The Lust Gene Ch 02 Blown Behind Bars

The Lust Gene: Episode 2

- Blown Behind Bars pt. 1

Have you ever had one of those days where no matter how hard you worked, no matter what you attempted to accomplish, you just seemed to go backwards? One of those days where every move you made, ended up in failure? Where, no matter how clever you think you are, you ended up with someone deepthroating you to completion when you're supposed to be being productive?

Sometimes I forget that this is a

me

problem. You probably hate me, but sometimes, just every once in a while, I really wish I had someone I could commiserate with about my problems. I guess many women have some kind of idea what it's like for everyone around them to want to jump their bones. But-I guess that is why I started writing these, to share my story with those who care. I know there are plenty of perverts out there reading my smutty writing with pleasure. And that makes me feel a little better.

As you may know from my last entry, I have been blessed-though, it can often feel like a curse-with a very niche, powerful ability. That I can't turn off. My body emits a wide-band spectrum of arousing signals-and I mean AROUSING. Through some cosmic joke, a mutation in my genes has given me the power to make everyone rabidly horny. The 'Lust Gene', I call it.

Now, it's not mind control, mind you. Just think of it as, through some physical manipulation of universal law, I've become the hottest, most desirable piece of ass in the universe. And, though I demand nothing of the people, they often demand much of me. That's how I got out of jail, but also how I got put in jail in the first place.

I spend a lot of time at home, alone. It works for me because I am a bit of a loner and a homebody. And it is the only way I can get some peace and quiet for the most part. As long as I don't have to interact with anyone, I can go days without a sexual encounter-I know, I know, poor, poor guy. Damon Run, just can't catch a break with all this sucking and fucking-what a tragedy. That's what you're thinking. I am sorry, but remember, I'm writing this for you, you sick pervert. Wink.

On the day in which this story takes place, I had to leave the house. I admit, I do have a bit of an issue with social anxiety, and though I know everyone I interact with is going to be nice to me-very nice-I still get the nervous jitters when I have to go out into the world. So, I put on my only defense--a pair of big, square, old-man sunglasses-the kind that wrap around my head and are big enough that they could be worn over another pair of sunglasses. A plain navy blue ball cap completes the ensemble. It doesn't work all the time, but for the unattentive of the world, it seems to deflect enough interest that some do not feel my aura.

***

I locked my front door and slinked down to my car, a gray hatchback with a nice, dark tint to the windows. Batman had the Batmobile, I got the Don't-Look-At-Me Machine. I was feeling good, just getting to the car with no human interaction, and I let out the breath I'd been holding since leaving my place. It was nice just driving on that nice sunny, early summer day. Most people never looked twice, as the Don't-Look-At-Me Machine rolled by. The mission was to get eggs and bread without fucking anyone.

Oh poor guy, you say. Shut up, my life is... different.

I was still a little sore and, honestly, still sexually satisfied after my last trip to the dentist. I could still smell Dr. Goldenrod. Her sweat and perfume, saliva, that hint of cigarette smoke and pussy juice, had permeated my very being. As I drove, it was like the smell of that curvaceous dentist--oh, and her cute little assistant, Julie-it was like the scent of them, and what they'd done to me atop that white leather dental exam chair-it was like the scent memory of it still hung in the car. Clinging to me. I still had Julie's phone number that she'd given me. It was sitting on the counter in the kitchen. I took a deep inhalation, and it was like the hot and heavy air of the encounter with those two women had only just happened. Just because my powers made it easy for me to get laid, and I do complain-a lot--I do still fantasize.

I have a lot of good footage saved in the ol' spank bank. See? I'm still human.

Suddenly, I realized I'd made a mistake. In my reverie, I'd driven right past the turnoff to the grocery. Craning my neck, I checked my blind spot so I could swing a u-turn. I had really let the scent memory take over. Vividly, I was lost in the manifestation of Dr. Goldenrod's impressive tits, bouncing slowly as she had gyrated her body on my rock-hard--

--A car horn blasting and rubber screaming on asphalt snapped me back to reality. And in that reality, my car was fishtailing. I hadn't checked both blind spots and in the other lane, I'd drifted right into a boxy, little SUV. Thankfully, I wasn't hauling ass, but I was still going fast enough that the car swung hard, tires screeching. I jerked the wheel the other way, over-corrected and jumped the curb, my car bounding the barrier and bouncing down into a grassy swale with a terrible crunching sound. Concrete chewed into steel and aluminum and plastic. My tires chomped into the earth, and with a bang and a pop, the front bumper bent around the yellow concrete base of a telephone pole. And the airbag went off.

