Kentucky Fried Yankee Lawyer Ch. 02

The shrill report of Rhonda Stone's B-movie screams reverberating painfully in his ears, Pete's heart, the same one that had already been pumping at max volume for the past few minutes, nearly exploded when he looked over and saw a dark figure standing outside the passenger side door.

Forgetting his exposed cock was still flopping outside his unzipped fly, Pete raised his right hand to reach for the keys in the ignition to start the car, but froze when he saw the figure reach for the gun on his hip.

"..Uh....Uh..I think its Deputy Wurley," Rhonda put her hand to her chest and mumbled once she recognized the uniformed man hovering to her left.

Before he could reach over to stop her, Pete cringed when Rhonda opened the door far enough to allow the waiting lawman to poke his head inside the car.

"What do we have here?" the 30 year old officer sized up the occupants of the Impala, then cast a hearty spit of his smokeless tobacco to the ground.

What he'd exactly 'stumbled upon' didn't take Deputy Wurley long to piece together. Having called Pete Finnegan's tag in right after pulling out from his concealed spot at the speed trap, he knew who was driving the car. The discovery of one of McCracken County's most infamous skanks with him proved to be a revelation, however.

Seeing the young lawyer's cum-drenched cock still dangling in plain sight, Wayne Wurley struggled to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the image as he knelt down beside Rhonda.

Allowing the awkward weight of silence to press down on the pair, the clearly amused lawman didn't speak again until he saw Pete try to subtlety reach down to stuff his prick back inside his pants.

"Keep your hands right where I can see them, Lawyer-Boy," he said with dry and sober clarity.

Having seen this movie more times than she cared to count over the years, Rhonda didn't have to tell Pete to listen to the deputy, her eyes did it for her. Knowing how all this was likely to end, Rhonda began preparing herself before the first declaration of defiance left Pete's lips.

"What are you charging us with, Officer?" Pete tried to inquire with as much gravitas as a man could with his spent cock visible for the world to see.

"First of all I clocked you going over 50 back at the Mill Road intersection..then I got you for evading me for several miles," Wurley looked the young man in the eye and recited.

"Evading..you didn't even have your siren..." Pete started before the cop continued on as if Pete's lips were sealed shut.

"Now I've got you trespassing on private property and if I really want to get down to brass tacks...indecency in public."

Satisfied by the preppy New Englander's stunned and speechless expression, Wurley added one more surgical strike.

"Probably wouldn't be good for it to get out either that you were fooling around with one of the clients you all have down at the Public Defender's office!"

It started to dawn on Pete this wasn't about him running the speed trap a few miles back. Feeling his cell phone in his left pant's pocket, for a brief moment he thought about trying to make a call, but to who.

"Call 9-1-1, Dummy..and who are they gonna send out..the cops?" he quickly chided himself as a cold wave of dread swirled through his intestines.

A large portion of Pete's ability as a litigator hinged on his adeptness to reason in difficult circumstances, but taking one good look into Wayne Wurley's eyes, Pete didn't think logic would be a common language the two could share.

"So...you gonna write me a ticket ...or take us in?" Pete surprised himself by how forceful his sarcastic question came out.

"To be honest..all this piddly stuff aint worth my time," the cop rubbed his hand across his two day growth of beard and bellowed out a deep breath.

For just a second Pete knew how a fish felt just before it was about to wiggle its cheek off a fisherman's hook. Unfortunately in this case, the angler was just teasing his fresh catch.

"You seem like a pretty straight arrow ..hate to see anything smudge your record running with people like this...I'd be inclined to let you go but its my sworn duty to uphold the laws of this county. Considering this woman's history, I'm gonna have to make sure she's not concealing any contraband," Officer Wurley looked directly at Pete and taunted.

"Probably ought to give the car a once over too to make sure she didn't dump anything," he added, clicking open the glove compartment with one hand as he reached a flashlight in with the other.

"I just picked her up from the jail," Pete's agitation grew. "I'm just driving her home because she needed a ride."

Wurley continued to thumb through the contents of the storage space without so much as acknowledging Pete's explanation.

"You wont find anything," he wanted to mumble over to the cop, but decided to save his breath.

Well after 10pm now, having worked a full 12 hour day then going through what he had with Jenny back at his office, any mortal man would have been ready to call it a day. Now having gone from having an orgasm in his driver's seat to being a prisoner in his own car in the matter of seconds left Pete feeling as if he'd been pureed in a blender.

