3 comments/ 72769 views/ 52 favorites Officer Taylor By: sgtklark Taylor Ingold stood impassively surveying the arriving high school students. She wore her standard school-resource officer's togs: a white polo shirt with her department's badge silkscreened over her right tit, her too-tight cargo shorts and her black running shoes. Completing the ensemble, around her narrow waist she sported a nylon duty belt with a Beretta 9mm pistol on her right hip, along with the other accoutrements of her job: spare pistol magazines, an expandable baton, handcuffs, pepper spray and her police radio. Today, because it was sunny, she wore mirrored aviator sunglasses and a black baseball cap with 'POLICE' stenciled across the crown. She wore it low on her forehead. Her sunglasses let her eyes drift from student to student without detection. Each student at the middle-class public school felt sure she was staring at them, looking for some hint of malfeasance. Taylor was standing statue-like near the front of the school, her tanned arms folded under her large, round breasts and her feet planted shoulder-length apart. She has perfected this stance though experimentation and felt it was the most intimidating image she could present. At five-foot-four she was shorted than the vast majority to the male student body, and needed every edge to project her authority and power over the teenagers. It was late June but still a scorcher in southern California. The pretty blond police officer could feel small droplets of sweat meander down the hollow of her back. The droplets were tickling her but she resisted an urge to scratch them. She did not want to betray any evidence of weakness, or even humanity, but stood robot-like and impassive. "Going to be a hot one today, eh, Miss Ingold?" Taylor recognized the voice of one of the history teachers, Mr. Hamilton, beside her. She did not turn to look at him but maintained her continence of stone-like authority. "Indeed, Mr. Hamilton. Hot enough for mischief from the trouble-makers," she replied in a measured, rough tone. Taylor usually had a high-pitched, girly voice, but she had practice and achieved a more baritone quality for use at work. "Oh, they're not bad kids. I think maybe your profession has given you a skewed outlook on humanity," Hamilton chuckled. Now Taylor swiveled her head to consider Hamilton. She addressed him with deliberate annoyance, "In my five years on with the police department I have seen humanity do things that would sicken you, Mr. Hamilton. If I am overly cautious and jaded it's the result of that experience. " She added, in almost a hiss, "We can't all live in the Mother Goose world of academia." Hamilton looked defeated and slunk off in a funk. Taylor smiled at her minor victory and returned to intimidating the arriving students. Finally the student she was looking for arrived, just before the first bell. Jerome Washington, six-foot two, black, wearing a loose tank top and baggy basketball shorts that hung to his knees. Officer Ingold has heard rumors that Washington was selling baggies of marijuana on campus to his fellow students. She had not been able to gather sufficient evidence to make an arrest. So far it was little more than gossip. Taylor knew from police records that he had a prior arrest, but it was for minor-in-possession of alcohol. Washington was bee-bopping up the steps to the campus quad with his long, lanky black arm around the shoulders of one of the most pretty and popular cheerleaders in the school. Taylor wondered why so many of the white girls on campus seemed to gravitate to the relatively few black boys. It must be the novelty of having a black boyfriend in the predominantly white community; a sign of rebellion; a public statement of their enlightenment on the whole race issue; a way to get back at their previous white boyfriends. Taylor had noted the poorly concealed looks of disgust and disappointment of the faces of the white boys whenever a black boy paraded his new white girlfriend around the campus. That look must have not been lost on the black boys because they always hammed it up, hugging their white girlfriends tighter whenever they were being watched, kissing and groping the giggling girls. Taylor did not mind the interracial dating, only that it could lead to confrontation and force her to intervene. Taylor caught Washington's eye and beckoned him with a crooked finger. Jerome gave his winsome little cheerleader a last, sloppy kiss and approached the officer. "Yes, Officer Ingold?" Washington was the very image of innocence. "My office---Now," Taylor said curtly. Washington followed the cop up the steps to the administration offices. His gaze was fixed on her shapely round ass and the way it swayed at her climbed the stairs. Taylor suspected as much, and did nothing to alter her gait. Almost unconsciously, instinctively she exaggerated the swing of her hips. Taylor was till a young woman, and Washington was still a male, after all. In her small office Washington sprawled himself on the single chair facing Taylor's desk. Taylor rested her ass on the desk edge and faced Jerome, her legs spread almost indecently, her palms on either side of her hips. She leaned forward, her shoulders rolled back, her breasts testing the material of her polo shirt. "Mr. Washington," Taylor began in her best professional voice, "it has come to my attention that there is a great deal of buzz about you engaging in some illegal activities on this campus." Washington spread his hands openly, "What do you mean, officer? I ain't done nothing' bad." There was a mocking smile on his face that enraged the female officer. "I have heard from reliable sources that you are selling pot on campus." "She-it, Officer Ingold, I don't even use the stuff myself. It's for losers. I ain't about to do anything to ruin my college basketball scholarship, now am I?" Washington spread his feet and slouched further in his chair. Taylor gave an inaudible gasp. Between the black boy's legs was a bulge running halfway down the thigh of one leg. Taylor Ingold felt her nipples began to tighten involuntarily and felt the color rush to her cheeks. Even though she habitually wore a firm bra she knew her hardening nipples were tinting the tips of her large breasts. She instinctively folded her arms over her chest to hide this evidence of arousal. Thankfully her mirrored shades hid the attention her eyes were giving to this student's crotch. She had always heard the rumors about black men and their impressive sexual equipment, but she had dismissed the idea as mere fodder for dirty jokes. She, herself, had never been with a black man before, so had never been in a position to confirm or disprove such rumors. But what seemed to be hanging from Washington's crotch defied reality. If that thing was real it must be eight inches long, and that was while limp. No human male could boast an endowment so prestigious, she reasoned. It had to be something else. "I suspect," Taylor's voice cracked embarrassingly, "that you have been smuggling your stash into this very school concealed in your underwear." Washington looked genuinely alarmed. "No ma'am, I ain't. I ain't got no stash. Never did have any," he protested vehemently. "What's that, then?" Taylor demanded, pointing at the bulge in his pants leg. Washington regarded his crotch. "What's what?" "What's that. . .that thing in your pants?" Taylor demanded. "That? That's just me, ma'am. That's just Jerome Washington." Taylor smiled cruelly. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Jerome? Ok, down with those shorts. This time I've caught you packin' your merchandise!" Slowly, reluctantly, Washington stood. "You making a big mistake, lady. I ain't got no pot in my shorts." "Drop 'em, Jerome," Taylor ordered triumphantly. His chin resting on his chest, Washington hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and his boxers and yanked them down. This time Taylor gasped most audibly. For there, mere feet from her beaming face, was the largest cock she had ever seen outside a zoo or a farm. It dangled, languid and limp, over a large set of balls. Washington's cock was indeed eight or nine inches, and still limp. The thing has a slight curve and pointed slightly to the boy's right. It's circumcised head flared wide like an angry purple fist at the end of his anaconda-like organ. Taylor wasn't conscious that her jaw was agape, or that she had let her arms fall limply to her side, revealing the full-blown erect nipple mounds over her breasts. She felt a quiver in her pussy and it seemed like her labia was engorging with blood, readying itself for the mounting her inner brain was expecting. She became aware of Washington's voice, distant, indistinct, "Miss Ingold? Miss Ingold? Can I pull up my shorts now?" Words seemed to fail Taylor. She had to resist an animal impulse to reach out, to take the organ into her hand, to feel it's girth, it's warmth. "My. . ." Taylor managed weakly, "you certainly have a large one there, Mr. Washington. . ." "Yeah, I knows. Can I hike up my