Back Seat of the Police Car (F/m)
It was a quiet afternoon at the 31 Flavors ice cream shop. I was working behind the counter, about halfway through my shift, moving from one mundane task to the next on my list of chores. The chore list is what we do when it's cold outside and there are no customers to scoop ice cream for.
I worked about 15 hours a week to help pay my college room and board. It was a lot for a 19-year-old kid to juggle with my full class schedule, and the long walk from campus down to the shop.
My mind had been drifting as I worked and I jumped when I heard the jingle of the bell announcing the door opening. I looked to see the tall frame of a police woman strolling in to the shop, hands on hips as she looked from me to the empty tables.
"Officer Martin," I said, lowering my eyes.
She stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at me. Finally, she spoke.
"It's Sergeant Martin," she said icily.
"Yes, ma'am." I said instantly.
After another long pause her hard expression finally broke, ever so slightly. "Ma'am... I like that. Where you from, kid?"
"Michigan," I said after an unintentional swallow.
"Ah, I figured, had to be midwest. They haven't taught you to hate the police yet."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I didn't say anything. It was true, in contrast to my fellow students, many of whom had disdain or outright animosity toward cops, I had been raised to respect law enforcement.
But for me it was a little more that that. She had been in the shop before, and I always noticed her. Tall and commanding, and all-business with her tight blonde ponytail and strong muscular frame, she had immediately captivated me. I had secretly fantasized about her, where maybe she would have to take me in for questioning, and one thing would lead to another...
She continued to regard me with that soul piercing gaze cops do so well. Could she see right through me, all the way to my stupid crush?
"Dave in back?" She asked lightly, breaking the silence.
Dave was my manager, and while he was ever-present, he rarely showed his face in the front of the store.
"Yep," I said, then noting the slight frown that had appeared on her face, added "Offic... er, Serg... uh ma'am." I thought I saw a laugh forming, but she held it in as she strode past me into the short hallway that led to the office.
I watched her go, trying not to stare, but wanting to take as much of her in as possible. She was at least 30 and probably 10 years my senior. Under all that cop gear and body armor she obviously had a stunning body, all muscles and curves.
I heard the muffled voices of Dave and Sergeant Martin talking as I went back to my dull work.
Some time passed, and I started to wonder what my manager and this cop had to talk about for so long. They had never talked this long in her previous visits. Why did a city cop need to come into an ice cream shop so often?
Eventually I heard Dave's office door open, and the two of them walked into front of the shop. They were both looking at me, which felt very odd.
Dave spoke first, saying "I really don't think he has anything to do with it."
That got my attention. Had they been talking about me?
"We'll see," Sergeant Martin said slowly, watching me carefully. "He seems nervous, he might be hiding something."
"I... what?" I stammered.
"Someone has been stealing quarts of ice cream," Dave said dryly. "We think it's one of the employees."
Sergeant Martin kept her eyes on me, watching for a reaction.
"Oh," I said, trying to act innocent. I was innocent! How do you act innocent when you are innocent? "I have no idea," I added.
"No idea about what?" Sergeant Martin asked, as if I had just revealed everything.
"Uh, no idea who stole it," I said, a little defensively.
"We didn't ask you who stole it," she responded quickly.
"Right..." I started, then noticed her hand moving toward her equipment belt. What the hell is happening? my inner voice was shouting.
She reached to the back of her belt, quickly extracting her handcuffs. She took a step toward me, holding the handcuffs folded in one hand, outstretched in front of her.
"Put these on and go sit in the back of my car," she said calmly.
I froze and time seemed to slow. Was I being arrested? I had never heard of anyone being arrested like this. I was supposed to put the handcuffs on myself? A little nervous laugh escaped, and I felt stupid.
"You want me to... " I started, then paused. "I'm confused, I didn't do anything," I finished.
Neither Sergeant Martin nor Dave said anything, they just stared at me. Then finally Sergeant Martin spoke again.
