0 comments/ 16584 views/ 0 favorites To Protect and to Serve By: Al Dente It had been a pretty quiet patrol that evening, and as I made my way back to Police Headquarters I stopped by the donut shop to pick up a couple dozen for the guys starting their next shift. There’s a little place on my run that I usually go to called Sweeteaters. When I made my way into the shop, I noticed that it was nearly empty, just a couple of caffeine-wired college students with their faces buried in books in one corner, the waitress behind the counter, and a patron she was waiting on. My years on the force and law enforcement training told me at once that this guy looked suspicious. He had his back to me, but what helped give things away was the look the girl gave me when I walked in. For an instant her big green eyes gave me a desperate glance as I approached, then quickly darted back down at the bag she was holding. I noticed she had the bag laying on its side, not in the typical manner one would use for carrying donuts. He shifted in front of me, blocking the bag from my view. “There you go, it’s in the bag,” I could hear her saying. Her voice had a slight tremble to it, not the way you would expect to hear when you’re selling donuts to a customer. She was still looking downward, her long shiny brown hair partially covering her face, her eyes darting from side to side. “Thanks,” I heard the man mutter. Next thing I knew he jumped over the counter, knocking the girl over as he made a mad dash for the back door. “Stop right there!” I yelled as I chased after him. I had an inkling the perpetrator was going to try an escape, and I was right. I leapt over the counter in hot pursuit. He had a good lead on me, but as I got close enough I dove and grabbed his leg, causing him to trip and collapse onto the large dough mixing machine that was bolted to the floor, knocking him out cold. “Oh my God, Oh my God!” I turned around to see the waitress standing there leaning on the wall, one hand over her heart and breathing in short gasps. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life! I thought he might have a gun! Oh my God!” She was still breathing heavily as I got up off the floor, checked the man’s pulse and radioed the incident to headquarters. “Are you all right?” she said to me as I finished the call. “I’m more worried about you, ma’am,” I said as I walked to her. “You had quite a fall back there. I should be the one asking if you’re all right.” “I’m okay, more shaken up than anything,” she replied. “I’ve never been robbed before.” She was looking at the creep lying on the floor. I finally had a chance to take notice of her. She looked to be about in her mid-twenties, average height, with large green eyes and long straight brown hair. It was hard to make out her body with the Sweeteater uniform she was wearing. It was a one-piece brown and white skirt that was too big for her, with a matching dopey-looking hat. She was also wearing thick-soled white shoes, probably a uniform requirement. What I couldn’t help noticing though were her shapely calves and thighs. If they were an indication of how the rest of her body looked in that baggy outfit, she must be a knockout, I thought. My wandering thoughts soon returned to my police duties though, as we both heard the sirens pulling up to the back door. “Well Miss…” “Amber,” she replied, looking up at me with those big green eyes for the first time. Wow, was all I could think to myself as I caught her glance. “Amber, you should call your manager. You’ll probably have to close early tonight. I’m going to have to question you and those college kids out there. When you’re finished, you can wait in my patrol car. I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive.” After all the necessary interrogations were finished I made my way back to the patrol car where Amber was waiting in the back seat. I pulled out of the donut shop lot. “Whew, glad that’s finally over,” I heard Amber saying. I had a pretty good view of her from the rear view mirror. She was sitting comfortably, not as nervous as when we first talked. I thought the security of the patrol car must have calmed her down. “Well, for me it’s not,” I replied. “I have to go back to the precinct and fill out paperwork, question the thief, and probably do more paperwork. I have quite a bit left to do. I’m going to be up for awhile.” “Oh, that’s too bad,” said Amber. There was a slight pause. “By the way officer, aren’t you forgetting something?” “What’s that?” I replied, looking in the mirror at her. “Aren’t you going to frisk me?” she said, her mischievous emerald eyes catching mine in the mirror. “What’s that?” was all I could stammer. I kept looking back and forth at the road and the mirror. She started unzipping the front of her uniform, going slowly so I could concentrate on my driving and still see what she was exposing. “Aren’t