Message-ID: <33968asstr$1008058202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: sandia@texas.net
Subject: {ASSM} "Police Story"         Cheat, D/s, police.  
Date: Tue, 11 Dec 2001 03:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

"Police Story"
By Sandia.					Write me at sandia@texas.net.
Codes:  Cheat, d/s, police.


Police Story

I heard the siren before I saw the light.  My heart jumped in my chest.  I felt 
my blood run cold.  I searched my mind to try to remember how I'd been 
driving.  I found my mind was blank.  There was an intersection back there... Had 
there been a light?  

I'd instinctively touched the brake, and now I heard the cop cars' tires squeal 
on the wet road behind me.  This was just getting worse.  

I pulled over to the side, as slowly and carefully as I could.  We were on a 
major thoroughfare, but the traffic that night was light.  It was about nine 
pm.  The rain had finally let up.  We were only a couple of miles from my 
house.  

I waited nervously and watched my rearview mirror.  I couldn't see inside the 
police car, but his searchlight was flooding light into my car.  

I reached over for my purse, to try to find some tic tacs or some gum.  Then I 
thought better of it and put my hands back on the wheel.  

After a while the officer got out of his car and approached me.  He was young 
and lean, with short blond hair.  He walked carefully, with measured strides, 
every step calling out authority.  

I realized my window was up and clumsily rolled it down.  

"Ma'am," he said, "may I see your license and insurance?"

I grabbed my purse and began searching through it, also looking for that gum.  

My license was in my wallet, but I couldn't seem to find the papers for our 
insurance.  Or any breath mints, or gum.

"Officer," I smiled nervously, "I think my husband has the insurance..."

"You should always keep a copy in the car," he told me sternly.

"Yes sir," I stammered.  "I'm so very, very sorry."

He clipped my license to a clipboard he was holding in his hand.  I saw that he 
was writing.

"Officer," I ventured, "can I--can you tell me what I've done?"

He looked at me.  "You don't know?" he asked.

"I--I guess I was speeding...?" I asked.

He shook his head and turned and pointed back down the road.  "You see that 
light down there?"  I nodded dumbly.  

"Do you remember what color it was when you went through?"

I didn't.  I stared at him.

He clipped his pen down and put his hand on the door handle of my 
car.  "Ma'am," he said, "I'm going to need you to step out of the car."

I felt my stomach drop.

"Why?" I asked.  My voice sounded awfully loud to me.

"Step out of the car, ma'am."

I swallowed.  "Officer, please," I told him, "My husband is expecting me..."

He pulled the car door partway open.  "You need to step out of the car, now, 
miss," he said.  

I unbuckled my seatbelt and put one foot down on the ground.  "Could you please 
tell me what this's about?"  I realized my speech was sounding slurred.   "I 
really have to get home, now..."

He pulled the door all the way open.  "Step outside, ma'am," was all he said.  

I swallowed and stood trembling to my feet.  I hoped nobody would see me 
standing out here like this.  

I suddenly felt dizzy and had to catch myself on the car.  I watched him write 
a note down on his pad.  "Please, officer," I said, "I haven't been drinking 
tonight..."

"I'm going to have to have you take some tests," he replied.  He glanced at 
me.  "I can smell it on your breath."  

"I mean," I stuttered, "I haven't had too much to drink, just one or two."

I felt so stupid, having been caught in such a stupid lie.

"Yes, ma'am."  He was still writing, and not looking at me.  

I was so nervous.  I could feel myself start to hyperventilate.  "Please," I 
begged him.  "I was supposed to have been home at eight.  My husband is going 
to be very upset."

"Ma'am," he said, "please step over to between the cars."  He pointed where he 
wanted me to go.  I put my head down, and tried to walk where he was pointing.  
My heel caught on something on the road.  He tried to catch me as I fell, but 
wasn't fast enough.  I fell flat on my face.  My skirt and blouse where soaked 
in the water standing on the road.  

"Oh, God," I moaned.  I felt myself begin to cry.  He helped me to my feet.  

He handed me a white cloth and I wiped my hands and face.  