"I said, put these on," she emphasized each word, holding her handcuffs right in front of my nose, and continued "and go sit in the back of my car."
We held eye contact for a long moment, and despite the oddity of the situation, I judged her to be completely serious. Slowly, I reached up with my hand and grasped the metal handcuffs, taking them from her gingerly.
Sergeant Martin looked satisfied, but raised her eyebrows when I hesitated, clearly indicating I was expected to put the handcuffs on.
Slowly I separated the cuffs, holding them in my right hand and pushing the movable part of one cuff against my left wrist. It took me a minute to figure out how the mechanism worked, and finally it clicked in place around my wrist. With one done, I looked again at the cop for reassurance, and found her still watching me expectantly. I repeated the process with the other cuff until it was locked in place on my right hand.
"There," Sergeant Martin said, "not so hard, was it? Now, out you go. My car is right in front there."
I looked to Dave for help but he looked away and seemed uncomfortable.
I slowly walked to the door, pushing it open and hoping no one would be walking by to see me doing my solo perp walk to the police car. Indeed the sidewalk was empty, and I walked to the back door of the police SUV occupying the parking spot right in front of the store. The door was unlocked, and I opened it, slowly pulling myself into the back seat, and closing the door behind me.
Remembering too late the back doors of police cars don't open from the inside, it hit me that I was truly stuck, handcuffed in the back seat of this car, waiting until Sergeant Martin came to deal with me.
I could see Dave and Sergeant Martin still conversing in the store, and the reality of my situation started to set in. I was being arrested. They'd probably call my parents. Could I be expelled from college? I hadn't done anything! How strange to be locked in this car, my hands cuffed like a prisoner.
Her prisoner. Oh God, this was my fantasy playing out, I realized. It certainly felt real, but as the adrenaline started to wear off, I realized with dismay that I was getting hard.
No, no no! This was most inappropriate time to be getting aroused. In a goddamn police car. Handcuffed. I twisted my wrists around to see if I could wiggle out. My dick got harder. Fuck.
At that moment, Sergeant Martin turned away from her conversation with Dave, and strode out the ice cream shop door and toward the police SUV.
Oh shit, this is really bad I thought, and I tried in vain to wish my raging hard-on away.
Sergeant Martin reached the car and pulled open the door opposite from where I was sitting. She regarded me for a moment, looking me up and down. Had her eyes lingered for a moment on the tent I was pitching in my pants? I felt exposed as I shifted my legs, clad in the tight khakis I usually wore with the navy blue polo shirt that was the usual ice cream shop uniform.
She sat in the back seat next to me, and continued her piercing stare for a moment.
"Just tell us where you put the ice cream, and this can all be over." She said, in her icy cop voice.
"I don't... have the ice cream, I didn't take any ice cream," I said desperately.
Sergeant Martin just stared at me. It was as if he eyes could see straight into my brain, and I couldn't hold her gaze. Seconds ticked by, and finally I looked back up into her eyes. They were narrowed in suspicion, but green and alluring. She was leaning toward me, our noses almost touching.
Then there was the faintest twitch at the side of her mouth. And more seconds passed. Then another twitch, and a slight curl of the lip. Then a snort. And a tight, controlled laugh, and then she was fully laughing, a belly laugh that reverberated through the confines of the vehicle. And she laughed and laughed as I sat and watched her, perplexed but unable to contain my own smile as this beautiful woman laughed at me.
"Of course," she said when her laughter finally came under control. "Of course you didn't steal anything, of course." She continued to laugh, leaning over toward me and putting a hand on my leg. Her hand was inches from my still-hard cock, and I tried in vain to slither away, but with my tight nylon pants there was nowhere to hide, and she instantly noticed.
"What the fuck is that?" She said, laughter still in her voice, but realization of my situation coming quickly to her.
Her hand moved an inch toward my cock, as if not believing what her senses were telling her.
