stiff, and my belly hurts. I enter the toilet cubicle - but before I can use it I have to remove the hose. I push out with my sphincter while pulling gently, wincing as I slowly ease the retention plug out. With the hard part over, the rest of the horrible instrument slides out easily, aided by the pressure inside me. I drop it into the bucket provided then sit on the toilet to let the water out.

Ahhhh....

But just as I'm enjoying the relief, I hear Smith call from outside.

"I'm taking your clothes to the locker room. Have fun with Sarge!"

Bastard!

[Mr. Smith]

Spanked girls fuck better too, because they lift their hips to keep their hypersensitive rear end off the bed. I can attest to that myself.

I keep visualizing this in my mind, the freshly spanked hotties eagerly thrusting up to keep their tooshies of the mattress. Conversely, does the added stimulation from doing it doggy style with freshly spanked rear end lead to louder moans and more intense orgasms?

Hopefully WPC Brown forfeits to the Sarge so we can find out.

Maybe the girl's fathers want a turn with her that includes a double forfeit.

I need to figure out a way to work this into a story. My perverted mind is already churning out a few scenarios .

[Mr. Smith]

Thanks to your "spanked girls fuck better" line I'm doing some last minute edits on my chapter 6 taking some time to incorporate a hairbrush spanking into the chapter. I wonder if that applies to spanked slave boys? While doing some research on hairbrush spankings I learned that a hardwood like hickory is much more effective than a softwood so a hickory hairbrush it is. Chris will need to learn to hold his position for the spanking to stop as he learns that a spanking doesn't start until the recipient wants it to end.

[Mr. Smith]

Maybe the girl's fathers want a turn with her that includes a double forfeit.

That's an interesting angle! I'll make a few notes it case I can turn it into a story. The hard part there would be constructing a scenario where the dads have the authority to spank. But maybe one of those girl's father's is a cop? Or a politician? Or maybe they just do some research and assemble enough evidence against PC Brown that they can give her the choice of either submitting to them or getting placed on a list and targeted. There is definitely potet\ntial there, thanks for the suggestion!

[Mr. Smith]

Sarge looked at me with a lewd grin, "WPC Brown, I've been contacted Harold Farnsworth, yes that's the PM Farnsworth that championed the CPA. Apparently he acquired a copy of the CCTV of his daughter's alleged crime, she's the accomplice you disciplined, and he inquired about lodging a formal complaint with IA alleging false arrest and battery under color of authority allegations. I suggested something informal where he and the father of the other young lady were responsible for imposing punishment personally with lots of forfeits. He seemed amenable to my suggestion. Both men will be her in about five minutes to discuss this arrangement. No need to put your uniform back on WPC Brown. I think they'd rather meet you dressed as you are now."

Stunned, I looked at him not believing he was going to turn me over to a couple of civilians for something the men did on a daily basis.

Unzipping his fly Sarge chuckled, "I don't think you've properly thanked me for intervening on your behalf yet."

Taking the hint I dropped to my knees and fished out he 5" dicklette quickly taking it into my mouth. When Sarge twined his fingers in my hair slowing down the pace of my bobbing it dawned upon me that I would probably still be in this position when PM Farnsworth arrived causing my pussy to pleasantly ache a little more. This was turning into a long day.

[jeepster]

Sarge looked at me with a lewd grin, "WPC Brown, I've been contacted Harold Farnsworth, yes that's the PM Farnsworth that championed the CPA. Apparently he acquired a copy of the CCTV of his daughter's alleged crime, she's the accomplice you disciplined, and he inquired about lodging a formal complaint with IA alleging false arrest and battery under color of authority allegations. I suggested something informal where he and the father of the other young lady were responsible for imposing punishment personally with lots of forfeits. He seemed amenable to my suggestion. Both men will be her in about five minutes to discuss this arrangement. No need to put your uniform back on WPC Brown. I think they'd rather meet you dressed as you are now."

