Codes: MMF, dom, oral.
Celebs: Anne Hathaway
Disclaimer: This is, of course, a work of fiction and fantasy. Names and likenesses are the result of astounding coincidence. It is in no way the intent of the author to objectify, sexualize, or otherwise exploit persons or organizations to titillate readers or explore personal fetishes. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar and a charlatan of the lowest kind. The very idea of a young, beautiful, female celebrity indulging in sordid, kinky sex is one the author finds sinful, disgusting, and morally reprehensible.
Now that’s out of the way, this quickie was inspired by the pics of Anne Hathaway attending a PBA function that appeared on this very site a few days ago. You can find a couple of them as a part of the collage I made to go with this story, which also includes a few delightful pictures of Ms. Hathaway from the movie Havoc, which some filthy, filthy girl retouched to better show the wonderful expressions on Anne’s face, expressions I hope will help you better enjoy this little fantasy.
We’d been watching her all day, standing anonymous in the background while she did her movie star thing, all grace and serenity while the flashbulbs popped around her, smiling when the photographers asked her to turn around or strike a pose as though their requests were somehow more noble than getting a shot of her ass in those tight jeans.
Of course, we’d all seen Havoc and Brokeback Mountain. Those of us with kids had even seen The Princess Diaries. So we knew that her ass wasn’t exactly what the paparazzi were after. For today, though, it would have to do. Anne, in town to show her support for the Patrolman’s Benefits Association, had asked for a shirt because she wouldn’t be speaking, and the only one the organizers had been able to find would have been loose on some of my more well-built colleagues, never mind Ms. Hathaway’s tiny frame. She wore it with the sleeves rolled up to her shoulders and the hem tied in a knot to one side of her left hip. She should have looked homely, robbed of her curves, of the C-cups that had been the talk of the precinct all week. She looked amazing. Something about wearing that logo so proudly, like she was one of us. Something about the way that top merely suggested her breasts where the gowns she wore to the premieres and the functions screamed their presence to anyone in the immediate vicinity.
Anne Hathaway, her hair colored with a reddish tint I didn’t think was natural, big, dark eyes mostly hidden behind a pair of shades, generous mouth offering a smile to every greeter. Even the most jaded of my uniformed fraternity fell in love that day. At least a little.
“I’ve never actually been in a cell before,” she said, smiling.
This was later, after the paparazzi had departed and the officials had headed to a luncheon downtown for champagne and speeches. She’d declined the invitation, and after a brief conference, the chief had walked her over to us, and with a smirk on his face, had said the words that made us the envy of the entire NYPD. “Officer Wells, Officer Bryan, Miss Hathaway would like a tour of the station. Would you two gentleman oblige her?”
Who were we to refuse?
“Well,” Bryan said, his eyes fixed on her manicured, painted nails as she touched the bars of the holding cell with what we were both imagining was a caress, “nice girl like you.”
She smiled at that. “It’s not all Disney,” she said. “Why is this one separate, down here in the basement?”
“We call it solitary,” I replied. “It’s only been here a couple of years. Some of the perps make a hell of a racket, disturb the other occupants. If we can’t get them to play nice, we bring them down here where they can’t bother anyone.”
I shook my head. “Not soundproof, but this is an old building, thick walls. You could scream your head off down here and no-one would hear it.” I felt myself blushing.
“Thick walls,” she repeated. “It is kinda warm. You guys don’t mind, do you?”
She reached for where she’d knotted that loose blue shirt at her hip while Bryan and I emitted a simultaneous grunt that was both non-commital and desperate. No, we didn’t mind. We didn’t mind at all.
“Feel like I’m wearing a tent,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and pulling the shirt up over her head. As she stretched, the pink tank-top she wore beneath pulled up as far as her ribs, exposing the pale expanse of her flat stomach where her waist flared out to her hips, belted jeans loosely riding that heavenly curve you could imagine holding in your hands, her arms around your neck.
“You look good in it,” Bryan said, the slightest of tremors in his deep voice.
“Thank you, Officer Bryan,” she replied, turning that smile on him.
“You can call me Ed, ma’am.”
