THE SPEED TRAP
Introduction:
This story is fiction, and any resemblance to real persons or places is purely coincidental.
A hot blonde in an open-top sports car, her hair whipping behind her as she speeds along a quiet country road on a golden summer evening – what more could a traffic cop ask for?
I was on my way home, around 8.00 p.m., having stayed late at the office working on my company’s annual accounts. The bright red Ferrari was a bit of an indulgence, but the business had been making good profits for nearly three years now, and I had plenty of cash in the bank. I had always wanted a car like this, and on this sweet warm evening I had the top down and my straight blonde hair was blowing free in the slipstream. I was impatient to get home after a long day, and I had only owned the sports car for a couple of months and was still not used to the way its powerful engine responded to the lightest pressures on the gas pedal; it was easy to let the speed creep up, and to be honest I was finding it exhilarating, enjoying having the little-used road all to myself – or so I thought. I flashed past a stand of trees where a narrow side lane branched off, and out of the corner of my eye saw a glint of something glass or metallic reflecting the setting sun. Seconds later, a highway patrol car appeared in my rear-view mirror, with the red-and-blue lights on top flashing and the siren howling.
‘Oh, shit! Double-shit!!’ I thought, my carefree mood vanishing into the dust behind me. We were on a straight section with a flat sandy verge, and I indicated, slowed down, turned onto it and stopped, killing the engine. In the sudden evening hush, the police cruiser pulled over about ten yards behind me, and switched off its siren and lights.
I sighed, because I knew how tempting I must look to the guy in the patrol car. I was 32 years old, but in very good shape – I’ve always been a sporty girl, and I still make time for a forty-minute workout each day when I get home, on top-quality exercise equipment. I have kept the figure – and most of the looks – that earned me a good living as a fashion model from the age of 18 to 25; not a ‘super-model’ famous to the public, but successful and in-demand in the industry, particularly in the east coast states and the mid-west. I am quite tall, at five feet ten inches, long-legged and slim-figured, but with a little more curve to my butt and bust than you might expect from first glance. My hair is natural blonde, and falls straight to just below my shoulders; normally I keep it tied in a pony tail or gathered at the nape of the neck. I have a slightly exotic face, with grey eyes and high cheekbones, both coming from the same Germanic ancestry that provided my blonde hair.
I also like to wear smart and sexy clothes at work – if you’ve got the shape, why hide it away? In any case, as I owned the company, there was no one to tell me different! My outfits were always professional, of course, but they tended to be figure-hugging and I particularly favoured short skirts that showed off my long shapely legs. What I was wearing on this day was fairly typical: a lovely one-piece lambswool dress, in the lightest of light greys. It was long-sleeved and becomingly modest in the top part, with a high ribbed roll-neck and a gathered circular neckline below that. Where it abruptly ceased to be modest was in its tight fit to my curves, the shape of the bra cups encasing my breasts being quite visible, and in the short drop of its woollen hem, which came less than halfway down my thighs – the tops of my black hold-ups tended to come into view when I was sitting down, as now. To set it off, around my waist was loosely slung a broad black belt with a silver buckle, and I had a large pair of stylish wrap-around sunshades, which I had been using in place of goggles. Only my shoes were not chic; they were a sensible plain black, flat-soled variety, chosen for comfort – and also because, as I am taller than most people already, I don’t need the extra lift of high-heels.
I drew my knees together and hurriedly tugged the hem of the woollen skirt downwards, hiding the lace-and-elastic tops of the hold-ups, and trying to look ladylike and demure. I didn’t want this guy to get any funny ideas – if he thought I would give him a blow-job or something to avoid getting a speeding ticket, he was in for a disappointment. I had not had a man’s penis in any of my holes since I was seventeen; for the last fifteen years I had been strictly a girl-lover only, and I had no intention of deviating from that now – I would far rather take the penalty and pay the fine!
All this flashed through my mind in a split second, as I was cursing my bad luck – on such a lonely road and tucked in amongst those trees, the cop car had surely been lying in wait for a victim, and I had fallen headlong into the speed trap. I heard the door of the police cruiser click open, and glanced idly in my wing mirror – and then stiffened in shock. Advancing towards the rear of my Ferrari was not a male police officer – but a woman! A quick second glance suggested that she was attractive and striking, tall and quite imposing in the severe uniform, with its dark blue knee-length skirt, light blue shirt and black utility belt holding various gadgets – including her pistol holster – around her waist. She was also wearing shades below her peaked uniform cap, so I could not see much of her face or work out her expression. Still, I thought with a sudden quickening of the pulse, who knows? … and in the last seconds before she arrived at my car door, I spread my legs wide, so that the wool skirt rode up my legs revealingly, and then left them casually open, and I arched my back to pull the thin material of the dress tighter against my breasts.
A figure loomed over me, silhouetted partly against the direction of the setting sun – she was a taller and more intimidating presence than I had realised. I looked up at her, and decided it was more polite if she could see my eyes, so I removed my sunglasses and said:
‘Good evening, Officer, how can I help you?’
