Chapter 1

It was already one of my worst days ever, and now, if I heard what I thought I just heard, it was about to get worse ... if not for me, then for someone else.

I was pissed ... not just pissed but furious.

My brand new truck ... brand freaking new truck I had bought two days earlier ... was sitting back at the dealership waiting to be repaired (some stupid computer part failed) and now I just heard the sound of glass shattering as apparently someone was trying to break in to my house.

“God, I hope your insurance is all paid up,” I thought to myself.

I have to admit something here. I was, as the old saying goes, “feeling no pain,” at the moment. Not quite drunk ... but definitely not sober either.

I rarely drank. On those rare occasions when I bought a six-pack of beer, that six-pack would last me about a month or six weeks. And while I had bottles of vodka, scotch, bourbon and rum in the house, most of those bottles were still pretty full.

I had been so pissed when I got home I immediately had a vodka and orange juice. Then had a second and third. A little while later I made a sandwich and, after eating, had a fourth drink.

Now I am a big guy... 6’5” and 225 pounds so four drinks were not going to make me drunk by any stretch of the imagination. But like I said ... definitely feeling no pain.

I slipped quietly out of bed, stumbled slightly, then opened my closet and put on my deputy’s uniform but left shoes and socks off. I added my belt containing my service revolver, handcuffs, flashlight and nightstick, then took out the military grade flashlight and my .357 and silently made my way to the kitchen.

The outside security light provided just enough illumination so I could see the intruder. He was wearing a hoodie, and oblivious to my presence standing in the doorway to the hall, opened my refrigerator.

Reaching inside, the intruder pulled out a container of milk, then closed the door and walked over to the sink. I watched as he opened cabinet doors until he found some glasses, then watched as he poured a glass of milk then started drinking.

“Breaking and entering and you steal MILK?” I thought to myself.

Then I remembered reading some BOLOs (Be On the Look Out) for someone breaking into houses and stealing mostly food. None of the B&Es (Breaking and Entering) had been in my neighborhood but apparently that had changed.

I also remembered the thief, or thieves, passed on cameras, jewelry and other easily disposable items while concentrating on canned foods. If there happened to be money just lying around, that disappeared as well, but the biggest thing usually missing was just food, prompting the Sheriff’s Department to dub the thieves as the “Hungry Bandits.”

The perpetrators were believed to be mostly teenagers. Perhaps teenagers who had the “munchies” after smoking marijuana?

I aimed my flashlight directly at his head, raised my revolver and yelled: “Freeze, Asshole!

“I have a .357 aimed at your head and will blow your fucking brains all over the place,” I threatened.

The glass slipped out of his fingers and shattered in the sink.

“Please, Mister, don’t shoot!” I heard what sounded like a young girl’s voice say.

“Raise your arms and turn around ... slowly,” I said.

When the incredibly bright flashlight hit the thief’s face I think I gasped.

Oh, definitely female!

She might not be what most people would consider as “beautiful.”

In the harsh glare of the flashlight beam I immediately noticed her nose had been broken sometime in the past and was slightly crooked.

There was a white line through one eyebrow where it was obvious she had had stitches.

Her mouth looked slightly oversize and since her mouth was open somewhat I could see she needed some dental work since her teeth were crooked.

No, not what you would describe as conventionally beautiful, but damn she was cute. Or maybe it had just been too long since I had been with a woman!

Her eyes were closed tightly against the flashlight beam and her arms were raised high over her head.

I slowly moved the flashlight beam down her body. The ragged long-sleeved hoodie she was wearing concealed her upper body and she was wearing a pair of clean but ragged shorts.

Her hips were very wide. What I had once heard described as “child birthing hips.”

Her legs ... her legs were slender. Some people might even say skinny, but DAMN ... they seemed to go on forever. The muscular definition was obvious in her legs.

She had to be at least six feet tall.

Once the flashlight beam left her face I noticed she opened her eyes and was looking at me. Well, since the flashlight was still shining very brightly I knew she couldn’t actually see me, just a shape.