shorts now?" As Taylor continued to stare at the organ, transfixed, mesmerized, the tool began to almost-imperceptibly rise, to lengthen, to grow. From pointing between Jerome's feet it began to point between Taylor's feet, then between her knees, toward her own crotch. Shocked into sudden awareness, Taylor croaked, "Yes, Yes. Pull up your shorts. But it away, please!" Her studied professional voice had deserted her, and she sounded like anyone of the high school coeds she supervised. Taylor averted her eyes as Washington pulled up his shorts and arranged his cock comfortably down his right leg. When she did regard him again she could see that it was apparent that his cock was semi-hard even through the material of his athletic shorts. Taylor's cheeks were glowing crimson and her mind was swimming. "Let this be a lesson to you, Mr. Washington. Just say 'no' to drugs!" "Yes, ma'am. Sorry. Can I go to class now?" Taylor scribbled out a note for the boy's teacher to excuse his tardiness and watched him leave her office. She stood, leaning in her doorway, watching his tight, muscular ass as he retreated from her view. She slowly closed the door to her office and rested her forehead against the cool metal. She looked down and saw that not only her throbbing nipples pushing against the cotton of her shirt but her raised, puffy areolas as well were visible. She shut the blinds of her office and flopped into her swivel chair, trying to mentally calm herself. What had just happened? How could her own body have betrayed her like that? Had Washington noticed her obvious arousal at the sight of his long, black cock? She picked up a sheaf of papers from her desk and began to frantically fan herself. Taylor was positively panting and she could not remove the image of the boy's cock from her mind. Was he using that thing on that pretty cheerleader? Probably not—the girl could still walk. Taylor's mind drifted to her fiancé, police sergeant Ronny Jones. She and Ronny had been living together now almost six months and their wedding was set for later this very month. Taylor has always assumed that Ronny's equipment was fairly normal, average, but she now had her doubts. Ronny's must be six inches long, when fully hard. That was less than Washington's was when his was soft. When they first got together intimately Taylor had felt strangely unsatisfied. She assumed it was just nervousness, but the feeling persisted over time. Ronny rarely brought her to orgasm, unless he used his tongue. Taylor has always assumed the problem was hers, not Ronny's. Some women are just not all that orgasmic, she reasoned. But she had felt more excitement from just looking at Jerome's massive cock that she did from actually fucking her husband-to-be. As she pictured the boy's pecker she became dimly aware of a movement, a touching, at her own crotch. To her surprise she realized that the fingers on her left hand were digging at her cunt through the material of her shorts. Waves of electric vibrations passed through her body, emanating from her busy fingers against her soft womanhood. Taylor frantically undid the buckle of her gun belt and let it fall noisily to the floor. She almost ripped over the zipper of her shorts and lifted her butt off her seat so she could slide them down around her ankles. She spread her thighs maximally and slid the crotch of her panties to one side and dug at her sopping, fur-trimmed snatch. "Oh gawd," she moaned, her head thrown back, her jaws agape. She had never known her clitoris to be so hard, so prominent, and she flicked it was total abandon. Her hips began to move rhythmically with the administrations of her finger tips, lifting off the seat of her chair, grinding into her hand. She was balanced on the toes of her shoes and her shoulder blades against the back of her chair, he body quaking and vibrating in a manner totally unfit for an on-duty police woman. In her mind's eye she could see Jerome's athletic body bent over her own, thrusting deeply into her body, his massive member reaching spots in her twat no other man had known. Taylor was nearing a searing, violent orgasm the likes of which she had never felt, when there was a knocking at the door to her office. "Um...who is it?, Taylor hissed between clenched teeth. She frantically struggled to pull up her too-tight shorts and tuck in her shirt. "It's Mrs. Varly, officer," came a muffled voice from outside her office door. Shit! The principal! "Just a minute, Mrs. Varly. I'll. . . be. . . with. . .you in a moment. . ." Taylor sputtered, trying to buckle her gun belt on. Checking herself in a small mirror she kept in the desk Taylor was shocked at the look of her face. Her checks were red, her lips swollen with lust, her hair pasted to her temples with sweat. Her nipples were so hard they positively ached. She grabbed a short police jacket from a coatrack and threw it on. "Yes, ma'am," Taylor said through a small gap in her office door. "I need to talk to you, officer. . . good gracious! Are you quite alright, Taylor?" "Um. . . I am feeling a little under the weather today, I guess. Do come in, Mrs. Varly." The principal entered Ingold's smallish office and regarded the officer with concern. "You look awful, officer Ingold. Do you have a fever?" She placed her palm on Taylor's forehead. "My word! You are burning up! You must see the school nurse at once!" "I'll be okay. I think maybe I should just take a sick day off, Mrs. Varly," the young officer stammered. "Very well, officer Ingold. I just wanted to tell you how pleased we have been to have you as our school resource officer this year." Taylor gathered up a few belongings and headed for the door. "Thank you Mrs. Varly. I really appreciate that." "And officer Ingold, please have the custodian take a look at your office. It smells like a wet cat in here." * * * Taylor drove her squad car back to the department's parking garage. She reported to her supervisor that she was leaving early due to illness. "Well, you get well. You don't use many sick days, Ingold, so you must be pretty sick to want to go home." "Yes, sir, I think I have the twelve-inch bug . . . I mean the twenty-four-hour bug." She stopped by the women's locker room to stash her gun belt in her locker. She splashed some cold water on her face and tried to make herself look more presentable, less slut-in-heatish. "Taylor! How'ya doin', girlfriend?" It was Michelle Ramirez, an officer Tayor had attended the police academy with five years previously. "Oh, Mic, I am in an awful state," Taylor blurted. A look of genuine concern flooded the smaller Hispanic officer's face. "What's wrong, Tay?" "Oh, I donno. Something happened at the school that upset me, I guess." "You didn't fall in love with one of those hunky football types, did you?" Michelle giggled at her own joke. "Not a football star, and no, I didn't really fall in love." "Oh my, this sounds juicy! Spill the beans, Tay! I love a hot story." Michelle's face was aglow with anticipation. "I guess I can trust you, Mic. Don't tell a soul." Michelle drew a cross over her ample breasts and said, "I promise." "There is this one student there I suspect has been smuggling in pot to the campus. Well, today I searched him." "So? We search people all the time." "This boy had a. . . he's got a. . . he was hung like a horse, and I'm not exaggerating by much." "Ewww.... Goody! Did you see his junk?" Michelle squealed. "I had him take it out in my office. I thought it was a baggie of dope. " "More detail, Tay." Taylor's eyes grew wide as she spread her hands in front of her. "It was like this, I swear. And as thick as my bicep." Michelle chewed her lip. "Good Lord! He must have been a colored boy." Taylor was strangely annoyed. "Why do you say that, Mic?" "Everyone knows only black guys are fixed like that!" "That's just an urban myth, Mic. Race makes no difference in that sort of thing." "Are you kidding me? Listen, I worked in booking for the first year I was here. I saw a lot of guys stripped searched. Y'know, searched for contraband or weapons and stuff. I saw a lot of dongs in that year, and there's no mistaking it—black guys have it goin' on in the cock department." Taylor knew it was useless to argue with science and her shoulders sagged. "I guess I needed more street time, then." Taylor added resignedly. "Sooooo. . . tell me—you doing to try and bump uglies with this dude?" "Wha.... Don't be ridiculous. I am engaged to be married, Mic." "Well EXCUSE me, your highness! I've been married four years, and I've had some on the side, as you well know. Not exactly someone like your student stallion, but a few nice big ones all the same." Taylor knew that Michelle was married to another officer, and on the surface they were the perfect couple. Loyal, loving, devoted to each other. But she was also aware that Michelle had strayed a few times with other officers. It seemed to be an occupational hazard in police work. "Listen, Mic: I am going to marry Ronny and have children with him. I really don't need anything like that in my life right now." "All