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Bribing an Officer: First Charge (Turning Tracy)
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About Bribing An Officer: First Charge
Tracy isn't surprised when I pair of red and blues light up behind her driving late at night, in the wrong part of town. When the young, attractive, policeman approaches the window, asking about an improper tag light, she breathed a sigh of relief. With her birthday an hour away, her natural charm, an obvious rookie, and lots of skin showing, she'd be on her way in five minutes. She couldn't have been more wrong. ********** “Uh – sure. You can search the vehicle,” I said. See? Nothing to hide here! I prayed reverse psychology would work on him, but his dark eyes twinkled. “Please step out of the vehicle, ma’am.” “Hands on the hood of the vehicle, ma’am,” he repeated a third time. “If I don’t find anything else, maybe we can end tonight with a court summons.” He’d said all I needed to hear to comply. I put my hands on the car, happy to have found a solution. Without warning, he pulled my arm from under me, pressing his body against my displayed rear. He stretched both arms in front of me and leaving my chest pressed against the hood. “More like that,” he said very close to my ear. Control was the name of the game, and he had it. ********** He pressed against me with a hardness that had nothing to do with a gun, badge, or anything other than him. Every muscle tensed even as he backed off me and I fought the urge to move into a more comfortable stance, painfully aware of how turned on the domination made me feel. “That’s perfect, ma’am. Just maintain that position and we’ll get along just fine.” I turned my head, trying to get sight of him. “Face forward, ma’am.” He twisted my head with a handful of hair and chills broke over my body. I had begged – begged – boyfriends to be rough with me and always they were afraid to hurt me. His disregard for my comfort affected me in ways I didn’t expect, but in those situations, I possessed control. Here, I had none. Gasping, I allowed him to manhandle me, now wanting to get this over with quickly and, at the same time, see where it could lead. Fear only fed my arousal and I questioned my sanity and sense of self-preservation. “Before we begin, is there anything at all on you that I should know about? Any needles, knives?” “No, sir,” I said, voice small. “Nothing.” “Are you lying?” His voice was thick with sarcasm. I winced at the accusation. His hands started at my shoulders, patting down my back before running down my sides, lightly brushing my breasts in the process. I expected more groping, but he kept moving downward, moving to my hips and down my outer legs all the way to my bare ankles and then journeyed back up my inner thighs. He cupped me roughly from behind, pinching my mound, encircling my waist with a strong arm to pull me closer. A familiar heat between my legs responded, but injustice reared its ugly head and the feminist in me roared. A police officer shouldn’t do this! I pushed up from the car in protest but found my position didn’t allow for much movement. “Stay where you are, ma’am. I don’t want to hurt you.” I relaxed my arms. What had I gotten myself into? “I don’t have anything else on me,” I moaned into the hood, trying to disguise the desire in my voice. “I’d love to believe you, ma’am, but you lied earlier...” He moved his hand moving back and forth, material massaging my most sensitive spot. I tried and failed to stop the erotic moan clawing up my throat. His throaty laugh responded and his hand moved faster so I didn’t feel the other creeping down the front of my shorts, dipping past the waistband. “Stop." I didn’t mean it. “I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered. “If you aren’t soaking wet right now, we can forget this ever happened.” He didn't hesitate at the flimsy bikini bottom beneath ,my shorts. My eyes closed in shame, knowing what he'd find. He laughed when he found my entrance, slippery and hot. “Oh, you are in trouble, aren’t you?”
