“SIREN” by Sommers & Truheart

police woman1



Sommers & Truheart

I took a rural route through some of the most beautiful forest in the state. I was heading back down from an investigation. My partner and I were saddled with a couple of cold cases. It was strictly a time-saving tactic. Occasionally it made sense for us to split up and travel separately to chase down evidence. I was glad for some distance from officer Cruise because I had put in for a transfer to North Hollywood Division. It felt good being alone, like a vacation, driving back down the coast to Los Angeles.

It was late afternoon when I picked up the radio, “I’m on my way down, stopping for dinner at the Hen House”.

The small café was well known, but remote. It had a short counter and four booths. I looked forward to a peaceful dinner.

I noticed him right off. Jet-black hair, large shoulders, wrapped in a black silk suit. I took a seat at the counter, just one stool over from him. I couldn’t help glancing at his profile, and as a detective I liked to practice my skills. He had a day’s growth of stubble, and a classic profile that made me think of one of those Hollywood film noir movie stars.

I ordered coffee, and a burger. From time to time I looked out of the corner of my eye.  He never took his eyes off the paper he was reading.

Staring into my coffee I felt a bead of sweat run down the back of my neck. I wiped the area just under my nape, and tucked up the long strands of hair that had fallen out.


I realized at once the word was directed at me, and the guy two stools over had said it.

“Tis the season,” I responded without looking up from my coffee.

“Yeah, I get it. If I had a pair of swim trunks and was laying in a meadow under one of those tall pines I’ll bet I’d be singing praises to the Lord. You come here often, Officer?”

“I’m not a regular, You?”

“First time. I was a city boy. New York , born and raised. Not much nature in my life, except a potted plant, but old lady Zimmerman’s dachshund took a leak on it.”

“Was?” I asked, wanting to keep the conversation going. His face was more stunning full on.

“Yeah, word has it that the mutt has killed every living plant ever placed there. I think she’s going artificial now. Either that or dropping her out the seventh floor window. The dog of course, not Mrs. Zimmerman.”

“Of course,” I smiled.

“He stood, smoothing his trousers, “Well, better get moving; nice chatting. You be careful out there.”

I nodded my head at his broad chest, slim waist, with two bulges. One was between his legs where it belonged, and the other the butt end of a large revolver holstered under his arm.

I made a decision and stood quickly, knowing I had to investigate that bulge. I might even check out the gun under his arm.

My heart was beating like a butterfly when I caught up to his black Caddy. I flipped on the lights and hit the siren. There was no shoulder on the road, just a wide swipe of gravel between the asphalt and trees that made up the dense forest.

The Caddy slowed and pulled onto the gravel that ended at the tree line. I decided to proceed with caution. It could be a trap, and my instincts were on high alert.

He’d come to a stop just under the trees. I pulled up about twenty feet behind him, stepped out and stood behind my cruiser, my weapon drawn.

“Step out of the vehicle sir”.

There was no movement inside.

“Step out of the vehicle, now!” I shouted.

His door opened, but he hesitated, palms up, facing me wearing a wide grin.

“Put your hands on the hood of the car!” I ordered.

The sun was setting and I had shut off my flashing lights because my instincts told me he was okay. I’d rousted the guy, and he did have a weapon, so I approached him.

I walked slowly, the gravel crunching under my boots, “Spread ‘em!”

He shook his head kind of sorrowfully, but did exactly as he was told as if he did this every day.

Looking at the back of his head I figured he still had a wide smile on his face. Maybe patting him down would make all the fuss worthwhile.

“Keep your hands on the hood and spread your feet wider.” I placed my left palm on the middle of his back and holstered my weapon.

“Was I speeding?”

I leaned in far enough to touch the underside of his forearm, “No”.

“Run a stop sign?”

“No stop sign,” I replied, running my hand down the underside of his arm and around to his upper chest. I continued down his ribs, the outside of his leg, turned my hand outward and ran it up the inside of his leg.

“OH! The tail light, been meaning to take care of that.”

I switched hands and did the same procedure on the other side.

There was no weapon, but when I came up the inside of his left leg I encountered the bulge I had noticed in the café. It hung heavy against his leg, but I was troubled by the missing Glock.

“You’re packing.”

“Why thank you, Mam.”

I pushed on his back harder, “The gun, I saw it in the restaurant.”

“Weapon, Officer. It’s called a weapon.”

“Where is it?”

“My weapon or my gun? You already know where my gun is,” he said with a chuckle.

“You’re pushing it asshole, where did you stash it?” I pressed even harder on his back. I could feel the muscles flex as he braced his arms, trying to keep his immaculate suit off the hood of his car.

“Officer, I don’t believe that is proper language, I am complying with your orders and—-”

I pulled my weapon from my holster.

