This is for all of my Lush Friends and Followers who thought that my last story wasn’t “wham-bam!” enough…

It had been over twenty years since I took the badge out of my wallet and hung up my gunbelt for the last time. But, every once in a while, I’d forget that I no longer had “diplomatic immunity” behind the wheel of a car. In those instances, I was always able to talk my way out of the speeding ticket that I rightly deserved pretty quickly. But then, late one night…

It was a little after one a.m. as I zipped down the empty interstate. The posted speed limit was seventy, so I had my cruise-control set at seventy-six; six over being the standard “cushion” for troopers running radar. So when I started on the downside of a rather steep overpass, I wasn’t really concerned about the patrol car I spotted hiding in the shadows. But, as I went past, the headlights, and then emergency lights, popped on and I knew that I would have some explaining to do.

I immediately pulled over and turned on the interior lights. The trooper pulled in directly behind me, about ten feet back. I pushed the button to let the driver window roll down, and kept my hands at the top of the steering wheel, waiting for the trooper to come alongside of me. I could see the beam of the heavy metal flashlight searching the floorboards as he approached, even though the interior of the car was pretty well lit. I remembered how cautious I was on solo night stops, and wasn’t concerned. Finally, the bright light shown into my face, and I heard those familiar words, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Familiar, except that the voice was obviously female. And even though she was making a concerted effort to sound both tough and experienced, to my trained ear the voice sounded like it was coming from a rookie; one that was a little tense and a little afraid; a dangerous combination regardless of the sex of the trooper. “Boy, that sounds familiar,” I said, hoping to break the ice a little.

“Oh, do you get pulled over often?” she said back, sounding just a tad judgmental.

“No, it’s just that I’ve said those same words myself so many times.” There, I put it out there: "Fellow LEO, no need to be worried. It’s okay to dial it down.” It didn’t work.

“Oh, so what, you think that you can just haul-ass through my town because you’re a cop, too?” was her angry reply. “Her town”? It suddenly dawned on me that even though I was out on the interstate, I had been pulled over by a city cop, not a state trooper.

“No, ma’am,” was my polite, even reply.

“Are you carrying?”

“No ma’am.”

“You’re a cop, and you aren’t carrying? Somehow I don’t believe that.” Now she was getting sarcastic, which was a disturbing escalation.

“Former police officer, ma’am. I’m retired now,” I offered as explanation.

Suddenly the car door flew open. “Get out of the car, sir. And keep your hands where I can see them.” I complied, the flashlight the officer was holding still bright in my eyes. As a result, I stumbled slightly. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, I have not.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Step back to the rear of your car and put your hands on the trunk.”

“Um, I don’t know how much experience you have, but that is an incredibly dangerous thing to do. If someone were to rear-end your car with us standing between the front of yours and the rear of mine, we could both get killed.” I still couldn’t see her face due to the light being directed straight into my eyes, but I could tell that I had given her pause.

“Okay, stand along the passenger side rear and put your hands on the trunk.”

This time I did as she asked. She put the big flashlight on the trunk to free up her hands to pat me down; another rookie mistake. “Um, you should really put that back in the holder on your belt. Putting it right next to my hand on the trunk makes it a weapon for me to use.” I was starting to get a little concerned about just how inexperienced this officer was.

She quickly snatched the light off the trunk, and I could hear it slide into the ring. Then she began a methodical pat down, starting with my collar and sleeves, the moving down my torso. Her hands stopped as they felt my chest, and I couldn’t imagine what gave her concern. “You’re pretty buff for a retired cop,” she said. “All the ones I know are pretty flabby.”

She continued going lower until she got to my waist, then ran her fingers inside the beltline. “Mmm,” she said, almost to herself. “Not even an empty holster.” Then, to me she said, “Look, don’t make me find your piece. Tell me where it is now, and it’s just between you and me. Otherwise, I add it to the other charges.”

“I’m not carrying,” I repeated.

