Officer Taylor

* * *

When Taylor awoke she could tell from the night sky outside their French doors that it was quite late. She felt somewhat better, and wondered if the whole day had just been a dream. Or a nightmare.

She could hear the muffled sounds of the TV from the living room. Ronny was still up.

Taylor slipped on some dry panties and left the bedroom.

"Whoa! Hiya, Tay!" It was Archie Reynolds, one of Ronny's friends from work.

"Oh, Tay, Archie's over. Sorry I didn't tell you," Ronny offered guiltily.

Archie's eyes drank in the vision of Taylor. Her tight tee shirt showed her pert figure off to the best effect. It wasn't so long that he couldn't get a glimpse of her panty-clad mons from under the hem. Her large, unbound breasts swayed seductively under the cotton.

Taylor was too foggy to care what Archie could see and she went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of beer. Besides, she liked it when men admired her body. Maybe Archie would be thinking of her as he rolled with his wife in the sheets tonight. Not an unflattering thought, she thought.

Taylor stood in the kitchen doorway, her hip thrust out, one shoulder against the door jam, and tilted the beer back.

Archie was eyeing her hungrily, licking his thin lips.

"Tay, dear, why don't you put something on?" Ronny suggested desperately.

"Shadup, Ron! Can't you see she'd GOT something on?" Archie chided.

Archie was a vile character, thought Taylor. Rude, crude, vulgar. Even though he was one of Ronny's best friends he had tried to hit up on her several times. She had always refused him roughly, but it flattered her in some biological sort of way.

Truth be known, many of Ronny's friends has tried to get into her panties. It seems like their effort increased after it was known that she and Ronny were engaged. Cops are just like that, she learned. It wasn't anything personal against Ronny.

"So, how was your day at work, hon'?" Ronny asked.

"Oh, you know, the same old thing. Stuck up students trying to get over. I am glad the school year's almost done," Taylor offered disinterestedly.

"I suppose you'll have to work patrol over the summer like the rest of us. School resource officers don't get the summer off like the students," Archie quipped.

"I don't mind that at all, Arch. I am looking forward to it, actually," she said.

"They might stick you in investigations, Tay. They say that being a SRO is a fast track to detectives," Ronny observed.

"Wouldn't that be nice, Taylor? Weekends off, holidays off, regular daylight hours. And you'd get to wear civies to work instead of navy blue wool," Archie grinned.

"It all pays the same," Taylor said dryly, and went back into the bedroom.

* * *

It was about eleven when Ronny finally came to bed.

"I thought Archie would never leave," he said, slipping off his jeans.

"Me either."

Taylor studied her fiancé's body. Ronny had a nice build. Not overly muscular, more of a long distance runner's body. He was very white, with curly blond hair. When she let her eyes drift downward she noted with new-born disappointment his tighty-whity clad package. It was like a boy's bulge. She had never noticed before. It has always seemed adequate, but things seemed different now, somehow.

Ronny smiled, seeing her watching him.

"Aw. . . does baby want some of this?" He cupped his organs with his hand.

"Not tonight, dear. I still feel out of sorts," she offered apologetically.

"Well, that's okay," he yawned, "I'm sort of bushed too. Only thirteen days more to go."

"Till what?"

"Till we get hitched, silly!"

"Of course, how forgetful of me. I must be really zonked to forget something like that."

"Don't worry about it, love. It's probably just a case of brides' jitters."

"Yeah, I am sure that's all it is."

The next morning Ronny brought Taylor a glass of orange juice and a croissant while she was still in bed. He was sweet that way.

"You know, Tay, you kept talking in your sleep last night," he said.

Taylor froze in mid bite. She felt a pit in her stomach. "What was I saying, dear?" she asked tentatively.

"You were staying something about Washington."

"Oh. Oh yeah, I had a dream about Washington State. I visited there once. I had a cousin in Seattle," she blurted.

"And you were saying something about Jerome . . ."

"I must have been dreaming about Jerome, Alaska. It's the capital. I have a cousin there, too. Odd, I guess I had geographical dreams last night."

Ronny gave her an affectionate kiss on her forehead and left for work.

* * *

Taylor was at the high school promptly at 7:30 AM the next morning. She seemed to have recovered from whatever was ailing her and was back to her old self.

She parked herself at her usual vantage point just inside the gate to the school and, as usual, was visually inspecting the arriving students. She was again impassive, officious, detached.

