Officer Down

Panic upon waking was only dulled by the bastard headache behind her eyes. Dehydrated. Dizzy. Disoriented. Dirty? Then the punishing recollection. Shame quickly crowded out even the most severe symptoms of her mammoth hangover.

Abby felt bare yet smothered. A clammy sheen of perspiration clung to her pale white flesh. Others still slept alongside her in the smoky alcohol fug of the destroyed living room. The reek of their inebriated slumber assailed her before she even opened her bloodshot eyes.

Blink-blink and there she was. Sprawled out on a sofa. Stripped of her outfit and dignity. All that remained of her attire was that not meant to be seen. A little tangled white cotton thong, it barely contained the curly light brown bush at odds with her formerly glossy raven bob. Black cotton no-show socks were suddenly on show to all. That was it. Gone was her black trench coat that gave her such authority on the job. Gone was her stylish black designer blouse. Gone were her black skinny jeans. Gone were her zip-up platform ankle boots. And long gone was her bra.

One bare leg hung over the arm of the settee. The other stretched out onto a man's denim clad leg. Thighs thereby spread, Abby's damp white pouched sex beamed at the room. Chunky pink erect nipples protruded from large lolling titties seriously in need her missing bra. Her soft belly and love handles rested upon the threadbare plain thong. How ironic that her ascendance at work had seen her once tight body grow increasingly out of shape. Too much time spent at a desk, instead of on the streets.

Outraged at her exposure, Abby yearned to cover up, but more of the night before crowded bullishly into her tortured mind. A central London bar with old friends she really should've left behind long ago. Too many cocktails during happy hour led to lines in the toilet with an untrustworthy female acquaintance. Cracks began to show in her cool, sober, stylish, professional exterior. Impulse control diminished. The slutty party girl that she'd always lived with and loathed began to emerge. Dr Jekyll & Miss Slut. The acquaintance offered more than enough encouragement. She revelled in the woman's debasement. Then to a house party across the river. Far from real friends and home.

The increasingly grating life and soul of the party, Abby was transformed from the sober, stone faced twenty-seven year old whose no-nonsense countenance had seen her excel in her career. A plain, but pretty face, Abby's perpetually chubby cheeks hinted at weight that failed to bear out elsewhere on her 5ft 6in frame. Coming into the house party of revellers who were almost all younger than her, it immediately appeared that the stylishly dressed, professional woman's inebriation was the only thing that had prompted her to turn up at the drugged up party.

Music, vodka, happy high strangers and games...She'd made a fool of herself long before she lost her jeans. Snowblind to the fact that those happy high people were laughing at her. The acquaintance tired of her antics. Sought less skanky airheaded company in another room. Job done, away walked the acquaintance and the coke that had had lured Abby to the party.

This left Abby in the company of strangers and drinking games designed to demean. Lines dished out by an obnoxious young lad filled the vacuum. But there was a special stipulation for her. For every toot she had to hand something over. What fun. The boys ogled her. The girls mocked her. She partied on. And on. Boots unzipped. Sweaty cotton socks revealed. The pants went next. No big deal. An inebriated Abby reasoned that she needed to let off a little steam now and then.

The creep with the coke spanked her bare thong split butt when she stood to take her jeans off. Abby giggled and snorted on. By the time she'd been reduced to her tacky thong and girlish socks the coke and vodka ensured she didn't have any fucks left to give. Word spread throughout the house about the fucked-up bitch making a fool of herself.

Who brought her to the party!?

Clothes, boots and handbag long gone. One of the thieving party girls had seen to that. Abby did nothing as the larking guys tweaked her nipples, caressed her butt, tickled her feet and encouraged her to dance. Girls topped up her drink, smeared her make-up, tugged on her thong and flashed her bush to the boys. They pitied her yet resented the attention she received from the assembled inebriated men. One particularly spiteful bitch roughly gave her a fanny flashing wedgie while taking a revealing selfie with her. Abby could take care of herself. The job demanded it. A part of her had once even enjoyed sadistically bending the arm of drunken slags during the Saturday night clear-up. But Abby wasn't on the job. Far from it. As she let the younger women mug her off, Abby was herself erotically immersed in the role of drunken airheaded slag. She was a more than willing victim. Abby was off the leash and soaking at the crotch.

