Blown Behind Bars Ch. 02

Lust Gene 3

Blown Behind Bars

- part 2 -

By - Dr. Hotdog

Sergeant Ayala drove like she was responding to a call, squealing tires around corners, blasting through stop signs. The lights were on, but she wasn't using the siren.

Maybe it was less illegal for her to abuse her police power if she didn't use the siren?

I thought.

Though I was rattled by her mad driving, and though I still had no real idea of her intentions, I still sat handcuffed on the plastic bench seat, hands behind me—with a massive hard-on. The tip of my cock was still wet with Ayala's pussy juice, and though the woman scared me, I was ready to be back inside her. Very ready.

"Where are we going?" I shouted over the rumbling of the engine, the whooshing sound of cars whipping by us in the other direction.

"I

said

I'm taking you to the station," she yelled back over her shoulder. "You've been a bad boy and I know exactly what I am going to do to you."

I nodded, twisting up my lips, admitting to myself that whatever she had in mind sounded pretty good. The way she answered—she was panting, still worked up from her quick and dirty orgasm she'd given herself—using my cock like a tool. In the rearview, I could catch her cleavage and the lacy trim of her bra, as she had yet to button up her uniform. And looking there, I caught her tigress gaze, checking me out in the mirror, as she launched the rumbling squad car through traffic.

Usually, I wasn't so keen on danger—I am not an adrenaline junkie in the slightest. My idea of an exciting evening was video games and a couple of beers. I didn't even ride roller coasters—

I know, I know, a bit of a pussy. I don't care. Not a thrill seeker, I'm a chill seeker.

But, with that beautiful tanned face, filled with menace and lust, looking at me in the rearview, I could have been strapped to a rocket's nose cone and I would have stayed hard and been able to ignore the terror.

It felt like hours, careening through traffic, me banging off the doors and the hard bench seat, sliding back and forth as the black-and-white car thundered on the highway, through alleys and on short dirt roads. The woman knew every shortcut in town, and she was using them to get her prey back to her cave before it spoiled. She was a beast that NEEDED her fill of meat. Raw and dripping, her mouth was watering for it.

Finally, the car slowed, and the world seemed to wobble and stretch, as it caught up with my head. I was dizzy, bruised and my wrists were aching for relief from the not-so-nice bite of the cuffs. In a beat, Sergeant Ayala was at my door, sadly her uniform buttoned up again, hiding the goods. But, she could not hide the look on her face, the wildness in her eyes. I had been frightened more than a few times by the women whom my powers had aroused, but with her, it was a delightful combination— fear and horniness. I would dare to say that I was 'scare-oused'.

My body wanted to pull away from her as she reached in the cab to pull me out, but my cock wanted only to move forward, towards her menacing desire. Getting me to my feet, she stepped close enough that her hot breath was on my neck. She looked around for any onlookers and shoved her hands down my pants, gripping my throbbing cock, and I could not help but make a face. We were at the rear of the police station, in a partially covered loading area, but it was still very exposed. There were cars driving by and police cars parked a ways away.

"Relax," she said softly, but with some heat, "we just need to make this a little less noticeable. Don't want anyone to think you're packing." She winked and with the coast clear, kissed my neck and twisted my cock around so it was aimed up, stuck up in my waistband and safely hidden behind my shirt. The classic upward-tuck.

With my weapon secured, she got behind me and guided me into the building. It was oddly quiet. But we were in an odd part of town. Around the police station was not usually a place where people congregated. Not on purpose.

"Got a live one?" an officer asked, as we entered the building; an older guy sitting behind a desk, who didn't look up from his phone as we entered.

"Pervert," Ayala answered, blunt and bored. The man gave a dry, little laugh and said no more, as Ayala rushed us through the lobby and down a dimly lit hallway. Quickly, we came to a corridor that gave me chills instantaneously. It was lit by flickering fluorescents and small, high-set windows. The floor was bare concrete, and the walls were iron bars, stretching floor to ceiling on both sides of the corridor.

The smell was one I had never experienced. I'd spent no time in jail, and I hoped not to, if for anything, simply, the smell. Body odor, piss, vomit, smoke... just about all the bad smells combined into one. I almost retched as we entered the space, and Ayala laughed.

"I'm so used to the smell. But I know, it's bad," she said, and gripped my wrist.

