I see the headlights of his police car winding slowly down the back lane that I am parked in. My car is backed in, the passenger side tight against the ivied cement wall. I watch him pull in to a side drive then back out again and reverse silently down the lane and stop beside me. I told him to leave an extra few feet behind his car because I want him there, outside. Stories abound of officers trapped in the back of their own cruisers while searching an arrestee; fodder for the guard room rumour mill. He turns off the engine and turns to look at me. I bring the black rubber cock to my mouth and make a great display of sucking both ends before slipping it out of sight and under my dress. I ease his end through the O-ring and slide the other inside myself. He can see me push down in my car seat and knows that I’m enjoying the hard fullness my pseudo-cock provides me.
I get out of my car and walk behind his police car, my dress tented and bobbing in front with every step. He watches in his rear-view mirror as I lift my dress and start to lube the rubbery length. He gets out and, like every good policeman, puts on his hat and threads his nightstick through the loop in his belt before strolling back to meet me. This is a reverse search though and he assumes the position over the trunk of the car when I tell him to turn around. I tell him that there’s been a complaint to the station about him and I’m going to have to question him, take appropriate action, and discipline him if necessary. I undo his belt and unzip his pants and, with the combined weight of his nightstick and gun, they fall heavily to the ground. As instructed, he is not wearing any underwear, so at some point during his shift he has managed to go back to the station change room and take them off. Good. I reach around and undo the buttons of his shirt and pull up his undershirt to expose his nipples to the cooling night air. I pinch and roll them between my fingers, testing his ability to keep quiet until asked to speak.
Distant sirens fade away and the car radio blares with a constant traffic of persons and vehicle checks. DOB’s and Foxtrots, Bravos, and Tangos, noisy parties, and unwanted guests. All for neighbouring divisions, but I know that he still has one ear tuned in case the dispatcher calls his radio ID.
I tell him to bend over and place his hands on the car trunk in the usual spread ‘em position. I waste no time and reach between his legs to grap his balls and give them a good squeeze. My hands are cold and I can feel them tighten dramatically before falling back down as they heat under the gentle but insistent pull and push that I apply. I spread his cheeks and lubricate his arse as I work a finger, then two, in and out. He will start to have second thoughts just about then, and begin to protest out loud that this is not a good idea and that we might get caught. I take it as my cue to convince him otherwise and enter him in one thrust. We both gasp as the forceful action pushes both ends home. It feels too good this way to even withdraw and I stay pressed up against him grinding ever so slightly, each forward motion causing a deepening of the low groan that escapes him. I cannot maintain this non-movement for long and begin to thrust in earnest, fucking myself as I fuck him. The heels of my shoes sink very slightly in the packed drive but still provide me with the height and leverage needed to ride him hard. His bulk and authority is taken completely away by the rubber phallus that splits his arse. He is not in charge, I am, as I ride him and force him to accept that at any time he will give me what I want, how I want it. I withdraw the full length then bang back in; yes, I am rough with him. Noise brings attention, attention means I will stop, so he does not call out. The O-ring rides my clit as I ride him and brings me rapidly closer to coming, so I stop briefly with both ends buried deeply in their respective homes. With one last burst, I bring us both off. Me against the O-ring and his arse, him with me in his arse, and the hand he has brought down to jerk his own cock with. His come flies in a stream over the trunk and onto the rear window, and he collapses forward, breathing heavily. It comes then: the call on the radio, the Sergeant is looking for him.
I withdraw and walk back to my car. I unhook the harness and throw it onto the front passenger seat of my car. I slide in, adjust the seat, start her up and pull away. A last look back shows my officer still behind his car leaning slightly forward, hat still on, but off to the side a bit. I know he hasn’t moved and his pants are still around his ankles, his arse will still be shining in the early moon light from the lube that is by now smeared across it and down his thigh. I don’t wave goodbye.
