Officer Down Ch. 02

"Sucez-moi." He snarled sleazily.

Abby knew not what he said, but intuited exactly what he wanted as he maneuvered her head down and stuck his erect cock in her face. Pre-cum dribbled across her upper lip before she could open her mouth to accept the swollen cock into her stretched wide mouth.

Laurent gasped and wrapped her ponytail around his fist, using the hair as impromptu reins. Unimpressed and uninterested by her attempts at 'technique', he combined his own hip thrusts with hair pulls and a gargle inducing mouth-fucking motion to coax a semi-pleasurable blowjob out of the woman. Considering Abby so enjoyed putting dicks in her mouth, her lack of natural ability disgusted the obnoxious Frenchman.

While engrossed in the experience of being roughly mouth-fucked, Abby was suddenly aware of a slight shift in light whenever her head was pulled from the pungent smelling loins of her suitor. Unmistakable giggling rang loud and Abby struggled to view its source as she sucked. At one point she tried to pull away, but Laurent wrenched on her fake mane and forced Abby's mouth back around his cock. He in turn ranted at the laughing intruders. Abby had the sensation that she was listening to a different man in French to the man he'd been in English. This didn't sound like a man whose dick she'd like to suck...her sounded like a course, obnoxious thug. But nevertheless Abby sucked on. With her own right index finger still shamelessly delving into her wet slit, Abby's eyes glanced as far to the right as possible. At one point she could just about make out the three cavorting teenage raver girls at the periphery of her vision. They cackled in the brightly lit doorway and brandished camera phones to capture the scene for posterity.

What they saw was quite a sight. The uptight woman in classy clothes and high heeled boots had been debooted, stripped down and was sluttily sucking cock in a tacky little G-string and stripy knee socks. The rear string had slipped out of her narrow ass crack and her puckered anus cheekily winked for the camera. It was quite the transformation...She gurgled through a mouthful of cock for them to leave, lips still wrapped around the French man's mouth stretching member.

They hollered something about taking some of their clothes and quickly left, leaving the door wide open. Laurent cursed and pulled his cock out of Abby's dribbling lipstick smeared mouth. She lolled exhausted on the filthy mattress as Laurent rose to close the door. Abby tried to get her breath back and expel the taste of unwashed cock, but before another thought could take her, Laurent pulled on a condom and descended, sliding into her with slick ease.

Laurent stretching her socked legs wide and pounding relentlessly into her spasming pussy was the last thing Abby knew until she awoke to the grim reality of the sweaty, sundrenched shit-hole hours later...

The realisation that Abby was suffering from the mother of all hangovers hit her before she'd even fully woken up. Something very bad had happened the night before. Her whole being throbbed with abject discomfort. But it was two physical sensations that properly brought her to the surface of consciousness. The clammy sheen of sweat on her bare skin and an iron grip on her each of her ankles. The latter sensation was accompanied by a hot kinetic rub burning against the soles of her feet.

Abby opened her eyes as the iron grip uncomfortably jerked her feet back and forth. Her fake eye-lashes were mostly hanging off, but what remained had painfully sealed her lids together. She groaned in pain, still not entirely sure of where she was or what had happened. Somebody else in the room echoed her moan. Abby suddenly felt her toes touch, as the iron grip forced her curved soles around something throbbing, thick and hot.

Abby wrenched her eyes open and groggily gazed forward.

"Merde..."

Grim reality cut through the nightmarish image of what Abby was seeing. Laurent (who she immediately recalled...) was kneeling naked and gripping her stripy socked ankles. The nylon knee highs had been stretched right up to below her white knees. Each of her soft soiled socked soles were clamped forcibly around Laurent's angry erect cock. The realisation of what she was being used for coincided with Laurent's messy eruption. Spunk exploded from his penis, decorating Abby's cute knee highs, bare inner thighs and even splashing a dollop across her brown pubic hair.

As Laurent pushed her soiled socked feet away, Abby remembered everything in electric-shock flashbacks. The bar, the club, the squat, the charming Frenchman, the weed, her easy seduction, her slutty strip, sucking his cock and letting him fuck her...Work!