“Uh, please Mister, please don’t call the cops,” she started saying. “I was just looking for food. I haven’t eaten in two days, and there wasn’t a car so I thought no one was home.”

Reaching over with the hand holding my gun, I flicked on the lights to the kitchen.

She blinked several times once the lights came on, then as she actually saw me for the first time I heard her say.

“Oh, shit, you are a cop!”

“Actually, a Deputy Sheriff, Miss,” I answered. “Well, a reserve Deputy Sheriff ... sort of like a part-time cop.”

“Now,” I said, “take off the hoodie. I have to make sure you aren’t armed.”

Her face flushed bright red.

“I ... I’m not armed, I swear,” she said. “I just have a knife in the front pocket of the hoodie.

“Look, I can hand it to you,” she said as the started to lower one arm.

“Freeze, bitch!” I yelled.

“I don’t think you understand the seriousness of just what it going on here.” I said. “You don’t move unless I tell you to move. In fact, you don’t open your mouth unless I tell you to talk or I ask you a question.

“Do you understand that?” I asked.

She nodded her head.

“Good,” I said, “Now, take off the hoodie.”

“Sir, I ... I’m not exactly dressed under...” and her voice trailed off as I cocked the .357 which was still pointed at her head.

“TAKE OFF THE HOODIE,” I yelled.

She jumped.

I think I saw some tears in her eyes, but she just looked down at the floor for a moment, then her hands reached for the bottom of the hoodie and slowly pulled it over her head. She slowly folded her arms across her chest.

DAMN!

When she said she wasn’t dressed I thought she meant she was only wearing a bra or something.

Wrong.

She wasn’t wearing ANYTHING under the hoodie.

In the few brief seconds before she covered her breasts with her arms I could see that her boobs were very small ... I would guess an “A” cup,

For the first time the young lady looked directly at me and for a minute I could swear her eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Is this where you are supposed to say, ‘Reach for the sky,’ or whatever that hokey line is?” she asked with a slight smile.

Then to my surprise she straightened up and pulled her shoulders back. I hadn’t really noticed that she was slightly slouched down before. A moment before I had guessed this young woman was about six feet tall. Now that she was standing up straight I had to revise that to around six feet, two inches, maybe even three inches.

Again I was surprised as she slowly raised her hands above her head, which, of course, caused her boobs to lift as well.

Yes, definite “A” cup, but her nipples! Her nipples were extraordinary!

I don’t know if it was fear, embarrassment, the cold air in the kitchen or excitement, but her nipples had to be over a half-inch long and at least a half-inch wide.

Once I could take my eyes off her breasts I began noticing the rest of her upper body. Skinny arms but you could also see the muscles.

She said she hadn’t eaten in two days. She was so skinny I could easily believe she hadn’t eaten in a week. Her waist was impossibly tiny.

“Can I put the hoodie back on?” she asked. “It is very cold in here.”

I told her to kick the hoodie over to me and once she did I quickly bent down and removed a knife from the front pocket of the hoodie. I suspect she had used it to break the glass from the outside kitchen door.

“It’s not that big of a knife,” I told her, “but still large enough to be considered armed.

“This is your lucky day,” I said. “Breaking and entering, carrying a concealed weapon. I think you are looking at several years behind bars.”

I again could see tears in her eyes.

Damn! Why did I have to look at her eyes?

Her eyes looked as big as saucers and were the most vivid shade of green that I had ever seen. These were the kind of eyes that you could just fall into.

Did I mention I had a weakness for large green eyes?

And for the first time I noticed the color of her hair ... what kind of cop was I that I had not noticed this as soon as she had taken off the hoodie?

Okay. Okay. I was a little distracted by the small but very firm looking boobs.

Her hair was red. Not just red, but a brilliant copper red. I couldn’t see exactly how long it was, but could tell it extended well past her shoulders.

Did I mention I had a weakness for red hair?

