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From: David Shaw <david@f-e-mail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} RP: MARKET FORCE (M/F: police)  By David Shaw
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Date: Wed, 10 Aug 2005 05:10:02 -0400
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[ASSM] RP: MARKET FORCE (M/F: police)  By David Shaw

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MARKET FORCE (M/F: police)

David Shaw
(david@f-e-mail.com)

www.f-e-mail.com

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

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Twin sisters teasing the police get their knickers thoroughly twisted.

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I've already told the tale of my first patrol as a raw young copper, and 
how it ended up with me stoking the fires of one of the local teachers in 
the school boiler room. I guess you can't ask for a better start to a job 
than that, but I'd been very lucky not to caught away from my beat while I 
was supposed to be on duty. So I decided to be cautious from then on, 
although I would certainly make sure there'd be other chances of getting 
Anna Morrison (Mrs Anna Morrison, no less) to mark my homework. It seemed 
like I'd already achieved a solid 'A' and the next assignment was 
definitely going to be graded 'A+' for effort.

Well, fine, but Anna was enough to be going on with. From now on I wasn't 
going to kick over the traces again, I was going to stick to the rules and 
regulations like glue and no more dodgy stuff.. Ha!

That particular good resolution lasted as long as my next rostered market 
day duty. It was a Tuesday. Tuesday has been market day in the town since . 
. . oh, maybe since there'd been a Roman fort on the site. In fact it was 
really a case of two weekly markets being held together. There was a twenty 
acre open area with rows of pens where the livestock was displayed and 
auctioned. Then there was a long building by the side of the livestock 
market where stalls where set up under cover. At the far end of the market 
hall foodstuffs were displayed and general sales were at the other end, 
near the livestock market, everything from rag dolls to wrought iron pokers 
to pocket radios. Also a lot of Manchester and  clothing, they were two of 
the most popular lines sold off the stalls in the general goods area.

Still, that sort of stuff wasn't usually of much interest to the police. 
Most of the textiles were factory discards and son on, legitimately 
acquired, and, anyway, just about impossible to trace if stolen. Livestock 
wasn't an issue because rustlers are rare in the English Midlands and the 
only hot items likely to be found in the foodstuff stalls were steak and 
kidney pies straight out of the ovens. It was the odds and ends on the 
general merchandise stalls we liked to run an eye over, just to see if any 
of it might be stolen gear being disposed of  for cash.

So what happened was that every market day a constable was given market 
duty, supervising the settting up of the stalls, settling any territorial 
disputes between the stall holders and generally looking after things. He 
was also expected to have a full set of notes from the Station's Reported 
Crimes book about any items which had been nicked locally and might show up 
on the stalls.

So, let me set the scene. A nice summer's day, plenty of sunshine outside 
the market hall, lots of nice smells down at the food end of the stalls and 
not so nice smells at the other end, which were near the cattle and sheep 
pens. And always a couple of auctioneers' voices to be heard from outside, 
their owners leaning over the sides of pens and slamming rolled up papers 
into their palms every time they completed a sale.

And in this midst of all the crowd of shoppers in the hall who should be 
strolling stalwart and tall but young Phil, crime fighter extrodaireII and 
pride of the shire police force. OK, tall anyway, that much was certainly 
true. Damn near seven foot from the top of my helmet down to the heels of 
my highly polished boots. And maybe it was an old fashioned kind of uniform 
in between boots and helmet but nobody laughed at it, not in those days, 
because coppers of my generation knew exactly how to use those boots to 
gain some respect without knocking any of the shine off their footwear at all.

So there I was, standing out above the crowd like a perambulating 
lighthouse, nodding to all the people -- and a lot did -- who smiled in my 
direction, and spending a lot of time introducing myself to the stall 
holders. Especially the female stall holders. Either owning a stall or 
helping out their husband with one.

What you might call a job lot. Forgetting about the married ones and the 
ones with figures like beer barrels, there were at least half a dozen who 
got little mental ticks against their names for follow up visits, with a 
view to further investigations into their willigness -- in the fullness of 
time -- to helping an eager young constable become an expert cuntstable.

So if you have the impression that I was quite happy in the performance of 
my official duties, you are correct. They were pleasant and undemanding, if 
hardly exciting. And then I wandered off to have a gentle look around the 
livestock market. I felt in the mood for some fresh air and that commodity 
was rather hard to come by near the well stocked pens, so I wandered over 
to the parking area to get a few lungfuls of untainted oxygen before 
heading back into the stuffy hall.

Which is when I saw a rather battered Landrover come through the market 
gates and drive along a row of parked cattle trucks, obviously intending to 
enter the last empty parking bay, which was only a few steps from where I 
was standing. An event which prompted me to step back out of sight behind 
one of the trucks.