She moaned in horror as she gazed down at her sweaty, used and exposed body. Abby wore only her previously hidden socks. The tiny pink G-string lay crumpled on the mattress. More disturbing still was the masses of long black hair that littered the bed. Abby's glossy hair extensions had somehow been brutally pulled out. This was inevitably a result of the ponytail guided blow job.

His work done, Laurent leapt from the bed and began to quickly dress while Abby's hands drifted to her destroyed hair.

"What the fuck happened..." she droned, as shaking fingers discovered that only her ratty natural lank black bob remained. Little did Abby know that Laurent had photographically documented her descent prior to her awakening.

"You have to leave...get dressed."

Abby realised again that the charmer in Laurent was long gone. Despite being epically hungover, the disgraced Detective knew the score. Yet her recollection of discovering his true nature had ironically made her wetter than ever when she was getting mouth-fucked only a few hours prior.

Abby had disastrously fucked-up again, but she had no intention of causing a scene or complaining. She just wanted to escape the scumbag's company and work some damage control on not turning up to lead her team. There would undoubtedly be grave consequences career-wise. She should've been leading her fellow Detectives on a big drugs case, but was instead sprawled out stripped in a drugs den with only a pair of stripy soiled socks to protect her modesty. Slickly sweating out the revelry of the night before and dreading the scorcher of a summer day ahead, Abby grouchily pulled on her damp G-string and shamefully struggled up. Dizziness sent her stumbling around like an obscene ragdoll. The buzz had entirely worn off, but Abby was still dehydrated and un-coordinated. In vain, she sought to scrape the dollops of spunk from her socks and inner thighs. Unfortunately, the pink cotton G-string was smeared damp by the cum that Laurent had shot into her brown bush.

Her weary, watery eyes scanned the hovel for her stuff. Panic quickly reared its ugly head. Only Abby's long black blouse lay in plain view.

"No, no, no, no, no..." Abby began to mutter out loud, as an ugly realisation hastened her search. She moved around with increasing desperation, pulling soiled covers from the mattress and tossing around the detritus of the night before. There was hardly anything in the room so it quickly became obvious that her things had vanished.

"Oh my God! My fucking clothes have gone!" She bleated in outrage. The initial panic felt at missing her clothes and boots suddenly paled, as Abby remembered her Jimmy Choo handbag, phone, keys, credit cards and money. After her last slutty slip-up, Abby had the good sense to leave her Police ID at home when out drinking, but this was hardly a silver lining. How was she going to get home!?

Abby began to garble in distress as she pulled on her blouse. Despite it dropping down barely south of her bare narrow ass, Abby's tits were still partially visible through the thin black fabric.

'Putain de merde!' Laurent brutishly roared, causing Abby to flinch. Strong, confident Detective Abby Lockhart would very likely have taken the shithead down with extreme prejudice, but minus her heels, hair, power-suit and any sense of self-respect, the broken woman struggled to hold back the tears.

"What fucking clothes did you have? Find them! I need you out of here." he hissed with undisguised loathing.

"J-jeans, b-boots, my jacket and -"

"I will quickly search for some clothes, but then you must go!' Laurent tore out of the room, not giving the teary woman a second glance.

Abby still searched around the room in the hope of finding something, anything of hers to cover herself with, but there was nothing! Her handbag had been stupidly left outside, but how could her clothes have disappeared? As Abby momentarily used the dirty sheets to again wipe more of the spunk from her socks and thighs, she fought hard to keep from vomiting.

It suddenly occurred to her that it was obviously those unpleasant raver girls who had burst in and stolen her clothes when she was delivering that blowjob. She prayed that Laurent would return with her things and it would turn out to be an elaborate practical joke, but she knew to expect the worst. Hard ass Detective Abby Lockhart had to face the reality that she had indeed been jacked for her clothes by a bunch of cackling teenage girls.

As if on cue, Laurent burst back in with...a pair of scuffed black suede platform stripper heels!

"You shouldn't have been so drunk. All of your fucking things are gone. Take these, you can at least walk home." Laurent said gruffly and thrust the used heels into her arms. Abby gazed at the high heeled shoes in horror.

"What the fuck!? I can't go home like this!"

