Cristana The Cops Very Bad Day Ch 02

The following story has themes of misogyny, non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality.

"Wait, wait, something's not right," I say out loud, even if I'm talking to myself. I'm currently looking at recent crime scene photos of my newest cases. I normally look at crime scene photos on my laptop, but this time I printed them out. There's something about the tactical touch that helps me figure things out when they don't seem to make sense.

My name is Cristana, and I'm a cop. A detective actually. A damn good one too. Been doing it two years now. I didn't know I would be this good at the job, as I really enjoyed being a beat cop, which is the cop that normally responds when you call for the police.

Something happened 3 years ago that changed my life. Something horrible, degrading and memorable. It took me a while to come to terms with the fact it was my fault, not that it made what happened right. Back then I was a bitch, and I know it. I had power because I was a cop and I let it go to my head. Abused that power, just like I would abuse anyone that I wanted.

Then on that fateful day, I allowed myself to be tricked by an asshole I was chasing. In short, I got cocky and thought I could do no wrong. That's how that asshole was able to lead me right into his trap.

The trap? He ran into an alley and when I followed, he popped out from behind and put a gun to my head. From there he, well, let's just say the word 'humiliate' doesn't come cross to what he and those punks did to me. Some of the things he did include stripping me in public, tagged me with spray paint and made me answer to the name 'Officer Jugs.' I was recorded, gangbanged and left tied to a light pole where any and every one could fuck me in any way they wanted.

When my fellow officers finally came to check on me as I didn't check in, they laughed at me. They took pictures before cutting me down, saying how it was needed for evidence. Soon those pictures and the story went viral, where I couldn't go a day without some snide comment or cruel prank. Even the female cops would mess with me because of it, such as stealing my bra while I took a shower.

What happened was a wake-up call where I knew I needed a change. Only I still wanted to be a cop. Being a cop is something I've always wanted to be, even as a kid. And not because of the power you get from it, but because you can make a difference in the world. You get to protect the weak, get justice for the victims and look at yourself in the mirror with your head held high.

That's why I decided to try out for Detective. I studied for the exam non-stop, did the training hours and boom, I qualified. Got the highest marks on the exam ever too.

And as if to prove this is what I was meant to do, I found an opening in a different precinct. So I applied, got accepted and that's where I'm at now. No one at my own precinct cared if I left, no doubt wanting me to go as I was a black eye to them after what happened.

Everyone was surprised just how easy I took to being a Detective. I discovered I happen to have an eye for spotting things other people don't. It's actually weird to me, as I will look at a crime scene and just feel that something is wrong or off. I then search until I find what it is.

The Captain told me that since I've arrived, case completion has risen 56%. I've even received two separate awards for my work in solving high profile cases. The captain told me in private that I do the work of at least three other detectives.

The case I'm working on is a very minor case. No murder, no rape, no kidnapping, nothing like that, which I like. It's a theft case, but get this, the stuff that was stolen was random and cheap. No way they could make any money off it. That begs the question, 'why steal it?'

The photos I am looking at are of the alley where the crime happened. It happened yesterday so the leads should be pretty fresh. What I see in the photos should be exactly how the alley is.

I look at my laptop to review the stuff that was stolen. A case of Sticky Hands, which are cheap children's toys, 4 cases of paper to be recycled, broken action figures, 3 boxes of unsharpened pencils, and more.

What stands out to me is that in one of the photos, which is a photo of the empty boxes the stolen stuff were in, there is clearly a button, like from a dress shirt. But no where does it list that buttons were stolen. Nor were any type of clothing. So why would there be a button?

There's only a few possible answers. One, the owners didn't know it was stolen. Two, the owners forgot to add it. Or three...that button didn't belong to the stuff that was stolen. That it belonged to one of the people that did the stealing. After all, it would be easy for a button to catch onto a heavy box when you are carrying it. Could have popped off when they dropped a box, and didn't notice because of how heavy the box could have been.