For a moment, everything went black and spun. That feeling, like when one drinks too much and lies down in a dark room. My bell was rung. Then, sparkling, white popping stars appeared in my vision and daylight slowly filtered back. My horn was stuck on, something crumpling in the engine compartment, giving my wobbly world some background music, like an out-of-tune trumpet on loop.

"Are you all right?"

I heard a voice ask, and felt a hand on my shoulder. I blinked away some stars and looked up at my savior. The all-black uniform, backlit by the midday sun, threw me off and for a moment, in my dazed state; I thought I was looking up at the grim reaper himself. My heart sped up, and I felt it pounding in my head.

"Sir-are you okay?" a small voice asked again.

I blinked, and the face came into focus. There was a police officer standing above me. She squatted lower, her face coming into focus, cupping her hand around her mouth to amplify her voice. I realized then that my blaring horn was uncomfortably loud.

"Can you hear me, sir? Please respond to my voice if you can!" she shouted.

The smell of peppermint gum smacked me in the face, the mint helping to bring me back to reality. The officer's face was very close then. I couldn't help but stare at her. The young woman's skin was tanned and flawless; dark hair pulled tight in a compact bun, though a few small curls had escaped. A sharp wave-shape made up the curve over her top lip, the bottom was thick and glossy. Her big brown eyes were staring straight into mine, and I saw it happen; like seeing a hit of heroin move from the needle to the user's eyes. Big, black pupils bloomed, and I saw the way she was looking at me change. Concern for a citizen changed to a kind of hunger. It was a similar look to what a gazelle might see from a leopard just before it sinks in its fangs.

"Do I know you...? You look so familiar and I just can't put my finger on it..." she said, her almond eyes narrowing in on me. She couldn't understand why she felt that way about me, a random person in a minor car accident. I could see the gears turning. I knew the situation all too well.

"No, no, we've never met. But, I have been told I have that kind of face, you know?" I half joked, blinking the last of the stars away.

She laughed, deeply from her belly, putting one hand on my shoulder and the other on the door to keep herself from toppling back on her haunches. I always took advantage of how easy it was to make people laugh when they were under the influence of my powers.

Turns out that everyone thinks you're hilarious-if they want to screw you badly enough.

"Are you hurt? Are you able to stand? I think I can smell gas and we should get you out of there."

That look of hunger had turned into something else, something I didn't quite understand. She looked fierce-and very much in charge of the situation.

"Yes, I can stand. The airbag just knocked my brain around in my skull a bit-but I'm all right."

I took the keys from the ignition and got to my feet. The foxy tanned officer was backing up, but keeping a razor-sharp focus on me. A hand settled atop her holster. It looked like she'd decided I was a threat.

"I need you to turn around and place your hands on the roof of the car," she ordered, taking a step closer and snapping her mint gum.

I could see her neck and cheeks flushing, and she was breathing faster.

"I don't understand-I thought we wanted to get away from the car," I implored, legitimately confused.

Things never went like this. They would come under my influence, get deranged by horniness, and then try to get into my pants. They would take on the mind of a junkie, cunningly finding any way to get their fix--my dick inside them. It was usually awkward, often endearing, and it could certainly be frightening. But not this kind of frightening. This woman was agitated. I looked at her hand on her gun, the taser, and the cuffs on her black leather belt, and gulped down a hard lump of actual fear. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"I think you must have the wrong idea about something. I understand how you might be confused-" I rambled, but she cut me off.

Grabbing me by the wrist, she spun me around and shoved, sending my body thumping against the driver's side rear door of my car. With a practiced movement of her boot, she kicked my legs apart, spreading me wide open.

"Put your hands on the car, sir," she growled.

I felt sweat running down my neck and into my shirt. I opened my mouth to protest, but decided against it. I could feel emotion coming off of her like hot waves on summer asphalt. Rage. Could my powers have triggered something different? Did it overshoot lust and go straight into anger?

