Caught by the Cop

Reagan Foxx was deep into a book when three firm knocks rattled the door. She opened to find Officer India Summer with her stepdaughter Amilia in cuffs. “Caught her tagging the school again,” India said. “Second time. Grounding clearly isn’t cutting it.” Reagan sighed. “I’ll take her phone. She hates that.” India shook her head. “How about you skip straight to the spanking you should’ve given her the first time?” Reagan stared. “She’s not six.” “Then she should know better.” India stepped inside. “Pull her jeans down and slap her ass until she learns. Or I walk her straight into booking.” Reagan’s hand trembled as she lowered Amilia across her lap. The denim slid to the knees, cool air raising goosebumps on bare skin. She landed the first tentative smack. India clicked her tongue. “Skin only.” Reagan tugged the underwear aside, cheeks already flushing pink under her palm. She struck harder. The sound cracked sharp in the quiet room. Every blow left a bright handprint, deepening from rose to scarlet as India’s voice kept time. “Harder. Make it count.” Amilia winced and gripped Reagan’s thigh, yet the wet heat blooming across her ass was not all pain. Meanwhile, India leaned back against the wall, slipped her own belt free and started circling her clit in open, hungry strokes. Reagan glanced over. “What—?” “Shut up and finish what you started,” India hissed, hips rocking. Her breath caught; seconds later she tipped her slick fingers to Amilia’s mouth. The girl licked them clean without breaking eye contact. India wasn’t finished. “Convince your step-mom she needs to join,” she told Amilia, voice hoarse from climax. “Convince her that one more kiss, one more slap, and I let you walk free tonight.” Reagan’s protests died in her throat when two pairs of hands reached for her. Resistance melted under touches that promised freedom and heat in equal measure, the rulebook abandoned on the floor beside discarded denim.