#corrupt cop

A flash of lights and the sound of a siren picking up behind you snaps you out of your reverie. Stifling a yawn, you blearily force your eyes to glance at your rearview mirror and confirm the sinking feeling in your chest. A sheriff cruiser lazily tailing you. You glance down at your dashboard and grimace upon seeing the speedometer, coaxing your leaden foot off the pedal incrementally.

You feel your jaw clench as the officer leans his arm out the driver side window and motions for you to pull over. Gripping the steering wheel, you begin to bring your car to a stop, pulling into the gravelly soft shoulder where the road meets the sun-baked soil spanning endlessly. In the dark, it's impossible to tell how far it stretches. The slam of the officer’s door behind you jumpstarts your heart, all sense of lethargy burnt away by adrenaline. You’re still a good few miles out from home.

“Son of a bitch.” You mumble. Don’t these small town cops have anything better to do than wait around in dark corners with their hands down their pants, until some unlucky folk like you stumble into their path?

You straighten up and stare straight ahead as the officer comes sidling up, his boots crunching into the ground beneath him. Your fists are still white knuckling around your steering wheel, foot twitching towards the gas, the urge to floor it and leave him eating dust overwhelming.

A sharp tap on the window with the back of his knuckles has you killing the engine - and along with it, that fleeting thought of escape. As you roll the window down, the officer bends and slings his arms through the opening, resting them on the door of your car, eclipsing your view of the dark roads behind. Without the roar of the engine, you’re painfully aware of how isolated you are, in the middle of some winding rural road miles out from buildings in either direction.

“Evenin’ Ma’am. Name’s Deputy Shane Walsh. Y’know how fast y’were goin’ jus now?” The officer drawls out, raking his eyes over your face and down your body. As he speaks, you’re hit with the suffocating scent of old coffee, pinewood, smoke and sweat. In Atlanta, a tapestry of smells comes with the territory, but there’s something cloying and claustrophobic about the scent of this man that gets caught in your throat and threatens to choke you.

“Look Officer…Walsh. I’ve had a really long day, I’m exhausted and just trying to get home and off the road fast…” You shrink back just a little as your argument starts to die in your throat, enough for him to grin and lean that bit closer, gaining even more ground.

“Y’think that's the first time I’ve heard an excuse like that? If I let e’ryone who’d had a ‘really long day’ off, the roads’d be full of people like you thinkin’ they can do whatever the hell they want.” The sheriff says, cruelty burning in the blacks of his eyes.

“Do you think you could cut me a little slack? No one’s around to get hurt, just give me a warning and let me go, alright?” Your voice rings out louder than you expect, amplified by the flare of exasperation searing at your clenched chest. A power trip is the last thing you want to give to some sheriff with nothing better to do, especially when he’s what stands between you and the sleep you so desperately need.

Shane’s jaw tightens and he leans back from the car slowly, arms still loosely slung over the door. Swinging his head towards either direction of the road, he runs his hand through his thick, dark hair and draws in a calculated breath.

“Now, yer’ right about one thing, no one is around… but as much as I’d love t’ let ya go free I just cannot take that risk m’afraid. I’m gon’ have to ask you to step outta yer vehicle Ma’am.” Tapping the side of your door twice and then opening it with mock chivalry, he steps back only far enough to let you slide out of the car reluctantly. As soon as you’re clear of the other side, he slams it shut and shoves you up against the warmth of the door's exterior. Even at night the weather is painfully humid. A shock bolts through you as a frigid band of metal is clamped around either one of your wrists and locked together behind your back, the sound of the handcuffs tightening hollows out your stomach in absolute fear.

“Hey! What are you doing?! Please, this really isn't necessary, I’ll pay the ticket, okay? I can give you a check right now!” You start squirming in his grasp, trying to yank your hands through the cuffs. They’re too tight for you to have any success. Instead, you try to leverage your body by pushing off the car to shove him away, resulting in him grabbing your chained wrists in one hand and slamming the back of your neck back against the car with the other. Satisfied that you're immobilised, he loosens his grip on your wrists and brings his hand up to his Walkie. A crackle of static rips through the air as he radios into the station.

