The Mundane Constable
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The Chief Constable free porn video
The Secretary of Internal Affairs was all concentrated on the job at hand, fucking this woman from behind, pumping that hard cocaine-induced old cock of his in and out of the tightest pussy he ever encountered. It wrapped around his man-meat like an anaconda and made it hard as hell not to succumb to a quick orgasm - and, mind you, this was the third time this evening.
The powerful man fought with his proud manhood, grabbed hard around the woman's hips and pumped even harder. 'Take that, you stupid whore', he gasped. She was moaning and panting the most horrendous filth. She was great when stoned, she always dragged out the best of him - or the worst - depending on how you saw it. When he finally came, he had nothing to be ashamed of, with a loud grunt he pulled out of her and released his load over her butt and upon the black cloth of her skirt and jacket.
He managed to stand up on his feet, again, and walk away as it just was another finished business. His strength was coming back slowly and he got the receipt from her.
'Oh, Sir, you fucked me so good. You're the man, Sir'.
Yeah, of course, he was.
Later, he was sitting in a comfy chair with his pants on, a glass of wine in his hand, looking at her when she came back from the bathroom. The incredible bitch had only swept her pussy and ass with a cloth, that's all. In reality, she was ready for more action, but he couldn't take it anymore this evening. What an evening, by the way, beginning with a large seminar on law and order in luxurious surroundings with him as the leading speaker. What was it about now, his speech? Who cared, when there was good food, lots of drink and then his favourite - well, then, the only one present - fuck doll.
Chief Constable Mildred Ratched drank wine directly from the bottle and some of it ran down her chin, down on her chequered police cravat, that she always kept on during their escapades. She was standing there, with the bottle in hand by her knees, police jacket and shirt open, her small tits visible, her shaved pussy too since she never bothered to push down her skirt. She was drunk and stoned. They were out of d**gs, but still plenty of booze.
Ratched would be fifty next year and she had reached a mature quality on her otherwise not very refined looks. She looked like a stern Chief Constable, the highest officer in the county, but, no, Ratched was not a looker. Small, a little stocky, with broad hips and small tits, unruly short, dark blonde hair. She wore glasses now, had an awfully big mouth, but, shit, did she fuck well or not ...?
She sat down in a chair opposite him, legs wide apart, showing her vagina for the world. She found her perfect police helmet on the floor and put it on her head, looking completely improper. He smiled.
'You’re crazy', he said.
'Look who's talking', she answered and drank some more wine.
'We will go to hell', he continued.
'No, Sir, that's in my power', she said and burped.
The Government Secretary remembered the first time he saw Mildred Ratched, on a photo, five years earlier. She was Police Constable, PC, Ratched among her fellow police school graduates. She was looking extremely nerdy in her tiny, uniformed frame, the smallest of them all. He was just a political secretary at the Home Office, working with the police. He couldn't believe what he saw. What was he supposed to do?
His assistant, Candance, an all work and stuck up West Indian bureaucrat and overachiever held him in line. They were there to recommend who would become the new Chief Constable and Candance wasn't happy.
'Sir', she said. 'She was on the wall already back then'.
'Really?' he said rather thick. He could see down the little fat minx's cleavage between her blouse and tight jacket.
'Yes', Candance continued patiently. 'The question was how she went through the Academy'.
'With sex, you say'.
Candance blushed. 'Yes, Sir, to put it frankly, Sir'.
Candance, you busty cow, he thought. Yes, let's be frank.
There were many examples, Candance had pointed out. During her career, Commander Ratched had been accused by colleagues for using immoral activities to position herself in a positive view by commanding officers.
'Female colleagues, I guess', said the Secretary, smiling.
'Not only, Sir', protested the assistant gloomily.
The Secretary had read it himself. PC Ratched had been taking on several male colleagues in the back of a police van on duty, including her Sergeant back then. Desk Sergeant Ratched had been banging a Chief Inspector in a cell when the arrest was empty - and so on, up the ranks. At one moment, as a Chief Inspector, she was attacked during an interrogation by an inmate and almost ****d. The Superintendent in charge had the feeling that she was in on it. She never pressed charges against the man, a brutish bank robber - in fact, a brother to a fellow officer.
Crazy, the Secretary thought.
'I see that she never left the uniform ranks', he said.
'Never going detective, Sir', Candance pointed out. 'Most unusual', she added.
He sighed. 'Okay, let them in'.
