mean cop!toji x soft, naïve civilian reader🚨
cw: dubcon, coercion, manipulation, uniform/power play, oral, creampie, spanking, cumplay, naive reader, crying, gaslighting, corruption kink fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, public indecency, corruption kink, virginity loss implied, praise + degradation, cumplay, spanking, creampie, authority abuse, naive reader, trauma response behavio
officer fushiguro says it’s protocol. you’re dumb, soft, and scared of jail so you do what he says…🎀
you didn’t even want to go out tonight. you had said it, twice. but he pouted, and whined, and said you never went anywhere fun anymore. so you nodded, said fine, and let him pick your dress too short, something glittery and tight that you didn’t feel like tugging down all night. you didn’t even drink. you hated the way alcohol burned. you hated the smoke. you hated how loud it got when his friends showed up and how nobody cared that you wanted to go home. it was past one when he disappeared with someone upstairs, and you sat on the couch like an afterthought, knees together, watching girls you didn’t know pour shots into each other’s mouths like it meant something. your phone kept dying. your boyfriend kept not texting. and eventually you left. walked out without saying anything. found your way to the street, where it was quieter, colder, worse.
the deeper you walked, the less the air felt safe. the pavement was cracked, wet in places you didn’t want to know the reason for. your heels clicked too loud. your dress felt tighter now. your arms were crossed tight over your chest, hands gripping your elbows, trying to look like you weren’t scared even though your lip was trembling. you didn’t belong here. you knew that. the women on the corner knew it too. one of them muttered something when you passed, eyes dragging up and down your body with something between pity and contempt. you didn’t answer. just kept walking faster, your head low, pretending you weren’t afraid of the man across the street following a little too closely. someone yelled something, then glass shattered near a closed storefront. you flinched. you weren’t sure if you were crying yet. your hands were gripping your skirt now, knuckles white, nails digging into your thigh through the fabric.
short, sharp, close. red and blue light swept across the building walls like a blade. the sound scattered everything. the man who had been walking behind you disappeared into the shadows. the women slipped behind doors. someone ran. and before you could even process it, someone bumped into your shoulder hard and you lost your footing. your knees hit the ground first. then your hands. then your breath.
you didn’t even have time to push yourself up before the car door slammed shut. heavy boots clicked across the pavement toward you, and when you looked up, he was already standing there. towering. silent. watching.
he didn’t speak at first. just looked down at you like you were a mess on the sidewalk. his shoulders were broad beneath the dark uniform, his sleeves stretched around his forearms, chest outlined hard beneath his vest. his belt was heavy with equipment. flashlight, cuffs, something metal that clinked when he stepped closer. his watch glinted under the flickering streetlight. silver. thick. his face was hard to read. older. handsome in a way that made your stomach tighten. his expression didn’t soften when you pushed yourself up off the ground and stood with shaky legs. your knees stung. your voice cracked when you tried to say something.
i’m not.. i was just walking. i got lost. i’m trying to go home.
he didn’t say anything. just dragged his gaze down your body slow and unimpressed. your arms wrapped tighter around yourself as you tried to cover your chest, conscious now of how exposed your dress felt. how tight it was. how warm your skin was getting even though the air was cold.
you know where you are right now miss?
his voice was low. rough. not angry just firm. indifferent. you shook your head.
you think it’s normal for a girl like you to be out here dressed like that at two a.m.?
your throat tightened. you tried to explain again. my boyfriend— he was supposed to pick me up. i didn’t mean to..
he cut you off. save it. i’ve heard every version of that story. i’m not interested in excuses.
you felt yourself shrinking, jaw trembling. your eyes burned. you looked at his badge without meaning to, then back up at his face.
you carrying anything? drugs? weapons?
no, you shook your head fast. no sir. nothing. i swear.
he sighed like he didn’t believe you. like you were wasting his time.
then i’ll have to search you. just procedure.
you opened your mouth but nothing came out. your head nodded before your body could decide if it was okay. your fingers were still gripping your skirt, but your arms dropped slightly when he stepped behind you and touched your elbow.
turn around. hands on the hood.
your legs felt like jelly as you moved, placing your palms flat on the cold surface of his cruiser. the metal was smooth and dirty. you stared down at the dusty reflection of your face in the windshield, breath fogging the glass, and tried to slow your heartbeat. you could feel him behind you. too close. not touching yet. just standing there.
you shouldn’t be out here.
his voice was closer now. slower. you nodded. i’m sorry.
you’re not sorry. you’re dumb. and lucky it was me who pulled up.
his hand touched your side. gloved. big. it moved over your waist, not soft but not rough. deliberate. up, across your ribs. stopped just below your chest. then again, from the other side. your mouth parted slightly. his hand brushed higher. paused. then he cupped you palm flat against your breast through your dress, fingers curling beneath it slightly, weighty and slow.
he stayed like that. not moving. just holding. your breath caught in your throat. he didn’t say anything for a moment.
girls like you think they’re safe because they’re pretty.
he let go. shifted his hand lower. across your stomach now. thumb brushing under the fabric slightly like he was checking for something tucked in your waistband.
you swallowed hard. it’s cold.
he pressed in closer, chest against your back. the bulk of him was overwhelming. you could smell him now clean sweat, deodorant, the leather of his belt. something warm. something masculine.
he reached down again. touched your thigh. higher. then higher. your hands tensed against the hood.
stop moving. just checking.
his hand dragged between your thighs slow. not forceful. but there was no hesitation. the edge of his glove brushed just under your dress, fingertips grazing the seam of your underwear. he didn’t pull back. didn’t stop. just lingered there.
you’re a good girl, aren’t you?
you nodded again. barely breathed. yes sir.
you stay bent over the hood like he told you, arms locked straight, fingers curling against the cold metal as he moves behind you. you feel him step closer. feel the warmth of him. the pressure in the air. his hand smooths up your inner thigh again, and then it pauses. you can’t see his face, but his voice cuts low near your ear.
gloves make it hard to feel anything properly. need to make sure you’re not hiding anything where i can’t see.
you blink slowly, still frozen in place. what do you mean… hiding what?