“Perp apprehended. Actively resisted and has refused t’ comply. I’ll attempt t’ de-escalate the situation, otherwise I’ll bring ‘er on down to the station asap. Could be a while though, if she continues to be uncooperative.” He brings his head down and towards you as he says the last sentence, pressing his lips into the side of your neck as if to embed the words into your skin in clear warning.

“Don’t take me to the station! I’m cooperating, I’ll cooperate.” Your voice wobbles as you attempt to placate him. Forcing your shaking body to relax into the side of the car, you try to display that you have no intention to run. Shane’s broad hand curls tighter around the base of your neck, all but holding you up as he feels your limbs slacken in submission.

“Keep that up sweetheart and I won’ have ta.” He grinned. “First off though…I’ma have to test ya for sobriety. ‘S the rules. Need to make sure ya can walk in a straight line from ‘ere to there.” He steps back from you, gesturing to a strip of road about 50 yards. You blanch, frozen in place.

“Aint’cha gonna take the cuffs off me?” You plead, hesitantly. Your stomach sinks as you watch him shake his head with amusement and gives you a light shove in the direction he pointed. Not wanting to give him an excuse to drag you to that godforsaken police station, you set your jaw and comply. You hadn’t touched a drop of booze all night, this should be fine. Turning to face away from him, you begin trudging in a slow, but straight line towards his cruiser, painfully aware of how the position of your arms behind you is forcing your chest to jut out and your back to arch. Your steps falter as you hear a low, appreciative whistle coming from the cop behind you, followed by slow, heavy footsteps as he keeps pace.

The world suddenly tilts on its axis as you feel his bulky, dirt-crusted work boots kick your legs out from under you. Unable to put your hands out to catch yourself, you land face-down on the ground hard, cheek grazed from the mix of gravel and stone making up the road. Shane rolls you over onto your back with his boot, smirking down at you as you groan, dazed.

“Looks like ya just failed yer sobriety test darlin’. Not mighty responsible t’ be behind the wheel in the state yer in, fallin’ all over the place like that. Looks like you’ll ‘ave to kill some time with me ‘ere til you can prove yer capable. Damned shame.” He shakes his head in feigned disapproval, leaning down to brush your dishevelled hair out of your eyes. You stare up at his hardened, stern face, fighting back tears as the reality of your circumstances comes crashing down around you.

“We both know that I’m completely sober - please - you don’t have to do this! Just uncuff me and let me go, I won’t mention a thing to anyone I swear!” You squirm, kicking your legs out and clipping him on the shin. His eyes darken upon impact, and the hand that was stroking your hair tightens into a fist, dragging you up by it until you’re teetering shakily on your knees, your restrained arms keeping you awkwardly off balance. Using the grip in your hair to wrench your head up to face him, he leans down and slaps you across the face, hard. You cry out, grazed cheek stinging, furiously blinking back the tears blurring your vision.

“Try sumthin that stupid again, I dare ya. It’ll be a lot worse than a little slap next time, you hear me? Gettin’ real tired of yer bitchin’ and whinin’ girl. I’ll ‘let you go’ if or when I fuckin’ please. For now though, you best open up that pretty mouth of yours.” He growls out, all pretense of’ law-abiding sheriff’ long gone. You clamp your mouth shut and try to violently twist your head out of his grip to no avail. The sound of his trousers being unzipped makes you whimper as he begins to palm himself through his boxers before unsheathing his cock. His hold on your hair only tightens and he brings his other hand up to cover your nose, cutting off your breathing. Eventually, your lungs start to burn with the need for air and you open your mouth to gasp involuntarily. Walsh uses the opportunity to stuff his cock into your warm mouth, his calloused fingers stroking your cheek appraisingly. The graze on your cheek throbs angrily as he smears the small droplets of blood across your skin.

