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Civil Enforcement - Seema's Lesson

12

I had only been intimate with one woman in the last five years. A combination of a lack of opportunities to meet women of ANY kind with a loss of appetite for sex as my appetites for alcohol and fast food had taken over.

But then came my health kick: - I shunned Burger Bars, massively reduced my alcohol intake, and shed the weight. Within months I had definitely pulled my belt in well over an inch, and had to buy trousers another size down.

My libido was returning with a vengeance as I got my sexual confidence back. The question was: How to get some pussy.

My job involves a heck of a lot of walking. I am a Civil Enforcement Officer in central London, which means basically moving drivers on who are badly parked or loitering on Single Yellow or Double Yellow Lines or other such places, helping customers pay for parking in PBP and P&D bays, and so on. I have done the job over two years.

Most of our work is customer focussed - advising members of public and motorists rather than slapping tickets on windscreens but certainly we do that as well. Naturally a few bad apples give the rest of us a bad reputation but on the whole, we do an honest and decent job in the interests of the motorist.

The work requires a certain amount of what the English call BOTTLE - or courage. It also requires what we call NOUS (pronounced nouse) or common sense. Threats are common, verbal abuse is to be expected and occasionally violent confrontations occur. Needless to say most of us are men and few women do the work, partly (at the risk of sounding chauvinistic), because of the emotional stability you need, the thick-skinned insensitivity to verbal abuse, and the ability to take control.

A common greeting amongst us had become, "How's yer sex life?".

The Bangladeshi and Indian boys tended to see prostitutes or were married, or both; the Africans varied from being morally upright and married, to shagging anything that moved; the European guys generally had a girlfriend or a wife at home that they would not talk about, keeping their private lives private.

On the rare occasions a woman passed through among us she would generally pick up a clique of followers who would huddle at break times in one corner. This seemed to always tend to be ethnically determined. A black, British girl would attract the black, British boys, an Indian girl would attract all the Indian boys around her. The possible exception was the Polish girls. They tended to get on with everyone and be more socially aware and universally friendly. They certainly handled themselves more professionally when faced with risque banter. But generally none of them lasted very long.

Then along came Seema. Five-foot six of attitude and sassiness. I hated her almost instantly. I initially made the effort until I realised she was never going to give me more than a cursory "good morning" in response to my warm greetings each day. So I learned to tap other people for info or gossip and learned who got on with her and who did not. All I knew was she was engaged, but very friendly with the Asian boys at base.

Over time I built a dossier of evidence against her:

Bad tickets she had issued, some which I had learned of as I had had to deal with the angry drivers on street who had received the Penalty Notices. Then there were the indiscretions with one lad at work. I say "lad" as he is twenty-one but looks seventeen and I am late thirties. I had caught them kissing in the locker room and even had a camera phone snap they did not know about. The final icing on the cake was when I looked into a Mews off a main road, one day, to see her at a distance snapping photos of a car on a Single Yellow Line and then proceed to write the ticket on her Hand-held computer. The driver ran back to the car screaming that he was just leaving. She began printing the ticket. They argued, too far for me to hear their exact conversation. She must have insisted she had the photos already and he lashed out, slapping her.

The autopilot kicked in as it always does in this job. I flew at him like a stealth-sprinter from behind, utterly silent, but she looked over his shoulder to see me running towards them and her eyes widened. This tipped him off someone was behind him. I judged the distance and slowed myself down so that as he spun around anti-clockwise to swing a right fist at me I was able to throw my weight to my left and hook my right arm up and around his right forearm, then expertly clamping his left arm as well and pulling him into an arm lock. I held my fists hard above my own shoulders to hold him and yelled at Seema to call Code Red. She panicked, fumbled her radio and did so without much in the way of style or professionalism.

She seemed to have a brain fart when calling the location.

"Conduit Mews, junction Craven Road!" I growled. She repeated what I said down the radio.

The Radio Controller confirmed Police ETA was five minutes and a Supervisor would be there in one minute from around the corner.

I held the driver, a big white guy, and asked him why he needed to hit a woman.

"The fucking bitch took the photos before writing the ticket. That's not right!"

I knew she had done a dodgy on him but I pretended to act horrified and let go of him, glaring at her.

