The Speeding Ticket

She was late to the party, dammit, and so along that isolated stretch between Hither Hills and Napeague she floored it. The little Audi TT leapt ahead and she felt the pleasurable sensation in her lower back of being pressed firmly against the leather seat; like the emptying sensation of coming close to an orgasm. No cars ahead, no cars behind - it was still early enough in June that there was little traffic. She could smell the sweet salt air and scent of beach plums speeding by; she could take in the red swell of the evening's setting sun over the hills and dunes to the west.

She took a quick look in the mirror - eyes looked good, nicely made up; bright red lipstick to contrast with her little black dress. She knew it was a cliché, that little black dress, but God, it was a Brandon Maxwell strapless velvet dress, easily $4,000 at Bergdorf's, a gift of her late husband only weeks before his unfortunate skydiving death. She shuddered. She smiled. He had gone so quickly, and at perhaps just the right time in their relationship - built up a fortune, daughter in college, and she, 40-something, ready for something new. She knew he'd had various affairs, which made his death a little easier to bear - as had the substantial life insurance policy he'd left for her. New things! She'd cut her blonde hair short, page-boy style; she'd taken up kiteboarding on a vacation to Aruba in March; she'd started hot power yoga at the steamy studio near the apartment.

And she'd found a part-time summer job managing an antique store in Montauk just down the street from her summer rental cottage.. She didn't really have to work, but she was allowing herself the small pleasure of engaging in researching Grueby, Rookwood, and Weller pottery; and seeing the early summer trickle of rich New Yorkers browsing in her store and spending thousands gave her a thrill. She loved to charm them. In her short printed dresses, her pinned-back hair, her thongy sandals, she would flash her famous smile at them and engage in polite, meaningless conversation. And the summer had just begun! There was so much more ahead!

The cool/warm air slipstreaming in the open sunroof was thrilling. There was still the hint of spring and yet the heat of summer was beginning to pulse.. Her bare arms were tickled and goosebumps rose under the fine blonde hair of her forearms. She was already tanned from lying out on her deck and walking along the beach, loving the pounding surf.

"Oh shit," she said, spotting the parked police cruiser behind the big white "LOBSTERS" sign. She braked gently, trying to pretend that she was naturally slowing down instead of letting on that she was panic-braking at the sight of the cop car. She flew by their hiding place and for a second she thought she was in the clear - she'd been doing 70 in a 45 MPH zone - as she saw no movement behind her in the rear view. Then she saw headlights coming on, a red and blue flasher lighting up, and the police car lurched onto the road behind her.

She drove the speed limit as the cruiser quickly came up on her tail and flashed its headlights at her. "Damn," she thought. She looked for a place to pull over and after a couple hundred yards there was a circular dirt driveway next to a closed-up farm stand and so she slowed, signaled, and pulled in next to the empty wagon that would be overflowing with produce in a couple of weeks but now seemed abandoned. She started breathing deeply into her belly, feeling her muscles press out against the expensive material of her dress. She had goosebumps on her thighs as well. At least she hadn't been drinking, she thought; and the one zanax she'd taken earlier wouldn't register on a breath test anyway. She reached for her lipstick and did a quick touch up.

The cruiser pulled in behind her and two men stepped out, their hands on their sidearms. The one on the passenger side held a flashlight, even though it was still not quite sundown. He stayed just behind and to the right of her car as the other officer came up to her window and faced her.

"I'm so sorry, officer," she began. "I just -"

"License and registration please," he intoned. As she reached into her handbag for her license, and rummaged in the glove compartment for the registration, she heard him say "Do you know you were going 30 miles over the speed limit back there?"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize, I was in a hurry and just lost track of the speed and time, I'll never do it again," she said, handing him the papers and her license. Tears sprang suddenly into her eyes, unexpected. She wasn't going to try to manipulate the police officers; she just felt unintentionally emotional. She wiped her eyes.

"Settle down, ma'am," said the officer. "Sit tight," he said, and walked back to the cruiser. She watched him in her rear view mirror: his dark blue pants outlined an ass that, she thought, clearly had been toned through power yoga ... or perhaps surfing, she thought; he wore a dark blue short sleeve shirt and his biceps bulged as well. His sunglasses were propped up on his head of sun-bleached blond hair. She imagined him working out, surfing, running; she imagined him with no shirt in one of her hot yoga classes, sweating freely and dripping on his mat - maybe he'd turn his head and grin at her in downward dog, and she'd admire his washboard abs.

Where did that train of thought come from? She wondered. The officer was back in the cruiser, checking her information against that little laptop they carried nowadays. The other officer still stood behind and to the right. He walked up closer to her passenger window and bent over, placed his hands on the door and bent over and said, "Well, hello there. You had this baby really flying back there, didn't you?"

He was a similarly built officer, except he was black, one of the few who had made it out to the east end of Long Island during the past century and stayed, in little enclaves. He had short cropped hair and his mirrored sunglasses were still on, so she couldn't see his eyes.

"These little Audis are sweet, aren't they?" He said, glancing at her, the empty passenger seat, and back at her.