Stunned, I looked at him not believing he was going to turn me over to a couple of civilians for something the men did on a daily basis.

Unzipping his fly Sarge chuckled, "I don't think you've properly thanked me for intervening on your behalf yet."

Taking the hint I dropped to my knees and fished out he 5" dicklette quickly taking it into my mouth. When Sarge twined his fingers in my hair slowing down the pace of my bobbing it dawned upon me that I would probably still be in this position when PM Farnsworth arrived causing my pussy to pleasantly ache a little more. This was turning into a long day.

Nice work! This was originally going to be a one-off story, but it seems it deserves a sequel. And perhaps PC Brown will get her own series, like Annette and some of my other characters. Since she is on both ends of the CPA, there's plenty of fun to be had!

[jeepster]

Part 3


So now I have to walk through the building naked as I return to the Seargent's office. I don't bother to cover myself with my hands - that would just make me look weak and embarrassed as well as bare-assed. Other officers - both male and female, snicker and joke when they see me. It's common to see naked women paraded through the building - if they aren't busy, the men will give pretty girls a guided tour after their stripsearch, but it's rare to see a policewoman walking around completely starkers. The offices all have glass walls, so even when I'm in sarge's office I'm still in full view.

Senior Constable Jones is leaning against the wall and smiling - clearly Sarge has invited him to join the fun. They came through the academy together, and have been thick as thieves ever since. He's tall and thin, with grey hair and a face like a hawk, complete with a thin, beakish nose. "Happy birthday Anna!" he leers.

"It's not my birthday!" I exclaim in confusion.

"Then why are you wearing your birthday suit?"

Both of them laugh heartily. Oh Jones, you are such a fucking comedian...

Sarge isn't one for small talk. "Strap or suck?" he asks.

I'm tempted to opt for the former - but then I'll have to do Jones as well, and I don't feel like swallowing two loads. Besides, it's been over a week since my last strapping. I need another one.

When you get punished frequently, you develop a high pain tolerance. But that tolerance has to be maintained. If you go too long between spankings then it hurts worse - and you'll be even more fearful of the next one. So I might as well take this one on the chin (so to speak.)

"I'll take the strap sir."

Very well!" Sarge is happy either way. He gets his cock sucked regularly, so he doesn't need an extra blowjob from me. "Bend and present!"


I turn, spread my legs, and bend double. Sarge steps behind me and carefully gets into position. Then he says the last thing I want to hear.

"Tag team!"

Oh SHIT!

"Tag team" is when two men strap the same girl - one on either side. It's the same number of swats, but somehow it feels like more. And being between the two of them makes you feel more helpless, more overpowered. It's a mindgame more than anything - and it works very well.

Jones takes his place on my right, and taps my bum with his strap. "Ready when you are Sarge!"

"What do we say, Anna?" Sarge prompts.

My heart is pounding and my mouth is dry. I lick my lips to moisten them so I can speak. "I am ready to be punished sir. Please give me what I deserve."

Sarge wastes no time.

*WHAM! *​​

The strap slams into my ass, making me flinch and gasp as the pain washes over me. "Ah! One, thank you sir! Please spank me harder!"

He doesn't need the encouragement - he's already hitting full-force, but I know from previous sessions with him that he likes to hear those words. If you don't say them, the swat doesn't count - meaning you get more until you learn to cooperate.

No sooner have I spoken than Jones takes his turn, hitting me in the exact same spot.

*WHAM! *

"Oooh! Two, thank you sir! Please spank me harder!"

Those girls would love to see me now, getting a taste of my own medicine. More than a taste in fact - getting spanked by two heavyweights at once is more like a four-course meal. They are far stronger than I am and their straps deliver brutal force that ripples through my body as they tenderise my tushy. I'm going to be hurting for hours, swollen for days, and bruised for the next two weeks. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all...