When Jerome Washington arrived he was again wrapped around that giggling, clearly-brainless cheerleader he had been with the previous day. When he saw Ingold the smile drained from his face and he gave the officer a polite nod. Taylor did not acknowledge him in any discernable way.

Some—most of the male students studied her in a way that made her sure she was their jack-off fantasy, but that did not trouble the officer. It made her feel even more powerful, controlling.

Today was the last day of the school year, so there was virtually no academics planned. It was a day for saying good byes and getting ones yearbook signed by teachers and friends. Taylor must have had to sign two hundred year books, mostly those of young boys. She always wrote a standard, "Be safe and have a happy summer—Officer Ingold." She also had a following among certain female students, those who wanted to emulate her and the suspected lesbian girls.

Towards the end of the school day she recognized a voice from behind her as she was signing some pimple-faced freshman's yearbook. She turned to see Washington extending his yearbook towards her. She felt her heart flutter and her breaths quicken.

"Officer Ingold, I would be honored if you signed my yearbook," he said in a measured voice. She hesitated a moment, then took the offered book.

"You got me all wrong, officer. I have never sold pot or any other drug on campus. I know that a lot of the white boys must have told you different, but they're just jealous and would love to get me into trouble . . . for some reason."

"Perhaps, Mr. Washington," she said in a low tone, as not to be overheard by stray ears. She handed him back his yearbook. He glanced at her inscription—"Keep hanging loose, Jerome. Your good friend, Officer Taylor."

* * *

The days passed too quickly. It was the day of her marriage to Ronny.

In a room at the country club her father had retained for the ceremony Taylor readied herself for the wedding. Her mother and sister were on hand to assist her in her preparation.

"I declare, Taylor, I would think you would be more joyous on the occasion of your marriage," he mother fussed.

"Maybe you're just having second thoughts of marrying a dweeb like Ronny," her sister joked.

"I need a drink," Taylor growled.

"I called room service ten minutes ago. Where in the heavens are they?"

"It's okay, mom. I'm sure they are on the way."

At that moment there was a knock on the door. "Let me get it," Taylor commanded. She felt like she needed to move.

She gathered up her white wedding dress and strode to the door.

"Good morning, ma'am. I have your order. . ."

Taylor gulped audibly. There, at the door to her room was Jerome Washington, dressed at a hotel waiter. In his hand was a tray with a small bottle of whiskey with a single glass.

"Jerome," Taylor gasped.

"Officer Ingold," Jerome responded with a sly smile.

"Wha—what are you doing here?"

"My uncle is the manager here, and he got me this summer job."

"You certainly look good, in your uniform, Mr. Washington," she said, gazing up and down his tall frame. Her eyes stopped at his crotch. Even in his slacks one could tell that this waiter had a huge crank. He must have been wearing more supportive underwear because, instead of hanging down one leg of his trousers his junk was bunched up in a large knot that bulged his fly out obscenely.

"You look beautiful, Miss Ingold."

"Thank you, Jerome. You look . . . good too," she murmured, her gaze still locked on his crotch.

"Your order, ma'am," Jerome said, extending the tray towards her.

"Oh my, I don't have any cash for a tip. Mother! Do you have a five dollar bill?"

Taylor's mother appeared with a small clasp purse and produced the bill.

"Thank you, ma'am. Have a good wedding." Jerome spun on his heels and walked down the hallway outside Taylor's room. Taylor leaned out to watch his canon-ball-like buns in his tight black uniform pants.

"Did you see that young man's crotch?" her mother stuttered. "What a monster he was hiding!"

"Oh, really, mother. I didn't notice."

* * *

Taylor drank the entire bottle of whiskey Jerome had delivered. It had only been a small bottle, but soon the bride-to-be felt the warm glow in her gut and the clouds appear in her mind.

"Mom, I'm going to step into the hallway and get a soda," Taylor announced, her words slightly slurred.

"No dear, I'll go. . ."

"No. I want to. I need to get out of this room for a while. I need a little 'alone' time, please."

"I understand, Taylor dear. But don't stray too far and don't be gone long. We need to head to the ball garden in a short while."

Taylor borrowed a buck from her sister and left the room. She headed towards the concession machines, looking right and left, moving slowly down the empty hallway.

When she turned the corner he was there.