you going to strip search me?” Her eyes were still riveted in the mirror. By this point she had her top undone enough that her breasts were free from her bulky uniform. She was wearing a lacy white bra and was cupping them in her hands, caressing them slowly. “I might be carrying a concealed weapon back here officer,” she said in a sultry tone that made my already thickening cock grow even harder. “You might have to come back here and do a cavity search.” She went back to unzipping her uniform even further. “Dispatch, I’m going to grab a bite to eat,” I radioed in. “I won’t be back for a little while.” “Roger that,” was the reply. I turned the car down an older industrial park area where I knew civilians or other patrol cars wouldn’t bother us. From what I could see in the rear view mirror, she had her uniform unzipped as far as it would go and her shoulders were gyrating, as if she were rubbing her pussy. I stopped the car and opened the rear passenger door. Amber’s spread legs greeted me. She was stretched out across the back seat, one hand tightly tugging the material of her wispy thong between her swollen, neatly shaved pussy lips. I wasted no time getting in the car and closing the door. Amber raised her hips so I could remove her thong, giving me a good view of her thick, muscular thighs and meaty ass. Her thong was drenched with her juices. I thought for a moment that she might have been wet for quite some time. Did she get off being in the back seat of a patrol car? My thoughts disappeared however, when she sat up and lifted her uniform over her head, revealing her smooth tummy that blossomed out to soft, round curvy hips. It was obvious she worked out but she wasn’t obsessed with trying to make her body look like a skinny magazine model’s. She reached behind and undid her bra, her breasts spilling out. They were average-sized, with erect pencil-eraser-sized nipples that defied gravity. She looked at me and gave them a playful little shake as I started to unbutton my shirt. “Not yet,” she said. “Keep your uniform on.” She scooted down in the back seat as far as she could and invitingly spread her legs in front of my face. I didn’t need an invitation. I put my hands on her knees and pushed them up towards her chest, spreading them wider so to give me complete access to her, and licked and kissed the backs of her thighs before my tongue made its way to the bottom of her sopping pussy. I made my way upward to her clit, licking and nibbling as I went. She let out a throaty groan as I let go of one of her knees and slowly guided two of my fingers in her pussy while I kept swirling my tongue around her little clit. She propped up her leg against the mesh screen dividing the front and passenger seat and pressed her eager clit harder into my face as my fingers kept pumping in and out of her pussy. I could tell she was close to coming as she grabbed the back of my head and started bucking against my face, her breathing and moans getting louder. My fingers had turned so they were now rubbing up against her g-spot, which turned her on even more. “Oh, oh, oh,” was all she could say when she came at last, drenching my mustache and mouth with her intoxicating juices. I felt her body begin to relax as her orgasm subsided, and my hands stroked her luscious hips and thighs which were still spread wide in front of me. Thankfully she wasn’t finished when at last she got up. “Now it’s your turn,” she said as she started to unbuckle my belt. “It’s about time,” I said as my cock finally sprang free from my briefs, inches from her face. “I’m sorry,” she replied, as we both fumbled getting my slacks and shoes off. “I have a thing about a man in uniform. Could you keep your shirt on?” she said as I started unbuttoning my shirt. “No problem,” I said. “Thanks,” was the last thing she said before her hungry lips locked around my shaft. I looked down and watched her head pump up and down on me. She had her thumb and forefinger in a tight “O” shape in front of her lips as they primed my cock. Her sucking didn’t last long though, as she got up and straddled my thighs, facing me. She had her hands on my shoulders and was looking into my eyes as she teased the head of my cock with her pussy. I could feel my head parting her wet lips, then she would pull herself away and rub the area between her pussy and ass hole with my cock, or aim it forward so it rubbed against her clit and the narrow patch of pubic hair. At last she slowly lowered her warm pussy inch by aching inch onto my now pulsating cock. Once she had fully impaled herself on me however, her hips took on a life of their own. She began slamming herself up and down on me, then when I was all the way inside her she would grind back and forth, rolling her hips as she went, rubbing her clit against me as hard as she could. All I could do was hold onto her trim waist and go along