“OK! OK! It’s on the floor in the front! Damn, what crawled up your butt? Here I thought we were getting along and now you go fucking Rambo on me. You need to lighten up, enjoy the enchantment of the evening.”

“You move and I guarantee you won’t have anymore evenings!”

I carefully stepped backed, moving to the driver’s side door keeping my eyes on him. I opened the door and scanned the floor. “I don’t see it.”

“Under the seat, young lady”.

I felt like slapping him upside his head with the butt of my gun, but instead glanced down again at the floor moving cautiously inside the driver’s side. I took my eyes off him a split second and felt the weight of his body slam into my back, pushing me forward and down across the front seat. He gripped my hand above my head, and snatched my weapon. I was lying on my stomach, helpless.

“Get off me Asshole!”

“Excuse me? I don’t think you’re in any position to be giving orders.”

“Get the fuck off me!”

“Such foul language from a such a beautiful mouth. I prefer not to be called Asshole, so maybe you could think of some other pet name for me?”

He set my weapon on the dash, and continued to stretch my left arm above my head, a firm grip on my wrist. My right arm was pinned under me. I defied him, trying to struggle loose, but it proved impossible with his imposing weight.

“Do you have a permit for that gun?” I asked. “If you do there would be no reason to detain you further.”

He kissed my neck just behind my ear, then gently bit it. “I do have a permit for that particular weapon, but I really don’t want to let you up, Officer.”

I tried kicking him.

“Would you please be still? I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in a lush provoking tone.

I said, as calmly as I could, “Will you please release me?”

“And then what?” He asked. “You going to let me go on my merry way, Officer Cummings?”

“You know my name? Would you mind letting me up, tell me your name, and show me that permit?”

“Rick. My name’s Rick”. He whispered, “Do police officers have first names?”

“Ann”, I retorted, relaxing a little.

I felt that bulge pressing tight against the inside of my thigh. My breasts were straining against my vest.

He slid up my body, his hard-on pressing into the crease of my ass. I didn’t turn away from the kiss he ground into my neck.

He released my wrist and propped on his elbows allowing me to turn my head toward his mouth. I grabbed the back of his hair with my free hand, and our lips pressed together.

“Officer Cummings, I do believe this is conduct unbecoming an officer,” he said between kisses that had become hot and wet.

“You could go to jail for this in all fifty states,” I moaned, holding tight.

He laid his head next to mine, his shoulder jammed hard on the seat, and raised his body slightly. He was unbuckling his belt and unfastening his trousers. I helped by raising my hips a little. His hand slid around to fumble with my belt. I yielded. He hooked his thumbs on either side of the loops and dragged them down. I raised my butt, allowing him to slip them past my hips. He tugged my panties to my knees. He was sliding his boxers down. I relaxed a moment twisting my head to watch his erect cock emerge. He climbed over me.

The scent of his musky male sweat was intoxicating in the hot vehicle. His damp skin slid against the backs of my thighs, his cock nudging between my legs.

I decided not to give in so easily, “You bastard! I get loose, I’m going to slap your dick in the mud!” I threatened.

He laughed.

Perspiration trickled from my forehead and ran into my eyes. I strained to get myself free, needy to express myself. I wanted to touch his skin, to lick the perspiration from his face, and rake my nails under his white dress shirt. The more I struggled the more aggressive he became.

When he leaned in to kiss me again, I bit his lip and he raised up, surprised. I was able to jerk myself free, but he put his hand in the center of my back and pushed me flat against the sticky sweat-drenched seat. I rose up slightly, and he was back at my neck, biting, and sucking.

I put my mouth on his arm and bit him just hard enough for him to react. He acted enraged. We played this game, little pain for me, a little more pain for him.

I kissed him willingly pulling hard on his lips with my teeth. He was trying to unbutton my uniform shirt and I swatted his hand away. Finally he pulled back in a heated thrashing and removed his suit jacket and his shirt. He threw them on the hood of the Caddy. I stole the opportunity to turn on my back . When he dove back in he was naked except for his shoes and socks.

I wanted it now, but he reached under the seat. I heard a click and felt the cold steel against my cheek.

“What the fuck?” I screamed.

“Be still, wouldn’t want to nick that lovely skin, would we?”

I lay still until I felt a slight pull on my shirt, the blade slicing through cotton fabric.

My damp shirt fell open, and the clips on my bulletproof vest released. The cool air washed over my bare chest, and I relaxed taking a deep breath. He pulled the vest and shirt from beneath me.

“My God, you’re beautiful”.

“That was a sixty dollar uniform shirt!”

“I’ll buy you a new one. Oh, and you’ll need a new pair of these.” He tore my panties from my knees, leaving stinging abrasions from the friction.