"Ma'am," he said, when I was through.  "I'm going to have to ask you to take 
some tests."

"Oh, please," I cried, "please don't make me do that..." I glanced at 
him.  "Can't you just...?" but I couldn't think what to ask for him to do.  I 
wanted so badly to just go home.  I thought again about the people driving past 
us on the road.  Everyone in my neighborhood, I thought, uses this road to go 
home.

"No ma'am," he said.  "You're detained on suspicion of DUI.  If you don't 
comply with my instructions, I'm going to have to handcuff you and take you in."

I swallowed.  The thought was terrifying.

Maybe, I thought, if I just do well enough on the tests...

"What," I stammered, "what do you want me to do?"

He put his clipboard on his car.  He showed me.  "Put your head back," he 
said, "put your heels together.  Close your eyes..."

He made it look so easy.  

He glanced down at my shoes.  "Do you want to take those heels off?" he asked 
me.

I looked at them too.  I shook my head.  The road was wet.

I tried to do like he had done.  But as soon as I closed my eyes I began to 
feel like I was falling.  I couldn't seem to balance properly on my shoes.  

"Do you want to try again?" he asked.

"Officer, it's my shoes," I told him.

"Do you want to take them off?"

I shook my head.  I'd get my stockings wet.  It was bad enough the front of my 
dress was wet.  How would I explain that to my husband?  He could never know 
I'd been stopped like this.

I tried again.  This time I thought I did a little better, but I knew that I 
was swaying, and I couldn't touch my nose, like he had done.  

I realized this wasn't going well.

He stopped me.  "Open your eyes, please, ma'am.  Ma'am, can you see my pen?"  
He held his pen about nine inches from my face.  I nodded.

"Officer?" I asked, "Officer, what's your name?"

"Officer Robinson," he replied, impatiently.

"Officer Robin... Robinson, can I please try again?"

He shook his head.

"Officer," I said, "I'll take off my shoes."  I slid one foot out of my heels 
and put it down on the wet road.  I felt the water soak through my stockings.  
It was cold.  "Officer, can I try again?"

Fuck my stockings, I had thought; I HAD to pass these tests.  I couldn't afford 
to go to jail on any charge, much less DUI.

Finally he looked at me, he looked into my eyes.  I was standing awkwardly, one 
foot higher than the other.  I opened my mouth to speak to him, but he 
interrupted.  "Ma'am," he said, "I need you to follow this pen.  Follow it with 
your eyes."  I looked at it.  It was hard to focus with the bright lights 
shining on me from his car.  

"Can you see it?" he asked.  I nodded dumbly.  I still was standing awkwardly, 
one foot down on the road.  The water was seeping up my stocking.

"Follow my pen with your eyes," he instructed.  I followed it as carefully as I 
could, but it was hard to follow, as he moved it back and forth.  Finally he 
slapped it down.  "Ma'am," he said, and there was something in his voice.  
Disgust.  I had a feeling I'd just failed another test.

I felt like the ground was about to open, and swallow me up.

"Ma'am," he said, "I have one more test I want you to do."

"What?" I asked.  Again, I realized, I was talking much too loud.  

He looked down at my feet.  "I need you to either put your shoes on or off for 
this."

I looked numbly down.  I couldn't seem to decide which was better for me to 
do.  My wet foot was cold, now.  I noticed that I was shivering.

"Ociffer," I said.  I found I was having trouble saying it after saying it so 
often.  "Officer, can you tell me what to do?"  I looked hopefully up at him.

He shook his head and took my arm.  "Ma'am," he said, "at this time I'm going 
to ask you to turn around..."

I felt this shock of fear.  "Why?" I yelled, wondering what he was about to do 
to me.

"...taking you under arrest for DUI..." His hand was hurting me.  I jerked away.  

"No!" I said.  I felt panicked.  This couldn't be happening to me.  I needed to 
go home.  My husband would be furious... "No!" I cried again.  I tried to 
struggle free.

