For this story to make sense, I urge you to read my story “Cuffed and Stuffed” first. Thanks!

“What is it with men?” she lamented, as the bartender set our drinks down; she being Sandy, a former trainee at the police academy where I am an instructor. “Why do they think that they always have to make the first move?”

Sandy and I had become friends when I was her instructor at the academy, and she had ended up confiding in me her need to be in control, especially when it came to sex, as a result of an unfortunate incident that happened to her several years back. As part of a self-prescribed “therapy”, we had some unconventional sex on the desk in a classroom. Unfortunately, it was a one-of incident, as we had inadvertently left behind some conspicuous evidence of our coupling that got me an informal reprimand from the academy director and an injunction against any further sexual escapades with trainees; especially on classroom desks. We continued a loose friendship, re-kindled whenever she came back for continuing-ed sessions, but our schedules never allowed for anything else.

However, one night after an eight hour CE session on false arrest, we both had no calendar conflicts and were enjoying some happy hour cocktails. I contemplated her question, and replied “You know, we’re the hunter/gatherers. We’re hard wired to act first.” Pausing, I then asked what had happened to bring it up.

“Well, you know my little ‘problem’ about relationships. I tried to be the initiator, but got the ‘slut’ label hung on me pretty quick. Plus the ‘kinky’ label when the guys I asked out learned that sex was to be a little more ‘restrained’ than expected.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry. But, you know, had I not known what I did before you and I…well…you know, did what we did, I might have been scared off as well.”

“I know, and you were really a friend in a time of need. But, man, it’s just so hard to get something going.”

“So, what, are you telling me that our time was the last time…”

“Yes! Okay? Yes! It’s embarrassing, let’s change the subject.”

So we did; we talked about everything but the weather and the elephant that was not only in the room, but who brought baggage. By the time happy hour was over, we were both a little tipsy, but certainly not happy. I summoned up some courage, took Sandy’s hand in mine and said, “Look, let me just throw this out as an offer; no strings, no expectations, no hurt feelings intended either way. If you have some needs, I know how to help and I’m willing to help.”

“Wow. I don’t know what to say. I’ve gotta think on that, but thanks for the offer. Really, I mean that.” Clearly embarrassed, she dropped a ten on the bar for her part of the tab and left. I figured I had really fucked up.

I had a couple of more drinks and a plate of wings, then left the bar. I was a little wobbly as I walked towards my pick-up when what looked like an unmarked car pulled to an abrupt stop behind me. Before I could even turn around to see who was driving, I heard the car door open, and I was being spun and pushed face down across the trunk. A firm hand in the center of my back held me down while another pulled my right hand back and cuffed it. A shift of hands, and now my left hand was cuffed as well.

I tried to get up, but was pushed back down, hard. Then an instantly familiar voice whispered into my ear, “Don’t worry, honey, this won’t hurt a bit.” Sandy jerked me to my feet, opened the back door to her car, and pushed me in. As we drove out of the lot under the stares of patrons we both knew, I told her that I had just one request.

“What?” she asked.

“If I’m going to be on my back again, I really need for the cuffs to be in front.”

“Oh, don’t worry; the cuffs will be coming off soon, as long as you promise to behave.”

“Okay,” I replied, “you’re in charge officer. I’m at your mercy.”

“Gee, where have I heard that before?” We both laughed.

Sandy pulled up in front of her small craftsman style house. As she opened the back door for me, she put her blazer across my shoulders to hide the handcuffs. “Don’t want to arouse the neighbors,” she remarked, as she led me to, and then through, the front door.

As soon as we got inside and the door closed, she grabbed my head and brought her lips to mine. Remembering the first (and last) time we kissed, I refrained from any attempt at tongue action. My patience was rewarded as Sandy extended her own, pushing my lips open and exploring my mouth. I tentatively began to reciprocate, until we both engaged in some equal oral give and take. She finally broke the kiss, but the glassy look in her eyes told me that this was just the beginning.

“I’ve never brought a prisoner home to my home before,” she said, getting into the control role she needed. “For my own safety, I really need to make sure that you aren’t carrying any concealed weapons. If I un-cuff you, will you promise to keep your hands against the wall while I pat you down.”

I smiled and nodded; whereupon she turned me around and unclasped the metal bracelets that held me captive. “Assume the position,” she ordered, but in a voice tinged with just a hint of lust. I turned back around and leaned into the wall, supported by my arms as I spread my legs. “Now kick off your shoes,” she barked.

Standing in stocking feet, I felt her start working her way up my right leg, actually patting me down as if she were arresting me. I expected her to go all the way up; but, she stopped just short of my crotch and then proceeded to frisk my left leg, again stopping just below my crotch. She must have sensed my confusion, because as she reached around to unhook my belt, she said, “Don’t think for a moment that you’re getting off light, buddy. I remember just how tricky you are. I won’t feel safe until you’ve been strip searched.”

At that, my cock began to stir. By the time she had my pants unbuttoned and unzipped, I was at three-quarters. As she told me to step out of the now fully lowered garment, I was at full staff.

Just in time for part two of the frisk.