I will go home, to our home and I will wait for him. When he comes home I will meet him just inside the front door. Other people take off their coats and shoes; when he comes home he will take off his clothes. I buckle his leather studded collar around his neck and attach his leash. He bends over and I insert a plug in his arse; not too big, but shaped in such a way that it will not come out on its own. I lead him downstairs and into my room. Some would call it a dungeon, but I call it my room. It is there that I re-establish the hierarchy of the house.
There are times when he comes home all pumped up from a car chase or big arrest and he needs to be taken down a peg or two, paddled even, hung up and penetrated. There are a number of devices that I can attach him to, depending on my mood, and I am still feeling aggressive after fucking him at work, so I decide to paddle him and bend him over the saw-horse. I kneel in front of him and attach the weighted nipple-clips; they will swing back and forth each time the paddle meets his arse. Before I take up my position behind him, I put my fingers inside myself and let him suck the juice off each one. I give him five strokes a side and he does not protest; ever.
I let him get up and make him crawl up the stairs ahead of me, which he will do, nipple-clip chain clinking on each step, leash dragging behind him. He will crawl all the way to our bed where he will sit obedient and quiet, plug pushed deeply inside. I will unlock the chest that sits at the end of the bed and let him select a dildo. This is the only decision he is allowed to make inside these walls, and he chooses carefully lest that privilege be taken away. I wait patiently; it’s the least I can do.
He chooses a pink tapered plug, not much wider or longer than two fingers, but I will let him do this as I’ve ridden him quite hard already tonight. He lubes it himself, leans back on the bed, pushes out the ball-plug and slides this one inside himself. I tell him to show me and he spreads his legs, knees up so I can watch as he slowly slides it in and out.
I hook the leash over the bed post and adjust the length so it is taut but not pulling, letting him know that he is not in control, nothing has changed. I kneel between his feet and force his knees wider and I tell him to look at me and fuck himself. I ease one knee up against his arse cheeks, forcing the plug deeper. I place his hands on his own knees and lean forward to remove first one clip then the other, sucking the painful freedom from pressure into my mouth and never easing the weight of my knee as I lean into him.
I lean to one side and ease down on to the bed, replacing my knee with a hand and work him with the dildo as you would fingers in a pussy. I tell him that he is my pussy. I bite him, suck him, lick him, kiss him, and he lets me; he wants me to fuck him again. I want him flat out on the bed underneath me and ease him round, face down, making him hold in the plug as I crawl behind him. I know the angle that I need to take up to keep it inside him; he knows it as well and spreads his legs to allow me between them. He is much larger physically than me, muscled and toughened by too many nights on the streets, but he gives it up to me here.
He knows that I don’t want to fuck him because he is weaker than me, more feminine; I want to fuck him this way because he is stronger; I want to fuck him like I’m fucking a man and the noises I want him to make are the deep grunts and groans of a man taking it. I lie with my full body weight on him, forcing his hardness into the twist of bed sheets underneath.
I can’t reach his hands but am able to pull his arms to the sides and pin them out, cross-like, and here, unlike at the back of his police car, I can take my time with him and it is my pleasure to do so. I grind into him increasing the pressure and speed until he grunts in time with each thr
ust, until he forgets his day and the world is no bigger than this room, this bed, me, this fuck. Until his world right now is his arse, that it is full of me, that there are no choices or decisions to be made, he is being fucked relentlessly, and he will take it until I decide I am done. He will always come this way but fight it as if the fact that no hand is touching his cock when he does is different. I bring him through his orgasm, slow the pace enough to allow him to catch his breath and think that I’m done. I’m never done. I’m not done now, but I slide off and he turns his back to me and I curl behind him, plug still in place.
I let him rest and he does not protest when I ease him onto his back. Protesting will never work; I will fuck him again and harder, he knows that. I grope through my toy chest for a slightly bigger dildo and lube it well. This one is realistically shaped and I know that he will feel each ridge as I work it in. I kneel between his thighs, take him in my mouth and lick and suck him until he hardens again. When I release him, his hips strain, pointing his bobbing cock upwards, and I lean in and close my tits around it. He reaches down to hold them himself, squeezing them tight and pinching my nipples between his fingers. He strains hard enough that on the upward thrusts I am able to lick the slitted head.