Why? Because I remembered that Landie. Or at least I remembered the 
registration number. I'd had it pointed out to me by a fellow officer 
called Jimmy Giles when I'd been with him on a 'learning the district' 
drive around. Not because the vehicle was involved in any major crime, and 
perhaps not any crime at all, but it was a source of minor annoyance to the 
local coppers. Or so Jim had said.

"See that landrover, Phil? Belongs to a local farmer called Frank 
Kirkpatrick. Nice guy with a lot of  good acres and two daughters that are 
running a bit wild right now. Twins they are, identical twins, Kathy and 
Kirsten, eighteen years old. One of the has passed her driving test and the 
other one hasn't. That's Kathy, she can't seem to get the hang of driving, 
somehow. So when she's driving they should have Learner plates up on the 
Landie. They never do though, and if ever they get pulled over they always 
insist it's Kirsten who's driving. Twice that's happened and since I can't 
tell one twin from the other I've had to let them off the hook. It's not 
really important but I don't like anybody taking the piss out of us, even a 
couple of  girls. And I'm sure it was really Kathy who was really driving. 
I just didn't have any way of proving it."

So it was because of that little tale from Jimmy that I'd moved out of 
sight behind the truck. Of course it might just be Farmer Kirkpatrick 
driving his own vehicle. Assuming that Frank liked stirring his gearbox 
around as if he was mixing a Christmas pudding. Anyway it wasn't him 
because there were two heads behind the windscreen, two heads both topped 
with fair hair, long fair hair pulled back into ponytails. The Kirkpatrick 
twins in person, and whichever one of them at the wheel was not -- to put 
it kindly -- a very gifted driver. When she stopped the four wheel drive it 
was more a case of taking the clutch by surprise than easing it off. The 
engine squealed in high revs as the brakes came on, then kangaroo hopped 
forward a couple of feet before stalling because the driver had taken her 
foot off the pedal too quickly.

I saw the girl in the passenger seat say something that was certainly short 
and looked sharp, and the twin behind the wheel shrugged her shoulders, 
apparently not caring much about the comment either way. I know how she 
felt: my own efforts at learning how to drive a Daimler armoured car during 
National Service had been pretty rough going at first. But although I 
wasn't close enough to hear what was being said, I was close enough to see 
the girls were wearing blue work shirts of exactly the same cut and hue. 
That was their usual thing, to wear identical clothing so they could have 
games with people who couldn't tell one from another. And if it amused them 
and maybe some other people, it was no joke to the force. Even as a novice 
copper I knew that the one thing the police should never do is to let 
anybody at all make fun of us. This pair needed to be taken down a peg or 
two, but how?

Sure, I could go over, hold them on suspicion of breaching L Plate 
regualtions and all the rest of it, but how could I possibly prove which 
one had actually been driving the Landrover when it came into the market?

And it was as I was pondering on that very awkward question that I noticed 
a small pot of paint hanging from the side bar of the cattle truck, a very 
small pot with a homemade wire handle and a tacked on cover, with a hole in 
the cover just big enough for the handle of the brush which was shoved down 
into the paintpot. Paint which I suddenly realised was for putting 
temporary markings on animals after they'd been bought, so they didn't get 
confused with any other livestock that might get loaded into the truck at 
the same time.

Which gave me an idea. Not a clever idea, certainly not a very original 
idea, but a bloody good one for all that. Because I pulled the paint brush 
out of the pot, gave it a wipe across the top of one of the back tyres to 
get rid of the excess paint and then walked over to the Landrover with a 
big goofy smile on my face and my hands behind my back, trying to look as 
friendly and unofficial as you can in a police uniform.

"Hello, girls. Nice day isn't it?"

The driver -- Kathy for a quid -- grinned at me and reached down from the 
opened window to operate the door lever from the outside, a common habit 
with the cramped military style Landrovers of that era.

"Hello, constable . . . what the hell!"

They say that nothing you do in this life is time entirely wasted. Maybe 
it's true, because as I whipped that paintbrush out from behind me I 
remembered all the time I'd spent watching the movie matinees as a kid. As 
fast as my trusty masked hero with the flashing blade, I put the mark of 
Zorro on top of the twin's right hand. It was a neat piece of work, even if 
I say so myself, though it didn't last long enough to matter as the girl 
immediately tried to wipe it off with her other hand. But if the Z got 
badly blurred the stain remained, and that marking paint would need a deal 
of scrubbing to get it off.

"What did you do that for?" the twin behind the wheel demanded to know.

"Because I think your name is Kathy Kirkpatrick, and that you haven't 
passed your driving test and you've been committing an offence by driving a 
vehicle on the public highway without having L plates on said vehicle. If 
you want to contest my statement we'll go down to the police station now, 
phone for your parents to come into town and let them decide which one of 
you is which."