At first she cupped my ass, kneading each cotton encased cheek. Moving her hand around to the front, she fondled my testicles first, but then moved up to the obvious bulge. “Wow, what’s this I feel? You are carrying! Turn around, hands on head! Now!”

I did so, marveling at how easily she went back and forth between the lover and the cop. I felt her pull down my jockeys, and stepped out without being told. Her hands once again found my hardened member and the sperm supply below. She gently tugged at my nuts with one hand as her other jacked up and down my shaft. It wasn’t long before pre-cum made its appearance.

She stood up; her face flushed, her breathing ragged. “Take off your shirt.” I did. “Hands back on head.” I complied. “Okay, march!” as she pushed me towards an open door towards the back of the house, following behind. It wasn’t a big house, so it wasn’t a long walk; but I’ll be damned if she didn’t get in a couple of grabs at my buttocks before we passed through into her bedroom.

It was actually more feminine that I would have guessed; the center-piece a queen-size Victorian four-poster. “Get on the bed, flat on your back, arms over your head, and no funny business” she commanded. I complied, and noted for the first time what appeared to be curtain sash ties on the night stand. I was close; they were ties, but for my wrists as I was fastened to the posts at the head board. My feet were next, and I was soon tied spread-eagle; naked, vulnerable, and hard.

“Now I feel safe,” she purred, as she ran her fingers up and down the inside of my thighs, tickling that little strip just below my balls before delving between my cheeks to rub my sphincter. “I think we can hold off on the body cavity search for now.” Then she stood up and began to undress.

Starting at the top, she slowly unbuttoned her white cotton blouse, slipping it off her shoulders to reveal the white lace bra beneath. Undoing the front clasp, she pulled back the cups, freeing her breasts. She cupped the firm orbs; then pinched her nipples to hardness before running her hands down her sides to the waist of her blue twill pants. Kicking off her low heels, she undid the belt, snap and zipper, and then slid them slowly down until they dropped. Stepping out, she was now in nothing but a pair of matching white lace panties. As she came back to the bed, I could see her light pubic hair through the fabric, and could smell her arousal.

Climbing back up onto the sheets, she regained her grip on my throbbing eight inch manhood. She lowered her head until her lips were inches away. She turned to me and said, “Remember, I’m in charge.” The parting her lips, she extended her tongue and licked the ridge and head, all the while grasping the shaft as she held me in place. Satisfied that I was letting her take control, she opened her lips further and engulfed the purpled-hued helmet, and then half of my length, into her hot, wet mouth. She slowly began to bob, up and down, as she sucked and slurped my rod; never letting go of the bottom half with her right hand, clutching my sack in her left. I could feel my nuts shift as my orgasm approached, and so could she. “I want to see it,” she said simply, as she took me out of her mouth.

Shifting hands, her left now held control as her right slipped up and down over my crown, slick with her saliva. I came. I came hard; spunk erupting forth and painting my chest. I thrust my hips and cried out; I couldn’t help it. But Sandy didn’t seem to notice. She appeared fascinated by the ejaculation she had just witnessed. She kept stroking, such that I had to beg her to stop; the stimulation too intense. She reluctantly let go, then played with my discharge, using her fingertip like a fountain pen while my erection faded.

“Wow! That was amazing. But that’s twice now that I’ve gone down on you. Time to even the score.” Standing up on the bed, she stripped off the panties. Then straddling my head, she slowly ran one finger between her already engorged labia, while massaging her clit with another. The pungent smell of pussy was strong, and her liquid began to drip down. She lowered herself, spreading her lips to expose her hole as she settled on my face, her cunt in contact with my lips. I stuck out my tongue and lapped as she slowly slid her sex back and forth, rubbing her pea into my upper lip, then back down so that my oral digit could lick it.

This went on for a few minutes. Then, as she made another pass, I managed to trap her clit between my teeth. As she stopped moving, I flicked the tip of my tongue in staccato. She grabbed the headboard, screamed, and mashed herself down onto my mouth. Her orgasm ripped through her like a freight train, her gyrating hips smearing her gushing juices all over my face. I could barely breathe, and she could hardly breathe. Fortunately, she fell off onto her side as we both gasped for air.

She kissed me, tasting herself as she thrust her tongue deep into my mouth. Her hand traveled south until it located my penis, which had begun to revive itself from the earlier blow job/hand job combo. Sandy once again applied her mouth, bringing me to full hardness before getting ready to go into cowboy position.

She again used her fingers to open the way into her core, directing my dick through her tight opening. Fully ensconced, she began to rhythmically move her hips, faster and faster as once again, eyes closed, she kneaded her breasts and abused her nipples. Suddenly, her eyes flew open. She looked at me and said, “Ready?” Then, as last time, she shifted position so that the head of my prick was once again rubbing that magic spot and we came together.

She fell across my chest, her tits mashing into my heaving chest. “I know you want to be in control and all,” I whispered, “but if you untie me, I’d really like to hold you.” I could see the conflict on her face. Slowly, at first, but then with determination, she got up and untied my feet, and then my hands. She lay beside me; I could feel her tenseness. I spooned her, stroking her arm and hair but making no other moves; letting the warmth of our body contact do all the work.

Relaxing, we fell asleep naked in each others’ arms.