Strong hands patted me down quickly for any weapons, turning my pockets inside out. Then she took another step closer. I could tell then--she wasn't wearing any sort of kevlar vest, or whatever it was that cops wore, because I could feel her hard nipples on my shoulder blades. Like two hot metal studs. I felt the peppermint coolness of her breath on my neck, and she brought her lips to my ear. They brushed on my earlobe as she spoke.

"Tell me, sir," she inquired, each word a soft, intentional breath in my ear, "are you-single?"

A brief laugh escaped out of me, and relief washed over me; the tension of the situation not going away, but changing instantly. For a moment there, I thought I was about to be a victim of police brutality. That look in her eye, slamming me against my car-she was the type of woman who liked to wield power. To dominate--not necessarily through violence.

"Why yes, officer...?"

"Ayala. Sergeant Ayala."

"Well, Sergeant Ayala, it does happen to be that I am a single male subject," I chided, trying to lighten the mood.

"You're cute," she whispered into my ear; her hot, minty breath filling my head. Ayala fished my wallet and license out of my back pocket. "But--cut the shit, Mister Run, I'm bringing you in."

"What!? I didn't do anything wrong-I mean, I didn't do anything that wrong. The person I bumped with my car didn't even stop. They took off and left the scene!" I pleaded, but she wasn't listening.

Sergeant Ayala had a plan already set in her mind and like so many times before, I was on a hook, and she wasn't going to let me go until she got what she wanted. Sometimes, my power led to others using their own power as a consequence of succumbing to mine.

"I need to check you-more thoroughly for weapons. Do you have anything you should tell me about before I frisk you?"

There was extra emphasis on the word frisk. "Feeling frisky, I see..." I almost said--then the image of her cracking the back of my skull with a pistol-whip flashed in my mind.

I held my tongue and let her go through her motions. I knew that there was no way out of this. Not without making a scene and breaking the sexy, caramel-skinned officer-of-the-law's heart. And at that point, I was ready to see what she had in mind.

Her hand started on my bare neck-which in no way could be concealing a weapon-and her short nails scratched down both sides of my neck to my shoulders. Her hands were small but strong. Stronger than mine, and I could feel calluses formed by lifting weights as her hands felt every crook of my torso. It was like she was scanning my musculature, which to the un-enthralled observer would appear lackluster. I didn't work out, and I imagined the dudes that this woman usually pursued definitely would. But, I always appreciated a strong woman, in all ways.

Then she got to my pants, sticking her fingers in under my belt, tracing a circle around my waist, her fingers drifting deliciously close to the top of my rapidly waking penis. Her nails raked through my short pubic hair, and I let out an involuntary chuckle. It was really my only ticklish area.

"Keep it down, worm," Alaya growled, and reached deeper down the front of my jeans, snaking her warm hand into my briefs and grabbing the base of my shaft. She squeezed and hummed satisfactorily. "Is this thing registered?" she questioned, squeezing my cock, rubbing her thumb up and down the shaft.

"I knew it was big, but I didn't know I needed to have it registered." I laughed. She did not.

Jerking her hand out of my pants, she grabbed my wrists and gathered them together behind my back. Before I could react, I felt cold metal slapped around my wrists, clicking tightly. It was one new thing after the other. Usually every joke landed easily to those mystically attracted to me, but not on the sexy sergeant. She ignored my joke and slapped cuffs on me. And, I had to admit; I was into it. Something about her ignoring me, when no one else would, then taking charge--no, I was being restrained. That was the day I realized I kinda dug being restrained-who'da thought?

I watched my dinged-up car, crumpled up against the base of a telephone pole, horn still crying, shrink into the distance, as Sergeant Alaya pulled away in her cruiser, with me handcuffed in the back. With an intense look of determination in the rearview, the officer alternated her gaze back and forth between me and the road ahead. She bit her fat bottom lip, and I spied two old scars from erstwhile lip piercings, then another couple in her eyebrows; small dimples in her skin that only added to her fierce sexiness. She wore small, black studs in her ears, but there were many holes left unfilled. She'd once glittered with stainless steel.

"You were a wild child before you were a cop, huh?" I asked through the wire that separated the cab.