“Okay, it’s your funeral.” She continued the frisk, but now she started at my left ankle and worked her way up. As it happens, I was wearing some loose boxers under my khakis, and as I “dress left”, my cock was hanging down along that same upper thigh. I didn’t think that it registered to her the first time she touched it, but my dick sure took notice. By the time that she came back to it, it had already started to harden. This time she couldn’t help but feel it, but it still apparently didn’t occur to her what she felt. She patted it a few more times, making it even harder, yet it seemed as if she still had no clue.

She stood up suddenly, reached around to the front of my waist, and undid my belt. Before I could react, she had pulled down my pants. “Not carrying, huh?” she said, in an accusatory tone. Then she grabbed to where my dick had been; only now it was sticking up. She seemed confused, then started searching around until her hand wrapped around what she now immediately recognized as a raging erection. “Oh my god,” she shrieked, “I am so sorry!” Yet, interestingly, she still held onto my boner.

“Um, could you let go now?” I asked politely. She slowly took her hand back. I turned around to face her. Standing there with my pants down around my ankles with my eight-inch woody tenting out my boxers, I must have been a sight. But all she could do was stare at my protruding member. “Look, am I free to go now, or what?” I asked, rather testily.

She just stood there, kind of frozen in place, staring at my extended member. Finally, she tried to stammer out an apology, which was rather incoherent until the end, when she said “Is there any way that I can make this up to you? I’ll do anything. I really can’t let this get reported to the chief.”

Without the glare of the flashlight, my eyes had now become accustomed to the dark. I got my first real look at the woman who had pulled me over. Even with the chunky body armor and gunbelt bristling with equipment, it was obvious that she had a pretty good body. My cock continued its salute. “I’ll tell you what; you let me frisk you the way you just frisked me, and we’ll call it even.” I was mostly joking, but she appeared to take it quite seriously.

“Really? You feel me up and we’re square?”

I was a little surprised at her response. “Sure, why not?”

I saw what I took to be a look of quandary on her face. “Deal,” she said, and removed her gunbelt, then assumed the position that I had just been in. I pulled my pants back up, and was just about to take a position behind her when she stood up. I thought that she had changed her mind, but instead she unbuttoned her uniform blouse, pulled it out of her waistband, then reached inside and pulled the Velcro straps holding her vest in place off. “You wouldn’t have been able to feel anything up top,” she offered, then leaned back over the trunk.

Gravity allowed the front of her vest to fall away, and I slipped my hands in under it. She was wearing an undershirt, but like a lot of female LEO’s that I’d met over the years, no bra due to the bullet-proof vest. She had a wonderful pair of full, firm breasts; and as I handled them the nipples became quite hard. I gently pinched and tweaked the pebbles, eliciting soft moans.

I pulled my hands out from the body armor, and just like she did, started at her left ankle and started moving up her uniformed leg, squeezing and caressing until I got just up to her crotch, then stopped. As she wriggled in anticipation, I pulled away and went down to her right ankle. I could hear a soft groan of frustrated disappointment. Once again I started at the ankle and slowly worked my way up, and again stopped just before making contact with her crotch. I flattened my palm, and ever so lightly applied it directly to her covered labia, gently rubbing it back and forth a few times; then took it away.

I stood up. “Well, I guess you aren’t hiding anything. You’re free to go.”

“Wha…what? You’re stopping? Is that all?”

Grinning, I moved directly behind her, my still erect member making contact with her ass. “Well, I could do a body cavity search.” I undid her under-belt, then unfastened the top of her pants. “Are you hiding anything in your pussy?” I whispered in her ear. She groaned and shoved herself back into me. I ran the zipper down, then grabbed the waistband and shoved her uniform down to her knees.

I positioned my fully-clothed hard-on in between her ass cheeks, then felt around to the front of her bikini-style panties. I could feel a bushy covering over her pubis, which I rubbed for a bit before moving my fingers down to feel the wetness of the thin material that covered her clit. I pried and prodded at the sensitive bead, then moved to her covered opening. The crotch of her panties was now soaked, and she was slowly moving her hips in time to my stroking.

