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Interracial Lovers:

(Bundle) Volume 11

3 Steamy Stories of Beautiful White Women and Powerful Black Men


Copyright 2018 Bobbi Love

Published by Bobbi Love at Smashwords




Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.



Table of Contents

Story One:

The Housewife and the Big Black Cop

A bored suburban housewife. A tiny thong bikini. A big black cop. Handcuffs. What can go wrong?

When Helen Baker decides to try on a skimpy little bikini she doesn't realize how much trouble she's about to cause.

At first the bored suburban housewife decides to do some naughty sunbathing in her risqué bathing suit. But when she locks herself out of her own house she is dismayed by the presence of a large black cop who mistakes her for a burglar. Unable to cover herself, Helen is tossed into the squad car, exposed —and on the verge of tears.

Things become tricky for bikini-clad Helen when three more suspects are thrown into the backseat of the squad car. All three of them are male. All three of them are black. In order to fit, someone has to ride on someone else's lap.

Shocked yet thrilled by this experience, Helen's luck improves when the real burglar is caught! Her arresting officer offers to drive her back home. And since Helen's husband is away on business, the big black cop offers to inspect her home for intruders. Needing to explore her own dark desires, Helen finds herself losing control.


Story Two:

Some Bulls are Bigger

Mark is a confident, smart, dominant guy who enjoys teaching couples the pleasures of cuckolding. But one day he pisses off the wrong person --who decides to teach Mark what it's like to be sitting in the cuckold chair. The experience is meant to humiliate and sicken Mark. His wife is dressed in her nastiest lingerie. Her new lover is a large, well-endowed black man with stamina for days. But the longer Mark sits there, the more he learns that sometimes watching is better than participating.


Story Three:

The Cuckold Tapes

Stuck in a sexual rut, a husband decides to surprise his wife by coming home early from a business trip. He's bringing her flowers, chocolates, and the news that he's finally ready to start a family!

But things aren't so simple. It turns out that his prim and proper wife has a deep secret. In college she dated a guy who used to videotape them having sex. And now, years later, this same man wants her to pay him cash in exchange for these tapes.

Coming to his wife's rescue, the husband agrees to go along and confront this blackmailing scumbag. He's not the kind of man who lets other people take advantage of his wife. But never in a million years would he have guessed that his wife's boyfriend was a large, bald, black man in his 50's! When the wife and the black man disappear together, the husband can't resist taking a look at their sex tape. At once the powerful images are seared into his brain, causing him to spiral down into a world full of twisted torments and dark pleasures.


Other books by this author

The Housewife and the Big Black Cop



It was a bright gold thong bikini. When Helen Baker saw the swimsuit she figured she just wanted to touch it. Her own bathing suit was much more conservative —a topaz-green two-piece that gave her a certain aristocratic dignity at the country club swimming pool. But in the privacy of her own bedroom she seemed rather transfixed by the skimpy bathing suit. It belonged to her younger sister who'd just recently visited. Her younger sister had self-esteem issues and would do anything for male attention.

"People actually wear these things?" she said to herself, holding the bathing suit between her thumb and index finger. "In public?"

Since the house was empty she decided to try on the swimsuit. Hesitantly, her fingers fumbled with the few buttons of her blouse. Then a moment later her clothes were pooled around her painted toenails. Completely naked, she looked in the mirror, tossing her shimmering hair back, and running her slender fingers lengthwise down her torso. She knew that she was beautifully proportioned.

She turned.

Sitting on the bed, the bikini looked like pieces of tangled string with a few knots in it.

Helen was already starting to have second doubts.

"It's just a bathing suit. Nobody is going to see you," she said, talking to herself the way she did whenever there was nobody else in the house. "Girl, stop being such a chicken!"

Before she could lose her courage, Helen opened the 'bottom' and stepped in, pulling the dainty golden strings up her long smooth legs. Luckily, she'd been pretty generous with the razor that morning. The front had just the tiniest bit of stretchy material that she pulled through her legs, over her pubic mound. The bottoms sat low enough to show her pelvis. She couldn't believe how naked she felt. She ran a hand across her backside to get a good feel of how much fabric actually covered her rear. Not much. Not much at all. It wasn't just the lower corners of her cheeks that were left hanging out for public display, it was her entire backside.

"Damn girl, all your assets are on display now," she said, looking over her shoulder as she slowly turned around for a 360 degree prospective.

The sisters had very similar body types so the bathing suit fit remarkably well, except for the 'top' because Helen's chest had always been slightly bigger, like they were full of milk and ready to burst at any second. This meant that she had to spend a few extremely frustrating minutes trying to adjust the 'cups' so that at least they covered her areolas. She began twisting in front of the mirror. The fabric was stretched so thin that when the light hit her directly she could see the small pink protrusions of her nipples.

Never in a million years would Helen have the courage to buy this in a store, much less wear it out in public. She took a moment to get a good look at herself. It made her laugh a little self-consciously. Then she gave the mirror a playful wiggle of her backside. Then the suburban housewife began 'twerking' her butt cheeks from side to side, pretending she was a dancer in a rap video. It was such a stupid thing to do, but it was also pretty fun to be so silly.

When Helen started walking around the bedroom, making those first tentative steps and twirls, she had the nagging sensation that the bathing suit was going to just fall off. But it didn't. Magically, the tiny strings clung to her body, covering up just enough so that she wasn't completely nude, just mostly nude.

Oddly enough though, the bikini made her feel even more naked than when she wasn't wearing anything at all. The taut gold strings were designed to draw attention to her feminine curves. The strings rode up high on her flared hips, the back part was just a thin piece of cloth that disappeared between the soft globes of her bouncy ass, and the top was barely big enough to conceal her nipples which had suddenly become hard in the air-conditioned room.

