A Domestic Incident

Anyway, if I returned the next day at the same time he would be there and she would have found the vehicle documentation. So that's what happened, of sorts.

I went back the next afternoon but Not-Bob the boyfriend wasn't there as promised. Okay, I am stupid enough to call him that. But all I needed was the insurance details and Carolina had a cardboard box with all the paperwork for the car waiting for me.

We sat on the sofa while she told me that she preferred to be called Carol, only her parents called her by the full name and it made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl. Today she was wearing an oversized T-shirt and had lost the skin-tight pants, but this didn't strike me as significant until she walked across the room. Just as I was admiring her long bare legs, she bent down to pick up her paperwork from out of the box. Without any warning the T-shirt rose up to expose her bum and once again she clearly wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Her legs parted as she stooped and her pussy was staring straight back at me. Then it winked. I swear it opened and shut like a simple court case. A few seconds of paper-shuffling ensued and she stood, clutching the required certificate. Her bottom shielded once more by thin cotton from my gaze, she turned and gave me the document with a knowing smile.

With a mouth suddenly dry and stunned at the thought that she knew what time I was due to attend but had chosen to dress that way, I automatically noted the details and left. Oh, was I a naïve young officer in those days.

* * *

I next saw Carol a few weeks later.

I was engaged on doing what the tabloid press have always called 'random stops'. Personally I always thought them as systematic stops because there wasn't anything random about them. We went out as a team and pulled over every single car systematically on a single stretch of road for about half an hour.

A check for the condition of the vehicle as regards lights, tyres and any other obvious stuff, the driver would be checked for documents, sniffed for alcohol or other fragrant products and they'd be on their way in a few quick minutes. Hi-visibility policing, plenty of tickets issued, plenty of revenue generated. Everybody happy? Yes Sarge.

Sometimes the Sergeant bothered to put in an appearance himself, but mostly he didn't.

While I'm here, I'll point out that there's a big difference to working a small town rather than a city. In a major city you'll probably never meet the same member of the population twice, but in a small town you get to know your public. So you'd better be nice. It's embarrassing if you tell some drunk to fuck off and you then meet him a fortnight later at a friend's wedding. So these meetings weren't really coincidences, they were pretty well bound to happen. Maybe not within a week, but sooner or later.

Anyway, the car was in line, it was a hot day and I was bored, taking more notice of the tyres than the drivers so it was Carol who recognised me first. It took a while for me to work out who was the cutie, but I may have been distracted by checking out the seat belt that fitted neatly across her chest. Those prominent nipples were emphasised and that should have made it obvious, but I eventually worked it out -- especially when she mentioned her old smashed up car, now replaced by this only slightly newer model.

As I went through the formalities of checking over her vehicle, she tried to keep up a conversation. She told me that she'd split up from her boyfriend after the collision. Permanently this time, she was still pissed off and would never speak to him again.

Clearly, crashing the car is more of a relationship-breaker than having a knife poked up your nose.

The tyres and lights were okay and she was soon on her way. But before she left she pressed a scrap of paper in my hand and told me to give her a ring. A telephone number had been scribbled down in eyebrow pencil so I crumpled it up and stuck it in my pocket.

The operation was closed down soon afterwards and I was free to patrol my own patch, my shift continued through the evening but in this job there's always opportunity to make a telephone call. Carol answered as if she was expecting me (which she was) and I arranged to meet at a bar within walking distance of her house.

There would only be about half an hour before 'stop tap', the time when all bars had to close in those days. No late night sessions to distract the working population; with very rare exceptions 10:30pm was the latest that anyone could buy alcohol and exactly half an hour later the doors were supposed to be locked with all the customers on the street side.

Unless you were good and trusted friends of the landlord of course. In that eventuality you might be invited to boost his profits by partaking in a 'lock-in' with the curtains drawn and the till left ajar to prevent the tell-tale ring giving the game away.

When I reached the bar she was there waiting, now wearing a pair of skin-tight pants of a fashionable black satin and white heels that brought her closer to my level. As a bonus they made her stand in such a way that her bum looked absolutely delectable. Can you imagine that nowadays, black sprayed-on pants with white heels. All the rage in those days though.