I ran my hand back up her front, then inside so that I was now making direct contact with her little man. I flicked my fingertip over it a few times, and she shuddered. I slowly moved farther until I found her opening, then slid my middle finger into her hot, wet vagina. I twirled it around, then pulled it out. “Nope, nothing in there,” I said, again at just a whisper level. I reached down, grabbed the pants at her feet, and started to pull them up.

“Oh god, you can’t stop now,” she moaned.

“No, a deal’s a deal. I actually felt more of you than you did of me.”

“Oh, fuck the deal,” she replied, and pulled her panties down to her knees, then bent back over the trunk. “Fuck me.” She didn’t have to say it twice. I dropped my pants and boxers, my still-hard cock at the ready. I slid the knob up and down her soaked slit, then popped it into her opening. Grabbing her hips for leverage, I pushed all eight inches of my thick man-meat into her waiting tunnel. “Man, is that big,” she gasped. I pulled about halfway out, then went balls-deep back in. I could tell that I was bumping up against her cervix. “It’s okay,” she said, “I like it.”

I started to saw in and out, gradually increasing my speed until my stomach was slapping against her butt, causing an erotic rippling effect that I could see in the flashing colored lights of her patrol car. She was so wet that I could hear a squishing sound as I plundered her pussy. I reached around and found her swollen clit. I started strumming it, throwing the officer into a cunt-wrenching orgasm. I rode her out, amazed that I was able to hold back.

“You’re still hard?” It was more of an incredulous statement than a question. I answered by really slamming into her, reaching back under the vest to hold her tits in order to get more force in my thrusts. She did her part, pushing back as much as she could. I guess it was my ball-sack slapping against her clit that took her over the edge again; and this time I went with her, flooding her vagina with my hot, white lava.

I lay over top of her as my softening penis slipped out. I was so snug up against her that I could feel our juices flowing out of her pussy and down both of our legs. I was about to say something about getting dressed before someone drove up when another police car, this time an actual state trooper’s, pulled up with lights flashing. The trooper jumped out of his car, gun drawn, then saw what we were doing.

“Geez, Heather, again?”

I could feel the woman beneath me shrug, then heard her say, “Hey, Tim, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“Yeah, well you better get your clothes back on pretty quick. Someone saw what looked like a fight and called it in. Your Daddy’s on his way.”

“Oh, shit!” Heather, as I now knew her, quickly disengaged from me, re-fastened her vest, buttoned her blouse, and pulled up her pants; our cum still dribbling down her legs. I just stood there, dumfounded. She turned to me, grabbed my dick, and said, “You better get dressed. Ex-cop or not, if my Daddy finds you here with your dick hanging out and my pussy juice dripping off, he’s liable to shoot you.”

Needing no further encouragement, I pulled up my pants. Heather had just got her gunbelt back on when another police car came screeching up. A portly looking older man in a uniform sporting chief’s stars bounced out. “Tim” stepped up and said, “No problems here, Chief. Heather was just shooting the breeze with an ex-officer, and he was giving her some pointers on road-side take-downs.”

The “Chief” looked at me, looked at his daughter, and then back at me. “What department?” he barked.

“Retired, sir. MDCI.”

He gave me another glare. “Carry on, then.” He looked at Heather. “Don’t take up too much of the man’s time.” With that, he got in his car and sped off, followed closely by trooper “Tim”.

Heather turned back to me. “Sorry about that. My Daddy is super-protective.” She started fondling my dick again, which started to get hard again, despite the circumstances. “I’m impressed; all this drama and your dick is still raring to go. Pretty good for a retired guy. You come through here often?”

“Every month; same day and time,” I said.

“Make sure you’re doing seventy-six again,” she laughed, as she headed to her car, “and I’ll make sure that you get another good frisking.” She got in and drove off.