Was there the hint of a smile about her lips? – I couldn’t be sure, it might just be my wishful imagination.
‘Good evening, Ma’am’, she responded, ‘are you aware of the speed at which you were travelling?’
There was no point in my being difficult about this – it would only make matters worse, whatever direction this encounter might take. I smiled rather sheepishly, but also as one woman taking another into her confidence.
‘I’d taken my eye off the speedometer, I’m afraid, Officer; I know I shouldn’t, and I expect I was going over the limit? I haven’t had this car for long, you see, and I’m still not used to it.’ I smiled winsomely again, but did not seem to be evoking a sympathetic response.
‘Well over, Ma’am, a good twenty above the limit’, she said rather curtly.
‘Oh, dear!’ I said, rather lamely, ‘I am sorry – how careless of me!’
Although with her shades it was hard to tell, it seemed to me that she was looking down at me rather intently. As I made that last, rather feeble, remark, I let my thighs fall a little further apart, the ribbed bottom hem of my dress sliding upwards another couple of inches. I thought I detected a slight tautness in her posture as I did so, and if she were to …
Ah! I thought so, yes!! – game on, perhaps! For the police officer had shifted her stance slightly, moving just a couple of inches towards the front of my car, and turning at just such an angle … yes, from there she would definitely be well-placed to see the crotch of my panties, which were a neat little thong in black with lace trim. Neatly done, oh! neatly done, I thought in admiration of the casual – indeed, imperceptible – way in which she had carried it off: if I hadn’t been looking out for exactly that move, I probably would have missed it.
‘Licence and registration, please’, she asked, her voice perhaps a little less cool. This gave me another opportunity to give her an eyeful, for these were in the glove compartment in front of the empty passenger seat. To reach into this and retrieve them, I had to sprawl almost across the width of the car, deliberately sticking my ass up in her direction more than was really necessary, and pretending not to realise that my skirt had rolled up nearly to my hips so that my panties were now very visible.
‘I really am sorry, Officer,’ I said, as sat back in my seat and proffered the documents to her, ‘I’m normally a very careful driver. If there’s anything I can do …’ I let that hang in the air.
She regarded me quizzically: ‘What are you meaning, Ma’am?’
‘Oh, nothing’, I said unconvincingly, ‘I wouldn’t wish to suggest anything you would consider inappropriate.’
She gave a little snort, as if to say ‘clever answer, you avoided that trap neatly’. Then, after a cursory glance at my licence, she surprised me by remarking:
‘I know who you are – you own that little factory on McKinley Street, don’t you?’
I acknowledged that with a nod, and introduced myself properly: ‘Yes, Trudi Durhiem, that’s me.’
I wondered how she knew that: the only sign outside simply said ‘TD Plastics’, and we were a small and deliberately low-key affair. I had founded the business six years before, investing the money that I had earned whilst modelling; I designed our products and managed everything, and I employed five people – two on the production side, and three to process the orders, pack and mail them out. My question must have been obvious from my face, for she responded as if I had asked it aloud, giving a slight laugh and patting the side of my red Ferrari.
‘I’ve seen this little beauty outside there – it’s kinda noticeable – and I was curious about who drove it.’
Her next move was to say that she had to check my alcohol level, and she produced a small inhaler which I breathed into. However, after a moment she looked a little cross, shook the inhaler and then put it aside.
‘Something’s not right with that,’ she said ‘we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.’ Then she took two steps backwards, put her right hand on her hip just by the gun holster (but this seemed like an ingrained routine, not because she thought there was any threat from me), and gestured for me to get out of the car.
I opened the long low door of the expensive sports car, and uncoiled myself from the driver’s seat; to step out, I had to spread my legs even wider in her direction, and I made sure of doing so slowly, pausing to stretch slightly as if my back was a bit stiff from the driving. I was more and more sure that she was taking in the views offered, and with interest – that time, she must have had a full view of my panties, and seen how skimpy they were.
She instructed me to do the ‘walk in a straight line’ and the ‘stand on one leg’ balance and co-ordination tests, the latter of which made my skirt – which, after I had got out of the car, I had demurely pulled down to its normal position (although that was still pretty revealing!) – ride well up on one side, for a moment definitely showing the full front crotch of my thong, which I also suspected might have a noticeable damp patch by now. This authoritative woman, in her very sexy and commanding uniform, and with what looked like nice tits and a shapely ass under it, was really starting to arouse me.
The police officer admitted that there was no sign of alcohol, but said she must also do a routine body search to see if I was carrying any drugs. I forbore to point out that my dress was so tight and clinging that nothing could possibly be hidden, for I was now quite sure that she was departing from the normal script and intended to exploit my situation for sexual purposes – at least, I was fervently hoping so!