"You sneaky sod," she said, not at all pleased as she rubbed the back of 
her hand again, which did nothing but spread the paint stains further 
across her skin.

By this time the other girl had walked around the vehicle and was smiling 
at me, but rather cautiously. She was a nice looker though -- well, having 
said that, they both were, naturally. Tall for their age, slim, with big 
blue eyes, perfect skin and good figures. Maybe the noses were definitely 
bigger than smaller, and maybe the sets of top teeth were slightly over the 
top in terms of overbite, but there was nothing else at  all to nitpick 
about. Especially with those long legs both shown off to excellent 
advantage in tight fitting jeans and high heeled Western style riding 
boots. Country girls come to town.

"Oh, Phil, you're not really going to charge her, are you?"

Never could resist a girl smiling at me -- it's the story of my life. But I 
was surprised at what the twin had said. How did she know my name?

"If there's any charges getting laid, there'll be two of them, one each 
apiece. As a qualified driver travelling with a learner, it's just as much 
your responsibility to have L plates displayed on the vehicle as it is your 
sister's. Incidentally, we haven't been introduced, have we?"

Kristen's (or Kathy's) smile broadened. "We saw Jimmy Giles in the village 
a couple of nights ago and asked him who the handsome young policeman was 
who'd been in the car with him. He said your name was Phil -- Phil Rodgers."

"Hmm . . . "

It was an answer which took the wind out of my sails, especially when the 
other girl got out of the Landie and matched her sister's smile tooth for 
shiny white tooth. One smile and I'm easy meat, two simultaneous smiles 
from smart looking young females and fearless Police   Officer Phil was 
breathing heavier than usual.

"It's no good trying to slide around me with that kind of approach, young . 
. . well, whichever one you are."

The one who'd been driving shrugged her shoulders: "You're right, Phil, I 
am Kathy. I am the one without a driving licence." She held up her stained 
hand and shrugged wryly:  "I suppose you could say you've caught me black 
handed."

Then the smile turned into as blatant a come-on one as I'd seen for . . 
.  well, at least a day. "Have we been very naughty, Phil?" she asked.

It was like little Annie Orphan trying to soften a miser's heart and once 
again that damned tight collar on my tunic was squeezing into my neck. 
Especially with that other pair of  oh-so-innocent blue eyes also watching 
my reaction. It was time I got back into official mode.

"Now, girls, let's get this straight," I told them. "By rights I should 
take you right down to the station. It's not the L plates that are the real 
problem here, it's the way you've been playing the fool with the police, 
pretending to be each other and so on. That's got to stop. And there's 
another side to it as well. If you pair have an accident it's our job to be 
able to say straight away which one of you is which. Which we couldn't do 
right now, if neither of you was in a fit state to talk to us. You 
understand that?"

Kirsten nodded: "OK, yes, we understand. So what do you want to do?"

"I want to be able to know which is which, while I've got the chance. 
You're Kirsten, and this one here with the paint on her hand is Kathy, I 
know that, so all I need is to find a mole or something which one of you 
has and the other doesn't, and then you won't be able to fool me in the 
future."

That did it. The pair of them burst into laughter without even looking at 
each other. Maybe they had a point, with the way I'd phrased it.

"On your faces or your necks, I meant. Just one identifying feature. 
There's nothing to giggle about so just stand still for a minute."

Well, they did stand still . . . sort of. With their hands to their mouths 
and clearly enjoying me as the biggest joke of the year so far. I was 
wishing like hell I'd never had my bright idea in the first place. If it 
hadn't been for the uniform I'd have shrugged my shoulders and walked away. 
But when you're a copper you have to browbeat the opposition every time or 
you'll never have any respect.

What made it worse was that I couldn't seem to see anything at all to 
distinguish the twins. No moles, no birthmarks. There had to be something, 
damn it, even if was only a freckle. But it was difficult to keep looking 
at one of them and then the other and trying to remember what I'd seen.

"Come on, stand together," I ordered. "Shoulder to shoulder."

"Yes, sir!" Kirsten said and the pair of them got together and made a big 
thing of pretending to stand to attention.

I only hoped nobody else was watching the maddening piece of mummery. It 
was time to read them the riot act.

"Listen, you pair of idiots, I'm trying to keep you out of trouble and 
you're still taking the piss out of me. If you prefer to go down to the 
station and get charged, I'm quite  happy to do it. Right now."

Both of them shook their heads, and both in the same split second without 
either apparently taking a cue from the other one. Sometimes they seemed to 
be more like one mind in two bodies than two completely separate personalities.

"No, Phil, you don't understand," Kathy said softly. "It's not that we're 
trying to be clever, it's just that we both had the same idea at the same 
time and we both knew the other knew that we'd had the same idea, and we 
both thought it was a great idea."