She was also very fashionably braless under a halter-neck top. The technology for ladies foundation garments for use under backless clothing hadn't yet been perfected, so as a result her unfettered breasts jiggled gently. I'm sure that women wore them deliberately during that summer just so they had to leave their bras behind and feel naturally unrestrained. It was a happy time to be a young man.

Carol greeted me with a flashing smile and accepted a drink, a whisky and lemonade was her tipple; I had a taste and couldn't decide immediately whether it was acceptable or vile. With some aftertaste and hindsight, I plumped for vile. What a ruination of perfectly good lemonade. Or whisky. Or both. Yes, both.

I washed my mouth out with beer and decided to avoid that particularly loathsome concoction of the devil in the future. We chatted for the allotted hour, then the barman rang the bell and it was time to leave. As soon as we were in the shadows of the car park she took my hand and pulled me to the side. Suddenly her arms were around my back and her tongue was inside my mouth, tasting of whisky with a revolting hint of lemonade.

I reciprocated, but she didn't seem happy about where my hands were. She pulled one of my arms down and placed my hand decisively on her ass. It was a perfectly fine, firm ass and she was now much more cheerful than before. I tried squeezing it and her tongue indicated that she approved.

The tongue slid around, then repeatedly went backwards and forwards. Even I was capable of interpreting this movement into a simulation of the sexual act.

A few more squeezes of her butt later, then she was bringing my other hand up and around the front, settling on her boob. That felt perfectly fine to me; softness with an erect nipple tickling one palm, a firm buttock occupying the other. As it had appeared that it might, the nipple felt good in my hand, working its way between my fingers.

Eventually she pulled away and asked me which one was my car. I nodded to my ageing Ford and opened the doors, by the time I had walked around to the driver's side she was already sitting in the rear passenger seat.

In the darkness and relative privacy of the car, she resumed the embrace but I found that the halter-neck top was no longer between my hand and her breast. She had pulled the material aside and smooth flesh was warm against my palm while her own hand was finding the buckle of my trousers. Soon I felt her grasp my erection as she resumed the previous mouth action.

We stayed that way for a long time, she was clearly more experienced than me and deftly moved her hand every few seconds so that rigidity was maintained. She didn't protest when I pulled her tight pants away to ease my hand down inside, indeed she shifted herself to make it more accessible and I found quite soon that she apparently wasn't wearing any underwear.

Warm and damp with perspiration inside the tight clothing, her thighs were now wide apart to allow me to progress even further. I soon had a finger against her moist and slippery crevasse and even managed to insert a tip inside her.

Now though she resisted any further invasion. My hand was pulled out from her clothing. "How do you fancy going somewhere more private for some proper nooky?" The bluntness of the question combined with the coyness of the words took me by surprise.

"Sounds good, do you know of anywhere?"

"Don't really know, we could go back to mine."

I thought for a second, "Well I have a room but my landlady doesn't like late night visitors and she has ears like an elephant so yours may be better." The lady who I lodged with could hear a lady friend approaching from two miles away and be ready at the door to greet them, all false jollity and intrusive personal questions specially designed to deter any 'nooky'.

On the plus side she was very partial to freshly baked scones liberally smothered with cream and strawberry jam, which frequently made their way to the table at tea time.

"OK, let's go to mine then."

So I drove to her house, I knew where it was of course, a different part of town altogether from my digs. Bear in mind that this was many years back and one pint wasn't regarded as being too drunk to drive in those days.

When we arrived, Carol opened the car door and led the way inside the house. The first thing she did was kick away her heels and lower her shiny black pants. I had been correct, she hadn't been wearing anything underneath.

She noticed my eyes glancing at her pussy. "You can't wear anything underneath, because of VPL."

I had heard of Visible Panty-Line obviously, I wasn't that naïve. That particular fashion faux pas was much discussed in adverts for tight ladies' garments in the catalogues of the era.

She paused and then smiled, "I prefer VL. That gets the guys panting, it's sexy as hell. Do you like that?"

I wasn't sure. 'VL' wasn't something that I'd ever heard of.

