63. Highway Patrol

Trigger Warnings: Abuse of power, law enforcement fetishism, rough sexual play, choking, spanking, and explicit language.

   The red and blue lights flashing in my rearview mirror felt like a strobe light on my own funeral. I pulled over to the shoulder of the empty interstate, the gravel crunching under my tires like bone. My heart was a frantic hammer in my chest. I knew what was in the trunk-two kilos of uncut product and a brick of cash that wasn't mine. I was dead. Or worse, I was going to spend the rest of my life in a cage.

The officer stepped out of her cruiser, her boots clicking with a slow, deliberate rhythm on the asphalt. She didn't look like any cop I'd ever seen. Her uniform was tailored so tight it looked painted on, the fabric straining against the curve of her hips and the heavy, dangerous swell of her breasts. She kept her aviators on despite the moonlight, her jaw set in a hard, predatory line.

"License and registration," she rumbled, her voice a low, husky vibration that settled right in my groin.

I handed them over, my fingers shaking. "Was I speeding, Officer?"

She didn't answer. She walked to the back of my car, and I heard the unmistakable click of the trunk latch. She'd bypassed the law and went straight for the prize. My blood turned to ice. A moment later, she was back at my window, leaning in so close I could smell her perfume-something dark, like leather and crushed lilies-mixed with the sharp tang of gun oil.

"Speeding? No," she whispered, her eyes finally visible as she slid the glasses down her nose. They were a piercing, icy blue. "But I think we both know that what's sitting in your trunk is worth about twenty years of your life, Mr. Vance."

"Look, Officer-"

"Quiet," she snapped, her hand moving to the heavy leather holster at her hip. She didn't draw the weapon; she just rested her palm on it. "I'm Officer Grier. And I'm feeling particularly corrupt tonight. I could call this in. I could have the K-9 unit here in five minutes and you'd be face down in the dirt. Or... we could reach a different kind of settlement."

She reached into the car, her hand grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at her. "You're a handsome piece of trash, Vance. I bet you've got a cock that matches that reckless driving. I want to see if you can work for your freedom."

"What do you want?" I rasped, the fear and a sudden, violent arousal warbling in my voice.

"I want you to make me forget I'm wearing this badge," Grier hissed. "Get out of the car. Now."

I stepped out into the cool night air. The highway was a black ribbon of nothingness around us. She led me to the front of her cruiser, the hood still warm from the engine. She shoved me against it, the metal hot against my back.

"On your knees," she commanded.

I obeyed, the asphalt rough against my skin. Grier stood over me, her hands moving to her belt. She didn't unbuckle it; she reached for her handcuffs and clicked one side onto the cruiser's push-bar, the other onto my left wrist. I was anchored to her car.

"You think you're a tough guy, hauling that weight?" she mocked, her hand reaching down to grab my hair, pulling my head back until I was forced to look at the massive bulge in my jeans. "You're just a pathetic little mule. And right now, you're my mule."

She unzipped my trousers, and my cock sprang free... thick, dark, and already pulsing with a desperate need. Grier let out a low, guttural moan at the sight of it. "Look at that. All that adrenaline going straight to your head. I wonder if it tastes like fear."

She didn't wait for me to move. She grabbed my cock and began to stroke it with a firm, practiced grip. "Suck my fingers," she ordered, shoving two digits into my mouth. They tasted of salt and latex. I sucked them greedily, my eyes locked on the way her breasts were straining against the buttons of her shirt.

She reached for her baton, but instead of using it as a weapon, she used it to lift my chin. "I want you to use that mouth on me, Vance. I want to feel how much you want to stay out of prison."

She unbuttoned her shirt, exposing a black lace bra that barely contained her. Her nipples were dark and hard, visible through the lace. I reached out, my free hand finding her breast, squeezing the heavy, warm weight of her.

"Don't just touch them, you degenerate," she growled. "Eat them."

I buried my face in her cleavage, my tongue swirled around the lace until I found her nipple. I sucked it through the fabric, the friction making her gasp. Grier's hand found the back of my head, her fingers digging into my scalp as she pushed me harder against her.

"Yes... fuck, you're a good little criminal," she panted.

She reached down and unzipped her own tactical trousers, pushing them and her panties down to her knees. Her pussy was soaking, the scent of her sex filling the air. She didn't have any hair; she was smooth, pink, and glistening in the strobe of the police lights.

"I'm going to ride you right here, Vance," she whispered, her voice a jagged rasp. "And if you don't keep me coming, I'm going to double the charges."

She straddled me, her heavy boots on either side of my hips as I remained kneeling, cuffed to the car. She guided my cock to her entrance, the dark, swollen head of it rubbing against her slick folds. She didn't use any lubricant; she wanted the raw, friction-heavy reality of me.

She lowered herself down, a long, shattered cry escaping her throat as I slid home. I was buried to the hilt in her, the sensation of being inside a cop, on the side of the road, while my life hung in the balance, was a sensory overload like nothing I'd ever felt.

"Oh god... you're so big," Grier gasped, her hands gripping my shoulders.

She began to move, a slow, grounding rhythm that ground her pelvis against mine. I wasn't gentle. I used my free hand to grab her assfirm, muscular, and pale in the moonlight-and pulled her harder onto me. I delivered a sharp, stinging slap to her cheek, my own frustration and lust boiling over.

"Is this what you want, Officer?" I growled, my voice a primal sound. "You want the trash to fuck the law?"

"Yes!" she screamed, her head tossing back. "Fuck the law, Vance! Break me!"

I began to thrust upward, my pace becoming a frantic, driving force. Grier was a force of nature, her internal muscles clamping around my cock in a series of desperate, rhythmic spasms. She leaned forward, forcing her tits into my mouth. I sucked them greedily, my teeth grazing her nipples, while I hammered into her pussy.

"I'm going to come, Vance!" she warned, her voice breaking. "And If you come before I tell you, you're going to jail!"

"I'm close, Grier!" I roared, the tension in my lower belly reaching a breaking point. "I'm going to fill you up! Beg for it! Tell me you want my cum inside you!"

"I want it!" she sobbed, her hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing until my vision sparked. "Fill me up, you fucking criminal! Give me your thick hot load!"

The rhythm was a frantic, wet percussion. I felt the white-hot spark of my climax beginning to bloom, a tension so tight it felt like I was going to explode. Grier hit her peak first, her body racking with a series of violent, rhythmic tremors that almost pulled me off the cruiser.

"I'm coming! Oh, fuck I’m gonna fucking-“ I shouted, my body tensing for the final explosion.

I erupted. A hot, thick stream of cum hit her tits and stomach as she pulled back, then I drove back in for the final pulses, emptying myself deep into her pussy. I fired again and again, the weight of my release a total collapse of my pride and my fear.

We stayed there for a long time, the only sound the ticking of the cruiser's engine and our ragged breathing. Grier eventually shifted, pulling off me with a wet, squelching sound. She looked down at the mess on her uniform-the cum, the sweat, and the ruins of her professional facade.

She reached for the key and unlocked the cuff on my wrist. I slumped against the car, my heart still racing.

"Get in your car, Vance," she said, her voice returning to its cool, authoritative tone as she began to button her shirt. "Drive the speed limit. And if I ever see you on this stretch of road again... I won't be so…. hungry."

She didn't look at me again. She walked back to her cruiser, her boots clicking on the asphalt. I scrambled into my seat, my body heavy and sated, and pulled away into the night.

I had paid the price for my freedom, and as I watched her lights fade in the distance, I knew I'd never look at a badge the same way again.