Cuff Me, Officer!

by Daniella Divine

  Cuff Me, Officer

  (Episode #10 of Candid Confessions)

  By Daniella Divine

  This story includes sexual content, and is suitable for readers aged over 18 only. All characters in the story practice safe sex at all times, even if the details are not explicitly mentioned in specific scenes. This work of fiction is for adult readers who love red-hot romance books with sensual and exciting storylines. Enjoy!

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  This work of fiction is an original romance by Daniella Divine. Smashwords Edition.

  Copyright © Daniella Divine 2013. Published by Red-Hot Romance Books.

  Oooh, hot!

  I was already level with the guy before I got a chance to look at him properly. I don’t normally pick up hitchhikers – I’ve heard all the stories about the Ted Bundy type axe murderers out there. But this guy looked too cute to be anything but on the level. So I thought, what the hell?

  I admit that it was my hormones getting the better of me there. You see, my name is Angel deVries, and I’m a shameless sexaholic. What I saw as I whizzed past was a guy in his early twenties with unruly, curly hair and a backpack slung behind him. As well as being sexy, he looked as innocent as a newborn baby. I felt I could take a chance.

  I slammed on the brakes, and the car stopped. Well, OK…it didn’t stop in the way most cars do. What it did is slow down in style. The brakes had never been crap-hot, but lately they had been a bit more tricky than usual. I had to yank on the parking brake to bring it to a halt, by which time the hitchhiker was at least a hundred yards behind me. You see, the Rocket is the car I’ve been driving since my student days - a rusty, old Nissan Pulsar that can remember when Reagan was president. It has its quirks, for sure, but what do you expect for three hundred bucks?

  The hitchhiker ran along the emergency lane until he caught up with me. The cars whizzing past on the freeway were making the Rocket shake and wobble. I wound down the passenger window and he stuck his head in.

  ‘Thanks!’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you going to Fuller’s Creek?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I said. ‘Never heard of it. I’m just heading for Toronto. If your place is on the route somewhere, get in.’

  The guy opened the door and hopped in, pushing his backpack down onto the floor between his legs. ‘Fuller’s Creek is on this road – about half an hour away.’

  ‘Let’s go, then.’

  I edged out into the traffic and put my foot down to accelerate. The Rocket wasn’t very happy about all the extra weight in the car, and it groaned and complained as we slowly picked up speed. I had been driving for most of the day, and my throttle leg was aching. I really needed to take a break or I would get cramp again. The hitchhiker flashed a grin at me.

  ‘Can we get some heat in here? I’ve been hitching for over an hour. I’m frozen now.’

  ‘Sorry. Heater’s broke.’

  ‘Oh, never mind. By the way, I’m Lars,’ he said. ‘Good to meet you.’

  ‘Good to meet you, too. I’m Angel. You’re not an axe murderer are you?’

  Lars laughed. ‘You have nothing to worry about. I left my axe back home in Norway.’

  ‘You’re Norwegian? That’s cool. What are you doing in Canada?’

  ‘Travelling. Couch surfing as a matter of fact. I’ve got a sofa to crash on at Fuller’s Creek. And you’re American, right?’

  ‘Yeah, how did you know? Don’t I sound Canadian?’

  ‘Your car has American license plates.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot. I only crossed the border a few hours ago. I’ve just come from Detroit.’

  ‘So why are you going to Toronto?’

  ‘One of my school friends from Montana lives there now.’

  Lars was easy to talk to. I really liked him, and he seemed to like me. There was definitely a bit of chemistry there. You know, just the two of us, close together…getting to know each other. The miles passed quite easily as we chatted about our respective lives. Soon we reached the exit for Fuller’s Creek. A bit sooner than I would have liked really. I was enjoying having a good-looking guy sitting next to me.

  ‘You can drop me anywhere here,’ Lars said.

  ‘Hell, no. It’s illegal to hitchhike here. The cops will book you for sure if they catch you on the freeway.’

  ‘Ever heard that old song by Status Quo? “Everybody has to sometimes break the rules,” right?’

  ‘Don’t know it. But it’s not worth the risk hitching here. I’ll run you into town. It can’t be more than a mile or two down the road.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. You are a lovely lady…and very beautiful, too.’

  If he kept giving me compliments like that, I would have been happy to drive him to the North Pole and back. Now I really didn’t want him to leave. I turned off the freeway and took the exit that led into Fuller’s Creek. In summer, it was probably beautiful, but the Canadian winter had taken its toll. The trees were bare, and the sky was gray and cold. The town didn’t look that inviting. As we drove through the outskirts of the town, Lars turned to me and gave me a serious look.

  ‘Angel, after you drop me off here, I guess I will never, ever see you again, right?’

  I glanced at him in confusion. ‘I guess not. Why?’

  ‘Because in that case, I might as well ask you an outrageous question. The worst thing you can do is throw me out of the car, and you are going to do that anyway.’

  ‘I suppose so. So what’s the question?’ I asked innocently.

  Lars leaned a little closer. ‘Angel, can I fuck you?’

