Warning Miss

I saw the revolving lights in my rear-view mirror and nearly pissed myself. The only thing holding me back was the instinct not to wreck my new suit.

Fifteen minutes earlier I'd had a run-in with a cop. I was having a cigarette outside my wife's favorite social club. The club was kind of a straight-laced, fru-fru joint, and I'd gone outside to blow off some steam. It was a full moon, and for kicks I let out a few howls. An officer Karl Morgan came around, charging me with being 'drunk and disorderly'. A couple of martinis had made me brave, and I gave him a little guff. He wrote a citation, and warned me to watch out.

"I don't care how much money you aristocrats got, or if you know the damned mayor or even the president! If I catch you drunk in public on my watch, you're paying the consequences like any other damn citizen."

At his use of the term 'aristocrat', I laughed. Although my new wife, Patricia, came from money, I came from getting her father's coffee at board meetings. This social club drew a lot of the money crowd, though, and I gathered that I wasn't the first guy to get busted there.

So I could see there was no arguing with this hick, or at least no quick arguing anyway. Patricia's favorite TV show was coming on soon, and I knew if I didn't get her home I'd never hear the end of it. So I swallowed the ticket, and went back into the club to get my wife. When we came out, the officer was gone. We headed back to my and I got behind the wheel.

I took a little-used back road to get home. Although I really wasn't that drunk, the gravel road was wreaking havoc with the Mustang's tires, and I swerved from time to time. When I saw the lights flashing in my rear view, I had a fair guess what kind of trouble I was in.

I loosened my black tie, tugging at the collar.

"Oh perfect. What'll happen, do you think?" Patricia asked. I looked over at her. Aside from her worried expression, she looked unruffled in an expensive silk blouse and evening slacks, a leather hand-bag clasped to her side. She was a real doll, and I didn't mind looking at her when I had the time. Right now I didn't have the time, but my eyes gave her a look-over anyway.

As usual, she didn't have her safety belt on. I had a sudden brainstorm.

"Well hey, what if you switched seats with me?" I asked. Patricia's eyes went wide under her arching, plucked eyebrows.

"Come on. Be serious." She said incredulously, her little mouse voice barely rising over the engine. She drummed her fingernails on her purse. I watched that hand move, those soft fingers working against the leather.

No bones about it, when we got married a year ago I knew what I was getting into. Patricia was a well-bred, sheltered, indoor girl. Her body was all woman, but she liked to be taken care of and she was a little timid when it came right down to it. Which was fine by me, except in situations like this. I nearly barked at her.

"Switch when we've stopped! Quickly, before he sees." I urged, undoing my belt. I eased the car to a halt, throwing on the parking brake.

"But, dear – I couldn't possibly-" She started. I shushed her, pulling her towards the driver's seat. She carefully moved around me, not wanting to dishevel her clothing or makeup. Her fragrant perfume filled my nostrils, and I couldn't resist giving her a quick peck before diving into the back. She waved me away, sliding behind the wheel.

In the rear seat was a flannel blanket we sometimes used on picnics. I covered myself with it and ducked down, creaking against the leather upholstery. Lucky for me I had installed dark tinting in the windows a few months earlier.

"But what will I say about the swerving?" She asked me.

I tried to think. Martinis, even a couple, impair that sort of thing. Maybe she had been doing her makeup and let the wheel go for a moment? Cops probably didn't like that much, but it was better than drunk driving.

Then I heard Patricia fiddling with the glove compartment, and I looked up. She pulled a half-empty bottle of mineral water out of the dash box. I gave her a questioning look in the mirror.

Patricia unscrewed the top gently, then dumped the bottle out on her shirt.

The liquid disappeared into her silk with a hiss of bubbles. Patricia squirmed.

"See, I spilled my soda. That's why I swerved." She said. I stared at her chest. The wet fabric clung to her form, accentuating her bosom.

The idea was alright. But the thought of some hick cop, ogling my wife, suddenly made me see red.

"He's never going to buy it." I said hastily, drawing the blanket farther over my head. "I'm headed to jail for sure."

She frowned, scanning the rear view. The cop had stopped his car and was stepping out. Patricia clucked her tongue, looking down at her blouse nervously. Then she did something even more unexpected.

Patricia reached up with her well-manicured, aristocratic fingers - and undid the top button on her blouse.

My jaw dropped.