"Is this true?" I demanded.

"No!" she pleaded, "I fired off two snaps as the ticket printed!"

I demanded to check her camera and hand-held computer and took a test photo of her DAP screen. Her time and date stamp showed the camera was one minute ahead of the DAP's date and time.

"The Dodgy Little CUNT!" I thought.

She looked at me guiltily but stony-faced, almost defiant in fact. I winked at her whilst the driver was not looking.

I deleted the test photo I had taken and showed the driver the photos of his car and the time on the ticket. They matched. He held the PCN and then I calmly said, "Now here is the deal. I cannot confirm or deny that my colleague has done anything wrong but I do know if you are arrested then we all waste a day down the Police station and I do not want that, so I have a proposition."

The man looked at me like a child ready to obey his father (and here was a guy over a foot taller than me and ten years my senior!).

"Before that Supervisor over there reaches us," I pointed, "We need to agree that she declares the ticket as a HANDED TO DRIVER, and you agree to pay it, and she agrees not to charge you with assault, and I agree not to accuse you of attempted assault on me."

Then I turned to Seema, "And we downgrade this from Code Red to Supervisor Assistance."

Seema looked at me amazed. She even smiled a little.

"Fucking cunt!" He growled at me, "Yeah, okay! You're a tough lil bastard tho' incha?"

I shrugged at the compliment, "Being my size you learn to duck."

He was a proper hard man. I could tell by the Resident's badge on his windscreen, he was from East London, and a particularly rough part of it. Old school Gangster type. Maybe his dad went to school with Ron and Reggie Kray or something? - That sort of bloke.

So then the Police screeched up in a marked unit seconds after our big, fat bastard Supervisor got our story about what had happened.

The driver meekly told the Supervisor "Yeah, I'll pay the ticket." So we shrugged and told the Coppers that we were grateful but the problem was resolved.

I explained that Officer 'seven-six did not wish to press charges as no real harm was done and the customer was going to pay the sixty quid fine for leaving a car on a SYL unattended.

The Police Officers left without batting an eyelid. It saved them paperwork. The marked unit crackled and popped over the cobbles and then roared off down the main tarmac'd road.

"Their Starbucks must be getting cold." Said Seema, thinking she was the wittiest person on planet Earth all of a sudden.

I glared at her, whilst saying for Wahid's benefit, "Yo boss, thanks for coming, but d'ya think maybe with colleagues as dumb as this in future I should let the Police enjoy their Starbucks and I should have left you in peace to finish your donuts and milkshake?"

"What really happened?" He asked, suddenly curious.

"I do not want to go on record with it. But if ANYTHING comes back on us after today I will have to decide on whether to save my own arse or cover for her cute little butt instead."

Wahid was a wise old Supervisor, he knew what I meant but was discreet enough to keep his mouth shut.

Seema gave me a look, a flash of anger, then settled down again. I still held her camera in my hand.

We returned to base and I formulated a plan.

As she freshened up in the Ladies' washroom I made some phone calls and scribbled some notes.

She entered the room and scanned the empty tables and chairs. She had to do her paperwork and it had to match my report. Would she sit near me or not?

She strolled to my table and sat right next to me.

"Okay, so I admit I owe you one." she conceded.

I shook my head, "You owe me a lot more than one!" and passed the scribbled notes.

It was a list of dodgy tickets I knew she had issued, and details of where I had mediated with drivers in some instances and knew they were being appealed at present and, others I knew of that may or may not have paid but were wrongly issued. Dates, approx times, exact locations...

"Shit!" she whispered.

"Oh," I said, and there is this too."

I showed her my camera phone with the picture of her and Sanjay kissing.

Her face went ashen.

I pulled her camera out of my pocket, flipped the dial to SET UP and changed the time back one minute.

She looked at me hopefully.

"I cannot afford to lose this job!" She whispered.

"No." I said, "But you cannot risk your safety pulling dodgy tickets just to pass probation. You will get your cute little arse killed."

She knew what I was saying was true. The papers were full of stabbings and of Our Uniforms being run over. Most of us worked alone on street whilst the PCSOs and City Guardians worked in pairs, as did the Police and the Special Constables. We were especially vulnerable.

