Suburban Sex Club

"Mmmffff," I said around his cock. I glanced up, as much as my position would allow—arms effectively pinned behind me, on my knees in the semi-frozen snow, hair tightly clutched in his hands, head locked against his groin, nose against his belly. He was angled away from the road and his eyes were tightly closed, apparently enjoying his orgasm. His hips bucked against my face and his grip tightened even more as I struggled.

The cop-car let out a single note of the siren and I felt Akash's hands relax. His eyes popped open and he turned to face the car that was now halfway in our driveway. I felt his hands leave my hair and I fell back on my haunches, breathing raggedly. He had used me hard, like a slut, and I was totally out of breath. Even as I forced my arms forward, partially pulling the jacket back on and trying to struggle to my feet, I saw the interior car lights come on and the door open. A figure stepped out and started walking toward us with long purposeful strides. The very image of authority.

We stayed frozen in the car headlights, the blue and red lights painting patterns on our bodies. Mostly mine. Akash was struggling to pull his pants up—nothing like being caught with your pants down, especially by the police, I thought even as I reviewed my situation. I was fucking naked, or as near as could be. I started to pull my jacket so it would cover some of my nudity and tried to struggle to my feet. But my legs from knees down had gone all tingly and numb and I fell with a sharp cry. Stupid idea, I thought—playing our games outdoors like this, and now we were in trouble. I tried again, looking at Akash to help me up, but he was too busy trying to yank his pants up, getting them un-snagged from his boots, one eye on the slowly advancing cop.

He was about ten years or so away when he stopped, put his hands on his hips and said, "Hold it right there!"

One hand held a cigarette and there was something very familiar about his posture, but I could not put my finger on it. He was medium height, wearing a hat, but that's all I could see. He was backlit by his own headlights and his face was all in shadow. His police belt, heavy with all kinds of equipment—especially the metal stuff—glinted in the bright light. I remember thinking, thank God the neighbors are not around.

"Officer," said Akash, "I can explain..." Then he stopped. I was still on my knees, holding my jacket lapels together with one hand, fumbling for the zipper with the other and desperately looking at Akash for help getting up. He however ignored me, all concentration on the cop.

The cop came closer and said, "You live in this house Sir?"

"Yes, I...we do."

"Ah. Shall we go in so we can discuss this matter?"

Akash helped me up while I gave him a baleful glare. He should have fucking helped me up first, I thought. I stood on wobbly feet, thankful for the thick rubber soled shoes I was wearing. Luckily no heels or I would have definitely broken my ankle or something. Akash opened the door by the side of the garage and we walked in, Akash leading, me hobbling behind him clutching his arm and the cop following. I kicked off my shoes close to the kitchen door and just as I entered the kitchen, I stumbled on the last stair. I lunged forward holding my husband's arm, trying to keep from falling, and my jacket flew open and up and I'm sure the goddamn cop had a good eyeful.

All this while I was worrying: we had applied for our green card a few months ago. What if the cop arrested us or something happened that put a black mark on our record? Akash and I had been married for three years, been lovers for about six, and we had decided to settle down in the US. We both had good jobs, made good money and perhaps we would start a family in a few years. And all of that could potentially go down the drain just because of Akash and his fucking fun and games. Well, to be fair, I was an equal and enthusiastic partner, but at that moment I was too mad to worry about it. The only strange thing was my pussy was moistening up again. Something about the situation was turning me on.

We entered the kitchen and immediately I cast about to find something to cover my nakedness. My coat was still unzipped and most of my booty uncovered. I finally got the tab in the slot and pulled the zipper up. No clothing in sight for me to cover up my lower body, and I was just about to nip upstairs and get something when the cop stopped me with a stern look.

He looked quite at home, taking his hat off, putting it on the kitchen island, pulling up a bar stool and setting his fat ass down on it.

"Mr...uh?"

"Akash...Akash Rudra," my husband said.

"Yes, Mr Kash Rood-rah," he said mangling the name totally, "Can I see some ID please?"