She shrugged, blissfully unaware of what the movement did to her breasts beneath the tight material of her tank-top and the wiring of the bra I could make out beneath. “I like Officer Bryan,” she said. “I like cops.”
It was then, in the warm silence of basement, Anne Hathaway standing before us with that shirt dangling loosely from her left hand and color in her cheeks, that I knew something was going to happen. There was a thickening in the atmosphere, as though the tension Bryan and I were feeling had just clicked up a notch.
“I’m glad,” Bryan said. He swallowed with an audible click.
“So how about it, Officer Wells, you ever bring a girl down here?” she asked me.
“Like…a girlfriend or a perp?”
“Do you guys get to bring female prisoners down here?”
“No. A female officer would have to…I mean, two guys and a female perp would be…” I trailed off.
She nodded, watching me watch her. “But what if it was just you guys? I mean, you couldn’t wait for backup if you had to subdue someone right then and there.”
“An arrest is different. You can defend a situation like that, heat of the moment. You have a job to do. Down here would have to be deliberate.”
“No good cop, bad cop then?” Her eyes were locked on mine like a challenge. I knew what she wanted.
“I’m not sure I like your tone, ma’am,” I said. I was speaking in my cop voice now, all force and authority. “Or your implication.”
“Officer Wells,” she said, “you can go fuck yourself.” And with that she took a dainty step forward, flashed that beautiful smile, and spat in my face.
It was Bryan that moved. I was too shocked. For a big man he was quick, and even though she must have known it was coming, even though she had, in fact, engineered the whole situation, she gave a startled yelp when he grabbed her bare upper arm and span her around, pinning it behind her back, wrapping his arm around her throat and pulling her back against him.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” she yelled.
“Wells, get the cell open,” Bryan said. The tremor in his voice was heavier now, and I realized he was struggling to contain himself.
I wiped her saliva from my face with my sleeve and moved quickly past them, sliding the heavy cell door back so he could push her in. Without thinking about it, I followed them, pulling it closed behind us. Bryan turned her to face it.
“Hands on the bars,” he ordered.
“Kiss my ass,” she replied.
“Hands on the bars,” he repeated. “The alternative is a nightstick in the kidneys. You’ll be pissing blood for a week, you stuck-up little bitch.”
A beat of silence except for the three of us breathing hard. Bryan released her and she stepped forwards, gripping the bars of the cell like someone expecting a blow. He took hold of her hips and held her up as he kicked her legs apart. I stood there in a daze as he patted her down, his big hands moving over her shoulders and down her back, then under her arms, smoothing her tank top against her stomach and then briefly squeezing her breasts. I heard her sharp intake of breath and then he was moving downwards again, checking her belt and the pockets of her jeans, then the denim where it was molded to her hips and her ass. He paused a moment, waiting for her to say that this was some kind of joke or misunderstanding, then went down below her ass, up between her thighs, his hand cupping her crotch. She breathed out through her nose, pushing back towards him as he glanced back at me, eyes wide with excitement and disbelief.
I stepped forward, my heart hammering in my chest, my cock hard and frustrated in my pants. I grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. “You like spitting on cops?” I asked her. “You like getting into trouble?”
She stared at me defiantly. The color in her face had deepened and spread, and her forehead shone with sweat.
“I thought you were a classy girl,” I told her, reaching down into the gaping front of her tank-top, grabbing at one breast, feeling its size and weight through the lace of her bra, the nipple hard against my palm.
“I’m a slut,” she said, giving me a smile entirely different to the one she’d offered the photographers earlier. “I want to be treated like one.”
“Cuff her,” I said to Bryan, my voice thick.
He jerked her hands away from the bars and pinned them behind her back, pulling his handcuffs from his belt to slap the bracelets around her wrists. I still had hold of her hair, and I pulled her head down so she was bent over between us, unzipping my fly with my free hand, freeing my aching cock. She took it into the wet heat of her mouth without hesitation, and I pressed her head down harder, till her lips were almost pressed into the crotch of my pants, feeling and hearing her gag on its length. Bryan had his arms around her waist from behind, unbuckling her belt and pulling the front of her jeans open, shoving them down around her thighs, taking her panties with them. He held the chain that linked the handcuffs with one hand, took his cock out with the other. I couldn’t see it, but I heard him enter her – the liquid sound of his cock sliding into her pussy, his groan, her stifled gasp. I was already past the point of no return, holding her head in place and fucking her mouth with quick, violent thrusts, feeling her body jolted forward each time Bryan pushed into her. “Fuck…” I murmured, gritting my teeth, my balls tightening, my orgasm shooting up through my pulsing cock as I came in her mouth, the heat rising through my body, making me dizzy. Bryan wasn’t too far behind. He groaned again, his eyes squeezed closed as he threw himself against her one last time and then slumped forward, his forehead resting against her back.