"What do you want from me?" She whispered, now trembling a little.

I placed one hand on the inside of her thigh, the other under her left hand to look at her engagement ring.

"I am still a virgin so you cannot jeopardise my marriage, I would be better off dead if I do not get to marry my fiance."

I nodded to show understanding, took my hand off her thigh and asked her about him. She ran through the basics. British-Asian guy called Chetan. Tall, muscular, and very rich. But wanting a virgin to marry and that was her ticket to a British Passport as her student visa had run out and she had been working with us using false documents. Her confession of all this was like a gift. It was too beautiful. Too easy for me.

"What about Sanjay?" I asked.

She pointed the obvious out to me that once married she could fuck Sanjay as well and if she got pregnant it did not matter as the baby would look normal. Similar features and skin colouring. Of course, she argued, I am white so if she produced a paler skinned baby the game would be up. Sanjay had his own reasons why he was not staying long in London, and therefore was not marriage material.

I grinned and said there were plenty of ways to skin a cat.

I asked her if she knew what a sixty-eight was. She slipped into Work Mode and absentmindedly recited some obscure traffic contravention I had never heard of. I laughed.

"It's not a contravention code!" I grinned.

"You mean a sixty-nine?" she asked, perplexed.

I replied that a sixty-eight was similar but meant she went down on me and I owed her one.

She was not laughing.

"But I have never..." she trailled off, the thought utterly appalled her.

I looked up to see a Supervisor had returned, we were no longer able to talk quietly enough to be sure of not being overheard.

I wrote a name and address of a hotel and whispered that if anything happened to me then it was game over, her life in pieces. I wrote the time and date to meet at the hotel as I knew we both had the same day off, next Monday. I also wrote a phone number - one of many I have as pay-as-you-go offers and free simcards seem to accumulate. I made sure she knew the number was not registered to me and was seldom used. I also told her the handset was not registered to me either but had been found on a bus - this last part was a lie, I was bluffing. In fact the one flaw in my plan was if I had to text or call from a handset that WAS registered to me in the event of another handset going dead then I could be convicted on that shred of evidence.

Next Monday came. Our text messages had been frequent over the weekend but I had not prepared myself for how fast the weekend would zip past.

A friend of mine had arranged for Sanjay to have a little accident on street Monday morning as I had wanted to make sure Seema had no lifelines or emergency back up plans to out-smart me. Human nature was such that she would have probably blabbed to him so whether she actually did or not was irrelevant... I had to have him out of the way. A motorcyclist apparently hit a pot hole and lost control, skidding off and smacking into him. The biker was a pro stunt rider and came out without a scratch but Sanjay broke his left hip and ankle. The biker got back on and sped off. No witnesses; perfect.

Monday afternoon Seema met me at the hotel in the lobby. I had chosen the place for three reasons:

ONE, it is convenient for both of us to reach here from where we each lived across town from each other.

TWO, it has the bare minimum CCTV around it. A huge consideration.

THREE, it is cheap.

She looked truly terrified. Not at all pleased to see me.

"What have you done with Sanjay?" She murmurred.

"Huh?" I gave her a startled look and acted innocently.

She told me he was in hospital. I looked genuinely shocked, this is because I could not believe how smoothly my friend had pulled it off.

I tried to look offended, like: "And you think I had something to do with it???"

She apologised, and said, "Guess not."

"If you are hungry or thirsty, we can order room service?" I suggested as an attempt at helping her to relax.

"Oh, ok." she said brightly, not expecting such courtesy.

We went up to the room. I had paid cash in advance and called us, "Mister and Missus Duff."

As soon as we walked in the room I gave her a room service menu and told her to order whatever she wanted.

Whilst she browsed through that, I lay down on the big, hard, double bed and began to unzip myself.

She turned her head, her eyes widened.

"Oh my GOD." She said. Then she lost it and shouted: "Do you not understand? I do not love you! Making me do dirty stuff with you is WRONG."

"Hush!" I breathed. "We live in a world of wrongs and injustice. All we can do is make our own luck and hope to keep our dignity and integrity along the way."

"Yeah, and you are lying there with your cock out on that bed. Very dignified." She spat. Then she pulled out her camera phone. I leapt up and snatched it from her, twisting it out of her grasp and then body-slamming her onto the bed. She is taller than me but I am stronger and faster.

