The Cop and the Judge Ch. 01

"Where the hell did he come from?" I say aloud and to nobody but myself as I see the flashing blue light just behind my car. The road had been completely devoid of any cars this late at night and consequentially I had let my foot become way too heavy on the accelerator. As I pull over into the decel lane that is the entrance to an apartment complex, my mind is troubled by the sobering question of just how many beers did I consume during the usual Friday night poker party with some buddies earlier. The fact that I had won some money is lost in the gravity of the situation. Even if the cop doesn't realize I am a bit high and slightly under the influence, a simple speeding ticket will give me too many points against my license.

Losing my license and the ability to drive is not an option I can consider. It will cost me my job and with my present financial situation, I can't afford to miss a single paycheck. What possible story, what excuse can I come up with I wonder as I watch the cop still seated on his motorcycle running a check on my license plate with his hand held radio. He is very ominous looking in his white helmet with shaded goggles, all black leather jacket, chaps and boots, revolver clearly visible on his waist. Thinking of nothing better maybe I can just tell him my situation and plead for mercy. But if he runs a check on my driver's license, he will see my many speeding tickets and my chance for any mercy is pretty slim.

As he dismounts and approaches my car, I can't help but notice he has his revolver in hand. Trying to put myself in his place, I would probably do the same when confronting an unknown entity. I try to convince myself it is just SOP for a stop, especially late at night. And as I lean over to get my registration out of the dash pocket, I hear a husky voice demand I immediately put both hands on the steering wheel and remain that way. I can almost swear it is a feminine voice.

As the cop reaches my door, I don't look to see what sex the cop is, all I can see is the barrel of the gun pointing directly at me. "Get out of the car and keep your hands totally visible to me at all times," she demands. The cop is indeed a female. It is only a moment before she has me facing the car, leaning forward, my hands on its roof, my legs spread wide. I can feel the gun pressed into my back between my shoulder blades. "Don't make the slightest move if you value your life," she advises as her free hand frisks me, taking complete liberty of my body including my inner thighs and crotch.

With the gun still in my back, she asks, "Where you headed this late at night?"

"I am just headed home officer. Been playing cards with some friends and on my way back home." I reply. "I can give you the host's phone number and he will confirm my story," I offer.

"You were in a hellava hurry to get home. Did you think it was on fire or something? Didn't you realize this is a residential street and that the speed limit here is only 25 mph?"

"Yes ma'am, I was aware of it but it is late at night and the street was deserted," I explain.

"So you think the speed limit only applies at times you chose to think it applicable? You were doing twice that when I clocked you on my radar. And if I am not mistaken you have had a few beers judging by the smell of your breath."

"No ma'am; that is not what I think at all. I just made a mistake and I am sincerely sorry about it." I plead.

"I imagine the only thing you are sorry about is that you got caught. Where is your driver's license?"

"It's in my wallet in my left rear pocket, ma'am."

With the gun still pressed into my back she removes it and advises, "I will just hang on to this until I decide just what I want to do with you. Do you have any objection to submitting to a breathalyzer test?"

Remembering that I have always heard to never take such a test when having been drinking, I reply, "I'd rather not, ma'am."

"Then you leave no choice but to take you into custody and to the station for driving more than 20 mph above the posted speed limit while under suspicion of DUI."

"Please, please ma'am. Please don't do that. It will cost me my license and my job."

"I didn't put you into this situation, you did," she quickly responds.

"I know, I know! I promise I will never let it happen again if you will just overlook this one time," I literally beg.

"You are asking me to shirk my duties and look the other way? Why that is asking me to disregard the oath I took to always uphold the law, all of the laws."

"There must be some alternative to a ticket. Some course on safety or the like I could take instead. I will do anything you suggest ma'am."

"Anything?" she asks rather quizzically.

My legs are beginning to ache from their wide spread position and leaning forward, hands still on the top of the car. She still has the gun pressed into the small of my back and I can't help but feel she is enjoying my discomfort and her power over me as I gladly reply, "Anything."

Finally the gun is removed and I am allowed to turn around and face the officer. It is hard to get much of an idea about her looks other than she is an imposing figure in her helmet, shades and leather uniform. Not quite as tall as me but seemingly big boned and right now I wouldn't want to get into an altercation with her.

"Okay. If you are willing to do anything there is recourse available to you. There is a special judge I can take you to and the decision will be the judge's. As long as you are agreeable and will abide by that decision we may be able to handle this in that way," she offers.

"Without a doubt I am willing to abide by whatever the judge says," I answer quickly, most anxious for any chance I have to avoid losing my license.

"Good!" she says, putting my billfold in her pants pocket. "Get back in your car and follow me. Following me will insure you don't get another case of lead foot along the way," she adds sarcastically.

It soon becomes obvious that we are not headed toward the part of town where all the municipal building are. Quite the contrary we are entering a neighborhood of apparently low income housing. She stops in front of a very ordinary one story bungalow on a corner lot and motions for me to park in the driveway. The yard of the house next door is all grown up and the For Sale sign in front of it is hanging askew by only one of its fasteners. It appears to have been abandoned long ago. The area behind the houses is wooded and not improved in any way. The house is dark with no sign of life or any light on anywhere. She parks her bike tight behind my car and now lighting our way with her flashlight, she motions for me to follow. What have I gotten myself into is all I can think.

