Lieutenant Frotteur – Rose Landra

His codpiece juts straight out and the holographic crest shining above the tip identifies him as Phil Culbreth, Lieutenant First Class of the Bay Area Autonomous Smart City Police Department, badge number 04220212. The codpiece itself identifies Lt. Culbreth as an assassin, surgically modified to kill by hypospray cumshot. A catheter connects his urethra to a rifle barrel that can shoot a lethal carfentanyl-laced load into you from up to 10 feet away. But it’s always better for him if he can rub it right up against you. Touch the knob.
If you ever met Lt. Culbreth in person, your facial-recognition app would tell you his official bodycount is 50 or 51, with unofficial estimates upward of 200.
Now the deadliest frotteur in Cascadia is sitting in his squad car, parked behind what used to be a Whole Foods before last week’s self-driving car bomb. He’s just waiting for his shift to end so he pushes a button under the steering wheel to activate the windows’ polarized tint and starts jacking off. On the underside of his codpiece, there’s a little round slot just the right size for an injector pen and he slides one in there now, bringing the tip against the largest of the veins on his dick to inject the dose of PGE1 he needs to get hard these days.
Internal Affairs is investigating Lt. Culbreth for alleged heterosexual penetration. Lt. Culbreth knows all about this cuz his buddy Kelly got him a redacted copy of his file. And he’s reading his file right now – it’s the best jack-off material he’s had since Garabrant seized that ultra-hi-def archive of North Cascadian snuff and passed it around the office. It says here he’s killed-and-or-maimed 5 or more women thru “unlicensed heterosexual penetration resulting in unlawful officer-involved ejaculation.” And that’s not from the carfentanyl – he only shoots blanks when he’s making love. It’s just that all his mods have seriously fucked up his dick and balls in ways science is only just starting to understand. Rapid fertilization, ectopic pregnancy, malignant uterine tumor if you’re lucky.
If you’re unlucky? Look at what happened to Ms. Judy Borsher, Lt. Culbreth’s 4th victim and a case of great medical interest. Inseminated by Lt. Culbreath around 10/18/2236. No supplements could maintain Borsher’s calcium levels, and by the end of the 1st trimester she was bedridden with severe osteoporosis. A coma was induced and she was assigned a nurse to sponge her bedsores every other day. By the end of the 2nd trimester, the fetus weighed 20 lbs. and had 3 fully developed sets of teeth. When it was still 2 months premature it tore its way out of Borsher’s uterus and over the course of a few days consumed most of her soft tissues from the inside out. An error in the scheduling algorithm gave Borsher’s nurse 2 weeks off around that time, so the first person to discover the fetus was a janitor investigating complaints of a leaky ceiling from the room below. From his description, the fetus was 4 feet long, between 100 and 130 lbs., had 6 legs, and rough, scaly skin, the texture of which he compared to an alligator. We hypothesize that the fetus’s strange skin texture was due to severe infantile seborrheic dermatitis, covering the entire body instead of just the scalp.
The fetus was ramming its head against the walls and windows, as if trying to escape, and was covered in a crust of “afterbirth” – various fluids that used to be inside its mother, fragments of undigested gristle. Next to what was left of Borsher, a puddle of now-sour milk from when the fetus’s teeth tore open a mammary. The janitor was lucky to escape with his life, and the nurse was duly fired for malpractice.
It’s so hot. And Lt. Culbreth can’t even imagine how much hotter the redacted parts of his file are. Leaving the safety off, he strokes his codpiece faster and faster, a set of neural implants translating his hand’s motion on the smooth plastic to a sensation on the surface of his rock hard dick. A sensation he hasn’t really felt since 8 years ago, when he took the NoFap oath and joined the force. He cums, and it nearly blows a hole thru his glove.

Now, a few years ago, the police reformers won a big case. Now assassins like Lt. Phil Culbreth are required to wear a chastity belt at all times when they’re off-duty, so they can’t shoot people in their spare time. Like most of his colleagues, Phil found a workaround so he could continue with his off-the-clock contract killings. If you asked him he would tell you it pays better than the city does and there’s no Internal Affairs to worry about. But he’s not in it for the money, really. It’s his passion. He was a hobbyist killer before he went professional and he’ll stay a hobbyist killer after he retires.
One night Phil was getting ready to do a hit for DharmaCo on a labor organizer loosely affiliated with DISC. Violeta Shkoza was the name on the photo they gave him. Online, their name was Jawbone VS. Phil adjusted his chastity belt to tuck his birth dick into his waistband and clear space for his second, retractable dick to emerge from his taint. He got that mod done on his holiday bonus and took 2 weeks paid vacation in Bangkok. Dilating was hell for the first few weeks till he figured out how to feel the second dick sheathed in his gut and stop the dilator before it poked the not-yet-healed glans. He reached down now, parting his labia and flexing his kegels and the nameless neomuscles attached to them till he saw stars, pushing out his 8-inch always-erect auxiliary dick. He had insisted on the length and girth. They had to reroute his intestines to make room, leaving him with several feet less of digestive tract and an inability to digest anything but the most heavily processed health foods.
The target never saw Phil coming – the police database gives him the backdoor password to every smart apartment in town. He got to their home an hour before they did and strapped himself to the ceiling, nude from the waist down except for his boots. When they came into the room he unbuckled himself and lunged, clamping his legs around their shoulders like the jaws of an enormous ant and frotting his perineal stinger against their neck. Injected into the jugular, Phil’s cumshot killed instantly. He basked a while in the afterglow with the limp body still clenched between his thighs.
He never got to put his pants back on. A SWAT team walked in on him, all of Phil’s work buddies, 3 coming up the stairs and 2 thru the windows. He put his hands in the air and let them chain him up with the heavy-duty chastity belt. Phil always assumed it’d be one of the other guys they chose to make an example of, not him. Oh well.
At pretrial, Phil’s lawyers successfully argued for him to be drugged to speed up his perception of time and make the ceremonial 3-month trial feel like just a few hours to him. Of course he lost the case, so the prosecuting team was to be absorbed into Central Computing. A cat-eared technician took them away to the Central data center and lifted her dress to expose her ovipositor. Then she injected each of the 3 prosecutors with her swarm of nanoparasites, integrating their minds into Central Computing as new parallel processors. It’s the most effective way to ensure real systemic change – your whole mind and body, all your life and experiences and ideas, it all becomes part of the algorithm that runs the Autonomous Smart City.
Phil’s buddies felt bad for making him take the fall. So they all chipped in to get him a new face and a new name (even if I knew what it was I wouldn’t tell you), and Garabrant pulled some strings to get him transferred to a new city. Welcome to Seattle PD, Lieutenant.