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Subject: {ASSM} "MARKET FORCE" (M/F/F police, twin sisters) By David Shaw
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"MARKET FORCE" (M/F/F police)

By

David Shaw
<shaw.alphamale@gmail.com>

www.alphamalestories.com

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

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Twin sisters teasing the police get their knickers thoroughly twisted.

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I've already told the tale of my first patrol as a raw young copper,
and how it ended up with me stoking the fires of one of the local
teachers in the school boiler room. I guess you can't ask for a better
start to a job than that, but I'd been very lucky not to caught away
from my beat while I was supposed to be on duty. So I decided to be
cautious from then on, although I would certainly make sure there'd be
other chances of getting Anna Morrison (Mrs Anna Morrison, no less) to
mark my homework. It seemed like I'd already achieved a solid 'A' and
the next assignment was definitely going to be graded 'A+' for effort.

Well, fine, but Anna was enough to be going on with. From now on I
wasn't going to kick over the traces again, I was going to stick to
the rules and regulations like glue and no more dodgy stuff. Ha!

That particular good resolution lasted as long as my next rostered
market day duty. It was a Tuesday. Tuesday has been market day in the
town since . . . oh, maybe since there'd been a Roman fort on the
site. In fact it was really a case of two weekly markets being held
together. There was a twenty acre open area with rows of pens where
the livestock was displayed and auctioned. Then there was a long
building by the side of the livestock market where stalls where set up
under cover. At the far end of the market hall foodstuffs were
displayed and general sales were at the other end, near the livestock
market, everything from rag dolls to wrought iron pokers to pocket
radios. Also a lot of Manchester and  clothing, they were two of the
most popular lines sold off the stalls in the general goods area.

Still, that sort of stuff wasn't usually of much interest to the
police. Most of the textiles were factory discards and son on,
legitimately acquired, and, anyway, just about impossible to trace if
stolen. Livestock wasn't an issue because rustlers are rare in the
English Midlands and the only hot items likely to be found in the
foodstuff stalls were steak and kidney pies straight out of the ovens.
It was the odds and ends on the general merchandise stalls we liked to
run an eye over, just to see if any of it might be stolen gear being
disposed of  for cash.

So what happened was that every market day a constable was given
market duty, supervising the setting up of the stalls, settling any
territorial disputes between the stall holders and generally looking
after things. He was also expected to have a full set of notes from
the Station's Reported Crimes book about any items which had been
nicked locally and might show up on the stalls.

So, let me set the scene. A nice summer's day, plenty of sunshine
outside the market hall, lots of nice smells down at the food end of
the stalls and not so nice smells at the other end, which were near
the cattle and sheep pens. And always a couple of auctioneers' voices
to be heard from outside, their owners leaning over the sides of pens
and slamming rolled up papers into their palms every time they
completed a sale.

And in this midst of all the crowd of shoppers in the hall who should
be strolling stalwart and tall but young Phil, crime fighter
extraordinaire and pride of the shire police force. OK, tall anyway,
that much was certainly true. Damn near seven foot from the top of my
helmet down to the heels of my highly polished boots. And maybe it was
an old fashioned kind of uniform in between boots and helmet but
nobody laughed at it, not in those days, because coppers of my
generation knew exactly how to use those boots to gain some respect
without knocking any of the shine off their footwear at all.

So there I was, standing out above the crowd like a perambulating
lighthouse, nodding to all the people -- and a lot did -- who smiled
in my direction, and spending a lot of time introducing myself to the
stall holders. Especially the female stall holders. Either owning a
stall or helping out their husband with one.

What you might call a job lot. Forgetting about the married ones and
the ones with figures like beer barrels, there were at least half a
dozen who got little mental ticks against their names for follow up
visits, with a view to further investigations into their willingness
-- in the fullness of time -- to helping an eager young constable
become an expert cuntstable.

So if you have the impression that I was quite happy in the
performance of my official duties, you are correct. They were pleasant
and undemanding, if hardly exciting. And then I wandered off to have a
gentle look around the livestock market. I felt in the mood for some
fresh air and that commodity was rather hard to come by near the well
stocked pens, so I wandered over to the parking area to get a taste of
untainted oxygen before heading back into the stuffy hall.

Which is when I saw a rather battered Landrover come through the
market gates and drive along a row of parked cattle trucks, obviously
intending to enter the last empty parking bay, which was only a few
steps from where I was standing. An event which prompted me to step
back out of sight behind one of the trucks.

