Not Your Routine Traffic Stop

John Dorland pressed his foot down on the break, slowing the car down as he approached his usual stakeout spot and eased his navy blue unmarked police cruiser off the interstate and into a wide truck turnout, backing the rear of the Dodge Charger up under the cover of the maple trees that lined the turnout fifty yards from the edge of the asphalt. He turned off the headlights, leaving the engine idling, and flipped on the dash mounted radar, settling back into his seat for the remainder of his ten hour shift. The amber glow of the cruiser's parking lamps illuminated the late night like a pair of cat eyes, warning all who passed by that he was on the lookout for speeders. He had been patrolling the same isolated 100 mile stretch of Interstate 5 in southern Oregon for the past twelve years and the two-lane straight, flat expanse of asphalt was a prime target area for drivers to rack up traffic violations.

It was two in the morning and there were barely any vehicles on the freeway, even with it being the peak travel season, with the exception of a few semis that rumbled by, their heavy engines breaking up the silence of the night. In his decade plus of service with the state police, he had stopped several speeders, usually letting them off with just a warning and telling them to slow down. He dealt with the few irate assholes that had to give him a hard time about not wanting a ticket to mar their driving record, giving them the ticket anyway along with a notice to appear in court, which usually pissed off the out-of-state drivers. But at this hour in the morning, he was more concerned about catching drunk drivers even though the occasional speeder still tore through under the cover of night.

John had been sitting for an hour and he had only seen one truck pass by and he let out a long breath. It was going to be a long, slow night. He dropped the windows in the cruiser, the slight breeze of the warm summer air blowing in through the car and warming his already sweaty skin. He closed his eyes, resting his head on the headrest, shifting down further in his seat and drawing his knees up to rest on either side of the steering wheel. He stood 6'4" and weighed 250 pounds, all of it muscle and the state issued cars were not big enough for his stature, they wouldn't issue him an SUV no matter how much he insisted, so he had to deal with being uncomfortable and tonight was no different.

To top it off, he had been thinking about his wife all night and his cock was starting to strain behind the fly of his tight uniform trousers, having gone without a decent fuck for five days. His wife was out of town visiting her ill sister and wasn't expected to be home anytime soon. He had to resort to jacking off but there was only so much satisfaction his fist could give him. And as the mental picture of his wife's breasts popped into his head, his cock throbbed in his trousers and he lifted his hips off the seat, reaching down to adjust his aching cock in his boxer briefs to a more comfortable position, pushing it to the side so it rested against his thigh instead of against his swollen cum-filled testicles. If he didn't get fucked soon he was going to go crazy.

******

Vivienne McMillan sped down the remote section of Interstate 5 in the late evening, the Porsche quickly eating up the asphalt as the needle on the speedometer vibrated against the 105 mph mark. She had two days to get back to Los Angeles and a traffic accident just outside of some small Podunk town in southern Washington had her sitting in gridlock for more than four hours. She had become infuriated at the catcalls she had received while sitting in traffic with the top down on her Carrera. She had dressed to travel, not draw attention to herself but when she looked down at her attire she couldn't help but notice why she was receiving all the unwanted attention. At 5'11" and weighing 120 pounds with astonishing measurements of 34D-24-35 she was all legs and breasts. Her long hair was twisted up in a windblown knot, it usually fell down around her breasts to hide their size, but it was hot and she had the top down on her Porsche, and her hair was less likely to get snarls that way. Her short white shorts rode high on her sleek tanned thighs and her huge breasts strained behind the thin cups of her demi bra, pushing up and over the V-neck of her cropped white tank top, showing off an ample amount of cleavage and the sheer floral edge of her turquoise bra. She seriously thought about chucking her four inch Jimmy Choo's at the man in the Ford pickup truck sitting next to her who insisted on her climbing in with him and giving him a blow job in traffic and the more she ignored him, the worse his comments got.

