Title: The Citizen's Guide to Refusing New York Subway Searches
Author: Sarken (sarken@gmail.com)
Rating: 18+
Disclaimer: I only use half a name, but still I'm going to cover my ass and say I don't own a darn thing. Title is from, well, The Citizen's Guide to Refusing New York Subway Searches.
Author's note: I'd like to add to the standard disclaimer by noting that I take absolutely no responsibility for any thoughts that may enter your mind in the event that you are selected for a random bag search on the NYC subway system. Homeland security just got even better.
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He's waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in his uniform and leaning against the wall, but she doesn't notice him. As she walks toward the turnstile, he clears his throat and says in a polite but commanding tone, "Lemme see your bag, ma'am."
She turns, cocking her head and blinking at him. "Excuse me?" she asks, her hand on the strap of her backpack. She makes no move to hand it to him.
"Random bag searches, ma'am. Keeping the city safe from terrorists. Now show me your bag."
"This is stupid." She looks at the empty platform and realizes that he's bored. She doesn't know why he volunteers for this type of duty. He never finds anything. "I just wanna go home, Bos. You know I'm not a terrorist."
He steps toward her, his hand out and waiting for her backpack. "Then let me see what you got. Ma'am." The last word is an afterthought designed to get under her skin. She doesn't think she's old enough to be a ma'am. He doesn't think she is, either.
She considers his request. She might not be a uniform anymore, but she still knows how this goes. "No," she says. "I don't consent to being searched."
He sighs, exasperated. Then he grabs her by the elbow and pulls her toward a wall. He shoves her, and she has to put her hands out to keep from slamming face-first into the brick.
"What the hell?" she says, but doesn't resist.
"Probable cause," he states, reaching under her jacket. He takes her sidearm from the back of her jeans. He holds it so she can see it, dangling it in front of her face. "I knew you'd be carrying. Let's see what else you got."
He kicks her legs apart and begins to pat her down. His hands brush over her arms and move down her sides, making her squirm. He knows she's ticklish. "Some days," he says, cupping her breasts under the guise of searching her jacket pockets, "this job ain't half bad."
She arches into his hands. "See?" she says. "Nothing to get excited about here, Officer."
He chuckles and presses his hard-on against her. He disagrees. "I think I need to take a closer look. Turn around--slowly. Hands behind your head." He watches as she turns toward him. "Nice and easy," he murmurs. "Good girl."
He pushes aside her jacket and unbuttons her blouse, revealing a bra that's lacy and pale. He teases her nipples, pinching and twisting them through the lace. Covering one breast with his mouth, he moves his hands around to her back. His hands slide down to her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. When her hands knock the hat off his hand and weave their way into his hair, the squeeze becomes a slap.
Her surroundings become a blur as he spins her toward the wall. Her face presses against the brick while he pulls her arms behind her back and slaps the handcuffs around her wrists. The cuffs' metal cuts into her skin and the wall's rough brick rubs against her breasts. It's the right combination of pleasure and pain.
"I told you to keep your hands behind your head," he snaps, twisting her arm painfully. "See what happens when you don't listen?"
She nods. When she adds, "Yes, Officer," he lets go of her.
He nods to himself, satisfied, and reaches between her body and the wall. He unbuttons her pants and pushes them down to her ankles before resuming his shakedown of her.
He runs his hands up her right leg lightly enough for it to tickle. When he reaches her thigh, his left hand moves aside the material of her panties and he slides two fingers into her.
Closing her eyes, she moans. She pushes down, trying to force his fingers deeper inside of her. He reacts by pulling them out of her completely. She's left with only the sensation of the wall's roughness against her nipples.
"I'm not done," he tells her, moving to the other leg. He kisses her inner thigh before pressing his mouth to the material he had previously pushed aside. His tongue teases her through her panties.
He pulls back once the material is saturated with her wetness and his saliva. Standing, he takes her by the arm and turns her toward him. Her eyes are closed, and under the material of her unbuttoned blouse and open jacket, her chest is rising and falling in rhythm with her heavy breathing. He presses a kiss to her collarbone before he slides her panties from her hips. He kneels in front of her, and this time there is nothing between them.
He holds onto her hips, keeping her close to him as he eats her out. Her arms, pinned between her back and the wall, throb until they're almost numb, but all she can focus on is Bosco's tongue flicking against her clit.
As she comes, she swallows a scream, turning it into a loud moan. When they're face-to-face again, his breathing is as heavy as hers. Gently, he turns her around and unlocks the handcuffs.
"I'm not on duty," he tells her, watching as she pulls her pants up and buttons her shirt.
She looks up at him as she buttons the final button. "Come back to my place," she says, reaching out to touch him through his uniform pants. "I think I owe you something."
:end: