Hot Karl

"No," Karl explained patiently, laying the trembling creature on my hasty little nest of moving blankets. "I, like, just put her in there." He smiled at me, his face looking rakish in the blue-lights. "I was right. She's a doe."

"And, fortunately," I added, still trying to sound cool, "you have a way with the does." Karl patted the deer on the head, then straightened up and regarded me coolly. "Sorry."

"No. That was funny." My whole body shook, then, as he smiled at me. I felt like Barbie, only shorter and with a wider ass. He shut the hatchback as gently as he could. "Okay. Let's climb in. I'll text Dr Jacks."

"Awesome." I had my usual difficult time climbing up; black, smoked-out SUVs with badass sirens and mean-looking logos look intimidating as hell, but when you're an even five feet tall, they can be a challenge. I tried not to stare at his sharp-nosed face as he slid fluidly into my passenger seat; I couldn't believe I was about to take a drive with Hot Karl, the superstud of LET-C Class 50-6. "So. This Dr Jacks? Who's she?"

"She runs an animal shelter down in Glenview. Really out in the boonies. She specializes in large game and raptors, but she'll take anyone, like Kelly said." I threw the rig into gear and crunched smoothly off down the road, avoiding my tendency to lead-foot. "She was right. Lynn will do a full-court-press on this doe." I caught motion out of the corner of my eye as he glanced over at me. "She was also right that that deer will take a dump in the back of your vehicle."

"Meh." I flapped a dismissive arm, thinking about his partner and her hostility. "Kelly? That's Luchese's name?" I made myself smile. "She seems nice."

"She got me the job," he shrugged. He hesitated, texting. "Family connection, sort of," he added quietly.

"Ah." I knew the story. There are always people in any department who know people. "Dude, you were almost at the top of the class at the Lettuce. I doubt you needed the help," I probed.

"Yeah, I got a few offers." He glanced at his phone again. "Turn right up here on 118. She's about ten miles away." He craned around to see what the doe was up to, but the back seat blocked his view. "Do you keep up with any of the old 50-6 crew, Weber?"

"Hell no. Except Cole? He and I got hired together, but he's on the corrections track."

"Oh! That's right." He licked his lips. "Sheriffs. I kind of assumed all of you guys did corrections."

"No. I mean, not really." I took the right onto 118 without jerking the wheel. "It's weird. They offer promotions and more pay for people to work in the county jail, but they can barely get enough bodies. So patrol-track deputies are on call one week a month to backfill, if they need to." I settled in for the drive, my blues still flashing. "I end up in the jail, oh, three days a month? It's overtime, too, so it's not the end of the world."

"Well, yeah," he pointed out softly, "but it's corrections. You never struck me as someone who'd want that."

"Oh, I'm not. At all." Ahead of me, a few kids in a convertible wavered in the lane as they noticed me in their rearview mirror, then dived for the shoulder. I caught pale faces and wide eyes as we surged past. "In reality, it's only a couple years. Pretty soon I'll have enough seniority that I can take myself off the on-call list, as long as the department keeps hiring."

"That makes sense." He shifted in the seat. "I love Fish and Game. Being a game warden is great. Lots of quiet. Solitude."

"Not really a lot of law enforcement, though, right?" I bit my lip, hoping that didn't come out as offensively as I suspected it might. "Like, day-to-day?"

"Well, it's a lot of licensing violations. And it's a really interesting set of traffic policies for off-road use." He checked his phone again. "Marijuana operations deep in the valleys up there," he added, gesturing. The mountains now loomed to our front. "So there's a little bit of tactical response stuff there. And a lot of search and rescue. It's pretty diverse, really."

"Mmhmm." I was trying to mind the road, but he was such a distraction. I could smell him by now, deep and manly. I figured I'd be sniffing the doe soon, too, but not yet. I'd wanted to fuck Karl so badly back at the Lettuce, and I'd been in good company. I would have put out for him right now, right here on Route 118, with a hurt animal shitting up the back of my rig. "Right."

"We do four days at Ray Peak Park, 24/7, at the ranger station there. It's peaceful. It's why Kelly and I were able to get to you so fast." I bit my tongue. I didn't think 15 minutes was so fast. "You stay up there the whole time. Then it's two days off, then four days on 9-5 patrol in the truck. Then two more off."

I nodded. "Sounds... idyllic." I paused. "Four days with your Senior Warden Luchese. She seems like she'd be a great... um, companion? In a secluded cabin in the wilderness?" I started humming "Love Shack." "You guys ever, like, get it on?"

