I raced down a winding highway in Georgia, almost unconsciously speeding to get the
breeze hitting my face harder. It was hot! It was hot and it was sticky, and I was
beginning to seriously rethink going south. I wanted to get to Texas, but now I was
thinking that maybe I should swing west instead. Arizona would be hot, but it would be a
dry heat, right?
I was also realizing the drawbacks of bikes. If I was in a nice, air-conditioned
car I wouldn’t be sweating under my jacket. I wouldn’t be wearing a jacket, in fact, just
a halter or tank top and shorts. I sure couldn’t wear shorts now.
When I heard the siren behind me I was startled, and immediately felt a surge of
guilt. I was speeding, of course! But where the hell had he come from? I should have been
paying more attention! Idiot!
The thought occurred to me that I could just speed up and see if I could lose him,
but despite all the societal rules I’d broken lately I wasn’t criminally inclined, and
running from the police was a lot dumber than running from a high pressure job. I sighed
and pulled over to the side. I could afford a ticket, though I’d eventually have to get
another job since I doubted the bank was likely to keep me on after this.
I shoved the kick stand down and turned off the bike, then pulled off my helmet and
shook my hair free and ran my fingers through it. Stopped, things were even hotter, and I
could feel the sweat beginning to dampen the tank top beneath the jacket. I unzipped, not
with any ulterior notions, I assure you. It was just hot.
I turned my neck as the cop walked up. He wore a khaki uniform and a smoky bear cap
with large sunglasses. He was big, and he was broad shouldered, the vision of an Alabama
deputy sheriff except that, times having changed, he was black.
I don’t know why that thought gave me pause. I would have said there wasn’t a
racist bone in my body, and in fact, his being black didn’t concern or worry me or
anything. Instead, I had this sudden nasty flash of heat - that other kind of heat -- at
the thought of doing it with him, right here on the otherwise empty road. I’d never even
dated a black guy, and the thought of it now, of letting this big, powerful looking black
cop just mount me like a bitch in heat suddenly had me feeling almost as hot on the inside
as I was on the outside.
“License and registration please, ma’am,” he said, in that cute southern sort of
twang.
I suddenly felt a flash of concern. I mean, I’d gotten the bike pretty quickly. I
didn’t actually have a real registration. I handed over my license, then fished out the
paperwork Jeff had given me, prepared to explain what was going on.
“You don’t have a registration?” he asked.
I showed him the paperwork and explained how I’d driven the bike off the lot. He
didn’t seem to understand. I don’t want to say he was stupid - but let’s just say that he
was clearly operating on very clear, very exact instructions, and didn’t quite have the
cranial capacity to figure out how to cope with something which deviated from those
instructions.
He radioed in and said the bike belonged to some guy in Massachusetts - as if I
hadn’t just explained everything to him! My horniness was now diminished by my growing
irritation. I hated inefficiency! I hated having my time wasted. I hated being questioned
and having to explain myself! That was why I’d taken off, to be free and n ot have to
justify anything I did!
It’s rarely a good idea to be rude and snappy with cops, and I was really biting my
tongue with this - to put it kindly - moron, He spoke very slowly, and clearly thought
even more slowly. Maybe it’s racist, but “big ape” was the term which was forming in my
mind.
“You all is saying you’s bought this offa this fella?” he asked again.
“No, I’m saying I bought it off a bike shop, which is what those papers say.”
“S’real easy to print up papers, ma’am,” he said.
“I suppose, but I could have just as easily printed up a registration or
something.”
“that would be against the law, ma’am.”
Duh!
I wasn’t used to having people questioning my word. I mean, the idea that I would
steal something was absurd! Didn’t this big ape know who I was!? Then, of course, it
dawned on me that I wasn’t really much of anything now. I suppose I still worked at the
bank for the time being, but soon I’d be unemployed, well, until I found something else. I
kind of liked the sense of authority and respectability that came from being in
management in a large bank, to tell you the truth.
“You see, I gots to know that you got permission to be riding this bike from the
owner,” he said.