""Uh . . . " It took me a second to untangle all that in my head.. "What idea?"

Again those two pairs of bright blue eyes were boring into me. Only now 
they looked about as innocent as a pair of foxes' eyes in a darkened 
chicken coop.

"Well, the idea that we'd both love to let you look at whatever you want. 
Kirsten, don't you think Phil would be interested in seeing our . . . 
identifying features."

"Oh yes, I'm sure he would. Only he'd have to find somewhere private to 
take us, wouldn't he? Before we could show him, right?"

Once again I had what was was becoming a surprisingly regular feeling since 
I'd started being a copper, a feeling of being throttled by my high necked 
uniform collar. Of course they were still having a joke with me, weren't 
they? And of course even thinking about taking the Kirkpatrick girls 
somewhere private was madness. But . . . but when you're being offered an 
invitation to maybe peel a couple of presentable teenage twin girls out of 
some of their clothing . . . well, everything else seems to go out of focus 
somehow. When you're young, anyway.

Of course I was supposed to be marching around the market carrying out my 
official duties.  But . . .

"There's the old offices. The old clerks' offices," I said -- not loudly, 
sort of thinking around.

The twins turned together again, like soldiers hearing a single word of 
command, and looked across the pens to to the small brick building right in 
the middle of the livestock market place. It was called the clerks' office 
because there were three empty rooms in it which had indeed once been used 
by clerks recording bills of sales in market authority ledgers. But that 
had been a long time ago, before the war. All that was left now in the 
clerks' rooms was one dusty desk with a telephone on it. The auctioneers 
and some other market officials such as the duty vet had keys to the old 
building so they could use the phone when necessary.

"There's people going in and out of there all the time," Kathy objected.

"Only into half of it. The other half of the building is still a police 
post," I answered. "But not many people know that."

"A police post?" Now it was Kirsten, and she sounded interested.

"It always has been, so they tell me," I explained. "We have our own 
telephone there, and a place to make a brew up, and a toilet and a couple 
of cells."

Both of them responded to that word as if  there'd been a peal of thunder 
out of the clear blue sky.

"Cells?"

Again, I was the target of those eyes, and this time there might not really 
have been any thunder about but there certainly was some electricity 
building up behind them. It was getting hard to keep my mind on what I was 
talking about.

"Yes, cells. Back in Victorian times the publicans were allowed to set up 
barrels of ale here in the market and sell pints to the farmers and 
auctioneers and workers all day long. Sometimes there'd be trouble as a 
result, and the cells were built as part of the clerk's offices so there'd 
be places for the market constable to lock up the nuisance drunks until 
they were sober enough to be released or carted off to the town police 
station. Horse and carted, I suppose."

"Oh, well, Phil, you'd better take us to the cells then," Kathy said. 
"After all, you're not going to get a chance like this again, are you?"

"What chance?"

She tapped the back of her stained hand: "A chance to know which of us is 
which. A chance to give us a real good sorting out."

The other twin went into a fit of giggles and that  bloody collar collar 
was squeezing me like a python necklace. I really hadn't got this sorted 
out at all: it still seemed I was on the losing end of a ongoing gag that 
only the girls understood. Maybe it was time, just this once, to back off.

"Well, the pair of you, I think I'd better say to you that you are not 
under arrest in any way. You don't have to come over to the police post 
with me if you don't want to."

"But we do want to," Kirsten said. "Don't we, Kathy?"

"Of course we do," the other one answered straight back. "It's our duty to 
assist the police with their enquiries, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. We're all yours, Phil, take us away."

"Uh . . . maybe it would be better if you gave me a minute and then 
followed on behind. Just walk around the office building until you come to 
a side door. It'll be unlocked."

"Not ashamed of us, are you, Phil?" Kathy asked, grinning.

"I'm being careful, that's all. A copper is always being watched and if I'm 
seen escorting anybody anywhere people always jump to the worst 
conclusions. We don't need any stupid gossip, so don't make it look as if 
you're with me."

"OK, Phil," one of the twins said. "You go over there and wait for us to 
come over."

"Right, right."

My voice was croaking again, just like it had when the head teacher had 
started polishing my truncheon with her handkerchief. God, was I imaging 
things or could this possibly be another situation like that one? With a 
pair of girls -- twin girls -- to myself. Gordon Bennett!!!

No, not possible. It was just a case of them flirting with me and maybe -- 
if I was very lucky -- getting a quick flash of something nice. Maybe in 
duplicate. Well, that was better than nothing on a quiet day. As long as 
they didn't go blabbing about it afterwards. But I did have reasonable 
grounds to think the twins had been breaking the law. That should be enough 
to deal with any comebacks, if I was careful.

