Flash stories are brief stories of intensely taboo erotica.
Plink, plink, plink went the the nubs on Officer Delilah’s thick crystalline silicone dildo. Her ass cheeks clenched as she drove her hips forward, penetrating him deeper and deeper. Each plink was less a sound and more a sensation as another silicone nub rudely flicked the sensitive ring of Tyler’s reddening asshole. He puffed heavily in a foggy ring on the glass of the window to his penthouse suite at the Venetian in Las Vegas.
Her long, slender fingers reached around and took a firm hold of his flaccid tip. She rolled it, wetly, between her fingers for an instant before clamping down hard.
“Ah!” Tyler let out a cry.
“Go on, Nancy-boy,” she whispered into his ear from behind him. “Let your clitty talk for you, you – desperate- nasty- baby – cock – faggot.”
She drove another row of plinkers into his back door and pinched harder.
“Ahhh!” Tyler said stupidly, again.
“Wah! wah! wahhhhh,” she impersonated him, shoving another deliciously spikey inch of rubber cock up his boy-cunt. “Poor little me, getting ass-raped by Officer Delilah! Wah! Wahhhh! Waahhhh!”
When Tyler had responded to the policewoman stripper ad on Craigslist, he had hoped that he could bribe her to go all the way. But when he told her to “surprise” him with something “extra dirty”, he had to admit that this was way dirtier than he had in mind.
“It’s so-b-b-big!” he spat out in wet spots on the glass.
She leaned in closer, pressing her breasts against his back and pulled on his dick hard enough to stretch it.
“Yeah, well, sexual harassment’s a serious crime, little girl,” she growled hotly into his ear.
He started to get brave, then. And that wasn’t good, because when Tyler got brave, he got sassy.
“You like having a cock, baby?” he said. “You like acting like a big boy with your big cock?”
Officer Delilah did not like that. She drew her 9mm from it’s holster and pulled of the safety.
“You need to speak to Officer Delilah with a little more respect, young man!” she said, driving another inch of her beefy rubber dick up his pooper.
A sweet and girlish gasp escaped him, making her laugh.
She traced the barrel down his spine, his sweat chasing after it in a long bead.
“You think – I’m scared – of a silly – little – prop gun?” he said.
“Prop?” she exclaimed. Pulling the slide of the pistol back, she popped a round from the chamber and reached around and slipped it into his mouth.
“Does that taste fake to you, Princess?” she said.
It didn’t. It tasted like blued steel, brass and gunpowder. That gun was real. His mind raced with all the reasons he could think that a Vegas stripper would show up packing real heat. Of course, she didn’t seem to have a pimp or a madam or anything – just an independent woman running her own shop. Maybe the gun was for handling violent customers?
Instinctively, his asshole tightened around her cock.
“Oooooh…” she said. “Getting nice and tight down here, baby-girl! So pretty. Say I’m a pretty little whore!” she commanded.
“You’re a pretty little whore!” he answered.
She pistol-whipped him in the back of the skull so hard that it made him see stars.
“Try again, bitch!” she said.
“I-I-I’m a p-p-pretty – little – whore…” he said.
She drove deep into him. In and out. In and out. Over and over, he gasped like a girl as the rigid shape of her girlcock violated him.
She reached down and grabbed his balls, wedging his thigh into the crook of her elbow. Her hand was like a vice, squeezing him with a pressure indistinguishable from a kick in the nuts.
“Oh fuck!” he cried out.
“Yeah, bitch-boi,” she spat out as she gave him her full length.
His eyes rolled as he felt his flaccid cock drip, drip, drip like a leaky faucet.
Then she grabbed his shaft and started to work him over and over. He hardened instantly in her touch, filling her hand as her shaft punctured him and left his ass convulsing against her pole.
THe pleasure mounted in way that he had never felt before. From deep within him, a mixture of satisfaction and humiliation, of pain and ecstasy welled and welled and welled.
And burst. His balls shrunk up as they emptied. Spunk sprayed against the fabric of the sofa that he was kneeling on. Stream after stream of creamy, sexy, stinky semen.
“Gooooooood!” he cried out.
“C’mon!” Said Officer Delilah. “More, bitch-boi! More!”
She pounded his ass deeper and deeper and stroked him harder and harder as he clawed at her to stop.
“Arms back on the window, dipshit!” she ordered.
He reluctantly complied as she raptured his asshole harder and harder and harder. Then, she slowly withdrew – inch-by-inch until it was all over and a void remained where she had been.
She spit in his gaping hole and smacked his ass.
“Fucking pathetic bitch,” she grumbled
He collapsed on the floor in a fetal position for a while as she cleaned up her gear.
“Let’s settle up, cowboy,” she finally said.
He looked up at her.
“The ad said $300,” he objected.
“For stripping,” she said.
“I paid you an extra $300!” he said.
“For what?” she asked.
“For-for the sex?” he said.
“And you think that was what that fucking was worth?”
He rolled his eyes and reached into his wallet. He emptied all the cash that work had given him for per diem and all of his gambling winnings – over $1200 in cash and chips.
“Close enough!” She said and snatched up the money.
“I’m totally broke!” he complained as he handed all of his cash over to her. But something about his tone made it clear that it was in a contented way.
“I’ve got even worse news for you, motherfucker,” she said, letting a pair of handcuffs unroll on the end of her gloved fingertips.
He grinned and said “are we going for round two?”
In her other hand, she lifted a digital recorder. She pressed play and the last 30 seconds of their conversation played.
She cocked an eyebrow as she hit stop on the recorder. “You just confessed to paying for sex. You’re under arrest for violation of Nevada State Penal Code 201.354: soliciting prostitution outside a County-designated brothel.”
He chuckled. She didn’t.
She pulled a radio from her bag. She raised it to her lips and turned it on.
“Dispatch, this is UC-6,” she said in very official policewoman tone. “We got a hot-shot in the Penthouse suite in Venetian Hotel and Casino. Send the wagon to the service door.”
“Copy that,” came a voice from Dispatch.
Tyler’s blood ran cold.
“You get the idea, little man,” she grinned as she raised her gun.
“Turn around and put your hands against the wall.”