He pulled my arm back behind me and twisted me around.  I felt my head go 
forward; next thing that I knew he had me bent forward over the hood of his 
police car.  I felt him standing there behind me.  I struggled, 
crying.  "Please," I cried, "don't DO this to me!"

I felt him trying for my other hand, but I avoided him.  "Please," I 
cried, "just let me TALK to you..."

I felt my free arm strike his hand, and he pulled up my other arm, until I felt 
pain shooting through my shoulder.

"Please," I cried, "STOP doing this."

He caught my other wrist.  "Stop resisting!" he yelled at me.

I was panting from my efforts.  Finally I put my head down on the car.  The 
metal felt cool against my cheek.

I felt him struggle with his handcuffs.  I tried to pull away again, but he was 
holding me too tightly.  

"Ma'am," he said, "you just bought yourself another charge..."

He pulled me around and sat me in his car.  He keyed his mike and called for 
backup.  

I sat there crying while he tapped into his laptop.  He touched a button on a 
camera mounted on the dash.  I realized he'd been taping me.    

Finally he sighed and looked over at me.  "You want me to call your husband for 
the car?"

I shook my head and started bawling.  He would kill me, I thought.  I'd never 
felt so humiliated.

He sighed again.  "I'll have to call for impound," he said, "You'll have to pay 
to get it out."

I couldn't answer him.  I swallowed.  We didn't have the money.  We wouldn't 
have it til my husband got paid again next week.  And then I realized something 
else.  How would I get out of jail that night?

I tried to stop my crying.  "Officer... Robinson," I said.  "Please, you've got 
to understand my situation..." I caught my breath and swallowed.  I tried to 
catch his eye.

"My husband," I continued, "he thinks I have... a problem.  He's threatened me 
before... I'm afraid he's going to leave me.  And my job..." I couldn't finish.  
The fact was, I couldn't afford to miss another day of work that month.  

He had looked away from me.  He started typing on his laptop.

I looked at him.  I swallowed.  I cleared my throat.  I sat up straight up, or 
tried to.  I arched my back.  I glanced down at my chest.  I saw my breasts 
looked nearly naked, through the wet fabric that was clinging to my chest.  

"Officer," I said, "Officer, would you look at me?"  He paused his typing, but 
he didn't turn his head.  His eyes had turned to me, though.  

I straightened up.  "Officer," I uncrossed my legs.  "Officer," I said, "I... I 
really can't get arrested right now..." I looked at him.  I watched his eyes.  I 
pushed my chest out further.  I leaned back and moved my legs apart.    

He keyed his mike.  He cleared his throat.  "...Request for backup status..." I 
heard him say. 

I was crushed.  I couldn't believe I'd just done that--offered myself to him, I 
mean.  But even worse, I was crushed that he'd turned it down.

"Ma'am," he started, but at that moment another cop car pulled up beside us.  
There was an older, heavier man in the other car.  He gazed at me.  I looked 
down and closed my legs.  Even in my state, I felt a little shame.  I saw that 
the low-cut, frilly bra I'd bought that day was showing clearly through my 
blouse.  And worse yet, my nipples were poking out.  I'd been planning to 
surprise my husband with it, when I got home.

"What's the problem, Kent?" I heard the older man call out.

"Uh," officer Robinson replied, "she was, uh, resisting a little..." He pushed 
his door open and got out of his car.  

I watched him walk over there, one hand resting on his gun.  He put his arm on 
the hood of the other car and leaned down.  I couldn't hear them talking, but I 
knew, of course it had to be about me.  I saw him gesture in my direction, and 
I closed my eyes.  He'd left the driver's side door open, and the car light was 
on.  

I started feeling dizzy, and I wondered if I looked as slutty as I felt.  

I realized I was very drunk, and I felt the tears roll down my cheeks again.  I 
couldn't even wipe my eyes myself.  I felt so helpless and alone.

I cried like that a while, imagining myself in jail, my husband finding out.  
What would I tell my boss at work?

Officer Robinson opened the door next to me.  He was smiling.  I felt like 
throwing up.  "Officer Smith is going to bring you in," he said.  "I'll stay 
here until the wrecker comes."  He looked genuinely relieved, to be rid of me.  