Why? Because I remembered that Landie. Or at least I remembered the
registration number. I'd had it pointed out to me by a fellow officer
called Jimmy Giles when I'd been with him on a 'learning the district'
drive around. Not because the vehicle was involved in any major crime,
and perhaps not any crime at all, but it was a source of minor
annoyance to the local coppers. Or so Jim had said.

"See that Landrover, Phil? Belongs to a local farmer called Frank
Kirkpatrick. Nice guy with a lot of  good acres and two daughters that
are running a bit wild right now. Twins they are, identical twins,
Kathy and Kirsten, eighteen years old. One of the has passed her
driving test and the other one hasn't. That's Kathy, she can't seem to
get the hang of driving, somehow. So when she's driving they should
have Learner plates up on the Landie. They never do though, and if
ever they get pulled over they always insist it's Kirsten who's
driving. Twice that's happened and since I can't tell one twin from
the other I've had to let them off the hook. It's not really important
but I don't like anybody taking the piss out of us, even a couple of
girls. And I'm sure it was really Kathy who was really driving. I just
didn't have any way of proving it."

So it was because of that little tale from Jimmy that I'd moved out of
sight behind the truck. Of course it might just be Farmer Kirkpatrick
driving his own vehicle. Assuming that Frank liked stirring his
gearbox around as if he was mixing a Christmas pudding. Anyway it
wasn't him because there were two heads behind the windscreen, two
heads both topped with fair hair, long fair hair pulled back into
ponytails. The Kirkpatrick twins in person, and whichever one of them
at the wheel was not -- to put it kindly -- a very gifted driver. When
she stopped the four wheel drive it was more a case of taking the
clutch by surprise than easing it off. The engine squealed in high
revs as the brakes came on, then kangaroo hopped forward a couple of
feet before stalling because the driver had taken her foot off the
pedal too quickly.

I saw the girl in the passenger seat say something that was certainly
short and looked sharp, and the twin behind the wheel shrugged her
shoulders, apparently not caring much about the comment either way. I
knew how she felt: my own efforts at learning how to drive a Daimler
armoured car during National Service had been pretty rough going at
first. But although I wasn't close enough to hear what was being said,
I was close enough to see the girls were wearing blue work shirts of
exactly the same cut and hue. That was their usual thing, to wear
identical clothing so they could have games with people who couldn't
tell one from another. And if it amused them and maybe some other
people, it was no joke to the force. Even as a novice copper I knew
that the one thing the police should never do is to let anybody at all
make fun of us. This pair needed to be taken down a peg or two, but
how?

Sure, I could go over, hold them on suspicion of breaching L Plate
regulations and all the rest of it, but how could I possibly prove
which one had actually been driving the Landrover when it came into
the market?

And it was as I was pondering on that very awkward question that I
noticed a small pot of paint hanging from the side bar of the cattle
truck, a very small pot with a homemade wire handle and a tacked on
cover, with a hole in the cover just big enough for the handle of the
brush which was shoved down into the paintpot. Paint which I suddenly
realised was for putting temporary markings on animals after they'd
been bought, so they didn't get confused with any other livestock that
might get loaded into the truck at the same time.

Which gave me an idea. Not a clever idea, certainly not a very
original idea, but a bloody good one for all that. Because I pulled
the paint brush out of the pot, gave it a wipe across the top of one
of the back tyres of the truck to get rid of the excess paint and then
walked over to the Landrover with a big goofy smile on my face and my
hands behind my back, trying to look as friendly and unofficial as you
can in a police uniform.

"Hello, girls. Nice day isn't it?"

The driver -- Kathy for a quid -- grinned at me and reached down from
the opened window to operate the door lever from the outside, a common
habit with the cramped military style Landrovers of that era.

"Hello, constable . . . what the hell!"

They say that nothing you do in this life is time entirely wasted.
Maybe it's true, because as I whipped that paintbrush out from behind
me I remembered all the time I'd spent watching the movie matinees as
a kid. As fast as my trusty masked hero with the flashing blade, I put
the mark of Zorro on top of the twin's right hand. It was a neat piece
of work, even if I say so myself, though it didn't last long enough to
matter as the girl immediately tried to wipe it off with her other
hand. But if the Z got badly blurred the stain remained, and that
marking paint would need a deal of scrubbing to get it off.

"What did you do that for?" the twin behind the wheel demanded to
know.

"Because I think your name is Kathy Kirkpatrick, and that you haven't
passed your driving test and you've been committing an offence by
driving a vehicle on the public highway without having L plates on
said vehicle. If you want to contest my statement we'll go down to the
police station now, phone for your parents to come into town and let
them decide which one of you is which."

