“There, that’s all of it!” he said. The guys were all staring at Chloe’s bright red ass. Emily had tried to spread things around as much as she could, hoping that would help, but still, it would definitely be a long day for her tomorrow, she was sure.
“I don’t believe you.” Emily didn’t either, truth be told; she read people pretty well, and scared, drunk freshmen were easier to read than most. DJ took the rum and poured it out the window calmly, then walked back over and handed the empty bottle to Emily. She was thankful for an excuse to cease the corporal punishment.
“Emily, shove the bottle in Chloe’s ass.”
“What!” Emily exclaimed. “No way, you can’t possibly expect me to do that!”
DJ frowned at her. “I thought you were into this kind of thing. Outfit like that, I figured you were hella kinky.”
The guilt for her outburst hit her like a blow to the breadbasket. Jesus, she couldn’t be civil to him for ten little minutes! “Sorry, I am—just surprised you were too,” she said, grinning slyly, sick inside. She gritted her teeth a moment, then placed the end of the bottle at the blonde girl’s exposed asshole. She hesitated, then took the neck of the bottle into her mouth and gave it a thorough tongue bath. This would be brutal enough as it was without at least some lubrication.
“Aw, that’s sweet of you,” DJ said as she got back to it. She could barely hear him over Chloe’s muffled screams as the bottle slid into her tight little ass, inch by inch. Emily was just glad the bottle had a relatively thin neck. Her heart went out to her; she wished she could apologize without offending DJ.
DJ looked back to Chloe’s horrified friends. “Now, kiddies, if I don’t have the rest of the alcohol in my hand in the next ten seconds, Emily here is going to butt-fuck your friend here like she wronged her in another life. You get me?”
They were stunned, just staring at the slut-cop braced to go to town on their friend’s tender ass numbly. “Clock started, genius. Six… five… four…”
Robbie and the others launched themselves into action. DJ charitably slowed his count, and by the time he was done, there was a fifth of vodka, an untouched case of fruity girl drinks from the bin over his closet, and a bong.
“No weed?”
“I don’t have any right now, I swear, you can search the room, whatever, just don’t…” He looked to Emily pleadingly.
“He’s telling the truth,” Emily said quickly. Please, please please don’t make me do this.
DJ considered. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” She let out a breath she’d not realized she’d been holding. “All right now, we’re confiscating this, and letting you off with a warning. You people keep your music down, and be good little boys and girls from now on.”
They all murmured promises that they would—except Robbie, who was just too stupid to know when to quit. “Hey! You can’t confiscate that—you’re supposed to pour it out. I got busted last year—you can’t just steal my stuff, man.” He looked at DJ’s impassive face. “Um, sir.”
DJ shook his head reprovingly. “Emily, give blondie a taste.”
She wanted to say no. Run away. Take the bottle and smash it over his head. Break it off and slash his throat with the jagged glass. And each such thought deepened her remorse until she was overwhelmed with the need to be good to him. To be perfect to him. To prove to him she wasn’t the horrid person she knew in her mind she truly must be to have such thoughts. She would be perfect to him.
Emily broke.
“All right, you little bitch, time to show your friend what a bad, bad boy he’s been,” she said menacingly. DJ wanted her to be a Bad Cop. She could do that for him. She pulled the bottle out until she saw the lip, then slid it back in. She struck up a rhythm, soon working it as quickly as the tight little chute would let her. The blonde girl wailed impotently behind her sock-gag. Emily slapped her reddened ass a few times, too. DJ had liked that. The girl struggled, but only slightly.
DJ watched, smiling arrogantly at all present as Emily savaged the girl’s ass. Robbie begged her to stop, apologized repeatedly first to DJ then to Chloe and a couple of times to God—but Emily didn’t let up. DJ wanted this bitch ass-fucked, she was going to ass-fuck this bitch. It was that simple.
“All right, Officer Turner, I think she’s had enough,” DJ finally said. Emily grunted, playing up her Bad Cop persona, reluctant to be pulled away from a perp. She gave a last hard thrust into Chloe’s ass, hard enough she fell forward onto the floor. She lay there shaking, sobbing, the bottle twitching uncomfortably where it was lodged. Robbie knelt beside her to comfort her, but she elbowed him away.
“Now, anyone else have complaints about confiscation? No?” He eyed them imperiously. “Thought not. Now take care of your friend, and keep the noise down.” He grabbed the girly drinks and the vodka and walked out. In the hall, more than a dozen other residents were lurking, waiting to see who would come out of the door. Upon seeing Emily strutting out—and she was strutting, that’s what DJ wanted to see—the men went goggle-eyed. She walked right by them, sashaying enticingly for her partner’s viewing pleasure.
When they reached the lounge, DJ suddenly all but tackled her, driving her thin body up against one of the walls. Her desire to complain was silent. Her instinct to resist was a memory. All she could think to do right now was be whatever DJ wanted her to be. It was the only choice. Her salvation.
She could feel his hard-on through his pants, through her little dress, pressing right up against her ass, rubbing against her. His hands groped about for the zipper and started pulling it down. It was undone in an instant, but the latex clung to her body tenaciously to the point that removing it required him to literally peel it off of her. He spun her around and kissed her, hard, and she returned it as fiercely, wrapping one slender leg around his waist to lock his body against her.
“What you did in there, how you were in there, that was so fucking hot,” he said as his hands pawed hungrily at her petite breasts, squeezing them not-quite-painfully.
“Being your little Bad Cop bitch, you mean?” She moaned theatrically for him as he took a nipple into his mouth and nipped at it with his teeth. It didn’t feel very good, but that didn’t matter. She owed him. She wanted to better understand how to be good for him, make things right.
“No, you were so…” he cut off frustratingly as he found the other nipple.
“Bossy? Mean? Cruel? Dominating?” she prompted, sneaking a hand down to finger her pussy, trying to get herself ready in case he was going to fuck her. Or shove a bottle in her, perhaps, who knew. Whatever he wanted.
He chuckled a little as he let up. “There it is again. You’re just so… eager to please,” he said, grabbing her ass in both hands. She wriggled a little. Guys always loved her ass. “Obedient.”
Ah, so _that’s what he’s into. Of course._ She smiled at him adoringly. “You like it when I’m your obedient little partner, do you?” She clenched her butt, just catching some of his finger-tips.
“It’s just… well, usually I have to be a little more direct, break down resistance.”
“I’d never resist you, DJ. I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me what it is.” And she would. Her hatred for him kept clashing with her guilt over feeling it, with the latter coming out stronger and stronger with each fresh wave. As terrible as she felt for hating him, she’d do anything she could to make it better.