he doesn’t answer right away. just removes the gloves with a calmness that makes your stomach twist. the sound of leather slipping off his hands feels louder than it should. the silence after is worse.
contraband. blades. pills. you’d be surprised where people hide things. mind spreading for me a little bit?
his tone is dry. like he’s asking something ordinary. you hesitate, glancing over your shoulder with wide eyes. but you said you didn’t find anything on me…
he’s already crouching behind you, large hands gripping your thighs now. steady. serious. his breath brushes against the back of your leg.
you wanna go to jail tonight?
your voice breaks. no… i didn’t do anything wrong.
then listen. you said yourself you’re innocent. i’m giving you a chance to prove it. so unless you want this to go differently, i need you to spread your legs and let me do my job.
your knees tremble. you part them slowly, swallowing hard as your body obeys before your head finishes deciding. the hem of your skirt rides up when you shift, exposing more of your thighs. he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t move away. you feel his hands return bare now, warm and rough, one on your thigh, the other climbing higher.
you shouldn’t be wearing something like this out here. you think this looks safe?
you stammer. it was just for the party… my boyfriend said it looked—
he cuts you off with a low laugh that doesn’t reach his mouth. your boyfriend’s not here, is he?
exactly. i am. and you’re lucky for that.
his fingers slip higher, palm cupping under your skirt. his thumb brushes across your inner thigh, slow. you feel your cheeks burn.
i just… i thought those women were standing there waiting for a ride or something. they looked cold. i didn’t know they were— like, you know, working girls…
you really that clueless?
your voice is barely audible. i thought they were waiting for someone. they had makeup and heels like me…
he exhales through his nose like you just proved a point he already made in his head. you don’t even flinch when he places his palm flush against the seat of your panties, his other hand pressing lightly on your back to keep you still.
this is exactly why girls like you end up in squad cars. you think your boyfriend’s gonna save you. you think someone’s gonna help. you walk around like this, stand on the wrong sidewalk, and act shocked when shit happens. you don’t get it, do you?
you try to explain, your words tumbling fast. no— i wasn’t— i wasn’t looking for anyone. i just wanted to go home. i don’t even do drugs. i don’t smoke. i don’t even drink like that—
i didn’t ask what you do. i’m telling you what you look like.
he grabs your wrist now, not rough, but firm enough to pin it gently against the car. your pulse beats under his fingers. you’re breathing faster. he leans in again, voice closer to your ear.
you want people to believe you’re not like them? then cooperate. lift your skirt.
you hesitate. he doesn’t repeat himself. just waits. calm. steady. his hand presses lower against your hips.
unless you want me to do it for you.
you bite your lip. your fingers move on instinct. you reach back slowly, bunching the fabric of your skirt up your hips until you feel the cold air hit the backs of your thighs. he watches every movement like he’s measuring your obedience, your delay, how far you’ll go before you say no.
his hand returns, this time bare against your ass. he palms it once, slow. full. then lets his hand glide down again. his fingers trail under the edge of your panties. he doesn’t rush. doesn’t speak. just slides the fabric aside like it’s standard protocol.
you start to tremble. but you say nothing.
he presses two fingers against your folds warm, ungloved. he doesn’t move yet. just rests them there. your breath hitches.
you clench your fists on the hood. you whisper, am i in trouble?
his hand moves again. just a little. enough.
his other hand reaches around your side, palm dragging upward, catching under your top until he cups your tit directly. no glove. no barrier. just his thumb brushing your nipple slowly, like he’s assessing the weight, the texture. your thighs shake again. your lip is tucked between your teeth.
you let him. you think maybe this is part of it.
you say softly, i didn’t think a cop would… like, need to check that area.
he exhales again, steady. his voice smooth. patient.
you need to trust that i know what i’m doing. i’m trained. i have the authority. i don’t get off-duty at two a.m. to argue with girls who don’t know what neighborhood they’re standing in. now keep still. unless you want to go to jail for obstruction.
you go quiet. his fingers slip lower.
his bare hand drags under your skirt again, slower now. no gloves. no barrier between your skin and his knuckles. you feel the callouses at the base of his fingers first. you flinch slightly when the edge of his thumb grazes your hip bone, but you don’t move. you keep your hands planted flat on the hood like he told you, knees trembling under the weight of the silence.
he’s breathing evenly. not fast. not heavy. just there. controlled. looming behind you with that low, rhythmic sound of breath coming through his nose as his hand pushes your underwear to the side without asking.
you whisper it before you can stop yourself. i thought you had gloves for this…
his voice is immediate and firm, but not unkind. no tension. no heat.
and you think gloves let me feel through fabric? you want me to miss something tucked under the skin? that how confident you are in your search?
you shake your head fast. no. sorry. i just didn’t know. i didn’t mean—
he cuts you off. it’s not your job to know. that’s what i’m here for. you’re not trained. you’re not certified. i am.
your mouth stays open like you’re waiting for another word. like you’re trying to keep up. his fingers don’t pause. they move gently under your underwear now, gliding down through the soft warmth between your legs like it’s nothing more than a place to check. nothing more than a procedure.
his other hand comes up around your side. not rough. not groping. he places it slowly over your breast, heavy and measured, letting his palm mold to the shape of it like he’s weighing something. his thumb brushes across the front of your bra once. he hums faintly through his nose.
your throat tightens again. your eyes burn. you’re biting back tears now, more from confusion than fear. your voice is small when you ask, but isn’t it your job to stop people from… like, doing bad stuff?
his thumb brushes over your nipple again, slower this time.
i am stopping it. you’re not cuffed, are you? you’re not face-down in a cell. i’m giving you a chance to show you’re not a threat.
you swallow. you feel your knees wobble again. he moves behind you, closer, like a shadow folding in.
his hand presses lightly between your shoulder blades, guiding your chest down lower.
just a bit more. legs apart. i can’t feel everything properly like this.
you hesitate. your hands shift against the hood. your thighs part again, further this time, your skirt sliding higher with the movement. your panties pull tight between your legs. he doesn’t help you adjust them. just keeps his fingers moving against the edge of your thigh like he’s checking for seams, creases, something suspicious.