Commander Ratched entered the room together with her negotiation witness and allied, a tall, broad, almost over-masculine black man in an all-business suit. He was introduced as Chief Inspector Benson, chief of the Anti-Narcotic Squad. Ratched hanged her elegant, black overcoat over a chair and placed the Commander helmet on the table between them. She was shining in her perfect uniform with ranks, commendations and all. She wore a service skirt, not pants, the Secretary noticed. They all shook hands.
Yes, she really looked the business, a stern, effective little police machine, not particularly liked by her staff, all 1 700 of them. Her blue eyes were fixed on the both of them, the Secretary and Candance, who looked somewhat worried, arranging her jacket and blouse closer together. Did she sense something? The Secretary thought he did, that there was something the air.
The talks started and went normal until the not so nice details came up. It was Candance doing the "bad cop" routine, reading the hidden accusations in Ratched's case history, with gusto. Ratched stared at both of them like a hawk on her prey, not preferring the West Indian cow at all, more leaning on the Secretary, her immediate boss, the man with the power.
'Let's stop there', she commanded with a surprisingly booming voice. 'Inspector Benson, would you join our female counterpart in the next room? I would like to talk to the Secretary alone'.
'Absolutely, Ma'm', Benson answered, standing up in all his length, signalling with his hand to Candance to follow him.
The Secretary nodded his acceptance to his assistant, who looked perfectly terrified by now. She took her files with her into the next room.
Commander Ratched sat in silence for a while, until they both could hear a muffled conversation in the next room, followed by a table, maybe, scr****g on the floor and something of a thud. The Commander smiled with her broad mouth, looking at her hands.
'Oh, Benson does like his black little up-nosed bureaucrat'.
They could hear that table moving again, with returning sc****s and some whimpering going on in there. The Commander now stood up, walking around the table in her impeccable uniform.
'Yes, your little friend was right', she said, smiling. 'I do use sex as a tool for promotion. Always done that. It's all I have, you see, Sir. My only skill is my libido, the rest is just for show'.
To the Secretary's amazement, she pulled up her uniform skirt and showed prim stockings and a clean, naked vagina.
'Do take out your meat, Sir, and I will ride it, or do you prefer a blow job first?'
The Secretary got his manhood out. It was a little surprised but hard as a rock, quite long, but thin. He had never said no to sex and he wondered if the Commander could sense that? She understood him completely and climbed up on his pole. She was wet as melon and with a low sigh, she sank over him. He grunted it was so tight. His face forehead was under her chin, pressed to the black and white chequered cravat. She started to ride him.
He moaned and grunted, she just talked away: 'Yes Sir, you fuck the Commander, you **** the shit out of her. Do what you want with her, the pride of the force'.
Jesus, fuck, he thought. That shit-talk, with that husky voice ... God, she was a class of her own. He couldn't hold back; he felt the floodgates giving up. The Commander felt the commotion inside him, stepped off his now blue pecker and in a few swift jerks with her hand the political secretary ejaculated in a loud moan, soiling his pants.
'Oh, that's a good man, Sir, I'm sure there's more to come there'.
The hint of future development was clear. Commander Ratched didn't bother to clean her hand or the sleeve of her uniform jacket from cum. Instead, she barked: 'Inspector Benson, get in here'.
The door to the other room flung open and Benson stood there without trousers but otherwise seemingly composed. His enormous penis was standing like a nightstick in the air.
'Yeah, what is it, I'm busy you know', he hollered, quite disrespectful towards his commanding officer.
His commanding officer said nothing, just leaning over the table, presenting her broad, white ass. Some cunt juice was running down her legs.
'Fuck', he said and disappeared from the door frame. 'Hey, let me be, you fucking retard', screamed Candance, quite out of herself. Benson showed her in the room. In disbelief, the Secretary saw his trusted assistant almost falling to the floor because her pants and panties were down her knees. She had managed to get her files with her, but they fell to the floor when she tried to cover her majestic, brown tits for her boss, who was staring at her, still sitting down with his limped cock out of his trousers.
Benson took two giant steps over the floor, grabbed the Commanders back collar of her uniform and pushed his dong up her love canal. She gave up a loud, growling sound. He pressed her down on the table, pumping her hard. 'You feel that you fuck pig', he mumbled, stretching his long arm forward, grabbed the Commander-helmet and slammed it down on her head. 'You're out of order, Ma'm'.
Laughing.
The Secretary got up on his feet, pulling back his penis and zipping up. He walked over to his assistant who was fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. 'I'm so sorry, Sir', she cried. 'I couldn't ...'
