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Message-ID: <63058asstr$1408605004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Bawdy Bloke <nospam@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Pussy Patrol (Humour, Exhib, Coer, MF, Strapon)
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Date: Thu, 21 Aug 2014 03:10:04 -0400
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Taken from my blog at http://bawdybloke.com/story-pussy-patrol/

* * * * *

Ahhh, hello. New recruits, eh? Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I 
won't lie, it's a tough job, but someone has to do it.

It's dangerous too; the Pussy Patrol has seen injuries and attacks on 
the brave officers who keep the streets safe for the men and women of 
this fair land. We get trained in self-defence; we get protection, but 
it's no match for the violence we face on a regular basis.

Be prepared for it. Sure, most days it's fine. The people respect and 
admire us, we get nods of appreciation as I request to see the papers of 
the women in the street; we're for everyone's safety.

Sometimes, well, it doesn't quite go to plan.

Like last weekend.

You may recall it was a warm summer night and there were dozens of young 
ladies milling about in short clubbing dresses outside the hottest 
nightclubs. It had been a busy shift, but I hadn't found any 
rule-breakers until I reached the Ozone nightclub. "Papers please," I 
asked politely at a couple of drunken women standing outside the 
electric blue neon sign. One showed me her pink card immediately, while 
the other girl squealed in horror.

"I've left it at home. Oh ... shit. Shit! Shit! Shit!"

A familiar excuse; you'll hear this feeble defence lots.

I glanced around me, gestured at her friend to move on, while taking the 
errant lady into the doorway of a closed supermarket. This was between 
the anxious brunette and myself. "How do I know that's not an unlicensed 
pussy?"

"It isn't, it isn't," she implored, scrabbling around in her handbag 
pointlessly.

"Unless you have a license for it, you are in possession of unlicensed 
genitalia. I have to take action." We had a few sniffles and cries; the 
woman stroking around her bag for another time while barely accepting 
the trouble she was in.

But I had to use my judgement. We don't want to arrest and detain 
forgetful ladies, just the dangerous ones and so used my experience to 
assess her. Do I call for back-up, drag her to the Pussy Patrol Station, 
strip her, interview her, check her details on the computer and then 
issue her with a fine, wasting everybody's evening. Or do I simply slap 
a chastity belt on her, take her details and she can collect the key 
within a week when she displays her license to the duty clerk at the 
station? Obviously, the second option is more preferable to everyone, 
but it does come with a cost: to me and the duty clerk.

She groans as she realises her futile bag searches are in vain. "Can I 
have a seven day wonder?" I ponder her expression briefly; a mixture of 
frustration and nervousness. I would imagine she's been in this position 
before so she knows the process well.

"Ummm ... maybe." I'm not showing all my cards at once; her chosen 
solution is possible, it depends on her.

"For some French kissing, lower down?" I'm not sure how I resisted 
laughing; such a quaint term! But it had been a busy night with no 
rule-breakers, so I wanted more than a blow-job. She gasped as I 
demanded access to her unlicensed pussy. After all, as a responsible 
member of the Pussy Patrol, I sometimes have to do internal inspections 
with the nature's optimal tool for the job. "This is so unfair," she 
snapped.

"I can call for back-up and we'll sort this out down the station," I 
reminded her; she became more compliant, tucking the hem of her dress 
into her cleavage, displaying her knickerless cunt to the world. "You 
came out to get screwed then," I mused; she didn't disagree. The flash 
of her pink as her fellow clubbers walked aimlessly past hardened my 
cock; I unwrapped our Pussy Patrol badged condom. The teat adorned with 
a shield, the latex ribbed and dotted for their pleasure and mine.

A squirt of Pussy Patrol lubricant, and a Pussy Patrol vibrating cock 
ring prepared me for the inspection. Her hands were placed on the wall 
of the alcove, her legs parted to allow me access. She grunted angrily 
as my cock slid along her crack: indignant at her punishment yet guiding 
my lubricated prick into her hole, whimpering as it filled her cunt.

The vibrations surged up my cock as I thrusted deep; the gentle 
squelching and quiet hum of our sex was audible above the distant purr 
of the traffic. The bulbous vibrator of the cock ring was positioned 
underneath my shaft and nestled against her clit, causing desperate 
cries from her mouth.

Her cunt squirmed and quivered, as I pounded. Her mews became louder and 
passionate.

She was fighting with her self-respect: she didn't want to come in front 
of me, in front of the audience watching me punish the forgetful 
clubber, or even climax in public. She didn't want her body to react to 
my satisfaction with her own. I was the enemy. I was the bastard who 
stopped her. I was the evil swine who was fucking her.

But I wasn't the real enemy: her lust and arousal were. The trembling 
cock ring was delivering unrelenting vibrations to her sensitive clit 
and her body was releasing the torrent of frustration with a vocal 
climax that echoed in the small thoroughfare.