"You sneaky sod," she said, not at all pleased as she rubbed the back
of her hand again, which did nothing but spread the paint stains
further across her skin.

By this time the other girl had walked around the vehicle and was
smiling at me, but rather cautiously. She was a nice looker though --
well, having said that, they both were, naturally. Tall for their age,
slim, with big blue eyes, perfect skin and good figures. Maybe the
noses were definitely bigger than smaller, and maybe the sets of top
teeth were slightly over the top in terms of overbite, but there was
nothing else at  all to nitpick about. Especially with those long legs
both shown off to excellent advantage in tight fitting jeans and high
heeled Western style riding boots. Country girls come to town.

"Oh, Phil, you're not really going to charge her, are you?"

Never could resist a girl smiling at me -- it's the story of my life.
But I was surprised at what the twin had said. How did she know my
name?

"If there's any charges getting laid, there'll be two of them, one
each apiece. As a qualified driver travelling with a learner, it's
just as much your responsibility to have L plates displayed on the
vehicle as it is your sister's. Incidentally, we haven't been
introduced, have we?"

Kristen's (or Kathy's) smile broadened. "We saw Jimmy Giles in the
village a couple of nights ago and asked him who the handsome young
policeman was who'd been in the car with him. He said your name was
Phil -- Phil Rodgers."

"Hmm . . . "

It was an answer which took the wind out of my sails, especially when
the other girl got out of the Landie and matched her sister's smile
tooth for shiny white tooth. One smile and I'm easy meat, two
simultaneous smiles from smart looking young females and fearless
Police Officer Phil was breathing heavier than usual.

"It's no good trying to slide around me with that kind of approach,
young . . . well, whichever one you are."

The one who'd been driving shrugged her shoulders "You're right, Phil,
I am Kathy. I am the one without a driving licence." She held up her
stained hand and shrugged wryly  "I suppose you could say you've
caught me black handed."

Then the smile turned into as blatant a come-on one as I'd seen
for . . .  well, at least a day. "Have we been very naughty, Phil?"
she asked.

It was like little Annie Orphan trying to soften a miser's heart and
once again that damned tight collar on my tunic was squeezing into my
neck. Especially with that other pair of  oh-so-innocent blue eyes
also watching my reaction. It was time I got back into official mode.

"Now, girls, let's get this straight," I told them. "By rights I
should take you right down to the station. It's not the L plates that
are the real problem here, it's the way you've been playing the fool
with the police, pretending to be each other and so on. That's got to
stop. And there's another side to it as well. If you pair have an
accident it's our job to be able to say straight away which one of you
is which. Which we couldn't do right now, if neither of you was in a
fit state to talk to us. You understand that?"

Kirsten nodded "OK, yes, we understand. So what do you want to do?"

"I want to be able to know which is which, while I've got the chance.
You're Kirsten, and this one here with the paint on her hand is Kathy,
I know that, so all I need is to find a mole or something which one of
you has and the other doesn't, and then you won't be able to fool me
in the future."

That did it. The pair of them burst into laughter without even looking
at each other. Maybe they had a point, with the way I'd phrased it.

"On your faces or your necks, I meant. Just one identifying feature.
There's nothing to giggle about so just stand still for a minute."

Well, they did stand still . . . sort of. With their hands to their
mouths and clearly enjoying me as the biggest joke of the year so far.
I was wishing like hell I'd never had my bright idea in the first
place. If it hadn't been for the uniform I'd have shrugged my
shoulders and walked away. But when you're a copper you have to
browbeat the opposition every time or you'll never have any respect.

What made it worse was that I couldn't seem to see anything at all to
distinguish the twins. No moles, no birthmarks. There had to be
something, damn it, even if was only a freckle. But it was difficult
to keep looking at one of them and then the other and trying to
remember what I'd seen.

"Come on, stand together," I ordered. "Shoulder to shoulder."

"Yes, sir!" Kirsten said and the pair of them got together and made a
big thing of pretending to stand to attention.

I only hoped nobody else was watching the maddening piece of mummery.
It was time to read them the riot act.

"Listen, you pair of idiots, I'm trying to keep you out of trouble and
you're still taking the piss out of me. If you prefer to go down to
the station and get charged, I'm quite happy to do it. Right now."

Both of them shook their heads, and both in the same split second
without either apparently taking a cue from the other one. Sometimes
they seemed to be more like one mind in two bodies than two completely
separate personalities.

"No, Phil, you don't understand," Kathy said softly. "It's not that
we're trying to be clever, it's just that we both had the same idea at
the same time and we both knew the other knew that we'd had the same
idea, and we both thought it was a great idea."