“I’m the owner!” I exclaimed.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to come back to the station until we can sort all
this out, ma’am.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, but what the hell. I suppose it would at least
be air conditioned.
“I hope it’s air conditioned,” I said.
“The office is, ma’am, not the cells.”
I shrugged. What did I care about the cells?
“You’ll have to step off the bike, ma’am.”
I blinked at him in surprise. “How am I supposed to get to your station?”
“I can’t let you ride the bike, ma’am, lessen I know you be owning it,” he said.
“So you want me to leave the bike out here, this twenty seven thousand dollar bike,
at the side of the road, and ride back in your car?” I exclaimed. “Are you going to pay
for it if someone steals it?”
“We’ll send someone out to fetch it, ma’am.”
“Why don’t I just ride it in? I’m not going to take off. “
“I don’t know that, ma’am.”
“I didn’t take off earlier!”
“Maybe that was cuz you thought your papers would work, but they didn’t. Now you’ll
have to come along with me.”
He put his hand on my arm and, somewhat incredulous, I swung my leg off the bike
and let him lead me back to the police car. I’d never been in a police car before, and
wasn’t eager to be in one now.
“Afraid I’ll have to cuff you, mama.”
“Excuse me!?”
“It’s regulation, ma’am,” he said.
He pushed me firmly, but not roughly against the car and took my arms, drawing them
back behind me. I didn’t resist, partly because I was shocked, but partly because, well,
I’m not the type of person who’s going to resist the police. He locked my wrists in
handcuffs, but didn’t search me. I guess with the jacket open he could pretty much see
that I didn’t have anything on me. I was wearing low slung jeans and a midriff baring tank
top.
I was also wearing a bra, but not really. Basically it was an underwire cupless
bra, sort of like a shelf, which lifted up my breasts and kind of pressed in on them from
the sides, but it had no cups, and no top or anything. I’d bought it in Lexington. I had
discovered I liked the attention being braless got me, but didn’t want my boobs bouncing
around too much. My breasts, I had discovered, were the ideal size for such a bra, since
they were big enough to look impressive sticking up and out but not so big they sagged
over the edge. That wasn't why I was wearing it now, however. I was wearing it now because
it was cooler than wearing a 'real' bra.
But it meant that without my jacket on it kind of looked like I had no bra, and
that my boobs were pretty darn firm.
He put me into the back of his patrol car, and given all four windows were open I
was thinking it wasn’t air conditioned.
“You don’t have air conditioning in your car?” I groaned.
“It ain’t very hot today. I only use it when it’s real hot,” he said, staring the
engine.
What did this big ape think of as hot anyway? A hundred degrees?
I was hot and getting hotter. My jeans were tight against my crotch, and the
leather jacket was unbearable when I wasn’t moving on the bike. But of course, I couldn’t
take it off. I was sweltering in the back seat, and the only reason I didn’t betg him to
stop and let me take my jacket off was of that damned cupless bra. I wasn’t sure what
would these rural hicks think of something like that but probably nothing good. And a
fantasy of a roadside dalliance was not the same thing as having to sit in a crowded
office with a bunch of cops sniggering at me.
The town looked very pretty once we got into it, but I wasn‘t spending a lot of
time looking. I was sweating like a pig and desperately gulping in air as the car drove in
a stately fashion up to a red brick station with a sign out front which proclaimed it as
the sherrif‘s office.
We parked out front, and I was grateful there wasn‘t anyone around as he took me
out of the back seat and led me, in handcuffs, into the building through a side door.
I groaned aloud as the cool air hit my face. It wasn‘t a big place. There was a
young guy in a khaki shirt at a computer near another counter, but the rest of it was
empty. We turned left and another black cop stepped in front of us and stared at me.
“You don‘t look too good,” he said. “You all right?”
“I could use a drink,” I gasped.
“Leroy, unlock the lady‘s cuffs,” he said, “Then get her a glass of water.”
“Yes, sir,” the big dumb cop said.
I gasped as my wrists were freed, and then, no matter what anyone thought, I
stripped off the leather jacket.