The next thing was that she ordered me to stand against her patrol car, with my hands flat on its roof and my legs two feet apart. She made me do this on the side of the cruiser which was away from the road, so that a passing vehicle (of which there had been only been one in all this time) would see nothing strange going on. She told me not to worry, saying that it was just a routine precaution, but it seemed anything but standard procedure as her hands slowly roamed all over my body, lingering around my butt and for still longer on my breasts. I felt every stimulating second of her touch through my thin dress, her firm hands hefting my breasts in their bra cups, squeezing them firmly and feeling the jutting hardness of my nipples. As her hands descended from their exploration of my bust, sliding down my flanks and the outside of my legs, going down to my ankles, she commented in a conversational voice:
‘I know what your company makes …’
I was so lost in the enjoyment of her concept of a ‘search’ – it seemed much more like caressing foreplay – that the significance of that remark did not immediately register.
‘Oh?’ I said, in a weak and slightly trembling voice.
Now her hands were coming back up the insides of my legs, past my knees to my inner thighs, slipping under my skirt, pushing it up to bunch around my hips, and then one of her hands was at the base of my panties, pressing them into my pussy cleft, and cupping my Venus mound in a firm grasp, forcing a soft low moan from my throat. With perfect timing, just as her hand touched the thin, damp gusset of fabric that was covering my pudenda, she leant forward and whispered in my ear:
‘… my favourite is the ten inch spiral-V three-way.’
I gasped and shuddered, partly in relief and partly from the biggest turn-on that I had ever known. For now I was certain that I was in the hands – in the power – of an experienced lesbian, who intended to make me her personal fuck-puppet. The reason was that my company makes sex toys for women, and in particular a range of strap-on dildos for the lesbian market. The ten-inch was the largest and top of our range, needing a clever three-way arrangement of straps to hold it firmly in place (I had designed this myself when I first started the business, being fed up with loose or uncomfortable strap-ons when I was giving another fashion model a good hard fucking – a lot of models are bisexual or lesbian, and between all that nakedness in the dressing rooms and often having a lot of boring waiting time on our hands, well – what’s a girl to do to keep busy and warm?). It was a niche market, in which my company was now well-established – and it was a very nice niche to be in, if you see what I mean. I particularly enjoyed the ‘market research’ and ‘product testing’ aspects of the job – and the fact that they were tax deductible business expenses was a delightful bonus!
‘Oooah … ohmigod … yes?’ I gasped, as her probing became firmer, completely unmistakeable and powerfully possessive – she slid a finger inside the gusset of my panties, probing my puffy and aroused labia, feeling how wet and open I already was for her. She leant forwards and gave me a kiss on the back of the neck, so firm that it felt more like a bite. I gasped again, arching my back, and feeling the weight of her breasts – and the hardness of her nipples – through her crisp cotton uniform blouse.
‘I want you’, she said ‘I’ve been waiting for this opportunity – thought you were never gonna leave tonight, you got a gal all hot and horny with waiting.’ She explained that she had noticed the company name and address from the receipt enclosed with her last purchase (we only advertise in the lesbian press and have a discrete website), realised that it was manufactured in her own home town, and on checking it out had seen me stride out to my snazzy car, showing all my legs. There and then she had determined to have me, and hence this little set-up on my quiet route home.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘I’m gonna do what I’ve always wanted to do, pretty Miss Managing-Director – we’re going back to your office, and I’m gonna fuck the boss bitch on her desk!’
I nearly orgasmed just at the prospect – oh, yes, please, please do! I collapsed limply against the side of her police cruiser, and mumbled my broken assent, with words like: ‘yes, yes! oh! have me, do me there – fuck me! fuck me any way you want, please, take me!’ I am generally the dominant one when making love, partly because I’m a bit of a control freak, but for the right woman, I could be a submissive harem slave – and this was assuredly the right woman!
‘Won’t you get called away?’ I asked weakly, afraid that this might thwart the delightful and unexpected prospect ahead.
‘Oh, no, dontcha worry about that, sexy-legs!’, she answered with a laugh, and explained that her shift had ended at six o’clock, since when she had been waiting in her chosen ambush spot; she had ‘borrowed’ the police cruiser for the evening on a nod-and-a-wink basis with her watch commander (who was female, lesbian and her occasional lover; she later introduced us, but as I was nearly naked, gagged and tied spread-eagled across the bed at the time, there was not much conversation – which suited both of just fine, and the handsome older woman’s mouth, fingers and strap-on did all the talking either of us needed!).
I climbed back into my Ferrari, and took a minute to compose my thoughts and settle my racing heart before starting the engine – the last thing I wanted to do was crash the car. I drove sedately back to town, the police cruiser following about thirty yards behind – not too obviously with me, and of course with lights and siren switched off. The evening twilight was just turning to darkness as I pulled up in the forecourt parking lot, in front of the small building that housed both our factory and offices. It was deserted, the last of my staff having left at least an hour before I had done so. Feeling slightly shaky in the legs, and wetter where they joined than I could remember in a long time, I let us in, switching the lights on and the alarm system off. I led the way up the one flight of stairs to the office level, very aware of her eyes on my ass as I climbed – and deliberately putting some extra enticing wiggle into the sway of my hips.