'Never mind', the Secretary answered, glancing back to the Commander, who was steadily worked over by her subordinate, her black helmet trusted back and forward, strings of saliva out her mouth connected to the table.
'You fix us a hotel room for the rest of the day', he continued'.
'Sir?'. Candance's eyes were big and black.
'Yes, Candance, you’re going to earn your taxpayer’s money from now on'.
'Oh, Sir'.
The black superman Benson was straightening up, pulling out of his boss and turned his shiny weapon towards the political survey team.
'Yes, Sir', he said, smiling. 'The Commander wants to know the result of your work, Sir'.
The Commander was still flat on the table, moaning. Her regulation helmet fell off her head and it rolled back and forward on the surface for a short moment.
'She got the job, Chief Inspector', the Secretary answered, grabbing his dumbfounded assistant by the arm.
Benson smiled and gave thumbs up.
'That's wonderful news, Sir, I will pass it to my commanding officer here'.
They both smiled and when the politicians turned to the exit door, Benson smacked Commander Ratched's ass. She screamed. 'You hear that, Chief Constable. Let’s celebrate this up your ass, Ma'm'.
They could hear her screams behind the closed door in the corridor outside.
The present Home Secretary looked at the Chief Constable smiling drunk-stupid at him in the hotel room several years later. He remembered that moment in the corridor, hearing Benson fucking her behind that closed door and at that moment realizing what real power was.
Candance was leaning forward, haplessly trying to rub away the cum stains from his trousers with a tissue. She noticed his manhood rising again behind the fabric, knowing her new position from now on (she would end up in the parliament, a couple of stones lighter and still on occasions doing service for the Home Secretary).
They heard the elevator opening at the end of the corridor and they stopped immediately what they were doing, he covered his crotch with his overcoat.
A very elegant woman walked down towards them on strong legs, her exquisite shoes tripping loudly on the floor. She unbuttoned her red coat, revealing a striking power suit and a tasteful neckless around her slender neck.
'Ah, there you are, Sir', she smiled broadly. 'I hear your business here was fruitful in the end'.
'Eh ... yes', the secretary answered, puzzled.
The woman passed them without further comments, continuing unbuttoning her jacket. The two politicians turned to see her when she knocked on the door and with her other hand starting to unbutton her blouse. The door opened and Benson's strong hand grabbed her neck and yanked her inside.
'Hey', they heard her protesting and then the door slammed shut.
'That's the head of the Police Internal Revenue', Candance whispered to her boss. 'That’s Inspector Lena Harper'.
The powerful man fought with his proud manhood, grabbed hard around the woman's hips and pumped even harder. 'Take that, you stupid whore', he gasped. She was moaning and panting the most horrendous filth. She was great when stoned, she always dragged out the best of him - or the worst - depending on how you saw it. When he finally came, he had nothing to be ashamed of, with a loud grunt he pulled out of her and released his load over her butt and upon the black cloth of her skirt and jacket.
He managed to stand up on his feet, again, and walk away as it just was another finished business. His strength was coming back slowly and he got the receipt from her.
'Oh, Sir, you fucked me so good. You're the man, Sir'.
Yeah, of course, he was.
Later, he was sitting in a comfy chair with his pants on, a glass of wine in his hand, looking at her when she came back from the bathroom. The incredible bitch had only swept her pussy and ass with a cloth, that's all. In reality, she was ready for more action, but he couldn't take it anymore this evening. What an evening, by the way, beginning with a large seminar on law and order in luxurious surroundings with him as the leading speaker. What was it about now, his speech? Who cared, when there was good food, lots of drink and then his favourite - well, then, the only one present - fuck doll.
Chief Constable Mildred Ratched drank wine directly from the bottle and some of it ran down her chin, down on her chequered police cravat, that she always kept on during their escapades. She was standing there, with the bottle in hand by her knees, police jacket and shirt open, her small tits visible, her shaved pussy too since she never bothered to push down her skirt. She was drunk and stoned. They were out of d**gs, but still plenty of booze.
Ratched would be fifty next year and she had reached a mature quality on her otherwise not very refined looks. She looked like a stern Chief Constable, the highest officer in the county, but, no, Ratched was not a looker. Small, a little stocky, with broad hips and small tits, unruly short, dark blonde hair. She wore glasses now, had an awfully big mouth, but, shit, did she fuck well or not ...?
She sat down in a chair opposite him, legs wide apart, showing her vagina for the world. She found her perfect police helmet on the floor and put it on her head, looking completely improper. He smiled.
'You’re crazy', he said.
'Look who's talking', she answered and drank some more wine.