It's time to take a visit to that alley. Most of the time I don't need to go to the crime scenes as I can figure what happened just by the report and photos. But this time, I need to go as that's where the boxes are. I need to check out that button because if it does belong to one of the ones that stole the goods, there's most likely a fingerprint on it from when they buttoned it closed.

One nice thing about being a Detective is that you don't have to wear the police uniform. You just need to look professional. Ever since what happened, I dread putting on the uniform as it makes me feel like a target for criminals to come and rape me again.

I wear a pair of black slacks and a gray blouse at the moment. And underneath I wear a sports bra that is very uncomfortable. I do this because of what happened to me. The bastards kept focusing on my breasts which I admit are kind of large. So I make sure to hide them the best that I can so they can't become targets in any way.

"Hey, heading to A145's crime scene. Saw something I think might belong to whomever stole the junk," I tell the shift commander as I pass his desk. He looks up from his computer screen to nod at me. I then see him move the mouse around, no doubt going to enter in that's where I'm going. Whenever a detective heads out, they have to give a report of where they are going and why. These days I do everything strictly by the book.

"Where's your partner?" The shift Commander asks, seeing that I'm alone. All detectives are supposed to have a partner if they go out. I do have a partner, but we prefer to work alone as we work better that way. We are fine with each other, just more solitary type of people. But we do normally go with the other whenever one goes out. Like I said, I do everything by the book.

"Wife is sick. Had to stay home to take care of the kiddos," I tell the Shift Commander. He nods at this, but then does something a bit odd. He doesn't enter it into the computer. Whenever there is something outside of procedure, the Shift Commander is supposed to put it in record. If I'm going out alone, he's supposed to enter the reason why, but he doesn't.

"Have fun and be safe," the shift commander says, which is his normal statement whenever a detective leaves. I walk past him and out of the building, wondering why he didn't enter it. I then tell myself I'm just being paranoid after what happened all those years ago. Whenever anyone does something even a tiny bit weird near me, I tend to get nervous.

It takes me about 45 minutes to get to the alley. Thankfully the alley is in an industrial part of town, instead of some high crime district. In this area there are very few reports of crime, which is why this one stands out so bad. In an area like this, you don't have to keep your hand on your gun while you look around.

I park on the empty street in front of the business. Looking around, I find it rather odd how empty the area is. That's when I notice that the company is closed. The business is a shipping company of unique and hard to find items. At first I thought that was code for shipping drugs, but after reading the report, I found it's not. They are like private detectives where clients ask them to find an item, then ship it to them.

It is odd that they would be closed during a weekday. Then again, after a crime, they may close for a day or two to try and calm down their employees. When they reopen, they can have new polices in place to try and prevent it from happening again.

I walk along the sidewalk as I look about the building. The windows are very dirty, like they haven't been cleaned in years. Odd. Even if their clients don't have to visit this place, you would think the company would make sure to keep the place looking at least a bit professional.

Then I see the entrance to the alley. It's not really an alley, but more like a loading dock. It's pretty large too, bet you could get a couple of 18 wheelers back here. It even has an automatic gate that you could lock up to make sure no one gets back here...but it's open. Wide open.

Getting closer to the gate, I start to get a bad feeling. The gate is not just wide open, but broken. Old and broken. It looks like it hasn't been closed in years as parts of it are rusted over not to mention the chain is completely broken.

"Why wasn't this in the report?" I ask myself as I look over the gate. I then look at the loading area where the bad feeling I have gets worse. Something isn't right here. But what is it that's wrong?

Curious, I walk past the gate and into the loading area, needing to investigate. The huge loading doors are very much like that gate, old and broken. They have locks on them, but a good yank probably could rip them off as rusted as they look.

If I had to guess, this place hasn't had any deliveries or shipments in a very long time. I know this because of all the trash that's littered all over the ground, not to mention the spots of knee length weeds sticking through cracks.

"Hi pretty lady," a male voice says behind me. Spinning around, my hand is already on my sidearm. When I turn, I see a man wearing a black ski mask standing in the middle of the open gate. The way he is dressed is as if he wants to make sure he blends in with a crowd.

