Carnal Crimes: Part One Back Road Cop by Millie Dynamite (a cuckold story) by 90lbsofDynamite
Explore "Carnal Crimes: Part One Back Road Cop" by Millie Dynamite, a captivating cuckold story that delves into erotic encounters and thrilling twists. Join the journey of desire and betrayal in this sizzling gay erotic sex story. Discover the forbidden pleasures and emotional depth that make this tale irresistible for enthusiasts of adult fiction. Read on for an unforgettable experience!<br/>
This is a work of fiction representing the fantasy of the cuckold lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are drawn from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. l. This story contains some sex and violence, and racial stereotypes. If you have an issue with cuckoldry, humiliation, domination, or any other trope in such fantasies, you should read no further. If you like such stories, I hope you enjoy what follows. This story happened in 1983.
Carnal Crimes: Part One Back Road Cop
A Cuckold Story
Millie Dynamite
© Copyright 2021 by Millie Dynamite
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote any lifestyle. This is merely a representation of the fantasy of the cuckold lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are drawn from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental and unintentional. This story contains some sex and violence, and racial stereotypes. If you have an issue with cuckoldry, humiliation, domination, or any other trope in such fantasies, you should read no further. If you like such stories, I hope you enjoy what follows. This story happened in 1983.
Carnal Crimes
Back Road Cop
In the Boonies of Oklahoma
1983
“Fuck,” I said as the red and blue flashes filled the interior of my car.
“Were you speeding?” my wife asked; her question, in and of itself, wasn’t the issue. No, the way she asked hurt me. The condemnation in her voice stung. My wife can humiliate me with no effort. She draws enjoyment from my pain. This is a niggling thing, which drives me insane.
“A little,” I answered as I pulled onto the shoulder of the road. “Three miles an hour, no cop gives you a ticket for 58 in a 55 zone, does he?”
“Maybe this one,” she said with smugness in her voice, reminding me, without saying I told you so, she had warned me about my speed.
The spotlight from the patrol car shown inside of ours, bathing us in bright rays. The glare from my review blinded me. I glanced at the outside mirror. He walked toward us, his right hand resting on the butt of his revolver, the other clutched the sheathed handle of a nightstick. Standing at least 6 feet 6 tall, with impossibly broad shoulders, massive ape-ish arms, and a thin waist, the man appeared monster-ish.
“You better keep your cool, baby,” she said, handing me the registration and insurance. “I don’t want you to piss this guy off. He’s black, he’s a Deputy Sheriff, so don’t write a check, with your overcompensating mouth, that your sissy ass can’t fucking cover. Remember, we’re on a job. So, take your medicine, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
This is the same song and dance she loves—Tina always puts me down. She can’t leave me alone, but her advice, this time, was excellent. At least, minus the insults, the advice would have been fine. She understood how niggers affected me. You don’t want to piss off a black cop on a power trip. A coon in authority, fuck that is messed up to the max. I dug my license out of my wallet and put two twenty-dollar bills with my driver’s license, insurance, and registration. Money always works with jigaboos.
“What are you doing?”
“Relax, he’s a nigger. He’ll take the money and let me off with a warning.”
“Oh, baby, you’re such a loser.”
I wanted to say something, but a light in my eyes interrupted my thought process. The cop walked around the car, pointed his flashlight inside when he walked across the front of my car. By the time he smacked his knuckles on my window, I was ready to offer him the bribe. I hit the down button and held out the license, insurance, registration, and reparation for his bullshit suffering.
“Thank you, sir. I bet you been stopped for crossing the centerline, speeding, and reckless driving before.”
“No, I haven’t,” I said. “I didn’t cross the centerline, and I wasn’t driving recklessly.” My mouth raced ahead of my mind.
“Honey,” my wife said, “hear the man out.”
“I wasn’t…”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said.
I glared at her; my darling wife had this grin on her face. She laughed at me, not aloud, but under her breath. Nonetheless, she enjoyed this. Her amusement at my predicaments in life was not at all a subtle criticism. On top of everything else, we’d been at odds about blacks for years. I never liked them, my parents never liked them, we considered them a threat to white Christians, to white lives.
He scowled at me, putting the bundle of documents and money in his hand into a shirt pocket. He opened my door, placed his swarthy hand on my shoulder.
“Sir, step out of the car, please,” he said. Remaining polite but insistent, he squeezed my shoulder with his gigantic ape paw of a hand, digging his fat thumb into the flesh just above my collarbone, his gargantuan, long fingers into the muscles of my neck.
“No,” I said. I shrugged my shoulder and lurched forward, trying to make the cop let go of his grip. “Write my warning, keep the money, and return the rest, so we can go home. I had a hard, long day.”
Clutching me harder, he leaned into the car, unhooked my belt, released his hold, only long enough to let the belt pass his hand. The deputy dragged me out of the vehicle by my throbbing shoulder. Throwing me against the rear window, he leaned his massive body into mine, wrenched my hands behind my back, and cuffed them. My face felt on fire, my heart burned inside my chest.
Holding my face to the window, he put his fat lips to my ear. My wife’s tickled expression made me nauseous. My head spun as the helplessness of my position sank into my mind. I gazed at her without seeing anything but her pleased smirk. The bitch enjoyed this. Eating up my distress and humiliation like a rich pudding.
His body was twice the size of mine. He had to weigh 250 to 270 pounds, all muscles, while I’m 5 feet 8 and 140 pounds. The man pressed into me, hurting my back, letting me appreciate the simple fact, I hadn’t a chance in a fight with him.
“Your ole lady’s a beautiful, little, white woman,” he said in a hushed voice. “Bet you’d love seeing a big, black cock splitting her tiny, white pussy open, wouldn’t ya, boy? blondes, like her, always open their legs wide for black men.”
He patted me down, running his bear paws over my body. When the black cop made his way to my crotch, the deputy clutched my junk, squeezing the balls and pecker tight. Against my will, my cock stiffened to his rough touch. My cheeks flushed. As best I may, I gazed away from my wife, not wanting her to sense my anguish, my humiliation. The burning on my face worried me; I might be blushing.
The weight of his body and the situation made my head pound. What had I done to him to treat me like a homo? I’m not gay, I’m not gay, you have to believe me, I’m not. Why doesn’t he kill me? I’d be better off dead than have an erection at a man’s touch. Especially not a niggers.
“Nothing hiding here,” he released me, rose, leaned into me again, whispered into my ear. “Closet faggot got a little, stiffy pee-pee, didn’t ya, boy?”