Without glancing back I walked over to the clerks' building. Round the 
corner to the door, took the old fashioned iron key out of my pocket and 
went in. It was the first time I'd been inside the post and the first thing 
I saw was a table with a tatty old oil cloth covering on it -- instant deja 
vu! It was like being back in the caretaker's room at the town school.

Same kind of table, a couple of old wooden chairs, even a sink. Only this 
was an old fashioned deep square sink with a chequerboard of tiles on one 
side as a draining board and instead of a steel locker there was a wooden 
locker hanging on the wall. The only other major difference was that I 
didn't have a well built red haired school teacher walking in with me. On 
the other hand . . . the door hinges squeaked and one of the twins was 
grinning at me.

"OK to come in, Phil?"

"Yeah, sure."

Both of them came in. Kathy was second. I saw the Z blur on the back of her 
right hand as she tried to close the door. She had some trouble because the 
lock was stiff and wouldn't close. So I had to use the key to get some 
leverage and turn the mechanism.  Kathy giiggled again and looked around at 
her sister.

"He's making sure of us, isn't he? No escape from the long arm of the law 
now, right?"

"Or the long anything else of the law."

I was as happy as they were to fool around for as long as it took to get 
anywhere but I was supposed to be on duty. Maybe I'd regret it like hell 
late on but it was time to remember it now.

"Look, girls, I've got to go for a walk around the hall again or 
somebody'll be phoning my sergeant and telling tales on me. It'll only take 
me ten minutes and then I'll be back."

Kirsten laughed: "Are you going to lock us in while you're away?"

I nodded: "I have to. It's the only way to secure the door. I can't leave 
it open for anybody to come strolling in."

"No, of course you can't. You lock us in Phil and then you'll know we'll be 
here when you get back. Won't you?"

"Yeah, right . . . right."

OK, I wasn't at my best, not for making small talk anyway. I felt like I'd 
gone out into the river for a quiet swim and was suddenly hearing a noise 
like a enormous waterfall just around the bend -- a noise I was hearing at 
about the precise time I realised I was being swept downstream by a current 
it was impossible to get clear of. Which is a poetic way of saying that 
when I went out and locked the door again that big old iron key was 
probably softer than the boner inside my offical issue police trousers.

A good thing those trousers were matched by the long uniform tunic. Even 
so, I walked as if my truncheon had become entangled in my underpants. 
Except that I never wore underpants and I always kept some condoms tucked 
away in to lining at the top of my helmet. I might have been a raw beginner 
as a police officer but I'd learnt fast about the essentials needed for the 
job, thanks to Head Mistress Morrison. But thinking about her as a way of 
taking my mind off the twins was like trying to douse a  fire with high 
octane petrol.

Fortunately there's one subject which has always been as important to me as 
women, and that's food. I just managed to keep from making a spectacle of 
myself by concentrating very, very hard on all the pies, pasties, cakes, 
sandwiches and other good things displayed on the stalls I walked past. I 
even managed to chat to a couple of the stall holders without suddenly 
screaming in impatience and running back to the old market building. I'd 
like to claim it was due entirely to my strength of character. More 
truthfully, it was because having the twins under lock and key really 
didn't mean a thing. Most likely than not they were only cock teasing me 
unmercifully. Which would be a big disappointment but one I could live with 
if I didn't build my hopes up too high.

Not that I'm trying to pretend I wasn't seething and steaming like an 
active volcano when I got back to the building. And at least I was able to 
loosen that damned collar and take off my helmet before I unlocked the 
door. Then I pushed it open with the hinges creaking and . . . the place 
was empty.

"Better lock the door again, Phil."

It was on of the girls, and the voice was echoing from the inset archway of 
red bricks on the side wall which was the entrance to the two cells. I 
turned the key and put it on the table with my helmet, then went through 
the archway. On the far side was a niche, lit only by the single 40 watt 
globe burning behind me in the  the tea room, with a wooden cell door on 
each side. Both of the doors were closed. Both of the viewing panels inset 
into the doors were also closed. I reached up, slid open the one on the 
left hand door and looked into the cell. Bright lengths of sunlight were 
shining through the single small barred window high up in the wall. The 
glowing strips illuminated  a stone flagged floor.  Apart from the dust 
motes floating in the light there was nothing else to see in the cell. I 
turned to my right and slid open the other panel. Then I decided it was a 
very good thing I'd already loosened my collar.