With one of the keys on her key ring, she opens the door and flips the light switch on as she steps aside for me to enter. The room is furnished with very cheap looking living room items. Items that go along with the neighborhood and the house. Maybe all one single and trying to live off of a cop's salary might be able to afford. So much for seeing a judge I acknowledge to myself. Does she just want a roll in the hay from me I am wondering as she advises, "Looks like the judge has gone to bed. Wait right here while I wake her?"

She makes no offer to have a seat and I remain standing as she disappears down a dark hallway. If she didn't have my wallet and didn't have me blocked in with her motorcycle, I would be tempted to make a run for it about now......but then again she has my tag number and fleeing an officer would just be added to the charges against me. Does she have some big brute back there that is going to whip my ass I am thinking but she did say "wake her" I believe.

I can just make out a bit of a conversation before the cop returns to find me still standing and waiting in the living room. "I'm afraid I woke her from a sound sleep and she is not too happy about that. She is a fair judge and I don't think that will influence her decision," she says as she takes a seat in the one easy chair in the room, leaving me standing there, still without an invitation to sit down.

It is only then that she removes her helmet and sets it on the table beside the chair. Not bad I think as she smoothes out her jet black hair with only her hands. Without the goggles, her piercing blue eyes come into view. Not a beauty queen by any means but certainly attractive. Hard to tell much about her body under that uniform and all the equipment attached to it. Still a bit of a hardened look about her and I am guessing life has not been too kind to her.

I hear a door open and a toilet flush and I turn toward the hallway. The judge has failed to close the bathroom door at the end of the hall nor did she cut off the light as she departed the toilet. I am totally shocked as she approaches. The judge is a petite black girl, probably only a little over five feet tall. She is wearing only a man's white tee shirt that barely covers her hips exposing beautiful chocolate legs but they aren't her most outstanding assets. I can't take my eyes off of them as she comes closer. The tee does little to either restrain their movements or hide their large areolas and nipples. From the scowl on her face she has obviously noticed my stare and is not too pleased about it. Definitely not a good first impression I am thinking but this girl, surely not much over 20 if that, is about as far from being a judge as I am.

Standing with her hands on her hips, looking me up and down I am beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable and wondering what is going on here. It is then that the cop asks, "Well judge, what do you think? Does he rate a reprieve?"

"It is hard to tell from what I can see, Sam. I think we need a closer look." Then looking me straight in the eyes she continues, "Get out of those clothes white boy!"

Quickly I glance over at the cop still seated in the easy chair, not really sure what help I expect to get from her, but it is an automatic reaction. She is holding my wallet in her hands and apparently reading from my license as she backs up the judge's demand with, "Remember you said anything, Jamie. Now do as the judge says."

It is at that moment, the adrenaline flow from my fear becomes one of excitement. Why did it take this long for the revelation of just what is taking place to come to me. I am about to become the plaything of a pair of dominant women. The cop has ever so coyly led me into this situation once she realized how desperate I was. It is a situation I have fantasized about so many times and would have gladly paid for if I had known how or where to arrange it. Submitting to a woman, much less two at once has been something I have desired for such a long time and have only accomplished in my thoughts and dreams. So often I have read or watched something similar on the web. Almost too eagerly I agree, "Anything, ma'am, anything," as I begin unbuttoning my shirt, my submissive genes raging.

Only when all my clothes are on the floor at my feet does she arise from her easy chair resting place. She grabs my wrists and pulls them behind my back and quick as a flash I feel the cold metal of her handcuffs securing them there.

The force of the palm of her right hand against my face snaps my head to the side only seconds before the left hand slaps it back in the opposite direction. It is then she pulls the white tee over her head and lets it drop to the floor, joining my clothes there. "You piece of white trash, get a good look," she says cupping her breasts for me to cast my eyes upon. "You might as well check out my little black pussy as well while you are at it. Before we are through with you, you will see it up close many times."

It is a wonderful sight, so smooth, so bare, so black, and so inviting. So many times I have wondered what it would be like to service a woman orally. From her remark, that opportunity seems imminent. I have read every article I could find online about how to perform cunnilingus in hopes of being an expert at it if I should ever get the opportunity to do it. I have never given thought of doing such a service to any of the girls I have dated and had sex with. For some reason that never had any special appeal to me. But the idea of being forced to perform it by a dominant woman for some reason is a big turn on. A reason I can't explain and have no idea why. Just the thought of being used by the so called weaker sex for their pleasure leaves me weak and passive just as I am at this moment.

"What you say we take him over to our exercise room for a workout?" the cop asks.

"Sounds like a plan," the judge replies. "I am anxious to see how this white boy dances. See if he has a bit of rhythm in him. But one thing we know for sure, rhythm or not, he's gonna dance."

"Yep, it's going to be a fun weekend no doubt." The cop exclaims as she pushes me toward the closed door to the left of the living room area. "He wanted mercy reference getting a ticket; let's see just how well he can really beg."

"Yeah, I really love it when they beg!" the judge confirms with a smirky smile on her face.

Weekend? Mercy? Begging? Suddenly my adrenaline flow doesn't know which way to go as fear creeps back into the mix along with my excitement. All I know for sure is that my heart is racing and my breath is in quick short gasps as I realize there is nobody to hear my pleas other than the cop and the judge.