The Traffic Stop

by

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/Ma, Consensual, Reluctant, Coercion, BiSexual, Heterosexual, MaleDom, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Police offcer finally cannot handle his perverted sexual appitite and makes two traffic stops that results in activities frowned upon his brothers in blue.



Old Route 17 between Livingston Manor and Roscoe, New York runs along Catskill Park which is a New York State protected forestry area that is open to visitors all year round. It is a two lane roadway that was initially created by the farmers who travelled to buy seed and sell their crops at the farm markets in either town. Over the years it was upgraded from dirt to gravel to asphalt, but never widened or expanded, so it remained a two lane country road. Exactly half way between the two small country towns is a stretch of road the police and locals call 'The Trap'. The bend in the road and the straight away that followed made it a great spot for police vehicles to sit and clock the cars coming out of the curve. During the day drivers had no problem negotiating the curve, but after dark it became much more treacherous. The younger drivers waited for nightfall to test their driving abilities. Entering the curve at a somewhat reduced rate of speed, but still faster than the posted speed limit as they hit the apex of the curve, flooring the accelerator, and exiting onto the straightaway usually somewhere around sixty to one hundred miles an hour. The posted speed limit entering the curve is thirty-five miles an hour and upon exiting it rises to forty-five miles an hour. Based upon New York Vehicular Law, a driver clocked at seventy miles an hour receiving a speeding ticket is faced a fine of one hundred and fifty dollars and four points on his or her license. Being ticketed for exceeding one hundred miles an hour was loss of license, fine of one thousand dollars, and a doubling of insurance rates for the owner of the vehicle.

The Livingston Manor and Roscoe city councils decided in the early 1960's to combine their small police departments to save money on police cars, insurance, and employees. The city councils also decided to use 'The Trap' to increase their revenues by increasing the number of speeding tickets issued on a weekly basis. The only negative was the number of fatal accidents caused by drunken teenagers trying to drive as if they were in the Daytona 500. The Livingston Manor — Roscoe Police Department, lovingly called LMRPD, consists of a Chief-of-Police, one Sergeant, four patrolmen, a secretary, and a dispatcher. When they needed or required help the New York State Troopers were not far from their patrol area as they covered the new Route 17 which basically replaced Old Route 17 as the main thoroughfare through the area.

Patrolman Mark Johnston preferred to work the four to midnight shifts, but this week due to the department's inability to get a part time patrolman to cover a patrolman's vacation time, he was working the hated midnight to eight graveyard shift. Being the youngest and the only single man in the department, he knew he had no excuse that would pass muster with his superiors. Working midnights meant he could spend some time sitting by 'The Trap' to see if he could increase his quota of issued speeding tickets. Mark knew the best time to sit at 'The Trap' was between midnight and 5:00AM which is closing time for the local taverns. As much as he hated the assholes that drove drunk, they were still game for his pulling them over, giving them multiple citations, and increasing the money in both towns cash-on-hand bank account.

The earlier hours of his shift was broken up by two domestic disputes which didn't take him all that long to settle down. The first couple was known to him and all he had to do was take the drunken husband by the throat and threaten him that if he didn't calm down he'd have Mark's truncheon shoved up his ass. That usually was enough for the drunk to begin crying and stop harassing his also very drunk wife. The second call involved a younger newlywed couple who were arguing over who had to take the garbage down the lane to put it out for the sanitation truck the next morning. Mike was absolutely taken with the young wife, but couldn't believe the two were arguing about who was going to take the two garbage cans down the lane. He settled the argument by making each of them take a can together to the end of the lane that lead to their cottage. Thankfully each of them listened to him and did not make a fuss over his rather simple solution to their idiotic dispute.

