Happy to be Handcuffed

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A tough female cop has a steamy encounter on the job.
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Officer Kate Mangam awoke, alone, to the sound of her alarm.

The day started as any other. She rose, brushed her teeth, showered, let her straight brunette hair air-dry as she sipped a coffee and read the newspaper, frowning at the print. She ate two slices of wheat toast with strawberry jam.

Back upstairs in her room, she pulled on her uniform. Crisp and fresh from the laundry, it hugged her body and as always, she admired the effect -- stern, austere, yet not unflattering. She pulled her hair into her usual tight pony tail and brushed on just a touch of makeup. A bit of rouge, a few strokes of mascara. It made her feel feminine, although she doubted anyone else could see the difference. She pinned on her badge and straightened it in the mirror, then finally, removed her service weapon from beneath lacy panties and bras in her underwear drawer, and clipped it to her belt.

It was a quiet day at the station. She punched in, had another cup of coffee, and caught up on some paperwork. When the clock struck 11 am, she collected her keys and headed out to the cruiser. It was a Wednesday morning, and she had a quiet beat, just circling the streets of a not-so-great, but not-too-bad neighborhood where there was rarely any excitement. If she was lucky, she might catch a few blown stop signs or an illegal left turn. The sort of stuff that paid the bills, but not exactly why she'd decided as a nine-year-old girl to become a cop.

Her mind went quiet as she drove along the all-too-familiar streets, the silence inside her car punctuated intermittently by the crackle of static on her radio. Without realizing it, her thoughts began drifting toward him. She could almost feel his strong hands on her body, the exquisite contrast of his rough, calloused hands on the delicate, soft flesh of her breasts and ass, his coarse fingertips pinching her nipples until she cried out--

"Fuck!" she said aloud, gritting her teeth at this momentary lapse in self-control. He was her last boyfriend, Adam Marzetti. A fireman, a tough guy, and how she'd loved his bulging muscles, olive skin and silky dark hair. He was all sinew and the smell of smoke, and he could make her come like no one else she'd ever known. Again and again, panting and moaning hour after hour. He'd been strong, and quiet, and sexy as hell, just how she liked them. He never bought her flowers or took her out to dinner, he just showed up when she wanted him and fucked her until she was spent, every nerve tingling with pleasure.

He was the perfect man for her, all right. And he was married. The day she'd finally stopped pretending not to know had been so bittersweet. She was happy to be the one to end it, proud to have finally worked up the nerve to tell him that she knew, deep down, that he was nothing more than a two-timing jerk. It had felt good to throw his stuff on the sidewalk and tell him she never wanted to see him again. But the second he was gone, she missed him, and she'd missed him ever since. All of eight months later, she still missed him.

I just need to get laid, she told herself. That's all he'd been to her, after all. No Prince Charming, but one hell of a lay.

A new burst of static and a crackly voice on the radio brought her back to reality. "Officer Mangam, come in. We've got a situation a few blocks away from you."

Finally, a distraction. She picked up her radio and cleared her throat, and was relieved to hear that her voice was all business when she answered.

"Mangam here, what's the deal?"

"Just a couple of low lifes beating each other up outside the Happy Hours Tavern on 5th and Stewart."

"Any weapons I should be aware of?"

"Not that we've been informed of. The bartender said it's just a couple of drunks who got in a tussle. It shouldn't be anything you can't handle, but call for backup right away if it escalates."

"Got it. I'll take care of it. Over."

Gratefully, she felt her razor-sharp cop instincts flood through her brain, washing away all that silly girly bullshit. She put on her flashing lights and turned down Smith. Happy Hours Tavern was a classic shithole, the kind of dive that actually advertised the fact that it opened at 7 am every day. It was a breeding ground for scumbags, mostly harmless, but all too often she'd recognize some shitheads there she'd busted before on domestic violence calls.