He said nothing, and I knew at once that I'd fucked something up. Royally. "Aw, you know," he sighed. "It's a lot of fun. Horse patrols, mostly just helping hikers. A lot of times, I'm there myself. Kelly has supervisory responsibilities, so she's away a lot of the time."

"Oh," I said weakly.

"I take extra shifts up there sometimes." He glanced over at me. "Sometimes we run SAR classes for other departments."

"SAR." I snapped my fingers. "Right. Search and rescue. I think we send people up there for your guys' seminars sometimes." I gulped, scrambling to regain my lost mojo. "I had no idea you taught those."

"Me and a bunch of other wardens. It's a rotation." He glanced out the window. "So, other than Cole, you hear from anybody else lately?"

Aww. Such a nice guy, offering me a change of subject. Someone had raised Karl right. "Not really. I think a lot of them got gigs down out of the mountains, like in Seaborne. Adams. South Side. I know Meghan Benjamin's a sheriff over in Geffen County."

"Yeah." He nodded. "I remember her. And Kurt Minifield. My roommate Matt, Matt Crossfield."

"Huh. I forgot he was your roommate." I kept my eyes straight ahead and decided I should discourage any discussion of Crossfield, who'd fucked me from behind one day in a supply closet. He'd been a disappointment. "I wonder what's happened to all of them," I mused. "Wonder if any have gotten killed."

"No. We'd have heard." Karl sounded certain. He picked his phone back up. "What's your number?"

"Uh. Do what, now?" Jesus motherfucking Christ. Karl Jacobsen wanted my digits! Was it possible he wanted a date? My brain immediately began making plans to ditch my boyfriend.

"Your phone number," he replied calmly. "I'll text you back, then you'll have mine. That way, next time you have a wildlife issue, you can just get ahold of me directly."

"Oh." I hoped I didn't sound too disappointed as I reeled off my digits. "Feel free to call anytime. Like, even for coffee or whatever," I added lamely. He just stared at me. "If you want."

He spoke once more into a thick silence. "It's just up here. Next right."

* * *

"Dispatch, this is Unit 4. Show me on a break. Like, 10-7." I stared over at Craig's streetlit apartment building and contemplated my sodden panties. "Twenty minutes, if that's okay? Over."

My radio paused, considering, then squawked to life. "Unit 4, roger. Let us know when you're RTD. Out."

When I slid out of my rig in the middle of my shift it still smelled like deer shit and Karl Jacobsen, though to be fair the shit was stronger. I'd scrubbed the cargo area out at Dr Jacks' place while Karl filled out paperwork inside, and it was Karl I was thinking about as I locked the rig and strode toward the glass door to Craig's complex without even pausing to twitch my belt more comfortably. I mashed the little button next to his mailbox. "Yeah?" came his voice, all tinny like it usually was over the intercom.

"It's me. Colleen. Buzz me up."

The machine let out a high-pitched ring, up around the edge of hearing, as he paused. "Oh. Babe, I thought we were going out tomorrow."

"We are," I grated. "Let me in." Another pause, my teeth grinding at each other, while my pussy just got wetter. I started to get very hot all of a sudden, the vest and belt and boots feeling like prisons. I pressed Craig's button again, but of course the line was already open; nothing happened. "Craig!"

"Okay," he said at last. "Hang on." The little click from the glass door made me jump, my whole body at a fever pitch, and I was chopping straight through toward the courtyard before he'd even gotten his hand off his phone. His place was on the first floor, back, on the left, and I wondered vaguely what his neighbors would hear.

Not that I cared.

He was just opening his door as I reached it. "Hi, babe," he managed, looking like I'd just woken him up, but I was already barging through the door like those Delta Force guys in that Somalia movie. "Um. I thought you were working tonight?"

"Yeah. I am." I didn't often do things like this, sweeping into his apartment at any time, let alone in the middle of a graveyard shift. But I was in need. "Shut the door, Craig. This won't take long." He watched as I tossed my hat onto his sofa; definitely, I'd woken him up. What was the matter with him? I mean, I get that I work odd hours, but he was 26 and it was only a little past midnight. He should be able to go all night. If he couldn't, what was the point in dating younger men? "Get naked."

"Aw, babe." He watched as I took my belt off, more carefully than my hat; wouldn't do to break the radio or the bodycam transmitter or any of that stupid shit. "Right now?"