you can’t help it. your voice comes again, small and confused.
do you check all girls like this?
his answer comes quickly, with no pause.
only the ones who wander into danger and don’t know how to get out.
he says it like a warning. like a favor.
your hands are shaking now. you press your cheek to your arm, eyes fluttering shut. his palm is under your underwear, moving lower. his other hand grips your tit harder this time still slow, still calm, but heavier.
he exhales faintly as his middle finger glides between your folds, dragging once, knuckle-deep, slow like it’s measured against a checklist. the pressure isn’t sharp. it’s not even heavy. just there. invasive and deliberate and too calm to be flinched away from.
he hums again. we’ll see.
you try to breathe out. your voice is shaking. i didn’t even want to go out tonight. i didn’t think this would happen.
you whimper a little without meaning to.
he says, lower your voice.
i don’t like making arrests. i don’t like paperwork. i’d rather you just cooperate. you don’t want to go in, do you?
you whisper fast. no. please no.
then keep still. skirt up. legs open. let me finish.
his fingers slip further between your folds. slow. pulsing. like he’s listening for your response through your body.
his thumb brushes the seam of your pussy.
he’s not breathing faster.
he’s not doing anything he hasn’t told you is part of his job.
because he hasn’t yelled.
because he smells like clean uniform and his badge reflects light and he’s saying it like he’s helping.
you don’t even realize you’re crying until the fog on the hood glass smears under your cheek.
you were already shaking, but now your chest is hitching and stuttering as you try not to sob. his fingers haven’t moved away. they’re still between your thighs, gloved only in warmth, resting too heavy against the part of you that feels wrong to expose, but you’re exposed anyway. your cheeks are wet now. you blink fast and try to speak, try to explain yourself again, but it’s all falling apart in your throat.
i didn’t do anything i swear—i didn’t know—i thought the bus would come—
you’re making this harder than it has to be.
his voice cuts through your panic like the edge of a rulebook. cold. official. steady. not cruel. just done. the way a man speaks when he’s tired of being doubted. his fingers glide up through your folds again, then back down, then up again, each motion slower, flatter, dragging along the soft part like he’s not even trying to make you react. just pressing for the shape of something hidden. like it’s medical. like it’s justified.
your lip quivers. he’s not yelling. that makes it worse. your knees buckle again and you push back against the cruiser for balance, your eyes clenching shut.
you know what. we might have to put you in tonight.
your head lifts, fast. you turn toward him, wide-eyed and blinking through the blur in your lashes, your voice catching.
no—no please i can’t—please don’t take me to jail i swear i didn’t do anything i didn’t even drink—
your chest shakes as you cry harder, your arms trembling now from holding yourself up against the car. you can barely breathe. the air feels thick. sharp. your thighs are still spread and your panties still tugged aside and he hasn’t moved his hand.
you think this is how innocent people act?
your lip breaks. your voice is cracked. i didn’t even want to be out tonight my mom’s gonna kill me i just wanted to go home i don’t even do drugs i swear—
he clicks his tongue and moves his hand again two thick fingers pressing inward, rubbing harder now, sliding up and flattening with more pressure. your breath hiccups out of you, a shaky sob tumbling into the night air. he sighs like he’s annoyed. disappointed.
this is what happens when you lie. when you make shit difficult. now i gotta make sure you’re really clean. and you’re wasting my fucking time.
you shake your head. no i’m not lying i promise please i promise you can check anything just don’t take me—
he scoffs again. his voice is closer to your ear now, heavy and dry.
check anything? you know what i’m checking?
his fingers tap directly over your pussy now. two slow, deliberate slaps right against your folds. you jolt, your breath catching. he doesn’t pull away. just rubs over the same spot again, tapping lightly. then harder. then pausing to press, like he’s thinking.
you’re not even listening. you don’t know the law. you don’t know what you’re talking about.
you nod fast, eyes wide, throat dry. your voice comes out like a whisper.
i’ll listen. please i’m listening i swear—
he turns his body more toward you now, looming. standing so close behind you that his legs box yours in. you tilt your head to the side, still crying, still trying to see him.
he taps your pussy again. once. then again. his fingers spread the lips slightly with each motion.
i am legally allowed to detain and search anyone found in a known criminal zone. and i’m allowed to escalate the search if there’s suspicion of possession. now tell me. is this a criminal zone?
you’re crying harder now, nodding quickly, the street spinning behind your wet lashes. yes—
and were you found alone. no ID. no phone. no money. dressed like this.
he presses his fingers in again. more pressure this time. they push apart your folds, pressing into the plush, slippery heat until you sob again, shoulders jerking. he doesn’t stop.
so if i choose to arrest you, i’m within my rights.
you hiccup. please don’t.
you think crying’s gonna change it?
no. no i just—i just don’t wanna get in trouble i don’t want my mom to know i—
then stop whining and do what you’re told.
he pulls his hand away slowly. not all the way. just enough to make you look up. and when you do, he’s staring down at you, unreadable.
he says it again, slower.
you reach back with trembling fingers, dragging the fabric down your thighs, trying to keep yourself covered with one hand, but it’s impossible. you’re exposed now. vulnerable. soft and sticky and wet with a shame you don’t even understand yet.
his fingers return. he cups you fully. his palm smooths against your cunt with weight and ownership.
you tell him again through tears that you don’t do drugs. you didn’t even want to be at the party. you thought he was going to help you.
i am helping you. that’s why you’re still out here. that’s why i haven’t written you up. but you keep making this harder. and now i have to be sure.
his hand slides lower again.
and you still believe him.
you started crying too early. that’s what told him exactly what kind of girl you were. the kind who doesn’t understand what’s happening until it’s halfway done. the kind who breaks before she’s even touched. he liked that. not because he was cruel not openly but because it made everything easier. cleaner. quieter.
you’re still leaning on the cruiser, barely holding yourself up. your panties are crooked from how fast you pulled them back up, and your skirt’s still rucked around your hips. you haven’t noticed. you’re too busy falling apart. your hands are shaking, and your voice is a wet hiccup in your throat. you’re trying to breathe like you’re drowning.
he watches the way your shoulders tremble and the way your thighs press together like you think that’ll make a difference now. it won’t. your body gave you away. he didn’t even have to touch you long to feel it warm, soft, slick where you shouldn’t be. and still, you’re here, rubbing your palms together like you want to pray. like that’ll get you out of this.
backs away two steps, slowly, and grabs the radio from his belt.
he lifts it to his mouth, presses the side, lets it beep for show. doesn’t speak yet. glances at you. your head lifts like a dog hearing its name through a storm.
he speaks into it flatly.
yeah, i’ve got her here. description matches.
dress, skirt, red around the eyes. nervous.
he tilts his head slightly like he’s thinking. then sighs.