""Uh . . . " It took me a second to untangle all that in my head..
"What idea?"

Again those two pairs of bright blue eyes were boring into me. Only
now they looked about as innocent as a pair of foxes' eyes in a
darkened chicken coop.

"Well, the idea that we'd both love to let you look at whatever you
want. Kirsten, don't you think Phil would be interested in seeing
our . . . identifying features."

"Oh yes, I'm sure he would. Only he'd have to find somewhere private
to take us, wouldn't he? Before we could show him, right?"

Once again I had what was becoming a surprisingly regular feeling
since I'd started being a copper, a feeling of being throttled by my
high necked uniform collar. Of course they were still having a joke
with me, weren't they? And of course even thinking about taking the
Kirkpatrick girls somewhere private was madness. But . . . but when
you're being offered an invitation to maybe peel a couple of
presentable teenage twin girls out of some of their clothing . . .
well, everything else seems to go out of focus somehow. When you're
young, anyway.

Of course I was supposed to be marching around the market carrying out
my official duties.  But . . .

"There's the old offices. The old clerks' offices," I said -- not
loudly, sort of thinking around.

The twins turned together again, like soldiers hearing a single word
of command, and looked across the pens to the small brick building
right in the middle of the livestock market place. It was called the
clerks' office because there were three empty rooms in it which had
indeed once been used by clerks recording bills of sales in market
authority ledgers. But that had been a long time ago, before the war.
All that was left now in the clerks' rooms was one dusty desk with a
telephone on it. The auctioneers and some other market officials such
as the duty vet had keys to the old building so they could use the
phone when necessary.

"There's people going in and out of there all the time," Kathy
objected.

"Only into half of it. The other half of the building is still a
police post," I answered. "But not many people know that."

"A police post?" Now it was Kirsten, and she sounded interested.

"It always has been, so they tell me," I explained. "We have our own
telephone there, and a place to make a brew up, and a toilet and a
couple of cells."

Both of them responded to that word as if  there'd been a peal of
thunder out of the clear blue sky.

"Cells?"

Again, I was the target of those eyes, and this time there might not
really have been any thunder about but there certainly was some
electricity building up behind them. It was getting hard to keep my
mind on what I was talking about.

"Yes, cells. Back in Victorian times the publicans were allowed to set
up barrels of ale here in the market and sell pints to the farmers and
auctioneers and workers all day long. Sometimes there'd be trouble as
a result, and the cells were built as part of the clerk's offices so
there'd be places for the market constable to lock up the nuisance
drunks until they were sober enough to be released or carted off to
the town police station. Horse and carted, I suppose."

"Oh, well, Phil, you'd better take us to the cells then," Kathy said.
"After all, you're not going to get a chance like this again, are
you?"

"What chance?"

She tapped the back of her stained hand "A chance to know which of us
is which. A chance to give us a real good sorting out."

The other twin went into a fit of giggles and that  bloody collar was
squeezing me like a python necklace. It really seemed that I was on
the losing end of a ongoing gag that only the girls understood. Maybe
it was time, just this once, to back off.

"Well, the pair of you, I think I'd better say to you that you are not
under arrest in any way. You don't have to come over to the police
post with me if you don't want to."

"But we do want to," Kirsten said. "Don't we, Kathy?"

"Of course we do," the other one answered straight back. "It's our
duty to assist the police with their enquiries, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. We're all yours, Phil, so take us away."

"Uh . . . maybe it would be better if you gave me a minute and then
followed on behind. Just walk around the office building until you
come to a side door. It'll be unlocked."

"Not ashamed of us, are you, Phil?" Kathy asked, grinning.

"I'm being careful, that's all. A copper is always being watched and
if I'm seen escorting anybody anywhere people always jump to the worst
conclusions. We don't need any stupid gossip, so don't make it look as
if you're with me."

"OK, Phil," one of the twins said. "You go over there and wait for us
to come over."

"Right, right."

My voice was croaking again, just like it had when the head teacher
had started polishing my truncheon with her handkerchief. God, was I
imaging things or could this possibly be another situation like that
one? With a pair of girls -- twin girls -- to myself. Bloody hell!

No, not possible. It was just a case of them flirting with me and
maybe -- if I was very lucky -- getting a quick flash of something
nice. Maybe in duplicate. Well, that was better than nothing on a
quiet day. As long as they didn't go blabbing about it afterwards. But
I did have reasonable grounds to think the twins had been breaking the
law. That should be enough to deal with any questions, if I was
careful.