the more reason, dearie. You need to sow your wild oats while you can, before Ron makes you an honest woman. If you don't you'll always be wondering what you missed. I know." * * * Taylor pulled into the garage on the condo she shared with fiancé, Ronny Jones. Oh damn, she thought, his pickup's here. I don't really feel like talking to anyone just now, especially Ronny. He was in the kitchen working under the sink. Finally repairing that leak, she thought. Because of their shift work Ronny had the day off in the middle of the week. "Tay? Is that you? What are you doing home this time of day, dear?" came Ronny's voice from under the sink. "I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to take some sick time off," she said dully. Ronny slid out from under the sink, concern written on his face. "This isn't like you, Tay. You never get sick. Can I get you something? Do you want to see a doctor?" "I just want to lie down awhile, Ron. I'll be fine after a nap I think." Taylor doffed her uniform and slipped on a long tee shirt. She splayed herself on the bed and watched the ceiling fan spill above her. Her unfinished orgasm sat in her lower belly like a lead weight. Her swollen pussy lips were still ready for the battering that had never come, and her nipples were still uncomfortably firm. Her mind swam with the images on the young negro boy standing almost naked in her office, with dangling cock swaying ever so slightly with each breath he took. Her head ached and swirled. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep. But sleep was little comfort: her mind was afire with images on Jerome Washington, now nude in her office, grinning demonically, grasping his engorge member at the base and shaking it enticingly towards her. Officer Taylor * * * When Taylor awoke she could tell from the night sky outside their French doors that it was quite late. She felt somewhat better, and wondered if the whole day had just been a dream. Or a nightmare. She could hear the muffled sounds of the TV from the living room. Ronny was still up. Taylor slipped on some dry panties and left the bedroom. "Whoa! Hiya, Tay!" It was Archie Reynolds, one of Ronny's friends from work. "Oh, Tay, Archie's over. Sorry I didn't tell you," Ronny offered guiltily. Archie's eyes drank in the vision of Taylor. Her tight tee shirt showed her pert figure off to the best effect. It wasn't so long that he couldn't get a glimpse of her panty-clad mons from under the hem. Her large, unbound breasts swayed seductively under the cotton. Taylor was too foggy to care what Archie could see and she went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of beer. Besides, she liked it when men admired her body. Maybe Archie would be thinking of her as he rolled with his wife in the sheets tonight. Not an unflattering thought, she thought. Taylor stood in the kitchen doorway, her hip thrust out, one shoulder against the door jam, and tilted the beer back. Archie was eyeing her hungrily, licking his thin lips. "Tay, dear, why don't you put something on?" Ronny suggested desperately. "Shadup, Ron! Can't you see she'd GOT something on?" Archie chided. Archie was a vile character, thought Taylor. Rude, crude, vulgar. Even though he was one of Ronny's best friends he had tried to hit up on her several times. She had always refused him roughly, but it flattered her in some biological sort of way. Truth be known, many of Ronny's friends has tried to get into her panties. It seems like their effort increased after it was known that she and Ronny were engaged. Cops are just like that, she learned. It wasn't anything personal against Ronny. "So, how was your day at work, hon'?" Ronny asked. "Oh, you know, the same old thing. Stuck up students trying to get over. I am glad the school year's almost done," Taylor offered disinterestedly. "I suppose you'll have to work patrol over the summer like the rest of us. School resource officers don't get the summer off like the students," Archie quipped. "I don't mind that at all, Arch. I am looking forward to it, actually," she said. "They might stick you in investigations, Tay. They say that being a SRO is a fast track to detectives," Ronny observed. "Wouldn't that be nice, Taylor? Weekends off, holidays off, regular daylight hours. And you'd get to wear civies to work instead of navy blue wool," Archie grinned. "It all pays the same," Taylor said dryly, and went back into the bedroom. * * * It was about eleven when Ronny finally came to bed. "I thought Archie would never leave," he said, slipping off his jeans. "Me either." Taylor studied her fiancé's body. Ronny had a nice build. Not overly muscular, more of a long distance runner's body. He was very white, with curly blond hair. When she let her eyes drift downward she noted with new-born disappointment his tighty-whity clad package. It was like a boy's bulge. She had never noticed before. It has always seemed adequate, but things seemed different now, somehow. Ronny smiled, seeing her watching him. "Aw. . . does baby want some of this?" He cupped his organs with his hand. "Not tonight, dear. I still feel out of sorts," she offered apologetically. "Well, that's okay," he yawned, "I'm sort of bushed too. Only thirteen days more to go." "Till what?" "Till we get hitched, silly!" "Of course, how forgetful of me. I must be really zonked to forget something like that." "Don't worry about it, love. It's probably just a case of brides' jitters." "Yeah, I am sure that's all it is." The next morning Ronny brought Taylor a glass of orange juice and a croissant while she was still in bed. He was sweet that way. "You know, Tay, you kept talking in your sleep last night," he said. Taylor froze in mid bite. She felt a pit in her stomach. "What was I saying, dear?" she asked tentatively. "You were staying something about Washington." "Oh. Oh yeah, I had a dream about Washington State. I visited there once. I had a cousin in Seattle," she blurted. "And you were saying something about Jerome . . ." "I must have been dreaming about Jerome, Alaska. It's the capital. I have a cousin there, too. Odd, I guess I had geographical dreams last night." Ronny gave her an affectionate kiss on her forehead and left for work. * * * Taylor was at the high school promptly at 7:30 AM the next morning. She seemed to have recovered from whatever was ailing her and was back to her old self. She parked herself at her usual vantage point just inside the gate to the school and, as usual, was visually inspecting the arriving students. She was again impassive, officious, detached. When Jerome Washington arrived he was again wrapped around that giggling, clearly-brainless cheerleader he had been with the previous day. When he saw Ingold the smile drained from his face and he gave the officer a polite nod. Taylor did not acknowledge him in any discernable way. Some—most of the male students studied her in a way that made her sure she was their jack-off fantasy, but that did not trouble the officer. It made her feel even more powerful, controlling. Today was the last day of the school year, so there was virtually no academics planned. It was a day for saying good byes and getting ones yearbook signed by teachers and friends. Taylor must have had to sign two hundred year books, mostly those of young boys. She always wrote a standard, "Be safe and have a happy summer—Officer Ingold." She also had a following among certain female students, those who wanted to emulate her and the suspected lesbian girls. Towards the end of the school day she recognized a voice from behind her as she was signing some pimple-faced freshman's yearbook. She turned to see Washington extending his yearbook towards her. She felt her heart flutter and her breaths quicken. "Officer Ingold, I would be honored if you signed my yearbook," he said in a measured voice. She hesitated a moment, then took the offered book. "You got me all wrong, officer. I have never sold pot or any other drug on campus. I know that a lot of the white boys must have told you different, but they're just jealous and would love to get me into trouble . . . for some reason." "Perhaps, Mr. Washington," she said in a low tone, as not to be overheard by stray ears. She handed him back his yearbook. He glanced at her inscription—"Keep hanging loose, Jerome. Your good friend, Officer Taylor." * * * The days passed too quickly. It was the day of her marriage to Ronny. In a room at the country club her father had retained for the ceremony Taylor readied herself for the wedding. Her mother and sister were on hand to assist her in her preparation. "I declare, Taylor, I would think you would be more joyous on the occasion of your marriage," he mother fussed. "Maybe you're just having second thoughts of marrying a dweeb like Ronny," her sister joked. "I need a drink," Taylor growled. "I called room service ten minutes ago. Where in the heavens are they?" "It's okay, mom. I'm sure they are on the way." At that moment there was a knock on the door. "Let me get it," Taylor commanded. She felt like she needed to move. She