"I have a special room for perverts like you. Somewhere that no one will hear your screams," she whispered, her lips brushing my ear.

I thought of a fun thing to say, something like

no jail can hold me

or

you can't scare me, pig,

but when I opened my mouth, it took everything in my power to keep my lunch down. It was probably for the best, anyway.

At the end of the corridor, we passed through a metal door with an old, rusty handle that protested loudly, groaning and squealing on hinges that desperately screamed for oil. We made our way down a flight of metal stairs that doubled back on themselves as we descended into what I had to assume was the dungeon part of the police station. After we had made our way through another ancient iron door and down another long bank of cells, I had guessed correctly. We were in the dungeon.

Thankfully, since it seemed to be so old and unused, practically forgotten, the nightmarish smell was nowhere to be smelt. It was just the dank, dark smell of a place that no one ever went to. The sound of my nervous gulp was loud in the stillness of the concrete room. The cells were larger with thicker, older bars spotted with little speckles of rust. A few stains contrasted heavily on the concrete floor in a dark, rusty brown-red. Then, fear was overtaking arousal.

"This is an old part of the place. We, technically, aren't allowed to keep people down here. I don't think we were ever supposed to, but that was before my time. Most of the new guys don't even know this is down here," she said, feeling my nervousness.

"Did they torture people down here?" I asked.

"Probably."

"That's terrible."

She agreed and then she stopped me, holding my wrist and roughly turned me around. She was smiling, warm and friendly, and then it was as if a switch had flipped. It was as if my arousing-aura's power had faded, then slammed back to maximum intensity. The ferocity, and the hunger filled her beautiful eyes like she had just taken a hit of some strong, new street drug. One that made you as horny as possible.

"Now, shut up, worm!" she growled, and shoved me into the open door of the dark underground cell.

I stumbled and banged into the dank, stone wall. With a loud, metallic crash, the door slammed shut, and I heard the telltale clacking of the locking mechanism. Sergeant Ayala walked away, humming back to the door we came in through, and I rushed to the bars, fear then completely replacing everything else. At that moment, I was terrified that I was going to wither away in a forgotten dungeon and no one would ever find me. But, I should have known better. Sergeant Ayala could not walk away from me until she had fulfilled her desire. And she had only just begun.

At the bars, I craned my neck, fearing that she was going to open the steel door and make her way back up the stairs, but she simply inserted a long metal key into the door and locked it. If I was trapped in there, I was trapped with her. The heat returned to my body at the thought.

Ayala turned and eyed me up and down, walking with a slow, deliberate swagger, dragging her fingernails across the rust-spotted metal as she made her way back to me. Her shimmering peach-colored lips curved into a wicked little smile, and the shadows of the dungeon cast a menacing look over the little round shapes of her cheeks and over her bright, amber eyes.

If every police officer were like her, all criminals, men or women would willingly go with them anywhere.

Her uniform seemed to stretch over her as if it were painted on, her body filling every inch of space excellently. As she made her way back to me, she undid her uniform top again, letting the curves of her pushed-up tits shine.

"All right,

fresh meat

. Turn around and put your hands between the bars for me," she ordered.

I obeyed. With a click, my cuffs were off and back on her belt. I rubbed them immediately, feeling the blood rush back in and the burning of the ache they'd caused flared.

"I'm sorry I made those so tight," she said, and pressed herself to the bars, her tits pressing through the iron and into my cell. "But, I wanted to get you used to tight things."

Her face was close to mine again, and I could smell the mint gum in her mouth. The heat coming off of her body was wonderful in the dankness of the dungeon cell.

"Sorry, but I had no choice when taking in a filthy pervert like you," she said, as she shoved her tongue into my mouth before I could speak.

Our faces pressed against the icy metal as our hot tongues swirled in my mouth. I felt an object tumble into my mouth and realized that she passed her peppermint gum into my mouth.

"Now," she said, pulling her soft, full lips away from me, "I need you to drop your pants and step close to the bars. I need to inspect that weapon you smuggled in." She grinned, nostrils flaring, eyes wild.

With my freshly free hands, I did as the lady officer asked, and dropped my pants to the cold floor and shuffled closer to the bars, gripping them in my hands. The sergeant dropped to her knees, her belt of weapons and tools jangling and clattering. The head of my cock was still poking out of the top of my briefs, where she had arranged it before, and with her face inches from me, she inspected my illicit goods.