Akash fumbled for his wallet which was lying on the kitchen counter. That's where he usually tosses his car keys, wallet, pen etc., when he gets back home. Just so I can get put them all back in their proper place. The cop took the proferred drivers license, looked at Akash who by then had his pants all done up, and then back at the picture. Finally he grunted, tossed the license back at him. In the meantime, I was growing increasingly restless. Some of the snow and grit on my knees had melted and was running down my legs and I hopped from foot to sock-covered foot trying to ease the tickle.

He rose, pulled his jacket off and carefully hung it on the back of a chair, just like he would on a hanger.

"Quite warm in here," he remarked, almost conversationally, as though he were an invited guest at dinner.

"Can I go and put some clothes on?" I asked. My voice sounded meek and I hated that.

Instead of answering, he cocked an eyebrow at me and said, "It's warm in here. I would take my jacket off if I were you." There was warning in his tone. "Go on," he said again.

Slowly, I pulled the zipper down and even more slowly pulled the jacket off. His eyes followed my every move and he stared at my boobs standing out proudly from my chest topped with dark brown, still erect nipples. I started to move my hands up to cover up, but then thought, what the hell, he's already seen them, and we are in so much trouble already. His eyes traveled down my body, over my flat stomach, flared hips, shaved pussy...damn my shaved pussy, no cover there either. I felt totally on display. Leisurely, he took it all in.

He pulled out a pack of Marlboros from his pocket and lit one, then offered one to me. The scene was so bizarre that I actually stepped forward and took one. I read his name tag—Steven Gould, it said. Akash refused, but did not even look at me as the cop courteously lit our cigarettes using a cheap plastic lighter. I stepped over to the cabinet and set out a cup to use as ashtray, accommodating host that I was.

"So, Mr Rood...you mind if I call you Rood?" He made it sound Dutch or something. Akash nodded. Clearly there was nothing else to be done. "You live here I see. And what were you doing out there?"

Akash cleared his throat. "Well...I, um...we, went out for a smoke."

"A smoke, huh? Interesting. Yet you refuse my offer of a cigarette."

"I...we were trying to quit."

"I see," he said, then pulled out his cellphone from his pocket and started fiddling with it. An iPhone, I saw. The silence grew as pressed the home button, used the slider to get into it, searched for something. Akash pulled some paper from the kitchen roll, wadded and wet it, and handed it to me. Under other circumstances, he might have wiped my legs himself, but now he just handed it to me. Still naked, I bent, trying to keep my knees together, trying not to give Steven a better look at my assets. I needn't have bothered; he was still busy with his phone. Akash looked curiously calm. No desperation in his face, nothing to show that his wife was being forced into this lewd display.

Finally, he turned the screen to Akash. "Looks like she is smoking quite the cigar in this picture."

I hadn't seen the picture yet, but I realized he had taken pictures of me sucking Akash's cock, or rather, him fucking my face and my heart sank. My pussy, curiously enough grew damper. When I did get to see the picture, it was a great three quarter view of my face stuffed with cock. Akash was turned away from the shot, face in shadow.

Steven waited a few beats before he made his next move. Then he stepped forward, covered the three feet between him and me and ran an index finger down the middle of my chest. Between my breasts, the finger separating the flesh and going down to my navel, my tits swinging back to close the gap. His eyes followed his finger as it traveled over my skin, shifted momentarily to the movement of my tits, then back again. Akash watched as though mesmerized, making no move to intervene. The cop paused at my belly button, then travelled south, palm down, callused, large hand rough on my skin. I shivered involuntarily, clad only in a pair of white socks. Oh, and my gold chain with the mangalsutra, the symbol of married Hindu women.

His left hand lazily reached for my right breast, fondling, caressing but rough and possessive, like he owned them. I shivered a little, loving the contact. Then, in an instant he had reached my wetness, flipped his hand over and hooked my cunt with his index finger. I cried out, more in shock at the sudden invasion than pain—there was no pain, you see; I was so wet, practically dripping. For the second time in fifteen minutes, I felt like a fish on a hook, hooked by the cunt.