At precisely 2:00AM, Mark parked his Ford Crown Victoria in the little cove that hid the car from the on-coming traffic as it exited 'The Turn', but allowed the rear window mounted radar detector enough room to track the vehicles exiting the curve. The radar gun took a few moments to setup and calibrate. Now all he had to do was sit and wait for the first jerk to come out of the curve exceeding the speed limit. To keep himself awake, he idly scratched his balls and read the newest edition of Penthouse Letters. Mark Johnson, at the tender age of 23, was a total sexual pervert. His parents, brothers, and sister knew nothing of his constant need for sexual satisfaction. Luckily for him, he is a tall, good looking, young-adult, who has no problems meeting women, and ending up having his manhood shoved balls deep into their wide open accepting pussies. Sitting alone in his police cruiser did nothing to help him keep his sexual needs under control. He thought about masturbating, but thought better of it because it would be his luck to have one of his bosses walk up just as his cock exploded spurting his usually large amount of spew all over his stomach and chest.

He tried to keep from looking at his watch every three to four minutes so the time wouldn't pass as slow as he thought it was. Just as he looked up from his watch for the umpteenth time, he saw the headlights of a car coming around the curve. Mark kept an eye on the remote led output from the radar gun that was hanging on the outside rear window of his patrol car. As the car rounded the curve, the speed of the oncoming car increased. He watched as the led figures jumped from 50 to 60 to 75 miles an hour. He had his first speeder for the night. Easing the shift into drive, he stepped on the accelerator as he flipped the switches for the roof lights and siren. In a matter of moments he was behind the speeding car using the siren button to make enough noise to get the attention of the driver of the Toyota Camry.

Susan Constance Smith, thirty-five, married, and a mother of three was the driver of the car Patrolman Johnston had just pulled over. The car was stopped and sat partially on the roadway because there was no space on either side of the road to legally park or stop an automobile. Mark took down the license number of the vehicle and keyed it into the laptop computer. The program he was using would do a search on the license plate number and return the owner's name, make and model, and any wants and warrants against the owner or registration. As he waited for a response from the software he could see the driver running her hands over her long auburn hair. The report came back clean, but he did have her for doing seventy-five in a forty-five mile an hour zone.

Stepping out of his vehicle with his right hand resting on the butt of his Glock 19, Mark Johnston approached the driver's side of the Toyota Camry that was sitting idling on the side of the road. As he approached, he saw the driver lower her window and heard her begin to plead with him not to give her a ticket.

"License, registration, and insurance card please" stated Mark. "Do you have any idea as to why I pulled you over Miss?"

Susan Smith didn't even think to have the documents for him prior to his arrival at the driver's side of her car. She fumbled in her pocketbook for her license and wondered out loud where in the world she would find the registration and insurance card. As she sat there bewildered, she realized that she should look in the glove compartment where she found the two documents in the folder that was there for their safekeeping. Susan retrieved them, turned to hand them to the patrolman when she noticed the smile on his face as he peered into her car.

"Here are my license, registration, and insurance card. Officer, please, I don't know why you pulled me over," she said.

Mark looked at the name on the license and responded, "Ms. Smith, I clocked you coming out of the curve on Old Route 17 at seventy-five miles an hour. That is thirty miles over the speed limit. Are you in a rush to get somewhere?"

Susan Smith put her hands over her face and began to cry. Mark had seen this game performed by many a woman trying to get herself out of a ticket. Calming herself down, she said, "I was just coming from a friend's house and I wanted to get home because I told my husband I would be home before midnight."

Mark noticed she was wearing a thin halter top that did not make it to the top of the very short black leather mini-skirt she was wearing. He also noticed she was not wearing any stockings. The halter top did not make any attempt to hide her voluptuous breasts as he could see down between them. He could feel a stirring in his loins as he gazed upon her breasts, naked flat stomach, and thin legs that emanated from the black mini-skirt. Mark stepped away from the driver's side door and spoke, "Please turn off your car and exit the vehicle."

Susan was astounded, "Why??? I didn't do anything wrong!!!"

Mark with an edge to his voice, responded, "Ms. Smith, please turn off the vehicle and exit the car. Now!!!"

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