"Yes, I guess. My husband bought it for me. Late husband, I mean."

"Oh, sorry for your loss." He smiled in at her, bright white teeth, an aquiline nose, and high cheekbones. Again she started wondering, what would he look like in a hot yoga class? She noticed him looking at her thighs and she shifted slightly so that her dress rode up a little. What am I doing? She asked herself. The officer's shirt was open at he collar, and she could see the line of a thick collarbone beginning at the hollow of his neck.

"What happens now?" She asked, in a small voice.

"What do you mean?" The officer smiled.

"I mean ... " What do I mean? She thought. She thought about these two attractive young policemen, how they had pulled her over for speeding, and all of the tactics available to women in the romance novels she'd read for manipulating a cop, for manipulating any man, really, and how those tactics had never crossed her mind. Never. She'd always been a good girl, in high school, college, and even in marriage. Certainly, she'd let a little ignorance into her life, exchanging a wealthy lifestyle for the knowledge that her husband was less than perfect. She'd thought that was to be expected. She was from Madison, Wisconsin, and he had been a born and bred New Yorker.

"I mean," she said, "Will I get a ticket?" She smiled at the officer and turned slightly in her seat to face him. She knew this exposed her cleavage a little more to him as well.

"We'll have to see. For every mile over the speed limit, it's ten dollars, so you're looking at a possible $300 or $400 fine."

"Jesus," she said, and her eyes started welling up again. At the same time she felt drawn to this officer, she felt a warmth in her heart towards him that extended from her chest down to her lower belly. He seemed so kind. And so sexy. "Well," she said. "I guess there's always a price to pay. I was hurrying to a stupid party!" And she wiped her eyes.

"You live out here?" He asked.

"For the summer, mostly, but who knows. Maybe I'll stay. I'm single now. Well, except for my daughter, but she's in college, and you know, she'll start doing her own thing..." her voice trailed off as she realized she'd been nervously rambling. "You have kids?" She asked.

"Nope, me? I'm too young for that yet. Me and Bruce, we're both 25." He raised his sunglasses to his forehead, revealing bright smiling eyes. She glanced in her rear view; the other officer, Bruce, was still busy working on her ticket or warning or whatever it was she knew she'd be getting.

"And what's your name?" She asked.

"I'm Michael. And I don't think kids are in my future, if you get my drift, though me and Bruce like kids all right." He stared directly at her, with a big glint of humor in his eyes.

"You and ... Bruce? You're a couple?" She asked.

"Shhhh," he said. "Here he comes now."

Officer Bruce came walking up to the driver's side of her car and stopped. He held her registration and license in one hand, and another piece of paper in the other. "Ma'am," he began. "You were doing 70 in a 45 zone. The rules are pretty strict on that. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you step outside and take a breathalyzer test."

"Officer," she said, "I haven't been drinking ... yet! I was heading to a party with the express purpose of having a nice drink and relaxing. But I haven't touched a drop today and I was only speeding because I was in a hurry, and I haven't been to a party in a while, and I'm just getting my life together again since my husband died, trying to learn to have fun again, and I've been making some good steps, not getting too drunk or high, hoping to find a decent man again ... and I just don't know what to say."

"Please just step out of the car, ma'am," said the other officer, Michael, reaching through the car across her chest and just barely grazing her nipples to pull open the handle of her door. She unbuckled her seat belt and stepped out.

"Please put your hands on the roof of the car," said Bruce. "And spread your legs a little."

Tingling, she did as he asked. He stepped closer to her, putting a foot between hers, and slid his hands along her ribs and hips. "Couldn't hide a gun under this dress anyway," he said. "Just a formality." Her spine arched to his touch, and involuntarily she shuddered as his knee grazed her inner thigh for a split second. "Turn around," he ordered.

She turned, facing him from inches away. "Breathe into this," he said, holding up what looked like an inhaler. She took it from him, and while gazing into his piercing blue eyes, she slipped her lips slowly around the device and breathed into it, and handed it back to him.

"Negative," said Bruce, with a sigh of disappointment. "Please come around to the front of the car."

Why? She wondered. What was going on? In her new mood of life curiosity, she didn't question, she just did as she was told. This must be what it's like for minorities, she reflected, even as she noticed that the black officer, Michael, was moving to the front of her little car too.

"Listen," said Bruce. "This is a ticket for $500, for speeding. I can give it to you and you can take it and pay it or appeal it. It's a big hit, no doubt. Or we can do something else with it. Make it go away." He glanced over at Michael and raised an eyebrow.

She sat down on the hood of the Audi and glanced back and forth between the two young men. "But officer... officers," she said. "Michael here has told me something about the two of you. I don't understand," she whispered, a burning warmth in the pit of her stomach and a buttery feeling between her legs.

"There's something I always wanted to watch Michael do," said Bruce. Michael smiled at him. "I think you might be able to help."

"What can I possibly do?" She asked huskily. The possibilities were running through her head then, the two young men suddenly naked in front of her, worshipping her, making love to her on the hood of her car on a public road. The utter insanity of it - the cliché of sucking off a cop to avoid a speeding ticket.