One of the chairs from the other room was set in the middle of the floor, 
exactly in the centre of the pattern of falling sun rays. Sitting on the 
chair was one of the twins, wearing only a pair of  tight fitting panties . 
. . white panties . . . pure white panties. Those and her  shirt, which was 
tangled up with wrists and behind her head. The reason her wrists and shirt 
was behind her head was because her sister was holding them there, and 
standing behind the chair. She still had her shirt on her shoulders but it 
was unbuttoned all the way down, with no more sight of a bra than her 
almost naked twin. The only real difference was that the one behind the 
chair was wearing black briefs. Identical cut and pattern, but black.

Oddly, the cell door wasn't at all stiff as I pushed it open. I was though 
-- my prick felt as if it was going to poke a hole through the thick blue 
material of my uniform and smack me under the chin. As I got closer to the 
chair I saw the paint marking on the hand of the sister behind the chair.

"Kirsten wants to say sorry to you, Phil. She's the one who insisted we 
didn't need to bother with L plates because the coppers were too stupid to 
know which of us is which. So now she has to open her big mouth again to 
say  sorry."

I stopped in front of the chair. Kathy pushed her sister's arms towards me 
and Kirsten's head moved with them. She put her face agaiinst the bottom of 
my tunic and then rubbed her forehead against the swelling of my cock. Not 
far away an auctioner was calling out the bidding. His voice was coming 
through the small barred window where there was no glass to quieten it or 
to keep out the smell of the animals. I reached down, unbuttoned my flies 
and let my prick jut out between the flaps of my tunic. Kirsten grunted, 
and wriggled forward on the edge of the chair to take me into her mouth.

"Jesuuuuus . . ."

"You're right, Phil. We do have different moles. Open my shirt and look down."

My hands moved without seeming waiting to be ordered to. Kirsten's teeth 
were lightly touching the top and bottom of my cock and her tongue was 
rubbing against the upward angle of my cockhead. When I opened her sister's 
shirt I saw how the tanned skin around her shoulders faded into pure white 
white flesh around a pair of perky little breasts.

"On my right tit, half an inch below the top of my bra cup. See the 
birthmark there -- the other one doesn't have it on her tit."

'The other one' . . . that seemed a slightly odd way of talking about her 
twin sister. But my reasoning power wasn't at its best right then. My hands 
were still doing their own thing. They went inside Kathy's shirt and 
squeezed her tits.

She gasped as I took hold of her nipples and pinched them as if I was 
pruning rose buds. Only not so gently. Then I put my right hand behind her 
head and pulled her mouth to mine. In a second our tongues were slithering 
together like a pair of mating snakes. The condom I'd taken out of the 
helmet was still in the palm of my hand, pressed hard up against Kathy's 
hair. My left hand went down behind the other sister's head, pulling it 
forward into my groin as she snorted through her nose. There seemed to be a 
lot more man meat down there than Kirsten had expected, several jaw 
cracking inches more.

"Forty, forty, forty pounds! Any advance on forty pounds? Any advance?"

I could still hear the auctioneer's distant voice, even with my heart 
pounding away as if it was being driven by superheated steam. I coiled my 
fingers around Kirsten's hair and held it tightly as I gave her another 
advance of my own. She snorted and snuffled before I eased back on her hair 
enough to give her a chance to breath. While she was sucking in air around 
my cock I lifted up my hand back to where it had been and gave Kathy's 
nipples another tune up, left and right. And again, I did it hard enough to 
make her jerk up onto her toes and push her tongue as far as she could down 
my throat..

"Forty! Forty pounds. Once, twice and for the third time . . . anybody? 
Sold at forty then!"

  I stood back, the three of us staring at each other for a second before I 
tore the condom packet open with my teeth. I pressed the round rubber disc 
up against the slit in my pocket python and began unrolling it. Then I move 
closer to Kirsten, grabbed her hair again and began unrolling the thin tube 
down my shaft with the fingers of my left hand. As I did so Kirtsen 
followed on down with her mouth and lips, carefully squeezing out all the 
wrinkles all the way down to my balls.

Kathy was still holding Kirtsen's wrists above her head, still keeping the 
tangled blue shirt where it was. I didn't know why. There was a whole lot 
about the situation I didn't understand -- but you can say that about any 
situation which involves a woman. With two of them, and being twins as well 
. . . all I knew was that the situation was of their making, not mine. As 
if I cared.

With the condom stretched out as tight as Yehudi Munin's violin strings I 
walked around behind the chair and stood behind Kathy. That at least she 
hadn't been expecting. She looked behind her at me as I pushed my fingers 
into the tops of her panties and pushed them down. A slap on each bared 
cheek and then my fingers were deeply embedded into each half moon as if I 
was one of the farmers outside checking on the condition of a penned 
animal. Kathy took as deep a breath as any her sister had done and her legs 
twitched like the ears of a startled rabbit.

"Oh, God. You've found out our other secret as well, Phil. I always wear 
black undies and she always wears white ones."