I zipped myself up.

"Ok, do we have to do things the hard way then?" I taunted her. "I can tie you up and fuck you and make you take the morning after pill and then LIE to your future husband and simply say your hymen broke whilst horse riding or something!"

She began to cry and say she was sorry.

I told her to get up and wipe her tears, holding out a box of tissues for her.

She took a tissue and wiped her face. Then I ordered her to look through the room service menu and warned this was the last chance she had to eat and drink as we would be here a while.

She began frantically perusing the Menu.

I began nosing through her camera phone, bluetoothing the more interesting snaps to my main phone. There were some self portraits in sexy outfits, snaps with her girlfriends out clubbing, and a few pics of Sanjay...then one of him nude.

"Oh!" I gasped.

I took a photograph of her camera phone in my hand with the pic showing, to prove the photo had been on her screen, and to suggest she herself had taken it - which I knew she had not.

"I was sent that by him. Men are so peurile!" She said plainly.

"So you know he has a good-size dick but you have never seen it up close?" I enquired.

"Well, no, I had not seen any man's dick before, yours is the first!"

I was surprised and got a kick out of this fact.

Seema picked up the phone and gave me a questioning glance, I nodded permission; she ordered onion rings with sweet chilli sauce and salad and, a bottle of Italian white wine.

I asked her to order me a chicken salad sandwich on wholemeal. She repeated my words precisely.

As soon as she put the phone down I ordered her to kneel on the floor and lean forward over the bed. The bed was exactly the right height for her to do this.

Without warning I smacked her butt as hard as I could and growled, "BAD Girl!"

She gasped, but remained in position.

I lectured her, punctuating my points with a smack each time:

"You are so ARROGANT, treating people like they are beneath you, when you yourself are a NOBODY!" (Two smacks).

"You are WICKED, plotting to marry for all the WRONG reasons whilst planning to take a lover without your husband ever KNOWING!" (Three smacks).

"You are DISHONEST, doing dodgy tickets and causing un-necessary aggravation." (One smack).

"You are UNJUST." (One smack).

"You are a NASTY... BITCH!" (Two Smacks).

She had the good sense to not scream or even do more than whimper.

I ordered her to take her clothes off. She stood up shakily and did as I told her.

Her shoulders were broad for a woman but her hips were narrow, her breasts were small but with the tastiest-looking bulbous dark nipples, and a beautifully flat tummy.

Her underwear had a damp patch on the crotch.

I stood alongside her and gently slid a hand into her knickers and felt the wetness. There was not much pubic hair, so my middle finger almost slid straight into her gash.

"Wow," I said brightly, "You seem to be enjoying this after all."

"YOU DISGUST ME!" she spat.

"Wrong answer!" I shouted, and licked my fingers. Her juices tasted so fresh and clean, no mustiness. Just sweet and yummy.

She frowned.

I looked at her as if an idea had just struck me, "Ahhh! you ordered onion rings? I had better kiss you before you eat onions. I don't want your onion breath!"

She looked horrified as I pulled her to me and pressed my lips onto hers, then slipped a tongue in her mouth.

She struggled at first and then settled into it. After a few minutes snogging she was actually grinning.

"Ahem," she said politely as I released her. She was blushing.

"Never tasted yourself either?" I enquired.

"I have actually, just never through kissing."

"So you do masturbate?" I demanded.

"I have done occasionally." She confessed.

"Great!" I said, "So maybe you can masturbate for me?"

She looked at my groin, the lump was not as hard as before but was still rather prominent.

"Ummm, okayyy" she said nervously.

There was a knock at the door, "Room Service!"

I grabbed my wallet and went for the door. Seema hid in the bathroom and freshened up. I took in the tray and paid cash. Naturally I had to say "Keep the change" so as not to be interrupted half an hour later.

I found the DO NOT DISTURB sign and placed it on the outside door handle. I commented on the fact that in Spanish it read, "NO MOLESTAR," and that it was a pity, "...coz no one on Earth could stop me molesting you this evening."

She looked at me carefully. "What do you want from me?"

"Gratification. Your submission, your humility, your obedience."

12
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