"Unroll your pockets, Mr. Finnegan," the cop pointed the flashlight directly at him and said when he finished flipping through the glove compartment.

Sensing the opportunity to wedge his cock back inside his pants, before he could even try, Officer Wurley stopped him and said, "Your pockets!"

Some loose change, his wallet and cell phone came tumbling out, the latter Wurley took and tossed up on the dash, as if to say, 'you won't be needing that for awhile'.

"The only thing left to check is you, Ms. Stone," the deputy looked directly into the slightly older woman's face and said, the entire time keeping the flashlight pointed at Pete.

"He doesn't have a warrant..he doesn't have any probable cause Rhonda..you don't have to do anything," Pete raised his right hand with real verve, but even the Gettysburg Address would have come across as hallow if Lincoln's fly had been down.

"Probable cause..I'm sure you've read Ms. Stone's record, Mr. Finnegan," Wurley chuckled coldly. "Considering you two are parked on some abandoned land where there have been a few meth labs operating that last few years..I'm just doing my due diligence."

Slinking back in his seat, Pete grinded his teeth together as Wurley stepped back and motioned Rhonda up and out of the car. Within a few seconds he could look out the windshield and see his client's hands come to rest on the right side of the hood as she positioned herself to be frisked.

"Keep your hands where I can see them, Mr. Finnegan...put them both up on top of the steering wheel. I'd hate to have to handcuff you..this is only going to take a minute," the cop ordered, a toxic grin bursting across his heartlessly engaged face when he saw the way Pete slowly, but inevitably, complied.

"Why don't you flip on the interior light while you're at it," he added.

Illuminated inside the car, surrounded by nothing by pitch black Kentucky wilderness, Pete felt strangely like a small child who'd been punished by the teacher in front of the entire class as he rested his hands in plain sight on the steering wheel.

His cell phone resting two feet away, Pete once again thought about dialing someone for help, but with the cop outside alone with Rhonda, he didn't think it prudent to agitate an already tedious situation.

Without so much as a kind word or warning to Rhonda, Pete could hear the rough sounds of Wayne Wurley's frisking gropes echoing through the open passenger door. Looking through the right side of the windshield, he could see the cop's hands pawing at Rhonda's chest before briskly working them down her belly, around her hips and thighs, then back up to her breasts for a second go around.

From his vantage point in the seat, Pete couldn't see Rhonda's face unless he leaned forward a foot or so. Her hands outstretched against the hood as she allowed Deputy Wurley to do his job, Pete decided to keep his back flush with the seat, knowing if he saw her expression, it would have only driven home his helplessness that much further.

As if patting Rhonda down wasn't enough to determine she wasn't concealing any contraband, the cop took two handfuls of her shirt and pushed it all the way up to her armpits as he bent her over the fender.

"She's not even wearing a bra, and he still felt the need to do that," Pete rolled his tongue around his mouth as Rhonda's milky white tits flopped free.

Not even allowing the woman the dignity of pulling her shirt back down, Pete watched as Officer Wurley's hands drifted to her waist and closed around the snap of her jeans.

And still, Rhonda Stone didn't put up the first hint of a struggle.

Within a few dreadful seconds, Rhonda's pants were down around her ankles as well, and even though it wasn't a real shock she wasn't wearing any underwear, Pete still had to turn his head when he was confronted with her sudden and stark exposure.

Given the darkness outside and the distracting yellowish haze of the light inside the car, it created a blurry and distorted image of what was going on. When he did tilt his gaze forward, all Pete could really focus on were Rhonda's 10 boney fingers pressed down on the silver paint on the hood of his Impala. Watching the way they flexed and flinched as she supported her weight, he couldn't help seeing the way Rhonda's breasts swung like creamy pendulums below her pulled up tee-shirt each time the cop shifted his probing advances.

"This will be over in just a second or two...This will be over in just a second or two," Pete mumbled to himself with the dedication of a Rosary prayer, and sure enough when he saw the lawman stand up out of the corner of his eye, Pete thought the ordeal was, in fact, done.

Then he saw something small and curious resting in the officer's right hand.

"Don't tell me he gonna plant that.....," Pete started to say when Wurley tossed the miniature zip-lock baggie he was holding down on the hood of the car where the lawyer could easily see it's contents through the windshield.