We went through the outer office area, where my assistants took phone calls and internet orders, and did the packaging, and into my large and well-appointed personal office. This was where I did the design work, and so at one end there was a drawing table and a workbench; at the other, for all the administrative affairs, was my pride and joy – a large mahogany desk in a traditional design, with an inlaid tooled green leather top. It was not quite an antique, having been made in the 1930s, but it was a wonderful piece of craftsmanship. It had cost quite a lot of dollars, as had the almost matching leather high-backed chair behind it and the long studded red leather couch that was against the wall, but they were all worth every cent. The uniformed officer drew a surprised breath when she saw this elegant luxury, and she ran an admiring finger along the bevelled edge of the desk-top.
‘When I said I’d fuck you on your desk, I imagined some cheap pine chipboard or one of those tacky “modernist” glass-and-steel things – but I should have remembered the Ferrari, and expected something much more stylish.’ She turned towards me, and put her finger under my chin. ‘You’re quite a classy lady, aren’t you, Trudi Durhiem?’ she said softly.
I gulped, looking back into the consuming heat of her gaze. ‘I try to be’, I stuttered, with amazing lack of originality. But it made her smile, and then her look turned to one of hunger.
‘Well, classy bitch, you’re mine – all mine!’
‘Oh, yes!’ I sighed, melting like a chocolate in the midsummer sun, ‘Oh! I’m all yours – anything – use me any way you want, please, yes!’
She pushed me roughly back against the desk, the backs of my thighs pressing almost painfully against it. Taking my shoulders in a hard grip, for a moment she kissed me – but it was a kiss of conquest, of dominance, the sexual equivalent of planting her flag in my soil – her tongue pushed aggressively into my mouth like the vanguard of a triumphant army, sweeping around, then seizing my tongue, sucking it into her mouth where she pulled on it and nibbled it with her teeth. Then her mouth descended my neck to the base of my throat, and in response my head went back, my eyes closed and I put my arms out behind me to brace myself on the desk – a move which of course thrust my breasts upwards and outwards towards my new monarch. Her hands fell from my shoulders at once to seize these proffered prizes of war, forcefully squeezing them, finding the rigid nipples and tugging on them through my thin wool dress and bra. She paused for a second, drawing a deep steadying breath.
‘God! – you are so fucking fuckable!’ she declared with a note of wonder, ‘and I’m gonna have you right here, right now – I’m gonna fuck you right out of your mind, babe!
I didn’t think I could have got any more turned on, or my pussy any looser and wetter, than I already was – but I was wrong, and her dominant foreplay and these words took me to a whole new level of hyper-sensitivity, as if every nerve-end, every square millimetre of my skin, was electrified and telegraphing back its signals to my overloaded pleasure centres. I mumbled things, incoherent things, but all of them telegraphing that I was totally, completely, utterly hers.
Her hand felt up under my short wool dress once again, and she pushed two fingers past my panties and into me, vigorously probing my pussy for a few seconds. However, sensing from my gasps and shudders that she was near to bringing me off, she suddenly stopped. Turning me round, she pushed me forwards and down onto the desk, my stomach and breasts flattened on the green leather top, my ass jutting out invitingly over the edge. There was a momentary pause as she went over to the grip which she had taken out of the police cruiser’s trunk and brought in with her – of course, she had prepared all this in advance! I felt my arms being taken behind my back, and then gave a miniscule yelp – more of surprise at the touch of cold metal, than any actual objection – as she slipped a pair of handcuffs around my wrists and snapped them closed. Even so, she gave me a sharp slap on my bottom, and warned me in a throaty voice:
‘You’ll take whatever I decide to give you, bitch – and like it!’
I nodded meekly, and in truth I was very sure that I would like whatever she did to me – I was so turned on, I would have been up for anything, including things I would never normally have contemplated.
‘Oh, yes, I will – I will, Officer … ?’ I trailed off, as I realised she had never given me a name; I didn’t really mind about that if she delivered on her promised agenda, but still it was nice to be able to put a name to someone whom you had fucked with. She seemed to realise the same, as she responded in a slightly gentler voice:
‘Sterling … but you can call me Janice.’
Officer Sterling was an imposing woman, perhaps an inch or so taller than me – she was lean and fit, but her broader frame made her seem much bigger and stronger. Seeing her close up and without the sunshades, which she had left in the patrol car, I estimated her age to be mid or late 20s; she still had youthful vigour and freshness, but it was combined with the confidence and assurance of someone with maturity and experience. Her hair was dark brown, at the moment pinned up under her uniform cap, which she was still wearing. The commanding presence of this dominant woman, her sexual power amplified by the authoritative uniform she was wearing, was transfixing as far as I was concerned – as was her control of the situation; if anything, I longed for her to be more forceful, more aggressive.
I was still in my position of being sprawled face down across my own desk. Janice only had to push the hem of my light grey wool dress a few inches further upwards for it bunch around my waist, and then in one sudden volcanic motion she gripped my black thong and ripped it down my legs to my ankles, and then from there off and away. She took each leg and shifted them wide apart, and then once more she ran her hands tantalisingly up them to my cunt, rewarding its gaping wetness with a quick squeeze and grope. I shivered in my awareness of the nakedness and openness of my pussy, its vulnerable accessibility all the more emphasised by the chaste contrast with the dress covering my upper body.