She enlightened me, "Vagina-Line. When a girl wears something so thin that you can see the line of her fanny. Or sometimes I just go out like this, especially to a concert or something like that." She looked down to where her top finished, a couple of inches above indecency.

The phrase 'camel-toe' hadn't been invented in those days as far as I know, but VL sounds more attractive to me even nowadays.

So, just wearing her halter-neck top she climbed the stairs. Back to the height she was when I first saw her, her bare butt led me step by step, wiggle by sensuous wiggle in front of me, But when she reached the top step she stopped and knelt with her knees against the sides of the narrow stairway. Her vagina was wide open for me, her ass similarly spread. "Do you want to eat me out? You have to ask."

That took me a second to think about, I'd never been told to request it before. "Yes please."

"No, ask properly."

I decided to be blunt, "OK, can I lick your cunt please?"

"Certainly sir, any time you like." She giggled, "Make sure you do it properly."

I stroked her butt and ran my fingers along the lines of her labia. She was appreciative of this and her hand appeared, separating her labia and showing me the glistening flesh inside. Then she turned over onto her back, keeping her knees against the walls so that I couldn't pass. There wasn't a great deal of modesty. Her hand stretched out for me and she pulled my head down between her thighs. I began to slowly eat her out.

Carol had the faint scent of a perfume that I couldn't place but she tasted of pure female. This was clearly what she wanted, writhing and moaning with pleasure, me kneeling on the stairs below her. Soon her juices were across my face and her feet were resting on my shoulders.

Carol looked up at me so that our eyes met over a minute tuft of blonde hair that I hadn't previously noticed and groaned. "That's perfect, don't stop."

Eventually I had to stop though. My knees were killing me and the beer was at its destination; I needed to pee. So I stood up and looked around, rubbing my legs. I spied the bathroom and climbed over her, nearly managing to tumble back down the stairs in the process. She looked miffed but didn't say anything.

When I emerged from the bathroom Carol wasn't there any more but it didn't take too long to find her. She was in a bedroom, lying on a bed. She had resumed the same pose, legs akimbo. At least the bed was more comfortable on the knees than the stair carpet.

So I resumed the position as instructed, tongue applied to appropriate orifice. I can't remember how long I continued, but hours must have passed. I can recall being shaken awake. Several times.

Eventually I realised that the room was getting lighter; the sun was rising and I was dog-tired. I'd been licking through the night.

Finally she pulled my head up and sighed, "I need the dick now."

As the sun shone through the window blinds and dark shadows striped her body, Carol finally allowed me to partake of the 'nooky'. I had just about enough energy left to give her a quick fuck before I fell asleep properly.

* * *

When I woke, it took me a moment to work out where I was. Was I late for work? It was broad daylight and my next shift was due at two o'clock.

I found my wristwatch amongst my pile of clothes at the side of the bed; I'd have to get a move on. I reached for my crumpled shirt.

Carol stirred alongside me, her dishevelled hair rose up from pillow level and green eyes peered over one of her breasts at me. "What are you doing?"

"I've got to go to work and I need to get some clean clothes first." Food would have to wait, I could snatch a snack somewhere.

"Don't go, stay here with me."

My shirt was now on, being buttoned. "I've got to. My shift is about to start."

She pouted, "Call in sick, don't you like fucking me?"

I did, but a job pays for food and stuff. I pulled on my pants. "I'll come back after work, don't put anything on."

Carol raised her feet high in the air and then spread her straight legs wide apart in the most spectacular exhibition of pussy that I ever saw. "I'll be lonely."

That was a shame, but I still had to go. I found my shoes and moved towards the door but she was behind me, hanging onto my leg like a love-sick puppy. I prised her fingers apart so that I could escape and quickly shut the bedroom door behind me. I ran down the stairs, shouted a 'Goodbye, see you later' and bolted for my car.

* * *

Jo soon worked out that I'd struck gold the previous night. Feminine intuition maybe, or possibly that I was ten minutes late and my hair was still wet from the shower.

"So, you pulled a lovely, lucky lady?"

"Erm..."

"Big boobies?" Straight to the point, as to be expected.

