What I Did with the Officer to Avoid the Ticket

It was Mateo’s birthday, a lifelong friend, and almost the whole group had gathered at his apartment to celebrate. Laughter, cheap drinks, card games that ended in silly arguments. It had been a good afternoon, the kind that makes you forget the outside world exists, until I glanced at the clock and remembered I had to be at the office early the next day.

I said goodbye with a promise that we’d get together again soon and went out into the street. It had already started getting dark; it must have been close to eight, and the air carried that dry cold that slips up your sleeves. The avenue was almost deserted, with an occasional car passing and the distant hum of the city. I walked half a block to the corner where I’d left my car.

And then I saw him, standing beside my door.

The chill that ran through me that time had nothing to do with the weather.

Fifty years old, I guessed, maybe a little more. Curly, graying hair, a tall build, broad back. Dark uniform and, across his face, the intermittent reflection of the red and blue lights from his patrol car. In his hand he carried a wheel clamp, that awful metal spider that leaves your car nailed to the asphalt. I had completely lost track of time, and the meter had expired ages ago.

I quickened my pace as I watched him crouch down, ready to hug my tire with that thing. I reached him with my best smile, praying that the rules would stop existing, even if only for a minute.

“Officer… this late and you still have the energy to ruin people’s night?” I said, in a tone meant to be funny.

He looked at me without a trace of expression, like someone who had already heard every excuse in the book and only wanted to finish his shift.

“Your time has expired, miss. I have to put the clamp on,” he replied without stopping what he was doing.

“Please, I have to work early tomorrow. Is there no way you could let me off? It’s almost eight, it’s too late to pay for anything,” I insisted, clasping my hands.

“Exactly. At this hour you can’t pay either online or at an office. The car stays secured, and tomorrow, after you pay the fine, they’ll release it,” he said, with a calmness that frustrated me more than any shouting could have.

“I can’t leave it here all night. I need it now,” I shot back, noticing that my voice was beginning to tremble.

“I understand, but procedure is procedure. Good night, miss.”

He turned and walked toward his patrol car. Stress took over, that kind of stress that transforms into sheer desperation within seconds. I watched him walk away and, without thinking too much, decided to play my last card. The card that had saved me more than once during my schoolgirl years, when a well-timed favor was worth more than a thousand apologies.

“What if we found another way to resolve this?” I said, raising my voice slightly.

He stopped dead. He turned around slowly. At first I couldn’t make out his expression; I only saw it clearly when he started walking back and the light from a streetlamp fell over him. It was a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity. He came forward until he was standing in front of me again and, after a long silence, asked:

“What other way do you suggest?”

I was wearing a black dress without much cleavage, but the size of my tits took care of creating some where there wasn’t any. I stepped closer, until I could feel his warmth. One of my hands found his waist, and my fingers rested on his belt buckle. His gaze dropped straight to my breasts, to the deep channel between them. That was all the suggestion he needed to hear.

“I think an officer with so much experience knows when it’s worth being flexible,” I murmured, running my fingertips over the buckle and outlining the bulge that was already beginning to show beneath the fabric of his trousers.

He began running his hand over my hip with a hesitation-laden slowness, as if he expected me to make a scene at any moment. But that wasn’t my intention, and he began to understand. Little by little, he grew more confident. His hands reached my ass, and he began squeezing it with a clumsy, restrained strength, digging his fingers into the flesh through my dress.

I did my part. With one hand I squeezed his cock through the fabric, feeling it harden beneath my fingers, thick and hot, while with the other I pulled down the neckline of my dress to reveal my underwear. A wine-colored lace bra, one I’d bought for a very different occasion. My tits spilled over the cups, and he stared at them with his mouth half open, as if he’d never seen a pair like that up close in his life.

“Touch them, officer,” I whispered. “After all, you’ve already started.”

His hands rose from my ass to my chest, and his rough palms closed over the lace. He squeezed eagerly, pressing his thumbs into my nipples through the fabric, and I felt them harden instantly. I pushed one of the cups down and offered him my bare tit, the dark, erect nipple pointing straight at him. He bent down slightly, unable to resist, and put it in his mouth. He sucked it hungrily, licking it and tugging at it with his teeth in a restrained way, while a hoarse moan escaped from deep in his throat.

“What great tits you have, goddamn,” he murmured against my skin, with no protocol left, no uniform between us anymore.

He pushed the hem of my dress up until I felt his palms moving over the bare skin of my thighs. His fingers were rough, covered in calluses, the mark of a mature, hardworking man, someone serious about his job who was nevertheless letting all his composure fall away in front of a girl in her early twenties who only wanted to avoid a ticket. I guided his hand straight to my thong and pressed it against my pussy.

“Feel what you do to me,” I told him in his ear.

The fabric was soaked. He let out a growl and began rubbing me through the lace, softly at first, then more firmly, drawing thick circles over my clitoris. I rested my forehead against his shoulder so I wouldn’t moan too loudly. The street was still dead, but every sound bounced between the buildings.

I had him in the palm of my hand. All that remained was the final step to seal the deal. I took hold of the zipper on his trousers and lowered it slowly, tooth by tooth, all the way. I slipped my hand in search of the waistband of his underwear, found it, pulled it down, and freed his entire cock. It sprang out hard and thick, its purple glans gleaming beneath the orange streetlamp. A thread of pre-cum was already hanging from the tip.

“My God,” I blurted involuntarily when I saw it. “You really were desperate.”

He didn’t resist. Not even when I brought my mouth close and barely brushed it with my lips while I began jerking him off with authority, setting the pace myself. I closed my fist around the shaft, sliding the skin up and down, spreading the fluid from the tip over the whole length of his cock. It grew harder with every movement, so much that the main vein stood out, swollen beneath my fingers. His hands became uncertain, like those of someone who hadn’t fucked in far too long.