"Ouch!" I yelp as it feels like someone slapped my stomach, hard. Like they open hand slapped me right at my belly button. This surprises me as the guy is very far away, so there's no way he could have done it.

"What in the fuck?!" I say as I feel my arms are now pinned to my sides. Looking down, I see this is exactly the case. There's a black rope wrapped right around my belly button. It is wrapped around me a few times, pinning my arms to my sides, making it impossible to pull my sidearm.

Looking at the man in the ski mask, I see he has something in his hands. It's not a gun, at least not a normal one. It looks more like a black 2x4 board which he still has aimed at me. He lowers it, a pleased smile appearing on his face.

"Let me go. I am an officer of the law!" I demand, as I try to struggle out of my bonds. The rope is tied extremely tight, making it impossible to do anything but barely wiggle my arms. The worst part is that it must be tied/connected in the back, where I can't see.

After I say this, I hear laughter, but not from the guy in front of me. Turning my head, I see men are starting to come out from their hiding places. Where there is a spot that someone could hide behind, a person comes out. Man after man comes out until there's at least 9 of them.

My brain whirls as it normally does when I'm in a dangerous position. Without thinking I look at each of the men, studying them and their body shapes for clues. Each guy I look at, the bad feeling inside me gets even stronger. This isn't good, at all.

Worse still, there's something wrong with all this. More wrong then what it appears to me. These men aren't criminals, at least not normal criminals. If they were thugs sent to capture me or teach me a lesson, they would be in better shape. All the thugs and enforcers I've seen have muscular builds due to how physical the job can be. Most of the guys in front of me are downright fat, complete with beer guts. Sure, a few seem to be in shape, but not many.

My brain starts to make connections, leading me to figuring who they are. I then look down at the rope that's pinning my arms. My eyes narrow on it as I remember a weapon exactly like this. It's an experimental weapon that R&D was working on. It's meant to be able to subdue unarmed criminals without any danger to the officer or criminal. If perfected, there would be no need for tasers or guns if the criminal decided to run. You just fire the weapon at their upper body or feet, and they get tied up. So to put it in simple terms...this is a police weapon.

"Oh my god," I say out loud as the men slowly walk towards me, many of them chuckling or having wide smiles. Once again, I look at each of them in turn, only this time it's not for clues. It's because I can guess exactly who each person is.

"Burns, Smith, Peterson, Gonzales, what the fuck are you doing?" I ask almost in a panic. These aren't criminals, they're cops. Detectives actually. These are my fellow detectives.

"Damn it," one of them says. "Fuck," says another. "Told you she would figure it out," yet another says. Each seem to make a statement like this, but none seem overly worried at being found out. Instead they keep coming towards me in an intimidating fashion.

"I knew you would figure it out," the man that bound me says with a smile. His name is Smith, and he's sort of the unofficial leader of the Detectives. We have a captain, but most of the men look to Smith as their leader as he has that sort of personality. People just naturally gravitate towards him.

"Too smart for your own good, like always," Smith tells me, stopping a few feet away, no doubt knowing that my arms may be tied but my feet aren't. And a well placed kick could do some serious damage.

Knowing he no longer needs it, Smith peels off the ski mask to expose his face. I can hear many of the others do the same at his lead, but a few don't. Probably thinking if they keep it on, I won't be able to figure who they.

"What the fuck is this? What are you doing?" I demand sternly. Smith smiles wider at this, but it's an evil, evil smile. It's the smile I see on a lot of mafia guys when you question them without having any sort of advantage. It's a smile of someone that knows they are going to win, if it is true or not.

"We set up this nice, stupid crime because we knew you wouldn't be able to resist coming out here. Perfect place too. No one around. Lots of space. No one to bother us. Far enough away that you could scream and people probably wouldn't hear," Smith tells me, looking around what is clearly an abandoned shipping yard.