for the ride as she alternated between pumping and grinding. I raised myself off the seat to make sure she was getting as much of me as she could into her. “That’s it,” she grunted as she continued grinding. Amber arched her back, thrusting her proud breasts towards me. I sucked one of her rosy nipples into my mouth and ran circles around it with my tongue, and then did the same with the other, alternating back and forth. My hands traveled from her waist and stroked up and down her sweaty back, making her arch her chest towards me even more. Eventually my hands found their way down to her bouncing ass cheeks. I took a firm grip of each cheek in my hands and began kneading them, first spreading them apart and pulling them upward, then squeezing them together, making her pussy lips clench even tighter around my cock as she kept riding me. Occasionally I would let one of my fingers stray to her anus while I had her cheeks apart and tease her puckered little hole. I could tell she didn’t mind my rough handling of her ass, in fact as I did this her breathing became heavier and heavier as if she were about to come, and I could feel the juices from her pussy trickle down either side of my balls. “Tell me when you’re about to come,” she gasped as she was on the brink of her second orgasm. “I want you to come in my mouth.” I could sense it approaching like a tidal wave. When she came, her powerful thighs clenched against mine and shook her whole body before she went limp in my arms. “Did you come?” she asked in between her panting. Her head was slumped on my shoulder, her sweaty hair plastered to her face and mine. “No, but you’d better get down there quick,” I replied. My cock had a second to recover as she climbed off me and positioned herself to give me a blowjob. She got as comfortable as she could on her hands and knees in the back seat, propping her heart-shaped ass up in the air while I remained seated. I couldn’t help but reach around and guide my fingers again into her exposed pussy. I slid them in and out in time with her warm mouth expertly going up and down on me. She teased the hell out of my cock, first taking as much as she could into her mouth, then grasping the shaft as she sucked as hard as she could on my head. She blew on the sensitive underside of my shaft, then starting at my balls, ran her tongue slowly up its length before her playful mouth engulfed it again. It didn’t take long before I could feel the cum rising from my balls which she cradled in one hand. “I’m going to come, I’m going to come,” I told her, thinking it would be best to prepare for the load I was getting ready to fire. Fire it I did too, when I came. My whole body went rigid as she swallowed each spasm that erupted from my cock. My fingers gripped her pussy and I felt her body clamp around them as she too had another orgasm. A couple large drops of cum managed to escape past her lips that still encircled me, but she wasted no time lapping them up before she rose and looked at me. “Thanks, that was great,” she said lazily. “No need to thank me ma’am, just fulfilling my civil duties to serve the people of this fine community. I’m only doing my job,” I sighed. “Well, you’re doing a good job at that,” she replied. “Time to get you home, Amber,” I said, remembering I was still on duty. I still had paperwork to do and a perp to put in jail. We got our clothes back on and left. On the way to her apartment, Amber told me how she had recently broken up with a cop in another town before moving here. She said he was a jerk and should have broken up with him sooner, but got off fucking in the back of his patrol car. She said she got horny and couldn’t help herself while she was waiting for me at the donut shop. “That’s all right. I’m glad I was at the right place at the right time.” “You certainly were,” she said as we stopped at her apartment. “I hope you stop by for donuts again.” “You can count on that. And it won’t take a robbery to get you into the back seat next time.” To Protect and To Serve Author's Foreword— This is my eleventh offering to Literotica and her readers. You're invited to leave a public comment and access my profile to see what other goodies can be found in my archives. Enjoy! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It was a boring evening to be out on patrol. Thursdays usually were. Officer Jose Ocala turned off Central Avenue and slowly headed down a residential street, scanning the neat middle-class houses as he past them. Upon coming to an alley, he stopped his patrol car and activated the sideways shining spotlight mounted next to the red and blue strobes on the light bar. The harsh white light showed no prowlers or vagrants, just somebody's tabby cat looking through trash barrels for a bite to eat. The cat's eyes reflected the spotlight back before it lost interest and moved on. Jose lost interest and moved on as well, stifling a yawn. He continued the length of the street, turned left and went down a block before turning left again and heading back toward Central Avenue. The occasional house had a pale blue glow being cast upon the closed curtains as the people living there watched Jay Leno or the late news. One or two houses had a softer white glow on the curtains covering their bedroom windows as Mr. and Mrs. Average American twisted the sheets before calling it a night. One resident had his garage door open for ventilation as he wrenched on his 1960 Ford Starliner hardtop. Jose took note of him but kept on going; he wasn't making enough noise to disturb anyone, but he would know right where to come if dispatch got a call of complaint. Another hour passed and late Thursday became early Friday. It was a balmy summer night and Jose decided to cruise past the city swimming pool. It wasn't uncommon for teenagers to sneak out of the house and scale the fence for a skinnydip before Mom and Dad found out they were gone. Jose turned right and made his way east on Trekell Road. The only traffic at one in the morning was a crappy 1986 Buick Skylark with a dragging muffler and a broken spring that let the right-rear corner sag. "Patrol seven, Columbia City," spoke his radio. Jose picked up the microphone. "This is seven." "Seven, see the man at 304 Gerber Street in the Nelson Estates subdivision," his dispatcher told him. "Subject advises he has seen a suspicious vehicle driving up and down his street." Jose thought back to the shitty Buick he'd seen awhile ago; it was headed away from the Nelson Estates area. Maybe the reason the rear suspension was sagging so badly was because something heavy had been stolen and stashed in the trunk. "Did subject advise make a model?" "Negative, seven." "Understood, dispatch. My ETA is four minutes." Jose wheeled his Crown Victoria patrol car around and headed for the Nelson Estates. Jose arrived at the address and saw a late-twenties man dressed in a bathrobe looking out the biggest window. That man disappeared as Jose got out and approached the front door, sliding his baton into his belt. The door opened and he stepped out. "Thank you for coming. Please come in." Mr. Bathrobe stepped back and let Jose enter ahead of him. "You saw a suspicious car prowling your street, sir?" "Uhh… no," he replied nervously. "That's what I told your dispatcher. I apologize for lying but we need to keep this as discreet as possible. You'll understand when you see my problem." Mr. Bathrobe gestured him to follow. Keeping his hand on the grip of his baton, Jose followed warily—it was never good to lie to the police, no matter how discreet things needed to be kept. Mr. Bathrobe turned into a bedroom. It was softly lit within; obviously there had been some romancing going on. There were burning candles all over the place, and an open and empty Barry White CD jewelcase stood next to the portable boom box atop the dresser. Jose watched the homeowner gesture at the queen-size bed and saw the romancing had led to some good time full-on sex—a pretty woman, obviously nude under the top sheet covering her, was held in a half-spread eagle position by two pairs of handcuffs. "We can't get the handcuffs unlocked," said Mr. Bathrobe, his voice a nervous squeak. Jose tried really hard not to laugh. "I see." "We figured the police handle handcuffs everyday and would know how to handle something like this," the woman added. Her voice turned sarcastic. "That's because Mister Cheapskate here wouldn't cut them off like I told him to!" Officer Ocala felt laughter try to surge over him, but he engaged all his training to keep it in check. "Ma'am, I have to ask—" "He's my husband and today is our three-year anniversary," she interrupted. "My identification is in my purse in the living room if you need to look." "I'll look after we get you out of there." Jose held his hand out to Mr. Bathrobe and he produced a set of handcuff keys. He got to work, trying his professional best to ignore the woman's mouthwatering good looks. Jose fiddled with the handcuffs, wiggling the key in the lock. The problem was obvious to him within a moment—the handcuffs were cheaply made, with no or little thought to precision of assembly. Even though she had allowed her husband to captivate her with handcuffs to the bed's headboard posts, she had struggled hard enough to distort the ratchet mechanism inside. "How much did these cost?" "They'll end up costing him two months of no sex and sleeping on the couch," the woman grumbled, highly annoyed. "Honey, please—" Mr. Bathrobe started to protest. "Don't you `honey, please' me, you cheap-ass dipshit!" she snarled. "I told you those things looked too cheap when we were looking on the Internet!" "So you ordered them from a website?" Jose asked, his tone professional. "Yes, sir. It was a website that specializes