She grinned, showing a nice, pearly smile with a tiny gap between her front two teeth--and my heart raced. Partly from the look she gave me, when she bit hard on her fat, apricot lip, eyes shining with ideas, and partly from the lack of attention she was paying to the road ahead. I couldn't help but get hard, as I tried to guess what she was going to do with me. Most people in a similar situation would contemplate their escape, thinking of the pain about to be inflicted on them. I had a notion there might be a little pain here, too--followed with a good dose of pleasure.

As soon as we drove out of the downtown corridor of town, and the scenery became less shopping centers and mini malls, and more fields and warehouses, she pulled off, roughly, onto a bumpy dirt road that wound off into a crop of trees. I couldn't help but feel a good dose of fear, mixed with the excitement. The cuffs didn't exactly feel great. And there were people that got off on murder. Did I finally run into one of those types? I knew they were out there.

Alaya jerked the police car sharply again to the right, and pulled onto another pot-hole-ridden, dusty, worn track. The car braked to a harsh stop behind an ancient corrugated-metal building. Trees, outbuildings and fencing broke the line of sight to the roads, and any building that may have had people. I swallowed that hard lump that had reformed; though, my cock remained three-quarters hard. My second brain was ever the optimist. Sergeant Alaya got out of the car and looked around. I checked the cuffs again--yup, still really tight. Fuck.

With slow, calculated steps, she stepped to the door handle and threw the rear door of the cruiser open. She bent over, pulling the clip-on tie off the collar of her black shirt, sending a few buttons falling to the dirty floor of the car. Her eyes were wild and hungry, and she was chewing her lip like a junkie jonesing... hard. I got a good look at the red-and-black, lacy push-up bra she wore under her uniform. She certainly didn't need any help making her breasts look excellent--they were bigger than they looked buttoned up, but she went the extra mile, anyway. Sergeant Alaya was definitely an undercover freak.

"Sorry, I had something else in mind, but I just cannot fucking focus on driving anymore... sir."

"Call me Run."

"I'll call you sir," she stated breathlessly, as she undid the buckle on her black leather belt. Her kit fell to the dusty road, gun and all, which alarmed me for a moment, then I was glad to know it wasn't coming in the car with her. My second brain took that as a green flag and I got harder still. I took a long look at her matching panties. The woman was wearing black and red lingerie beneath her uniform. A black, stainless navel piercing sparkled in the late afternoon sun, and two silver nipple bars peaked out through the thin black lace. She pulled her black uniform pants off over her narrow leather boots and crawled into the car.

"Don't worry," she said, her amber tiger eyes locked on me, as she inched towards me. "This is my granddad's old shop, no one ever drives down this road."

"What about your granddad?" I asked.

"Oh, he's dead," she said matter-of-factly, and swung a toned, smooth, tanned leg over my lap, so that her back was against my chest. She let her weight fall on me, her tight, peach ass like a feast just out of reach.

"I don't know what it is about you, but I cannot think of anything else besides having your dick inside me."

"I have that effect on people, sometimes," I replied.

Alaya leaned back, rocking forward on my lap, and craning her head back so her minty mouth was at my ear again. "I don't particularly like you, especially when you talk, but that doesn't mean I'm going to take it easy on you, sir."

I'd never had a woman treat me that way, and god damn, did it make my cock hard. Pre-cum had already thoroughly soaked a big spot in the crotch of my briefs.

"Mum's the word." I replied, smiling stupidly.

"Shut up," she demanded.

It took some maneuvering on both our parts, but she managed to take my pants down enough to let my cock out. It nearly hit her in the face. As hard as it was, it made like a spring-loaded trap waiting to be let loose. It slapped up against the front of her lacy panties. Clear strings of fluid splattered on her well-defined abdominals.

"Listen, I have some other things in mind. The things I really want to do to you-but, I need to cum real quick first," she ordered, gripping and twisting the head of my throbbing dick, pre-cum squelching in her palm. "It will be quick."

"That's fine with me, sergeant, whatever you-" I started.

She interrupted with another, "Shut up," and that's when I found out that the lingerie she was wearing was crotchless. Black leather boots on either side of my seat; she lifted, then lowered herself onto my waiting, willing cock. One hand on the wire cage that separated her from the common criminal, one hand gladly guiding my erection.