When the road crew finally had the overturned semi out of the freeway and traffic started to move, Vivienne flipped the crude man off and floored the accelerator, leaving the man sitting with his dick in his hand and unable to catch up with her, her car much faster that his beat up truck. Traffic had started to dissipate on the freeway as the sun started to set and she settled back in her seat, sliding a Matchbox 20 CD into the player and cranking up the volume. She cruised along at a high rate of speed, staying in the passing lane and keeping her eyes out for police cruisers. She made pretty good time and as the sun disappeared completely and the stars came out under the warm summer evening, she made even better time, enjoying the wind blowing through her hair as she maneuvered down the open road, her eyes constantly watching the lane in front of her as her Porsche tore down the asphalt. She couldn't help but think about the man's crude advances, she hadn't been fucked decently in over a month, but his toothless grin had her wishing she was back in California.

She blew past an open stretch of interstate, never seeing the amber lights of the car parked under the trees.

******

The radar on the dash buzzed loudly, bringing John out of his daydreams. The triple red digits were frozen on the LED screen and he pushed himself back up into his seat, reaching for his seatbelt as he shifted the car into gear, flipping on the headlights. A speeder. So much for his boring night. He eased the cruiser onto the asphalt and punched the accelerator, the Charger's heavy duty engine taking him from zero to seventy in five seconds flat. He could see the blur of red taillights in the distance and he stepped down further on the gas, his adrenaline pumping through his veins as the needle of the speedometer quickly inched towards the 115 mph mark. Shit, this guy was fast. As he got closer, he recognized the shape of the taillights, a Porsche Carrera. It was built for speed but his car was built for the pursuit. When he was a quarter mile behind the speeding car, he flipped on the takedown lights, the red and blue strobes hidden in the cruiser's grille lighting up the night.

John eased off the accelerator as the brake lights came on the Porsche, tailing the car for another quarter mile before the turn signal was flipped on, the speeding car finally easing off the side of the road in a wide turnout, the headlights pointed towards the bank of trees. He turned the cruiser off the asphalt, the gravel crunching under the tires as he rolled to a stop behind the expensive silver car. The headlights and flashing strobes reflected off the California plates and the first thought that leapt into his head was the expensive ticket he was going to write the idiot who wasn't aware of the state traffic laws for driving over 100 mph.

He started to reach for his mic clipped to his shoulder to call in his location with the 12-30 and quickly released the button as he caught sight of the mahogany haired woman sitting behind the wheel of the Porsche. He didn't usually have as much trouble with women drivers, they grumbled and groaned a little as they took the citation they were issued, some even offered sexual advances, and that just pissed him off even more and he jacked up the price of their ticket. Things could get hairy, though, and he might need backup, but he doubted it. Another trooper was too far up the road for assistance.

John reached for his flashlight on the dash and his citation book on the seat and climbed out of the cruiser, straightening to his full height and stretching the kinks from his back, walking across the gravel to the car, his flashlight poised above his shoulder as he approached the driver, looking down at the woman sitting behind the wheel. The high beam of the flashlight illuminated the inside of the car and the woman squinted against the brightness, temporarily blinding her and giving him a chance to look her and the inside of the car over. Her glossy brown hair was pinned up on the back of her head in a sloppy windblown knot. Her large breasts were forced upwards by her bra and they strained behind the low cut clinging fabric of her tank top, her gumdrop-sized nipples were as hard as bullets from the wind that blew across them and pushed indecently against the material of her top. He shined the beam down a little lower, taking in the rest of her, eyeing her shorts that rode high on her legs, giving him a clear view of their long, toned length but not of her crotch, it was concealed under the denim. She had a body to die for and the most beautiful face he had ever seen. He felt his cock twitch in his tight uniform trousers, reminding him that he was still alive and in need of a fuck. "License and registration please, Miss."

Shit, Vivienne thought, this was the last thing she needed, a speeding ticket. She hadn't realized she was driving so fast, her car cruising along steadily at the fast speed like anybody else's did at fifty. She let out a frustrated breath. She was already running behind and now this. She reached over and dug her license out of her pocket book and leaned over in her seat to fish her registration out of her glove box, her shorts dipping low on her hips as she dug around inside for the piece of paper the officer was demanding. "How fast was I going?"