I count off automatically, while trying to distance myself from the fire in my behind. It's one of the coping mechanisms you learn through repeated punishment. Pretend it's happening to someone else. Normally I can at least partially disassociate myself from my ass - but today it's not working. I'm still distracted by what Smith put me through and I can't clear my head, can't zone out. Instead of becoming more distant the pain increases in intensity. Each swat hurts more than the one before it, and the fire burns hotter and hotter. They keep hitting the same spot, delivering maximum damage to my soft skin. It hurts so bad! By eight I am starting to tear up, and my screams are loud enough to be heard outside the office.

*WHAM!​ * Another agonizing hit on my tender flesh.

"YEEEEOOOOOWWWW!" It hurts so bad that I do the unthinkable - I let go of my ankles and partially rise.

"DOWN!" yells Jones, planting his huge hand on the back of my neck and pushing me back into place.

"That one didn't count," Sarge tells me sternly. He swings again.

*WHAM! *​

"WAAAAAAAA!" I moan. "Nine! Thank. You. Sir," I force the words out. "P-please spank m-me, ha... ha... harder!"

Jones releases his grip on my neck and his hand is replaced by Sarge's. I'm actually grateful that they are holding me down - I don't want any more penalty swats.

*WHAM!​ * Jones hits me again.

"EEEEYAAAHHH!" God that hurts! "Ten! Tha-ank you s-sir. P-ple-ease sp-pank m-me ha-harder!" My voice is shaking. Two to go!

Sarge winds up and gives his last swat with all the force he can muster.


*WHAM!​ *

I shriek as the leather kisses my ass. It feels like it's cutting into me! I sob and sniff, then take a breath. "Eleven-thank-you-sir-please-spank-me-harder!" I manage to blurt out the whole line without stammering.

Jones gives me number twelve.

*WHAM!​ *

"BWAAAHHH-HAAAA!" I bawl. "Twelve. Thank. You. Sir!" I spit out one word at a time. "Please. Spank. Me. Harder!" My vision is blurred with tears.

The hand on my neck is removed, but I stay down, biting my lip and waiting for permission to rise.

*WHAM!​ * Sarge swats me again, giving me the same "baker's dozen" that I gave the girls.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!" I spring to my feet, clutching at my battered behind. I wasn't ready for that!

"Back down!" Sarge yells. "And no rubbing!"

I force myself to obey, holding my ankles and praying that he won't give me another.

"So then, constable, you won't be losing count in the future, will you?"

Hell no! Next time I'm going to stack another charge and do it properly! Some little tart is going to pay for what I've been through...

"N-no, Si-ir," I stutter.

"Very good! A job well done, don't you agree Jones?"

"Definitely. A properly punished posterior!" Jones' voice is filled with smug satisfaction.

Sarge makes me wait for several long seconds. "Very well. You may stand now."

Finally! I straighten up and turn to face them. My hands are clamped to my thighs to prevent them rubbing my ass. I swallow hard and manage to look Sarge in the eyes. "Thank... y-you... for p-punishing me." My voice is a thin squeak.

"Did you enjoy your spanking Anna?"

Rage burns within me. I'm so sick of being abused by men with badges! I long to tell him how I really feel, then resign and walk out. Except I wouldn't be walking out if I did that - I'd be strapped to the block and get well and truly Zanished.

"Yes, sir. Tha-ank you s-sir."

"Excellent!" he gives me a curt nod. "Dismissed!"


I pant heavily as I walk out of the office. My hands are clenched tightly together to stop them from rubbing at my tortured behind. I know that everyone is watching me. It's bad form to rub yourself in public, and I've already embarrassed myself with my screams. My teeth are clenched so hard that my jaw aches, and my eyes burn with the sting of tears. There's only one place I want to be right now... I ignore the whistles and catcalls as I head for the women's toilets. I slam through the door and dash for the nearest cubicle, locking myself inside. Now I can finally vent my pain and anguish.

"It's not fair!" I wail, tears flowing now as I frantically rub my ass. "It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair, it's NOT FAIR!"

