I Heard The Click

I heard the click.

My brain was fuzzy from drinking a lot, but I heard the click. It woke me up.

"Gottcha."

Of course. It was Scott, and the sound was my handcuffs snapping into place on my own wrists. If he didn't place me under arrest at least once a week, he would get very whiny, so I decided to let it play out. He was very good with his tongue, and I didn't have to go to work until the afternoon.

He pulled one of my legs to the side of the bed and continued my imprisonment with one of his neckties on my ankle. I was thinking about the safe word. Did we change it? I remembered talking about using 'red' like they do in some of the videos we watch on the BDSM channel, but we had always used 'uncle' like my father told me they used in the old days. "Yell 'uncle' or they would keep hitting you," he would tell me about his childhood.

My dad was a cop too. He is retired now and living in Arizona with his latest wife. Mom lives in Munich with Marty. Try saying that ten times real fast.

I opened my eyes when Scott grabbed my other leg. His cock was almost pointing to the ceiling with his piss hard on. He was young and full of cum. He could pound into me for a long time, when he had to pee. At this time of the morning his prostate would control the urine flow, but it would constantly send messages to his brain that he had to pee, interrupting the other side that said 'Take her. She's yours! Fuck her. Fill her with your seed!'

Some mornings he would rape me for an hour before climbing over the top and squirting out some jizz. If I wasn't too sleepy I could take myself to a great fuck fantasy and enjoy a dozen orgasms, all before breakfast.

More often than not, he had to go for a pee and leave me there to fall asleep for 5 minutes before he woke me for the finale.

It was a marvelous way for a 39 year old two time divorcee, to wake up. Thank God I never had any kids.

Scott moved down past my tits to feast on my pussy. Then I realized that I had to pee myself, and I knew that Scott would be planning on giving me pleasure, then he would go for a quick pee, and fuck me. It would be nice, but I had to pee so bad that I would not be able to cum even though he would try and try! We would both be frustrated.

"Scott, you have to let me up to go pee." I pleaded, but tried to sound authoritative from an extremely vulnerable position.

"You know that's not going to happen, Cop, Bitch." Scott barked, staying in his role.

This could go wrong, and I didn't want to have to buy another mattress.

"Red. I have to call red, Scott. I really need to pee, then we can reset and I'll give you lots of tongue when you give me a scary skull fuck," I promised my latest young and precocious lover, but a little bit of sarcasm might have leaked out and I regretted it right away. He was sensitive.

He stopped. He turned back to me with his clenched fists on his narrow hips. He was smiling, so I felt hope returning.

"I've got a new toy!" Even at 19 Scott had boy-like mannerisms, or perhaps he was bi?

He went to his dresser and pulled the bottom drawer out. He brought out a device that I would have figured for a putting target. It had a wide opening to a plastic pocket, but there was a red mark at the center of the target if you were aiming for something.

He slipped it under my ass and between me and the fitted sheet.

"It's so you can pee in bondage," he explained as he stood back to watch.

"No fucking way! Red. Uncle. Blue. Whatever the fucking safe word is! Did we change it to something else, Scott! I am not going to pee in front of you like a baby. No and that is final."

"Wow."

"I guess you're just going to have to arrest me, Staff Sergeant Picklebender!" Scott was upset. He shuffled off to the toilet.

He was right about the arrest part. I could arrest him, since I had clearly indicated that this was not consensual. He knew that I would never do that, but I could. I decided to play nice. He would make it worth my while.

I held it until he came back into the bedroom.

"You monster! I can't wait any longer."

I spread my thighs noticeably wider and let the golden shower go, hoping his device would work as advertised.

"Thanks, babe." He whispered, out of character. He watched as my bladder emptied. I could see joy in his smile.

"If you make me drink that, I will push a shotgun up your ass and make you suck your own cock while I decide whether to pull the trigger or not."

He just stroked my tit and smiled.

The sex was a little too sweet for a bondage scene. I like a lot of sucking on my nipples and gentle thrusts. I mean, it's okay once in every 100 years of fucking. It set the stage for another day of catching scumbags.