He pulled me out and put me into the back of other car, tears still streaking 
down my cheeks.  It smelled bad back there, like someone had thrown up, and 
someone had used Lysol to try to cover it.  The smell made me feel that much 
more nauseous.  The other officer didn't say a word, and I was too ashamed to 
speak.  Robinson shut the door, slamming it.  "Good riddance," he must have 
thought.

I tried to think about my situation.  What am I going to do? I wondered.

I turned my head as the car began to pull away.  I wondered if I should have 
asked Robinson to call my husband, after all.  How was I going to get out of 
jail tonight if no one knew where I was?  And then I realized I'd left my purse 
behind.  

"I left my purse!" I yelled.  Again, I realized, I was talking much too loud.

"Officer Robinson will get it for you," the older cop replied.  "He'll bring it 
to the jail, or release it to your husband..."

"No!" I cried, "Don't let him call him!"  I don't know why I said that; I'd 
just been thinking I should have called.

But Officer Smith said nothing.  He ignored me and continued to drive.  That 
made me start up again.

Finally I tried to pull myself together.  Tears, and even mucus, were running 
down my face.

"Officer," I sniffled, "Could I have a cloth or something?"

He paused.  Then: "Sure," he said, "Want me to pull over?"

I nodded numbly.  There was this partition between the front seat and the 
back.  

"Uh-huh," I said.  "Please."

He pulled over on a quiet residential street, underneath some trees.  He got 
out and opened the door beside me.  He had some tissues in his hand, and handed 
them to me.  I stared at them, foolishly.  I even tried to move my hands.  

Then he laughed out loud, at the mistake.  He asked me if I wanted him to wipe 
my face. 

I nodded.  What else was there to do?  I was too subdued to ask him to un-cuff 
me.   I felt a little silly, having a grown man wipe my face.  Like a little 
baby.

But at the same time it sort of felt good.  I so much liked having him be just 
a little nice to me.  I sniffled a thank you, and then put my face down in his 
hand, and blew my nose into the tissues in his hand.  

When I was finished, he wadded up the tissues and put them away somewhere.  
Then he stayed there looking down at me.  I wanted so much for him to like me; 
I was glad when I realized he was looking at my chest.  

I inhaled.  When I let out my breath, I sort of trembled, which made my breasts 
shake.

I started to say something (I don't remember what) but then I heard him saying 
something first.

"You know," he said, "I sorta feel bad for you.  Officer Robinson told me a 
little bit... about your situation."

I looked up at him, and when he smiled I couldn't help but smile back.  I felt 
just a little better then.  I noticed how much younger he appeared when he 
smiled at me like that.

We sort of smiled at each other for a while, and then I looked down.  I was 
looking at my dress.  You could see right through it.  No wonder he had 
looked.  

"Listen," he said, "Do you want to sit up front so we can talk?"

I eagerly nodded yes, and he put his hands on my arms to help me out.  He 
helped me up and sat me down again, touching me on through my dress.  I admit 
his large strong hands felt good on my body when he was touching me like that.  
I shivered from the cold, and the wet clothing sticking to my breasts.  I 
glanced down and saw my nipples had become erect.

He sat down heavily beside me.  He shut the door.  Suddenly it was dark in 
there; the only light was coming off the dash.

"You must be cold," he said.  He switched the heater on.

Would it be so bad? I wondered.  He really wasn't ugly...

I scooted in my seat, and crossed my legs so I could face him.  I realized I 
was missing both my shoes, and my stockings were wet and dirty.  My skirt was 
wet all down the front, and even my panties felt damp.

"Thank you," I said.  I could hear my own breath, while my eyes adjusted to the 
dark.

"I talked to Kent," he said.  "I think I talked him out of the resisting 
charge..."

My eyes went wide.  I'd forgotten that.  I opened my mouth to talk, but again 
he spoke first.

"So," he said, "this your first arrest?

I just froze then, the way he said it just made me feel so bad.  I felt myself 
start to cry again.

"If you want some friendly advice," he said, "you'll call your husband the 
first chance you get."