…alright. copy that. if the warrant’s cleared, i’ll transport her.
he puts it back slowly. precise. lets the click of it slotting into place feel louder than it is.
when he turns to you again, your expression’s already cracked open. wide wet eyes. lips trembling. your chest rising too fast. like your ribs are about to burst open.
you whisper it like it’s the only thing you remember how to say.
he doesn’t answer. he just looks at you. like he’s thinking. like he doesn’t want this either.
i didn’t wanna do it this way.
you shake your head. fast. sloppy.
i didn’t know this street—
i was just trying to go home—
please please please don’t—
he steps forward and grabs you by the upper arm. not rough. but firm. final. pulls you off the cruiser slowly. you stumble into his chest and he catches you like that’s what this was for all along.
he wraps one arm around your back and places his other hand on the back of your head, flattening your face to his chest. your cheek presses to the edge of his vest. your nose bumps his badge. and still you keep crying. like holding onto him is safe. like you’re not already in the trap.
his palm moves up through your hair once. slow. deliberate.
he doesn’t need to say more. you’re already folding. melting into him like he’s warmth and shelter and not the man who had his fingers inside you three minutes ago. he can feel it now your sobs soaking through his shirt, your fists clenched weakly near his waist, like you think holding on will stop him from letting go. like that would even help.
you start talking again. all stammer and panic.
i’ve never been arrested—
please i’ll do anything i can’t—
his hand cups your skull like it’s delicate. thumb strokes once against the side of your temple. he lets the silence stretch.
then finally, he speaks low, into your hair.
there might be another option.
you freeze. your fingers twitch.
you lift your head, face red, mascara streaked, mouth wet from crying. you look like you want to believe him.
not technically protocol. but in cases like this, low-level nonviolent offense, no priors… there’s occasionally room for discretion.
he watches your face closely.
he lets the words settle. you blink.
no court record. no cell. no official booking. but a physical response in place of incarceration. immediate. non-lethal. signed off on site.
what’s… what’s that mean?
you’re still within reach of jail. this is me giving you a chance. there’s paperwork if you agree. i record it. we do it here. it’s done. you walk away.
you’re quiet now. your voice is thin.
he lets his eyes drop once. slow. measured.
your lip quivers again. your mouth opens. you want to ask something dumb. something childish.
he sees it. already knows it.
he cuts in before you can say it.
it means you’re punished physically. by a superior. in proportion to the assumed charge. no jail. just correction. on-site.
he lets his hand settle on your back again. strokes it once.
you look up at him like he might change his mind if you breathe wrong.
your silence is still a yes.
he lets you cry in his arms until the worst of it dies down until your throat is too sore to keep sobbing and your body’s too tired to tremble. you’re soft now. moldable. not calm, not composed, just cracked in the right places. that’s when he tells you he needs to bring you into the cruiser. it’ll be safer. easier. paperwork’s in the console. you nod before he’s finished speaking. of course you do.
the door shuts behind you with a heavy thump that makes you flinch. you’re sitting in the passenger seat now, skirt still rumpled, eyes wide and wet, lashes stuck together from crying. your legs are pressed tight, your hands sitting folded in your lap like a child waiting to be told what happens next. the streetlights outside are dim and orange. the cruiser smells like leather and metal and him. it’s quiet.
he opens the driver side and slides in beside you, seat creaking under his weight. shuts the door. locks it. the central click makes your fingers twitch.
you look over, nervously.
he doesn’t meet your eyes.
just sits there. silent. both hands resting heavy on
you glance at him. lips shaking.
you’re still crying when he unbuckles his belt, slow and steady like he’s undoing the weight of responsibility itself. the clink of the metal fills the car like it means something official, something irreversible. his zipper follows, dragged down with care, and then his hips shift, the pressure in his seat tilting just slightly. you flinch when you hear the sound of fabric parting. you don’t dare look at first. your throat closes. your hands are twisting into your skirt again. you’re already apologizing softly like maybe your voice can reverse time. but it doesn’t stop him. his cock is out now. thick and flushed and heavy across his thigh, veined with tension and the kind of slow, dangerous bloodrush that has nothing to do with justice. he doesn’t touch it yet. just leaves it there between you like evidence.
he sighs like this pains him, like your crying is a burden, like this was never his choice. says this isn’t what i wanted. says i don’t like doing it this way. says you left me no choice. and you’re nodding now through your tears like a girl being comforted after being punished, like this is still salvageable if you listen. he keeps his voice low, calm, clipped like radio speech. says it’s policy. says the alternative sentencing clause requires full cooperation. says it’s your own actions that led here. says all he needs is proof that you’re willing to comply. you keep saying you’re sorry. that you didn’t know. that you didn’t think walking down that street would make you bad. you say you just wanted to go home. you say your mom would kill you. and every word makes him harder.
he lets you lean in slow. doesn’t rush. doesn’t coax. just sits there with his knees wide and cock heavy against his leg while you crawl forward like you’re not sure what the next step is. your fingers tremble on his thigh. you glance up with wet lashes like maybe he’ll stop you. he doesn’t. you ask if this is part of it. your lip quivers when you say it. is this really how it works. he tells you yes. tells you that once it’s completed you’ll be logged as processed. your eyes drop to his lap again and you’re breathing faster. your hand touches the base of him like you’re touching something you’re not supposed to see. and then, with your voice barely there, you ask if you’re supposed to use your mouth.