Wounded by the sight of the crystallized pebbles in the baggie, Pete bolted forward so he could see Rhonda's face. Absorbing the expression of exhaustion, guilt and defeat in the woman's dark and listless eyes, Pete's heart sunk all the way down into his already twisted guts when he realized the meth wasn't planted on her.

"Guess we're definitely headed downtown now," he spat as he collapsed all the way back in his seat.

Wayne Wurley, on the other hand, had a stroke of justice far more serendipitous at his disposal.

Expecting to see the cop reach down and take Rhonda's hands to cuff them at any moment before he read her her rights, Pete felt like he took a baton square in the solar plexes when the nearly naked woman crashed down chest first on top of his hood. The entire car swaying beneath him, Pete's eyes mirrored Rhonda's for a fraction of a second through the windshield before the sound of her wailing cry sliced through the crisp night air.

Without actually turning and having to stomach the visual confirmation, Pete was sure Deputy Wurley had mounted the hapless woman from behind.

It was a good thing most of Rhonda's fingernails had been chewed down to a nub or she would have most certainly scratched the paint job with the way she raked her hands across Pete's hood.

"This can't be happening," Pete shook his head and mumbled, molasses now filling his synapses as he leaned forward against the steering wheel.

The sound of Rhonda's moans mingled with her body shifting on top of the car filtered into Pete's sensory background as he steadily lost himself in the burning glow that had been sparked in the writhing woman's previously vacant eyes. It was akin to watching a computer that had been sitting dormant suddenly be switched on and begin initializing.

Whatever Rhonda's faults and foibles, she was a rather practical and pragmatic woman. Having grown up experiencing the full heaping of depravity her hometown had to offer, Rhonda understood the toll she was paying on the hood of the Impala was far more tidy than being dragged back off to jail.

Seeing Rhonda's gaunt face fill with purpose, Pete nearly choked on his own shock when he saw her brace her hands on the hood before rutting backwards against the cop's stabbing assault. It wasn't long before Rhonda was giving just as good as she got.

The entire front end of Pete's car was now rocking side to side as the coupling on top of the hood intensified. He could see what was left of the muscles in Rhonda's scrawny arms straining to the max as she hurled her rear end backwards against the cop's plunging girth.

His hands still pressed on the steering wheel as the vehicle vibrated beneath him, when curiosity got the best of him and he allowed his gaze to sweep to the right, Pete was struck by the stoic calm Deputy Wurley radiated as Rhonda rammed her ass like a newborn bronco into his groin.

"There doesn't seem to be an ounce of concern or strain on his face," Pete made the sickening observation..

Scanning his line of sight back down to Rhonda, the ease in the cop's face was the complete polar opposite to the woman he was fucking. Seeing just enough of Rhonda's eyes through the strands of her dark stringy hair, Pete felt a warm hand take hold of his spine at the sadistic gleam that seemed to sparkle and swirl in the thrashing woman's orbital sockets. Allowing his gaze to wander slightly lower, that invisible hand that had gripped his spine began to squeeze and curl seeing the way Rhonda's exposed breasts shimmied relentlessly in duel, alabaster blurs.

Wincing each time Wurley connected with another forward thrust, Pete's own loins guiltily began to stir seeing the increasingly palpable glow of determination in Rhonda's vengeful stare. His lower lip quivering ever so slightly when Rhonda darted her right hand down to her crotch, Pete's own head jerked back in unison with hers when Rhonda pinched several fingers around the bulging firecracker of her clitoris.

Focusing in on the mash of activity where Rhonda and Wayne's genitals were crashing together, something odd struck Pete. Granted it was dark outside, and his vision could certainly be distorted given the myriad distractions, but when he got a good look between Rhonda's parted thighs, something was certainly amiss. For a man as definitively Caucasian as Deputy Wayne Wurley, the appendage he was plowing Rhonda with looked as black as his evil heart.

Before Pete could slap himself out of his fog to get a better look, Rhonda collapsed all the way forward with a loud, metallic thud with her ass still willingly raised in offering for the man standing tall behind her.

The concussion of Rhonda's orgasm ripping through the late night desolation caused Pete to cower in his seat. Staring out the window, his vision tunneled much the same way a child's would looking through a keyhole as the older woman writhed, bucked and screamed on top of the car.

"FUCK ME.. GODDAMMITT.... FUCK ME.... IS THAT ALL YOU GOT YOU MOTHERFUCKIN BASTARD," he heard Rhonda spit back to the eerily emotionless man taking his pound of flesh behind her.