"What the fuck?" Hell yes, right now, and if he couldn't get it up, he could do the job with his fingers. I was so wet it would hardly make a difference anyway. "Come on. I'm on break," I pressed, my hands working the buttons on the brown shirt. My nipples pushed hard against my trauma plate, like Superman trying to shove through a brick wall, and my boyfriend was just standing there by the door. "Come on!" I barked.

Karl Jacobsen wouldn't stand there like some nerd at the Prom, not while I was undressing so feverishly. Karl Jacobsen would be nude and hard. Karl Jacobsen would be behind me already. Taking me. A stallion breeding a mare in heat. Karl Jacobsen probably had an eight-inch cock with balls to match.

"Okay." Craig licked his lips, watching as I whipped off the Velcro tabs and got my body armor off. I gasped with relief as my tits began to recover, still held tight by my extra-strength athletic bra, but nothing was worse than that chest plate. He was stepping over at last, adjusting his package through the hole in the front of his boxers. Craig had a nice enough dick, I reflected often, but right now I needed it to be better than nice enough. I needed it to be a monster, a fucking python.

I needed it to be inside me.

"Sit down," I demanded, my trembling fingers pushing desperately at the tight uniform pants. I'd forgotten the boots, I realized with a low and savage curse, those high shiny dominatrix-y boots they liked the sheriffs to wear, the ones that made me look so sexy on the job. "Get it up," I added venomously.

Karl Jacobsen wouldn't need to be told.

The boot came slipping off slowly, my other foot stomping desperately at the heel as Craig sprawled on his couch next to my gunbelt. He was smiling, at least, I reflected, dragging my foot out of the smelly leather with my pants around my knees. I risked a glance at my crotch and saw a spreading stain there. "I'll need to change my underwear, too," I grated.

"Jesus." He twisted around to look at me after he'd taken off his shirt. "You're fucking horny as hell."

"No. Really?" I snarled. I leaned forward as I thrashed my foot out of my trousers, gratified to see his hand down his boxers. "You hard?"

"Getting there." He was still eyeing my crotch. "Goddamn."

"Get there faster," I snapped, my foot coming free at last, and I was dragging those uniform trousers off my still-booted right leg as I came storming around the couch, staggering like Lurch, glaring down at him with all my five-feet-nothing of height. "Move your hand, Craig."

He was looking up at me now, that goofy smile turning into a wide-mouthed look of sheer lust as his eyes clouded over. "I can fucking smell you," he choked out past a thickened tongue. My knees planted themselves on the couch cushions alongside his legs.

"You say the sweetest things," I grunted, reaching down. I knew my nipples were bullets in that harsh bra, the skin above and below it flushed and sweaty. I didn't even want to think about how desperate my face looked. I was a fucking mess, a stinking horny ball of snarling need, my clothes in five different kinds of disarray as my hand crashed into my boyfriend's lap. He jumped when my fingers clutched him. "There it is."

He was fat in there, a burgeoning semi rapidly moving toward the nicely filling erection I'd always been able to coax out of him, and tonight was no exception: he'd overcome his initial shock by now, his hands finding my bare thighs. "You're never like this," he husked, his face straining upward toward mine.

He wanted a kiss, but I wanted an orgasm. And I wanted it from Karl Fucking Jacobsen, dammit, but Craig would work just fine. I drew back. "You don't seem to be objecting," I rumbled, my greedy fingers jacking him crudely through his boxers. His hands ran up and down my legs. He felt hot under there, stiffening even as I tugged at him, both our hips starting to move. "Take it out," I ordered, clawing at my bra; my nipples were really starting to ache.

"Fuck." His eyes lit up, as they usually do, when my boobs flopped out onto my chest, bouncing firmly before they settled in; I've been with many men, and every one of them has loved my tits. He was pushing hard on his boxers, trying to get them down under the grinding pressure of my straddling thighs, but I couldn't have cared less whether he got them all the way off: when I looked down through the deep gully of my cleavage, his cock was jutting stiffly up already, trembling from out of his little blonde bush, his balls hidden between his legs.

I'd seen and sucked and fucked that cock for the better part of a year, and I knew just how to ride it to get myself off. A little dab of precum glimmered at the tip and I, my face scowling, swiped a thumb across the hot velveteen of his head to spread it around. Not that it mattered. I was wet enough for both of us plus a third, and without waiting a moment longer I rose up on my knees over his stringy thighs and the bunched boxers, my hand still holding his penis, and lined myself up quickly.