Now something hard was pushed into my pussy, but it was not a strap-on – and immediately I heard the soft buzz and felt the rhythmic pulses of a vibrator. Janice came into view at the front of the desk, and kissed the back of my neck.
‘That’s just to keep you warmed up, you slut, whilst I get ready’, she told me, smiling in anticipation.
She then slowly undid her uniform blouse – not with the tawdry motions of the conventional strip-tease, but with a simple, direct elegance that was far more erotic. As she discarded it, there were revealed a pair of full, firm, globular breasts, encased and uplifted in an underwired balcony bra in burgundy red, patterned with lace motifs. The police officer then removed her hat and unpinned her hair, shaking it loose to fall around her shoulders. She unbuckled the utility belt with its holstered pistol, and then next to go was her navy blue skirt, which she unbuttoned at the side of her waist, slid the five-inch zip downwards and then let gravity do the rest of the work of taking it to the floor. She was still wearing a pair of shiny black boots – I was not sure if they were part of her regular uniform, or something that she had added just for tonight – from which her solid legs rose in smart stockings, held up by the clips of an old-fashioned suspender belt. Her lingerie was tastefully matching, all in the dark red color that set off her black stockings and her long dark hair. Her panties, like mine, were a thong type – although hers were even sketchier, small triangles of gauzy fabric at the front and back connected by narrow tie-strings.
I was lost in admiration, luxuriating in submission, and my pussy was leaking juices down my inner thighs. Janice came to stand at the other side of the desk, where my head lay, although with my hands cuffed behind my back there was nothing I could do to raise it. She solved that problem, pulling the knots at the sides of her panties so that they fell away and then taking my head in her hands and thrusting her pelvis up against me, her pussy pushed against my mouth. She reached out with one hand, picking up a twelve-inch clear plastic ruler that I use, and leant forwards to slap it down on my bare buttocks four or five times. I jerked and yelped as each smack landed, but she had rammed the vibrator so firmly into my vagina that it stayed in place, its effects stimulating me even more.
‘Lick me, you bitch! Eat me, you cunt!’ she demanded hoarsely as she punished my upturned ass, and eagerly I obeyed. My tongue sought out her labia, licking along them, questing into the inner cleft in search of her vaginal entry. Finding – unsurprisingly – that this was juicy and loose, I curled my tongue to give it greater rigidity, and plunged it inwards like a spear. I was rewarded with a grunt of mingled surprise and pleasure, followed by more that were definitely of enjoyment. I pressed on – or, rather, in and out, and thought I might be getting her to the brink of orgasm, but she stopped me well before that point was reached. Janice pulled away, but I could smell her arousal and taste her cunt-juices on my tongue, and her legs and stomach were coated with a fine sheen of sweat that was not explained by the cool evening air in the office.
Now Janice brought her bag into view, and from this she produced her favourite bitch-fucking weapon: the ten-inch strap-on which she had mentioned earlier. Although it was my own design – and there was something unbelievably erotic and appropriate about being taken on my own desk with my own invention – I was a bit nervous. The ten-inch was the largest we made for a good reason, and many women found even this more than they could comfortably accommodate; I had never had it used on me before, and was worried that I might not be able to take it all in, at least not without more pain than pleasure. Janice’s had a reassuringly used and slightly worn appearance – at least she had not acquired it just for tonight, and so presumably was confident in wielding such a long sword.
As well as the secure straps, I had designed it with two other special features. Firstly, it was deeply ribbed and (an innovation that I was proud of) these ridges formed a spiral which ran all the way down its length, in a corkscrew effect – getting penetrated with this monster truly was to be screwed into the ground. Secondly, it was actually a double-dildo, hence the ‘V’ in its name. As well as the ten-inch rod that stuck out at the front for fucking the other woman (the forwards-sloping part of the V-shape), there was an internal dildo (the backwards-sloping arm of the V) which penetrated the wearer to a depth of seven inches. My final touch had been to make this a battery-powered vibrator which could be turned on by a small switch near its base before being inserted into the vagina of the wearer, adding further to the self-fucking stimulus which she received whilst shafting her lover.
The officer stepped into the harness and pulled it up her legs, and I saw her press the switch on the internal vibrator and then firmly push this into her own hole, before adjusting my clever triple-straps so that the external phallus was sticking out in front exactly parallel to the ground. Then she bent forwards and kissed me on the cheek (one side of my head was resting on the desktop, with the other side upwards), declaring exultantly:
‘I always come through on my promises, classy lady – now I’m gonna do you, you’re gonna get it like you’ve never been fucked before!!’
I felt almost faint again, and took a shuddering breath – yes! oh, yes – let it be true!