he rests his arm against the door. says that’s how we verify full submission. says it clean. like you’re being trained. like you’re learning how to be good under the law. you nod and say ok. you’re still crying, but you nod.
you take him slow at first. your lips part but your mouth’s not ready for how thick he is, how heavy. your jaw stretches. your head tilts. he watches the way you try not to gag, your brows knitting together as you breathe through your nose, one of your hands gripping the edge of the seat like you’re steadying yourself. you whisper i’m sorry again, like the tears in your throat are interfering with your ability to suck him properly. he hushes you, hand pressing down against your scalp gently. not guiding. not shoving. just holding you there like it’s comfort. says quiet now. let’s not make this worse.
your mouth sinks lower. your tongue flattens under the weight of him. your lips close tighter. your breath comes out wet around the base of his cock. he exhales slow and steady, not groaning, not praising just acknowledging the service like it’s nothing more than a necessary step. says you’re doing fine. says this is almost done. says the state appreciates your cooperation. your mascara is smeared across your cheeks, your nose is running, your soft mouth is drooling around him and you’re still trying to please him like it means you might still go home after this. he says don’t make me report noncompliance. you shake your head fast and gag deeper, sucking harder like that’ll prove something.
he watches your throat tighten around the head of his cock. watches your lashes flutter, your tears drip off your chin. you look up at him again, your voice cracking as you pull back slightly, lips red and spit-slicked, asking if this is enough. he says keep going. says this part has to be continuous. says if you stop too soon we have to start over. you’re crying again. you don’t know how long you’ve been doing it. he cups the back of your head again, says that’s it, says that’s what i need, keep your mouth full. you’re gagging now. your lips bruised, your mouth raw, and you’re still trying to swallow him like it’s your civic duty.
he groans once. low. finally. just as you sink to the base and start choking.
you swallow without thinking, because he told you to. your throat burns and your eyes water and you still can’t tell if it’s relief or shame that makes your shoulders sag. your mouth is sticky and your nose is running, and all you can hear is the sound of your own breath, shallow and tight, as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. you blink up at him like you don’t know what’s left.
can i go now? your voice is wrecked. soft. hopeful.
he exhales, calm, like it hurts him to say it. not yet.
your body stiffens. your lashes flutter. your fingers twitch in your lap like they’re trying to make themselves useful.
why? i… i thought that was—
that was part one, he says, voice low, even. visual cooperation. external.
you stare. your lip moves.
he doesn’t look at you right away. just sits back against the seat and wraps his hand around the base of his cock again, dragging slow strokes up the shaft with fingers wet from your spit. he sighs, eyes lidded.
we’ve got a clause for physical response. when there’s no record or charge but suspicion still stands. it’s listed under immediate deterrence.
your eyes widen a little. your knees press together.
he strokes himself once, eyes flicking to your face.
it means we respond to the misconduct in the moment. physical behavior, physical consequence. something to lock the lesson in.
you go quiet. your voice is a whisper.
he hums. not quite. you’re not being processed. just adjusted.
you look down again, throat closing.
i didn’t mean to do anything. i’m sorry. i didn’t know it was illegal to even be there i thought i was just walking home—
yeah, he says, soft and steady. yeah, i know. you’re young. it’s nothing. but we still need to do it.
you blink, cheeks burning. you want to cover your face, but your hands stay still. you don’t even know what you’re asking when you say it, voice barely audible.
do i have to take anything off?
he looks at you like it hurts him to answer. like he wishes he could say no.
just from the waist down. quick. over my lap.
your lip trembles. your eyes sting again.
he reaches out and pats your head with his free hand, palm heavy, his thumb brushing your temple like he’s comforting you for something that was never going to be kind.
don’t cry now. it’s better this than cuffs. s’procedure. you’re doing fine.
he keeps stroking himself while you cry in silence again. you nod. your hands are already reaching under your skirt, trembling as you push your panties down your thighs. he watches the way you fold. the way you shrink. the way you climb across the cruiser bench on your hands and knees like a girl with no clue what her own body means. he keeps his tone low, firm, clear.
need you still. just like that. bare, yeah. there we go.
his cock is thick in his hand again, flushed and wet and twitching as he watches you settle across his lap, stomach to thigh, your ass bare and soft and exposed in his lap. your breathing is shaky. your cheeks are hot. he grips the base of himself tighter, slow strokes dragging under his palm as he shifts your hips into place.
this’ll go fast, he says, thumb dragging over the tip. just a few. then we’re done.
your voice is already cracking.
he keeps stroking while you hide your face in your arms and press your thighs together, already bracing. he leans over you. lines you up. voice steady.
this is just the system correcting you. nothing personal.
his hand rests heavy on your lower back, broad and bare, pressing you down with the kind of weight that keeps people still in a fight. you’re not fighting. you’re shaking, bent over his lap, your chest against the sticky vinyl of the seat, your arms folded under your chin and your bare ass exposed to the cold of the car and the heat of his gaze. your panties are around your knees. your skirt’s bunched at your waist. and you’re already crying again.
he strokes himself with one hand, slow and steady, the sound slick and deliberate, dragging the head of his cock through his fist as he adjusts the angle of your hips. he doesn’t moan. he doesn’t breathe hard. he just watches you.
stay still, he murmurs low, his palm dragging up the back of your thigh like he’s checking a hamstring. just a few. light. nothing to cry about.
you hiccup softly, your face hot, your arms trembling. but you nod. you trust him.
the first strike lands with a flat crack that echoes too loud in the cruiser. your body jolts. your voice breaks.
his hand doesn’t linger. doesn’t rub. just lifts again, steady. you shift, thighs tightening, but you stay. you whisper a quiet, wet sorry under your breath, and he pretends to soothe you.
it’s fine, he says. it’s not about that. this is for policy. not punishment.
you nod again. you want to be good. you don’t know how else to leave.
the second slap lands lower. meatier. your skin warms under his palm immediately. he squeezes once before lifting his hand again. not hard. just handling.
this is what we do when people break protocol. when they don’t know better.