Like a runaway train, Rhonda showed no sign of slowing down. Hurling her pelvis backwards with reckless abandon, her first release bled quickly into a second and possibly a third as several beads of sweat glistened on Pete's brow.

When Rhonda's body finally gave out and she careened forward, her body draping like a mangled white sheet across the hood of his car, Pete nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw what Deputy Wurley had actually been fucking her with.

"No wonder he didn't so much as flinch through the whole damn thing," Pete groaned as he sunk even lower in his seat.

For the past five minutes, Wurley had been impaling Rhonda with the blunt and unforgiving end of his standard issue nightstick instead of his cock. A toxic mix of awe and disgust washed through Pete as he absorbed the sickening reality of it all. He was barely able to watch as the cop dropped the tip of the club between Rhonda's shoulder blades and painted a line of the woman's splattered vaginal lust down her spinal column.

As if that wasn't enough, he then raised the thing up to her lips and forced the gasping and still spasming woman to orally cleanse the shaft before he casually lowered it back into his holster.

"Now get up and get your clothes..take a seat back in the car while I decide what I'm gonna do here," Pete heard Wurley tell Rhonda over the pounding rush of blood inside his own head.

Feeling real empathy for the poor woman as she staggered around to pick up her pants, Pete also couldn't help but see the way she also grabbed the baggie of meth the cop had tossed aside. Watching Rhonda ease back towards the passenger side door on her two wobbly legs, Pete could barely bring himself to look at her as she sat down without a word beside him.

Instantly inhaling the unmistakable scent of Rhonda's freshly squeezed arousal filling the cab of the car, as much as he hated to admit it, Pete could also smell his own fear as Officer Wurley's shadow once again darkened the door to his right.

"Can't let you both go just yet," the deputy leaned down and said with soft and self assured amusement. A tone that was heightened when he saw the rubbery shaft of Pete's penis still dangling from his unzipped fly.

"So what are you gonna do now..fuck me up the ass with that thing," Pete snidely sniped before he could stop himself.

"Nah...not my type," Wurley snapped dismissively.

"It does look like you got a little stiff watching everything though," he added as he mockingly motioned down to the half inflated log of Pete's exposed prick.

What little sarcasm and fight he had left quickly drained from the young lawyer's cheeks. Looking over to the cop in one last ditch effort to reason with Wurley before things went any further, Pete stomach rolled seeing the tented bulge arching out the front of the officer's crisply pressed brown pants.

Wurley gave Pete another demeaning little wink before turning his attention back to Rhonda. Sitting in a near catatonic state in the passenger seat, her eyes trained vacantly forward, she held her pants in a twisted knot on top of her naked crotch as the cop's warm, animalistic breath cascaded against her cheek.

Pete turned away just as the sound of the cop pulling his zipper down carried through the silence. Without even looking he could hear the sound of Rhonda's neck rotate, the shifting of Wurley's fly, the slap of aroused flesh smacking her cheek, then the sigh of accomplishment from the deputy's lips when the woman took his cock into her mouth.

Once again, Pete could feel the car beneath him begin to rock when Wurley began shoving forward. Hearing the muffled snorts seeping from Rhonda's nostrils each time she attempted to breath, Pete could feel the thudding beat of his heart pressing inside his chest.

"If you're gonna do something...this would be the perfect time..you're never gonna find a guy more incapacitated than he is now," Pete thought, but as soon as he looked over to gauge his opening, he was met by Wurley's knowing sneer.

Forced now to see the way Rhonda's face looked plastered on top of the cop's unzipped pants, before he even realized it, Pete's own cock was inflating against the bottom of the steering wheel.

"When you make it home tonight, I want you to kiss that douche-bag boyfriend of your's right on the lips," Wurley growled down to Rhonda, leaving Pete with the distinct feeling there was a lot more to this snapshot of indignity than he knew.

Pete could see Rhonda tense and wretch with disgust but she continued on with her bitter chore, having no choice but to comply because of the drugs the cop had found hidden on her. Given her obvious distaste for Deputy Wurley, Pete was stunned seeing the rabid way Rhonda's throat muscles churned around the slab of flesh flaring in her mouth. He could tell the officer was supremely enjoying the moment, but Pete was left wondering how much of it was Rhonda's definite oral skills, and how much of it was the selfish and vengeful power he felt debasing the woman like he was out there in the middle of nowhere.