I realized I was staring at this young woman again. Her hair, her eyes, her boobs, her long legs.

And noticed that she noticed I was staring.

More than a little angry at myself I finally kicked the hoodie back over to her.

“Put that back on, then lay face down on the floor with your hands behind your back,” I ordered her as I removed the handcuffs from my belt.

“Please, Sir,” she started to say.

“Shut Up!” I yelled and she again jumped at the anger in my voice.

“I have already told you that you don’t talk unless I ask you a question,” I said.

“This is your choice,” I added. “Put the hoodie back on and lay down on the floor so I can handcuff you, or if you say another word I will handcuff you just as you are with your little boobs exposed for the arresting officers to see when they get here.”

Her face flushed a bright red, then without a word she put on the hoodie and lay down on the floor.

I walked up behind her, knelt down and handcuffed first one wrist, then the other.

“What’s your name, young lady?” I asked.

“Deena ... Deena Watkins,” she answered.

“And how old are you, Deena?” I further inquired. I had guessed she was about 19 or 20.

“18, Sir. I am 18,” she replied.

When I asked if she had any identification, she hesitated, then said she had left her ID at home.

“Well, if you left your ID at home, then what is this sticking partly out of your rear pocket?”

Again her face flushed red at being caught in a lie.

According to the driver’s license that was her real name, but she was only (did the math quickly in my head) 17. She was also 6’2” and weighed 135 pounds. I actually had my doubts she weighed that much.

When confronted with that, she tried to justify her lie by saying she would actually be 18 in just four days, which would be Tuesday. I again looked at her driver’s license and that part, at least, was true.

I told her I had left my cell phone in the other room, but I would be right back to call the other officers.

“Please, Sir, please,” she started begging, “can I please say something?”

I told her to make it short.

“I ... I noticed you staring at me ... at my boobs,” she said, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks as she lay on the floor at my feet.

“Please, if you won’t call anyone ... I will spend the night with you ... and you can do anything you want with me,” she sobbed.

I laughed.

“You must think I am pretty stupid,” I said. “The first thing you would do tomorrow would be to call the cops yourself and claim I raped you, that I forced you to have sex with me. Especially since you are only 17.”

“No, no,” she said. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Did I mention I have a weakness for women crying? Especially really cute young women? Especially really cute young women who are lying on my kitchen floor, handcuffed. Well ... I have to admit this was the first really cute young woman I have ever encountered who was lying on my kitchen floor, crying while handcuffed! But I was starting to enjoy the situation.

That is the only explanation I have for the next words out of my mouth. Well, that and the fact I was not 100 percent sober.

“Your choice,” I began, “you can spend the whole weekend with me, doing as you said, ‘anything’ I want or no deal. Spending the whole weekend with me would be a lot harder for you to explain than just one night.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, and I could hear a little hope in her voice. “The whole weekend.”

“Now,” I said, “define the word ‘anything’ for me.”

Her face flushed red again.

“Anything but ... but an ... but anal,” she said. “I don’t like that.”

“Your choice,” I said. “Anything means anything ... including anal ... or no deal.”

She lay there for a minute or two before finally nodding her head.

“Yes, sir,” she said in a very low voice. “Anything means anything ... even that.”

“Say it,” I insisted, “Say the words.”

For a minute or two she was quiet, before she finally said the words.

“Anything ... anything includes ... includes anal.”

I gave her very firm instructions that she was not to move while I locked my pistol back up and prepared a few things before leaving the kitchen.

Deena’s Story

Rick Returns

It took me a little longer to get everything ready and much to my surprise it looked like Deena took my advice and didn’t try to move any.

I wondered what she had been thinking about. If I were her I would probably have been scared to death! Yes, she looked nervous but not really that scared.

Not only did she not look that scared, but I thought for a moment she was actually going to laugh when I helped her to her feet.

The cuffs were still on, but I grabbed her elbow and walked her to my bedroom.