He searched blindly for my pussy. I spread my legs a little to make the path easier, until his thick fingers found me. He pushed my thong aside, and his rough fingertips met bare flesh, sliding over my already-soaked lips. He put in one finger first, then two, up to the knuckles. He curled them inside, searching for the spot that makes me lose my head, and found it almost by accident. Short moans escaped my throat, which I had to swallow; the last thing I needed was to attract attention.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he panted, his voice broken. “All wet for an old man like me.”

“For your cock, officer,” I corrected him, biting his earlobe. “I’m wet for your huge cock.”

He moved his fingers in and out with a sloppy, clumsy rhythm, but it worked. The wet sound coming from between my legs was embarrassing, obscene, and it turned us both on even more. I took his wrist and set the pace for him, faster, deeper, until my knees began to tremble. We had to act quickly before a real scream escaped me.

I pulled away for a moment to make sure no one was watching. The street was still empty. Only the murmur of the sleeping city and his ragged breathing remained as I knelt in front of him, right beside the tire he had been planning to clamp minutes earlier. The cold asphalt dug into my knees through the fabric of my dress. I took his cock in my hand and brought it to my mouth.

It was thick, veins standing out along the entire shaft, something I had always found terribly arousing, and it only increased my own wetness. I started with the glans, tracing slow circles around it with the tip of my tongue, savoring the salt of the fluid that had already seeped out. I ran my flat tongue beneath the glans, over that sensitive spot where men’s legs give out, and felt his whole body shudder. The anticipated taste flooded my tongue and, I don’t know why, made the rest of my senses sharpen: the smell of the cold asphalt, the hum of the patrol car’s engine, his hand bracing itself on the roof of my car.

“Fuck… fuck, baby, what a mouth you have,” I heard him mutter, barely more than a thread of sound.

Then I moved down the entire shaft, unhurried, dragging my open lips over every ridge. I went over it again and again, with a hunger I hardly recognized in myself. I grabbed his balls with my free hand, heavy and full, and massaged them slowly while licking his cock from base to tip, spitting on it so everything would slide more easily. I looked him in the eyes and saw the same contradiction as always: bewilderment and pleasure fighting over the same face. It was the face of a man who knew perfectly well that this was wrong, but also knew something like this would never happen to him again, and that he’d better make the most of it.

I decided to play my best move and took it as deep as I could. It barely fit; my lips stretched to surround it completely, and I felt the tip strike the back of my throat. I gagged a little, my eyes filled with tears, but I held it there for a few seconds, feeling it pulse against my palate. When I pulled it out, a thick strand of saliva kept us connected for a second before breaking and falling onto my chin, sliding down to my chest. I tried again, this time without going all the way down, moving my head back and forth at an even pace, my mouth closed firmly around the shaft, accompanied by the wet, sloshing sound that gave away everything we were doing.

“Like that, like that, don’t stop,” he panted, completely out of control now. “Suck it like that, don’t stop, goddamn it.”

I did as he said. I sped up, tightening my lips, using my hand at the base to jerk off what wouldn’t fit in my mouth. I sucked on the tip every time it came out, making an obscene noise that bounced between the cars. Then I swallowed it whole again. I heard him holding himself back, choking his groans in his throat. He braced both hands against the car door, fighting himself so he wouldn’t come yet. But I was good at this. Very good. I felt it swell even more, his balls tightening in my hand, and I took him to the back of my throat again, squeezing the base. That was where he found his limit.

All I heard was a deep, almost animal growl, and I felt the first hot burst strike the back of my throat. There were several plentiful, thick spurts, one after another, clear proof that he hadn’t fucked in a very long time. I pulled his cock from my mouth at the last moment so the final spurts would land on my outstretched tongue and lips; a few drops even splashed my chin. I closed my mouth and swallowed everything, looking him in the eyes, not missing a detail of the expression he made when he saw me do it. Then I ran my tongue over his glans one more time, collecting what remained until I left it clean, as if nothing had happened between us.

I stood up, looking for a sign of approval, but what I found was a man with his authority in pieces. Nothing remained of the impassive officer from ten minutes earlier, only someone breathless and incredulous at what he had just experienced in front of his own patrol car. I ran my thumb over the corner of my mouth, gathering a strand that had escaped, and put it in my mouth without stopping my smile at him.

When he caught his breath, he looked at me as if he didn’t know whether to apologize or thank me. He began straightening his uniform with clumsy hands: his underwear, his zipper, his shirt tucked into his trousers. Little by little he recovered his posture, though something in his gaze would never fall back into place.

The silence was uncomfortable, but I needed to confirm that my effort had been worth it.

“Tell me, officer… what are we going to do about the ticket?” I asked, with all the mischief I had left.

He held my gaze for a moment. Then he crouched down and, without saying a word, released the clamp from my tire. He stood back up, tucked it under his arm, and only then spoke:

“What ticket?”

All I could do was give him a flirtatious smile. I had gotten my way, and we both knew it. He turned around, got into his patrol car, and drove off. I did the same. In my rearview mirror I watched him head in the opposite direction until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

Driving home, with the taste of his come still settled at the back of my throat, I went over everything I had done. I wasn’t proud of it, not entirely. But desperate situations call for desperate measures, and I had gotten exactly what I wanted. The worst part, or the best, depending on how you look at it, was that I had enjoyed it. I could still feel my pussy throbbing inside my soaked thong, asking for its own unfinished ending.

With my hands steady on the wheel, I understood the price I had really paid: a man’s authority had been left lying on the asphalt, and a part of my dignity had remained beside it, on that dark corner. It was something I learned to live with. That night I discovered that freedom isn’t always paid for with money.