Craig, always fascinated to watch himself enter me, stapled his eyes to my mound. I hooked a finger deliberately inside my wrecked panties, dragging them off to the side to show him my slit. He was long but not thick, slipping neatly in between my puffed red labia, and there was none of that magical breathless eye-contact lovey-dovey bullshit: I needed to get him in me, so I relaxed my thighs and slid right down his pole without waiting for him to say he loved me.

He'd been doing that increasingly lately.

I sighed hard into his face, his arms searching for my ass, eyes still on my pussy, but I wasn't even paying attention to him. I was busy. I pivoted my hips back, working my ass upward until I felt his hard, hot flesh press tight against the front of my pussy, just behind my screeching clit. I gritted my teeth, pushing back some more, scratching the itch, building the pressure until at last Craig lifted his eyes to mine and I sneered at him. "There," I rasped, my voice heavy. "Just sit there and stay hard. This shit shouldn't take long."

He was still slouched a few moments later, slack-mouthed, with his hands riding my hips and his eyeballs on my chest, when I rose slowly up his dick, scraping it across my clit, playing myself like a cello while my cunt drooled across his thighs, his wadded boxers soaking me up. I felt myself shiver when I topped out, stopping when I felt the bulge under his mushroom head wedge itself between my pussy lips, and when I forced myself back down I made sure his shaft was grinding against my clit every inch of the way.

Craig was my tool now, passive, letting me pleasure myself. I snickered as I fucked him, thinking about the image: my boyfriend as nothing but a prop, a dildo. A Karl-do. That one made me laugh, hard, the gasps gusting out of me even as my hips sped up, swiveling wildly between his disbelieving palms, and with every breathless rise and fall I felt my limbs loosen, my whole body heating up, the pleasure ratcheting higher and higher with each lubricated trip up and down his cock.

His lips pulled back over those donkey-teeth, the ones I'd thought were so cute when we'd first started dating; I'd mainly agreed to go out with him because my girlfriend Shanna had told me those teeth felt "interesting on the clit." That was her phrase, and I'd been curious, and now here I was getting myself off on his confused, quivering dick like he was just some sort of sex toy, albeit one that also came with a paycheck.

"I'm going to cum," I whispered, my voice harsh and strong with coffee; the numb tingle was already on its way from behind my belly button, where his head flared inside me, touching me deep and harsh and wonderful as my pussy frothed his dick and my nipples shuddered hard. My ass was a blur, slamming down onto his thighs then back up, the slap of skin and the smell of sweaty, horny bodies packing every cubic inch of his little living room while the wave crested in my mind.

I'm sure I screamed, the orgasm attacking me savagely, leaving me flailing and weeping on his cock. Craig's hands held me firmly now, finding his own rhythm up into me while my spent body collapsed over his, my forehead pressing up against his neck as he thrust a few times into me and then lost it himself with a cracked little moan.

Not the full-throated roar I figured I'd get from a stud like, say, Karl Jacobsen.

Thank god I'd left a spare set of underwear at Craig's place the week before, I reflected as I stalked back out across his courtyard, my bra all stretched out now under my vest and my gun finally riding where it belonged. Not that it would matter, I realized glumly; I had another few hours in my patrol rig, and that would give his semen plenty of time to leak out and ruin this pair, too.

But I was sated, at least. As I pulled my truck door open, I was barely even thinking about Karl Jacobsen any more. I reached for the radio. "Dispatch, Unit 4, show me 10-8. RTD. Over."

Dispatch sounded amused. "You sure? That was only fourteen minutes, over."

I hiked myself up into the seat and peered at myself in the rearview mirror, checking my hair. "Roger. I'm good. Out."

* * *

"What did you think of Hot Karl today?"

This was a frequent question among the ladies at the Lettuce, or at least the five of us that had been taking the resident course. They'd stuck us in an open bay with ten bunks, so we'd all taken the bottom ones and an extra footlocker and spent our nights sprawled at the study table before lights-out, ignoring the Four Basic Styles of Policing and the Escalation of Force Continuum in favor of discussing our male classmates. Males like Cadet Karl Jacobsen.

The question was almost always followed by snickers: five women, ages 25-32, and only one of us married. The resident course at the Regional Law Enforcement Training Center was fourteen weeks, which is a long time to spend away from your family. Meaning a lot of singles took the course. I was already three years divorced at 28. I giggled.

"Hot Karl." I leaned my had back on the crinkly pillow. "Who came up with that shit? That's brilliant."