Being a cop was all Tom Peyton had ever wanted to do, and as a father of two young children, he now felt like it was his duty to wipe the shit off the streets so they could grow up in a safer place.
It was annoying.
“Fucking drains on the world,” he muttered.
Dusk had settled into night and Tom was on his way home to his quaint pocket of suburbia. One ride through the park that butted into his backyard, and he could finally go home.
Teenagers used to frequent the park, smoking weed at the end of the dock on the river, getting wasted in the woods or the playground, having sex in the bathrooms or the benches. Then the Peytons moved in.
It was rare now that Tom found anyone there after hours. Rarer that they were doing anything especially lewd or illegal. But he wasn’t going to let his patrol on the park slide. Not while his children still lived next to it, not while he and his wife slept only yards away.
His patrol car squeaked as he turned into the little street. Not bothering with the parking lot, he pulled up to the gate and stopped, the headlights flooding the wooded area.
There. A shadow moved just outside the brightest portion of his lights.
“Shit,” someone muttered. “It’s the fucking cops.”
Cop. Singular, not plural. Didn’t any of these idiots pass elementary school these days?
Tom rolled his eyes and shut off the engine. He got out of the car and stood behind the door. Bored. Annoyed. “Park’s closed. Don’t make me come get you. Leave the premises now.”
He heard the jingle of a belt buckle and the rustle of clothes. Whispers. Then running, loud across the other end of the wooden deck heading toward the adjacent parking lot.
In the distance, a car started. Tires squealed, consistent with someone peeling out of the parking lot. An engine blared, losing sound as it sped away in the night.
The smell of salt in the river permeated his nose. Water lapped against the riverbanks as a bird cawed high in the trees. Tom pulled out his Maglite and pointed it toward the deck.
Something red on the handrail of the deck caught his eye.
Shutting the door behind him, Tom put his free hand on his gun. Dry leaves crackled under his boots as he carefully made his way from the lot to the steps of the deck. He stopped.
A red tank top clung to the corner of the zig zagging walkway.
He remembered the running footsteps. One person. It had to have been. Looking up, he shone the light over the deck and through the trees it surrounded.
“Anyone out here?” he called.
The only answer he received was the chirping of crickets, each performing their own solo in a rickety song.
Climbing the steps, he moved further down the walkway to examine the tank. Spaghetti straps, a deep neckline, lace fringing the bottom. No rips, no blood.
Tom felt the body of the material. It was still warm.
The exclamation of the kid about the cops. He could’ve sworn it was male.
His head snapped up. Looking down the empty walkway, he saw nothing but shadows in the amber light.
He glanced at the night behind him, then crept forward.
To his left, the deck disappeared behind a grouping of trees, leading to the other parking lot. The walkway to his right drew out into a long dock, illuminated by moonlight until it tucked under the shadow of a little roof.
The dock normally had three glowing lights on the beginning, middle, and the end. Not today.
Sweat moistened his palms.
A woman stood under the darkened middle light. Her arms swept around the post behind her head, long hair picking up short gusts of the lonely night. Sweat courted the naked flesh of her upper body, throwing specks of light from her swollen breasts. She faced the river away from him, looking at the little bridge parallel to the dock.
Tom let out a breath. Checked the area around him. Clear.
He straightened and clicked off his flashlight, reminding himself that he was a cop. Trained to deal with any situation, even if the woman looked like she belonged on the helm of a pirate ship.
His footsteps sounded hollow on the wooden walkway until his view of her was unobstructed by the side rails. Tom stopped under the light at the entrance to the dock.
Immediately, his cock hardened.
The woman was fully nude. Her shorts and panties were crumpled in a heap next to sequined flip flops. A black lacy bra lay a few paces in front of him. But her body. High breasts jutting into the night. A smooth, flat stomach. Long, slender legs pulled together to cover the mouth of her pussy.
He adjusted himself.
She’d had to have undressed on the way here, starting with the tank top. The runner must have gone for her breasts first, unable to keep his hands off of the beautiful woman.
Tom probably wouldn’t have been able to either. He licked his lips. Took a quick breath. “Miss?”
She rotated her head toward him slowly, a gentle wind tossing her long hair. The moonlight kissed her pouty lips, her upturned nose.
“Are you all right?” he called out.
Her legs moved, turning away from him. But not before he saw the way her inner thighs caught the moonlight.
The woman was wet.
A clinking noise distracted him. A flash of silver at her wrists.
He inhaled sharply. Handcuffs. Bound by a long chain, they held her naked, wet body to the light pole.
Fuck. Every cop’s dream.
Headlights on the bridge caught his eye. He watched until the car passed and its blazing red tail lights disappeared on the other side.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
Tom glanced down the walkway to his left. Then behind him. Nothing. Turning right, he followed the way down to the dock, stopping just in front of her clothes.
“Why here?” he asked. “You two could’ve gone anywhere. And not have been caught.”
She shut her eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asked again.
No answer.
Stooping to her shorts, he felt around the pockets for a wallet. Nothing. Not even a cell phone. His fingers brushed the white thong lying across the crotch of the shorts. Satin.
Without thinking, he held it in his hands. Soft ribbons flowed over his palms from the bows on the sides. The musky scent of her arousal breached his nostrils.
He was hard as a rock.
Shit.
Dropping her panties, he looked up. Directly into her eyes.