“Why don’t you come and sit down here,” he said, leading me by the arm into the
office and over to a window air conditioner.
I groaned again and almost embraced it. I stood in front of it, hands on it to keep
from swaying. I was so hot! Behind me, I could hear Leroy, the guy who’d brought me in,
explaining that I was some northern girl on a bike he didn’t know was mine with funny
paperwork. I heard Leroy call him sheriff, so I guessed - genius that I was - that he was
the sheriff. Well, why not. Again, it went against my cliché’d image of a rural Georgia
sheriff, but times had changed, right?
The cold, dry air had revived me somewhat, and I took the glass of water I was
offered, gulping it down.
“I don’t think I’m ready for your weather,” I gasped. “It’s barely tolerable on a
bike heading into the wind. In the back of a car with a leather jacket on it’s just
horrible.”
“You get used to it,” he said with a grin. “I’m from Pittsburgh, myself.”
“Leroy was saying he doesn’t turn his air conditioning on until it gets hot,” I
said, more than half complaining.
He chuckled. “Leroy doesn’t quite get that when you spend all day outside you get
acclimated to the heat and humidity. People who work in offices with air conditioning, or
who are maybe from up north don’t find it nearly as comfortable. I’ll have a chat and
remind him. Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll sort through this stuff so you can get
back on your way? I’m Paul White.”
I grinned. “Really?”
He smiled back. “A black sheriff called White? Yeah, it’s a strange world. We once
had a white sheriff called Black.”
I sat down heavily and he sat down across from me. “So suppose you tell me what you
were telling Leroy.”
I explained to him, and he nodded in a more intelligent fashion than Leroy had. He
seemed a lot more interested in resolving the issue, too, which I appreciated. He was
older than Leroy, maybe a forty or thereabouts, in good shape, though not as tall as Leroy
or as broad shouldered. I caught him looking at my chest a few times, though, and that
half embarrassed and half aroused me. Then, as I realized a few things, it was mostly
embarrassed instead of aroused.
See, I’d been all sweaty, and then I’d stood in front of an air conditioner. What
do you think that had done? Yep, my nipples were stiff and pointy. As for my tight tank
top, I didn’t even dare look down to see what my sweating had done to it, but I had the
sinking feeling it was a lot less opaque than it usually was.
And me without a real bra!
I could have tried covering my breasts with my arms, but the thing is, my breasts
are high and firm, and the bra kept them that way. If I folded my arms across my chest
they would be below my breasts, and do nothing to help. I’d have to make it obvious I was
hiding them, and that struck me as more embarrassing. It was kind of like if I refused to
acknowledge it then it didn’t exist.
The embarrassment slowly faded, though, in the face of his calmness and the fact
that I was starting to think those nasty thoughts about having sex with a black guy again.
That gave me a hot little buzz between my legs, but did nothing helpful in terms of hard
nipples.
“I believe you, and I’m sure I understand what’s happened,” He said. “What I’ll do
is have someone call up the New York state registry and check for an update, and then if
necessary call the bike shop. We have to make sure of these now that Leroy’s brought you
in. We’d sure look stupid if it turned out I was wrong and just sent you on your way. It
won’t take more than about thirty or forty minutes, probably.”
“Okay,” I said.
“If you’ll just come with me,” he said, getting up from behind his desk.
He led me down a corridor and through a steel door, flicking on a light. It was hot
back there, and I saw cells. I felt a little startled, but he was right behind me so it
wasn’t like I could back up. I walked forward into an area with cinderblock walls and
cells.
“You’re not going to put me ia a cell, are you?” I asked incredulously.
“We call it the holding area,” he said in amusement. “but I’ll see you get lots of
water.”
I groaned a bit dramatically, and he led me a little further in.
“And I’m afraid I have to pat you down first,” he said. “Procedure.”
I felt a hot jolt at that, but nodded wordlessly, my chest suddenly getting tight.
“Just put your hands against the wall here where you see the red hand prints,” he
said, and then step back and spread your legs.”
“I’ve heard that suggestion before,” I said jokingly.