John moved the beam of his flashlight, first directing it at the woman's huge breasts, they were a lot bigger than his wife's, and then to the deep cleavage between, down the length of her back to the bare expanse of skin between her tank top and the waistband of her shorts that dipped even lower exposing the flowery triangle of her turquoise g-string at the crack of her ass. He bit back a groan. His wife never wore skimpy undies. "I clocked you doing one twenty in a sixty-five mile per hour zone, Miss."

Vivienne sat back in her seat and reached over the door frame, holding the pieces of identification out to the man. She squinted against the beam of his flashlight again and lowered her gaze, her eyes focusing on the considerable bulge behind the fly of his tight navy blue uniform trousers and the hardness of his splayed thighs. She let her gaze travel higher up his body to his pale blue uniform shirt pulled taut over his ballistic vest and the wide expanse of his shoulders and further upwards to his handsome face with its chiseled features. She couldn't make out the color of his eyes, but with his short cropped blonde hair, she would bet anything that they were blue. The brass tag over his shirt pocket said J. Dorland and there were two chevrons on his sleeves over his bulging biceps.

"I'll be right back, Ms. McMillian," he said, walking away.

Vivienne looked out her side mirror as he walked across the gravel, catching a glimpse of his solid frame in the beams of the flashing red and blue lights of the cruiser. She let out a low whistle, watching as he leaned against the side of his car as he called in her license for any wants or warrants, knowing he wouldn't find any. The man was tall, well over the six foot mark, and weighed a good two fifty, all of it muscle. Her eyes couldn't help but fall on his tight ass in those tight uniform trousers. Who said uniforms weren't sexy was full of shit. At least she wasn't getting held back by a pudgy balding cop. She shifted in her seat as he started to walk back towards her, looking out the windshield so he wouldn't know she'd been ogling his physique.

"Out of the car, Miss. You're under arrest," John ordered.

"What!" Vivienne exclaimed, glaring up at him even as she squinted against the brightness of his flashlight. "I can't be under arrest. All I was doing was speeding."

He shifted his stance; one had resting on the butt of his pistol on his right hip, the left hand still grasping the blinding flashlight. "You broke the traffic laws. A thousand dollars for the first one hundred miles and twenty five for each addition mile over. It's my duty to incarcerate you for thirty days, impound your car and confiscate your license. You can voice your complaint to the judge. Now out of the car."

Vivienne couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was absolutely absurd. No one got arrested for speeding. She would gladly pay the fine but she wasn't going to spend a single night in jail. "You've got to be kidding me," she said as she pushed her door open and climbed out of the car, teetering in her high heels in the loose gravel. Her four-inch heels put her just an inch under his height and she met his blue gaze with her own. The look on his face was serious. "Can't you just give me the ticket? I'm sure we can work something out. Do you have to arrest me?"

"Lady, I don't kid about the law. Now over to the cruiser." John watched as she walked in the turquoise blue four inch fuck-me shoes, teetering in the loose gravel. His eyes moved over the length of her long, tanned legs, up over the swell of her ass and the curve of her hips, the turquoise string of her panties peeking out an inch over the waistband of her white denim short shorts. Only a rich bitch would match the color of her shoes with the color of her underwear. With every exaggerated sway of her hips, his cock hardened to the point of pain, the pressure of it straining behind his fly almost unbearable as it throbbed for freedom. Her body was screaming "fuck me" and his cock was screaming "let me at her". "Put your hands on the hood."

Vivienne slapped her palms down on the hot hood of the car, the darkness of the night surrounding her as the bright beam of the flashlight was shut off and sat down on the hood of the car against the windshield. She would go along with his little game, but once they got back to the station, one call to her lawyer and she would have his corporal stripes and his badge. She felt his booted foot kick her feet wider apart and her stilettos drug through the loose gravel. "Watch it; those are four hundred dollar shoes!"