"Come," he said, gesturing to her and Bruce to follow him. They walked around behind the closed-up farm stand wagon. "Here," he said. He pulled his gun out of his holster and pointed it at her and then at Michael. "Both of you," he said hoarsely. "Take off your clothes."

Michael was smiling at Bruce as he undid the buttons on his shirt and dropped it to the ground. She nearly gasped to see how developed his pecs and biceps were, and the flat hardness of his belly.

"You too," said Bruce.

"Unzip me?" She asked, turning around, presenting herself.

She let the dress slip to her knees, caught it, and stepped out of it; she hung it on the edge of the farm stand and there she was, bare-breasted, in her tiniest of thongs, and the heels. She crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered, her nipples hard against her forearms.

Michael had dropped his pants to the ground and was stepping out of his shoes and socks. He wore tight spandex shorts and she could see in the twilight the outline of his bulging cock. His thighs were as muscled as his arms and torso, and deep inside her she felt a complete yearning for this physically perfect man.

"Back up and raise your arms," Bruce commanded. She stepped back towards the farm stand and her eyes widened as she saw what he was about to do. "I ... don't know," she stammered, as he hooked a pair of handcuffs around each wrist and cuffed her spread-eagled to the round steel eyelets of the farm stand frame. He stood inches from her, and she could see his pants bulging too, and could hear a heaviness in his breath. He touched the barrel of his gun to each of her nipples and shook his head, smiling, as they each twitched and rose. "I'm OK," she said, looking him squarely in the eye. "My arms feel OK."

Michael joined Bruce in front of her. They were looking at each other and Bruce reached out and stroked Michael's nipples with his gun too, and then traced a trail with the barrel down to Michael's shorts. He holstered the gun again and bent to his knees in front of Michael, touching his forehead for a second to Michael's crotch. Then he took both hands and swiftly pulled Michael's shorts off, and Michael's cock leapt up, erect and pulsing already, and she gasped at the length and thickness of it, a huge, living creature, intent on one thing. She felt the urge to bend down herself and suck him, but the standing position and her arms spread frustrated her, and instead she just felt the wetness between her legs expand, and she pulled at her chains a little and stamped her heels into the grass.

Michael stepped up to her, with Bruce standing to the side now, but close, and knelt in front of her and hooked his thumbs on the waistband of her panties, and slowly pulled them down. "Mmmm," he said. "So smooth and sweet."

Grabbing the chain of the handcuffs in each hand, she pulled against them and lifted herself off the ground, wrapping her legs around Michael's face. "Wow," said Bruce. Michael held her buttocks in each hand and brought his lips to her pussy and buried his tongue in her as she arched back in the air, already coming. She drove her heels against his back and felt herself wetter than ever before as she came and came into his mouth. "Godddddddd..." She cried.

He let her back to the ground and she stood there a second, shuddering, eyes closed. She opened them and saw Bruce standing right in front of her, grinning. To the side, Michael stood with his fly open and his cock in his hand, stroking. His cock was smaller than Bruce's uncut, but still substantial and she wondered what it would be like to have both cocks inside her at the same time, and how it would feel to them to have their cocks touching each other while inside her slippery cunt.

But Michael reached around her and picked her up now, standing in front of her, and holding her ass in both hands, spreading her legs wide, he placed her wet pussy just on the tip of his massive cock, and slowly, achingly slowly, lowered her onto him until he was buried deep inside her and filled her completely. He held her ass as he began pumping up and down into her, and she began to ride him in tandem, her arms so frustratingly immobilized - she wanted to grab his head and kiss him, slip her tongue deep in his mouth - and yet she could move, she could contract her belly, she could tighten her muscles around his cock, she could pull him along and make him cum.

She looked to Bruce and saw him with his eyes rolled back in his head as he quickly stroked himself. She wanted him to cum on her. He saw her looking at him and edged closer, so that his rapidly stroking hand butted against her thigh that was wrapped around Michael. She could feel Michael's balls tightening against her, she could feel that he was coming close, and suddenly she came herself, without warning, her belly contracting and she cried out again.

Michael slipped out of her and began stroking himself too. He and Bruce stood inches from her, she lunged towards them, hoping for skin contact, they were both so close, so close. Michael began to cum first, spurting in long hot arcs against her skin, shooting up high to her breasts, and then Bruce stepped close to her too and shot his burning cum in seemingly endless streams against her belly. She shuddered again and felt herself orgasm once more. She wanted the two of them then, one in her pussy, one in her mouth or ass, their strong muscular hands manipulating her any way they wanted, their blue suits a pile on the ground, their guns powerfully useless in that moment, their mirrored sunglasses on their car dashboard, the red and blue lights flashing in all their eyes, and her feeling complete, filled, held, even blessed.

When they were all cleaned up and dressed again and giving each other, all three, little abashed grins, and standing by her car, Bruce gave her the ticket and she saw that it was blank. They ambled back to their car and tipped their hats at her.

"Thank you!" She called.

"Have a good summer," Michael said. "And don't drive too safe."