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WPC Pissy

"How can I get this bossy woman to unleash her kinky side?"

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Janice was a good-looking woman in her late thirties. She was tall and well-proportioned - a bit more flesh on her than many men would like, but I thought she was just about perfect. She looked as if she must once have been very physically fit but had eased off on the training recently. Her legs were strong and shapely, her buttocks a good size, belly a little on the meaty side, breasts big but not cartoonish. And she was pretty, whether she liked that or not - and she probably didn't. She was a tough character who was 100% woman but didn't want anyone thinking of her as a "little lady" or anything at all condescending like that.

She had spent most of her adult life in the Royal Air Force and still liked to look like she had just changed out of her uniform. Her hair was blonde and rather coarse and she kept it short, but there was something about it that avoided looking masculine; it was rounded at the edges and looked as if it could burst into curls if left unattended.

She had full lips that could have looked sexy if she had accentuated them with lipstick, but she didn't. That would have made her look as if she were pandering to other people, which was something she would never do. Jackie was a take-it-or-leave-it person. The word that sums her up best is forbidding. Men didn't dare chat her up because she could send them packing with a couple of well-chosen words, and you got the impression if that didn't work she'd have you up against a wall with your arm twisted up your back.

I wasn't scared of her, though. Working on the basis that everyone, male and female (leaving aside the modern complications of gender labelling) wants deep down to be seduced and made love to, I resolved to bide my time and make a move when conditions were right.

On leaving the RAF she had opted for a working life that involved a uniform and an atmosphere of discipline, hierarchy and respect. The police force had been the obvious choice, but she had found it even more misogynistic than the armed forces and as a 21st century woman she couldn’t put up with that. So she applied for and got the position of head of security for a large local company, which allowed her to strut around an office block looking smart and official, valued and admired by management, and treated with a sort of fearful respect by the hoi polloi. That included me. I would smile and say good morning and allow myself a mere second's glance at her breasts, long enough for her to notice but brief enough to suggest I wasn't going to push my luck.

Did she know in my mind I had my head up her skirt and my tongue in her bits? Probably not. In my estimation, she probably imagined, if anything at all, bending over the kitchen sink while some willing male plaything plugged her from behind, not in the arse, and banged her until he could control himself no longer and emptied his pathetic load into her. At which point normal service would be resumed and she would go about her business with the memory of a good shag, albeit with another no-hoper who had given her what she wanted while thinking he had been the winner.

She was known as the WPC, regardless of the fact that a police officer is just a police officer now, whether they have a truncheon or a mango between their legs.

One night it was somebody's leaving do in the canteen on the first floor, with canapes, a DJ and free drinks. I was having a nice enough time with some friends and acquaintances, such as you acquire in a large organisation. You see people around, maybe have a laugh, but you don't really get to know them. The staff "do" presented an opportunity to create deeper bonds.

There were a lot of youngish women, 18-30 secretarial types, so I did the usual bit of flirting, but eventually, I found Janice looking at me across the room, or at least I thought it was me she was looking at. I raised my hand in acknowledgement and she half smiled and looked away.

As the evening wore on, I waited for an opportunity to talk to her. She always seemed to be occupied by one of the bigwigs or the girls who fluttered around her, fascinated by something they probably didn't even understand.

At about eight o'clock I saw my chance as she made a solo trip to the ladies' and then the food station. I sidled up to her and we began an earnest conversation about spring rolls and whether they were the same as pancake rolls that you used to see in every Chinese restaurant in the UK. It was she who introduced the word phallic.

"They are, though," she insisted when I demurred. "Hotter and greasier, but, you know, it's like bananas..."

"And Toblerones," I observed.

"John Cooper Clarke," she said triumphantly, recognising the source of my remark, a song called Post War Glamour Girls by the punk poet. The lyrics whizzed through my mind and I recalled how he rhymed kiss with piss and also found a place for pubes. If Janice was a Johnny Clarke fan, she would be considering such things too. This was the breakthrough I needed: a common interest in punk rock, and we spent a good ten minutes talking about the Pistols and the Clash and whether Johnny Thunders' Chinese Rocks was better than the Damned's New Rose.

"Why don't we go somewhere else?" I ventured. "Pub? My place?"

"Shit," she said. "Steady on."

Before she could add to this, a gaggle of directors swallowed her up and I was cast adrift. I returned to the acquaintances and somehow, at some point, Janice disappeared. I bailed out at about ten and walked the 200 yards to my flat. I didn't even have Janice's phone number, so I just accepted that was it for now, perhaps forever, because knowing her, she would be back in official mode when I saw her next and what happened at the staff do stayed in the staff do.

I poured myself a glass of a Cotes du Rhone called Vacqueyras. Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. Nobody ever dropped in on me, and certainly not at that time of night. I opened it and there was Janice, coat buttoned right up against the cold, and poker-faced while she assessed the situation. We both mumbled uncomfortable nonsense and then she was sitting on my sofa with a glass of wine.

"How did you know where I live?" I asked.

"I'm a security professional," she said calmly. "I have access to certain information in the name of security."

"You know people call you the WPC?" I said, and then hoped she wouldn't object.

"Yeah yeah," she replied. "I know a lot of people think I'm a bit scary. And so they should," she added. "But you don't, do you? Why is that?"

"Because I see you as a woman, separate from your professional capacity. You're a person with a personal life. And I also happen to think you're very attractive."

"Are you going to kiss me, then?" she asked teasingly. I flung my arms around her and kissed her deeply and passionately. My hand went instinctively for her left breast and hers went to my right thigh before sliding up to feel my balls.

"You want me to cuff you?" she asked, daring me to wade further into our sexual pool. I ignored the question, but stood up and took her hand.

