Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
*
"Fuck," I moaned. I was only three hours into a six hour road trip, coasting south along a deserted state highway, heading back to college after a sexless winter break. I'd been passing the empty miles imagining Jennifer's secret smile, the jiggle of her just-right tits, and every desperate, keening simper ready to devour me whole the second I got back to the dorms...and I'd been lost in that swollen, hormonal haze for at least an hour, thumbing my stiff cock through the tight fabric of my jeans like a horny, drooling idiot. My foot had gone heavy on the gas pedal, forgotten, as all the blood in my head pumped down into the throbbing, slippery dick below...
...and the cop had come out of nowhere, pouncing like a tiger from the tallgrass, and it was way past too late now. I was going well over a hundred miles an hour when his blue-red lights lit up the rearview mirror, filling the gray sky behind me, and I knew I was -
"Fuck!"
I flashed the turn signal and slowed down, robotic, drifting to a complete stop where the crumbled asphalt met the faded grass. My hands were shaking, sweating all over the steering wheel, and my stomach was a ball of frozen butterflies. I'd never been pulled over before...hell, I'd never even talked to a cop. There'd just never been any reason to. My parents were beyond strict, so I'd done almost nothing but study and play football in high school. The cops of my hometown were always happy to look the other way, at least when it came to harmless white football players, and the cops of the affluent college town I went to school in now were no different. I knew there was a proper procedure to follow when it came to getting pulled over, a way to get on the cop's good side, but my rising panic wasn't making it easy to remember.
The cop's cruiser pulled up behind my modest black sedan, all but touching my back bumper. The lights were still flashing, bright and angry. I could see a broad form in the driver's seat, made black by the shadows of the bitter winter day.
My mind raced, trying to remember what I'd need to have ready for him. I pulled my wallet from my pocket with shaking hands -- insurance! I reached over and clumsily yanked it out of the glove compartment, spilling papers and maintenance receipts all over the floor. I had my hands on the steering wheel in seconds, ten-and-two, waiting like the good citizen I was. I heard a car door slam shut behind me.
The man approaching in the rear-view mirror wasn't just broad -- he was composed of thick, sinewy muscle that bulged beneath the navy blue of his uniform, threatening to burst at the shoulders and chest. The skin of his hand where it gripped the butt of his gun was weathered and pale, almost milky - but strong and heavy, covered in a thick coat of fine black hair. His eyes were hidden behind black aviators, but his head was shaved bald, and he had a full beard, equal parts black and gray. Despite the amazing shape he was in, he was also considerably older than me -- just over fifty, maybe. About as old as my dad. I couldn't read much beyond the stern look on his face...but I knew he wasn't happy.
A fresh wave of cold dread poured into my gut. Somehow I knew this would be no common scolding.
I rolled down the window as his massive frame came to rest at the driver's side. His firm, sturdy belly engulfed my view, flat enough but broad. It swelled with his even breathing above a giant silver belt buckle, the black strap and holster of his heavy sidearm -- and what looked to be a very large bulge in his pants.
Why had I even noticed that? Why was my mouth so dry?
"License and registration," he said flatly from above the roof of the car. His voice was deep and rich, thick with a refined South Georgian accent, but the command behind every word was undeniable. I realized I hadn't said a word, hadn't even greeted him politely, as I'd always been told to. "And turn off the damned car."
"Yes sir," I answered, a reflex more than anything else. I blushed and fumbled to do as he said, almost forgetting to put the car in park first; I held my credentials out for him after that, feeling like a doltish, ignorant child. The hairy hand that took them was bigger and broader than mine, rough and warm where his leathery fingertips brushed across my knuckles. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach when that happened, butterflies again...but they were no longer frozen. They were a swarm.
I pulled my hand back and blinked hard enough to hurt, pushing the butterflies back down where they belonged, writing it off as nerves. I put both hands on the wheel again, ten-and-two, visible and still. Don't give him any excuses...to what?
He was looking over my license, my paperwork, quiet as before. I didn't dare speak up at this point. I could only hope it was obvious how shaken I was, and hope it would be enough to excuse my silence. I'd rather be thought of as a pussy than disrespectful, at least where gigantic cops with guns were concerned.
"Where you headed today?" he asked casually, friendly even, perhaps trying to put me at ease.
I welcomed the distraction. "Oh, uh -- back to school. GTSU."
"College boy, eh?" It sounded like he was grinning, at least for a second. "What's your major?"
"Forestry, sir."
"Ah. A buddin ranger, maybe. You're definitely in the right shape for that kind of thing...real good shape." He was leaning against the car with one big arm slung over the roof, and the other held my license as he looked it over. This lowered his flank down towards me, putting the full spread of his belly just a bit too close for comfort. Worse, it splayed his cavernous armpit less than a foot away from my face, close enough to warm the air between, and his potent body odor flooded the car like tear gas. I fought the urge to lurch away from it, forcing myself to endure it, to breath it in, because I didn't want to...offend him? Make him angry? God. He was intimidating me already, and he wasn't even trying.
Get your shit together.