Without glancing back I walked over to the clerks' building. Round the
corner to the door, took the old fashioned iron key out of my pocket
and went in. It was the first time I'd been inside the post and the
first thing I saw was a table with a tatty old oil cloth covering on
it -- instant deja vu! It was like being back in the caretaker's room
at the town school.

Same kind of table, a couple of old wooden chairs, even a sink. Only
this was an old fashioned deep square sink with a checkerboard of
tiles on one side as a draining board, and instead of a steel locker
there was a wooden cupboard hanging on the wall. The only other major
difference was that I didn't have a well built red haired school
teacher walking in with me. On the other hand . . . the door hinges
squeaked and one of the twins was grinning at me.

"OK to come in, Phil?"

"Yeah, sure."

Both of them entered. Kathy was second. I saw the Z blur on the back
of her right hand as she tried to close the door. She had some trouble
because the lock was stiff and wouldn't close. So I had to use the key
to get some leverage and turn the mechanism.  Kathy giggled again and
looked around at her sister.

"He's making sure of us, isn't he? No escape from the long arm of the
law now, right?"

"Or the long anything else of the law."

I was as happy as they were to fool around for as long as it took to
get anywhere but I was supposed to be on duty. Maybe I'd regret it
like hell late on but it was time to remember it now.

"Look, girls, I've got to go for a walk around the hall again or
somebody'll be phoning my sergeant and telling tales on me. It'll only
take me ten minutes and then I'll be back."

Kirsten laughed "Are you going to lock us in while you're away?"

I nodded "I have to. It's the only way to secure the door. I can't
leave it open for anybody to come strolling in."

"No, of course you can't. You lock us in Phil and then you'll know
we'll be here when you get back. Won't you?"

"Yeah, right . . . right."

OK, I wasn't at my best, not for making small talk anyway. I felt like
I'd gone out into the river for a quiet swim and was suddenly hearing
a noise like a enormous waterfall just around the bend -- a noise I
was hearing at about the precise time I realized I was being swept
downstream by a current it was impossible to get clear of. Which is a
poetic way of saying that when I went out and locked the door again
that big old iron key was probably softer than the boner inside my
official issue police trousers.

A good thing those trousers were matched by the long uniform tunic.
Even so, I walked as if my truncheon had become entangled in my
underpants. Except that I never wore underpants and I always kept some
condoms tucked away in to lining at the top of my helmet. I might have
been a raw beginner as a police officer but I'd learnt fast about the
essentials needed for the job, thanks to Head Mistress Morrison. But
thinking about her as a way of taking my mind off the twins was like
trying to douse a  fire with high octane petrol.

Fortunately there's one subject which has always been as important to
me as women, and that's food. I just managed to keep from making a
spectacle of myself by concentrating very, very hard on all the pies,
pasties, cakes, sandwiches and other good things displayed on the
stalls I walked past. I even managed to chat to a couple of the stall
holders without suddenly screaming in impatience and running back to
the old market building. I'd like to claim it was due entirely to my
strength of character. More truthfully, it was because having the
twins under lock and key really didn't mean a thing. Most likely than
not they were only cock teasing me unmercifully. Which would be a big
disappointment but one I could live with if I didn't build my hopes up
too high.

Not that I'm trying to pretend I wasn't seething and steaming like an
active volcano when I got back to the building. And at least I was
able to loosen that damned collar and take off my helmet before I
unlocked the door. Then I pushed it open with the hinges creaking
and . . . the place was empty.

"Better lock the door again, Phil."

It was on of the girls, and the voice was echoing from the inset
archway of red bricks on the side wall which was the entrance to the
two cells. I turned the key and put it on the table with my helmet,
then went through the archway. On the far side was a niche, lit only
by the single 40 watt globe burning behind me in the tea room, with a
wooden cell door on each side. Both of the doors were closed. Both of
the viewing panels inset into the doors were also closed. I reached
up, slid open the one on the left hand door and looked into the cell.
Bright lengths of sunlight were shining through the single small
barred window high up in the wall. The glowing strips illuminated  a
stone flagged floor.  Apart from the dust motes floating in the light
there was nothing else to see in the cell. I turned to my right and
slid open the other panel. Then I decided it was a very good thing I'd
already loosened my collar.

One of the chairs from the other room was set in the middle of the
floor, exactly in the centre of the pattern of falling sun rays.
Sitting on the chair was one of the twins, wearing only a pair of
tight fitting panties . . . white panties . . . pure white panties.
Those and her  shirt, which was tangled up with wrists and behind her
head. The reason her wrists and shirt was behind her head was because
her sister was holding them there, and standing behind the chair. She
still had her shirt on her shoulders but it was unbuttoned all the way
down, with no more sight of a bra than her almost naked twin. The only
real difference was that the one behind the chair was wearing black
briefs. Identical cut and pattern, but black.