As she pulled up to the bar, she saw the fight immediately. Two guys were wrestling with each other, one shirtless, the other wearing a grimy button-down that had seen better days. She reached out and hit the button to turn on her siren. Right away, the man wearing a shirt looked up with a terrified expression, then wrenched himself from his assailant's grip, turned tail and took off running.

"Shit." She grabbed her radio and called dispatch again. "I'm here, I won't be needing backup, but one guy got away," she said quickly. "He just took off running down Stewart and headed north on 4th. He's wearing a gray button-down shirt, appears to be about 50 years old, balding. See if you can get someone to pick him up, and I'll see what's going on with this other guy."

"Copy," came the bored-sounding reply.

She got out of the car, her hand cautiously hovering near her gun. The second man was sitting on the sidewalk, looking subdued. His back was facing her; she couldn't help but notice its fine musculature-- not a common sight with the sort of drunk criminals she usually dealt with at this joint. She approached him slowly, but he startled her by standing suddenly and facing her.

"Hands above your head!" she barked at him, quickly choking down her reaction as his deep blue eyes locked onto her own.

He certainly did not look like the typical loser she was expecting to encounter. He was drunk, that was clear, but his penetrating eyes had a clarity she was not used to seeing from this type. He had a slimmer build than her fireman, and several days' worth of stubble on his face as well as several bleeding gashes, but his physique was slender and sculpted. She fought to keep her eyes firmly on his own and not let her gaze wander, but she also found it hard to meet his stare.

"What's your name?" she asked, keeping her voice low to maintain an even, controlled tone.

"Jake Frye. F-R-Y-E," he recited, a slightly derisive note in his voice. Like he'd had this conversation many times before and he couldn't be bothered to take this one seriously. "Want to see my license, Officer? I'll have to reach inside my pocket to pull it out."

"No," she replied. She did, of course-- it was her job to immediately identify any suspect-- but she sensed that he felt he was in control of this situation, and she needed that to change. "Why don't you just tell me what's been going on here this morning."

"Just having some fun," he answered, not missing a beat. "Until you showed up, looking so serious. Want to have a drink with me?"

"Not at all," she said, regaining her composure. He was just some slimy drunk after all, just happened to be a little more handsome than most of his ilk. "Did you know the man you were beating up when I arrived?"

"The man I was beating up, eh?" he replied with a wry smile. "More like I was about to get my ass kicked. Did you not notice the blood on my face? Or are you trying to compliment me?"

She ignored the flirtatious comment. "Who started the fight?"

"I did." No hesitation. She wasn't used to this cool attitude. Some perps were intimidated by her and some were aggressive toward her, but this calm, collected demeanor was throwing her off her game. Or maybe it was those piercing blue eyes, or the sexy tousle of his dark hair.

"Why? Did you know him?"

"Nope. Just some fucking asshole," he replied, and spat on the ground. "Stupid of me to start a fight I knew I'd lose, but it was worth it just to punch him in the face. Plus," he smiled wider and looked her square in the eye, "Somehow it ended up with me talking to a beautiful woman, so I guess I didn't make out too badly."

Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush -- she knew it was unavoidable as she felt her cheeks begin to burn. How could a corny line from a drunk loser make her lose her composure like this? Angrily, she reached to her belt and grabbed her handcuffs.

"Maybe wait to count your blessings until you're back at the station sitting in a cell," she retorted finally. "Hands behind your back please, Mr. Frye."

The guy's face fell into a slight scowl, but he obliged with a terse "Yes, ma'am." She stepped behind him, grabbed his wrists roughly and cuffed each one with quick, sure motions, allowing herself to appreciate the taut curve of the muscles in his arms and the masculine brush of hair that lay across his skin. "Sure you wouldn't rather just get that drink?" He said as she worked, leaning back slightly so that his arm pressed against hers. "You look like you could use a little relaxation." She caught a whiff of his scent, the cigarette smoke smell of the dive bar mixed with the not unpleasant odor of the sweat on his bare skin. The closeness of his body to hers sent an inexplicable thrill through her.

