My boyfriend and I have been dating for about six months and we've been having sex with each other for just as long. He was the third guy I'd slept with; the first was someone I had little interest in, but I was tired of being the sexually frustrated but well behaved Catholic girl. He was horny and experienced. Things worked out. The second guy was a random co-worker. One night stand. Minor regrets. But then I met James. And James...James was hot. We went out for dinner, and the second I saw him I knew I wanted to have sex with him. I held myself back on the date, not sure if he wanted me too. Apparently he did. The first date sex was amazing. I never wanted to stop, and we rarely did. Now, James was very experienced, and he loved wild, kinky sex. I was practically still a virgin. I lost it three months before I met James. Missionary position: cool. Girl-on-top: very cool. Anything else: scary.
One night, after we were done having sex, James turned to me and said, "This is great. It really is. But I fantasize about something wilder. I'm not sure what. But we need to spice this up." I didn't say anything, I didn't know what to say. I'm sure he thought I forgot about it, but that statement stayed on my mind for a long time. I wanted to have wild sex too, but I didn't know what to do. How does an innocent girl spice up a nymphomaniac's sex life?
A few weeks after his suggestion, James and I went out to eat at a restaurant outside of the city. I decided that it was time to "spice" things up. I didn't have a plan, but in preparation for whatever happened, I wore an outfit I knew he would love. My red skirt was short; it held tight from my hipbones down to the rounded end of my butt. There was a strip of flared material underneath that, and when I moved it was all that kept the world from seeing curve of my butt meeting my thighs. If I sat without crossing my legs, anyone across from me could get a clear shot of my thin lacy black thong. My habit of crossing my legs would prevent that from happening, but the skirt also rode up along my thigh until my entire leg was exposed. I also wore white socks, the schoolgirl kind, with black Mary Jane shoes, just like I wore for my uniform when I went to a Catholic school.
I wore a black cardigan sweater, buttoned up my stomach but open on top, giving a peak of the lace-covered camisole underneath. The sweater was strategically planned; the shirt I was wearing underneath was not appropriate in any setting outside of a porn movie. It was actually a halter top, with one extremely thin strap holding it up. The lacy part that showed above the sweater was pretty much all there was to the top. The bottom hem ended right underneath my breasts; the heavy bottom part of them hung out from below the shirt. The material was almost sheer, and I wasn't wearing a bra. The material rubbing against my breasts made the small pink nipples harden. Just that feeling alone got me a little excited.
As we drove towards the restaurant in James' van, I was extremely nervous about what could happen. Never in my life had I done anything this crazy or sexual; even the skirt was out of character for me. Unfortunately, I was the one who knew where the restaurant was, and because I was too nervous to remember to give James directions, we got a little lost. We found ourselves on a deserted road; James started to get stressed out, and I noticed he was speeding. A lot. Just as I was about to tell him to slow down, I saw flashing lights in the rearview mirror. Busted. It was a cop.
James pulled over, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. I looked out the back window and saw the police officer was a woman. A very attractive woman, with wavy brown hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail. Her uniform shirt stretched across her breasts forming two lines of pulled material that accentuated both her chest and her small waist. I involuntarily squeezed my crossed legs together, and suddenly realized that I was a little wet. A little attracted to this woman. My face flushed with embarrassment. I had never been attracted to a woman before. I felt my nipples harden a little more. Reaching my hand down to my lap and slightly stroking, I gathered all my bravery, turned to James and told him "Don't worry, honey. I'll handle this."
I don't know what my plan was, or how I would "handle this." But when James rolled down the window and the officer stated "License and registration, please" an idea formed in my head. It was lame, but it was worth a try.
"That's a beautiful accent! Where are you from?" I exclaimed, leaning towards the window. My lace shirt pulled down a little, giving a clearer view of my cleavage. I uncrossed my legs, my clitoris pulsing. The officer smiled, showing her perfect teeth, leaned down to the window, and looked at me. Her gaze lingered for a minute, moving down for a second to my breasts.
"Alabama. Where are y'all from?" She sucked in her bottom lip a little, completely ignoring James. I felt my thong get wetter. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable and excited all at the same time.