Yes, there were two bras lying on one of the bench seats set in the raw 
brick wall, one black and one white. My right hand slipped into the warm 
gap between the lowered panties and her opened thighs. The girl's skin felt 
like hot velvet.

"Is that because she's still a virgin and you're not?"

Kathy and Kirsten giggled in unison. "No," Kirsten said. "We do everything 
together -- so far, anyway."

I moved closer to Kathy, close enough so that the tip of my cock nudged 
against her quivering derriere. She was already wet enough for my fingers 
to open her outer lips easily. But inside the inner pair . . . surely not!

"And what about getting fucked together? How often have you done that?"

"We haven't been fucked -- not yet. We've been waiting for the right 
opportunity."

Kathy's arse pressed backwards, pushing against my prick. "I don't suppose 
you fancy us, do you, Phil?" she whispered. "Only it'd be nice to get it 
over and done with. And if the same fellow has both of us we'll be able to 
share the experience much better."

"Christ . . ."

I grabbed Kathy by her pony tail and made her step around the chair, 
awkward steps with her panties rucked around her strongly muscled thighs. 
It must have been all that work around the farm which kept her so fit. 
Kirsten stared up at us, her hands still wrapped in the tangled shirt drawn 
tight around the back of her neck.

"Are you going to do her first, Phil?" she asked me. I didn't tell her, I 
just jerked back on Kathy's hair to show who was the boss.

"Kneel down, pull Kirsten's panties off her."

She obeyed me immediately and Kirsten lifted herself up from the chair to 
help her sister pull off her white underwear. God, it was an effort to wait 
but I needed to.

"OK, hang them over my prick."

"What!" Kathy gasped

Both of them began giggling again. They must have thought I was kinky about 
panties. Which was maybe true, though not in the way they thought.

"Hang them over my cock. I don't want any love juice stains on my uniform."

Kathy laughed and shuffled around on her knees with the scrap of white 
material in her hand. Then she stopped laughing.

"Oh! Oh, my God!"

Kirsten snorted in amusement: "You think you've got problems? You should 
try getting your mouth around it. That'll teach us to make jokes about the 
long arm of the law, won't it?"

"Come on, come on.."

I was about ready to start pawing the ground, especially as Kathy not only 
draped the panties over my cock but started fiddling with them with one 
hand while working my foreskin up and down with the other one. You'd have 
thought she was dressing up a shop window dummy with the time she was 
taking, so I hauled her up off the floor with another hard tug on her 
ponytail. Kathy gave a little yelp of protest but this time there was no 
shared sound bites between the twins because Kirsten laughed at her 
sister's spasm of pain.

"Don't piss around anymore, Phil." She urged me. "Bend her over and give it 
to her."

So I did. I pushed Kathy's shoulders forward and as she bowed forward she 
put her hands down on Kirsten's legs to support herself. And Kirsten pulled 
the rolled up shirt over her head to bring her hands forward and then take 
hold of the ponytail lying on the top of the sister's back

"I'll hold her for you, Phil."

Very obliging of her. Still, if she wanted to help me to fuck her sister . 
. .

There was no doubt about it, the more I learned about rural females, the 
more I came to believe that for sheer unashamed carnalality the peaceful 
countryside was miles ahead of any city.  Maybe it was the farmyard smells 
coming in through the cell window which were encouraging these daughters of 
the soil to let their lusts run free. All I know is that I saw the seated 
twin tug on her sister's long hair to lift her head up, so they were face 
to face. Which was the position they stayed in as as I slid my cock into 
Kathy's cunt as deftly as an gunner loading a shell into an open breech.

Well, a semi-interrupted type of breech, really, because there was a 
resistance there of the kind you don't often come up against, and Kathy 
yelped with the sounds of a fox cornered by a pack of hounds. Before 
Kirsten kissed her on the lips. And as Kathy spluttered against her 
sister's mouth like an overfilled kettle coming to the boil I began to 
plough her furrow, as they say in farming circles..

God, she was tight, as you'd expect with a body that was only just being 
opened up for business, but all the muscles in it were learning their 
business very quickly. In, out, in, out and then the deepest stroke of the 
lot so far, the one that really touched bottom because Kathy shrieked again 
as her cunt massaged my prick every straining inch

"For God's sake, shut her up!" I demanded

Kirsten acted as quickly and smoothly as if it was a practiced response, 
pulling her wrists down on each side of her sister's ears with the shirt 
between them covering Kathy's head like an all enveloping shawl. Then she 
pushed down even further, until her sister's arms were resting flat on 
Kirsten's sprawled out legs. The tail of Kathy's own shirt slid down her 
inclined spine and I gaped at the patch of white puckered skin revealed on 
her back at waist height. Kirsten grinned up at me.