  Well, talk about getting straight to the point, or what? I’ve met a few direct guys in my time, but none as blatant as this. This was a shocker even by my moral standards, and that’s saying something.

  I slammed on the brakes.

  That didn’t work out quite as intended. The plan was to screech to a halt, give Lars a piece of my mind, tell him that I wasn’t some easy slut (no laughing, please), and then throw him out of the car. Instead, the Rocket slowed gracefully and glided to a gradual halt on the shoulder. It didn’t make me look angry at all – it rather looked as though I might be interested in his evil plan.

  And to be honest, I was.

  I mean, what’s the point in risking your life picking up a hot hitchhiker if you don’t get an opportunity to enjoy what’s in his pants? I looked at Lars a little more closely. He was a hottie, no doubt about that. I rather fancied a bit of Norwegian wood. He could sense that I was wavering.

  ‘Come on, Angel. It will be fun. You only live once, remember. You should enjoy life while you are young.’

  ‘And everybody has to sometimes break the rules, right?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Oh…what the hell!’

  I leaned over and kissed Lars full on the lips. He was quick on the uptake, and kissed me back. It felt good, but after a moment, I pulled away.

  ‘Not here, though. We need a little more privacy.’

  Lars pointed. ‘Over there, in the forest.’

  If there is one thing Canada is not short of, it’s trees. A little way ahead of us, a dirt track led away from the road and into the forest. The Rocket bumped and shook along the track until we found a quiet spot amongst some spruce trees.

  ‘In the back,’ I said as I switched off the engine.

  ‘You’ve done this before!’

  ‘Maybe a couple of times.’ A couple of hundred times, that is.

  I spent my teenage years in Montana, so I knew all about having sex in the back of cold cars. You see, the thing is
to get on with the action right away and start working some muscles to warm yourself up. There’s no time for foreplay. I’ve known guys to get frostbite on their dicks for being slow to get started. You have to get down to some seriously energetic fucking in a hurry. I guess Lars must have had similar experiences in Norway, because he was on the same track as me.

  Within a minute, we were naked and at it like frantic rabbits on the back seat. We started the conventional way, with me on my back while Lars pumped me like a Viking on ravaging duty. Oh, yes! I like the way they build guys over there in Scandinavia. If they sold men in Ikea, I would sign up for a loyalty card. His body was firm and muscular, and he had plenty of energy. The atmosphere inside the Rocket warmed up, and soon there was steam on the windows.

  Being taken by Lars was great. But I needed to get some exercise, too.

  ‘My turn on top,’ I said, and Lars was happy to oblige.

  He lay down on the seat, his crazy curls flopping around his face. His dick wasn’t flopping anywhere, though. It was sitting bolt upright like a Viking sword, and I was very keen to impale myself on it. I shuffled forward so that my pussy was right over his cock. Lars took his manhood in his hands and slid it inside me.

  Awesome!

  I spread my legs so that one knee was touching the rear of the back seat, while the other pressed against the front seat. Then I began to move my body up and down on his shaft, allowing him to penetrate deep within me.

  ‘You are fantastic, Angel. I’m so glad I asked you that question,’ Lars groaned. ‘This is the highlight of my trip so far.’

  ‘I’m glad, too. You’re body really turns me on.’

  I slid up and down the length of his cock, increasing the pace and pushing to get every piece of him inside me. I was enjoying every second…

  And then the cramp struck.

  ‘Owww!!! Ouch…oh, fuck!!!’

  I hate it when that happens. I mostly get cramp after doing a lot of driving, as I had that day. Having one foot ramming down on the throttle seems to do weird things to the muscles. I always get it in the same place – in the calf of my throttle leg. When it strikes, the pain is agonizing, and the only cure is to straighten the leg and hop around until it all subsides.

  ‘Fuck…cramp!’ I shouted. ‘I’ve got to get out…quick!’

  I leaned forward and opened the door behind Lars. His head fell back and cracked the door frame, but I was in too much pain to give a damn about that. I scrambled over him, accidentally dumping my pussy in his face as I climbed out. Then I was out on the grass, hopping around like a lunatic. It was cold out there, of course, but I didn’t give a damn about that. And I didn’t give a crap about who might be watching. I stumbled into the fir trees, trying to stretch my leg. Gradually the pain subsided from agony to mere discomfort. I felt the back of my calf. The muscle was still distended. I continued limping through the trees until everything worked back into place. Pine needles and stones pricked at my feet, but I was too focused to care. Eventually, I felt everything was back to normal. All of a sudden, I was aware of the cold. I started to shiver.

  I looked around. Where the hell was Lars? I thought he might have followed me with a coat – or at least with an expression of concern. But there was no sign of him. I started working my way back through the trees to the car. I had gone farther than I had realized, and now I was more aware of sharp things sticking into my feet. So it took me a while to get back to the Rocket.

  When I got to the Pulsar, it was eerily silent. Still no sign of Lars, either in the car or out. I opened the passenger door and looked at the foot well by his seat. His backpack was gone.

  The bastard had fucked off.