"Merde! You have to get out of here! Beat-it!" Laurent grabbed Abby by her left arm and forcibly marched her out of the room and through the warehouse. She padded on socked feet even though she'd been forced to take hold of the heels. Her distressed babbling roused a few passed out party-goers, but only knowing grins greeted her impotent pleas for assistance. Abby desperately scanned the open space in search of the little thieves, but saw none of the girls or her belongings. Instinctively, a notion to call the Police popped into her confused head, but this only caused Abby to flinch in humiliation as she realised that she indeed was the Police...

Moments later Abby found herself shoved onto the desolate street outside the warehouse wearing only a long, semi-sheer, sleeveless black blouse, a blatantly visible pink G-string (with a wet patch on the front), a pair of striped baby blue and white knee socks, (one stretched to her knee, the other again idling loose around her ankle), while stupidly holding a pair of platform high-heels.

After the squat door slammed firmly shut behind Abby, she stumbled away in bewilderment. Of course, she could lucidly reflect on every step of the journey that had left her drunkenly stripped to her intimates on a south east London street, but the reality of her predicament bordered on the surreal. How was she supposed to even get home with no money or a phone? Nevertheless, Abby pulled up her stupid drooping sock and started to walk.

The thankfully deserted street was sun-drenched and baking, which quickly caused the wincing Abby to perspire even more. It had been the hottest June on record and the truant Detective was looking at walking across London in a borderline obscene state of undress. Her big nipples were almost clear to see through the slightly sheer black blouse, so Abby dropped the heels and slipped them on. This enabled the compromised woman to cross her arms over her unsupported, sizeable tits.

She growled through gritted teeth. The lofty heels were at least a size too small. Abby just about squeezed her socked feet into the cheap stripper heels, but they immediately pinched her poor feet and leant the distraught woman a tottering, slutty gait like she'd never worn heels before. Walking across London in such shoes was an insane prospect. With only a general idea of where she was in the city of London, Abby's only choice was to choose a direction and walk until she reached a main road. The area around the squat was a rundown industrial estate seemingly bereft of industry. All of the buildings looked derelict and it seemed as if the warren of rubbish strewn roads led nowhere, especially if the lack of traffic was anything to go by.

After walking for a good few minutes, Abby heard the rumble of an engine approaching from behind. She bowed her head in shame, but couldn't help but glance up as the vehicle seemed to slow alongside her. For one nightmarish moment Abby imagined it was a Police patrol car. The horrific prospect of queen bitch Detective Abby Lockhart being escorted into a Police station with her ass on show to the boys in blue caused her to skittishly buckle on her left heel.

It was a grubby white van that slowed as it passed her.

"Like the socks you fucking slag!" Shouted the obnoxious chubby laborer before roaring with laughter and quickly driving off.

Abby was speechless as she looked down in shamed humiliation at what she'd been reduced to. Tits on show. Her slightly paunchy and pale belly exposed beneath the mini-dress like blouse. A barely covered soiled G-string. Her by now slightly cheesy smelling and recently spunk stained tacky blue and white knee highs. And the scuffed black platform stilettos that her socked feet were squeezed into. After only a few minutes of walking, the slightly more soggy right sock had infuriatingly drooped down and bunched around her ankle again, whereas the other sock still clung on beneath her left knee. Her hair was a shredded mess and Abby was bizarrely thankful that she hadn't yet properly seen it in a mirror. She tried not to tear up, as the smeared make-up and fake tan (on only her top half...) already left her looking extraordinarily rough. The white van asshole's observation was undeniably correct. Abby looked like a slag.

At best, she resembled a skanky bachelorette who had become somehow separated from her hen party. A pranked bride-to-be whose slutty schoolgirl fancy dress of the night before made her look like a broke-ass working girl in the cold light of day. The sort of woman who Abby probably would've fucked with when she was a uniformed beat Copper. Pushed around, cuffed, laughed at and maybe even dragged to the station for a strip search. How Abby Lockhart enjoyed doling out a bit of sadistic punishment to any poor drunk or high girl who had the bad luck to encounter her as a uniformed Copper.

Abby had been walking (or painfully tottering...) for over five minutes when she began to see signs of life. Instinctively she pulled up her errant, drooping sock and tried to look at little more purposeful as she walked towards the two women who loitered ahead. She was on the verge of asking the two scowling girls for directions when she realised who they were. Abby looked around. There were a few more vehicles lurking at a crawl and a motley crew of shady characters dotted along the dusty, forgotten street.