“See something you like, officer?” Her voice was soft, feminine, but somehow strong.
He stood. “What’s your name?”
“You’re married,” she said, looking at his hand.
“Yeah, I am, and I want to go home. You’re handcuffed to a dock. Where’s the key? Your boyfriend have it?”
She looked into his eyes for a moment longer before looking away at the river.
He was grateful for the chance to look over her lithe body. Her high, rounded ass and wide hips. That sinful hourglass figure that begged him to impale her on his big hard cock.
Exhaling, he looked down at the small pile of clothes at his feet.
“I’m not the best at this sort of thing,” he said. “But did you come here willingly?”
“Yes, of course, Officer,” she answered in a surprised tone.
Tom met her gaze.
The woman’s head dipped to the side, her thin, sculpted eyebrows knitting together. Watching him. “You really were worried about that.”
“It’s my job.”
“Huh.” A smile played at the corners of her lips. “You hunt down bad guys, clear parks of the riffraff, and save helpless women in your spare time?”
For a bound, naked woman, she had a little too much attitude.
“Something like that. Listen, whoever you are. I’m gonna call someone to pop the lock on your cuffs. A woman, so you don’t have to be...anxious.” Tom turned his back on her, taking a step toward the walkway that led to his car.
“No, wait.” The chains clinked behind him. “Officer? I have the key.”
He froze. Shoes creaking, he about faced. “You have the key?”
“Well, yes.”
Walking toward her, he stopped in front of her pretty face. Willed himself to look into her brown eyes instead of her big perky tits. Her red hair caught onto a breeze, brushing his shoulder.
“Why didn’t you say so?” he asked.
“Um.” She looked around them, biting her lip. “It’s not in a place easily accessible.”
Tom scanned the empty dock, the water rippling between the slats of wood underneath them, the boats parked on the other side of the river. He glanced behind them again.
“Where?” he asked.
“You’re married.”
He looked at her again, feeling his heart beat faster. “So?”
“Your wife probably wouldn’t want you to find it.”
“Where is it?”
“In my pussy,” she said in a lowered voice. Her gaze didn’t leave his eyes, as if she was waiting for his reaction.
His cock was at full mast, engorged and painful against the zipper and belt of his pants. She was only a foot or two in front of him. He could just reach out, have her spread her legs, and dip his finger into her hot, dripping snatch.
Tom’s hands knotted in fists.
Amy, he told himself. Think about your wife.
Amy, with her wavy brown hair. Her tiny body, taut from years of being a gymnast, even after two children. Her flexibility both in bed and out.
This wasn’t helping.
He took a step back, trying to clear his head. Looking everywhere but at the beautiful, naked handcuffed woman in front of him.
“Okay.” Tom cleared his throat. “I can call someone, a woman, to remove it for you. Or I can call someone to remove the cuffs and you can get the key yourself later. What do you want to do?”
“Why don’t you get it?”
Swallowing, he met her eyes again. “It’s inappropriate.”
“I suppose it is,” she murmured.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Isn’t it more inappropriate to leave me here, naked in public for whoever to see, when you can help me?”
Actually, it was. Any of the people in those boats could see her this way. Anyone who crossed the small bridge, walking or driving. In fact, there was a small possibility that the houses in his suburb could see her as well.
Tom licked his lips. Shit.
Just pull out the key. He was a professional, and he could be professional about this. Let her go, then go home and fuck Amy’s brains out.
He shook his head and let out a breath. Scanned the area again, seeing no one.
“Okay. Fine.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yeah.”
Staring at the water, he tried to imagine anything unsexy. His mother in law. The Golden Girls. Nancy Pelosi. The tranny hooker he’d arrested earlier.
“Officer?”
Shit, he was still hard as a rock.
“Sir? Please don’t make me wait any longer. I need you.”
Tom’s dick spasmed. Fuck. She couldn’t have said that in a hotter way.
The long chain between her handcuffs tinkled as she moved her arms higher on the light pole and leaned back. Spreading her legs before him, she exposed her bare, dripping cunt.
Before he knew it, he’d stepped forward again, right in her face, and was reaching for her pussy.
“Wait,” she whispered.
His outstretched hand stopped mid-air.
“Lick your fingers first.”
Breathing heavily, he swallowed. Knew he shouldn’t ask. “Why?”
“It will make it feel better when you put them inside me.” Her dark eyes betrayed some kind of hidden challenge.
The world around them lost its importance. Looking into her deep brown eyes, he was nothing but a man. One with a thick, pant stretching pole, begging to bury itself in this woman’s soaking cunt.
“You want it to feel good?” he asked.
Her lips curled slightly at the sides. Breasts heaving with every inhale, she simply looked at him. Said nothing.
Tom glanced down at his hand, feeling the blaze of her eyes on him. Meeting her gaze once again, he held up his index finger. “If you want it, you have to earn it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” Her brown eyes widened just perceptively, her small grin breaking open to expose her straight teeth.
Oh fuck, what was he doing?
“Good,” he said. “Lean down and suck my finger like you’d suck my cock. If you’re good, I’ll use those fingers to get that key out of your slutty little pussy.”
She moved her bound wrists down the light pole and leaned forward, arms stretched out straight behind her. Without hesitation, she opened her mouth and took his digit down.
He felt the heat of her breath first, followed her wet, hot tongue and the grasp of her soft lips around the base of his finger.