“Okay, Deena,” I began, “once I remove the cuffs I want you to go into my bathroom (I pointed) and take a shower. There is shampoo, washcloths and towels ... along with a robe! You won’t need to put your clothes back on (God, her face just turned almost as red as her hair), just put on the robe and come back here. The windows are locked and there are burglar bars on the outside so you can’t escape.

“There is also a hair dryer under the sink but I’m not sure if it even works.

“I will be waiting here for you,” I said, then added, “and don’t make me wait too long. If I have to go get you ... then you really aren’t going to like it!”

I turned Deena around, removed the cuffs and she just nodded and walked to the bathroom.

When I left Deena in the kitchen I had grabbed some zip ties my Dad always kept around the house (I had bought it when my Mom moved to Florida to take an executive position with the banking firm she worked for) and some rope and tied the rope between the two posts on the headboard.

I had also grabbed some lube from the dresser and some Vaseline from the bathroom and opened the container and put it on the dresser, along with some wipes and some paper towels.

I was still pissed from everything that had happened today and was really trying to embrace the feeling. No more “Mr. Nice Guy” was going to be the operative words tonight. Not to mention I was still slightly high, maybe a little more than just ‘slightly high’ from the four drinks I had earlier.

Being a Nice Guy in my relationships with women had brought me nothing but grief. Once the clothes came off and they saw what I carried, more than one woman had shrieked and left. Only a few had ever let me have sex with them, and most of the ones who tried couldn’t take what I had to offer.

Anything, she had said. Well, anything would start with straight sex. Well, actually, as I considered the cuffs again, maybe something a little harsher than straight sex to start.

Then before the weekend was over I would own her ass!

Deena must have taken my admonition to “not take too long,” seriously because she was back in less than 15 minutes.

Damn! For the first time she actually LOOKED like a 17-year-old. Young, fresh and innocent. And for a moment I wavered.

Then I remembered she had broken into my house and lied to me about her age and not having any identification and I could feel my anger over everything that had happened today start to get the best of me.

“Take off the robe,” I ordered in my best “no nonsense” voice.

Deena’s face flushed red again and she started to open her mouth to say something.

“Don’t say ANYTHING!” I ordered firmly. “Just ... don’t!”

I was sitting on the bed and definitely enjoying the view as she loosened the robe, then shook it off her shoulders.

Her hair covered her boobs. In fact the hair extended down to her navel.

“Pull the hair back,” I ordered and again she flushed red before slowly pulling her hair back behind her shoulders.

Yes, very small boobs, but again her nipples were hard and long and wide.

Very wide hips, very small waist and just a small landing strip above her vagina.

Yes, she was a true redhead.

“Turn around ... slowly,” I ordered.

Shapely butt. Not that large, but definitely shapely.

And again her legs seemed to go on forever!

“Come here,” I said and she slowly walked over to me until she was just a foot or two away.

“Turn around,” I said but this time when she had her back to me I stood up and put my hands on her shoulders.

She was actually trembling.

I slowly ran my hands across each shoulder and gently moved my hands down her arms.

I moved closer until we were touching, then put my hands on her hips and moved the hands up her body until I reached around and cupped her breasts in my hands.

I am not sure but I think I actually heard her moan softly.

I know I felt her move backward against me until her body was pressed against mine.

I began squeezing her breasts but did not actually touch her nipples.

This time I know I heard her softly moan and then lean even harder against me. Finally I just lightly caressed her nipples with my thumbs. This time the moan was a lot louder and I think her knees nearly gave way as she sagged back against me.

I continued to squeeze one breast with my right hand, while moving the left hand down across her stomach to her abdomen.

Yes, another moan and then when I softly brushed the hair on her landing strip, a louder moan and she pushed her butt back against me.

I moved both hands back up to her shoulders again, then down her arms like I had already done earlier.

Only this time, once I reached her hands I moved her hands together behind her back, reached behind me on the bed and retrieved my handcuffs.

Before she had even registered what I was doing, I had both wrists cuffed together again.

Deena