I'm screaming now - but my scream turns into sobs as I break down. It's a bad idea to cry where people can hear you, but I can't help it. I weep and bawl like a schoolgirl, wallowing in my misery. First getting probed by that creep Smith, then having to walk naked to the office to be punished - and the strapping itself was hideous. In all my years of taking leather, that had to be the worst dozen I've ever been given. HOLY SHIT THAT HURTS! My fists would be pounding on the wall if my hands weren't glued to my backside, trying to ease the pain. I hear other women come and go, but none knock on the door or offer any sympathy. I know that they are silently enjoying my plight. The only reason they don't make snide comments is because they know that sooner or later they will be in the same position - and they don't want me looking for payback.

I don't know how long I cried for, but eventually my tears run dry and I realise that while my bum is still burning, the rest of me is freezing cold. I'm still naked after all. I blow my nose with some toilet paper and leave the cubicle. The mirror over the washbasins shows me just how wretched and miserable I look. My makeup is a mess, my eyes bloodshot, and my hair is escaping from the formerly neat bun. I rinse my face and do my best to compose myself before heading for the locker room.

The room is unisex now, and because it's the shift change it's full of people, with all the usual shenanigans that you can expect when men and women undress in the same space. Most of the women are just changing their clothes, trying to ignore the frequent groping from male officers, but one is bent over, stark naked, holding her ankles while a man in uniform whips her ass. WPC Farrel is on a bench in doggy position, busily sucking on a hard dick while another man takes her from behind. Several others are stroking themselves, evidently waiting for their turn. I don't know if Farrel is paying a forfeit or if she's a willing participant - she's the slutty type. Either way, she has the dreamy look in her eyes that she always gets when she has a cock in her ass. She'll be going home happy.

Unlike me. I clumsily twist the dial on my locker to get to my street clothes. My back is to the room as I dress - which gives everyone a good look at my reddened rear end. Even in the fun and games of the locker room, I still get my share of attention.

"Nice ass Anna! Want me to kiss it better?"

"Look who's been sucking up to sarge!"

"Did Smith give you the royal flush?"

My ears burn. I should say something back, some quip or retort to show that I still have spirit - but I don't. Nothing comes to mind, no comeback to their jokes and jibes. I silently tie my shoelaces and walk stiffly from the room, not making eye contact with anyone.

The air outside is cool and fresh. I make my way to the train station, focussed only on getting home so I can drown my sorrows with a glass of wine and a hot bath. But as I step onto the platform my evening goes from bad to worse.

"Young lady!" The shout is loud and authoritative. My blood turns to ice. FUCK NO!
I know that it's directed at me. I know it's a cop. And I know that I'm about to get accused of another trumped-up charge. So I'll have to bend and present for another strapping - on top of my already bruised behind. This is going to be sheer hell!

Maybe it was the way I was walking. Maybe I accidentally rubbed my ass and drew attention to myself. Or maybe it's just because I'm young and pretty. But whatever the reason, I know I'm about to get another dose of hard leather. There's no way I can hold myself in position for another twelve - and If I don't, I'll be taken back to the station and put on the block! That means taking the twelve, another dozen for non-compliance, and he's bound to stack something else on top of it. I'm going to get Zanished!

Maybe, if I ask nicely, he will have a couple of guys hold me down while he gives me a good thrashing. I'm going to put on a fine display for the crowd, that's for sure. Fresh tears well in my eyes. It's not fair! I draw a deep breath and turn to face the plod.

"Yes sir?" I manage to smile sweetly. I'll need all my charm to convince him that I deserve to be helped to take my punishment.

He unhooks his strap. "Bend and present!" He doesn't even bother to give a reason.

It occurs to me that I could have taken this on a fresh bottom instead of a sore one. I should have sucked off my superiors instead of taking swats.

But it's too late now...

[Mr. Smith]

I'm sensing a well earned forfeit here

[Mr. Smith]

I'm sensing a well earned forfeit here

I like to end my stories on a suggestive note, so you can imagine any outcome you like!