“I bet you have,” he replied in amusement. “But don’t you worry. I’ll be entirely
professional.”
“One disappointment after another in Georgia,” I said, only half joking.
He laughed, softly, and I “assumed the position”, my heart beating more quickly as
he stood behind me. I felt his hands on my shoulders, sliding over them, back and forth,
then down my back. They traced the bra strap across my back, then slid lower and onto my
ass. Was this professional? I had nothing to compare it with but he seemed to be going
awfully slow.
“Clearly nothing hiding in here,” he said after a few seconds of caressing my
bottom.
I wasn’t sure what to answer to that as his hands slid around my waist, up my bare
belly -- was that necessary? - and then up along the sides of my ribs before sliding down
under my breasts, along the strap, or shelf that was holding them up and together. His
hands brushed up lightly over my breasts then, and I’m sure he couldn’t have missed
feeling the stiff nipples. God knows my nipples didn’t miss feeling his hands, as hot
little pulses of excitement rippled through my breasts at his touch.
“You’ll pardon me for inquiring, but it feels like you have a bra - and then it
feels like you don’t.”
I blushed. Well, I was already blushing. I just blushed more. “Its ahm, a cupless
bra,” I said.
“What all is that?”
“Its… it supports the breasts but uhm, doesn’t cover them,” I said, swallowing
nervously.
“Well, that sounds awfully strange. I mean, he said. It could be … suspicious, you
know. Would you mind if I saw it?”
Pointing out that I couldn’t show it to him without him seeing my breasts was the
first thing that came to my mind, but for some reason the words locked in my throat.
He lifted up the tank top in back to examine the straps. “Sure looks like a bra,”
he said.
Granted, he was behind me, mostly, but I was standing with my hands against a wall
leaning forward. My breasts were kind of, well, obvious, and both my heat and my
embarrassment deepened.
His fingers slid along the strap, this time without the top in his way, all the way
around to the front, where the backs of his fingers brushed against the underside of my
breasts in a way which had them throbbing even more hotly, and had me fighting to control
my breathing.
He pulled the tank top back and then ran his hands down between my legs, slowly,
but not roughly, before casually sliding them quickly down around my ankles and back up.
Then the door opened and Leroy came in.
“Sheriff,” he said. “This was in the leather jacket.”
I turned my head and felt a sudden shock. It wasn’t a lot of grass, just one
cigarette, in fact. I’d gotten it off the truckers, snatching it as I left, figuring I‘d
smoke it later and relax,, and had forgotten about it.
“Thank you, Leroy,” the sheriff said. “I’ll be right out.”
He turned and gave me the sort of look a parent gives a child he’s caught lying.
“I forgot I had it!” I blurted. “I mean, it was just one! A trucker gave it to me!
I was gonna throw it out!”
“I believe you,” he said. “However, I’m afraid that now that there’s drugs
involved, I’ll have to search you more – closely.”
“C-Closely?” I gulped.
“You’ll have to remove your shoes and socks,” he said.
I wasn’t wearing any socks, but I removed the shoes readily enough as he looked
on.
“Now the jeans,” he said.
I inhaled sharply, and, heart pounding, undid the belt, unzipped them, and slowly
pulled my jeans down and off. I had a tiny pair of very low riding purple panties
underneath that matched the bra.
“The top, as well, please,” he said sternly.
Blushing, I peeled off the top, and kind of covered my breasts with my arm.
My nipples were still horribly stiff and sensitive, though!
“You’ll have to remove the bra, too. I know it doesn’t seem like you could be
hiding anything but… it’s procedure.”
I turned my back to him and removed the bra, and wasn’t surprised when he ordered
me out of my panties, too. I wound up standing naked, thighs pressed tightly together, but
that only hid me momentarily as he guided me over to a wooden table and made me bend
over.
“You’re not going to – .”
“Procedure,” he said as he gently bent me over until my breasts pillowed out
against the rough, scarred wooden top.
“Spread your legs, please.”
I spread my legs, and he made me spread them even wider, then I felt his fingers on
my sex. Didn’t rural Georgia cops use plastic gloves, I wondered a little dazedly.