gathered up her white wedding dress and strode to the door. "Good morning, ma'am. I have your order. . ." Taylor gulped audibly. There, at the door to her room was Jerome Washington, dressed at a hotel waiter. In his hand was a tray with a small bottle of whiskey with a single glass. "Jerome," Taylor gasped. "Officer Ingold," Jerome responded with a sly smile. "Wha—what are you doing here?" "My uncle is the manager here, and he got me this summer job." "You certainly look good, in your uniform, Mr. Washington," she said, gazing up and down his tall frame. Her eyes stopped at his crotch. Even in his slacks one could tell that this waiter had a huge crank. He must have been wearing more supportive underwear because, instead of hanging down one leg of his trousers his junk was bunched up in a large knot that bulged his fly out obscenely. "You look beautiful, Miss Ingold." "Thank you, Jerome. You look . . . good too," she murmured, her gaze still locked on his crotch. "Your order, ma'am," Jerome said, extending the tray towards her. "Oh my, I don't have any cash for a tip. Mother! Do you have a five dollar bill?" Taylor's mother appeared with a small clasp purse and produced the bill. "Thank you, ma'am. Have a good wedding." Jerome spun on his heels and walked down the hallway outside Taylor's room. Taylor leaned out to watch his canon-ball-like buns in his tight black uniform pants. "Did you see that young man's crotch?" her mother stuttered. "What a monster he was hiding!" "Oh, really, mother. I didn't notice." * * * Taylor drank the entire bottle of whiskey Jerome had delivered. It had only been a small bottle, but soon the bride-to-be felt the warm glow in her gut and the clouds appear in her mind. "Mom, I'm going to step into the hallway and get a soda," Taylor announced, her words slightly slurred. "No dear, I'll go. . ." "No. I want to. I need to get out of this room for a while. I need a little 'alone' time, please." "I understand, Taylor dear. But don't stray too far and don't be gone long. We need to head to the ball garden in a short while." Taylor borrowed a buck from her sister and left the room. She headed towards the concession machines, looking right and left, moving slowly down the empty hallway. When she turned the corner he was there. Jerome leaned lazily against the wall with a smug look on his face. The teenager held out his hand. In a daze Taylor slipped her white-gloved hand in his. Jerome led her to a hotel room door and took out a pass key, unlocking the door. Taylor felt powerless, and followed him into the darkened, empty room. "Jerome, I . . ." The high schooler put a finger gently on her lips to silence the shaking bride. Then he leaned forward and put his large meaty lips on her. Taylor felt as if she would swoon. She kissed the boy hungrily, grinding her lips against his. Jerome had his hands on the officer's ass, pulling her hip against his own, digging his fingers into her soft, yielding butt cheeks. "This is insane," Taylor panted. "I'm getting married in less than an hour . . ." Jerome did not respond. He gently sat Taylor on the edge of the bed, stepped back and began to undo his belt. "Please . . .oh please . . .," Taylor meekly whispered. He jerked his zipper down with a fluid motion and let his trousers fall in a heap around his ankles. His erection tented his jockeys. Taylor could feel the heat from it on her cheeks like the first rays of the morning sun. Jerome slid down his underwear and his hard-on sprung from his crotch and wavered in the air mere inches from Taylor's face. It looked even larger than she had imagined, now at full-staff. Taylor was almost cross-eyed, staring in rapt wonder at his tool as it throbbed visibly. It was smooth and blacker than the rest of his skin, and rooted in a thick forest of icy black curls. His pendulous testicles seemed to pulsate, slowly rising and falling from the base of his cock. Instinctively, automatically the tool was in Taylor's gloved hand, as if her inner animal had taken charge. The world seemed to fall away and there was only she and Jerome and his wondrous cock. It throbbed in her hand. She could feel its inhuman heat through her gloves. She could sense its almost-magical power. Taylor glanced up and met the boy's eyes. He smiled and nodded slightly. Taylor brought her head closer to the organ and, opening her painted lips, took the bulbous head into her mouth. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the feeling of the fat cock on her tongue, the spongy head filling her mouth. Taylor tasted a salty drop of pre-cum ooze from the massive cockhead. She swirled her tongue around the opening on the end of his dong and let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. The young woman could hot properly grasp the organ, such was its girth. She brought her other hand on the opposite side of his dick and began to slowly work her hands up and down its length, massaging it, teasing it. She let her teeth gently rake its surface and felt it twitch and jerk in her hand and mouth. Taylor could only fit a few inches of the thick member into her mouth. Still, her jaws ached from being stretched so far open. Her nostrils were filled with the musky sent of his privates. She began to work her hands faster upon his log. Jerome's hips were thrust forward, his hands resting on his hips. "That's it, officer. Suck that big black cock. Suck it like you live to suck black cock." Taylor moaned her approval. At that moment she existed for one purpose—to bring and receive pleasure from Jerome's love muscle. Taylor's pussy was twitching in protest as being left out of the action. She could feel her own juices soaking her lace panties. She hoped it wouldn't soak through to the back of her dress under her ass. Suddenly, a growl came from deep inside Jerome's throat and he put his hands on the sides of her head and pushed her off his cock. A long silvery rope of cum draped from her swollen lower lip to the angry-looking head of his dong. She resisted the pressure of his hands and tried to stuff the cock back into her yaw, but the young man was too powerful. She looked up at his face pleadingly, her eyes begging for more, but he just gave her a crooked, toothy smile. "Stand up, Ingold," he commanded her with the authority only the massively hung can muster. Shakily, Taylor rose to her feet. Jerome's cock head brushed against the white silk of her gown, leaving a faint snail's trail of cum on the fabric. Roughly, his wide black hands on her shoulders, he spun her around, facing away from him. Placing one hand over her sopping pussy and one in the small of her back, he bent the officer bride over at the waist. He gathered up the back of her dress and rolled it over her back. Taylor's round, shapely ass presented itself for his view. Jerome snapped one of her garter belt straps on her white butt, stinging her slightly. Taylor rested her palms on the bed covers and watched her lover through a mirror over the head of the double king-sized bed. His black face was already covered with a sheen of sweat. He roughly pulled down her flimsy, lacey thong. Her gaping cunt seemed to be winking at him, like a mare in heat. The delicate lips of her twat were swollen, darkened, quivering. Drops of Taylor's juices were dripping from the thick forest of blond curls at the bottom of her upturned pussy. Keeping one hand on the small of her back, he grasped his meat in his other fist and guided it against her vaginal opening. The effect was electrifying. Her taunt legs began to shake, her ass-cheeks quivering like fleshy jello. "Are you sure you're ready for this, ma'am?" he asked in a haughty, self-assured voice. "Oh God yes. I've never been more ready for anything in my life. Please . . . do me quickly, Jerome," she panted. "No. I think maybe we've gone too far. We should stop," he chuckled. "You black bastard! Fuck me now! Fill me with that horse cock!" "What's the magic word, bitch?" "Uh . . . um . . .please?" "That's my girl. Beg for it." "Please, please fuck me, Jerome. Oh sweet Jesus, hurry! I need to feel you inside me more than anything." Jerome placed the broad tip of his cock against Taylor's sopping cunt. He began to push his hips forward. His glans flattened and spread against her opening, but would not enter. "Relax your cooze, Ingold. Shit, you're a tight one. Never had one like this, I suspect." He applied more pressure, more force until, in an instant, the head of his cock popped inside her twitching pussy. A feral grunt came from Taylor's parted lips. It was guttural, inhuman, unearthly. As more of his cock pushed into her vaginal canal she let of a muffled scream of pleasure. She wiggled his hips to ease his entry, moving her ass in a circular fashion so that his cock was cork-screwing her from behind. Taylor could tell that Jerome was stretching her twat in a way no man had ever done before. It was a strange mixture of pain and exquisite pleasure. Her cunt felt as if it was on fire. Her hanging tits jiggled and swayed in synch with his thrusts, almost popping from the