The Cop and the Hippie

It's dusk. It's a really nice evening in late spring: 75 or 80 degrees. I'm one a them decadent hippie chicks, in a very short denim mini skirt and muslin top, with long hair tangled in the breeze. I'm having a lovely walk, toking on a nice, generous joint, and I'm stoned to the gills. You drive by and I don't even hide the joint. I push my hair out of my eyes and laugh. You're a guy. I have a way with guys. And I especially like guys when I'm stoned. You give me the look -- the sardonic look that involves a raised eyebrow. You flash the badge.

"What have you got there?"

"Come and see."

"Why ma'am, that appears to be a controlled substance."

"Ooh. Have I been bad?"

"Very bad."

"As an officer of the law, you should do something about very bad women."

"My civic duty, clearly. Come here."

I approach, a little nervous but mostly excited. I want you already. I can see how broad your shoulders are even in the dim light. I like the eyebrow and the irony. I'm hoping you'll want to take advantage of me. I can feel myself beginning to get that lovely liquid feeling.

You remove the joint from my fingers and relight it, finishing it off in a few puffs, confirming me in my hope that you intend to stick around. "You should be searched for further contraband," you inform me, "stretch your arms out." You hands are on my breasts through the thin muslin of my shirt. I'm not wearing underwear. I gasp and wiggle a little, willing you to go on. You make me lean on the truck and spread my legs, slipping your hand up the insides of my thighs, pausing briefly when you realize that no underpants are on offer. I may hear you catch your breath. Or maybe not. "We have to check everywhere" you lean over and murmur in my ear as I feel two fingers penetrate me. I can't help uttering a low moan. You know how wet I am now. I'm ashamed and thrilled. Oh god. What will you do?

"You wouldn't believe where people put contraband," you continue, and I feel a finger slide up my ass. I jump, but you've got me, leaning up against the truck. And it feels way better than at the gynecologist, my skirt up around my waist, me speadeagled against some sexy cop's truck, his finger up my ass.

You step back and I'm one part relieved, two parts disappointed. Then I see you getting out the handcuffs. Now I'm pretty nervous. Do you really want to arrest me? It's too dark for your eyes to give anything away. "Over here." You point to a spot under the fairy sturdy bough of a nearby tree. "Raise your hands." They come up on either side of the tree limb, and you pass the handcuffs over it, locking me in place with my arms above my head. I turn my wrists inward so that I feel the bark against my palms. I shiver. I am completely at your mercy. And you're really beginning to enjoy yourself. First, you yank my blouse up over my breasts and wander away (almost sending me into a panic), returning with a flashlight. You take a good, long look, running your palm across my nipples. Watching them get hard. The skirt goes up next. I can feel the breeze between my legs. You drop the flashlight. I hear your zipper go. You face me and ask "What do you want?" Oh dear. I don't know what to say. This is excruciating. I writhe around testing the cuffs. They're real all right. "What do you want?"

"You," I whisper hoarsely, barely audible.

"What do you want me to do?"

Oh boy. This is hard. But I want you so bad by now I'm ready to scream.

"Fuck me.Please. I want you to fuck me."

You laugh and press against me. I can feel your hardness against my stomach. Your hands are on my ass. You lift me just enough so that you can penetrate me. Wow. You're huge. You're wonderful. I shriek as you begin to pump, trying to get a good grip with my hands around the branch, almost fainting from the sensation.

But you aren't done. You pull out, move behind me, ram into me from behind, my legs off the ground by now, and I'm suspended from the branch and supported on you hips. You withdraw again and set me on my feet, standing behind me, one hand around my waist and the other softly beginning to stroke my clit. "What do you want?"

Oh no. I feel the tip of your cock moving up to the crack of my ass. You fingers are making magic down below. Slowly, an inch at a time, I feel you filling me up. "This will make you come," you whisper in my ear, "I'll make you love it. I'll make you scream." And then there's nothing but your fingers and the pressure and the impossible fullness and my loving it every bit as much as you said I would.