Friday Fun: To Protect and Serve

Friday Fun: To Protect and Serve

Oh, man… not again!

I guess that high school guidance counselor had you pegged.

Look at the mess you’ve got yourself in now.

So tired of these damn cops always busting your hump.  Doesn’t make any difference if their city cops or state troopers; they are all the same.  And they all know exactly how to handle a punk ass bitch like you.

Take this dude.  Taking himself so serious.  Give ‘em a badge and they think they’re cock of the walk.

You know better than to mess with him, but you can’t help yourself. 

It’s that attitude that gets to you.  Kind of pisses you off.

They all have that same cocky air about them.  Who the fuck do they think they are?

Well, that uniform would seem to answer that.

That uniform and the way he fills it out.

No doubt about it… that man’s got the upper hand here. 

Not that you mind all that much.  You’ve been around dominate males before.  If nothing else, you’re flexible and know your place when in the presence of an alpha male.

Which is exactly what he is. 

Boy, you sure wish you could be giving it to him the way he’s giving it to you.

Uh-uh.  You best mind your P’s and Q’s and do as told.  Not that you wouldn’t welcome the opportunity to get a little physical.  You know, mix it up a bit?  A test of strength.  Pitting might against might. 

But only a fool would mess with this man: a man of authority, a man who takes his job seriously, a man who has earned his place on the force the hard way.

Still, you’d take him on if he came at you.  You’d have no choice.  Right?

Getting caught in that headlock, though?  Could be pretty painful. 

Aww… you’ve experienced worse.  Bring it on, dickwad. 

All these thoughts course through your mind as you stand, spread-eagled, leaning up against the hood of your car.  And you have to remember… he is the man that put you there.  And left you there; all open and vulnerable.  Anybody could come up from behind and…

Well, at least he hasn’t put the cuffs on you.  Yet.  Ha!  Cuffs.  Your favorite kind of jewelry.  It’s the way they fit so snuggly around your wrists, keeping you in check, reminding you who’s boss, inexorably binding you to him. 

But this frisk?  It's feeling a bit intrusive.  Personal, even.

Shit. Now he’s up behind you… close.  Too close.  Up over your back, kicking at your boots, telling you to spread ‘em wider.  What an asshole.  Can’t he see you’re accommodating him as much as you possibly can?

He sounds so angry.  Why is he so angry? His hot breath: on your neck, in your ear, matching the heat you’re feeling from the hood of your car. 

That feels good.

You concentrate on it; an island of comfort amidst a continent of discomfort.  You find yourself relaxing into it, and as you do, the pain and pleasure become one. 

You let your mind go.  You give in.

Now, it’s only his voice, in your ear, giving orders…

…orders you’re only too happy to follow.

Ahhh, yes…. to protect and serve.

No question who’s going to be doing the serving here, now is there?

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Have a great weekend!

Wishing you all the very best.

- Uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque