Dominus (Book I: parts 1-3)

PART THREE: SUPREME CLIENTÈLE

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Blackberry that Chloe gave her buzzes in her lap. "He'll be here soon," she says out loud to herself. It is her first appointment. Her first REAL appointment. The "he" she is referring to is the police commissioner. He has a hero complex, a fetish for women who need rescuing. He's older, not bad looking but below average height. He wants to be the knight in shining armor that rescues the damsel in distress. Her car is parked on a back country road; there is nothing but cornfields on either side. It's pitch black. The beams of her headlights cut into the darkness. She cuts off the engine and pulls the lever that pops the hood. The driver door swings open. The gravel from the road crunches underneath her heel as she steps out. The pale glow of the moonlight reflects off her skin. The humidity leaves a light layer of perspiration on her body. It dampens her shorts where they end; just above the creases of her ass cheeks. The knot tied firmly on the small of her back pulls her wife beater tightly against her breasts. The heat soaks them just enough to see the shadow of their silhouette in the darkness.

She leans over the hood, helplessly searching for a reason for her car to be stalled in the dead of night. The flashing red and blue lights of a patrol car circle, doing their spiraling dance through the clear night air. How very fortunate for him to arrive in her most desperate time of need, when she is alone and vulnerable. Her hero approaches.

"Evening ma'am. Having a little car trouble," he asks out of concern.

"Why yes, officer. I have no idea what the problem might be," she replies.

"Do you mind if I take a look under your hood there, lil' lady?"

"I don't mind at all," she says, sounding as helpless as possible.

He shines his flashlight. The beam blinds her. She can't see his face all she can make out is his stocky frame. His patrolman's hat makes him a few inches taller than he actually is. She stands there in front of him, perfectly framed by her car. Her nipples flash at him like her high beams would if her car wasn't stalled.

"Forgive me, but I have to ask, are you carrying any weapons on you?"

"Yes. Well, just one weapon. It's pretty deadly," she says sultrily.

This question that he has asked routinely so many times most assuredly has never lead to such a risqué encounter such as the one he currently finds himself in the midst of. "Put your hands on the car ma'am, and spread your legs," he instructs.

She puts her hands across the top of her car as instructed. Her slender back is arched deeply. So deep in fact, that her ass lifts ever so slightly in the air, making her tiny shorts sink into her crevice, causing the contours of her crotch to be even more pronounced, and exposes just enough of her plump cheeks to make him forget proper procedure. He slides his hands slowly across her arms and over her shoulders. Goosebumps lift from the softness of his touch. His hands are an amalgamation: tender and strong all at the same time. He reaches his arms around her torso and feels around her breasts, as if anything could be concealed there. Her tits are firm, like a girl twenty years her junior. His palms glide slowly across pebble shaped nipples. All the blood rushes to his member, making it grow faster and bigger than Jack's bean stalk. He presses himself against her, the car hood now bearing both their weight.

"My, what a big pistol you have." She feels his thickness pressed against her plump ass. Her vagina pulses with anticipation of being parted by his massive staff.

"You know what they say; big things come in small packages. Where are you hiding it?"

"It's in the one place you haven't checked."

"Put your hands above your head and interlock your fingers."

"Are you arresting me, officer?"