Jail Bait 5

Editor's Note:

Though this is primarily a heterosexual tale, this story does contain scenes of gay male sexuality. If this offends you, please do not read further.

*

To tell the truth, I'd gotten pretty tired of Terry. He'd seemed exciting and a little dangerous when we were first getting involved with each other; he could talk a good line. But now he was kind of tedious. He wasn't the exciting "bad boy" anymore. He was just a boy—and one who would never grow up.

But I guess I wasn't quite ready to accept the implications of this awareness and, when he asked me to go away with him for the weekend, I agreed. A few days away at the cabin his uncle owned seemed like it would be a nice break from work. Given that I was aware that the end ws near for us, maybe my acceptance of his invitation was using him. If so, I'm okay with that. He used my a lot more than I ever used him.

Terry referred to this as a "break," too. But what the hell would it be a break

from

for him? He didn't work—didn't have a job and, so far as I could tell, he didn't do anything around his house, either. At least, nothing but watch one of the 150 channels of TV he was stealing from the cable company.

I needed the break, though, so here we were, in my car (because, right...like Terry had a car that was reliable enough to drive down the block?) headed off for a weekend at a cabin with a guy I was to find out's even less of a man than I already suspected.

It was my car but Terry liked to drive. I guess he thought it made him more like a man. Hitting the accelerator hard made him feel like a man, too. I told him to slow down several time. We were off the freeway now and driving through small towns in Ohio. These towns were serious about enforcing the speed limits. They said it was for the safety of their residents, especially the children. But it didn't hurt that they made lots of money in fines.

It was after the third time I'd told the asshole to slow down that the inside of the car lit up red from behind. Oh shit! Now we'd be stopped. Terry would get a ticket that I'd wind up paying for because he was "just a little short."

It took Terry a while to slow down and pull over. He was acting strange but when I asked him about it, he said nothing was wrong. He was just looking for a place to pull over. He'd passed several places he could pull over so something was up, but he wasn't going to tell me what. We had plenty of time for him to tell me what was going on because the cop took his sweet time getting out of his cruiser and coming up to Terry's window. But Terry wasn't talking; he just squirmed in his seat a little.

The cop's suspicions had been raised, I'm sure, by Terry's delay in pulling over. As soon as he'd gotten Terry's license and the registration, he asked Terry to get out of the car. Terry's delay in complying with this demand did nothing to allay the cop's suspicions. When Terry finally got out of the car, the cop had him "assume the position" over the hood of the car and then stepped back to look in the driver's seat. His flashlight beam scanned the driver's seat and came to rest on a small corner of a plastic bag that was sticking out from between the seat cushion and the back. The cop pulled the bag out and I felt a sick feeling in my stomach.

The cop opened the bag, touched the powder and tasted a small amount. The taste confirmed his suspicions and his expression confirmed mine. Mr. "I-Don't-Have-Money-For-Gas" managed to come up with money for coke. Now, we were in deep trouble.

Terry was handcuffed, guided back to the cruiser and pushed into the back seat. Then the cop came up on the passenger side and asked me to step out of the car. I got out and he did his duty frisking me—very professionally. When he started to put handcuffs on me, I tried my best to get out of this. I told him I had no idea that Terry had anything illegal in the car. That didn't work. I tried flirting a little and crying a little. This guy was a straight arrow and it was clear that those tricks were not going to work. When I tried to argue that I had nothing to do with this and he didn't have any reason to arrest me, he said, "Are you," he fumbled to open the car registration sheet, "Stephanie Turner?"

Of course I was. And when I said so, I was treated to a lecture on the presumed responsibility of the owner of a car for illegal contraband transported in the car. I was escorted back to the cruiser and pushed in to the seat opposite Terry.

"You asshole!" I shrieked.

"Don't worry," Terry tried to console me. "I'll get us out of this." Fat chance. Terry never got us

out

of trouble. He didn't know how to move in that direction. But I didn't want to argue with him. I just wanted to pretend that he didn't exist.

The police station, if you can call it that, was little more than a large room with a small holding cell on one side and a couple desks and some file cabinets on the other side. There was the stereotypical cot on one side of the holding cell and that's where Terry and I were told to sit after we'd been "processed."