She swung round behind me, rapped on my ankles to spread my legs wider apart, and removed the humming vibrator which had been sending waves of erotic desire radiating out from my pussy. Also one of my own company’s products, it had done its work well – leaving me dripping wet and gapingly open, ready for the real deep drilling of the monster spiral-V. I felt her hands take a firm grip at my sides, just above my hips, and then the next sensation was like being on the end of a hydraulic ram, as something huge was pushed into my vagina and pressed astonishingly far and deep. (In fact, she had taken the first stroke quite slowly and considerately – she told me later that she, too, had worried that I wasn’t big enough for it and, whilst she wanted me submissive, she never intended to hurt me.) It seemed to go on and on, in and in and in, simultaneously filling me up and stretching me wide, and I gave a groan from deep in my belly. At last, I felt the face-plate of the harness bump against my outer pussy lips – amazingly, I had taken the full ten-inch length on the first thrust.
The withdrawal was almost more arousing and astonishing in its effects than the entry stroke (this was partly the effect of the spiral ribbing), and my head was spinning as she re-entered me a second time, then a third, then … I lost count, as the tempo increased and her hips bucked backwards and forwards, imparting ever-greater impact to each inwards thrust. I could hear noises which I realised were my broken cries and sobs, but they were moans of overloaded pleasure, not of protest. Janice began to grunt as she rammed forwards, and I felt her hands leave my hips and go under my wool dress, pushing it upwards. It was tugged above my loose black belt, which remained in place, and up to my shoulder-blades, above the band of my bra. Her fingers unclipped this and then returned to my front, pushing the loosened cups away from my breasts and seizing the soft flesh, rolling my nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, pulling and pinching them.
My cries became louder and more inarticulate – their gist was for her to ram the dildo home, to shaft me deeper, to do me harder, to fuck me to pieces. Her breath was now snorting through her nostrils, and she delivered a series of stinging open-handed slaps to my butt cheeks, without pausing in the slightest in the pumping penetrative rhythm of the strap-on. I was unbearably close to coming – the ridged edges of my spiral dildo design were doing everything I had hoped that they would – but she was a maestro with it, just keeping my pot boiling but never letting it run over. At last, nearing her own climax, she took her right hand away from my breast and seized my hair, wrenching my head both upwards and backwards. My breasts rose off the desk to swing wildly in the air, as my back was forced into a curve; my stomach was still flat and now sweat-streaked against the leather desktop.
‘Now, you pussy-eating bitch ! Now, you cunt-fucking slut!!’ Janice was abandoning herself to the lust of dominance, almost yelling as she screwed the dildo into me for the last half-dozen furthest, deepest and roughest shafts. ‘Now – cum for me, bitch! Cum for me, you cunt, you fucking slut! CUM FOR ME – NOW!!!’
Who am I to disobey the strong arm of the law? I came and came, my pussy creaming cunt-juice like a fountain – I had never experienced anything so hot, so mind-blowing, so draining and intense. Janice abruptly released my hair, and my face flopped down on the desk top, blowing air like a stranded fish. She pushed a hand against my sweat-soaked ass, and pulled the ten-inch spiral slowly out of me. Then she walked round the desk to my head, pulled me up by my hair, and pushed the glisteningly wet plastic cock into my mouth, forcing me to lick it clean of my own cum. No one had ever done anything like that to me before, and it was a experience both shocking and amazing.
Officer Sterling had not finished with her captive yet – she had been very near to climax, but with the experience of administering many cunt-poundings, she had controlled herself despite the stimulus of the vibrating internal dildo. Now, she intended to use me as her personal sex-toy, for her ultimate pleasure. After letting me get some of my breath back, and giving me some sips of water from the bottle on a side table, she ordered me to get up from the desk – which was not that easy with my hands cuffed behind me, my legs feeling like jelly, and my stomach plastered to the desk in pools of sweat. However, I managed it, and tottered towards where she was standing. She had removed the ten-inch dildo after I had completed my licking chores and returned it to her bag, so her pussy was naked – all she had on were the boots, stockings, suspender belt and bra.
Janice motioned wordlessly for me to kneel before her, and in full submission I did so, humbly bending my head in acknowledgement of her complete sexual authority over me. She put a hand under my chin, raised my face to present it her cunt, and brusquely ordered me:
‘Lick it, you cum-bitch! Show me what you can do!’
I felt a renewal of energy from somewhere, and avidly followed her command, slurping loudly around her labia, insinuating my tongue under her clitoral hood, and sucking hard on the sweet nub itself. She gave some quiet moans, and then told me to stop, but remain where I was. She knelt behind me and unfastened the handcuffs from one wrist only, and then – with my arms free – she tugged my wool dress up from where it was rucked above my breasts, and removed it entirely. The already unclipped bra fell away, and she also undid my black leather belt – now I was entirely nude except for my hold-ups and shoes.