Her painted fingernails clicked as she undid another button, then a third. Patricia then peeled away the wet silk slightly to reveal her cleavage. Her breasts were full and round, the creamy flesh pale from lack of sun. Though just the top of her bosom was visible, one could clearly see the deep crease between her breasts, disappearing into the darkness of her wet blouse.

I gaped at her. Patricia looked at me in the rear view. She arched her eyebrows defensively.

"Well, isn't that what girls do?" She asked sincerely. I shrugged, annoyed. Hell, maybe it would help. Patricia seemed a little more relaxed. She tried to settle into the driver's seat, a place wholly foreign to her. Then we both had the same terrible thought.

"But dear, I haven't got a license!" Patricia whispered. My mind struggled through the martinis, trying to pull a solution out of the fog. I drew a blank!

Just then I saw the gleam of the officer's flashlight as he walked towards the car. I ducked down farther under the blanket. I kept a small crack open to breathe, and to watch.

The officer stepped up to the window and tapped with his light. Patricia rolled it down. He spoke, and a knot formed in my stomach.

"Evening missus." It was Karl Morgan, the hick, sure as daylight. His voice set me on edge.

"Um, it's miss, to be sure. Good evening to you." Patricia said. I groaned inwardly. She was laying it on too thick. I watched Karl's light play across the top of her exposed bosom.

"Okay, miss then. Did you know you were weaving back there, miss?" He asked evenly, apparently ignoring her charms.

"Actually yes. I just spilled my water, don't you know." Patricia indicated the dark, oval stain down her front. Karl's flashlight played across her chest again. She held up the empty bottle.

"Oh, I see. And you swerved on account of that?" He asked. Patricia nodded. She pulled a bit of her hair behind her ear, smiling a silly schoolgirl smile. I was embarrassed to watch.

Karl's light lingered on the wet stain, then he brought the light up to her face.

"Ahem. I'm going to need to see license and registration, miss."

"Oh, sure. Let's see, I'm sure it's tucked away here somewhere..."

And then, to my complete astonishment, Patricia sank a nimble, well-bred little hand into the depths of her cleavage.

Seeing my wife, searching around in her bra like she was a cocktail waitress digging for her tips, it was too much for me. I almost choked.

Her hand slid into the right cup of her bra, pretending to search. In the process she opened a fourth button on her blouse. When she pulled her hand away, Karl was transfixed. So was I. Patricia let out an embarrassed little giggle.

"My goodness, I'm so embarrassed. I thought certain I had it there." Patricia said, a little falteringly, but sweetly all the same.

Karl's flashlight beam was locked on her chest. Her efforts had exposed another inch or so of cleavage. The pale flesh of her breasts curved down to reveal the upper edge of her bra, the two mounds nestled in green satin cups. As she inhaled, her chest swelled against the damp silk.

Karl exhaled, his breath a white puff in the cold night air.

"Ahem...ah, that is, I still need to see your license, miss." Karl said, his voice a little tight. Whatever she was doing, it seemed to be working.

"You know, I'm afraid I must have misplaced it. Can't you let me off with a warning?" She asked innocently. Patricia attempted to bat her eyes. I shook my head, praying this hick was dumber than he looked.

Karl stared at Patricia. Then he flashed his beam towards the passenger side, the glove box, then into the back seat. I was afraid he'd seen movement. He looked around a bit, then turned back to Patricia.

"You, ah, mind if I take a look myself, miss?" Karl's voice was softer, the edge rubbed off. Things were bad, though. Patricia faltered for a moment, then regained her composure.

"Why, I'm sure...I don't know. I mean, of course. Help yourself." She said, trying to sound nonchalant. She waved a hand towards the glove box, trying to guide his attention away from the back seat. But as it turns out, he wasn't interested in the back anyhow.

Karl slowly pulled the black leather glove off his right hand. Then he slid his hand into my wife's blouse.

Patricia nearly jumped out of her skin.

Karl cupped her breast firmly, grabbing it over the bra. Then his fingers slid along the bra, probing under the satin cup.

His hand must have been cold, because Patricia shivered nervously at his touch, her breath stuttering out. She didn't resist, though, and attempted to act casual about it.

Karl reached up, real slow, and grabbed the green satin bra strap off her shoulder. The strap dropped to the side of the satin cup, which was having trouble holding in the goods. Karl helped it out a little, hooking his thick fingers over the edge and pulling it down.