you sniffle, voice shaking.
i didn’t mean to break anything—
i know, he says. that’s why we’re doing it this way. i didn’t want to process you. this is easier. quieter. you don’t go into the system.
your lip trembles. you nod again, face buried into your arms.
his cock pulses in his hand when you say it. he strokes it harder, watching the soft bounce of your ass across his lap, the faint red blooming beneath his palm. your thighs are starting to part slightly. you don’t notice.
you shift and whimper again when the third strike lands. it stings deeper this time. you make a soft sound. not pain exactly more like embarrassment. shame. something crumpling in your chest.
he shifts his hips slightly and presses his cock to your hip now, still stroking himself as he lands the next one, this time slower. heavier.
you flinch, but you stay. he rubs your lower back once. thumb grazing your spine. voice calm.
you’re taking it well. it’s almost done.
you nod again. you believe him.
your voice is barely audible.
mm. if the response looks sufficient. if i feel like you understand.
you whisper a shaky okay. you apologize again.
he strokes himself harder.
yeah. i know. you’re sorry. you’re soft. that’s all it is.
his hand drags down again. another slap. sharper this time. you jolt. his cock presses closer.
his other hand leaves your back and smooths over your ass, fingers spreading your cheeks slightly, just enough to feel the heat where he struck you. he runs two fingers over the crease, slow.
procedure says contact’s supposed to be skin to skin. you’re lucky i’m going easy.
you squirm. your voice barely there.
he grits his teeth and strokes himself faster now, breathing quiet through his nose, watching your trembling thighs, the wet between your legs now clear under the cruiser light.
you’re lucky i stopped when i did outside. you wouldn’t be standing right now.
you don’t answer. you just breathe in quick, shallow gasps, trying not to cry again.
his hand spreads you wider. his cock drags along the underside of your hip now, heavy and hot.
you don’t even know what you’re doing to yourself, he murmurs, voice low against your ear. don’t even realize you’re dripping.
you blink. your thighs squeeze. your body tenses.
he chuckles once, short and dry.
that’s not up for debate. it’s on my seat.
you hide your face deeper. whisper another sorry. your voice cracks like glass.
he strokes himself faster. drags his hand back to your ass. lands the next strike sharper, lower. you jerk. you choke on your breath.
one more, he says. for the record.
your body is limp now. soft across his lap. exposed. ruined.
your ass is still warm from the last strike when he moves again, rubbing over the sore spots gently, his other hand still wrapped around the base of his cock like he hasn’t even felt a thing yet. he’s quiet for a moment, just watching your body fold across his lap, the wet spot smeared against the leather seat, the way your thighs twitch with every shift of your hips. you think maybe it’s done now. maybe that was the last step. maybe you passed. you blink tears from your lashes and start to lift your head, breathless, whispering again if it’s over.
he hums low and shifts under you, adjusting his belt, his cock still out, hard and pulsing against your leg.
you pause. blink. you look back over your shoulder slightly, dazed.
his hand moves to your jaw. thumb brushes the side of your mouth, stroking your lips slowly like he’s calming you, like you’re a little girl with sugar on her face. he sighs.
just need to make sure you didn’t take anything. pills. powder. residue. we check by taste if there’s suspicion.
you shake your head quickly, wide-eyed.
i didn’t take anything i swear i don’t do that i’ve never even—
he cuts in with a softer voice, still rubbing your cheek with his thumb, pressing into your bottom lip.
i know you’re innocent. i can see that. doesn’t mean we skip procedure.
you blink again, lips parting as he presses his thumb into your mouth. his other hand moves slower over his cock. he shifts you onto his lap, adjusting your hips as he turns you to straddle him. your legs spread across his thighs now, your skirt up, your ass bare, panties dangling around your knees. your eyes are wide and wet, and your chest is rising fast. he strokes your back once. then leans forward.
open your mouth. just relax.
you do. because he tells you to.
his mouth meets yours. and at first it’s just breath. his nose brushing yours. his hand on your waist. but then it changes. his tongue slips in, thick and slow, warm and deep and curling over yours like he’s tasting something sweet, something he wants to lap up. you whimper against his mouth. you’re not kissing back, not really. you’re just letting it happen, letting his lips move against yours and his tongue explore your mouth like it’s part of the check. part of the law. he groans into you. slow. steady. his hand cups your tit now, thumb rolling over your nipple, stroking until it’s hard under your shirt.
you moan. soft. shaky. ashamed.
he breaks the kiss slowly, a string of spit connecting your mouths. your eyes flutter. your lips stay parted.
he blinks down at you, his voice low and calm.
he strokes his cock again. presses the tip against your thigh.
might’ve tasted something off.
what—no i swear i didn’t i don’t take anything ever i promise—
his hand lifts your chin again.
then let’s double check. sometimes it’s subtle. second pass catches it.
he cuts you off, voice smooth.
just stay still. hold on. grip me so you don’t fall.
you blink, confused. grip you?
he nods. points to his cock. calm.
i’m big. and you’re soft. if you lean too far you’ll slide. just hold it. with both hands.
you reach for it slowly. your fingers curl around the thick shaft, unsure, soft. your palms feel hot. the skin is heavy, twitching under your grip.
yeah. just like that. don’t let go.
he kisses you again. deeper this time. his hand grabs your ass, rolling your hips against his lap. you moan into his mouth, tongue flicking against his as he strokes his cock through your hands. his other hand cups your tit again, rubbing the nipple under your shirt until you shudder. he breathes into your mouth. licks your tongue. hums low in approval.
he keeps kissing you. grinding. his cock pulsing between your fingers. and you keep holding on, eyes closed, trusting every word like it’s law.
he kisses you again like he’s trying to taste your breath for a second opinion. slow, thick licks inside your mouth, his tongue heavy, deliberate, too warm. his palm cups your ass now, rocking your hips gently back and forth over his lap, your bare cunt dragging slow over the length of his cock like he’s lining you up without ever saying it. the head of it catches between your thighs every time he shifts, thick and twitching against your pussy, your slick already smearing across his shaft and your fingers. you’re still holding it both hands wrapped around the base like it’s a handle, trying to keep your balance. you don’t even notice how sticky your knuckles are getting.