He paused.  I saw him turn his face.  "The jail is really over-crowded, and 
under-staffed.  I heard it's taking them twenty four hours, even with a lawyer."

I sobbed.  I realized then that I would lose my job.

"There, there," he said.  He reached out his hand and I felt him feeling for my 
thigh.  When he found it, he patted me there, on my stocking and the hemline of 
my skirt.  

"You're really wet," he said.  But he left his hand there.

"Isn't there anything..." I sniffled, "Anything you could do..."

 "I'm afraid not."  I felt one finger slide beneath my skirt.  

I moaned.  "Please," I said, "I'd do anything... Anything at all... To go home 
tonight..."

He removed his hand.  "There might be something I could do..."

"What?" I asked.  I was trembling.

"Well," he said, "I know this lady, down in pre-trial..."

"Yes?" I asked.  I wanted so badly to wipe my nose.

"It would be a favor," he said.  "I don't know if she would do it."

"But you could ask," I said.

"Of course," he said.  I saw him grin.  "I could also fake the breath machine 
results..."

The way he said it gave me just a little hope.  "Please," I mumbled.  "Officer... 
officer, can't you help me out?"  I stretched my legs.  I hoped that he could 
see my panties.  I felt my skirt slide up.

He looked down at me.  I spoke before he could speak.  "Officer," I 
said, "Could you wipe my face?"

He pulled out the dirty tissues, and leaned over me.  I sighed a little when he 
did it.  I don't know why.  I sniffled in his hand.  I realized I really was 
turned on.  The dampness in my panties was getting worse, and I could smell 
myself in the closeness of the car.  

When he sat back, he was looking at my face.  "You're asking a lot of me."

I nodded, trembling.  "I know," I said.  "But please, please," I begged him.  I 
stretched out my legs some more, and separated them, and leaned back against 
the door.  "Please," I thought, "just take me now."  The cuffs were digging in 
my hands.

But when I opened up my eyes, he was simply staring down at me.  I 
swallowed.  "Officer," I said, "Don't you..." I found I couldn't say more.

He was still staring down at me.  "I really shouldn't," is what he said.

I couldn't believe it.  Here I was, practically whoring myself to him, and now 
he was having doubts.  I started to get mad.  

But then he reached out his hand.  He touched the inside of my thigh.  I closed 
my eyes as he rubbed me there.  "You're really gorgeous," he said.  "I've been 
hard since I first saw you."  

I sighed.  Somehow it made me pleased to hear him say that.  I wanted him to go 
on touching me like he was.  I no longer felt like crying.  

"We don't have much time," he said.  "If I don't get you to the station soon, 
somebody might start to wonder where I am."

I nodded.  I didn't really care.  I wanted him to touch me more.  I moved my 
hips, to encourage him.  "Please," I whispered, "touch me there."

He slid his hand down to my panties.  He squeezed me and I groaned.  He rubbed 
my pussy with his palm.  "I... I..." I said, but he interrupted me.  

"Shh," he said.  "I can't do it here.  I'm going to take you to a place I know."

I shook my head, but he ignored me.  I felt the car begin to move.

I moaned again.  I didn't want to wait. 

"Slide down," he said, and I did it, though it hurt my wrists still more.  My 
blouse pulled up off my stomach.  I felt particularly exposed like that.  With 
my hands cuffed behind my back, my hips were thrust up, and I had to hold them 
there.  My calves were cramping and trembling from the position they were in.

"Don't worry," he said, "we're almost there."  He pulled my panties to the 
side, and stuck his finger in me.  "God," I moaned.  It really did feel good.

I saw some streetlights overhead, and I heard a car pass by.  Then he stopped 
the car.  He took his finger out of me, and left me lying there like 
that.  "Wait here," he said.  He looked at me, and then he paused.  He looked 
at my lips.  He held his finger up, the one that had been inside my pussy.  He 
put it just a hairbreadth from my lips.  I looked at him, and he watched me 
watching him.  Finally I parted my lips and let him slip his finger in.

I had never tasted myself before.  