Oddly, the cell door wasn't at all stiff as I pushed it open. I was
though -- my prick felt as if it was going to poke a hole through the
thick blue material of my uniform and smack me under the chin. As I
got closer to the chair I saw the paint marking on the hand of the
sister behind the chair.

"Kirsten wants to say sorry to you, Phil. She's the one who insisted
we didn't need to bother with L plates because the coppers were too
stupid to know which of us is which. So now she has to open her big
mouth again to say  sorry."

I stopped in front of the chair. Kathy pushed her sister's arms
towards me and Kirsten's head moved with them. She put her face
against the bottom of the tunic and then rubbed her forehead against
the swelling inside my trousers. Not far away an auctioneer was
calling out the bidding. His voice was coming through the small barred
window where there was no glass to quieten it or to keep out the smell
of the animals. I reached down, unbuttoned my flies and let my prick
jut out between the flaps of the tunic. Kirsten grunted, and wriggled
forward on the edge of the chair to take me into her mouth.

"Jesuuuuus . . ." I moaned.

"You're right, Phil. We do have different moles. Open my shirt and
look down."

My hands moved without seeming waiting to be ordered to. Kirsten's
teeth were lightly touching the top and bottom of my cock and her
tongue was rubbing against the upward angle of my cockhead. When I
opened her sister's shirt I saw how the tanned skin around her
shoulders faded into pure white flesh around a pair of perky little
breasts.

"On my right tit, half an inch below the top of my bra cup. See the
birthmark there -- the other one doesn't have it on her tit."

'The other one' . . . that seemed a slightly odd way of talking about
her twin sister. But my reasoning power wasn't at its best right then.
My hands were still doing their own thing. They went inside Kathy's
shirt and squeezed her tits.

She gasped as I took hold of her nipples and pinched them as if I was
pruning rose buds. Only not so gently. Then I put my right hand behind
her head and pulled her mouth to mine. In a second our tongues were
slithering together like a pair of mating snakes. The condom I'd taken
out of the helmet was still in the palm of my hand, pressed hard up
against Kathy's hair. My left hand went down behind the other sister's
head, pulling it forward into my groin as she snorted through her
nose. There seemed to be a lot more man meat down there than Kirsten
had expected, several jaw cracking inches more.

"Forty, forty, forty pounds! Any advance on forty pounds? Any
advance?"

I could still hear the auctioneer's distant voice, even with my heart
pounding away as if it was being driven by superheated steam. I coiled
my fingers around Kirsten's hair and held it tightly as I gave her
another advance of my own. She snorted and snuffled before I eased
back on her hair enough to give her a chance to breath. While she was
sucking in air around my cock I lifted up my hand back to where it had
been and gave Kathy's nipples another tune up, left and right. And
again, I did it hard enough to make her jerk up onto her toes and push
her tongue as far as she could down my throat..

"Forty! Forty pounds. Once, twice and for the third time . . .
anybody? Sold at forty then!"

 I stood back, the three of us staring at each other for a second
before I tore the condom packet open with my teeth. I pressed the
round rubber disc up against the slit in my pocket python and began
unrolling it. Then I moved closer to Kirsten, grabbed her hair again
and began unrolling the thin tube down my shaft with the fingers of my
left hand. As I did so Kirsten followed on down with her mouth and
lips, carefully squeezing out the wrinkles all the way down to my
balls.

Kathy was still holding Kirsten's wrists above her head, still keeping
the tangled blue shirt where it was. I didn't know why. There was a
whole lot about the situation I didn't understand -- but you can say
that about any situation which involves a woman. With two of them, and
being twins as well . . . all I knew was that all this was their
doing, not mine. Well, mostly, not mine.

With the condom stretched out as tightly as Yehudi Munin's violin
strings I walked around the chair and stood behind Kathy. That at
least she hadn't been expecting. She looked over her shoulder at me as
I pushed my fingers into the tops of her black panties and pushed the
waist band down. A slap on each bared cheek and then my fingers were
deeply embedded into each half moon as if I was one of the farmers
outside checking on the condition of a penned animal. Kathy took as
deep a breath as any her sister had done and her legs twitched like
the ears of a startled rabbit.

"Oh, God. You've found out our other secret as well, Phil. I always
wear black undies and she always wears white ones."