I shrugged. They were perfectly shaped and fitted my hands but whether they were generously proportioned depended on your point of view, "A healthy pair of lungs, put it like that."

"Did you undress her with your gentle and romantic words?" She chuckled at the thought.

"I used the best chat-up line in the world. I told her there was a spider in her pants."

"That'd do it." She laughed out loud. "Who is it anyway, do I know her?"

"Sort of. Remember that domestic, the one where the bloke was sitting on the knife in the kitchen? She's his 'ex', the complainant."

"Fuck off. You cannot be serious, the one in the see-through nightie with the mascara running down her chin?"

"That's the one. She scrubs up OK, doesn't normally look like that."

"I understand now. You standing there in the rain drooling with your tongue hanging out, looking at her the way I look at a bacon sandwich. So, you've been eating the vertical burger. And now it has extra mayonnaise."

"I prefer to think of it as a side order of gentleman's relish."

"Eh? What's that. What planet are you on now?"

"It's a condiment, really. Anchovy paste, very salty and tastes of fish. It's what posh gentlemen have for breakfast."

"I can't imagine. It sounds as disgusting as you. So tell me all about what happened."

I recounted briefly the story of the accident, traffic stop and the meeting in the bar.

When I came to the part about getting in the car she interrupted, "Ah, the good old JFK position."

I was puzzled so she explained, "She got in the back of the car and grabbed hold of your head while you splattered all over her."

"Quite. Well, the Chief was telling us to get further embedded within the community. I was just complying with orders."

"So, she dropped something and while she was bent over, you took advantage and slipped in there."

"Dropped what?" I was confused.

"Her standards."

Jo always was a smart-ass. We kept up the banter as colleagues do for the rest of the shift; there are few secrets amongst cops who have to spend hours together in a car.

When it was time to finish duty, I thought long and hard about where to go. Would I go back to my flat for a lonely night, watching my landlady scrubbing the floors all evening or back to Carol's where there was a reasonable chance of willing pussy?

So Carol's it was then.

She must have been looking out of the window because the door opened as I approached and she was standing there, "Have you eaten?"

I don't normally have a meal at that late hour, but she might. "If you're hungry we could find something, any ideas?"

She lifted her skirt waist-high, showing a complete lack of underclothing. "I'm OK, but you can eat this if you want." The door wasn't even shut yet.

She led the way upstairs and made it all the way to the bedroom this time before assuming the position. Lying on the bed, legs straight up in the air. Then slowly parting her legs.

"As the dentist always says, 'Open wide'." She giggled as her feet nearly touched the mattress on either side. Her skin was smooth and as her labia separated the inner flesh was a delectable pink. It didn't take me long to undress and join her. The scent today was of soap, but the taste was still female.

Carol started to talk about her ex-boyfriend, Not-Bob. "My ex was always pestering me to get married. I didn't want to get married. I was happy just going out, having fun and sex. Do you know what he said to me once? He said, 'If you're not dating to marry, you're dating for heart-break'. What an idiot. I told him straight, 'Actually I'm dating so I can get licked."

She looked me in the eyes "What are you wasting time for, are you going to do your duty or do I have to find some else who will?"

She settled back to relax and as England would have expected, I settled down to do my duty. In fairness she was by far the most appreciative lady I ever met. She moaned, groaned, bit her lip and whimpered. Then when she was finally satisfied, she always made sure that I was as well.

* * *

"Let's go to the beach."

It wasn't that extraordinary a suggestion, the summer was upon us and I had time off work. I'd been seeing Carol for around a month and I was now with her pretty well full time. So we packed towels and costumes and drove to the coast which was only an hour's drive. There were a variety of lovely places to choose from. There were beaches with funfairs, beaches with secluded little corners, beaches with long walks across miles of sand dunes.

Carol wanted the funfair option. Ice-cream and burgers, see and be seen. So we plonked ourselves down on the sand, right in the middle of it all and posed.

She was good at soaking up the admiring gazes of anybody who looked in her direction, particularly from some guys pretending to be engrossed in a game of cricket. Her bikini helped in that regard, bright red and tiny. Barely covering her breasts with string ties, the top was the largest part.