Jerome leaned lazily against the wall with a smug look on his face. The teenager held out his hand. In a daze Taylor slipped her white-gloved hand in his. Jerome led her to a hotel room door and took out a pass key, unlocking the door. Taylor felt powerless, and followed him into the darkened, empty room.

"Jerome, I . . ."

The high schooler put a finger gently on her lips to silence the shaking bride. Then he leaned forward and put his large meaty lips on her. Taylor felt as if she would swoon. She kissed the boy hungrily, grinding her lips against his.

Jerome had his hands on the officer's ass, pulling her hip against his own, digging his fingers into her soft, yielding butt cheeks.

"This is insane," Taylor panted. "I'm getting married in less than an hour . . ."

Jerome did not respond. He gently sat Taylor on the edge of the bed, stepped back and began to undo his belt.

"Please . . .oh please . . .," Taylor meekly whispered.

He jerked his zipper down with a fluid motion and let his trousers fall in a heap around his ankles. His erection tented his jockeys. Taylor could feel the heat from it on her cheeks like the first rays of the morning sun.

Jerome slid down his underwear and his hard-on sprung from his crotch and wavered in the air mere inches from Taylor's face. It looked even larger than she had imagined, now at full-staff. Taylor was almost cross-eyed, staring in rapt wonder at his tool as it throbbed visibly. It was smooth and blacker than the rest of his skin, and rooted in a thick forest of icy black curls. His pendulous testicles seemed to pulsate, slowly rising and falling from the base of his cock.

Instinctively, automatically the tool was in Taylor's gloved hand, as if her inner animal had taken charge. The world seemed to fall away and there was only she and Jerome and his wondrous cock. It throbbed in her hand. She could feel its inhuman heat through her gloves. She could sense its almost-magical power.

Taylor glanced up and met the boy's eyes. He smiled and nodded slightly. Taylor brought her head closer to the organ and, opening her painted lips, took the bulbous head into her mouth. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the feeling of the fat cock on her tongue, the spongy head filling her mouth. Taylor tasted a salty drop of pre-cum ooze from the massive cockhead. She swirled her tongue around the opening on the end of his dong and let out an involuntary moan of pleasure.

The young woman could hot properly grasp the organ, such was its girth. She brought her other hand on the opposite side of his dick and began to slowly work her hands up and down its length, massaging it, teasing it. She let her teeth gently rake its surface and felt it twitch and jerk in her hand and mouth.

Taylor could only fit a few inches of the thick member into her mouth. Still, her jaws ached from being stretched so far open. Her nostrils were filled with the musky sent of his privates.

She began to work her hands faster upon his log. Jerome's hips were thrust forward, his hands resting on his hips.

"That's it, officer. Suck that big black cock. Suck it like you live to suck black cock."

Taylor moaned her approval. At that moment she existed for one purpose—to bring and receive pleasure from Jerome's love muscle.

Taylor's pussy was twitching in protest as being left out of the action. She could feel her own juices soaking her lace panties. She hoped it wouldn't soak through to the back of her dress under her ass.

Suddenly, a growl came from deep inside Jerome's throat and he put his hands on the sides of her head and pushed her off his cock. A long silvery rope of cum draped from her swollen lower lip to the angry-looking head of his dong. She resisted the pressure of his hands and tried to stuff the cock back into her yaw, but the young man was too powerful. She looked up at his face pleadingly, her eyes begging for more, but he just gave her a crooked, toothy smile.

"Stand up, Ingold," he commanded her with the authority only the massively hung can muster.

Shakily, Taylor rose to her feet. Jerome's cock head brushed against the white silk of her gown, leaving a faint snail's trail of cum on the fabric.

Roughly, his wide black hands on her shoulders, he spun her around, facing away from him. Placing one hand over her sopping pussy and one in the small of her back, he bent the officer bride over at the waist. He gathered up the back of her dress and rolled it over her back.

Taylor's round, shapely ass presented itself for his view. Jerome snapped one of her garter belt straps on her white butt, stinging her slightly. Taylor rested her palms on the bed covers and watched her lover through a mirror over the head of the double king-sized bed. His black face was already covered with a sheen of sweat.

He roughly pulled down her flimsy, lacey thong. Her gaping cunt seemed to be winking at him, like a mare in heat. The delicate lips of her twat were swollen, darkened, quivering. Drops of Taylor's juices were dripping from the thick forest of blond curls at the bottom of her upturned pussy.