Yes, there were two bras lying on one of the bench seats set in the
raw brick wall, one black and one white. My right hand slipped into
the warm gap between the lowered panties and her opened thighs. The
girl's skin felt like hot velvet.

"Is that because she's still a virgin and you're not?"

Kathy and Kirsten giggled in unison. "No," Kirsten said. "We do
everything together -- so far, anyway."

I moved closer to Kathy, close enough so that the tip of my cock
nudged against her quivering derriere. She was already wet enough for
my fingers to open her outer lips easily. But inside the inner
pair . . . surely not!

"And what about getting fucked together? How often have you done
that?"

"We haven't been fucked -- not yet. We've been waiting for the right
opportunity."

Kathy's arse pressed backwards, pushing against my prick. "I don't
suppose you fancy us, do you, Phil?" she whispered. "Only it'd be nice
to get it over and done with. And if the same fellow has both of us
we'll be able to share the experience much better."

"Christ . . ."

I grabbed Kathy by her pony tail and made her step around the chair,
awkward steps with her panties rucked around her strongly muscled
thighs. It must have been all that work around the farm which kept her
so fit. Kirsten stared up at us, her hands still wrapped in the
tangled shirt drawn tight around the back of her neck.

"Are you going to do her first, Phil?" she asked me. I didn't tell
her, I just jerked back on Kathy's hair to show who was the boss.

"Kneel down, pull Kirsten's panties off her."

She obeyed me immediately and Kirsten lifted herself up from the chair
to help her sister pull off her white underwear. God, it was an effort
to wait but I needed to.

"OK, hang them over my prick."

"What!" Kathy gasped

Both of them began giggling again. They must have thought I was kinky
about panties. Which was maybe true, though not in the way they
thought.

"Hang them over my cock. I don't want any love juice stains on my
uniform."

Kathy laughed and shuffled around on her knees with the scrap of white
material in her hand. Then she stopped laughing.

"Oh! Oh, my God!"

Kirsten snorted in amusement "You think you've got problems? You
should try getting your mouth around it. That'll teach us to make
jokes about the long arm of the law, won't it?"

"Come on, come on . . . "

I was about ready to start pawing the ground, especially as Kathy not
only draped the panties over my cock but started fiddling with them
with one hand while working my foreskin up and down with the other
one. You'd have thought she was dressing up a shop window dummy with
the time she was taking, so I hauled her up off the floor with another
hard tug on her ponytail. Kathy gave a little yelp of protest but this
time there was no shared sound bites between the twins because Kirsten
laughed at her sister's spasm of pain.

"Don't piss around anymore, Phil." She urged me. "Bend her over and
give it to her."

So I did. I pushed Kathy's shoulders forward and as she bowed forward
she put her hands down on Kirsten's legs to support herself. And
Kirsten raised the rolled up shirt over her head to bring her hands
forward and then take hold of the ponytail lying on the top of the
sister's back

"I'll hold her for you, Phil."

Very obliging of her. Still, if she wanted to help me to fuck her
sister . . .

There was no doubt about it, the more I learned about rural females,
the more I came to believe that for sheer unashamed carnality the
peaceful countryside was miles ahead of any city.  Maybe it was the
farmyard smells coming in through the cell window which were
encouraging these daughters of the soil to let their lusts run free.
All I know is that I saw the seated twin tug on her sister's long hair
to lift her head up, so they were face to face. Which was the position
they stayed in as I slid my cock into Kathy's cunt as deftly as an
gunner loading a shell into an open breech.

Well, a semi-interrupted type of breech, really, because there was a
resistance there of the kind you don't often come up against, and
Kathy yelped with the sounds of a fox cornered by a pack of hounds.
Before Kirsten kissed her on the lips. And as Kathy spluttered against
her sister's mouth like an overfilled kettle coming to the boil I
began to plough her furrow, as they say in farming circles . . .

God, she was tight, as you'd expect with a body that was only just
being opened up for business, but all the muscles in it were learning
their business very quickly. In, out, in, out and then the deepest
stroke of the lot so far, the one that really touched bottom because
Kathy shrieked again as her cunt massaged my prick every straining
inch.

"For God's sake, shut her up!" I demanded

Kirsten acted as quickly and smoothly as if it was a practiced
response, pulling her wrists down on each side of her sister's ears
with the shirt between them covering Kathy's head like an all
enveloping shawl. The tail of Kathy's own shirt slid down her inclined
spine and I gaped at the patch of white puckered skin revealed on her
back at waist height. Kirsten grinned up at me.

"You can shag her out of her brains now, Phil." Then she laughed and
wriggled around on the chair with her naked tits quivering.