His fingers gently stroked along my sex, then spread the lips apart. I felt a
finger penetrate me, long and thick, and covered in something. I held my breath, gasping,
as his finger slowly pushed deeper into my pussy, and this thumb - pressed against my
clit. Was that a coincidence?! He wasn’t exactly rubbing me, but his thumb wasn’t exactly
completely still either.
The tension inside me was building with horrific speed, and it wasn’t fear or anger
or embarrassment - though there was plenty of that. No, it was a raw, wild sense of dark
sexual excitement, the kind I’d felt with Roy and Craig.
“Sh-shouldn’t I be handcuffed?” I gulped, barely getting the words out.
The Sheriff paused, his finger deep inside me, sort of moving around in a slow
circular motion.
‘You think you should be?” he drawled.
“I-Isn’t it… p-procedure?” I gulped.
“Why, you know, I believe it is at that.”
He pulled his finger out of me, and I put both hands back behind my back, crossing
my wrists. He snapped the metal cuffs around them, and then spread my legs even wider.
The darkness was upon me, and I felt almost like trembling with the pressure of the
heat as his finger pushed into me again.
“I'm not hurting you, am I?”
I swallowed several times before I could bring myself to speak, or even know what
to say.
“I... if you are, do I get to .. fight back?” I gasped.
“Might not be a good idea,” he said. “We don't take much nonsense from our
prisoners. Gotta keep them in line, you know, maintain discipline.”
I gasped as what had to be a second finger slid into me, the two of them pushing
deep, pulling back, then pushing even deeper. Then I felt his thumb pressing against my
back passage, slowly sinking into me there. I started to rise, and his hand came down on
the back of my neck, pushing me down again.
“Maintain the position,” he ordered.
“I... you're not going to f-find anything in there,” I gasped.
“Never can tell. You'd be surprised what people hide inside themselves.”
“D-don't you have a... instrument you can use that's longer than your fingers?” I
gasped.
“I do indeed. Would you like me to use that?”
I didn't answer, couldn't answer, and his fingers pushed in and out of me as his
thumb sank into my ass to the knuckle, then his fingers pulled back, and his 'instrument'
pushed into the opening to my sex. I groaned aloud as he drove himself slowly down into my
pussy, his hands sliding up my bare body, caressing my skin as he sank deeper.
“This is much more efficient,” he said, pulling back a bit, then sinking his cock
deeper still.
“I bet this isn't procedure!” I gasped breathlessly.
“No impertinence from you, prisoner,” he growled.
I yelped as his hand slapped my butt, but the slap sent a hot, rippling shockwave
through my belly and down into my groin as he began to pump in and out in earnest.
“Fuck!” I gasped.
Another slap hit my bottom. “We don't hold with bad language here, prisoner,” he
said. “And keep those legs spread wide for me.”
I groaned as he ran his hands along my ribs, then underneath, squeezing and
kneading my breasts as his hips moved faster. Then a hand gripped my hair, dragging it up
and back, making my back arch as he leaned over me and bit into the side of my throat.
His hips worked faster still, smashing against my buttocks now as he rammed himself
into me. I thrust back as best I could, and rolled my head in wild excitement.
“D-Don't pull my hair!” I gasped. “It makes me too... hot!”
“We wouldn't want that,” he said, yanking my hair back so I cried out in pain.
I groaned again as he bit and sucked and chewed along the nape of my neck, then up
under my ear, his hips working furiously, his cock driving into me like a hot, black
piston as my pussy burned around it.
His body drew up and back off me, but he kept pumping. He yanked on my hair and
slapped my bottom as he fucked me, and I felt myself spiraling out of control, felt the
crackling sexual electricity threatening to consume me. The orgasm hit like a storm and I
cried out in helpless pleasure, twisting and jerking and bucking back against his pounding
cock as he tugged on my hair and thrust a hand under my belly and down between my legs to
finger my clit.
