Taylor Ingold stood impassively surveying the arriving high school students. She wore her standard school-resource officer's togs: a white polo shirt with her department's badge silkscreened over her right tit, her too-tight cargo shorts and her black running shoes. Completing the ensemble, around her narrow waist she sported a nylon duty belt with a Beretta 9mm pistol on her right hip, along with the other accoutrements of her job: spare pistol magazines, an expandable baton, handcuffs, pepper spray and her police radio.
Today, because it was sunny, she wore mirrored aviator sunglasses and a black baseball cap with 'POLICE' stenciled across the crown. She wore it low on her forehead.
Her sunglasses let her eyes drift from student to student without detection. Each student at the middle-class public school felt sure she was staring at them, looking for some hint of malfeasance.
Taylor was standing statue-like near the front of the school, her tanned arms folded under her large, round breasts and her feet planted shoulder-length apart. She has perfected this stance though experimentation and felt it was the most intimidating image she could present. At five-foot-four she was shorted than the vast majority to the male student body, and needed every edge to project her authority and power over the teenagers.
It was late June but still a scorcher in southern California. The pretty blond police officer could feel small droplets of sweat meander down the hollow of her back. The droplets were tickling her but she resisted an urge to scratch them. She did not want to betray any evidence of weakness, or even humanity, but stood robot-like and impassive.
"Going to be a hot one today, eh, Miss Ingold?" Taylor recognized the voice of one of the history teachers, Mr. Hamilton, beside her. She did not turn to look at him but maintained her continence of stone-like authority.
"Indeed, Mr. Hamilton. Hot enough for mischief from the trouble-makers," she replied in a measured, rough tone.
Taylor usually had a high-pitched, girly voice, but she had practice and achieved a more baritone quality for use at work.
"Oh, they're not bad kids. I think maybe your profession has given you a skewed outlook on humanity," Hamilton chuckled.
Now Taylor swiveled her head to consider Hamilton. She addressed him with deliberate annoyance, "In my five years on with the police department I have seen humanity do things that would sicken you, Mr. Hamilton. If I am overly cautious and jaded it's the result of that experience. " She added, in almost a hiss, "We can't all live in the Mother Goose world of academia."
Hamilton looked defeated and slunk off in a funk. Taylor smiled at her minor victory and returned to intimidating the arriving students.
Finally the student she was looking for arrived, just before the first bell. Jerome Washington, six-foot two, black, wearing a loose tank top and baggy basketball shorts that hung to his knees.
Officer Ingold has heard rumors that Washington was selling baggies of marijuana on campus to his fellow students. She had not been able to gather sufficient evidence to make an arrest. So far it was little more than gossip.
Taylor knew from police records that he had a prior arrest, but it was for minor-in-possession of alcohol.
Washington was bee-bopping up the steps to the campus quad with his long, lanky black arm around the shoulders of one of the most pretty and popular cheerleaders in the school. Taylor wondered why so many of the white girls on campus seemed to gravitate to the relatively few black boys. It must be the novelty of having a black boyfriend in the predominantly white community; a sign of rebellion; a public statement of their enlightenment on the whole race issue; a way to get back at their previous white boyfriends. Taylor had noted the poorly concealed looks of disgust and disappointment of the faces of the white boys whenever a black boy paraded his new white girlfriend around the campus. That look must have not been lost on the black boys because they always hammed it up, hugging their white girlfriends tighter whenever they were being watched, kissing and groping the giggling girls. Taylor did not mind the interracial dating, only that it could lead to confrontation and force her to intervene.
Taylor caught Washington's eye and beckoned him with a crooked finger. Jerome gave his winsome little cheerleader a last, sloppy kiss and approached the officer.
"Yes, Officer Ingold?" Washington was the very image of innocence.
"My office---Now," Taylor said curtly.
Washington followed the cop up the steps to the administration offices. His gaze was fixed on her shapely round ass and the way it swayed at her climbed the stairs. Taylor suspected as much, and did nothing to alter her gait. Almost unconsciously, instinctively she exaggerated the swing of her hips. Taylor was till a young woman, and Washington was still a male, after all.
In her small office Washington sprawled himself on the single chair facing Taylor's desk. Taylor rested her ass on the desk edge and faced Jerome, her legs spread almost indecently, her palms on either side of her hips. She leaned forward, her shoulders rolled back, her breasts testing the material of her polo shirt.
"Mr. Washington," Taylor began in her best professional voice, "it has come to my attention that there is a great deal of buzz about you engaging in some illegal activities on this campus."
Washington spread his hands openly, "What do you mean, officer? I ain't done nothing' bad." There was a mocking smile on his face that enraged the female officer.
"I have heard from reliable sources that you are selling pot on campus."
"She-it, Officer Ingold, I don't even use the stuff myself. It's for losers. I ain't about to do anything to ruin my college basketball scholarship, now am I?"
Washington spread his feet and slouched further in his chair.
Taylor gave an inaudible gasp. Between the black boy's legs was a bulge running halfway down the thigh of one leg.
Taylor Ingold felt her nipples began to tighten involuntarily and felt the color rush to her cheeks. Even though she habitually wore a firm bra she knew her hardening nipples were tinting the tips of her large breasts. She instinctively folded her arms over her chest to hide this evidence of arousal. Thankfully her mirrored shades hid the attention her eyes were giving to this student's crotch.
She had always heard the rumors about black men and their impressive sexual equipment, but she had dismissed the idea as mere fodder for dirty jokes. She, herself, had never been with a black man before, so had never been in a position to confirm or disprove such rumors.