"Sergeant Piccolo! They are waiting for you in the rape room!" The public address system roared into life just as I pushed through the security point at the garage entrance.

"When are people going to remember to call it the 'ready' room or the 'gathering' place." I yelled to no one in particular.

I had to give out assignments and connect the squad with all of the news that Sexual Assault Officers would need to hear about regarding the scum of our city.

"Okay, team, we have Kevin Gleason being released on the first of the month, so check his rap sheet, and get acquainted with his home field, around the Hudson Building on Vermont Street. I put that rapist away when I was a rookie, so I have a personal stake in this one, people."

He was known as the 'Happy Ending' Rapist by some of the media. He would tie up and rape senior women. Then, when they were discovered, often by their nurse or personal support worker, they would refuse to press charges. It wasn't until I found his stash of trophies, including his diary which revealed his detailed plans, so the D.A. charged him with 17 counts of Conspiracy to Commit Rape, which could have resulted in a maximum of 34 years, but it was negotiated to 10 years without parole.

Our prisons release their wards on the first of the month, and one of tomorrow's freshly rehabilitated returnees would be Kevin, Happy Ending, Gleason.

We had a contact at his halfway house, and every street cop knew the address of the 7 women that were still alive, ten or more years after their night of torment and passion. His residence would be watched to see if he was showing signs of an active predator. That's all that we could do. For now.

Then I heard the click.

It was a nice thought, to start my morning with a tumble, but I had to get to headquarters early.

I felt Scott plop down, straddling my waist but I couldn't see anything in the gloom. His hands came to my face, but he pushed something leathery into my mouth and looped a strap around my head.

"Quiet," a commanding metallic voice rang out.

It was commanding enough that I stopped struggling for a second. That was when the black sack went over my head.

I started to make sounds, but the gag was different from yesterday's fun. He pushed something against the outside of my face and whatever he pushed into my mouth expanded to fill the space, and prevent all but the most muffled of sounds from escaping.

"I am going to butter your biscuits, Sweet Cheeks," the metallic voice teased me as he fumbled with my breasts, then he was licking and kissing them like someone who had been deprived of tits for ten years. I started to kick out, but screaming only echoed in my brain. In spite of my team. Kevin was taking his first victim.

"You can not get away. It is not logical for you to struggle. You will not be hurt." It sounded like I was in 'Saw XII'. The handcuffs were real enough.

He dismounted me to the left but before I could do anything he was pressing back down, but now he had reversed his position.

I tried to kick him in the head with my knee, but I couldn't see. He looped a rope around my leg and I couldn't help myself while he tied it to the right, then he put his full weight and strength into trapping my other leg. It took ten minutes of silent struggle, but I was eventually spread out before my nightmare rapist.

To make the situation worse, I knew that he would try very hard to get me to like it.

Other, mature female detectives, had tried for hours and weeks, to convince those women to press charges. They were resolute that it was consensual.

I felt him at my crotch. His breath was hot on my thighs. I could flex up and down, but he had something on my knees, keeping them stretched wide. He invaded me with his tongue, then fingers.

"Sweet," came the robot voice.

Then I felt him near my neck, and fumbling was followed by a cock being pushed into me. It had a lubricated condom and it was much fatter than I was used to. The condom kept the head compressed as he weaseled it up and down in the slit of my snatch, then he shoved it into me hard.

I tried to scream. He was bigger than anyone I had ever fucked. It was like he used a baseball bat handle first, but I could feel his thighs against me and feel the power of his hips.

"If you want to cum, you have to lift your hips off of the bed, Detective Pickledick," my attacker commanded.

I couldn't yell out, 'fuck me', but I lifted my hips, keeping my shoulders down. Kevin continued to plunge into me with his rockstar cock. He knelt on the narrow bed and fucked me.

Then the vibrator was pressed on my clit and I went spastic with the sudden orgasm. It had built up, so I had to relax and enjoy it for nearly half a minute. I mentally prepared myself for the hours of sex. I was well versed in the case. I could expect this to continue for 6 hours or more. He was probably starved for pussy.

Then he leaned in close as I came down from my climax.

"April Fools," Scott whispered.