Before I gathered her intentions, I felt the handcuff snap closed again – but not about the other wrist. Instead, she had cuffed my left wrist to my right ankle, after which she produced another pair of handcuffs and shackled my right wrist to the left ankle. The cross-over effect gave me very little scope for movement, and rendered me defenceless against anything being done to my tits and pussy. I then gave a soft gasp of surprise; as she removed another of my own designs from her bag, I realised her intentions. This object was more unusual in its uses, and did not appeal to every lesbian, but it was still a steady seller. It consisted of a padded harness which strapped around the head and face, leaving holes for the eyes and room for the nostrils to breathe. The fastenings were completed by a chin strap, and when this was closed to the correct notch, it would bring the plastic dildo that was mounted on the front into a horizontal position, standing out eight inches forwards from the wearer’s mouth. It was here that I had introduced something a little special into the design – the strap-on cock was mostly filled with a thick plastic jelly, like other dildos, but this one had a small tube running through the middle. This pipe connected a chamber at the tip of the dildo with a small reservoir at the base which sat inside the wearer’s mouth – if squeezed upon firmly, this forced the liquid up the tube to fill out and stretch the top chamber, adding to its penetrative power at the critical place and moment.
I understood that I was to face-dildo her, something I had only done a handful of times before – mainly when ‘field testing’ this very design, about four years previously. It had aroused very submissive feelings in me then – and that had been without being hard-fucked first, and without being strapped into handcuff bondage. Janice gave me one look, and I smiled at her and nodded to show my assent – for some reason, that felt more natural than speaking, another sign of my submissive frame of mind.
Janice buckled the face-harness around my head, taking care to ensure that the straps were tight but not uncomfortable. Then she looked me straight in the eye, and began to suck on the red plastic dildo, coating it with her saliva. When it was lubricated, she pulled my desk chair around into the middle of the room and sat in it, her legs spread wide apart. On being beckoned imperiously, I shuffled forwards on my knees, bringing the face-fucker up to her moist furrow.
‘Fuck me, you pussy slut!’ she ordered, her eyes gleaming with desire, ‘give me what I want – and give it good!’
At once, I bent to the task, as she helpfully stretched her labia apart with her fingers. I slid the face-dick inside her, as she resumed rubbing and flicking against her own clit. Bending at the waist, I began a piston-like insertion and withdrawal of the dildo, and her hips rose to meet me, pushing forwards off the edge of the chair, her thighs spreading even wider apart. She began to grunt again, this time when my downwards shafts reached their furthest into her. After several minutes of this treatment, she began to get a slightly glazed look, and her hips began to judder and tremble. She jerked the cups of her bra downwards, exposing her jutting breasts, taking them in her hands and madly squeezing and pulling on them.
Suddenly, with a broken cry, she released her tits and instead grabbed handfuls of my hair in each hand, using it – rather painfully – as a handle with which to ram the strap-on in and out of her wetly slapping pussy, with deep and forceful plunges that were given even greater effect by being met with volcanic upthrusts of her pelvis. Sweat was coating her throat, breasts, stomach and thighs, and the smell of her meaty cunt was filling my nostrils with every breath that I could snatch. I was now getting fully in the rhythm of this – at first, my pressures on the valve in my mouth had not been effectively co-ordinated, but now I was giving it a vicious bite just before the terminal point of insertion – this was the trick, as it allowed just enough time for the liquid to be forced into the expanding tip as it hit home to its deepest extent.
Janice began to emit a series of barking cries, sounding something like a dog which had been trodden on, high-pitched and desperate. I was no longer in control, as her grip on my hair was deciding the pace of the fucking, but I was able to lean all my weight into it, spearing her pussy almost viciously hard. Her back arched so much that her whole pelvis left the chair – I nearly lost my balance, but somehow recovered and delivered a final thrust with all the force and weight that I could manage, holding it deep inside her rather than withdrawing it, and pumping the valve so that the dildo tip vibrated in a series of pulsing jerks. She gave a long howling shriek, screaming that she was coming, and then I pulled the face-cock out on the recoil as she released my head, after which she collapsed back onto my leather chair, her legs spread wide apart and her arms dangling loosely over the sides.
I resumed my posture of submission, kneeling humbly before her in my restraints, looking down at the carpet in front of me. After a moment, I heard an indrawn shudder of breath, and then felt the wind of movement. Janice’s hand came down to caress my breasts quite gently, cupping and stroking each one.
‘Very good, my little pussy-bitch, very good.’ she said gently. I remained in my place as she unstrapped the face-dildo and then unlocked and removed the handcuffs. She knelt on the floor in front of me, with a gentler expression on her face than any I had since Officer Sterling had sprung her speed trap.
‘Wow! You were amazing,’ she stated; ‘that was so good – better than I ever thought it would be. I think you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had!’
I blushed with thrilled pleasure, and responded as she kissed me softly on the lips, her hands still playing with my nipples.
‘Oh, Janice, I’ve never had it so good before – I’ve never, ever been fucked so good as you did me just now! Thank you, thank you so much!’
She smiled, and I could sense relief as well as pleasure – and I suddenly realised that in many ways, she had been the one taking the risks here. She couldn’t even have given me a speeding fine, as she was not on duty, whereas if things had gone wrong and I made a complaint against her, she could easily have lost her job, and maybe worse.