She moved up to face him again. "Are you carrying a weapon?"

"No, ma'am."

"I'll need to search you." She stepped up close and pressed her hands against the sides of his ribcage, sliding them deliberately down the sides of his torso, feeling its sculpted lines under her firm touch. He never took his eyes from her face, that wry smile back on his. She knelt and felt the length of each leg, then up over his ass. "Where's your ID?"

"In my front left pocket, Officer."

They exchanged a charged look that left her almost dizzy with a surge of desire. She slid her hand slowly but confidently into his left pocket, brazenly continuing after she felt the wallet, extending her reach just until her fingers brushed the warm bulge and could clearly feel him begin to harden through the few thin layers of fabric separating him from her touch. He breathed in sharply, finally showing a crack in his composure.

Smiling to herself, she played it off with strict professionalism, pulling his wallet out of her pocket and taking out his ID, examining it briefly. The license photo showed a polished man with a fresh shave, tailored haircut and sharp button-down shirt, a dialed-up version of his charming smile on his face. It was obviously the same man, but she wondered how the well-dressed businessman in the photo had come to be drunk, shirtless and fighting on the street at noon on a Wednesday. Though to be honest, she wasn't sure which version she found more attractive -- the stubble gave his face a rugged look, and the sheen of sweat on his chest was turning her own more every moment she was around him.

"Jake Frye, of 250 Woodbury Ave, Apartment B. Get in the car, please." She slid his wallet and ID into her pocket and grabbed him by the arm, guiding him into the backseat of her cruiser.

Shutting the door behind him, she returned to the driver's seat and took a deep, stabilizing breath before turning on the ignition. Even so, she could barely focus on driving. He sat quietly in the back, but she could feel him looking at her in the rearview mirror, could sense his presence behind her and the palpable tension in the stuffy air of the police car.

She knew what she was going to do, and her veins coursed with excitement and the delicious thrill of its wrongness. She headed away from the police station, driving a few blocks down to a quiet street far from the hustle and bustle of lunchtime crowds. He said nothing, even as she turned down a dark, narrow alley and parked. In the mirror, she could see him smiling as she turned the car off and got out.

She opened his door, roughly took him by the arm and pulled him out of the car. Then he was standing there and they were looking at each other, and she felt a sudden, crushing shyness, uncertain of how she should proceed.

"Aren't you going to read me my Miranda rights?" he joked, breaking the ice. By way of response, she grabbed his face and pressed her lips to his. Immediately his mouth parted and his tongue rushed against hers with a passionate thrust. Handcuffed, he couldn't move, but she grabbed his back and sank her fingers into his flesh, pressing her body against his and now feeling his distinctly erect cock against her hip.

Breaking off the kiss with a gasp, she reached down and untucked her shirt, then hurriedly undid the buttons and unsnapped her bra so that her starched, neatly pressed uniform hung around her but her breasts spilled out, her nipples hardening instantly as the coolness of the air touched them.

She grabbed his head and guided it down to her chest. His lips closed around one of her nipples and she arched her back with exhilaration as he sucked it, gently but firmly. He drew the taut, sensitive flesh between his teeth slowly and then gave it a nip that sent a glorious rush through her body, making her moan.

He moved his head back up and kissed her again, breathlessly. "Come on Officer, you can't show me those amazing tits of yours and not let me feel them in my hands. Can we lose these handcuffs? I promise I won't try to escape."

She laughed, finally beginning to relax in his presence. "Okay, if you behave." She pulled out her key and unlocked the cuffs. No sooner had they clattered to the ground than he was all over her, grasping her around the hips and pushing her back against the brick wall. He took her breasts in two overflowing handfuls and rubbed his thumbs hard against her nipples.

He bent down to press his face in her tits again, this time sliding his hands down the smooth skin of her abdomen and hooking his fingers into her belt. Anxious with anticipation, she grabbed at her belt and undid it, and he quickly buttoned her pants and pulled them down along with her thoroughly soaked panties. His fingers reached her pussy and he grunted. "You are so fucking wet," he murmured appreciatively.