Her quivering cunt on the second wave of orgasmic bliss, triggered my 
orgasm as I filled the navy teat of my Police-issued condom. I withdrew 
from her moist hole, leaving her panting as I opened my bag and snapped 
a chastity belt over her cunt. Her whimpers became louder as the locks 
slapped shut. "Please," she begged, sliding her barely-dressed body up 
to mine and pressing me against the wall. Her hands explored my body as 
her tongue explored my mouth. "Please, let me party tonight, it's not 
dangerous, is it? You can put it anywhere!" She panted. I resisted, 
pushing her from me and filled in the form, taking her name and address, 
as she ungratefully snatched the notice I had given her.

And that would have been the end of my day, if I hadn't have got a tap 
on my shoulder as I was about to return to the station. The brunette 
stood aside a uniformed officer, holding a warrant card aloft. "Papers 
please."
"What?"

"Papers please. Prick Patrol." My heart pounded as I felt for my wallet 
in my trouser pocket; it was missing.

"It's here somewhere," I panicked. "I must have ... maybe dropped it ... 
or it's at the station. I ..."

"A likely excuse," the Prick Patrol officer snarled. "So that's an 
unlicensed cock," she mused, opening her rucksack to withdraw a pad of 
notices. "And I bet you've got unlicensed balls too!"

"Hey, I don't think we need to do all this. It's around somewhere and ..."

"I think we do," she snapped, glancing at the brunette giggling beside 
her. "You stopped my little sister for her violation, I'm stopping you 
for yours. Would you do the honours?" The brunette picked a chastity 
cage from the bag as the officer scribbled the notice on her pad, barely 
watching her sister advance on me with the steel device.

"Hey," I snapped aggressively, pushing the brunette aside and walking 
towards the sadistic patrolwoman to remonstrate. She had my arm pinned 
to my back in seconds, spitting threatening words into my ear. I had to 
be a good little violator and suck down my punishment or else.

I knew what the "or else" meant; the Prick Patrol girls don't play nice 
and they don't always play fair. I resentfully lowered my trousers, and 
the brunette's cold hands on my cock made me flinch. The pink steel ring 
hinged open and slipped behind my balls: the cage positioned over my 
dick as my ticket was written out.

"And because he resisted arrest, I feel some more punishment is in 
order," the officer decreed, opening her bag to remove a Prick Patrol 
pink strap-on. Her sister cooed as I panicked, needlessly checking my 
trouser pockets again. I was in denial. I jabbered, as the officer 
fastened the six inch dildo and harness onto her sister, covering it 
with lubricant.

I was told to turn around; I refused, The officer threatened me with a 
twelve-inch specimen in the Prick Patrol cells and I relented; my palms 
pressed against a low wall as the brunette pressed the lubricated dildo 
against my hole.

I tried to relax; even as the clubbers laughed at the Pussy Patrol 
officer being sodomised, I just tried to relax: be the pebble on the 
beach or the ripple in the stream. Just find inner peace.

Only the brunette screaming with excitement as my backside was speared 
by her strap-on didn't help. My yell of surprise and discomfort made 
everyone smile, my cries made many laugh. She panted loudly as her 
bucking hips drove the phallus deeper and deeper inside of me; the toy 
sliding over my prostate mercilessly.

My cock, painfully encased in the unwanted steel, hung lifeless from my 
body: unable to respond to the stimulation of my prostate. It was agony, 
sheer excruciating agony as the brunette powered the firm dildo into me 
with ever increasing force.

She pulled on my hips, just as I had done with her. She grunted and 
sighed as my bondaged cock fought against its metal prison: the bars 
digging into my skin.

She slapped my backside playfully; it hurt my pride more than my flesh. 
She patronised me, I was "taking it like a good boy" and "nearly there, 
poppet." The crowd giggled as she played to her audience, high-fiving 
them as her fingers pulled me onto her strap-on.

"That's enough," the sadistic officer muttered. The stern words preceded 
the slurp of my backside as the dildo was fully withdrawn and I 
frantically dressed myself, desperate to leave the area.

"There's your notice," she cried as my boxer shorts covered my caged 
cock. "Bring your license within seven days and we'll remove the cage," 
she said with a smirk. "I hope you've learned a lesson tonight."

I nodded, backing away from the two girls and the assembled mass of people.

"One more thing," the brunette shouted. "Have your wallet back!" With a 
toss of her hand and a wicked smile, a package left her fingers. I 
caught my brown leather pouch as it reached me and saw my blue Dick 
License in the front. "You should be careful which drunken girl you let 
fondle you!"

The scheming witch!

So that's the moral guys: be careful out there; it's up to us to protect 
men and women from unlicensed pussies but trust no-one. Absolutely no-one.

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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