  ***

  I didn’t hang around waiting for him. I knew better than that. I have plenty of experience of guys getting their leg over and then making a run for it. But usually not quite so literally. I guess he had decided a woman with cramp was just too much trouble. Plenty of Canadian girls around here who would melt at the sound of his accent.

  Bastard.

  Never mind. Worse things happen at sea, as my Dad always says. He has never specified exactly what those things are, and as he has lived in the Montana forest all his life, I have no clue where he found out about them. But I’m sure he knows what he is talking about.

  I got dressed, fired up the Rocket and got back on the freeway. I was a bit pissed off now. All that fluffing around with Lars had put me behind schedule. I needed to get to Toronto that evening. I reckoned I had about 130 miles to go, but when a road sign finally came up, I got a bit of a shock. It said:

  Toronto………….220

  Two hundred and twenty miles! Heck, that was way more than I had expected. If I didn’t put my foot down, it would be really, really late before I got there. I would have to get a move on. I wondered what the speed limit was on Canadian freeways. I had no idea – this was the first time I had ever ventured north of the 49th parallel. I looked out for speed limit signs, and when I saw one it was good news.

  100

  100 miles an hour. Awesome! That was higher than I had anticipated. I would be able to make up some time if I put the pedal to the metal. I put my foot down and the Rocket reluctantly revved up to what was probably the highest speed it had ever attained. The whole car started to shake and shudder, and something behind the dashboard made a strange, grating noise. I turned the radio up to full volume so that I couldn’t hear it. I found a station playing Metallica’s Enter Sandman and that did the trick. I rocked along at high speed, singing along as I went.

  Exit light. Enter night. Take my hand

  We're off to never-never land!

  I think the Rocket likes thrash metal as much as I do, so we edged a little faster, both of us making a hell of a lot of noise. We started making good time now. The miles ticked by, and although the Nissan protested, it kept going…well, like a rocket! What a car, huh? The best three hundred bucks I have ever spent. It was getting dark, so I flicked on my headlights. The speedometer edged up to nearly 100 miles an hour and kind of jammed there. Luckily the freeways in Canada are pretty good, so there was no need to slow down.

  I didn’t notice the police cruiser until I became aware of something flashing in my mirror. When I glanced up and saw the red and blue strobe light, my heart sank.

  Bummer.

  The Rocket and the police rarely get along well together. They seem to have opposing views on what constitutes a safe and legal automobile. The police car overtook me and then pulled in front of me. I saw the police officer inside point at the emergency lane. Even a dumb American like me could work out that I was supposed to pull over.

  I think that what happened next was entirely his fault. Really. If he had given me some space to stop properly, there wouldn’t have been an issue. I could have allowed the Rocket to glide slowly to a halt in the usual way. But the police officer seemed intent in forcing me to a quick stop.

  Fat chance of that.

  The police car braked, and I had to brake, too. I mean, I tried really, really hard. I slammed my foot on the brake as forcefully as I could. I yanked at the parking brake until it was pointing up in the air like Lars’ dick. But it was no use. The stopping distance was just too short. The police cruiser stopped in the emergency lane, and the Rocket gently cannoned into the back of it. There was a horrendous crunch, and one of my headlights went out.

  Oh, fuck!

  The police officer got out of his car and stepped round the back to inspect the damage. Under the glare of my remaining headlight, I could see a gun in his holster, and a pair of handcuffs hanging from his belt. I made a mental note not to upset him. One of his back lights was out, too. He shook his head in disbelief, then came over to my window. Fortunately, I know exactly what to do in such situations. This is where girls should play the helpless female card to full advantage. As I wound down the window, I slyly undid a couple of buttons on my blouse. With a male police officer, a bit of cleavage often helps a lot.

  ‘Sorry about th
at, officer,’ I cooed in my sweetest, most innocent voice.

  The police officer bent down and poked his head through the window. He shone a flashlight inside the car, making me blink. ‘Does your car have a problem stopping ma’am?’

  ‘Oh, no. It stops just fine. It just takes a little while longer than other cars.’

  The police officer winced, as if he was suffering from a migraine. Must have been the stress of the job, I guess.

  ‘Ma’am, do you know what the speed limit is on this stretch of road?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s a hundred. I checked the signs.’

  ‘And do you know how fast you were going?’

  ‘Less than one hundred miles an hour, officer. I never exceed the speed limit.’

  Now the officer was staring at me as if he was confronting a dangerous lunatic. ‘Are you aware that you are in Canada?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And are you aware that we use the metric system here?’

  It only took a few seconds for the penny to drop. ‘Oh. Are you saying that you measure speed in kilograms?’

  ‘Kilometers, miss. Kilometers. It may have said 100 on your speedo, but according to my machine you were doing 150 kilometers an hour. I’m amazed your car could even go that fast. You were way, way over the speed limit. I’m afraid you picked the wrong policeman to speed past. If there is one thing I hate more than anything, it’s speeding drivers.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. It was just a misunderstanding. I’m American, you see. We don’t use kilograms.’

  ‘Kilometers.’

  ‘Or those. We use proper measurements. Miles and gallons. You guys should try them, too. Our system makes more sense than your weird one.’

  ‘Have you been drinking, ma’am?’