“There y’go…shh….just needed sumthin to shut you up, huh?” Shane leers, using both hands to gather up your hair and push his shaft further down your throat, inch by inch, until your nose is pressed against the mound of thick, tight curls climbing its way up his stomach. Completely muffled, you focus on trying to still your panicked mind, desperately trying to yank your hands free of the cuffs, chafing your wrists raw in the process. Your jaw tightens in concentration as the temptation to bite down flies through your mind.

Another slap. To the same cheek, but harder this time. It leaves your ears ringing and knocks the thought out of you. You feel the warmth of Shane caressing your face once more, rough fingers leaving a trail of fire, cheek now burning with his large handprint.

“Hey, don’t go gettin’ no ideas now.” He growls, using your hair to slide you up his shaft again so only the very tip of him is still in your mouth. Your scalp is burning as he holds eye contact with you, and you feel your own saliva seep down your chin onto your knelt legs below.

“I’m still seein’ that stubborn fight in yer eyes, sweetheart.” He scolds, sliding his dick to the back of your throat again. You retch in response, glaring up at him with hatred permeating your very pores. There’s no choice but to force your throat to relax around him, and you draw in shallow breaths filled with the heady scent of his sweat.

“Gon’ make me do this the hard way the whole time huh? Ain’t nothin’ for it I s’pose.” He starts up a steady rhythm as he fucks into your throat. Shane runs his hand through his hair as he tilts his head back, cussing under his breath as he wantonly uses your mouth. The road around you both is quiet, only broken by the increasingly wet sound of Shane chasing his own climax. A dull ache is starting to fester in your knees and jaw and the lights from the still-running police cruiser are illuminating the officer’s features above you. Officer Walsh is all sharp angles and taut muscle, a build that could easily overpower a man twice your height. Even if you weren’t handcuffed, there isn’t a single thing you could do against him. A sense of complete powerlessness washes through the very fibre of your being and your shoulders sag, swallowing down every harsh thrust he mercilessly gifts you.

Seemingly sensing your shift in attitude, his thrusts grow more erratic and he lets out another hedonistic groan. With one last thrust, he forces himself in to the hilt, waves of white-hot fluid spilling down the back of your throat as you choke and splutter helplessly. You’ve never felt so vile and ruined. As he pulls out and steps back to catch his breath, you double over, gasping for air. Disgust bubbles up inside you and you spit the remnants of his come out at his feet, landing it squarely on his dusty, county-issued boots.

Shane tuts above you, slowly stepping closer once again. “Well now, that’s jus’ wasteful honey.” His voice drips with a sinister condescension that sends splinters of ice through your veins. Wrapping his rough hand around your throat, he forces your head down to the ground and slowly - so slowly - wipes his cold, viscous spend off the tough leather of his boot and onto your tearstained face. You flinch into the cold ground as he crouches down next to you, hand tightening around your throat in a show of ownership.

“Aint’cha grateful for what I’ve just given ya? I could’ve hauled yer ass to jail by now.” He grins, swiping his broad thumb over the fluid coating your face and slowly pushing it between your lips. Salt and sweat and dirt overwhelm your senses as your tongue curls instinctively around him. Mechanically, you swallow, eyes dropped low to the ground. Almost as if - if you don’t move, he’ll get bored of you and walk off. Almost.

“I wanna hear a proper thank you. Next thing I wanna hear from that whore mouth of yours is sum looong overdue gratitude.” To reinforce the command, he squeezes his hand firmly around your throat, cutting off enough air to make your vision dance before you.

“Nod that pretty lil’ head if ya understand, slut.”

Frantically, you nod your head, gazing pleadingly up at his cold, hard eyes. Fear, desperation and eagerness bleed into your features and Shane greedily drinks it all in. It’s exactly where he wants you. Satisfied that you’ve comprehended the task he's laid out, he releases his hand from your throat, letting it trail up your body to palm hungrily at the swell of your ass. You let out a choked gasp, relief and air flooding into your lungs at the same time.

“T-thank you.” You rasp out, voice hoarse from abuse. You’re rewarded with a cocky, triumphant smile that breaks out across the officer's face. Everything about his expression screams that this nightmare is nowhere close to over.