Detective Abby Lockhart had wandered stripped down and penniless into a red light district.

Abby had been on the verge of asking for directions until the their harsh glares told her to keep walking. As she wisely tottered past them, the girls laughed cruelly and uttered a few choice insults in what sounded like an eastern European language. Not only did the women think that Abby was a rival whore, but she had to admit the actual street walkers were remarkably better turned out than she was!

"Alright Pippi Longstocking?"

Abby stupidly tripped once again as the voice emanating from the quietly purring vehicle took her by surprise. Before she could stop herself, Abby looked up at the curb crawler in the nice black car. A red faced fifty-something filthily grinned out at her. He was obviously out looking for a bit of rough for lunch and Abby's appearance more than fit the bill. She was just on the verge of telling him to 'Fuck off!', when the polo shirt wearing Dad piped up with,

"Can I give you a lift somewhere love?"

Abby stopped dead and looked at him. She was torn between instinctively threatening to arrest the scumbag for curb crawling and enquiring about his offer of a ride. After all, Abby already felt dehydrated and light-headed, how on earth could she walk across London in such a state?

Buoyed by her interest, the John beamed wider than ever and beckoned her over. Leaning across, he opened the front passenger door. Abby trepidatiously tottered over. The angry shouts from the foreign sex workers down the street hastened her somewhat.

"I've lost my purse and phone. Can you give me a lift home? I can pay you when I get to my flat?"

"I'm not a taxi service Love, but we can work something out. Come on, I'll take you home."

While flashing back to arresting poor young women for doing exactly what she was about to do, Abby bowed her head in shame as she entered the cheerful cockney's car. The blissful air conditioning made her swoon as the sheen of sweat chilled on her bare skin.

"So how much?" Asked the John as he pulled away from the curb.

"I just want to go home and then I can pay y-"

"I don't want paying Love, I want my dick sucked."

"But-"

"I'm due on the golf course at two. We doing this or not?"

Abby felt like vomiting yet again. The prospect of sucking dick like a common street tart was insane, but the notion of walking home was truly unthinkable.

"Okay...I'll suck you off, but not until you drive me to my manor." Abby winced inwardly as she heard herself talking like a tart. Yet something about the whole compromised situation made her loins shamefully tingle.

"Where?"

"North London."

"Fucking hell! Are you joking?"

"Please! I've had a really bad night and I just want to go home." Abby felt disgusted with herself as she forced a wide eyed pleading expression onto her face and gazed at the man she considered a law breaking deviant.

The John looked Abby up and down appraisingly while fiddling with his crotch.

"It better be a good fucking blow job and I want to film it too."

Abby was both pathetically elated that sucking a cock could see her ordeal end and aghast that a stranger would have footage of her debasement.

"Okay, but can you drive me home first and then I'll suck it?"

"I wasn't born yesterday Love. Suck me off, then I'll see about getting you home."

Abby was on the verge of protesting, but the car pulling away from the curb halted her complaints. She'd set things into motion and had little choice but to sluttily go with it.

Less than thirty seconds later the vehicle pulled into a derelict courtyard and slowed to a halt. It was clear that the John knew his way around. Abby wondered how many other whores he'd negotiated into the dilapidated alley

"Alright, take off your top and let me get a good look at you."

Abby did as she was told. Her big orange brown titties brought a smile to the John's face. Then he saw the jarring tan line at the top of her belly.

"Run out of fake tan did ya?" He chuckled, before pulling out a phone to film the rough looking prostitute in his passenger seat. Abby glumly sat there, not even bothering to hide the slight belly rolls or muffin tops that collected over her pink G-string.

"This ain't gonna work if you don't smile."

Abby twisted her face into a slutty rictus and opened her previously clamped together legs.

"That's more fucking like it."

With his phone in one hand, the John used his other to grope on Abby's bare titties before flitting down over her clammy belly and nestling in her shamefully wet crotch.

"Fucking wet one ain't ya?"

At that moment something broke in Detective Abby Lockhart. Despite being painfully sober, exposed and ashamed, the slut that haunted Abby's drunken dreams broke through the façade without the aid of drugs or alcohol. Being a disgraced copper, stripped down and selling herself in a dirty alley was exactly the sort of thing her darkest fantasies were made of.