"You like this," he said, and he commanded me to suck.  It was strange, sucking 
on his finger like that, especially considering where it had been.  I shook my 
head.  But he only smiled; he saw right through me.

"You like the taste of pussy." he said.  I swallowed, but didn't answer him.  

"Wait here," he said.  I didn't have a choice.  He pulled his finger out of my 
mouth, and it made a little popping sound.  He left the car, and I heard the 
sound of a garage door going up.   

When he got back in, he paused a moment, with the door still slightly opened, 
admiring my pussy.  I realized I'd been sucking on my lips.

He shook his head and closed the door and pulled the car into the building.
 

When he'd finished closing the building up, he stood over me, looking down.  
I'd stretched out my legs, but there was nothing I could do about my arms.

"Are you ready to get fucked?" he asked.  He'd folded his arms across his 
chest.  

I remember thinking: "What would happen if I told you no...?" But the truth is my 
head had started nodding before he'd even finished asking.  My body had 
betrayed me yet again; I saw then he would tear from me the last shred of 
dignity I had.
  
He grabbed me roughly by the shoulders and dragged me off the seats.  He pulled 
me up and stood me up against the car.  My back was to him.  I felt a burning 
on my arms and wrists, where they'd rubbed against the seats.

He slipped his arms around my waist.   "How would you like for me to fuck you," 
he asked, "all cuffed up like this?"  

I exhaled, and felt this shiver between my legs, a tingle in my belly.  I 
couldn't believe I really felt this way.

He put his hands down to my thighs and pulled my skirt up.  "You're a dirty, 
dirty, girl," he said.  "I knew it when I saw you."  I felt his hands above my 
stocking tops, on the naked flesh of my upper thighs.  He pulled me back 
against him.  I could feel his gun against my butt. 

"You're a dirty slut," he said.  I could feel him breathing on my neck.  I 
nodded yes, even though he hadn't asked me to.

"You wanted this," he said.  "You know you do."  I couldn't answer him, but I 
know he knew the answer.

He pulled my stockings down, and then my panties and my skirt.  

"Turn around," he said.  I did, nearly tripping on my stockings, wrapped around 
my ankles, and my panties, and my skirt.

He admired me, and I felt myself begin to flush.  I felt so naked and exposed.  
Then he pulled my blouse up, up above my breasts, and reached around me and 
unsnapped my bra.  I felt the cool metal badge on his chest rub against my 
breast.  I found myself wondering about my clothes, lying on the grimy concrete 
floor.  

He admired me again and I could imagine what I looked like, my wrists cuffed 
behind my back, my skirt and panties around my ankles, and my blouse rolled up 
above my breasts.  I was breathing hard.

"Please," I whispered, "please hurry up."

It was cold in there, even colder than the car.

"Hold on," he said, and he went and got a camera.  My eyes went wide, but I 
didn't try to stop him.  I stood there panting while I watched him take my 
picture.  Somehow knowing he would have it; that he would always have this 
naked photograph of me, made me even hotter.

"Please," I said, "please stop taking pictures."  But he ignored me and took 
more, commanding me to open my mouth, and lick my lips for him.  

Then he told me to bend over the hood of his police car.  

I hadn't even seen him, yet.  Seen him naked, I mean.  And I was worried, 
worried about the size.  I hadn't been with any man except my husband, since 
our wedding night.  And I knew he was not about to be gentle with me.  

I got down on my knees.  On instinct I asked if I could see it first.  He 
grinned at me.  "Alright," he said, and he took off his belt.

He paused, belt in hand.  "I want to hear you beg for it," he said.

I inhaled, and then I heard myself begging him to let me suck him off.  

"Now tell me you're a slut."

On my knees like that, naked, cuffed, waiting to suck his cock, I knew it 
shouldn't matter, but saying it was harder than I thought.

"I'm a slut."

He reached down and stroked my tits, and then my face.  

The concrete was biting into my knees.  "Please," I said, "take it out so I can 
see it."