But I stop him, forcing his hands down and under his ass and he knows that he must leave them there. I begin to slide my rubber accomplice inside him; tightness becomes acceptance, the head disappears and his arse clenches rhythmically around the stem. I suck him into my mouth to the same depth. The more he takes, the more of him I take. He begs for more mouth but must take more rubber as well. Even I don’t think I could really synchronize this movement at real cock-sucking speed, but I will try until one action overtakes the other. I will either penetrate him deeply and suck him off or penetrate him repeatedly and let him come in my mouth. Either way, he will come again, because I want it.
This is what I want; this is the way I want our life to be and I am working towards it. He has spent many years on the road and, every day, every shift he works is full of decisions and he’s tired of making them. I don’t have my room, yet, but I will and it will be equipped with hooks for hanging and ropes for restraining, paddles and whips, collars and clips. I want everything at hand and accessible, not hidden away. I do slide my fingers up his arse when he comes; he only said he didn’t want that the first time I did it and when I’m using three fingers I tell him it’s only two. I do have a rubber cock that he helps me fuck myself with but I really picked it out for him. I talk to him as I ride him and I tell him that I’m going to do all these things; I’m going to make him crawl naked down the hallway, I’m going to follow behind him and when I tell him to stop I will mount him from behind and fuck him, make him crawl some more then mount him again, and again, and again. I’m going to collar and leash him; when it is warm, that is all that he will wear. When he comes home he will, in front of me, grease himself and insert his own arse plug which he will wear until I tell him he can take it out. He will cut the grass, walk the dog, wash the dishes, and watch TV – always plugged.
I’m going to blindfold him, tie his cock down and string him up in the basement, toes barely touching the cold floor. After I have reddened his arse with a paddle I will line it with my most delicate whip. I will lick each red raised welt then stand on a stool and fuck him.
I will meet him after work when he goes out with the boys for a drink. He will go to the men’s room and insert the plug I’ve brought with me and come back and sit on a stool and chat and laugh with all his friends. I’m going to fuck him before he goes to work, and fuck him again when he comes back home. I will not take out the cock when I’m done and he will have to learn to go to sleep with it inside and if I wake in the night I will ride him again. In the morning, if I want, he will allow me inside him again.
I am going to have an extra strap-on in the garden shed that I will use on him midday while the neighbours pull weeds in their vegetable patch. While they have afternoon tea, I will hang him naked from the crossbeam in the shed. I will spread his legs, weight his balls and while they nibble on tiny sandwiches I will take his cock in my mouth and eat him. At night he will get down on his hands and knees and I will ride him on the back lawn under the starry sky. I tell him that he will let me finger him whenever I want; that he will let me stroke his cock till he comes; suck his cock when I want; that he will masturbate for me when I tell him to. I tell him these things now and I see in his eyes that he wants it that way – he wants me to take everything, leaving him just whatever he is allowed or made to do – and I want to make him do all of it.
Work Is Play
Karen (Albuquerque, USA)
When it comes to real-life sex, I’m about as straight-laced as my Minister’s united running shoes. But when it comes to fantasy sex, I’m a girl gone wild! I see a guy or gal that turns me on, and right away he or she becomes a character in one of my wicked sexual imaginings.
Take, for example, a colleague of mine at work, a leggy Latina by the name of Vanessa Sanchez. When I first laid eyes on her, was when the first of my fantasies featuring her took shape in my subconscious. There’s nothing more exciting than combining business and pleasure, in my book, and when I tossed Vanessa into the erotic mix I concocted one heck of a sexual fantasy to keep me motivated on the job. The only problem was, Vanessa actually caught me in the middle of my super-hot daydream.