"Taste it," she said, her tone somehow at once the authoritarian cop and a giddy schoolgirl.

He moved his face forward and she sucked in a breath as she felt his lips on her hot, wet folds. His tongue flicked out across her clit and she grabbed his hair in her fists, tilting her head back and gasping as pleasure shot through her. He obviously knew how to please a woman and went at it with relish. Her chest heaved and she grinded her pelvis against him as he licked and sucked in equal measure, building her up closer and closer to a release.

She could count on one hand the number of times she'd been able to cum from cunnilingus, and was utterly overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation that gripped her from head to toe as she approached her climax. Her eyes squeezed shut involuntarily and she felt every muscle in her body clench as she finally reached the brink and then burst across it with a long, loud exhalation that was nearly a scream of ecstasy. For a moment she completely forgot where she was and who she was with. Awash with pleasure, she leaned against the wall, panting.

But when she opened her eyes and saw him standing, now fully naked, in front her, reality came flashing back with a delicious rush. Where she had been completely satiated a mere second before, at the sight of his huge erection and gorgeous naked body, she was again overcome with a raging desire. She took his cock in her hands and stroked all the way up the shaft to the dark, curly hair at its base, then leaned down and gave it a long, slow lick just to feel him shudder and throb in her grasp.

"Oh my god." His voice was low and sensual, nearly a growl. "I need to fuck you. I have to feel that tight, wet--" his voice broke into a moan as she pushed her body forward and slid the head of his dick inside her. He was large and thick, but she was so turned on and ready that he thrust effortlessly inside her, shooting a rush of tingling pleasure through her as he filled her with every inch of his rock-hard member.

They quickly found a slow and hard rhythm, his cock pulling almost completely out and then slamming back inside of her again and again, picking up speed as she gripped his back tightly and moaned. She felt herself starting to cum again and thought vaguely that she should hold it off, but before she could stop herself she was crying out again, pressing her breasts tightly against his chest as he thrust and thrust, sending more shockwaves of ecstasy through her body.

As soon as she was done, he pulled out, turned her around and bent her over the hood of her own police cruiser. He caressed her ass and then slid his hands up to grasp her hips as she felt the head of his dick again pressing its way inside her. The metal of the car hood was hot and hard against her flesh but she barely noticed, focusing only on the cadence of his penetration, again increasing in speed and intensity until his thighs were slapping hard against her ass with every thrust and finally he was squeezing her tightly and moaning as he came. She felt his cock convulsing as he spent his load again and again.

Finally he let out a deep sigh and pulled out as he stepped back. He grabbed her up in his arms and kissed her again, softly this time. She smiled at him as they both looked at each other, their hearts pounding, both unsure of what to say as they caught their breath.

Then, unexpectedly, he broke into a laugh. "I don't even know your name."

She couldn't help but laugh too. "It's Kate. Kate Mangam."

"Well, Officer Kate, what happens now? Did you just arrest me to give me the best fuck I've had in years, or are you really taking me to jail?"

She gave him a teasing look, making him wait for the answer. "I'll say that I questioned you, but when I attempted to identify you, you were able to escape and run away. As the conflict had ended and I did not consider you a danger, I did not consider it worthwhile to give chase. And as for the fuck, I think I'll leave that off the official report." She shrugged. "So you're free to go. Get out of here before I change my mind."

As she headed back to the station, once more completely looking the part of law enforcement professional, she couldn't help but giggle to herself. The whole thing already felt like a dream. Then, getting out of her cruiser when she parked at the station, she felt his wallet still in her pocket.

Guess I should probably return this, she thought with a smile. Well, she knew where he lived. And she definitely wouldn't mind seeing him again.

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sandymonroesandymonroeabout 10 years ago

Nicely played, dear!

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