"I love seeing you like this," he said.  "You look so sexy on your knees."  He 
reached over me and took his camera off the car and took another picture.  Then 
he pulled down his fly, and for the first time I saw it, and I saw that I'd 
been right.  I couldn't say how big he was, but he was a good deal bigger than 
anything I'd had inside of me before.  

"Go ahead," he said, "you said you wanted to."

He put his hand behind my head, and I let him tilt me forward.  When I was 
breathing on his dick, I saw a drop of semen had already formed there.  I 
swallowed and then I took him in my mouth.  

This is why I hate doing this for my husband, I thought, because I hate the way 
semen tastes inside my mouth.

I stretched my jaws as widely as I could, and wrapped my lips around my teeth, 
and gave a little suck.  I looked up and saw him grinning down at me, and I 
imagined how I looked.  I sucked again, and this time I felt his semen touch my 
tongue.  I wondered if he'd take another picture of me, with his cock inside my 
mouth.  I could only get just the tip of it inside my mouth.  He stroked my 
face.

"You look so sexy like that," he said.  It was strange, to be complimented on 
looking like a whore, but I found myself wishing I could grin back up at him.

"Take it out, he said, and lick me.  Get me wet."  He paused.  "Do you want me 
to take another picture?"

I couldn't answer, but I kept sucking on his cock, looking up at him.  I don't 
know why it turned me on.  He patted my cheek, and then he reached and got his 
camera, and held it to my face.  When the flash went off, my heart skipped a 
beat.  I took my mouth off his cock.

"I'm ready," I said.  I wanted to say, "for you to fuck me now," but I only 
looked up at him, open-mouthed.

He gave my cheek a little friendly slap.  "I know you are," he said.  "Stand 
up."  

When he saw I couldn't do it, he pulled me roughly to my feet.  He squeezed my 
tit, and put his hand between my legs.

"I've never felt a woman," he said, "as wet as you down there."  I groaned.  I 
knew that it was true.  I could feel myself dripping down my thighs.  

He held me close, and pushed his finger up my cunt.

"Tell me how much you like this," he said.

I was breathing in his face.  "Fuck.  Fuck me," I said.  "You know I do."

He gave me a little push, so I nearly stumbled, and then he ordered me to bend 
over the hood of his police car.

I hobbled over and did what he'd said.

I waited for him like that, exposed and completely helpless, handcuffed and 
bent over, my naked pussy dripping down my thighs.  I couldn't believe how 
turned on I felt, waiting for this man to fuck me at his leisure.  I wanted him 
inside my cunt.  And I wanted him to call me that.  

"You look beautiful," he said.

I moved my hips for him.  I clenched my jaw.  I remember thinking how 
humiliating it was for him to see how much I enjoyed it.

Finally I felt him touch me.  He touched the roundness of my ass.  I moved 
again.  I couldn't help it.  

"Can I," he said, "Can I spank you?"

I felt my body tremble.  Why was he asking me that?  I bit my lips.  I knew I 
would betray myself if I answered.  But I knew he could hear the way that I was 
breathing; he could see my pussy dripping; he didn't have to guess at how I 
felt.  

I felt my hips move again, and I guess he took that as his answer.  He slapped 
my ass with his hand.  

I jerked, but I can't describe the feelings I had when his palm struck me like 
that.  A man was spanking me.  A man I didn't know.  A policeman.  I had never 
been spanked by anyone before, not even by my husband.

He hit me a few times, but I can't pretend I didn't like it.  I can't say it 
didn't make me moan.  Each time he hit me harder.  

Finally I cried out, "Stop!"

I looked around, and I could see him sweating.  "Please, I said, "stick your 
dick in me."  I turned my face away from him.  "Please, please," I 
begged, "fuck me NOW."  I bucked my hips.  If only, I thought, I was getting 
fucked somewhere besides on the cold metal of this car.

I felt his cock, then, pushing on my cunt.  Even as wet as I was, for a second 
I thought it was going to hurt.  But he grunted, and I felt him push, and it 
slid down into my opening.  I cried out.

"Oh, God," I moaned, "Oh God!"

And then I started talking dirty back at him.  "Call me your cunt!" I told 
him, "Call me your whore!"  I felt like I would break apart.  I couldn't 
believe how good it felt.