his mouth breaks from yours and you’re gasping. dazed. lips swollen. he looks down at you, his voice low, thick, flat.
your eyes flick up, dazed.
he groans quietly, cock twitching between your hands.
because it’s big, sweetheart. and hard. and if you let go while i’m checking, you’ll fall forward and knock your teeth. keep it steady so i can inspect everything properly.
you nod fast, embarrassed, fingers tightening around his length. he grinds you down against it, slow, rocking your hips gently so your pussy lips slide up the shaft like it’s part of the inspection. you gasp again. his eyes don’t leave your face.
just need to feel the whole response. pelvic tension, hip reflex. it’s all logged
i didn’t know hips were part of—
everything’s part of it. this whole unit moves with you. if we don’t check your body’s involuntary responses, we can’t confirm compliance.
you look down, unsure. he presses the head of his cock harder between your lips now, the thick tip dragging through your folds like he’s wiping it across your cunt on purpose. you whimper.
i didn’t mean to make it complicated. i just wanted to—
he cuts you off, kissing you again hard, tongue pressing past your lips while his hand squeezes your tit, palm dragging over your nipple until it pebbles against his thumb
you did make it complicated. you lied to me. about the street. about why you were there. about your boyfriend. now we’re here!
he grinds harder, cock slipping between your folds while your hands slide up the length, struggling to keep hold
then what. you just ended up here. dressed like that. standing with known sex workers. your phone dead. no wallet. and you think that makes you look clean?
you start crying again, soft and breathless.
i didn’t know that was the kind of street i thought they were just waiting for the bus.
he hums against your mouth. not mean. just disappointed.
you didn’t think. and that’s the problem. now i’m stuck cleaning it up
you nod quickly, ashamed. his cock pulses between your hands
and i’m stuck doing this, cause the policy says once bodily contact occurs, full procedural frictional response must be documented. that means hips. that means pelvic rhythm. that means tongue. that means compliance by pressure
you blink hard. he kisses you again while you’re still processing. your hips grind forward because he’s moving you. your thighs part wider. your mouth opens again. his hand slips back into your hair and he breathes into you
don’t let go. not unless you want me to reset the form
you shake your head quickly. keep holding. both hands gripping his cock like it’s the only solid thing inside this lie.
you’re pressed down harder now. the head of his cock sliding along your clit, your slick soaking both your thighs and the front of his pants. he pretends not to notice.
everything’s being recorded. every reaction. every movement
you moan again into his mouth, breathless, trying not to move but moving anyway. he hums again, low, stroking your back with one hand while the other palms your ass
i need you still. i need you obedient. this is almost done
you nod again. tears slipping again.
he strokes his cock up through your hands again, your grip struggling to stay firm as he rocks your hips faster.
he kisses you again. deeper. hungrier. his tongue curled into yours like he’s dragging answers from your throat
he smiles into your mouth. keeps rolling your hips over his cock like it’s the final phase
your hands are slipping on him now slick from how soaked you are, from the drag of his cock between your folds, from how heavy he feels under your grip. your thighs are shaking over his lap, bare and parted, pussy dragging up and down his length like you’re humping a weapon, and he just watches. calm. his chest rising slow under his vest, the same badge glinting at your cheek as he presses his lips to yours again, thick and wet, licking into your mouth while he speaks.
we’ve got to finish the response exam.
your voice comes out muffled against his tongue
he keeps kissing you. lets your mouth drown in his. his hand cups your ass again, spreading you wider, adjusting your hips until the head of his cock notches perfectly between your folds. he groans into your mouth when he feels how soft you are, how wet. he rocks you forward until the blunt tip presses tight against your entrance, not pushing in yet, just there. heavy. waiting.
he pulls back. your spit connects in a thin string that drips onto your thigh.
he breathes. still stroking himself, still holding you in place.
full depth contact. we check for any obstruction. internal heat. resistance. contraction.
your lip trembles. your voice breaks again.
i didn’t take anything i swear..
then you’ve got nothing to worry about.
you flinch slightly when he drags the head down, smearing your slick wide with his cock like he’s preparing you for something medical. his voice is lower now. firmer.
you blink fast, face burning
i— i don’t know how.. sir.
he grabs the base, points it up, thick and hot and pulsing in his fist.
just lower yourself. breathe. you’re the one confirming compliance
you stare at it. thick. swollen. flushed. your thighs tremble harder.
i’ll guide it. you keep it steady.
your hands slide back around the base. your fingers curl tight. he holds you above it, cockhead dragging along your pussy lips again. you gasp when the tip slips just barely inside thick pressure, stretching, more than anything you’ve felt before.
he hushes you, kisses you again while pushing you down slow. his hands guide your hips as he rocks you lower. the head pops in. you gasp into his mouth. he groans.
keep going. full depth. that’s policy
you choke on your own breath. his cock stretches you open inch by inch, the weight of him forcing your body down over him while your cunt tightens and spasms, trying to take it all. you grip him tighter. try not to fall.
he groans low. strokes your hair as your hips settle lower.
that’s it. fuck. yeah. just like that. fully seated. full record.
your eyes flutter. your mouth’s open. you whimper
yeah. that’s how we know it’s real
you look up at him like you want to cry again. like you want to ask how long this part takes. but his hands are already gripping your ass, rolling you forward, your clit dragging against his pelvis while his cock twitches deep inside you.
we’ve got to do six rotations. pelvic rhythm. internal friction confirmation. then you’re cleared.
you whisper it like prayer
his mouth is already back on yours. his tongue heavy. messy. wet. he kisses you while he lifts you up again. the drag of his cock pulling out makes your whole body shake.
he starts stroking himself with your body, slow, thick thrusts that keep you seated fully each time. your arms wrap around his neck without thinking. your hands slide up over his collar. he kisses you again, slower now, like he’s soothing you. your pussy spasming with every grind, the stretch making your stomach clench.
you choke on a sob. say please without knowing why.