There were three cops in the office all together: the young, by-the-book guy who arrested us and two slightly older guys who appeared to have desk jobs. One had the gut you'd expect to go along with being a desk jockey and eating way too many doughnuts.

Nothing was happening and our requests to find out what was going to happen were met with silence or shushing. Finally, after we'd been sitting in the cell for about an hour-and-a-half, Terry got the attention of the oldest cop, who appeared to be a sergeant if I can read the stripes. Terry told him that he needed to talk to him and the sergeant came over to the cell. Terry went as far from me as possible and started whispering to the cop.

Terry pointed to me, covertly, he thought, but it was obvious enough to me. And the cop looked over at me. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew it wasn't good. Maybe Terry was trying to blame the coke on me. The second time the cop looked over at me, his eyebrows were raised in a way that made me think something else was going on.

The sergeant walked over to the other cops and huddled with them for a while. They looked at me in just the same way that the sergeant had a second ago. I saw the young cop who arrested us shaking his head but the others were clearly putting pressure on him. Finally, something was decided. The younger cop sat down, looking uncomfortable and a bit unhappy; the two older cops walked over to the cell. As they approached us, Terry moved as far from me as the cell would allow. I had no idea what was up, but blissful ignorance didn't last long.

"Your boyfriend, here, tells me that you'd fuck us all if it would get you guys out of this jam you're in. Is that right?"

That shit! That little, weasely shit! That was his great plan to "get us out of this?" He was going to pimp me out to save his skin?!

I glared at Terry with a look that could wither a soldier. I was about to scream at him a dozen different appropriate things. But I didn't. I had an epiphany, I guess. I suddenly saw him very clearly for what he was and I hated him more than I could put in words. I despised him and was disgusted by him. And I wanted to hurt him, and hurt him bad.

All of this happened in a remarkably short period of time. I guess there was some delay in my answering their question—delay that the cops might have interpreted as hesitation—but not much. I summoned up my confidence and tossed by hair back before I said, "Sure. I'll do you guys if it gets me out of this." (I wondered if Terry noticed that I said 'me'.) I was working things out in my head as I said this and I was sure I would be improvising as I went along, but I had figured out enough of what I wanted to do to be willing to go ahead with it.

The cop with the gut said something about getting started and began to unlock the cell door.

"Provided..." I said forcefully, waiting for them to ask for the conditions.

"Provided what?" The cops looked a bit skeptical. Maybe they thought I wasn't in a position to bargain. But my terms weren't ones that they had any reason to object to, so I went on.

"Provided we do it right here in the cell and dipshit, here, has to watch." That provoked a snort from pudgy cop, who indicated that was fine by him.

"And I don't want him joining in, or even getting his perverted ass off on it. So I want you to handcuff his arms, spread-eagle to the bars." Terry was looking uncomfortable with this now. That was good.

He protested a bit as the cops handcuffed him, but his protests were completely ineffective and soon his arms were pinned wide apart and above his head. He would have a good view of the action, but no part in it.

"Okay, let's get this over with," I said, being cold and business like. If I followed my plan, I wasn't going to be acting that way for long, but it was important as a starting point.

"We're up for it," the pudgier cop said, no doubt thinking himself clever. "Take your clothes off."

"I'll tell you what ... I'll give you guys a peek at what you're going to get if you give me a peek at what you've got for me." They were fine with that. What the hell? They were going to get laid. They were fine with anything.

So I unbuttoned by blouse, just letting it hang open a little to show a peek at my bra, and I unbuttoned my pants and unzipped them. I didn't pull them down; I just opened them a bit to show my black lace panties. By this time, these guys had their zippers down and their cocks out. They were pretty average, cut cocks. Nothing to be too impressed with. But I 'ooohhh'ed over them just the same. "Nice! I might be able to have fun with these," I said as I walked over to them and put one hand on each of their hardening cocks. I didn't look at Terry, but I could see out of the corner of my eyes that he was watching closely.