Well, here’s how that most satisfying day at work played out:
Vanessa tentatively approached my desk, unsure of herself and what I wanted. I was sure, though, very sure.
“You wanted to see me, Ms Williams?” she said in a soft voice. A voice soft enough and warm enough to suck into your mouth and swallow down.
Easy, I told myself, easy. You don’t want to scare her off. So I nodded in a businesslike manner, stood up, walked past her, and shut the door to my spacious, well-appointed office. Then I turned to face her. Her green eyes briefly met mine, then dived down into the thickly carpeted floor.
She was dressed in a simple black skirt and white blouse. Like any one of a million other office workers, except that the skirt was short and the blouse was tight. The skirt showcased her large, round, firm arse, and her long, toned, supple legs. Her dancer’s legs were sheathed in glistening, black, sheer stockings, all the way from her high-heel-encased toes to somewhere just above her short, short skirt. Her large, full, blatant breasts pressed against the thin, see-through fabric of her blouse, and in the air-conditioned office her dark, erect nipples were clearly visible through the flimsy material – big and hard and begging to bust free. Her hair was chestnut, with red highlights, and her face was delicate and doused a golden brown, advertising her sultry, sexy Spanish heritage.
“Yes, Vanessa,” I said briskly. “Have a seat, please. I wanted to discuss your performance evaluation. Your three-month probation period is up today, as I’m sure you know.”
She sat down in a comfortable leather chair in front of my large antique desk, while I stood before her, leaning against the desk. I watched her cross her slender legs, fight with the ever-rising hem of her skirt. I felt my pussy go wet and my face get warm, as I stared at those long, lithe legs. I could now plainly see the bronze flesh of her right leg, between her skirt and her stocking. My eyes journeyed on an erotic course from that hot starting point, down the sculpted length of her leg, past her fleshy thigh, her rounded knee, her muscular, moulded calf, her slim ankle (narrow enough to easily wrap my fingers around), and down to her foot – a foot dramatically displayed in black, imitation leather stilettos.
“Yes, I do . . . know,” she mumbled. She leaned forward to nervously grasp her knee, interlace her fingers around it, her nails flashing silver. Her bountiful breasts almost tumbled out of her over-stretched blouse as she leaned over her legs, and I could see and appreciate the warm, deep cleft between her two magnificent mocha mounds.
But I was a leg-woman from way back, from the days of ballet lessons and summer vacations at the beach and gym classes, an
d so that’s where my eyes returned, and lingered. “You’ve been doing a good job, Vanessa,” I intoned. “Everyone thinks so. However, I’ve had a couple of complaints about your . . . business attire – the way you dress.”
She squeezed her legs and her emerald eyes flashed angrily at me, her blood boiling instantly. “Who’s . . . I mean, what are these complaints about – specifically!?”
That was a good question, since I’d made them up. I stared off into the fiery jade depths of her eyes, momentarily lost. “Well, take your skirt, for example,” I said, making up policy on the fly. “Our company dress code states that skirts cannot be more than four inches above the knee.” I reached back and picked up a metal ruler off of my desk. “Stand up, please, and we’ll see just how far above the knee your skirt is.”
She rose from the chair, tugged down her skirt. “I think it’s petty of people to complain about their co-worker’s clothing . . . behind their backs. They’re probably just jealous,” she added saucily.
“They probably are,” I agreed inadvertently. I flushed and swallowed hard as I gazed at her stockinged legs – legs that seemed to go on forever; then I licked my lips with a wooden tongue and dropped down in front of her, in front of her silky legs. I could smell the faint, sweet, warm scent of her body spray, and perhaps even the musty, beginning dampness of her pussy. She was a passionate girl, easily aroused. She jumped when I cupped the back of her right leg with my left hand. My fingers lingered on the soft sheen of her stockings, surreptitiously caressed the fine, black material, and the hot, brown flesh that it covered.
The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies Page 51