Only one guy I knew of had seen that breast, and it was a view that always sent me for a spin. I felt a kind of electric sickness to see somebody else getting a peek. But Karl focused his flashlight right on it, and took in a good long look.

Now, all of Patricia's skin was young, and had that fresh, new look to it. But her breasts most of all, on account of that area seeing so little sun, or exposure in general. The pale orb was full, and round and tight from the cold. It was crested by her light-brown nipple, stiff in cold night air, and pointing upwards the way a young woman's will. The skin was smooth as silk. Then, right in front of us, whether from the cold or being looked at, it broke out a thousand little goose bumps.

Karl couldn't resist. He slid his fingers over it, stroking the flesh. Then he pinched her nipple, hard enough to get a wince and a gasp out of Patricia. Her breast jiggled, and she squirmed, and Karl let go.

"Miss, you ain't got no license in here." Karl said.

I tensed.

"In fact, I think you ain't got no license at all." His voice had lost a lot of the softness, and he sounded all business again.

Patricia sucked in a breath, her exposed breast rising with the motion. She became acutely aware of it, and moved to cover up a little.

"I suppose there'll be a fine then?" Patricia said, timidly, avoiding eye-contact. Karl shook his head.

"Well, by the rules, I might have to fine you, even haul you in." Karl waxed. Patricia's eyes skittered to the mirror, pleading with me.

"Or I could just let you off with a warning." Karl said, trying to sound kind. I knew there was something behind it, though. I don't know if Patricia saw it coming or not, but she perked right up.

"Oh could you? I'd be ever so appreciative." I noticed she let her blouse fall a little. Karl noticed, too.

"I bet you would, miss. That's a steep fine, though, that I'd be letting you get away with. Lotta money. And the jail time, maybe, whew. It's a hard call on my part." Karl pretended to think hard. The expression was comical, but I wasn't laughing. Patricia thought she understood his intentions, though.

"Oh I see what you mean, of course. Maybe I can make the decision easier for you." Patricia said sweetly. Karl watched her face, her smile, her eyes. From the back, though, I could see Patricia sliding a hand over to her leather purse, presumably to retrieve some money. Then Karl spoke, and it wasn't his words so much as the tone of voice that caught her a little off guard.

"Miss, are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?"

Patricia thought a moment, going over his words. Then she smiled, sweet and true as anything. One thing she knew was how to shell out money. She slid her handbag over to her side.

"Why, I'll put my money wherever you request, officer." Her voice came out like honey.

Karl nodded. Patricia looked down a moment to fish around in her bag. Karl put his flashlight under his armpit. Patricia found her wallet. When she looked up, she gasped, dropping the wallet on the floorboards. I turned to see what she was looking at.

It was Karl's dick. While she was fishing in her bag, he had unzipped his black pants and pulled it out. He had an engorged erection, at least 7" in length, thick and angry. His balls hung down too, outside his black police pants, looking swollen and heavy.

Patricia just stared at it, like a deer in headlights. Her hand trembled slightly, from cold or fear I wasn't sure. Slowly some understanding of their little interchange of words crawled across her face. Finally she looked into the mirror at me. I didn't know how to look at her, or what to do, or how things would shake out. Patricia bit her lip. She looked back to Karl's erection.

Her breathing was quick now, coming out in a series of white puffs. The uncertainty played across her face. Did she know it would go this far? I chewed on the edge of the blanket absently, watching her every expression, trying to think of how I could break this up without going to jail, or worse.

Patricia mastered herself, a little anyway. She clasped her hands together for a moment, thinking of what she would say.

"It don't bite, miss." Karl said, soft but direct. Patricia laughed nervously.

"Of course not." That was all she could think to say. She couldn't look Karl in the eye. Then, I guess, she made up her mind. Her words came out in a nervous staccato.

"So, I guess, I'll just..." Patricia trailed off as she raised her delicate hand. That soft little hand, which wasn't used to holding much besides a tennis racket or a cocktail glass, reached out for the throbbing monster staring her in the face.

Tiny fingertips touched the broad, fleshy head. Her fingernails danced along it timidly. It tickled Karl, and he shivered, making his dick bounce up and down in front of her. She waited for it to still, then reached for him carefully. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, grasping it as firmly as she could. Her fingers barely went around.

Patricia started to pump it lightly. She looked up at Karl for reassurance.