By the time he’d composed himself, I was leaning back against the bars, still holding Anne in the same position. My cock was already stiffening again. I was desperate to fuck her, and when Bryan looked up, he grinned.
“Sloppy seconds,” he said.
I gave him the finger and then pulled Anne upright by her hair. Her mascara had run down her face, and her chin was streaked with spit and come. “We’re not done with you yet,” I said, reaching once again into the front of her tank-top, this time with both hands, grabbing the material and tearing it away from her body. I reached for the clasp between the white lacy cups of the bra she wore beneath and unhooked it, freeing her pale, full breasts, pink nipples swollen with excitement, their tips stiff and erect.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
And even in the middle of the crazy thing we were doing, with her make-up ruined and her clothes hanging off her, Anne smiled at me.
I pushed her back onto the bed, and she lay there watching as Bryan and I stripped off our uniforms, her hands still cuffed beneath her. When Bryan knelt on the bed beside her head, she obediently turned towards him, opening her mouth for his thick, black cock. I pulled her jeans and panties the rest of the way down her slender legs, tossed them aside and pushed her thighs apart, my cock now fully erect again at the sight of the glistening pink flesh of her spread pussy and her shaved crotch. I climbed onto the bed, took hold of my cock, and guided it into her, taking it slow this time, savoring of every inch of delicious friction her grip provided. I laid my hand flat on her crotch, let my thumb explore the junction of her pussy-lips, finding the tight little bud of her clit. She moaned around Bryan’s cock, lifted her hips as though urging me on as I caressed her, fucking her slow and deep, content to follow the rhythms of her body, wanting to see her come. When she did, she turned her head away from Bryan, looked up at me, her eyes wide and her mouth open, crying out with pleasure as her whole body stiffened beneath me, trembling for precious seconds before she lay still, breathing hard, exhausted.
Bryan was kneeling over her, jerking off with one hand and kneading her breast with the other, pinching and twisting her nipple so that the skin around it was red and inflamed. His breathing was harsh and ragged, and he watched her as she spoke to him. “In my face,” she whispered. “I want your hot come all over my face.” No sooner had she said it, Bryan reached his second orgasm, holding his cock so that the thick splashes of his come hit her face, dripping into her mouth and her hair.
“Now you,” she said to me as he climbed off the bed.
I smiled at her, slid my cock out of her pussy and climbed up the bed until I was straddling her chest. I lay my cock flat between her perfect breasts and pushed them together, her warm skin surrounding me. She held my eyes as I worked my cock back and forth, my thumbs describing tiny circles around her nipples as I did, my second climax building slowly and wonderfully in the pit of my stomach. When I could take it no more, I raised myself up and – like Bryan – watched her as I stroked myself until that sweet sensation of relief washed through me and I gasped aloud as my second orgasm hit, streaking her naked breasts with come.
No-one said anything when the three of us emerged into the lobby of the precinct, where the chief greeted us with a warm smile. We’d had time to clean up, Anne had thrown away the pink tank-top and slipped the loose blue PBA shirt back on, and if anybody noticed that her face was now scrubbed clean of make-up, they probably thought it was because the cameras were gone.
“We really appreciate you coming out today, Miss Hathaway,” the chief said. It was an honor to have you here, and its an honor to have you support the PBA.
They shook hands and she offered him the warm smile of earlier, the smile she wore for the press. “It was an honor to be here, sir,” she replied. “Patrolmen do a tremendous job in this city, and they deserve all the benefits they get and more.”
She turned to Bryan and I, shook each of us by the hand, and winked. “Thanks for the tour, officers,” she said.