Chapter 03: To Serve and Protect
After a couple of days at the vacation cabin in the back woods of Maine (see the first two stories in "The Maine Events"), and plenty of titillation and hi-jinx with my new friends from the neighboring cottage, I had run out of groceries. Wild sex burns so many calories! I drove to the market in the village for fresh supplies. On the way back, I was really enjoying the wild and free feeling that comes from zipping down that gravel road in my Miata convertible. It was a warm, sunny day, and the wind flowed through my long blond hair, which streamed out behind me.
My thin silk blouse was pressed against my chest, and I could even feel the pressure of the wind buffeting against the super-sensitive nerve endings in my nipples. They were becoming quite erect, and looking down, I could see all the detailed topography of my nipples and areolae: the swells and bumps and even a hint of the pink color showing through the sheer material. My attention to the road was tenuous at best, and my arousal led me to mentally relive some of the moments I had spent during the past few days here in Maine. That first day especially: watching my clean-shaven neighbors through squinted eyes as they played each other's bodies like finely tuned instruments. Mmmm.
As those images cavorted around in my mind, I was feeling sexier and sexier. I just had to play with my breasts for a minute. The silk was plastered to me like a second skin, and it felt unbelievably sensuous as used my left hand to massage the firm and plump flesh of first one, and then the other breast. My nipples got some needed attention, being prodded and pinched and tweaked. I could feel tickles of muted sexual energy radiating down into the depths of my belly, and eventually I let my hand slide down from my breasts, and my fingers threaded themselves between the blouse buttons and poked gently into my navel, stirring up more passion.
I was struggling to keep some small portion of my attention on the road, and I let my speed drop to a more controllable rate. But I couldn't resist letting my hand continue to slide further "south" until it hooked around the hem of my short skirt, and turn upward toward my moistening target. My thighs parted as much as they could under the cramped circumstances, and the edge of my skirt blew up in the wind so that I had free access to the crotch of my panties. Even before my fingers reached all the way up to my satin-covered cunt, I knew that they would be greeted by a spreading wet spot. That certainly turned out to be the case. If it wasn't for the wind, I surely would have been inhaling the sultry aromas of my juices.
I started by sliding my index finger up and down through the separating outer labia. The combination of moisture and the red satin created an incredibly friction-free lubricant. And I discovered that I could hook my finger down and in so that the tip of my finger could trace all the way from where my asshole pressed against the seat, up into the entrance to my vagina, over my urethra, and finally popping over my clitoris. Repeating this motion several times, I found my entire body twitching each time that my fingertip bobbled my clitoris, and this resulted in a little swerve of the car. Fortunately, that road from the village to my cabin was deserted and fairly wide, for I was straddling and swerving around the imaginary center line of the gravel road.
"Jeez, that feels so good," I thought. I was tempted to just pull over to the roadside so that I could really masturbate with vigor, maybe using both hands, one on my cunt and the other massaging and twisting my tingling nipples. I knew that if I did, my clitoris and my breasts would feel connected to one another in a triangular vortex. The raw sexual energy would echo back and forth among these erogenous zones, strengthening with each reverberation until I reached the crest of my orgasm.
"Yes. Oh yes! That's what feels good," I thought. "And I need it, a I deserve it. This is my vacation, after all." As these thoughts flitted, trancelike, through my mind, I continued to teasingly pluck at my clitoris as if it was the string of a standup bass. Suddenly my trance was broken as I noticed that I was coming up on the driveway to the cabin. I needed to pull my left hand quickly up from my crotch to the steering wheel so that I could swerve my little sports car into the driveway.
I made the turn without mishap, and once I had my car about 30 feet away from the road, I turned off the ignition. Tilting my head back on the headrest, I stared up though the thick branches of the birches around me. The sound of the leaves rustling in the wind, and the birds chirping away, was both relaxing and mesmerizing. I was just about to fulfill my preconceived notion of masturbating when I heard another car rumbling down the gravel road. I was unconcerned, knowing that I was hidden away in my driveway. I was surprised when the sound of car on gravel let me know instinctively that the oncoming car had pulled into my driveway, right behind me. I whipped my head around, simultaneously pulling down my skirt, and looked to see who had intruded on my space, and on my intended auto-erotic plan.
It was a state police car.
"What the hell is happening?" I questioned myself silently. "I know that I wasn't paying very close attention to all of my surroundings while I was driving, but surely I was not speeding." It then dawned on me that the cop must have been following me, and was probably upset at my erratic driving skills.
Several minutes passed, and I knew from having gotten speeding tickets that he was probably checking my plate number through his computer. But it made me feel tense and fidgety to just sit there waiting, especially as I had been so abruptly interrupted in my self-loving lust. I tried to relax by gazing down my driveway, wishing I was safe in my cabin where I could continue my plan in peace and quiet.
Finally I heard the car door open and close. When I slowly turned my head to the left, I was staring right into the black shiny belt of the cop, and then I let my gaze scan upward to his face way above me. These little sports cars are low, and he was a magnificently tall and well-built specimen of a law enforcement officer.
When my eyes found his, I could see that they were not locked on my eyes, but were instead wandering downward to my chest and my breasts which were straining against the white silk as my head tilted back. Surely my nipples were jutting out and clear to his sight. Then his eyes swept further down and he must have been looking at my skirt.
When I too glanced down at myself, I could see that my attempt to pull down my skirt had been only partly successful. My panties were not visible, but most of the rest of my thighs were. I was startled to see streaks of moisture tracing down on the surface of my skin, reflecting the bright sunlight. These were obviously painted onto my thighs by my fingertips as they were hurriedly pulled away from my cunt. "Is that what he's looking at? I wondered. I began blushing as this chain of mental inquiry continued. "Does he know where that liquid originated? Is he imagining where those tracks of moisture lead as they disappear up under my hem?"
"License and registration, please," he said, and I thought I detected a little catch in his voice. Perhaps this situation made him nervous too. I leaned over to the glove compartment, and I was sure that he could see from the smoothness of the silk stretched over my back that I was not wearing a bra. Men notice these things.