Again, I wondered how I'd ever imagined those eyes to be in any way
innocent. Innocent! I was the one debauching her sister and yet I was
as pure as the driven snow compared to these two.

"What's this scar on Kathy's back?"

"Oh, she tipped some boiling water over herself when she was a kid. It
hurt us like hell."

"Us?"

"We feel everything together, pretty much. Right now my sister thinks
she's in heaven. Are you enjoying her, Phil?"

"Christ, yes."

"Will she be a good fuck when you've finished with her?"

I had to laugh "Maybe I'll have to bend her over a few more time yet
before she can take her Learner plates off."

Kirsten took a deep sigh, rolled her eyes and pressed her arms down on
the shirt covered head buried in her lap "What about me? Can you fuck
me as well?"

"Oh God, yes . . . the pair of you'll soon be able to give a whole
choir of boys something to sing about -- yeah, and you'll be able to
break their voices for them as well as well . . . "

Kirsten laughed and then groaned, her mouth hanging open as she kept
staring at my face. The way a girl often looks at you at you when
you're doing her, as though she's trying to commit every second of the
sex act her memory. Maybe she really was having some kind of shared
experience with her twin. I experimented by sliding my hand underneath
my Miss Kirkpatrick and tweaking her clit. Maybe that encouraged the
one I was tickling to do something inventive with her tongue on her
sister -- or perhaps they really were sharing the experience of being
screwed.

Whatever the reason, the twins began to come together and the sounds
they made . . .  You could have poked a stick into any of the pig pens
outside in the market and not created half as much noise. Not that I
had enough brain cells till functioning to care; I was up on my toes,
jerking a pair of hips back against me as my balls slapped against the
soggy panties pressed up against Kathy's prickly bush. Her arse cheeks
felt as tight as Kirsten's teats looked, and the only thing tighter
than that in the room was the fit of my prick inside Kathy's cunt.
Every time I pulled it out there was a sound like a hippo farting
underwater and mingled cries of joy from the girls as the next stroke
went in . . .

Well, I've got a few golden memories in my silver years, and none of
them better than the memory of taking on a pair of sisters inside a
police cell and all three of us coming at the same time. Telepathic
bonding or not, I reckon I did a good job there. After all, the one
lesson they'd drummed into us recruits at police training school was
how important it was to keep on good terms with the public, and what
with Anna Morrison and the twins, I was certainly doing that. Of
course Mr Morrison and Mr and Mrs Kirkpatrick might have different
ideas about it.

"Sorry, girls," I huffed and puffed. "Got to go outside again for a
while. Shall I lock you in again?"

Kristen looked up from stroking Kathy's head, struggled to focus her
eyes on me and nodded her head "Sure, Phil. Sure. Get back as soon as
you can, it's my turn next."

Then she laughed and pulled her hand free of the shirt tangled around
her wrists. On it was a smudged Z shape in black paint.

"One of us painted herself as well before we came over here, Phil. So
you can fuck us as much as you like but you still won't know which one
of us is which, right?"

I grinned as well, even more widely than she did "When I come back I
want the pair of you bent naked over the table. Meanwhile I'm going to
buy myself a leather razor strop. And after I've used it one of you
will definitely have some markings the other one doesn't."

Like I've said, when you're a copper you've always got to come out the
winner, one way or another.

About a minute later I was standing outside, helmet on, collar
fastened and leaning against the rail of a pen for support while I
discretely  tugged the front of my jacket down as far as it would go
over the damp patch in the front of my trousers. A tough looking old
farmer  in a patched tweed coat and old fashioned leather leggings
came walking past.

"Be Jasus, you've a boring job of it here, bhoy. Can the police not
find something better for a big strapping lad like you to be doing on
a fine day like today?'

"I just do as I'm ordered, sir."

"Oh, sure. You wouldn't have seen two girls around here would you,
twin girls?"

"Twins?" My balls felt like they were shriveling up with shock.

"Aye, bhoy, my daughters. They're supposed to be meeting me here but I
daresay they've walked over the road into the town to do some
shopping. Twin sisters with ponytails on them. If you see them, can
you tell them their dad has gone back to the farm with the truck?"

"Yes, sir. If I see them, I'll tell them."

"And tell them to take a walk around the livestock market like they're
supposed to be doing.  I told them to find some good breeding stock
today."

And, really, there was no answer to that. Because the really, really
important lesson for any copper to learn is when to keep his mouth
shut and his face straight.

THE END

(If you liked this story you'll really enjoy the image enhanced
stories at www.alphamalestories.com)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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