He asked me if I liked getting my ass spanked, and I mumbled yes.  He promised 
me next time he'd use his belt.

I shook my head, but his cock was going deeper into me, and suddenly I wished 
he had.  I had never had a man treat me like this, fuck me without caring how I 
felt, or treat me like a whore.  I had never even imagined it.

He stopped pushing into me, and pinned me against the car, and held me there. 

"Tell me," he said, "how much you like this...  Tell me!"  He paused, and I held 
my breath.  "Tell me," he said, leaning down.  "Tell me," he hissed, "or I'll 
fuck your ass."

I groaned.  "OH God," I moaned, "Oh, GOD!"  I felt like I was about to cum.  At 
that moment I would have let him do it, too.  I would have let him fuck my 
ass.  But I wanted him inside my cunt.

"Please cum inside of me," I moaned, "please fuck me til you cum!" 

He grunted, and I felt him push it even further in.  It was a shattering 
feeling, being stretched out like that.  I couldn't believe how deep he went.  

He told me I was his whore, his cunt, his slave.

"Yes!" I hissed, "Yes!"  He began to slide it out of me, and I tried to move, 
to push against him, but he held me still.

"You love to fuck," he said.  He asked me if I ever fucked my husband like 
this. 

I told him "No!"  I told him he was the only one.

When he started sliding into me again, for the first time I wished my hands 
were free.  I wanted to squeeze my tits, or rub myself where he was going in.  

I sighed when he touched that place again, way down at the bottom of my 
cunt.  "Fuck me harder," I urged him, "Fuck me hard!"

He paused, holding there.  "Do you really want me to?"

"Yes," I hissed, "make it hurt!"  He gathered up my hair.  He pulled back my 
head.  It hurt.  

"Fuck me!  Fuck me!" I cried, and he began to buck his hips.  The feeling it 
gave me, the stretching the pulling, yes even the pain in my wrists and on my 
head--it was indescribable.  I felt waves of pleasure radiating from my cunt.  I 
began mumbling incoherently.  I told him, "You can fuck me however you want, 
whenever you want, however you want."  

I invited him to my house.  I told him I wanted to fuck him in my bed.  I 
begged him to cum inside me, to fill my cunt with spunk.  When I said that, I 
imagined it was happening, and that's when I began to cum.  The orgasm I had 
was so intense, I imagined people all around could hear me scream.  

He must have cum then too, because I felt him pulling out while I was still 
coming down.  I lay there for a while, still moaning and wiggling on the car.  

He helped me off his car and ordered me to dress.  

On the way to the police station, neither one of us said a word.  He wrote 
something on a card, though, at a stop sign.  Without looking at my face, he 
pulled up my skirt and slipped it in my panties.  The stiff paper felt strange 
there, pressing against my flesh.    

I was released an hour later.  I didn't even have to meet a lawyer, or go 
before a judge.  

"The machine said you weren't drunk," the guard had said.  He looked at me a 
little funny.  I realized he must have seen how hard it was for me to walk.  I 
grinned.

I called my husband, and told him there'd been an accident; that my friend, the 
designated driver, had hit another car.    

When I got home, I kissed my husband, and then I swallowed, thinking where my 
mouth had been.  He told me he was disappointed that I had gotten drunk.  "But 
I'm glad," he said, "You didn't try to drive."  I let him kiss me back.

He told me he'd been worried, and that he was glad I hadn't gotten hurt.  He 
told me that he loved me, and I told him that I loved him too.  When I felt his 
hands sliding down my back, though, I slipped away, thinking of the sperm still 
swimming around inside me.

When I got into the bathroom, I hurriedly undressed.  I turned the faucets on 
and watched as steam began to fill the room.  I glanced down, then, and saw the 
card, lying on the floor.  I picked it up.  It was damp, and wet.  The ink had 
run.

I studied it.  I stared.  I realized then, that I was touching myself, with my 
other hand.  

I exhaled.  I couldn't believe how different I felt.


Write me at sandia@texas.net. 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+