Police raid

My life in two words: protect and serve. That's why I started casing this filthy dive bar tonight. Scanning the regulars. Waiting for the right moment. My eyes keep landing on the pair tucked in the booth by the broken jukebox. One thick thumb keeps stroking the long neck of an imported beer bottle and I feel that pull in my cunt right away. I cross the floor in three strides, badge already in hand when I reach the table. Their heads come up together. His eyes widen, hers narrow. She has painted lips, shiny black hair, legs on display all the way to white thigh-high socks. His jeans strain across solid thighs, confident mouth, the kind of boy who thinks nobody can handcuff him unless he asks for it. "I own this joint, sweetheart," he says, leaning forward. Cocky smile, no fear. I nod once. "You own plenty of things, hotshot, but you're under arrest for possession with intent. Both of you. Spread for me." I cuff him first—palms flat to the sticky tabletop, wrists crossed. His cock is already thick and insistent against the zipper when I brush a pat-down down his front. He hisses as I cup him through denim and give the outline a slow, deliberate squeeze, like I'm checking the shape of contraband. He is hot. He is hard. Then I turn to her. She swallows as she places her wrists behind her back. The metal clicks. I press her gently into his back, close enough for her tits to brush his shoulder blades. My free hand skims under the little top, finds a hard nipple, gives it a quick, expert pinch until her knees bend and a soft sound slips out of her. Her panties—nothing more than soaked cotton strings—are drenched. Two fingertips slide against the gusset, feel the slick. "Already dripping. Both of you," I murmur, teeth near her ear. "City ordinance says I can search anywhere I damn well want." Her hips twitch toward my hand. His breath hisses again when my other palm travels to the back of his jeans and finds the denim damp from precum. The jukebox coughs, plays one distorted note, and dies. No one moves. The bartender keeps polishing the same glass. Everyone else knows the law when it wears a badge this snug and cuffs this tight. I smile. On nights like this, protecting the peace feels a hell of a lot like foreplay.