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In the bedroom we kissed again, beautifully and with love, not just lust. I felt I was on the right path. I put my hand up her tight cream skirt and into her knickers.

"My," she said. "You're confident. Now I want you to lick me. My pussy first, then my arse." She looked at me for a reaction and seemed pleased that I didn't even blink. I unzipped her skirt and it slid to the floor. I knelt down and pulled her knickers down and off. She sat on the edge of the bed and dispensed with her top and bra. I sucked her nipples and she sighed and grabbed my head.

"You're going to give me a good going over, aren't you?" she said provocatively, then lay back and waited for me to take her oral exam. I pulled her towards me and she gave a little gasp. She was unshaven and even untrimmed down there and I carefully parted her vaginal lips to keep the undergrowth out. Then my nose found her slit and moved up to nuzzle her clitoris while my tongue got to work in her hole. I slurped the juice that was coming down in a plentiful flow, deliberately making an untidy noise - it was my turn to see if she would be embarrassed. She wasn't. I almost got the feeling that nothing could embarrass her, but that would mean she always felt in control, and part of the joy of sex is losing control in a good way. It's the feeling of having someone else surprise you with a thrill you didn't think was coming.

"God, you're thirsty," she joked.

"And you're like a fountain," I replied.

"Maybe I like your style," she jabbed back.

As nice as it was talking to this woman, I wanted to get on with my primary function at that moment, which was exciting Janice so she kept producing her wonderful juice while exciting myself with the sheer joy of having my face between her legs. I know there are men who don't like performing cunnilingus, but for me, it is the ultimate privilege, the utmost pleasure, and the beautiful depths of depravity. If I could spend my life with my head in that idyllic place, I would without doubt.

While I was thinking this, revelling in the wonderful aroma and flavour of Janice's cunt, she was coming to a quiet, shuddering orgasm, and eventually, she let out a great yell of exultation as her thighs squeezed my ears.

"Shit!" she exclaimed. "You can lick me any time you like." She paused and then added, "Are you as good round the back as you are at the front?"

"Turn over and you'll find out," I said happily. "Say the words again for me."

Janice knew exactly what I meant.

"I want you to lick my arse," she said.

"Show it to me," I countered, and she turned over and lifted her rump into the air.

"You know a lot of guys wouldn't dream of doing this," she confided.

"There's a lot of ignorance in the world," I said sympathetically. "But I'm going to lick your arse until you cum again."

With that, I pressed my face into her crack and smelled that magical aroma, that incredibly erotic scent that turns me on like nothing else. I looked at her brown hole, with a pale slide up to her back, and began to lick her. She stayed confidently in position. It is a kind of conspiracy, licking a woman's arse. You're doing it and she is letting you do it. You're accomplices, fellow kinky fuckers. At that moment I wanted to get a picture taken of me licking Janice's arse, signed by me with the words "I licked Janice Webb's arse and we both loved it," and by her saying, "Vic licked my anus and made me cum."

Speaking of which, it took only a couple of minutes before she was grinding her rump into my face and growling in depraved ecstasy.

"Oh my fucking... goodness," she cried, struggling for coherent thought. "Oh Victor, do you want to move into my underwear drawer and give me anilingus every day?"

"I would love to, Janice," I replied. We lay together blissfully for a minute before she said, "There is one other thing, if you don't mind."

"Yes?"

"Are you into golden showers?" she asked hesitantly. Janice, hesitant - that had to be a first.

"Giving or receiving?" I asked.

"Either. Both," she said.

"Certainly," I said. "I would love to have some piss play with you."

"In bed," she added. "Have you got a couple of big towels?" While I fetched some from the wardrobe, she talked happily about her other favourite thing. "It's got this weird reputation as a bad thing," she complained. "Like it was abusive. But it's not, if you're both into it."

"I know," I said. "Like when R. Kelly was on trial for sex abuse against women. When it was mentioned that he had urinated on them, the world and his wife thought that was disgusting. And he might have been abusive in other ways, but I bet some of them loved it when he pissed on them. It just sounds bad when other people talk about it."

"I couldn't agree more," my lovely co-conspirator said, "but what I really want to do tonight is do it to you. How do you feel about that?"

"Great," I said, placing the towels. "I would love you to piss over me."

"On your back," she said, helping me into position. "I'm going to pee on your chest, so you can see it coming out of my hole. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Love it," I said. "And afterwards, I saw a clip online once where one girl was kneeling and the other climbed on her back and pissed into her crack. I want that."

"Your wish is my command," she said, positioning herself with her knees either side of my ribcage and her fabulous hairy sex console poised for action. A trickle began and ran down into my navel, then a stronger stream that ran down my neck and squirted into my waiting mouth. I was unimaginably horny by this point. I saw her struggling to stop and eventually managing to stem the flow.

"Change positions?" I hissed, so excited I could hardly speak. I knelt with my hands on the headboard and she clambered aboard. She positioned herself carefully and let fly. Her piss stream rinsed my arse and ran down my thighs. And it just kept coming. Now that we were doing what I had fantasised about, she was clearly determined to give me the time of my life.

"Okay?" she asked, squirting another blast at my quivering nerve endings.

"Oh, you dirty cow," I replied. "You're so fucking dirty I'm going to lick your arse every day for a week."

I knelt between her legs and masturbated. She watched, entranced, as I performed an act that she said no other man had let her look at. And my cum shot up her body and landed on her neck.

And I did do it every day for a week. After a slightly awkward first meeting after we had opened ourselves up to each other, we settled into a routine in which every lunchtime we would walk separately to my flat, kiss, get undressed and I would lick her arse. And she would cum and we would kiss again and we would go back to work.

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Written by silverseeker
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