He'd been doing 80 in a 65 zone outside of some podunk Southern Oregon town. Jack was on the first long leg of his annual trip from Seattle to Los Angeles and he was determined to cross the California-Oregon border before calling it a night. His new Thunderbird glided down I-5 past countless truck stops and anonymous mom-and-pop eateries. When he saw lights flashing behind him, Jack cursed silently and guided the Thunderbird onto the shoulder. He ran a hand through his deep brown hair, streaked at the temples with silver, and rummaged through the glove box for his registration. Behind him, a slight figure hopped out of the patrol car and walked toward him. Jack glanced in the rearview and smiled. A woman. Jack could handle women.
He smoothed his blue pinstriped button-up and tried to shake the wrinkles out of his comfortable driving khakis. Jack always wore the rugged, sporty clothing sold by his company, a well-known menswear retailer. His craggy features and piercing grey eyes contributed to the raw masculinity he radiated. Jack was a rock climber, hiker and swimmer, so his body was taut and tanned.
The cop knocked on his window. Jack rolled it down and was pleasantly surprised to discover a gorgeous blonde woman in the tightest police uniform he'd ever seen. Even in the deepening twilight, she was wearing heavily mirrored aviators and a broad-brimmed cop hat. Her long blonde hair cascaded down from under her hat, lying temptingly over her ample cleavage as she leaned through Jack's window.
"Evening, sir."
"Hello, Officer. I apologize for speeding. I have a long way to go and—
"No explanation necessary. Can I see your license, please?" Jack handed it over along with the registration. "Thank you, Mr. Peterman. Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"
"Eighty?"
"Correct. And what's the speed limit?"
"Sixty-five?"
"Also correct. Mr. Peterman, I'm going to need you to get out of the car."
Although worried about how much this was going to cost him, Jack couldn't help becoming aroused by the whole situation. Pulled over by a sexy policewoman on a remote stretch of Interstate 5... It was straight out of a porno. And this cop had an amazing rack and—he saw as he stepped out of the Thunderbird—an unbelievably short skirt. Jack raked his eyes up her long, toned legs, taking in the curve of her hips in the skintight uniform. He admired her thin waist and large, round breasts, her slim shoulders and high cheekbones behind those impenetrable mirrored shades. As he looked, she reached up and removed the sunglasses with a swift movement. Did he see the hint of a smile play across her face? She stuck the sunglasses into her cleavage casually, pulling the taut fabric away from her breasts and affording him an extra peek deep into her uniform as she did. Jack, feeling his dick hardening inside his creased khakis, knew he had to make a move. He shut the door and leaned against it pensively, letting the officer see him checking her out.
"Ma'am, I... I have to ask whether that outfit is standard issue. I don't spend a lot of time in Oregon, but it hardly looks... Well, practical. For most situations, that is."