My eyes widened as the pleasure surged, and I gurgled and gasped and whimpered in
shocked pleasure, my body jerking and trembling to the hard thrusting of his cock and the
pounding of his hips.
I collapsed dazedly as he orgasm ended, groaning, staring at the table as my cheek
lay against it, drooling, but my body continued to jerk and shudder to the hard blows of
his hips as he kept pounding into me. I gasped weakly, groaning as his cock speared me, as
his hands moved over my body. His thumb sank into my ass again, pumping slowly in and out
as he fucked me.
Then the door opened and Leroy came back in.
“Here's the paperwork on the prisoner, sheriff,” he said.
He stopped in surprise, and I cringed, jerking my face away, looking in the
opposite direction as my face heated.
“You can leave the clipboard on the table, Leroy,” the sheriff said, not stopping
his hard pumping.
“Sure thing, Sheriff. Wouldn't want to interrupt your interrogation,” Leroy said,
chuckling.
I felt mortified, but the Sheriff clearly didn't care, as he continued to thrust
into me. After a long minute I realized that it didn't really matter to me as I didn't
know Leroy or anyone else in this county, and would be gone by nightfall anyway, or at
least, thought I would be.
The sheriff pulled his thumb out of my ass, and I groaned as his cock slowly pushed
into me instead. Then I cried out as he gripped my hair and jerked my head up and back,
lifting me off the desk. I had to pull my legs a little closer together as he kind of
stood me up, but kept my bundled up hair in his fist and forced my back to arch. His cock
pushed deep into my ass and I moaned and flinched.
“Oh! Oh! Wait! Not so fast!” I gasped.
He kneaded my breast and pinched the nipple.
“You're my prisoner now,” he growled. “That means I get to do anything I want to
you.”
I moaned as he drew his cock back, drew my head back, and thrust in slowly, deeply,
forcing himself into me to the balls. I felt him pressed firmly against my buttocks I
stood there, gasping for breath. His other hand fondled my breast, then slid down my belly
and began to finger my clit again as he ground himself against me.
I felt a hot rush of sensation and my pussy spasmed involuntarily, then I found
myself rolling my hips as he began to pump up and down in my ass.
I gasped again as he tightened his grip on my hair, forcing my head back further.
He licked slowly up along the nape of my neck. “Beg me not to hurt you,” he growled.
I felt a wave of alarm mixed with excitement.
“P-Please don't hurt me,” I gasped.
He tugged sharply on my hair so I cried out weakly.
“Sir,” he hissed.
“Please don't hurt me, sir!” I gasped.
He gave me a sudden hard, sharp, short flurry of thrusts so that my entire body
shuddered, the force of his thrusts lifting me onto the balls of my feet, then onto my
very toes as his fingers rubbed insistently against my clit.
Another orgasm tore through me, and I squirmed and twisted and bucked back against
him as he thrust up into my ass. His deep thrusts ached, and gave me this awful cramping
sensation, but it made my pussy spasm and shake and burn, even without his fingers rubbing
my clit. I grunted continuously as his hips struck my buttocks, and then he forced me over
the table again, jamming my face down against the rough wood, slapping my ass and then
thrusting harder still.
“Oh! Oh! Ungh! Ungh! G-god!” I gasped as his hips pounded against my buttocks.
And then, mercifully, he stopped, and I groaned weakly, chest heaving, covered in
sweat as he slowly eased his softening cock out of my ass.
“Now because I'm so good natured and all,” he said, a little breathless, “I'm going
to take your dainty northern temperature tolerance into affect and let you stay back here
without those hot clothes of yours. I'll make sure someone checks on you regularly, too.”
I felt a sharp pull on my hair and cried out weakly as I was forced upright. Then
he turned me around and pushed me into an open cell. He sat me on the edge of the narrow,
built in bunk, then backed away and locked the cell door. He grinned as he zipped up, then
left me there, closing the door behind him.
Left me, naked and handcuffed in a prison cell, gasping, chest heaving, sweat
trickling down my chest and ribs and forehead, my insides still spasming with the echoes
of his hard thrusting and the massive orgasms which had torn through me.
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