But what seemed to be hanging from Washington's crotch defied reality. If that thing was real it must be eight inches long, and that was while limp. No human male could boast an endowment so prestigious, she reasoned. It had to be something else.
"I suspect," Taylor's voice cracked embarrassingly, "that you have been smuggling your stash into this very school concealed in your underwear."
Washington looked genuinely alarmed. "No ma'am, I ain't. I ain't got no stash. Never did have any," he protested vehemently.
"What's that, then?" Taylor demanded, pointing at the bulge in his pants leg.
Washington regarded his crotch. "What's what?"
"What's that. . .that thing in your pants?" Taylor demanded.
"That? That's just me, ma'am. That's just Jerome Washington."
Taylor smiled cruelly. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Jerome? Ok, down with those shorts. This time I've caught you packin' your merchandise!"
Slowly, reluctantly, Washington stood. "You making a big mistake, lady. I ain't got no pot in my shorts."
"Drop 'em, Jerome," Taylor ordered triumphantly.
His chin resting on his chest, Washington hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and his boxers and yanked them down.
This time Taylor gasped most audibly. For there, mere feet from her beaming face, was the largest cock she had ever seen outside a zoo or a farm. It dangled, languid and limp, over a large set of balls. Washington's cock was indeed eight or nine inches, and still limp. The thing has a slight curve and pointed slightly to the boy's right. It's circumcised head flared wide like an angry purple fist at the end of his anaconda-like organ.
Taylor wasn't conscious that her jaw was agape, or that she had let her arms fall limply to her side, revealing the full-blown erect nipple mounds over her breasts. She felt a quiver in her pussy and it seemed like her labia was engorging with blood, readying itself for the mounting her inner brain was expecting.
She became aware of Washington's voice, distant, indistinct, "Miss Ingold? Miss Ingold? Can I pull up my shorts now?"
Words seemed to fail Taylor. She had to resist an animal impulse to reach out, to take the organ into her hand, to feel it's girth, it's warmth.
"My. . ." Taylor managed weakly, "you certainly have a large one there, Mr. Washington. . ."
"Yeah, I knows. Can I hike up my shorts now?"
As Taylor continued to stare at the organ, transfixed, mesmerized, the tool began to almost-imperceptibly rise, to lengthen, to grow. From pointing between Jerome's feet it began to point between Taylor's feet, then between her knees, toward her own crotch.
Shocked into sudden awareness, Taylor croaked, "Yes, Yes. Pull up your shorts. But it away, please!" Her studied professional voice had deserted her, and she sounded like anyone of the high school coeds she supervised.
Taylor averted her eyes as Washington pulled up his shorts and arranged his cock comfortably down his right leg. When she did regard him again she could see that it was apparent that his cock was semi-hard even through the material of his athletic shorts.
Taylor's cheeks were glowing crimson and her mind was swimming. "Let this be a lesson to you, Mr. Washington. Just say 'no' to drugs!"
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry. Can I go to class now?"
Taylor scribbled out a note for the boy's teacher to excuse his tardiness and watched him leave her office. She stood, leaning in her doorway, watching his tight, muscular ass as he retreated from her view.
She slowly closed the door to her office and rested her forehead against the cool metal. She looked down and saw that not only her throbbing nipples pushing against the cotton of her shirt but her raised, puffy areolas as well were visible.
She shut the blinds of her office and flopped into her swivel chair, trying to mentally calm herself. What had just happened? How could her own body have betrayed her like that? Had Washington noticed her obvious arousal at the sight of his long, black cock?
She picked up a sheaf of papers from her desk and began to frantically fan herself. Taylor was positively panting and she could not remove the image of the boy's cock from her mind. Was he using that thing on that pretty cheerleader? Probably not—the girl could still walk.
Taylor's mind drifted to her fiancé, police sergeant Ronny Jones. She and Ronny had been living together now almost six months and their wedding was set for later this very month. Taylor has always assumed that Ronny's equipment was fairly normal, average, but she now had her doubts. Ronny's must be six inches long, when fully hard. That was less than Washington's was when his was soft.
When they first got together intimately Taylor had felt strangely unsatisfied. She assumed it was just nervousness, but the feeling persisted over time. Ronny rarely brought her to orgasm, unless he used his tongue. Taylor has always assumed the problem was hers, not Ronny's. Some women are just not all that orgasmic, she reasoned. But she had felt more excitement from just looking at Jerome's massive cock that she did from actually fucking her husband-to-be.
As she pictured the boy's pecker she became dimly aware of a movement, a touching, at her own crotch. To her surprise she realized that the fingers on her left hand were digging at her cunt through the material of her shorts. Waves of electric vibrations passed through her body, emanating from her busy fingers against her soft womanhood.
Taylor frantically undid the buckle of her gun belt and let it fall noisily to the floor. She almost ripped over the zipper of her shorts and lifted her butt off her seat so she could slide them down around her ankles. She spread her thighs maximally and slid the crotch of her panties to one side and dug at her sopping, fur-trimmed snatch.
"Oh gawd," she moaned, her head thrown back, her jaws agape. She had never known her clitoris to be so hard, so prominent, and she flicked it was total abandon.
Her hips began to move rhythmically with the administrations of her finger tips, lifting off the seat of her chair, grinding into her hand. She was balanced on the toes of her shoes and her shoulder blades against the back of her chair, he body quaking and vibrating in a manner totally unfit for an on-duty police woman.
In her mind's eye she could see Jerome's athletic body bent over her own, thrusting deeply into her body, his massive member reaching spots in her twat no other man had known.