Silence again climbed between us, and a long moment passed with her hand on my thigh, and me in partial recoil, my cuffed hands held awkwardly atop my other leg. My hard cock the incongruous and inappropriate elephant in the room.
"We... Dave and I noticed the way you looked at me the last time I came in and we thought we'd play a little joke," she said, her words coming out in a fast jumble. "Just a joke..." she trailed off.
"You poor kid..." she whispered, her hand moving again closer and closer to my cock, which was straining against the stretchy fabric of my pants.
Then her hand was on my cock, rubbing it through my pants. I felt friction and pleasure as her eyes searched my face. I couldn't hold her stare as my head rolled back. Her rubbing slowed, then stopped. I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding, realizing I had been seconds away from making a mess in my underwear.
"Aw, what am I going to do with you?" She said just over the sound of my heavy breathing. This sounded more predatory than sympathetic.
She contemplated me for a moment. I watched her carefully as she looked briefly around, leaning over me, ponytail swinging from side to side. She seemed to come to a decision.
"Not a peep from you," she admonished. The hand that had been resting on my crotch found my zipper and tugged it open. She unceremoniously groped inside my pants until she found the opening in my underwear, tugging my cock out into the open air.
"Tighty-whities," she observed, "Cute."
She sidled over my legs so that she was straddling my thighs. Pushing my cuffed hands up above my head she said, "Keep them there or I'll cuff them behind your back."
Her left hand remained on my cuffed wrists, pinning them to the headrest behind me while her right hand found my exposed cock again. Her grip on it was tight and she began to stroke again, up and down. I gasped at the intense sensation, and before the sound had left my mouth, she had leaned her body forward and her lips were on mine, squelching the sound and taking my breath away.
I was overwhelmed by the sensations, her hand stroking my cock faster and faster, her grip so strong it rode the edge between pleasure and pain. Her breath came out through her nose as her tongue pushed into my mouth. Her bulky police uniform pushed roughly against my chest.
I felt the urge to come start to rise again, and she seemed to sense this, pulling her lips away from mine. "Don't you dare come on me," she whispered, but didn't let up on the stroking.
Just when I thought I couldn't hold out any longer, she suddenly pushed my cock back into my underwear. With that, she started up her stroking anew, through my underwear but with no less zeal.
"I'm going to send you back to work with cum in your pants," she said, matter-of-factly.
As the urge to come grew again, my body started to shudder. "Hold still," she hissed, and clamped her body against me, pinning me to the seat. The combination of relentless friction on my cock, and her strong body holding me against the seat pushed me over the edge and I came, writhing against the weight of her body against mine.
We remained motionless for a long moment, frozen in our ridiculous pose, until she slowly withdrew her hand from inside my pants, wiping it on me and roughly pulling my zipper closed. Her other hand kept my cuffed wrists pinned against the seat as she started into my eyes.
"Not a word about this to anyone," she warned, "or you'll find yourself in some real trouble." I didn't doubt it for a second.
After another pause with her piercing blue-eyed gaze turning almost menacing, she slid off my legs. Pushing me toward the door which I hastily opened, she grabbed me by the shoulder just before I stepped out.
"See you next time kid," she said with a sneer. "Remember, not a word, and this can be good for both of us."
- In my secret fantasies, I had imagined Sergeant Martin, the older woman in blue, taking me into the Back Seat of the Police Car (F/m) for questioning.
- As she sat down next to me in the police car, I couldn't help but notice her hand inching closer to my crotch, feeling the tender spot through my pants.
- Despite the situation, I couldn't help but feel a chill run down my spine as she reassured me that if I coined the whereabouts of the stolen ice cream quarts, this could all be over.
- Handcuffed in the back seat of the police car, I watched in disbelief as she slowly leaned closer to me, her hand closing around my aroused partial erection.
- In the back seat of the police car, our roles reversed in a dominant and submissive dance, Sergeant Martin's hand moved skillfully, expertly working me toward my release.