'We will go to hell', he continued.
'No, Sir, that's in my power', she said and burped.
The Government Secretary remembered the first time he saw Mildred Ratched, on a photo, five years earlier. She was Police Constable, PC, Ratched among her fellow police school graduates. She was looking extremely nerdy in her tiny, uniformed frame, the smallest of them all. He was just a political secretary at the Home Office, working with the police. He couldn't believe what he saw. What was he supposed to do?
His assistant, Candance, an all work and stuck up West Indian bureaucrat and overachiever held him in line. They were there to recommend who would become the new Chief Constable and Candance wasn't happy.
'Sir', she said. 'She was on the wall already back then'.
'Really?' he said rather thick. He could see down the little fat minx's cleavage between her blouse and tight jacket.
'Yes', Candance continued patiently. 'The question was how she went through the Academy'.
'With sex, you say'.
Candance blushed. 'Yes, Sir, to put it frankly, Sir'.
Candance, you busty cow, he thought. Yes, let's be frank.
There were many examples, Candance had pointed out. During her career, Commander Ratched had been accused by colleagues for using immoral activities to position herself in a positive view by commanding officers.
'Female colleagues, I guess', said the Secretary, smiling.
'Not only, Sir', protested the assistant gloomily.
The Secretary had read it himself. PC Ratched had been taking on several male colleagues in the back of a police van on duty, including her Sergeant back then. Desk Sergeant Ratched had been banging a Chief Inspector in a cell when the arrest was empty - and so on, up the ranks. At one moment, as a Chief Inspector, she was attacked during an interrogation by an inmate and almost ****d. The Superintendent in charge had the feeling that she was in on it. She never pressed charges against the man, a brutish bank robber - in fact, a brother to a fellow officer.
Crazy, the Secretary thought.
'I see that she never left the uniform ranks', he said.
'Never going detective, Sir', Candance pointed out. 'Most unusual', she added.
He sighed. 'Okay, let them in'.
Commander Ratched entered the room together with her negotiation witness and allied, a tall, broad, almost over-masculine black man in an all-business suit. He was introduced as Chief Inspector Benson, chief of the Anti-Narcotic Squad. Ratched hanged her elegant, black overcoat over a chair and placed the Commander helmet on the table between them. She was shining in her perfect uniform with ranks, commendations and all. She wore a service skirt, not pants, the Secretary noticed. They all shook hands.
Yes, she really looked the business, a stern, effective little police machine, not particularly liked by her staff, all 1 700 of them. Her blue eyes were fixed on the both of them, the Secretary and Candance, who looked somewhat worried, arranging her jacket and blouse closer together. Did she sense something? The Secretary thought he did, that there was something the air.
The talks started and went normal until the not so nice details came up. It was Candance doing the "bad cop" routine, reading the hidden accusations in Ratched's case history, with gusto. Ratched stared at both of them like a hawk on her prey, not preferring the West Indian cow at all, more leaning on the Secretary, her immediate boss, the man with the power.
'Let's stop there', she commanded with a surprisingly booming voice. 'Inspector Benson, would you join our female counterpart in the next room? I would like to talk to the Secretary alone'.
'Absolutely, Ma'm', Benson answered, standing up in all his length, signalling with his hand to Candance to follow him.
The Secretary nodded his acceptance to his assistant, who looked perfectly terrified by now. She took her files with her into the next room.
Commander Ratched sat in silence for a while, until they both could hear a muffled conversation in the next room, followed by a table, maybe, scr****g on the floor and something of a thud. The Commander smiled with her broad mouth, looking at her hands.
'Oh, Benson does like his black little up-nosed bureaucrat'.
They could hear that table moving again, with returning sc****s and some whimpering going on in there. The Commander now stood up, walking around the table in her impeccable uniform.
'Yes, your little friend was right', she said, smiling. 'I do use sex as a tool for promotion. Always done that. It's all I have, you see, Sir. My only skill is my libido, the rest is just for show'.
To the Secretary's amazement, she pulled up her uniform skirt and showed prim stockings and a clean, naked vagina.
'Do take out your meat, Sir, and I will ride it, or do you prefer a blow job first?'
The Secretary got his manhood out. It was a little surprised but hard as a rock, quite long, but thin. He had never said no to sex and he wondered if the Commander could sense that? She understood him completely and climbed up on his pole. She was wet as melon and with a low sigh, she sank over him. He grunted it was so tight. His face forehead was under her chin, pressed to the black and white chequered cravat. She started to ride him.