he growls it against your lips
don’t stop now. you’re doing so well
he lifts you again. thrusts deeper. your moan is broken now. higher. like a girl being pulled apart for the first time.
his hands spread your ass wider. you’re leaking down his shaft now. he hums.
compliance’s good. tight. warm. clear
you can’t even respond. your brain is swimming.
you look up at him, lips swollen, tears stuck in your lashes, your mouth open as he kisses you again, cock buried to the hilt.
he says it soft against your mouth.
last one, baby. then you’re safe.
he slams you down one final time
he’s so deep in you now you can’t speak without gasping, and every bounce on his cock feels messier than the last. your thighs are shaking as he rocks you forward harder, faster, gripping your waist like he’s guiding a ride he’s already memorized. your slick is all over his lap. the seat’s soaked. your mouth’s open, dumb and drooling as you pant into his chest. you’re gripping his shoulders now, your eyes glossy, brain blanking out with each thick push inside. your body’s given up trying to hold back.
he groans into your hair, voice low and gravelly against your ear as he fucks up into you.
good girl. just like that. such a good civilian. fucking perfect response rate. fuck—
your eyes flutter. your cunt clenches. you start bouncing on him harder like you’re chasing it, like praise is oxygen and you’ve been suffocating for weeks.
he grabs your tits in both hands. slaps them together. hard. bounces them in his palms, grunting when they jiggle back at him, flushed and wet with sweat. your nipples hard, your chest heaving.
such a good girl, he growls. fucking good slutty civilian pussy. warm and tight and dumb just like you.
your voice cracks on a giggle, still crying, still riding, lip pouty, snot in your throat.
you called me baby.. sir..
he grabs your ass in both hands, spreads you wide, pounding up into you faster now, slapping his cock against your deepest spot while the seat rocks beneath you.
because you got a cute face and you’re always whining. baby suits you better than your real name.
you pout harder, blinking up at him, cunt squeezing him tighter as you bounce.
you nod. pouty. obedient.
he laughs under his breath, breathless.
yeah. ok is right. fucking baby’s soaking me.
he slaps your ass once. then again. bounces it hard in his hand and watches the ripple.
his cock slaps deep inside again. the sound is obscene. wet. sloppy.
you needed this. you needed to get used. needed to feel it. needed someone to make you dumb.
you nod fast. dumb. grateful. crying.
yeah i did… i needed it sir..—
he’s groaning now. hand gripping your jaw as he stares up at you, fucking faster, rougher, your tits bouncing with every thrust as you ride him
you say it again, giggling, moaning, smiling.
i needed it so bad. i’m sorry i lied i needed it i swear.
his hips lift. his stomach clenches. and then he cums deep inside you, thick and hot and loud, groaning through his teeth as your name leaves his mouth half-spoken, half-grunted. your pussy clamps down, milking him, and he holds you there, buries it all inside, makes you take it until it leaks out around his cock.
you blink, dazed. panting. still twitching on top of him.
are you gonna get in trouble now?
he breathes hard, sweat dripping down his temple.
you kidding? you just gave the best fucking compliance report of the year.
he lifts you slightly. you gasp when his cock slips out, warm cum leaking down your thighs, sticky and heavy.
then spreads your ass apart wider with both hands.
hold still. still inspecting.
he scoops his fingers through your slit. pushes two of them back inside slow, his cum squishing back in, pushing deep, massaging your sore pussy walls with thick fingers as your breath stutters.
can’t have any evidence slipping out before transport. tampering with discharge is a felony.
you blink again. throat tight. you nod.
he kisses your shoulder. fucks his fingers deeper. presses them in until the base of his palm meets your cunt again.
shhh. baby’s just doing her part.
he looks at your ruined body. your ass stretched open. your thighs wet. his cum spilling from your cunt.
fucking perfect civic performance.
your thighs are twitching as he pulls his fingers out, cum dripping down his knuckles, a string of it catching between your folds and the base of your ass. you try to move, but your legs are too weak and his hand is still on your lower back, pressing you gently forward until your chest rests against his. your breath hiccups once. you’re dazed. glassy-eyed. your hair’s stuck to your cheeks with tears and sweat. and you’re still trying to blink up at him like maybe you passed. like maybe this time it’s over.
he exhales through his nose, slow and steady, fingers sticky as he reaches for the compartment under the dash. pulls out a folded packet of tissues. wipes his hands first. then your thighs. your pussy. not roughly like he’s drying you off after a bath. like it’s kindness.
you don’t flinch. you watch him work with soft, dumb eyes.
he lifts your panties gently. smooths them back over your hips. pats them once like he’s proud of you for keeping still. tucks your skirt back down over your ass, adjusting it neatly so it doesn’t wrinkle. you don’t speak. you’re still catching your breath, your pussy sore and full and raw. he kisses your temple as he zips up his pants. clips his belt back together. smooths his shirt like nothing ever happened.
you sit in the seat quietly. blinking. soft.
he reaches into the console and pulls out a blank form. rips the top half off. writes something on it with a thick black pen.
folds it. presses it into your hand.
you look down at the paper. confused.
he fastens the last button of his shirt. eyes forward now. clean voice again.
contact sheet. goes in your personal record. if you have any doubts. or think something’s wrong with your next check.
his name’s not written anywhere. just a number. ten digits. nothing else.
you look at him again, mouth open slightly.
he finally looks back at you. his eyes are soft again.
his hand rests on your thigh once more. not heavy. just enough to leave warmth behind.
you nod. fast. still trying to prove you learned something.
you stumble out slowly. panties wet, thighs sticky, fingers curled tight around the paper like it’s proof you’re safe now. like it’s not a leash.
he watches you walk away.
watches your skirt sway over your still-red ass.
watches you turn the corner, the number still clenched in your hand.
just in case you forget how the law works next time.
(*≧∀≦*)thank you for reading, seriously. this one was so filthy and wrong in all the ways i love, and the fact that you’re here with me at the end yeah. that means everything. thank you for trusting me to take you somewhere dark. thank you for wanting more.
annaxmalina
jacobvanloon
discoholicmusic
dailybridgerton
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