plunging neckline of her wedding gown. Jerome hit bottom in the woman's cunt and still had a good two inches of cock to spare. He slowly began to withdraw, then more quickly replunged his length back into her tight hole. Taylor tried to urge him on, but words failed her. She was thinking and bucking against his cock like a cat in heat. He mid brain had taken control of her and conscious control of her own body was by now impossible. Her body was reacting to total animal lust. Her hips and ass undulated and swirled with a rhythm as old as the human species, or as old as her pre-human ancestors. Jerome, too, was lost in the feeling of lust. His body moved as if it was on autopilot, reacting to primitive instincts. He trust his cock in and out of the hot, wet pussy with a timeless tempo, his meaty balls dangling and swinging below his rock-hard member. At first it was just a slight tickle around the ring of his anus that traveled along the invisible plumbing of his balls and cock. It grew in intensity until he began grunting like an animal, spittle flying from his curled lips. "Here it come, you bitch. Get ready for it!" He rammed his cock in maximally. Even the unused last two inches disappeared into the woman's abused and swollen fuck hole. Jet after jet of rich, thick semen erupted from his cock into the deepest recesses of Taylor's cunt tunnel. She could feel the round knots travel along the length of the underside of his quivering battering ram of an organ and deliver burst after endless burst of scalding cum into her body. His body went taunt, vibrating in tonic contractions. She could see that his face was a mask of exertion, his white teeth clenched and bared on his streaming face, his eyes wide and fixed on infinity. Taylor own teeth had gathered a mass of bedclothes and she was biting down on it like a bullet. In her hands were fistfuls of the bed covers. Slowly, Taylor came to her senses. She could feel Jerome slowly slipping his cock from her sore pussy. It fell free with an audible 'slurp'. The sudden absence of his organ made her cunt uncomfortably empty, loose and slack. She tried to push his hips back, to reintroduce his pecker to her hungry twat, but he was already growing limp and his tool was slowly aiming at the carpet. Her pussy was still pulsating and it spat forth a huge dwallop of congealed semen that landed on Jerome's thigh. "Whoa, missy. Don't mess my pants up with that spunk," he weakly chuckled. He backed away from her upturned ass a safe distance. "Could you get me a towel, please?" Taylor panted. Jerome pulled up his shorts and arranged his softening cock comfortably. It looked like a banana slumbering in a hammock to Taylor. Fixing his trousers he disappeared into the room's bath, and emerged with a hand towel, which he tossed on the bed beside Taylor. Only when she had the towel safely covering her painful cunt did she feel safe in standing. She could feel copious amounts of his spunk oozing from her hole and soaking into the towel. "My God! What time is it?" she demanded. Jerome looked at his watch. "Five to eleven." "I've only got five minutes to get down to the garden and get married! We've been fucking for over half an hour!" Officer Taylor "I couldda lasted longer if your poon wasn't so tight, white girl." "Fuck! Shit!" Taylor hissed as she straightened her dress and tried to smooth out the new wrinkles. "Where the fuck are my panties?!" "Right here," Jerome said, swinging the lacy things around an upturned finger. "Hurry, give 'em here!" "Nope. I'm keeping these as a trophy. No one's gonna know you're commando at your wedding, Ingold." She sighed resignedly and gathering up the sides of her gown hurried from the room. * * * Taylor arrived huffing and puffing in an anteroom in the hotel garden. Her tuxedoed father was waiting impatiently for her. "Being fashionably late is one thing, my dear, but to your own wedding?" "Sorry, papa. I got lost on the way here," she gushed, and kissed him on the cheek. "Your mother and sister were very worried about you. They have already taken their seats." Taylor's father made a silent gesture to one of the wedding ushers, who in turn signaled the organist, who began the wedding march. "Shall we?" Mr. Ingold said, offering his arm to his radiant daughter. Taylor and her father began the slow walk down the carpet roll to the minister, Ronny and his best man. "My God, she's positively glowing!" came a whispered voice from the seated guests. "She looks like an angel." "This must be the happiest day of her life." Archie Reynolds turned to a fellow officer in attendance, "Look at them jugs jiggle," he whispered. Taylor smiled and nodded to the guests as she trekked down the aisle. Then, a shadow of concern spread over her face. From her gaping cunt Taylor could feel a huge ball of cum leaking down her white lace-topped stockings, soaking into the material and drifting slowly down her leg. With each step it seemed like more of Jerome's massive load was surrendering to gravity and cascading down either leg. It was on her ankle before she had reached Ronny. Her long wedding gown would hide it from the guests while it was on her legs, but not if it hit the red carpet. Taylor let her eyes drift upward. Oh God, please! I know I don't deserve any favors from you, after what I just did with that boy, but if you could find it in your heart. . . Finally, thankfully, she was at Ronny's side. He looked resplendent in his rented tux. Taylor passed her bouquet to Michelle Ramirez, her bride's maid, and took Ronny's arm in her own. "Friends, family, we are gathered here today to unit these two in holy matrimony . . ., " droned the minister. But Taylor wasn't listening. She was concentrating on the oozing, slimy wetness traveling down her inner thighs, knees, calves and angles. She could feel Jerome's spunk pooling in the soles of her high-heels. Beyond that she could only imagine. Her cheeks were burning red in guilt and shame and humiliation, but the assemblage mistook it for a blush of innocence on the face of a young bride. She was barely aware of the minister's words. She looked out of the corners of her eyes and spotted Jerome standing with other waiters at the table with her huge wedding cake. Unseen by all but Taylor, Jerome swiped his finger up the side of the cake and licked the white frosting off his long, thin black finger. Taylor suddenly felt angry, not at Jerome, but at life. She felt like she was being cheated. She was about to say, 'I do' and be joined to this small-dicked white boy Ronny for life. It was unfair. Not when there was pleasure untold hidden behind the thick material of Jerome's trousers. ". . . and do you, Taylor Ingold, take this man . . ." Taylor gritted her teeth and spat, "No. I do not take this man." Taylor wheeled about and before the aghast faces of her wedding guests strode defiantly and with determination back up the aisle, leaving a trail of foamy white liquid on the red carpet in her wake. The audience sat in stunned silence, ashen faced. Jerome murmured to the waiter next to him, "Now, that's what I call a wedding!" * * * Michelle and Jose Ramirez were on their way home from the wedding, if it could still be called that, in their SUV. Both were in a funk over the events of that day and they rode in contemplative silence. Michelle's cell phone broke their reverie. "Hello? Taylor! What the fuck happened? Where did you go? Where are you?" Michelle demanded. "Slow down, Mic," Taylor implored. "I'm at my parents right now, but I don't want to stay here. Can I crash at your place awhile? Just until I figure out what I'm going to do." "Well, sure, Tay. You're always welcome at my place. Do you need me to pick up any of your stuff from your condo?" "Naw. Not right away, anyway. I'll be over this evening, okay?" Taylor Ingold arrived at the Ramirez' fashionable home in San Verdugo at about eleven that evening. It was apparent she had been crying. Michelle handed her a beer as the blond sprawled on the living room couch. "Do you want to talk about it, Tay?" Michelle asked with real concern. Taylor said nothing, but looked at Jose. "Jose, take a hike for a while, okay, dear?" Michelle asked sweetly. Jose grumbled and said he was going to bed. "Okay, it's just us girls now. What the hell happened, Tay?" "You'll think that I am an awful person, Mic. And what you think of me means a lot of me," Taylor pouted. "Listen—as long as you didn't kill someone, or sleep with Jose, I don't care, Tay." "I did something worse, I think. I told you about that boy from the high school a few weeks back. The one with the . . . um . . . large member. Remember?" "Of course I remember. I've never met the guy but I thought of him a few times when Jose was lying on top of me. And it really made it better, let me tell you." "Well, I ran into him at the country club just before the wedding and . . . I did something awful . . ." "You had sex with him?" Michelle's face was aglow and her eye danced with evil interest. "Yeah, a little, I guess." "So, how was it, girlfriend?" "Oh Mic. It was