"Disrespect for authority. That's another ticket," John said as he kicked her feet wider apart in sheer meanness, the gravel cutting into the spiky heels of her shoes. Teach her to piss him off. Her legs were spread eagle, her hands planted on the hood of the car her only means for support, the things she called shoes providing very little traction in the loose gravel. Her barely clad ass was sticking straight up in the air and wiggling back and forth as she tried to keep her balance. "I have to pat you down. Are you hiding any weapons?"

She straightened up, whirling around to face him. She looked down at herself and then up to him. "Are you shitting me? Where could I hide a weapon in this outfit?"

"I said, keep your hands on the car!" he yelled, grabbing hold of her arm and turning her back around. This one was going to have to be taught a lesson on respect for the law. He flattened his hand to the small of her back and pushed her forward, her hips hitting the hard wheel well of the car as his anger mounted. "Swearing at a state trooper, that's another fine. Would you like to add solicitation to the long list of traffic violations?"

Vivienne struggled against his hold, her hips twisting against the car as her elbow made sharp contact with his vest over his ribs. There was no getting away from his strong hold. He had the upper hand and she could see he was going to abuse it to the fullest.

"Striking a law enforcement officer. That's a misdemeanor."

"Hey, get your hands off me," she screamed into the night as the hand that was holding her back clamped around her neck, pressing her face into the hot hood of the car, burning her cheek. No one could hear her screams in the stillness of the night. Even the occasional semi that blew past paid no heed to the flashing red and blue light of the cruiser. She was helpless.

Vivienne started to panic. She struggled against him, twisting, trying to kick at him but with no avail, he was standing between her legs and much, much stronger than her. "Let go of me, you bastard, I know my rights! A female officer is supposed to be present when you arrest a female!" she screamed as her arm was twisted behind her back and the cold metal of his handcuff was tightly secured around her wrist. She still struggled as he twisted her other arm back, securing the second cuff around her wrist, completely immobilizing her. She could feel his muscled thigh as he shoved it between her legs, pressing into her crotch and holding her pinned to the metal of the car's fender. Her breasts were flattened against the hood of the cruiser and she could feel the heat of the engine radiate into her chest, as she gasped for breath. "You're an asshole, you know that!"

"Resisting arrest. And that's Trooper, you little bitch," John hissed in her ear as he bent over her back, keeping her pressed into the unyielding steel of the car's frame. His hips pressed strongly against her ass, the length of his hard cock situated between the cotton covered cheeks of her ass, throbbing for release. He thrust hard against her, wedging his cock deeper between the crack of her ass, letting her know he had more than just a loaded gun that he could use on her. "You lost your rights the second you decided to speed through my state." He pulled her back up with a hand curved around the back of her neck. "Now hold still, you little rich bitch, and spread those fucking legs."

Vivienne gasped at the feel of his throbbing dick pressed against her ass. He had a fucking erection! He was enjoying himself. Her anger mounted, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath she drew. She decided a little cooperation wouldn't hurt, and then maybe he would lessen his hold on her. She widened her stance. "Just get the damn frisking over with," she said with a huff, tossing back her head.

John hissed under his breath and kicked her legs wider; putting her back in the spread eagle position he had her in before. He felt his cock throb in his trousers at the sight of her lush ass before him, those heels of hers thrusting her ass high in the air. He placed his hands on her bare waist, noticing that it was a hell of a lot smaller than his wife's as he slid his hands higher up her sides, his fingertips catching under the hem of her cropped tank top, taking it along with them as he groped her sides, not knowing exactly what he would find against smooth bare skin. He shoved her top up, ignoring her protest as his hands came closer to her breasts. He pushed her bra up, the under-wires of the cups dragging hard over her nipples as they hardened into tight buds of flesh even more in the warm summer air as his long fingers bunched the bra and top up under her restrained arms. Her huge breasts bounced on her chest from the motion, swaying against her ribs. He grabbed hold of her firm breasts, filling his hands with the sheer size of them, squeezing them as he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She had nice tits. Real, not those silicone ones the rich chicks usually had. "What are these? Ds?" He asked as his hands mauled her breasts, squeezing and tugging on them even more, pushing her breasts up from her ribs and he handled their entire weight. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until they were extremely hard.