in gear for the Hell's Angles type of biker," she said. "I thought they looked cheap and poorly made, but my dear-sweet husband Mister Thrifty here said they looked just fine to him." She looked at her guilty-looking husband, mightily peeved. "They looked fine to him because of the nine dollar price tag!" Officer Jose worked even harder to suppress a broad smile as he continued his work. "Professional quality handcuffs cost the department thirty-eight dollars a set. The cheap kind like these are easily jammed and are mostly for looking the part." "`For amusement only'?" she asked, her tone ringing with challenge. "Exactly." "That's what it said on the website!" she snarled, trying not to complicate Jose's job by struggling her way to freedom for the purpose of kicking her husband's ass. "But no! My know-it-all husband said, `that's merely a disclaimer to keep them from getting sued!'" Jose knew Mr. Bathrobe would soon find lodging at Camp Lack-of-Nookie and likely be there for the foreseeable future. Work continued on the handcuffs as the restrained woman watched and waited. Meanwhile, Mr. Bathrobe stewed. After a few minutes, Jose said, "I need a long, thin screwdriver." "Straight of Phillips?" asked Mr. Bathrobe. The woman and Jose exchanged glances. His expression silently said it all—you married this guy?! He didn't need it to unscrew some screws, he needed it to reach into the mechanism to force the ratchet pawl out of the way. Being unable to figure that out demonstrated that she was the apparent brain of the family. "Straight, please," Jose said with a straight face. Mr. Bathrobe nodded and departed for the garage. Jose watched him go, and then looked back at the woman. "He's a twink but he's sweet," she said, answering the unasked question. "You did consent to this?" "Yes. It's our three-year anniversary and we were looking to spice up our sex life with something out of the ordinary." "You did indeed get that," Jose quipped. The woman wanted—and tried—to scowl at him, but her grin stole away much of the effect. Her husband returned with two long-bladed screwdrivers, one bigger than the other. Jose selected the thinner one and inserted the bit between the stamped outer shell pieces of the handcuffs. He could feel the ratchet pawl through the tool but couldn't get it to move. "I have to squeeze them tighter to take the load off the ratchet." He told her. "If they jam in that tighter setting, they'll have to be cut off. I have a set of bolt cutters in my patrol car." "I understand," she said. "Go ahead." Jose worked on the ratchet as she watched and tried to hold still. Finally, there was a "tick" and the handcuff opened most of the way. "Can you get your hand through there?" "I'll try." Jose held the bracelet still as she narrowed her hand and pulled. It wasn't enough. After a couple of moments, Jose squeezed her hand even further and walked it through as gently as possible as she gritted her teeth against the pain. But it worked. Her right hand came out of its confinement. "That's better," she said with a sigh. "You said you had some cutters?" "Yes." "Go fetch them. That hurt like a bitch." "Dear—" Mr. Bathrobe started. "To hell with the eighteen dollars!" she growled. She looked at the alarm clock on the dresser. "That took thirty minutes for just one! There's one more to free me, and two more to get them off the bed! Unless of course you like the thought of explaining to your snoopy grandmother why we have two pairs of handcuffs hanging on our headboard?" "Okay, fine," grumbled Mr. Bathrobe, annoyed. His Grandma Maye liked to pry into the sex lives of younger people to relive her own long-gone sex life vicariously through them. "I'll go get them," Jose said as he stood. He allowed himself to smile broadly on his way to and from his patrol car, but reasserted his professional demeanor once back in the bedroom. He found her sitting up and using the headboard as a backrest. Her freed arm held the top sheet over her chest and her nudity as they watched Officer Ocala insert the lower jaw between the handcuff's hoop and her wrist. The tool made short work of the cheap restraint and she rubbed her wrists gratefully. Jose then made like a good neighbor and cut the hoops holding the handcuffs to the headboard's decorative posts. The couple displayed their driver's licenses without a fuss upon request. They were indeed married; their last names and addresses matched each other, and the house's address matched their licenses. The couple, Jeff and April Marche, offered a cup of coffee and a danish for his time but he declined—he had to get back on his rounds. They thanked him profusely as he departed. Jose was laughing his ass off as he resumed his patrol down the quiet residential street. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Copyright © 2008 by the author, John W. Adams, Jr. All rights reserved.