Obeying The Law

She slid behind the wheel still half drunk from the party, ignition on before the door clicked shut. The handcuffs came later—metal on wrists in some roadside haze. Now Barbie sits in the lockup cell, tank top riding up where sweat has made it cling. Officer Aletta watches from the doorway, her dark uniform creasing over the soft give of her breasts and the flare of her hips. She steps inside. The cell door clangs. Aletta’s gloved hand cups Barbie’s chin, tilts her face up, and thumbs the plump lower lip until Barbie’s mouth opens a fraction. The officer’s knee nudges between her thighs. The latex presses hot against denim; Barbie’s breath catches. Aletta’s other hand unbuckles her belt with one practised pull. She draws the strap between her teeth, lets it snap once, then hooks the girl’s waistband and tugs her jeans to mid-thigh in a single motion. Barbie’s pussy is bare under the red thong Aletta rips aside. The guard runs two fingers through slick heat, drags them upward to taste, then sinks them deep in one stroke. Barbie gasps, hips jerking forward. Aletta’s mouth finds her ear—hot breath and the faint scent of gun oil—and she curls those fingers in steady pulses, each wet thrust louder than the last. Barbie’s legs shake against the bunk; Aletta pushes her back, spreads her wider with her thigh, and works her open until the cell fills with the sound of skin meeting skin and the heady tang of fresh cunt on leather.