celestial, cosmic, euphoric. I had no idea sex could be like that. I felt things I've never felt before. I guess it's true: Size does make all the difference." "What'd I tell you? So, this dude made you change your mind?" "He changed my mind. He changed my pussy. He changed everything." Michelle's nipples were tenting her shirt and Taylor could tell the thought was a major turn on for her little friend. The Latina wiggled her butt uncomfortably on the seat cushions and she unconsciously ground her thighs together. Michelle was a hot little Mexican slut, Taylor thought to herself. "What are you plans now, Tay?" "Well, I have two weeks leave starting today. It was supposed to be for my honeymoon, but it's just as well. I need some time to get my head together." "What about Ronny?" Taylor rolled her eyes. "Poor Ronny! I hated to hurt him like that, but I felt I had no choice. He's a perfectly decent guy. He deserves someone better than me for his wife. I probably did him a big favor." "Well, you can stay here as long as you need. I know you won't be sniffing around Jose 'cause he's got a little pecker, so I can trust you." "Thanks, Mic. You're a real friend. I guess I'll run over to the condo when Ronny isn't home and grab my belongings. He can keep the condo and the furniture and crap—I owe him that much. But let's keep it a secret that I'm crashing here, okay? I don't feel like explaining stuff over and over again to everyone who calls on me." Taylor spent a restless night in the Ramirez' guest room. She tossed and turned the whole night, but sleep escaped her. Images of the hurt expression on Ronny's face and the look of lust on Jerome's face pervaded her thoughts. And the dull throbbing from her abused, stretched womanhood didn't help. Taylor learned from Michelle that Ronny was back to work, on day shift, so Taylor took the opportunity to sneak back to their condo where she gathered up her personal items and clothing. She stored them in the Ramirez' garage for the time being. She dreaded a confrontation with Ronny and was not sure exactly what she would tell him. It certainly would not be the truth, whatever she finally came up with. Daily, she had to resist the urge to meander back to the country club and seek out Jerome. He seemed to draw her like a magnet. It took all her will power not to revisit the boy. Jerome Washington, or more accurately, Jerome Washington's cock, was like an opium habit she had to kick cold turkey. She longed to be with him. He filled her thoughts night and day. But he was only eighteen years old, and she knew virtually nothing about him. They were strangers, linked by lust alone. And lust was little to build any sort of lasting relationship on. She reasoned that he would tire of her, since she was an 'old' lady of twenty-five. After her two-week leave was over Taylor returned to work, trying to pretend nothing had happened. When she walked into the briefing room the tension was palpable. Every eye followed her to her seat. The patrol sergeant entered the room to begin the briefing and even he was silent for a long while. "Right. Let's begin," he said at length. Taylor was back in blue, her time as a school resource officer over for at least the summer. It would be over for ever if anyone found out she boinked a student. Her career too, for that matter. She was back to being a harness cop, working a beat car, taking reports, and arresting bad guys. When the sergeant called out the patrol assignments Taylor was assigned, as she had expected, to a report car, the least popular job on the shift. She would just be doing paperwork all shift. Taylor did not mind, since she would be working a one-officer car, and would not have to talk to the other officers all shift. Things went on like this for another three weeks until one night she received a radio call, "Unit four zero Robert, theft report, San Verdugo Country Club. See the manager, Otis Washington." Taylor gulped. "Roger, unit four zero Robert," she replied into the mic. It was late. Maybe Jerome only worked the day shift. She doubted that Jerome had told his uncle about their encounter in the hotel room. It surely wouldn't be in his best interest to tell his uncle that they had spoiled an unrented room. Taylor parked her black-and-white cruiser at the curb outside the lobby of the club and gathered her clipboard. "I'm looking for Mr. Washington," she told the pretty receptionist. She was escorted to Otis Washington's office. Taylor was taken aback by Otis' appearance. He looked like the spitting image of Jerome, only twenty years older. Trim, athletic, with just a hint of gray at his temples. Taylor felt her throat tighten in his presence and a familiar glow in her lower belly. "Thank you for coming so soon, officer . . .?" "Ingold, sir." "Have we met before, miss?" "Not that I am aware of, sir." Shit! Had Otis been around during her aborted wedding? "I see. Well, someone has stolen some of the country club's silver trophies." Otis gave Taylor the details of the theft as he knew them. "May I see the display case, sir?" "Certainly. It's in the ballroom. Come this way." Taylor followed Otis down the hallways to the scene of the crime. She notice that he walked with an easy grace, with powerful, determined strides that forced her to almost run to keep up. The ballroom was empty at that hour. The display case was unmarred, leading Taylor to believe it was an inside job, probably and employee or ex-employee. Otis sat in one of the lounge chairs and tried to recall the names of everyone who could have had access to the keys to the display case. As Taylor was taking notes she studied Otis in more detail. She wondered if having a large crank was a family trait. She surreptitiously glanced at Otis' crotch. Sure enough, even though he was wearing loose formal dress trousers she could tell he was packing some serious trouser meat. She could feel her cheeks glowing. Luckily, her protective vest kept her naughty nipples from making an unwanted appearance. "Your job here sounds fascinating, Mr. Washington. I would love to learn more about you . . . I mean, your job." Taylor could not believe how awkward and obvious her come on was. Otis seemed surprised. "There's not much to tell. I got a job here as a bell hop after high school and took night classes at the junior college. I just sort of worked my way to the top." "You must have to work some long and odd hours. Does your wife mind that?" "I am a widower, I'm afraid to say." "Oh, don't be afraid," Taylor laid a comforting hand on his muscular thigh. "I'm sure it must be a hard-on for you . . .I meant to say, it must have been hard for you. I mean losing your wife, not that other parts of you got hard. I'm sure that you can still get hard, I mean. Oh God . . ." Taylor definitely had Otis' interest now, however clumsily she had attracted it. Taylor was stammering now, her private parts smoldering with lust. "Young lady, are you coming on to me?" Otis asked, one eye brow arched. "Heaven's no! Not that I wouldn't come on to you. I mean, you are a very attractive man with an excellent position. What I mean to say, any position you'd be in would be good. By that, I don't mean, like, a sexual position. But I'm sure you're great in those, too. Christ! Maybe I should just stop talking now." Otis smiled broadly. "Why don't I give you a little . . . tour, of our establishment?" "That would be most erotic . . . excellent, I mean to say. Yes, excellent." Otis told the front desk receptionist that he would be unavailable for a time. The young woman smiled knowingly and regarded Taylor with thinly veiled envy. "Here we have our suites. Would you care to check one out, Miss Ingold?" "Oh yes. They are quite plush. Or so I have heard." Otis used his pass key to unlock the bridal suite. "This is our most popular room. If only these walls could talk!" Taylor plopped her rump on the huge bed and bounced slightly. "Oh wow. This bed is just delicious! So soft, and so large!" "You like large things, don't you, officer?" Otis grinned. "Oh my, yes. You might say I am a 'large' freak." Otis sat on the bed so near Taylor that their hips were touching. She could smell his manly aftershave. He could smell Taylor's rampant pheromones. He gently reached up and undid Taylor's bun, letting her hair flow down on her shoulders. She batted her eyes at him playfully. Their lips met and they kissed much more gently than Jerome had. Otis was obviously a more mature lover in many ways. There was nothing frantic about his seduction. He was measured, deliberate, and gentle. As they kissed Taylor let her hand wander onto his lap and began to massage the lump at his crotch. She could feel it harden beneath her touch, straining to be free. "You move pretty quickly, Miss Ingold." "Please call me Taylor, and I will call you Otis, if you don't mind. Hmmm . . . I think there is someone else here who I need to be introduced to," she said, giving his erection a squeeze. Otis smiled and stood up and began to undress. Taylor was stripping as if her uniform was on fire, throwing the piece