We were like two oiled animals, his thighs tight against the inside of mine, forcing them apart. His hand cupped my breast, his thumb and forefinger capturing a nipple, then a small pinch. I felt a hint of pain but this pain shot electricity through my body. I pulled my knees up and raised my ass just a bit. I took a deep breath when I felt his engorged penis nudge my cunt and awaited the sensation of being opened by a man of his size and lust.

I figured he would ram into me like a speeding semi truck hitting a small car, but he didn’t. First, he stuck just the head in. I breathed, allowing a release of my churning juices. He kissed my mouth and fondled my breast gently, moving his hips slowly, slipping deeper.

I felt an emotional loss. I wanted this brute to slam me until I could feel my helplessness, to be pounded and banged into submission. I wanted to be forced to scream his name mixed with vulgarities, cursing and spitting foul language through clinched teeth.

I bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He pulled his head back. His hand was pressed down on the seat next to my face. I sunk my teeth into the skin of his arm and he winced in pain.

He must have known what I wanted because he pulled out fast.

“You bastard, you give up?” Shot out of my mouth knowing the pain was about to come.

He didn’t say a word, just pressed hard against my knees, spreading them wider, he grasped my hips and stabbed it into me. No short stroke, no slowing and no mercy when our bodies crashed together.

A burning in the center of my womb exploded in flames. I braced for his next thrust. Again he rammed into me with such force my whole body slid back, my head banging against the door. The sensation was more of being filled than injured.

“That all you got, you limp dick, son of a bitch?” I grunted, the air forced from my lungs with each impact. He withdrew slowly. I could feel his shaft peeling the edges of my cunt outward like a an opening flower. He stopped short of complete withdrawal; just nudging inside, and then like a piston in the cylinder of an engine, revved-up to max, he exploded forward.

Our bodies were slick from sweat and juices. Each time I would grunt out another degrading vulgarity, and each time he would respond with another hammering of his body into mine.

At last my desire to act out any fantasy of control or domination disappeared. I felt myself holding back the flood of sensations that precede orgasm, the rush from the pit of my stomach charging downward and exploding out every nerve ending.

I stifled a scream into the pool of sweat on the leather seat.

He turned me on my stomach easily. I was willing and vulnerable, needy.

“Get on your knees” he said softly.

He held my ass cheeks in his large hands and gently nudged himself inside my tender cunt. I felt a rush of fresh air, and pushed back, sighing and moaning like a lovesick girl. It was completely dark outside when he lunged forward driving deep. Once, twice, three times and he released himself in my womb. I felt his fluid run out of me on his backstroke.

I lay still, my breathing returning to normal. He leaned forward and gently lowered me on my stomach, recovering on top of me. His sweat dripped and mixed with mine, then puddled  on the seat. The car was filled with the sweet scent of sex and perspiration.

We lay there unmoving, spent. Finally he heard the radio in my patrol car. My mind was still dazed and at first didn’t realize it was a call for me.

“Think you better answer that?” He whispered.

“What?” I moaned.

“Your radio! They might think something’s wrong,” he said as he peeled his body from mine.

I straightened up, and he put his jacket around my shoulders. When I took my first step I almost fell. My pants were around my ankles. He pulled them up to my hips and I wiggled into them.

“Yeah, this is Cummings.”

“Where you been? Been trying to reach you for ten minutes!” The voice said.

“The john. Something I ate at The Hen House didn’t agree with me.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine but might need to make another trip to the restroom, so if I don’t answer for a while you’ll know why.”

“OK, Cummings, just check in more often, you hear.”

“Sure thing”, I clicked off.

I felt his hands slip inside the jacket and cup my breasts. I fell back into his arms. His lips nuzzled behind my ear. “You have another uniform shirt?”

“In the trunk.”

He reached in, pulled the keys from the ignition, walked around, opened the trunk and brought me a shirt.

“I’ll need my jacket,” he smiled.

“Our business is finished, Officer Cummings”, he grinned and winked handing me my vest. He pulled his jacket off my shoulders and helped me on with my shirt. He had put his pants on while I was on the radio and now just slipped into his jacket.

“I can’t just let you walk away sir”, I commanded like a police officer, but I meant it personally.

He slid into the Caddy and closed the door. I then realized he still had my weapon in his car.

He grinned, “You are one outstanding officer, Cummings.”

“How would you know?” I demanded.

“Because I heard your call over my radio. I’m Detective Ricardo Montez. I heard you say you were stopping at the Hen House and thought I’d check up on you.”

I gasped, “You’re my new partner?”

“Get out of the car, you son of a bitch,” I yelled.

The gravel churned and flew as he pulled away. He stopped after fifteen feet or so. I thought he was coming back but he just dropped my gun out the window and slowly drove onto the highway.

I picked up my weapon, straightened my uniform and stood watching his car disappear in the distance. “Holy shit!”

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