"Hmmmm," she wondered, and stroked the meat of my erection over my white underwear as if she were feeling the object for the first time. Then she pulled and shimmied my underwear down my legs and watched with sparkling delight as my cock dropped out and bounced before her, eyes to eye.

"Ah, just as I thought," she said, grabbing it, squeezing and running her hand down the length of it, enjoying the width, the length, the warmth. I let out a long sigh as she stroked, examining thoroughly. The gears in her mind whirred as she thought of just how she should handle this smuggled pipe.

"This could really hurt someone. I'm going to have to do something about this."

"I'm sorry, officer," I apologized. I knew she didn't want my jokes and didn't really want to hear my voice at all. Sergeant Araya had made it clear I should stay quiet and stay hard. She had her own fantasy at play and I was just along for the ride. The glorious, glorious ride.

"Shut up, scum," she growled, and then, gripping my hard cock, slipped her fat, luscious lips over the head. She sucked and swirled her tongue around the head, slurping noisily, slathering my cock in her saliva—which she used to stroke. The squelching, wet sound filled the windowless dungeon, and I gripped the bars, leaning into her.

Though she had plump, gorgeous lips, she was doing all she could to get her small mouth around my cock. She shoved her face onto my erection, gripping and jerking with one hand on my cock and one hand on an iron bar for leverage. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes as she impaled her mouth on my cock. She was really giving it her best. Not willing to give up merely because my girth was too much for her little mouth, she slobbered and sucked and gagged on the cock that filled her mouth so that her round cheeks bulged.

Pulling off, long ropes of slobber dropped and stretched from my cock into the back of her throat. Gulping air, mascara running down her cheeks, saliva running down her small pointed chin and onto her cleavage, she looked up at me, only wanting more. She was coming up for air. Again, she tried to swallow my cock, like a garter snake trying to swallow an entire goose egg. Her rough, but still delicate, fingers wrapped around my balls, tugging just right then, stroking hard, squeezing my cock and using her flowing saliva with abandon. Alternating between stroking and tugging and gagging and slurping, she punished herself on my throbbing-hard cock.

"It doesn't seem like this is going to be enough to get rid of this thing, is it?" she choked out, pulling thick ropes of saliva, as she gasped for air. Ayala stroked wetly and looked up at me, her face a beautiful ruin of smeared, running makeup, spit and plenty of my pre-cum.

I gripped the bars for dear life, my toes curling in my shoes, but clenching as she stroked and sucked me.

"Okay," she said, getting to her feet, fingers already working to undo her belt. "I'm going to have to go harder on you," she said, chest raising and falling rapidly as she let her utility belt, gun and all clatter to the concrete. Alaya stepped out of her black pants, and her leather boots, once again showing me the deep-tanned luster of her legs, the dangerous curve of her hips and the black, snaking, thorned rose-tendril tattoos that wound around her legs.

The marks swirled around, down from her ass and thighs, then back up through her thigh gap and serpentined beneath her black, crotchless lingerie bottoms. Tattooed on her hands, the words

EVIL

and

NICE

visible, as she gripped the bars, facing me, panting, chin dripping.

I did not wait for her orders,

probably against protocol, but I had needs too, you know?

I pulled my shirt off over my head and stepped all the way out of my pants and shoes. The door was locked, and if we got caught... what were they gonna do? Throw me in jail? I'd gladly do time in that cell, I decided.

Then, as if we were racing, she peeled herself from her uniform, pressing against the bars as she stripped off the intricate black bra and dropped it to the concrete, still dick-stroking through the bars. I pressed my face into her firm breasts, going back and forth between her nipples, sucking, feeling the stainless-steel-barbell stud through the left nipple with my teeth. Her breath caught, and she moaned another of her soft cries. Despite the bad-cop act and the bad-girl aesthetic, the sounds she made were breathy and small, like sobs of pleasure and small moaning cries.

Then, Ayala turned and pressed the delicious curves of her ass to the bars, the hot mound of her puffy pussy pushing between two bars. The smooth, glistening slit stood in stark contrast against the opening in her black lace lingerie. I pressed against her, rubbing the underside of my hard cock up and down along the length of the slit, holding the bars. Her back was arched so she could press against the bars and hold herself up, offering her body to me, her prisoner. Looking over her shoulder, mascara dried in long dripping spears from her wanting eyes, she nodded, breathing too sharply to command me anymore.