Now, before our marriage, Patricia had never been with a man. I taught her the rudiments of stimulation, but frankly she had never been very skilled at hand-jobs. I watched her stroking him awkwardly, and I feared the worst.

Karl seemed to enjoy it for a few moments, though. He stepped forward, leaning into her trembling grip. He reached one thick hand down and cupped her exposed breast. He groped her firmly, kneading the flesh with his cold fingers.

With obedience bred from panic, Patricia adjusted her angle in the seat, leaning her breast into his embrace. She started pumping his cock faster, her thin little hand flicking up and down along his veiny, swollen shaft. She seemed to know the sooner she could get this over, the better. Karl gently rocked with her motions. Then, as I feared, he made his next move.

Karl's free hand came up, and he slid his fingers into my wife's hair.

Patricia had spent $175 getting her hair done that afternoon. It was clean and shiny, woven into an elegant bun with stray curls falling here and there.

Karl roughly clenched a handful of her locks.

"Oh!" Patricia gasped. Her hand slowed it's stroking, her eyes glancing around in confusion. Karl pulled her head towards his crotch gently. Held loosely in her hand, his cock was dangling in the window now, his balls resting on the door. I wanted to reach over and start the electric window mechanism so bad, but I didn't.

Patricia didn't seem to catch on to Karl's play at first, thinking he was just trying to embrace her. She leaned her head against his stomach, and began pumping again. Karl chuckled.

He let go of her breast and grabbed his cock away from her. Patricia leaned back a bit to look questioningly into his eyes. Karl nodded to his penis, aiming it at her mouth. He pulled her towards it.

Patricia finally understood, a tremor of shock rolling across her features.

"Oh my, I-" Karl pulled her towards him, cutting her off. The head pushed against her red lips, seeking entry. She kept them closed, her lipstick smearing across the swollen helmet. Karl was persistent, though. He kept a hand on the back of her head, holding her still. He rubbed the hot, plum-shaped head against her cheek, then dragged it back across her lips. He slid it down her other cheek to her neck, where she tried to grab it. She stroked it a bit, but he pulled it away, back up her cheek. He put it on her mouth again, dragging it this way and that against her closed lips. Patricia finally gave in.

She opened her mouth slightly, and her tongue slid out. She managed as best she could, licking him awkwardly, a little frantically, like a girl trying to keep an ice cream cone from melting on her. She was careful not to open too wide. Karl had his agenda, though. He caught her mid-lick, and pulled her forward by her hair. Her lips slipped over the head, and Patricia's eyes widened as she took his length into her mouth.

In bed at home, I had given up on having Patricia perform fellatio upon me. She had lousy technique, the poor girl. I always preferred to engage in intercourse, where I could do most of the work. At the moment, however, I half-prayed she could perform adequately.

"That's it, miss. Like that." Karl said. He was sliding in and out of Patricia's dainty mouth, his shaft wet with her saliva. Patricia was tense and rigid. She kept raising her hands up as if to take hold of his cock, then lowering them as he took control, changing the speed and depth of his thrusts. She seemed not to be able to do much besides keep her teeth out of the way and not choke as Karl thrust deeper and deeper between her lips.

"Grab my balls, miss." Karl hissed. Patricia reached up nervously with both hands and began massaging Karl's nuts. Karl seemed satisfied with that. Keeping hold of her hair to guide her, he took his hand off his cock and went back to groping her. He roughly pulled the bra down over her left breast, exposing her completely.

"Suck it, miss." Karl ordered. The softness in his voice was gone. He was using her now.

Patricia's cheeks caved in. Wet sucking noises began coming from her mouth. I just couldn't believe my eyes. My wife was really sucking this man! My stomach did flip-flops.

Karl's hand did a number on her breasts, squeezing and pulling, pinching and jiggling. Patricia, however, was focused intensely on the penis between her lips. Saliva dripped down her chin as Karl's cock slurped in and out. Once in a while he would tweak a nipple hard, and she'd squeal into his cock.

After what seemed like an eternity of this, I heard what I had hoped for.

"Oh yes miss...keep going...oh miss...huUNH!"

Karl's hips bucked. Patricia involuntarily thrust her hand into his nest of pubic hair, steadying his pelvis as he tried to drive himself into her throat. I wondered, would she swallow him? The thought horrified me. On the other hand, I didn't want him to fly into an unsatisfied rage.