The opportunist with the coke flashed the wrap and Abby obediently followed through the house and up to a bathroom on the first floor. People snapped pics of the partying skank shake her narrow white ass as she followed the man into the messy bathroom. The door was left ajar and his filming phone held aloft. Abby's hands fished out the stranger's cock before he'd even taken a seat on the toilet. Squatting on her black socked toes, she sloppily licked at his erect cock. The shaft was briefly worked with her right hand, then she took it into her mouth and those chubby cheeks. Swallowed and sucked as her nails dug into his bare thighs.

Door open a crack, Abby knew that people were watching. Giggles and ugly remarks dribbled into the dishevelled bathroom from the dark hallway outside. Pics were audibly snapped. Eyes closed and mouth clamped to the stranger's cock, Abby's right hand delved into her wet thong and worked at her own engorged sex. The exhibitionistic slut Abby fought to supress was well and truly out of her cage. Lock picked by alcohol and drugs, the serious, sober façade had disappeared with her outfit and a mouthful of cock.

Sloppy blowjob delivered and load swallowed, Abby flicked herself to a climax while slumped into the creep's lap. Ever the charmer the man was sure to wipe his cum smeared cock dry with the raven locks of her formerly glossy black bob. Good to his word the scumbag then cut her out a line on the toilet seat lid. Hungrily snorting it was the last thing that Abby remembered...

Then she woke up.

Horror piled upon horror as she mentally flicked through those recalled snapshots of shameful degradation. Still slightly buzzing off the booze and drugs, the recollections made her loins tingle despite the mortification of her sober self. There was no doubt that she'd missed the start of her shift at work. It wouldn't be the first time. Abby had to escape. Get out of the strange house and far away. Gingerly, she disentangled herself from the unknown sleaze bag next to her on the couch and stood. Dizziness and nausea gripped the stripped woman and almost sent her toppling into the party detritus through which she struggled to tiptoe.

Bloodshot eyes scanned desperately for her stuff to no avail. It was all gone. There wasn't even a blanket to cover up with. And the other snoozing party goers were fully clothed, so she couldn't even steal something to wear. Left with no choice but to creep around the house looking for her clothes, Abby padded through the long lounge towards the rear of the house. Soaking her left socked foot in a stinking puddle of beer did nothing to remedy the churning in her stomach. The urge to both puke and shit compelled her to temporarily give up on the clothes and hunt for a toilet instead.

Stepping through a door and into a messy kitchen, laughter rang loud before Abby even realised that the room was occupied. Two young women and three guys sat gazing at her from a dining table. Drug detritus littered the surface. It was clear that the gang were still partying. Her hands instinctively covered her tits, while an involuntary shrill squeak escaped her lips. Somehow she clutched her buttocks together and managed to avoid shitting herself, before quickly skipping past the mocking youths and into a little toilet. Of course there was no lock on the door and it barely shut. Abby had no choice but to wrench her knickers down around her ankles and let loose her bowels. Despite her best efforts to poo in silence, farts rang loud, bringing about audible laughter from those outside. Messy diarrhoea squirted from her butthole with such force that it splashed back up and decorated her white cheeks with brown freckles. At that point Abby put her head in her hands and sobbed.

She'd only gone out for a couple of drinks with old friends. It had been six months since she'd last lost control, given into her inner slut and woken up to a similar situation. Immersed in her work she'd thought that ugly part of her persona was under control.

Yet somehow she'd awoken to find herself stuck south of the river. Stripped of her clothes and left in only a thong and socks. Sickened by the taste of cum in her mouth, she was horrified to find that her hair was filthily matted with the same substance. Abby then realised that images of her titties and butt resided on the mobile devices of many, along with a video of her sucking cock and playing with herself in a stranger's bathroom.

To make matters worse, she then remembered what was in her stolen bag. This realisation caused her to sob (and shit) even harder. No mobile. No money. No cards. No apartment keys. But it got worse...No warrant card. Police Detective Abby Lockhart had lost her ID. And with a butthole dribbling noxious smelling shit and her buttocks decorated with it, the disgraced copper realised that there was no toilet paper.