all over the room, while Otis was carefully removing his clothing, folding each piece and laying it on a chair. When Otis Washington was down to his boxers Taylor was naked on all fours on the bed and staring intently, expectantly, at the pup tent in his underwear. She licked her lips greedily and Otis dropped his shorts. "Goodness! You are glorious, Otis!" Otis' full erection jutted out from his crotch majestically. He walked over to Taylor, his member swaying regally, proudly. Taylor flopped on her back and spit on one hand and rubbed it roughly on her ruddy sex. "C'mon, big boy. Mama likes what she sees!" Otis positioned himself between her legs and leaned forward, supporting himself on his muscular arms. "Put it in, babe," he suggested. She grabbed his turgid penis and aimed it at her quivering woman flesh. Otis slowly lowered his hips until his bulbous cockhead made contact with the folds of her cunt. This caused the blond to coo and suck her breath in between clenched teeth. Otis was surprised at the ease with which his cock entered the white woman. Usually white girls had a major problem accommodating his unit, unless they had given birth or were habituates of black men. From her firm, flat belly he doubted that Taylor was a mother, so he reasoned it must be the latter. Not that the thought bothered him. Cautiously, he lowered himself onto and into the jiggling white girl. He met little resistance. Oh, Taylor was still tight, make no mistake. But she was far from a virgin. Taylor's legs were tracing large circles in the air above Otis' back. She thrust her hips to meet his thrusts, and dug her nail into the cheeks of his ass to urge him on, to urge him deeper. At last she could feel his heavy, hot balls resting on the cheeks on her ass and she moaned contentedly. He began gentle thrusts, his balls slapping wetly on her upturned butt cheeks. Their eyes were locked as he pumped her. He had seldom seen such naked lust in a woman's eyes; she had never seen such domineering masculinity, tinged with tenderness, in a man's eyes before. The tempo of his thrusts increases slowly, until he was jack-hammering her quim like a steam engine. Tiny moans and cries escaped her lust-swollen lips. Sweat cascaded down the black man's arms and chest and he growled like a lion mating his lioness. Taylor's vision blurred and she saw small flashes of light dancing in her eyes. Her orgasm came upon her suddenly, without warning. She screamed with primal abandon. She dug her talons into his broad chest, drawing blood. Still he kept up an inhuman, machine-like pace and tempo. When he felt his own orgasm approaching he quickly pulled his penis from her churning vagina and raised his torso. He grabbed his throbbing cock in a meaty fist and gave it one or two more tugs and spewed a sudden gush of spunk on the woman's face, chest, hair. And on the bedclothes, and the bed's headrest, and the wall above it. Each jet of thick, hot semen seemed as copious as the one before it. Wads of viscous spunk summersaulted in the air, seemed to hang motionless for an eternity, then fall with dull splats on her steaming body. Taylor had never had a man come on her deliberately, and she found the experience deliciously erotic, decadent, taboo. She laughed in her joy with the new experience. After what seemed like a quarter hour the streams of jettisoned spunk slowed until there was just a single thick, knotted rope of jizz oozing from the purple head of his cock and pooling on her belly. Taylor licked the gobs from around her lips and ran her finger in the pool on her belly and sucked the finger nosily. Otis sat back on his heels panting, drained and satisfied. Taylor's belt radio crackled to life. "Unit four Zero Robert—status." Taylor scrambled from the bed and searched the floor in the half-light until she found the handset. "Unit four zero Robert—code four. Taking report at the country club," she panted into the radio. "Ten four, unit four zero Robert," the dispatcher acknowledged. She looked at her cum-speckled wrist watch. "On my—we've been fucking for almost an hour, Otis! What a stud you are!" Otis chuckled self-consciously. "No, I mean it. You are a real man! And you swing some real man meat between your legs! I would really like to get to know you better, in a big way, stud!" she gushed. "I do okay, I suppose . . ." "You know how to make a woman feel like a woman!" "I know it's sort of backwards, but maybe we can get together for dinner and a movie sometime?" "I would like nothing better! Now, do you suppose we can shower before we go out in public? I'm feeling like a glazed donut here." Officer Taylor The shower in the bridal suite was an elaborate affair, with jets of water from various locations on the walls. To Taylor's delight Otis got hard again during their shower, and she did her best to suck him off, considering how little of his cock she could actually fit in her mouth. When he came it was less prodigious than their earlier session, but still much more than the poor girl could manage to swallow. Great sheets of cum hung from her mouth and chin as she gently milked his shaft and balls for the last drops. Freshly bathed and dressed, the two left the room after Otis hung out the "maid service needed" sign on the door knob. Taylor was slightly bowlegged from the pounding Otis had given her and from her own swollen pudenda. In the lobby they were again the consummate professional. "I think I have everything I need for the report, Mister Washington." "Very well, and thank you, Officer Ingold." They shook hands and parted, the desk clerk smiling at their charade. Taylor found sitting in her cruiser uncomfortable, her bruised and battered cunt protesting at the pressure of the seat. Down, girl, Taylor thought. You know you liked it as much as I did. At six AM Taylor arrived at the stationhouse to turn in her paperwork. The other officers going off duty were bleary-eyed and exhausted, but Taylor was smiling and bright and bubbly. "I guess working the report car agrees with her," remarked the sergeant. * * * Sergeant Ronny Jones sat at his desk in the traffic division of the San Verdugo Police Department. As a traffic officer he had little formal contact with the regular patrol force, of which Taylor was a member. Even now he felt the shame and embarrassment of his farcical wedding. He had to endure the jokes and snide comments from his coworkers. He was sure they said worse things behind his back. Any cop who couldn't hold a woman was considered less than a man. It was just part of the cop culture. He had tried to contact Taylor for some explanation, some reason for her erratic behavior just before and during the ceremony. But she had successfully avoided any contact with her former fiancé. He had heard talk that Taylor was staying with Officer Ramirez, but the petite Hispanic officer had denied it when he asked her. Since Michelle Ramirez and Taylor were longtime buds he was confident that the little officer would lie to protect her friend. Ronny Jones doubted that another man had been involved. Taylor seemed too sweet and loving to cuckold him with another man. And she had always seemed enthusiastic during their love-making sessions. He was sure he had been taking care of business on the mattress with Taylor. He could drive her absolutely wild when he used his talented tongue on the gentle leaf-like folds of her pale pussy. It was early September when, by chance, Ronny ran into Taylor outside the evidence room. "Taylor," Ronny said softly. "Ronny. How are you?" she asked guiltily. "As good as could be expected, I suppose. Listen: we need to talk." "Not now, Ronny. I am just not ready and I am very busy." She brushed past him and headed out into the station corridor. Ronny followed. "Tay, tell me what happened? Did I do something wrong? Something to offend you?" the sergeant pleaded. By now the two had attracted the attention of their fellow employees, who craned their ears to pick up any juicy gossip. Some even abandoned whatever task they were doing and followed the two down the hall, keeping within hearing distance yet trying to look disinterested. "I can't deal with this now," Taylor growled with increasing annoyance. "If not now, when? It's been weeks. I think you owe me some explanation!" Taylor broke into a trot, leaving Ronny standing alone and helpless in the corridor. * * * "Jose and I will be gone a week, Tay. We are going south to visit Jose's parent in Mexico. You'll have the house to yourself. Just feed my bulldog, will ya?" "Sure, Mic. I'll watch the house for you," Taylor said, her mind swimming with images of inviting Otis over for a more home-style fucking. * * * Otis arrived at the Ramirez' residence just after dark. Taylor met him at the front door wearing a see-through negligee. His face brightened at the sight of her jutting breasts beneath the gossamer material, her fragrant bush forming a perfect triangle at her crotch. Otis was dressed in his off-duty mufti, shorts and a tank top. Taylor snickered into her knuckles when she saw that he was still