After I'd stroked them to their full hardness, I backed away enough to give them a view while I shimmied out of my tight jeans and slipped off my blouse. Now, I was just in my bra and panties and neither hid much of me. I had the undivided attention of the two cops who were getting ready to fuck me. The young cop who stopped Terry and me, was still sitting at the desk. He was watching the action but showed no interest in joining is. Too bad! He was cute.

"Why don't you guys get some of those clothes off, too," I said. As they stripped, I slowly reached back to unhook my bra and let it slide down my arms to the floor. I'm not really buxom, but I have full, round breasts with nipples that stand out when they're cold or excited. Right now, they were both and they were positively rigid. By the time I had my bra off, my cops were naked and ready for action.

I grabbed a pillow off the cot and threw it on the floor just in front of them. I rubbed the crotch of my panties suggestively, being sure to get them as wet as possible. Then, very slowly, I slid my panties down over my thighs and off completely. I kept them in my hand, feeling how wet they were, and waved them quickly under my cops' noses. But these weren't for them. I walked over to Terry, and held my damp panties up to his nose long enough for him to fill his nostrils with my scent. Then, I pulled them over his head so he could see through the leg holes and the crotch was squarely over his nose.

Let him get a good fill of my scent. It would be his last. The little shit!

As I walked back to my two eager cops, I caught another glimpse of the young cop—still sitting at the desk, observing the action disapprovingly. What was his story? Was he just such a by-the-book guy that he couldn't accept this?

I knelt down before the two hard cocks I was going to get intimately acquainted with. This was a classic porn scene: slut on her knees pleasing two cocks with her hands and mouth.

And it wasn't exactly a novel scene for me. I mean, I'd never done two cops in a holding cell before. But I'd been pretty wild in my teens and early twenties. I'd been to parties where a number of the girls, including me, sucked off multiple guys, some of whom we didn't even know. Call me a 'slut' if you want, but those were exciting times and I often replayed them in my mind when I was fingering myself. There's something about anonymous sex that's very sexy.

So, though these two guys were no prizes, when you get right down to it (where I was), a cock's a cock. And these were two hard and eager cocks. This wasn't a terrible prospect for me. Of course, to have the proper effect on Terry, it had to appear to turn into something much better than "not terrible." And I was determined to put on a show he'd be haunted by.

"Oh, God!" I said breathlessly, stroking the two cocks. "These are nice." I licked my lips. "I'm going to enjoy this. Mr. Legend-in-His-Own-Mind over there thinks he's God's gift to women but he's got a little dick that couldn't satisfy a teenage virgin and all the technique of a thirteen-year-old boy. It's been a long time since I've had a real man's cock; and now I have two."

I don't know whether my cops were flattered by this. I didn't care. It was for Terry's sake. He wasn't really that small, or that terrible as a lover. But I wanted to humiliate him in front of the two guys he was willing to pimp me out to. It's one thing to pimp your girlfriend out—what kind of shit does that?—but an entirely different thing for her to turn it into a humiliating cuckolding session.

I went at their cocks with enthusiasm—only partially exaggerated. The fact that they were both older, average-looking guys, and one was pretty pudgy, receded from my mind. I was confronted with two hard, and eager cocks. And I knew what to do to please them (and displease Terry).

A little teasing with my tongue produced some precum on each of the cocks. I touched my tongue to the tip of each cock, to taste their precum briefly, but I was eager to get on with this. I plunged first one, then the other, cock in and out of my mouth, stroking each with one hand all the while.

It occurred to me that, while there had been talk of my

fucking

them, I might get away with just giving these two cops blow jobs. They both had wedding rings on and I suspected that they weren't newlyweds. You know what they say about the difference between a wife and a Hoover: after five years, the Hoover still sucks! Most older married men I knew had a common complaint: they didn't get enough head. Sure, their wives would let them fuck their cunts, but that was about the extent of their putting out for their husbands.

I suspected that if I brought these guys off now, with my mouth, they wouldn't be ready anytime soon to fuck me. It's not like they were teenagers.

So, going back and forth from one hard cock to the other, I worked them toward their orgasms. I was able to catch a glimpse of Terry, looking very uncomfortable—a little bit from the position he was pinned in but more from what he was watching through the leg holes of my panties. I couldn't see his expression—a downside of putting the panties on him like I had—but I hoped he was in anguish, and that his nostrils were filled with the scent of my sex.