‘Yes?’ she said, with just a trace of uncertainty; ‘you liked it then?’
I hastened to reassure her. ‘It was wonderful, and you are so damn fucking sexy – in that uniform, you are the hottest babe on this planet, let me tell you!’ I affirmed with vehemence. She looked delighted, and still more so when I added:
‘Please, Janice – it’s not just this once, is it? I want to get to know you, and I want you to fuck me so many more times!!’
I then had a moment of doubt, a fear that I had been presumptuous, and asked if that was possible, or did she have a partner. My relief was vast when she replied, with a slightly wistful expression, that she didn’t – that she had not had any steady girlfriend for a long time. I couldn’t believe my luck, as I was aware that I might be as much as five or six years older than her (actually, it turned out to be only three), and, despite my former-model good looks, she might not want me for anything further.
I looked at her coyly, and reached out my right hand to slip my fingers along her still-gaping pussy lips, pressing just a little inside her.
‘So …’ I said, drawing it out, ‘is that an opening I could apply for? I do have on-the-job experience now, after all.’
She gave a genuine laugh at my saucy double-meanings, and then looked at me seriously.
‘Yes, Trudi Durhiem,’ she said, with gentle sincerity, ‘I would love to be your lover, and for you to be mine. I hardly dared hope for this when I thought of this plan – I’ve watched you in the last few weeks, when I could, though you haven’t realised it, and I’ve become more and more obsessed with you. I want you, all of you, time and time again!’
We fell into each others’ arms, trading endearments, and then slowly slid down to lie on the floor together, side by side, kissing gently and caressing. After a while, the unheated room became a bit uncomfortable, and as our sweat dried we began to feel rather chilled. We got dressed, and Janice said she had to return the cruiser to the police garage before midnight, when her understanding commander’s shift ended. So we drove in convoy again, this time with the patrol car leading the way, and I parked in the street outside the county offices and waited for her. About five minutes later she climbed in, and – as there was no one nearby – I leaned across and kissed her on the lips, my hand diving up under her skirt to stroke the crotch of her thong, which was still deliciously damp with her juices.
I would hear no refusal, and drove us directly to my comfortable house – back along the road where she had stopped me (she pointed out her ambush lair on the way, and we both laughed as we passed the verge where I had pulled over, expecting a male cop to try hitting on me). The house which had often seemed rather too large for just me suddenly felt right, and I ushered her through the hall and up the stairs. I was so glad now that I had renovated the bathroom – increasing its size and installing a huge corner bath that was more than big enough for two to enjoy. Feeling that there was everything to celebrate, I removed a bottle of Moet & Chandon Brut from the refrigerator (I always keep a bottle chilled) and took it upstairs with two elegant champagne flutes which I had bought at Tiffany’s in New York. We showered together, enjoying every touch, and then slid into each end of the warm bath, surrounded by mounds of lavender-scented bubbles. I let her pop the champagne cork, and we drank toasts to our new relationship, and chatted until the water began to cool. We dried each other in the soft cotton towels, and then for the first time I took Officer Janice Sterling into my bed, where she stayed that night – and to my wonderment and joy, she has stayed ever since.
I have written this account just over a year after our first meeting. It still remains the best fuck that either of us has ever known, but we regularly do our best in trying to match it. I am usually the submissive one in our love-making, but not always. The sight of Officer Sterling hogtied with her own handcuffs, her skirt ricked up around her waist, her uniform blouse torn open and her tits pulled out of their bra cups, is one of the highlights of my life. Once, when she was completely at my mercy like this, I fucked her with her own police nightstick, ignoring her mewling pleas that it was too wide, it wouldn’t fit – and proving her very satisfyingly wrong. Since then, it has been a regular part of our fuck-play.
Within a week, Janice moved out of her rented flat and into my – now our – house. Her closest friends (including her very attractive 42-year-old sergeant, with whom we have had some mind-blowing threesomes – she especially likes putting me in bondage) know we are a couple, and honor and respect that. From time to time, depending upon Janice’s duty roster, I work late and she comes by the office at the end of her shift, still in uniform, and she fucks me again on my desk. Often she is wearing her more usual navy blue trousers rather than the skirt; once she was so hungry to do me that she didn’t remove any of her uniform apart from the utility belt and gun holster, and just strapped the big dildo on top of her trousers. She ripped my panties away (I was wearing a micro mini-skirt in anticipation of her arrival, so that was no obstacle), and then screwed me doggy-style across my desk whilst still wearing all of her uniform – it was a wonderful turn-on, and I was yelling and screaming in ecstasy as I came and came.
Last week, we celebrated our first anniversary with a compete re-enactment: she borrowed the police cruiser again, and as I sped down the country road on my way home, behind me I suddenly heard the yowl of a siren and saw in my mirror the flashing strobe of red and blue lights – but this time, as I pulled onto the roadside verge, my expression was the smile of the cat who has well and truly got the cream.
If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories … you might like them too … (to find them, follow the author link at the top of this story)