I gave her what she wanted. I slid in slowly, gripping the base, pushing carefully into her tight pussy.

The sergeant's exterior, her demeanor, the way she deep-down hated my guts, belied her sexual nature. Her fat lips were so inviting, but her mouth just could not swallow my cock how she wanted. Her moans were so soft, and cute and full of intense longing, and the tiny slit of her pussy was absurdly, frighteningly tight.

I slipped in, hard as the iron bars, but I took my time. Ayala's breathing was sharp, rapid, but she looked over her shoulder at me, continually nodding, eyes wild with the thought of getting my entire dick inside her. Her flesh stretched and gave, albeit slowly, as her wet cunt enveloped me and gave way for every inch.

The anticipation was causing my heart to thunder in my head and my body beaded with sweat. I swallowed and controlled my breathing as I gently stretched her out, throbbing inside her. I could feel pre-cum oozing into her as her body, her tight, swollen lips squeezed and pulled me further inside. Pulsations shook her on my dick, the anticipation hitting her as well.

When she had used my cock to cum earlier in her car, she had gotten off with just the tip. Here, she took the whole thing, her pussy, her entire body quivering with the love of it. Whimpering, nodding, pleading wordlessly for more, she wiggled her shapely, thorn-emblazoned ass, so that I slid into her just a little bit further. When I was nearly fully inside her, there was just the last inch-and-a-half disrupted by the bars.

But that did not stop us.

As I filled her and stretched her out, she moved out and back, out and back, and I gripped her thighs from between the bars and pressed into her. The pressure on my cock was tremendous, sucking, almost as if it had formed a vacuum inside of her. We slid back and forth together like a long-stroking piston, each time coming out slicker, wetter than before. I needed to give her a full stroke. The bars were in the way and I did feel like a prisoner, then, trapped. But instead of freedom, I just wanted all of her, to feel her breasts bouncing, to feel her body sink onto mine as every inch of my cock filled her as full as it could be.

"If you let me out of this cell, I can give you more. I would really like to get all of your tight little pussy," I urged, hopeful that her fantasy could extend to that.

"Are you trying to bribe me, you sick—filthy—animal?" she returned, punctuating each word with long, hard strokes of her pussy. My knuckles were white, gripping, pulling her thighs to the bars so I could penetrate deeper. Ayala pulled herself off of me with a juicy, loud pop. She stopped and picked up the old iron key ring.

"If you try anything funny, you're gonna regret it," she said, already turning the key in the lock, breathing hard. She was playing it up, but she wanted it as bad as I did. Every inch of me—her body was aching for every inch. Every last drop.

"I want what's best for the both of us," I said, as she stepped into the cell, my hands finding her body as fast as I could.

"I think, maybe, I am starting to hate you a little less," she said, as I walked her back to the small bench in the rear of the cell. I dropped to the cold bench, gripping my cock, holding it upwards for her to sink down onto. Her tongue dove into my mouth again, and she smeared black makeup mixed with saliva onto my face. Then she turned, straddled my legs, the length of her sculpted, tattoo-inked back arching against me, as I guided my cock into her.

It was as if all the stretching, all the slow stretching we had done, had done nothing. My cock met the same tight, wet, giving resistance as she slid down. But this time, she gave up on easing me in slowly, crying out, moaning at the edge of agony and ecstasy as she drove to impale herself on me. I embraced her, cradling, squeezing her tits, the hot flesh of her back sticking to the tacky-with-sweat skin of my chest as she came to a rest, ass on my lap, my cock sunk fully inside of her. Ayala's body twitched, convulsing, unable to move as her mind short-circuited from the feeling of being so thoroughly stuffed. I savored her body. She savored every inch.

I knew then, still with her peppermint gum in my mouth, that if we moved at all—if I pumped, if I withdrew a millimeter, we would both cum. We could both collapse, bodies frozen in the electric blast of a full-body orgasm. My cum would would surge inside her and that sensation would cause tears to come from her eyes, running down her cheeks and falling onto the flawless skin of her breasts. We were frozen like that, taking swift, mammalian breaths. My arms wrapped around her, my hands on her tits and her throat, her hands reaching back, gripping my neck. We sat savoring the precipice, on the edge of glorious orgasm, my cock pulsing, and her pussy thrumming in response. And then with my face buried in her neck, time unfroze and it all happened.