wearing his dress shoes and black socks. "Are you the repair man, sir?" she asked. Otis hesitated, then picked up on the fantasy. "Yessm, I be dat. Whatcha got that needs fixin', pretty white lady?" "I need you to check out my plumbing, boy. It hasn't been behaving itself the past few days. Did you bring your snake?" "Yessm, I got dat right here," he said, cupping his crotch with a large hand. "Hmmm. . ." Taylor smiled broadly, and moved aside to let Otis into the Ramirez house. They moved to the spacious living room. "Would you care for some refreshments, boy?" she cooed. "I'll take some cheap wine, iffn you got dat, missy." Taylor poured him a stout glass of expensive whisky instead. "Now, don't let this go to your head. I know you black bucks can't be trusted around us white women." Otis drained the glass in one gulp. "Let's see dat plumbing problem, white lady." * * * In the darkness outside the Ramirez home Ronny Jones stood chain smoking cigarettes, trying to muster his courage to confront Taylor. He knew she was living in the Ramirez home—her Mustang was parked in the driveway. The Ramirez SUV was gone, but there was a mysterious white Cadillac in the driveway. Finally, Ronny approached the front door. His knuckles were poised to rap on the door when he heard a curious sound from within the home. At first he thought that the TV was on inside, a little too loud, perhaps, but they he recognized the shrill sound of Taylor's laughter. There was a deep baritone male voice too, but Ronny could not discern the man's words. Damn her! She does have a man! And he's in the house now. Ronny made his way around the house to the backyard, almost falling into the darkened Jacuzzi. Light flooded the yard from the spacious windows of the living room, so Ronny secreted himself behind a hedge. What he saw in the living room made his stomach turn and the bile rise in his throat. * * * "I think my pipes need snaking, boy," Taylor giggled, on all fours on an ottoman, her rump presented to the tall black man. She reached behind her and spread her cunt lips. "Do you think you can help me out here?" Otis smacked his lips and clapped his hands. "Yessm, I gots the right tool fer dat job. Got it right here." Otis unbuckled his belt and yanked down his zipper. To Taylor's delight he wasn't wearing underwear, and his rapidly inflating cock sprang into view. "My, that's a big tool you have there, boy!" "I figgers that you goin' need did big tool to clean out dat dere pipe, lady." Outside, Ronny's eye bugged out when he saw the dimensions of the black man's cock. It swayed and bobbed from beneath his belly hypnotically. He was built like some professional porn star, and his dong was easily twice as long and thick as his own penis. Otis spat onto his palm and rubbed the saliva over the head of his fully-hard prick. He positioned himself behind Taylor's wiggling, inviting ass. Grasping his wang near the tip, and carefully placed it against her gaping vaginal opening. Taylor squealed with delight and dug her nails into the cushion of the ottoman to steady herself for the pounding she knew was coming. Otis eased himself into her wet, hot plumbing. "Oh lawdy! I do belibe I be fuckin' dis pretty white girl! I sho' hope de Klan don't find out 'bout dis or I be hangin' from a sycamore 'fore mornin'. "Gracious! I am being ravished by a black buck! Whatever will the society ladies say?! I am surely a ruined woman!" "Maybe ruined for any white boy, I 'spects. After dis dey's tiny cocks will feel like a broom stick in a trash can when dey tries to stick dis thang." The tempo and thrusts became more vigorous, more violent. Otis grabbed fistfuls of Taylor's fleshy ass to hold her to him as he jabbed deeper and deeper into her womb. Taylor lost hold of the ottoman and her torso slid forward, the top of her head brushing the floor. She was now like an inverted 'V' with her shapely ass pointed heavenward. Otis repositioned himself so that his thrusts were still effectively and fully deep into the blonde's cunt. Ronny was growling with rage, and yet he found the whole scene subconsciously hot. He was vaguely aware that his own pecker was throbbing hard in his jeans. He cursed his body for it's betrayal. He nervously fingered the butt of his off-duty revolver in the waistband of his pants. Taylor was getting fabric burns on her knees from the ottoman. Her arms hung limp, useless, spread on the hardwood floor. She tried to think of some witty response to Otis' ersatz southern banter, but she was past speaking. His massive organ was battering the underside of her diaphragm so that she could not even control her own breathing. Her breaths came in short gasps, synchronized with the black man's massive thrusts. Wrapping his muscular arms around the girl's waist Otis picked Taylor up like a rag doll. He held her back to his broad chest and began to bounce the limp woman up and down on his vertical cock. Taylor's legs flayed around in front of her, bouncing with each thrust. She could only grunt now, her head lolling from side to side, her tongue jutting from her gaping mouth. Otis moved unsteadily towards the couch, fucking her the whole way. He flopped back on the couch, his hands locked around Taylor's narrow waist, and began to bounce her up and down on his cock. Taylor was facing the bay windows of the living room, giving Ronny a perfect view of her lust-flushed face. She had never lost herself so completely when she was with him, Ronny thought. He could see Otis' member, shiny wet and ebony, jamming in and out of Taylor's splayed cunt, the black man's huge balls churning and writhing with a building blast of seed. Finally Ronny could stand no more. He found the sliding glass door unlocked and burst into the living room brandishing his revolver. "Ah ha! I've caught you now, you shameless slut!" Ronny bellowed. Looking from around Taylor's torso, Otis froze in mid stroke. Slowly Taylor's eyes came into refocus and she saw Ronny, panting with rage, his revolver pointed at her heart. Then Taylor did something that was totally unexpected to Ronny. She began to bob up and down on the black man's cock, seemingly unaware of her peril or past caring. Taylor sped up her bouncing, her tits jiggling on her chest. ". . . cock . . .more cock . . ." Taylor groaned. "Listen, you bitch! I'm about to shoot you in your cheating heart. Stop that this instant!" Ronny blubbered. Taylor looked like a mad woman, a zombie. She continued to wiggle and bounce on Otis' turgid organ, oblivious to any danger Ronny posed to her and Otis. At that moment only two things existed in the world for her—her hot cunt and Otis' ridged cock. Nothing else was of consequence. "I'm warning you, Taylor! Stop fucking that nigger and listen to me!" ". . . cock . . . more cock . . ." In spite of his terror, Otis could feel his orgasm building. He tried to hold it back, but it was useless. With an animal grunt Otis lifted his hips off the couch and gave a mighty upward thrust that would have thrown Taylor off like a bronco buster had not Otis' grasp around her waist still be firm and strong. Otis' body went into overdrive and he thrust upward again and again, causing Taylor's eyes to roll back in her head. Foamy white spew began to seep from around the snug seal of her pussy on his cock, pouring down his pulsating shaft and cascading over his tight balls. At length, Taylor sat limply on Otis' lap, drenched in sweat and jizz, quivering in her afterglow. Slowly, drunkenly, she lifted her head a regarded Ronny through the strands of damp blond hair that covered her face. "Oh, Ronny. How long have you been here?" came her slurred inquiry. She noticed the shaking gun in Ronny's hand for the first time. Taylor lifted herself off Otis' slackening pole and sat demurely beside her lover on the couch. "What are you doing, Ron?" "I'm about to kill you and that filthy nigger you've been fucking, you lousy whore!" "Why, Ron?" "Why?! Why?! Because this bastard stole my wife!" "Ronny, let's be reasonable. I hadn't even met Otis before our wedding day. He didn't have anything to do with our breakup.! "Liar! Then why did you leave me?" the crazed police sergeant screamed. "That's why I left you." "What? Huh?" Taylor extended her hand and pointed to Ronny's crotch. "That little thing made me leave you." Ronny looked at his crotch. He had a full-on chubby and a large spunk stain was spreading over the tip of his small pup tent. "But . . . but it always seemed like it was good enough for you," Ronny blubbered. "Oh, dear, it was, believe me. It was up until I found something better." She smiled and patted Otis' now-limp but still formidable cock, sleeping contentedly between his thighs. "Listen, man, if I may interject," Otis finally found his voice. "Some women are just into size, brother. This type of woman won't ever be happy with 'average' or 'normal'. Believe me, I know the type." Defeated, Ronny lowered his gun. * * * The evening wasn't a total loss for Ronny Jones. Before he left the house Otis gave me three free passes to the Country Club golf course.