He was nearly asleep from this boring night.
Two vehicles had gone by in two hours, but he had to pull an all-nighter in this part of the county thanks to some complaints about reckless drivers. He had a duty to serve; he was the Sheriff after all.
The relaxation was so deep he kept one hand clamped around the aching throb beneath his slacks and flipped through his phone full of babes. The car was off and cold, unlike his brain and cock, with the silent forest lending ambiance to his mood.
He was ready to unzip and pull out everything he had but a tiny sound slipped into his ear. His eyes darted to the left, his curiosity stolen from the big titties on his screen. Behind the crickets, he could hear it more. It was getting louder. The mystery noise revealed itself once he heard a downshift and muffler popping just down the hill. The acceleration followed and the lights beamed across the trees, blowing past him in an instant.
110 mph.
Push start. Phone tucked underneath his heavy balls. Thrown into drive and flipping his lights on down the road. The tail lights were getting away from him but he dropped the pedal and hit 120 with ease, the Hemi V8 screaming through the dead night.
"HB, got a copy, this is 48," he said calmly.
"Go ahead, 48."
"In pursuit. DOT eastbound. Clock 110. Possible 46."
He flipped the lights and jammed his foot down until he was nearly touching the bumper and saw the license plate.
Swift III.
Brake lights flashed and he let off, the beast underneath the hood droning.
"Slowing down. Stand by," he said.
"Copy."
Now on the side of the road, he rolled up behind the Camaro. Vintage. Maybe a '69 and blacker than the night.
Out of the car, he took two steps and slid back into the seat to flip his dash cam off. After a slow stroll, he was tapping his flashlight on the window. They complied.
With a draped head, he saw the curly blonde with a tiny smile and shook it back and forth.
"Jiminy Cricket," he sighed.
"Me again," she waved gently.
"Taylor," he stood up, putting his hands to his hips. "Sumbitch."
"I know, I know," she sounded off quietly.
He got harsh. "What I tell your little ass the last time I caught you racing these roads?"
"You said that this was the 9th time and the next time I'm in trouble," she quoted, word for word.
"That was three stops ago," he slapped the top of her car.
Taylor winced and apologized. "I'm sorry, Sheriff Whitten. At least it's at nigh-"
"You're pushing it, Swift," he pointed at her. "What am I gonna tell your momma when I find you splattered all over this road in that old ass car, huh?"
"I'm being safe!" she pleaded. "Seatbelt!"
"I thought you were smarter than this for a 19 year old," he said slowly. "Gat damn, Taylor."
"You're right, you're right," she gripped the steering wheel, "I'm being bad."
He held out his hand and snatched the awaiting registration she pulled from the glove box.
"Insured?" he asked.
"Well, yeah," she said under her breath.
He shook his head. "Don't sass me, young lady. Any alcohol in the car?"