He moaned and grunted, she just talked away: 'Yes Sir, you fuck the Commander, you **** the shit out of her. Do what you want with her, the pride of the force'.
Jesus, fuck, he thought. That shit-talk, with that husky voice ... God, she was a class of her own. He couldn't hold back; he felt the floodgates giving up. The Commander felt the commotion inside him, stepped off his now blue pecker and in a few swift jerks with her hand the political secretary ejaculated in a loud moan, soiling his pants.
'Oh, that's a good man, Sir, I'm sure there's more to come there'.
The hint of future development was clear. Commander Ratched didn't bother to clean her hand or the sleeve of her uniform jacket from cum. Instead, she barked: 'Inspector Benson, get in here'.
The door to the other room flung open and Benson stood there without trousers but otherwise seemingly composed. His enormous penis was standing like a nightstick in the air.
'Yeah, what is it, I'm busy you know', he hollered, quite disrespectful towards his commanding officer.
His commanding officer said nothing, just leaning over the table, presenting her broad, white ass. Some cunt juice was running down her legs.
'Fuck', he said and disappeared from the door frame. 'Hey, let me be, you fucking retard', screamed Candance, quite out of herself. Benson showed her in the room. In disbelief, the Secretary saw his trusted assistant almost falling to the floor because her pants and panties were down her knees. She had managed to get her files with her, but they fell to the floor when she tried to cover her majestic, brown tits for her boss, who was staring at her, still sitting down with his limped cock out of his trousers.
Benson took two giant steps over the floor, grabbed the Commanders back collar of her uniform and pushed his dong up her love canal. She gave up a loud, growling sound. He pressed her down on the table, pumping her hard. 'You feel that you fuck pig', he mumbled, stretching his long arm forward, grabbed the Commander-helmet and slammed it down on her head. 'You're out of order, Ma'm'.
Laughing.
The Secretary got up on his feet, pulling back his penis and zipping up. He walked over to his assistant who was fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. 'I'm so sorry, Sir', she cried. 'I couldn't ...'
'Never mind', the Secretary answered, glancing back to the Commander, who was steadily worked over by her subordinate, her black helmet trusted back and forward, strings of saliva out her mouth connected to the table.
'You fix us a hotel room for the rest of the day', he continued'.
'Sir?'. Candance's eyes were big and black.
'Yes, Candance, you’re going to earn your taxpayer’s money from now on'.
'Oh, Sir'.
The black superman Benson was straightening up, pulling out of his boss and turned his shiny weapon towards the political survey team.
'Yes, Sir', he said, smiling. 'The Commander wants to know the result of your work, Sir'.
The Commander was still flat on the table, moaning. Her regulation helmet fell off her head and it rolled back and forward on the surface for a short moment.
'She got the job, Chief Inspector', the Secretary answered, grabbing his dumbfounded assistant by the arm.
Benson smiled and gave thumbs up.
'That's wonderful news, Sir, I will pass it to my commanding officer here'.
They both smiled and when the politicians turned to the exit door, Benson smacked Commander Ratched's ass. She screamed. 'You hear that, Chief Constable. Let’s celebrate this up your ass, Ma'm'.
They could hear her screams behind the closed door in the corridor outside.
The present Home Secretary looked at the Chief Constable smiling drunk-stupid at him in the hotel room several years later. He remembered that moment in the corridor, hearing Benson fucking her behind that closed door and at that moment realizing what real power was.
Candance was leaning forward, haplessly trying to rub away the cum stains from his trousers with a tissue. She noticed his manhood rising again behind the fabric, knowing her new position from now on (she would end up in the parliament, a couple of stones lighter and still on occasions doing service for the Home Secretary).
They heard the elevator opening at the end of the corridor and they stopped immediately what they were doing, he covered his crotch with his overcoat.
A very elegant woman walked down towards them on strong legs, her exquisite shoes tripping loudly on the floor. She unbuttoned her red coat, revealing a striking power suit and a tasteful neckless around her slender neck.
'Ah, there you are, Sir', she smiled broadly. 'I hear your business here was fruitful in the end'.
'Eh ... yes', the secretary answered, puzzled.
The woman passed them without further comments, continuing unbuttoning her jacket. The two politicians turned to see her when she knocked on the door and with her other hand starting to unbutton her blouse. The door opened and Benson's strong hand grabbed her neck and yanked her inside.
'Hey', they heard her protesting and then the door slammed shut.
'That's the head of the Police Internal Revenue', Candance whispered to her boss. 'That’s Inspector Lena Harper'.
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