Keeping one hand on the small of her back, he grasped his meat in his other fist and guided it against her vaginal opening. The effect was electrifying. Her taunt legs began to shake, her ass-cheeks quivering like fleshy jello.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, ma'am?" he asked in a haughty, self-assured voice.

"Oh God yes. I've never been more ready for anything in my life. Please . . . do me quickly, Jerome," she panted.

"No. I think maybe we've gone too far. We should stop," he chuckled.

"You black bastard! Fuck me now! Fill me with that horse cock!"

"What's the magic word, bitch?"

"Uh . . . um . . .please?"

"That's my girl. Beg for it."

"Please, please fuck me, Jerome. Oh sweet Jesus, hurry! I need to feel you inside me more than anything."

Jerome placed the broad tip of his cock against Taylor's sopping cunt. He began to push his hips forward. His glans flattened and spread against her opening, but would not enter.

"Relax your cooze, Ingold. Shit, you're a tight one. Never had one like this, I suspect."

He applied more pressure, more force until, in an instant, the head of his cock popped inside her twitching pussy.

A feral grunt came from Taylor's parted lips. It was guttural, inhuman, unearthly. As more of his cock pushed into her vaginal canal she let of a muffled scream of pleasure. She wiggled his hips to ease his entry, moving her ass in a circular fashion so that his cock was cork-screwing her from behind.

Taylor could tell that Jerome was stretching her twat in a way no man had ever done before. It was a strange mixture of pain and exquisite pleasure. Her cunt felt as if it was on fire. Her hanging tits jiggled and swayed in synch with his thrusts, almost popping from the plunging neckline of her wedding gown.

Jerome hit bottom in the woman's cunt and still had a good two inches of cock to spare. He slowly began to withdraw, then more quickly replunged his length back into her tight hole.

Taylor tried to urge him on, but words failed her. She was thinking and bucking against his cock like a cat in heat. He mid brain had taken control of her and conscious control of her own body was by now impossible. Her body was reacting to total animal lust. Her hips and ass undulated and swirled with a rhythm as old as the human species, or as old as her pre-human ancestors.

Jerome, too, was lost in the feeling of lust. His body moved as if it was on autopilot, reacting to primitive instincts. He trust his cock in and out of the hot, wet pussy with a timeless tempo, his meaty balls dangling and swinging below his rock-hard member.

At first it was just a slight tickle around the ring of his anus that traveled along the invisible plumbing of his balls and cock. It grew in intensity until he began grunting like an animal, spittle flying from his curled lips.

"Here it come, you bitch. Get ready for it!"

He rammed his cock in maximally. Even the unused last two inches disappeared into the woman's abused and swollen fuck hole. Jet after jet of rich, thick semen erupted from his cock into the deepest recesses of Taylor's cunt tunnel. She could feel the round knots travel along the length of the underside of his quivering battering ram of an organ and deliver burst after endless burst of scalding cum into her body.

His body went taunt, vibrating in tonic contractions. She could see that his face was a mask of exertion, his white teeth clenched and bared on his streaming face, his eyes wide and fixed on infinity.

Taylor own teeth had gathered a mass of bedclothes and she was biting down on it like a bullet. In her hands were fistfuls of the bed covers.

Slowly, Taylor came to her senses. She could feel Jerome slowly slipping his cock from her sore pussy. It fell free with an audible 'slurp'. The sudden absence of his organ made her cunt uncomfortably empty, loose and slack. She tried to push his hips back, to reintroduce his pecker to her hungry twat, but he was already growing limp and his tool was slowly aiming at the carpet.

Her pussy was still pulsating and it spat forth a huge dwallop of congealed semen that landed on Jerome's thigh.

"Whoa, missy. Don't mess my pants up with that spunk," he weakly chuckled.

He backed away from her upturned ass a safe distance.

"Could you get me a towel, please?" Taylor panted.

Jerome pulled up his shorts and arranged his softening cock comfortably. It looked like a banana slumbering in a hammock to Taylor. Fixing his trousers he disappeared into the room's bath, and emerged with a hand towel, which he tossed on the bed beside Taylor. Only when she had the towel safely covering her painful cunt did she feel safe in standing. She could feel copious amounts of his spunk oozing from her hole and soaking into the towel.

"My God! What time is it?" she demanded.

Jerome looked at his watch. "Five to eleven."

"I've only got five minutes to get down to the garden and get married! We've been fucking for over half an hour!"