"We're tired of your shit!" A female voice suddenly yells in anger. This flabbergasts me, as it's the voice of the only other woman detective in the department, Loretta. Turning, I see her looking at me with a look of near hatred. It's so intense that I can't help but gasp in shock. Loretta and I aren't close, but we've never had any issues. For her to look at me like that is damn shocking.

"I...I don't understand," I say, not getting why this is happening. I then look around, desperate to understand why they would do this to me. In my entire time as a detective, I never once caused waves. Never complained. Never told on anyone. Never did anything to piss anyone off. Ever since what happened to me all those years ago, I made sure to change my ways. To become a new person.

"We have grown tired of you showing us up, Detective Cristana. Your output is at least 5 times higher than any other detective in the department. And we've grown quite tired of the Captain reminding us of this and demanding that we get to your level, or else," Smith informs me, slowly stepping closer to me.

"I...I didn't know," I stammer out, having no clue that this was even going on. No one ever said anything to me about it. If I had known, I could have done something about it. Talked to the captain maybe.

The fact my own coworkers set all this up stuns me. It shows they have so much hate for me. That all the time I thought they were proud and impressed when they were really pissed and jealous. It shakes my world in a way I could never believe.

"HEY!!!" I shout as Smith reaches over, grabs my blouse's neckline with both hands, and yanks. He yanks in different directions, his strength easily ripping open my blouse. It tears so easily, like it was paper, exposing my black sports bra to all of them. He rips my blouse to the point it rips completely open, leaving the sides to slide down my arms.

My eyes widen as I stand here, in my bra in front of all of them. Worse, when he does this, there's cheers. Actual cheers. I thought one might show some sort of shock, instead they show they want this, and more.

"You know...

Officer Jugs

, we know what happened to you. About how you got raped and gangbanged by a bunch of punks and homeless," Smith says with a chuckle as my face burns red. It feels like my head might catch on fire as blood rushes to it from embarrassment.

Officer Jugs. I haven't heard that name out loud in years. The only time I hear it these days is in dreams where I replay what happened to me. Now that he says it, all the emotions of what happened that day seem to flood back into me.

"Everyone's heard about it. That they tricked you, fucked you silly in the middle of a street, and played with these big fat titties," he mentions, looking at my chest. He stares at them in a scary manner, in which many of the others do the same.

Smith then reaches out and grabs the bottom of my sports bra right in the middle. Before I can react, before I can yell at him to stop, before I try to step back, he yanks my bra upward. Yanks hard too, forcing my bra up. When he does this, my tits bounce free for all to see. They come out, dropping hard and bouncing lewdly, like some sort of OnlyFans advertisement. The large globes feel like they bounce for years as everyone stares at my bare tits.

Stunned, I just stand there. Instead of trying to run or fighting or doing anything, I just stand still, being transported back to that fateful day when that bastard thug basically did the same thing to me. It takes all the air out of me, not allowing me to even think of what to do or how to get out of this. I can only feel the intense feeling of fear and submission as it pours into me knowing everyone can see my breasts.

My tits are out. Oh gosh. My tits are out. Dear me. My tits are out and everyone can see them. They can see how truly large they are. I tried so very hard to hide them, to make them look small and non-existent. But now they all can see them, and see how they jiggle with each and every breath I take.

Just like that fateful day, the comments start. Comments about how they are bigger than my head. That I should be falling over when I walk. That they want to motorboat them till I die. That my name really should be Officer Jugs.

"You're going to have a bad day...again," Smith says and laughs. When he does, many of the others laugh with him. I on the other hand just stare forward, knowing how pale my face is as my breasts are exposed. In a way this acts like my weakness, causing me to not want to fight at all. It makes me feel exactly like I did that fateful day, where I knew I had to let them do whatever they wanted or else.

"Just know, this is to teach you a lesson about showing up your co-workers," Smith says sternly, like a teacher reprimanding a student. And for the briefest of moments, I actually feel as if this is my fault. That they are right to do this. But then I push that thought away.