"That'll keep her mouth full for a while." Then she laughed and her naked 
tits quivered as she gasped and stirred in the chair

Again, I wondered how I'd ever imagined those eyes to be in any way 
innocent. Innocent! I was the one debauching her sister and I was as pure 
as the driven snow compared to these two. One of them licking her sister's 
twat while the other one held her own flesh and blood steady for a ritual 
ravishing. And I'd thought the animals were all outside in the cages!

"What's this scar on her?"

"Oh, she tipped some boiling water over herself when she was a kid. It hurt 
us like hell."

"Us?"

"We feel everything together, pretty much. Right now my sister thinks she's 
in heaven. Are you enjoying her, Phil?"

"Christ, yes."

"Will she be a good fuck when you've finished with her?"

I had to laugh: "Maybe I'll have to bend her over a few more time yet 
before she can take her L plates off."

Kristy took a deep sigh, rolled her eyes and pressed her arms down on the 
shirt covered head buried in her lap: "What about me? Can you fuck me as well?"

"Oh God, yes . . . the pair of you'll soon be able to give a whole choir of 
boys something to sing about -- yeah, and you'll be able to break their 
voices for them as well as well . . . "

Kirsten laughed and then groaned, her mouth hanging open as she kept 
staring at my face. The way a girl often looks at you at you when you're 
doing her, as though she's trying to commit every second of the sex act her 
memory. Maybe she really was having some kind of shared experience with her 
twin. I experiemented by sliding my hand underneath my Miss Kirkpatrick and 
tweaking her clit. Maybe that encouraged the one I was tickling to do 
something inventive with her tongue on her sister -- or perhaps they really 
were sharing the experience of being screwed.

Whatever the reason, the twins began to come together and the sounds  they 
made . . . you could have poked a stick into any of the crowded pig pens 
outside in the market and not created half as much noise. Not that I had 
enough brain cellss till functioning to care; I was up on my toes, jerking 
a pair of hips back against me as my balls slapped against the soggy 
panties pressed up against Kathy's prickly bush. Her arse cheeks felt as 
tight as Kirsten's teats looked, and the only thing thing tighter than that 
in the room was the fit of my prick inside Kathy's cunt. Every time I 
pulled it out there was a sound like a hippo farting underwater and mingled 
cries of joy from the girls as the next stroke went in . . .

Well, I've got a few golden memories in my silver years, and none of them 
better than the memory of taking on a pair of sisters inside a police cell 
and all three of us coming at the same time. Telepathic bonding or not, I 
reckon I did a good job there. After all, the one lesson they'd drummed 
into us recruits at police training school was how important it was to get 
on good terms with the public, and what with Anna Morrison and the twins, I 
was certainly doing that. Of course Mr Morrison and Mr and Mrs Kirkpatrick 
might have different ideas about it.

"Sorry, grls," I huffed and puffed. "Got to go outside again for a while. 
Shall I lock you in again?"

Kristen looked up from stroking Kathy's head, struggled to focus her eyes 
on me and nodded her head: "Sure, Phil. Sure. Get back as soon as you can, 
it's my turn next."

Then she laughed and pulled her hand free of the shirt tangled around her 
wrists. On it was a smudged Z shape in black paint.

"One of us painted herself as well before we came over here, Phil. So you 
can fuck us as much as you like but you still won't know which one of us is 
which, right?"

I grinned as well, even more widely than she did: "When I come back I want 
the pair of you bent naked over the table. Meanwhile I'm going to buy 
myself a leather razor strop. And after I've used it one of you will 
definitely have some markings the other one doesn't."

Like I've said, when you're a copper you've always got to be the winner, 
one way or another.

About a minute later I was standing outside, hlemet on, collar fastened and 
leaning against the rail of a pen for support while I discretly  tugged the 
front of my jacket down as far as it would go over the damp patch in the 
front of my trousers. A tough looking old farmer  in a patched tweed coat 
and old fashioned leather leggings came walking past.

"Be Jasus, you've a boring job of it here, bhoy. Can the police not find 
something better for a big strapping lad like you to be doing on a fine day 
like today?'

"I just do as I'm ordered, sir."

"Oh, sure. You wouldn't have seen two colleens around here would you, twins?"

"Twins?" My lungs felt like they were shrivelling up with shock.

"Aye, bhoy, my daughters. They're supposed to be meeting me here but I 
daresay they've walked over the road into the town to do some shopping. 
Twin sisters with ponytails on them. If you see them, can you tell them 
their da has gone back to the farm with the truck?"

"Sure, sure."

"And tell them to take a walk around the livestock market like they're 
supposed to be doing.  I told them to find some good breeding stock."

And, really, there was no answer to that. Because the really, really 
important lesson for any copper is to know when to keep his mouth shut and 
his face straight.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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