More interestingly, I caught a glimpse of Dudley Do-Right, sitting in his chair by the desk. He was watching intently, the disapproving look was absent, and he was stroking his crotch gently. Maybe I'd be taking care of three cocks before I got out of here. That was okay. He'd be the most fun of the three.

My work on the two cocks hadn't flagged while I snuck my peeks at Terry and the young cop. I was capable of multitasking. But now I turned my mental focus back on them. In my wild youth, I'd gotten pretty good at taking cock. I could deep-throat a big cock without too much discomfort. Of course, a guy doesn't want to think that a girl can take him down her throat with

no

discomfort. It's got to look like she's straining hard but willing to endure the pain because his cock is sooooooo delicious. I can do that.

I took Pudgy's cock all the way down, my nose planted firmly in his pubic hairs. I gagged a little. I wasn't faking it. Turns out that deep-throating isn't like riding a bike. You

can

get rusty.

I pulled off his cock, gasping for breath, and plunged down on the sergeant's cock. His was a little larger but I managed to take him all the way down, too.

When I pulled off, still stroking both cocks, I let them see the tears running down my cheeks—tears provoked by the strain of trying to take them completely in my mouth. I looked up at them, conveying as well as I could, overwhelming lust. "Oh, God! Your cocks taste so good. I want you to cum in my mouth." And I went back to alternating on the cocks with my mouth and stroking both f them.

Pudgy was nearing an orgasm and, for a few minutes, I applied my lips only to his cock. As his orgasm broke, he held the back of my head and forced me all the way on to his cock. That was okay. My throat had relaxed enough by now that I could take him without choking. I felt his cock pulse as it pumped his load directly down my throat.

He staggered back and flopped down on the cot and I turned my undivided attention to the sergeant's cock. I was deep in a sexual frenzy myself. I didn't have to fake my enthusiasm for sucking off the sergeant. I worked his cock vigorously, pumping it furiously with my hand and bobbing my head the full length of his cock.

I gently cupped his balls with one hand and, with my hand there, I could feel when his nuts pulled up against his body in preparation for their contribution to his impending load. When his ejaculation was inevitable, I clamped down on the base of his shaft with my other hand. I love to feel the pulse of the first ejaculate down the hard shaft on its way to my mouth.

For an older guy, the sergeant produced quite a load. He wasn't deep-throating me when he came so my mouth filled with his cream. I held it in my mouth while he pulled his softening rod from my lips. I had plans for this load.

Getting up from my knees, I took a step toward Terry. I could see him react. He shook his head violently. He couldn't move much, though. When I reached him, I raised the panties up to his forehead to give me access to his mouth. He was still trying to resist and I had to force his head so that our mouths lined up.

You couldn't call what I did a kiss. It was more of a forced insertion. I squirted all of the cum from my mouth to Terry's. He tried to spit it out but I kept my lips pressed against his. He could do nothing with his hands of course and his head movements were limited by the way I'd forced his head back between two of the bars.

Terry wasn't going to be able to resist me. I pinched his nose closed with one hand and waited for him to give up—to swallow the sergeant's load so that he could breathe. It didn't take long. When I let him go and moved away from him, he spit on the floor, trying to clear his mouth. But we both knew that most of the load was now in his belly and the taste would linger until he had something to drink. (The memory, I hoped, would linger forever.)

The sergeant was watching all this closely. Pudgy was too, though still from his position on the cot. And Dudley Do-Right was clearly interested, too. I could see the bulge he was stroking now.

"Do I need to take care of him, too?" I said to the sergeant, nodding at the young cop.

Sarge snorted. "He'd be more interested in having your boyfriend take care of him."

I was stunned. First, I had had no clue that Dudley Do-Right was gay—and I have

really

good gaydar. But second, I had the typical big-city bias that homosexuality wouldn't be accepted in a small, Midwestern down—especially on the police force. But Sarge seemed fine with Dudley's sexual preferences. There wasn't a hint of condemnation in what he said. It was just stated as a matter of fact.