R E S Pee E C T

The cop is striding towards you, one hand on her holster. "I saw you smearing something on that button", she says. "What was it?"

"Nothing! Definitely nothing!". You're having one of your little panic attacks again, all confidence drained.

"Don't play dumb with me. I saw you rubbing your finger all over it". She's upon you now, placing herself by the button but still facing you. She's taller than you, broad shouldered. She reminds you of Bridget, except she is blonde and where Bridget had an intelligent, piercing gaze that seemed somehow both assessing and disinterested, this woman looks at you with unabashed contempt. Her hair is in a braid over her shoulder and if she didn't look at you like that you'd think she was pretty attractive.

"No no, it's... it's clean, see for yourself!"

She glances down at the button skeptically. Seeing nothing, she runs her own finger over it, and you feel a small tug as the entanglement is made.

That's different. You've never felt anything before. Maybe it's because the material came directly from you this time? Or maybe because you are so close? Questions, questions.

She brings her finger up to her face, then rubs it against her thumb. She sniffs it, but still finds nothing. She looks at you again, frowning. "Doesn't prove anything. Show me your hands". She steps towards you and roughly grabs your wrist, twisting it uncomfortably up and making you drop your bag.

"My food!", you exclaim in shock and pain. She ignores you and reaches for your other wrist, but you instinctively take a step back when she lets your first one go. "What the hell?!"

"If you don't stop resisting I will be **** to take action", she puts her hand on her holster again. "It's well known that fa... homosexual individuals frequently smear infected fluids on public utilities"

Okay. So. This woman has clearly been spending too much time on the internet. You back up again as she takes another step. "Whoa, okay, look, I'm pretty sure that isn't true, and there's nothing on my hands!"

"Alright, that's it, down on the ground, now!" She opens a pouch on her belt and withdraws a taser, pointing it at you.

This is insane. You have to get this under control. You reach out and establish the connection. It was a while since you needed to go through the explicit Roster interface. It feels natural to just reach out and connect to the person right in front of you. You realize this is the first time you've done it to someone this close.

You push, perhaps more forcefully than needed, an overwhelming urge on to the woman to pee.

As before, the result is immediate. Her face moves from angry and disapproving to fearful and distraught. The arms holding the taser go down and press against her crotch as her knees come together and her legs buckle trying to put as much pressure as she can to contain her bladder. She makes a breathless noise with the effort.

You look at the recently domineering woman moving from foot to foot in small, urgent steps. Her authority forgotten, dignity forsaken, trying desperately to win the battle against her own body.

You feel a sting of pity as you walk around her to pick up your kebab bag. It's a mess inside. The styrofoam container burst open and the bag is filled with fries, sauce, napkins, and kebab in a wet pile. Your stomach loudly gurgles in indignant rage at the meal denied it.

You look down at the hunched culprit, pity forgotten. She's whimpering and rocking back and forth, refusing to wet herself in the middle of the street like this. You feel her fear, her panic, her confusion. Letting go is unacceptable. You push some more.

She moans at that and her panic becomes more profound. She's losing, she knows it, but won't accept it. She will fight this because what else is there?

It's impressive, you admit. Walking around her, inspecting her struggle, you feel powerful again. In control. In person, for the first time. This makes you hard.

You reach out with your mind, and feel a patch form at the roof of the officer's mouth. It bulges, and takes the shape of your glans. It presses down on her tongue, and she instinctively presses against it, mind now split between the foreign growth in her mouth and her urethra demanding release. You savor the feeling of her urgent, unintentional licks, rounding the rim of your head, roughly pressing it from every direction, trying to dislodge whatever got into her. The momentary distraction is enough to make her lose the battle for a brief moment, and she makes a gurgled noise with her cock filled mouth as a tiny amount of pee escapes and trickles down her leg. She clamps down harder, doubling over as she tries to push it back in with every muscle in her body.

You take that opportunity to extend your manhood further into her mouth, pushing slightly against her uvula making her gag and lap more frantically against the now exposed stem. It's a sight. So you go further.

Slowly, slowly, bit by bit, you extend yourself deeper into her, until her gagging and convulsing makes her fall over and she lies on her side on the ground. Her feelings are a jumbled mix. She's panicking. She worries about being seen. About not being respected. About losing her authority, being **** to serve rather than forcing others. About losing. And there, blended with the feeling of utter loss, is a deeply buried need. A need to be submissive. A need to lose everything so she doesn't need to suffer the risk of it. Getting it over with.

Are all people like this? Deep down, do they wish they could be free of the obligation to have and aspire? You don't. But you used to.

You indulge her. Growing to your full length down her throat, then pulling back, then down again, having the slowest deepthroating experience of your life, you ease up on her urgent need. She can focus on just you now, and with one arm still on her crotch, body still in fetal position, she hacks and gags and brings a hand to her mouth.

You are having a hard time standing straight now, and lean against the pole for support. All the way down, pushing her uvula out of the way, parting her throat muscles to squeeze yourself in, then up again. It's bliss.

You are getting close, but you feel there is something missing. She isn't feeling the utter submissiveness she craved yet, there's... a piece out of place. You push, and feel her arousal build. Her fear and panic is tinting, taking on a new context. The emotions become confused, then more certain, until she craves more. The hand against her crotch starts to move, first slowly. Then faster. Frantic. She rubs herself with the same urgency she felt before to not let herself go. She craves release. Submission. Surrender. Humiliation.

Her body rocking and heaving makes her squeeze you harder and faster, and you feel the need to release, to come. You concentrate, willing yourself to slowly retract one last time and begin your final push. As your cock starts to burrow again, you increase her arousal, feeling her impending orgasm hasten and intensify. You feel yourself coming as your cock slowly descends, and you push again against her nervous system, focusing as hard as you can and overwhelming her bladder all at once. She soils herself then, and comes, at the same time as you. She has given up and her relief is flooding out of her as she feels free for the first time in her life.