"No wonder you have so many boyfriends," Helen said, thinking of her younger sister strutting her goods around the beach or pool in something so degrading. Helen was just in her own house and already she could feel herself start to blush with embarrassment.

She thought she would just try on the bikini and then immediately take it off, but she found herself staring at her reflection much longer. She was hypnotizing herself. She must have stood in front of the mirror for at least twenty or twenty-five minutes. Her heart rate had calmed down. She began to sway. Already she was growing accustomed to the bathing suit, how it allowed so much of her skin to tingle in the fresh air, how it made her feel sexy and feminine and powerful. She felt like a completely different person. It looked amazing on her. It was like she was looking at herself for the first time.

"I wonder what Bill would say if he saw me in this," she said, thinking of her husband.

She knew what her husband would say though. Even the sight of her old one-piece navy-blue swimsuit was enough to turn him into a drooling puppy dog. For a brief moment she even considered sending him a selfie, but she wasn't sure she was ready to open up that can of worms just yet. In her experience, once you pushed the boundaries in the bedroom, guys expected them to stay pushed. And Helen wasn't thrilled with the notion of having to wear such provocative attire whenever her husband wanted. Last year, for Bill's birthday, she'd surprised her husband by greeting him at the door in a tiny mini-skirt with no panties. And he was still hounding her to repeat the performance.

Which wasn't to say that she wasn't enjoying this moment.

Helen eventually left the bedroom, but she didn't take off the bikini. She went downstairs, turned on the TV, grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator, and checked the laundry. Bill was out of town until tomorrow, so she had plenty of time before someone came walking through the door.

It was a hot, sunny day with only a few clouds in the sky. Helen decided to get some rays. They had a pool in the backyard with a privacy fence built high enough to keep out the prying eyes of their nosy neighbors.

"Oh what would they say if they saw me, Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes, wearing this thing," Helen thought to herself. Then she thought about Mr. Holderschmidt, their 70 year-old next-door neighbor. "He'd probably have a heart attack!"

The delightfully wicked thought made Helen laugh out loud.

She grabbed her things and went out to the back deck.

It really was a beautiful day. Helen had naturally very tan skin and she figured that it would only take 30 or 40 minutes to get some color on those parts which normally didn't see the sunshine. She brought some suntan lotion, her sunglasses, and a fashion magazine. She stretched out and allowed the sun to bathe her now in a golden glow which reflected off the water, sheeting her body.

After a while Helen started to drift off to sleep. It must have been a deep sleep because she started to dream that she was being seduced by her husband, Bill.

In the dream they were in a dark restaurant and Bill kept kissing her on the neck and reaching underneath the table to finger her. They were sitting in one of the back booths, away from most of the other customers. When Helen tried to pull away, he gripped her tighter, assuring her that nobody could tell what was happening. The space between her legs began to burn. The thought of strangers seeing her like this was both mortifying and enthralling. While Bill fingered her in the restaurant booth, sliding the fabric of her panties to one side so he could just slide his finger into the warm folds of her womanhood, Helen found her hands groping for the bulge in his pants. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. To her own astonishment she found herself jacking Bill off in public. They were like sex-crazed teenagers instead of a middle-class married couple who lived a respectable life.

The dream continued...

Unfortunately, just then, the couple was so caught up in the moment that they failed to realize that they'd drawn the attention of others. Now the restaurant manager and their waiter were standing over them, not saying anything, just silently watching Helen and Bill act like filthy animals.

Both the restaurant manager and the waiter were Italians —and when they pulled down their black pants they had big Italian dicks, swollen and much larger than Bill's penis. Helen knew exactly what they wanted. She knew it was her job to appease their anger. With no other choice she took the restaurant manager in her mouth, while using her hands to jack off Bill and their waiter. Personally, she would have preferred to perform oral sex on the waiter, who was younger and much better looking. But instinctually she knew that the older man wielded the most power and she needed to show her obedience or else suffer the consequence.

"That's it Bella," said the manager, gently patting the sides of her head while he stroked his meat in and out of her mouth, "that's it, good, good Bella, be a good girl now."

Helen kept sucking, encouraged by the grunts and moans of all three men. However, when Bill noticed the restaurant manager in Helen's mouth, stretching out her full lips, he started to whine because he was only getting a handjob.

Helen had no choice though. The restaurant manager was holding her by the hair, gripping her roughly. Then the young waiter stuck his hand in her shirt, twisting her nipples. When he saw that this was okay, he grew bolder and reached under her skirt to play with her wet pussy lips.

For a long time Bill and Helen made eye contact, despite the fact that she had another man in her mouth.

It was quite a scene. Customers started getting up from their tables to stand around the booth, watching as Helen serviced all three men at one time. People began to comment on what a slut she was. They started taking pictures of her with their cell phones. Then the restaurant manager was cumming in her mouth. His balls were huge and his load was so copious that Helen couldn't swallow all of it. When Bill saw the thick river of white goo dribble down her chin he started to shoot several thick spurts onto her thighs. This pleased Helen the most since she loved to make her husband happy. Then the waiter had just enough time to stand up, his waiter pants around his ankles, and jam his thick Italian sausage down her throat, roaring as his hips bucked to an orgasm so that now Helen had the hot salty cream of two different men in her mouth. Then the waiter pulled out of Helen's mouth and shot two more strands of cum across her nose, earning him a standing ovation from everyone in the restaurant. Even Bill.

At that, Helen's eyelids lifted drowsily.

The dream was over.

Above her a couple of clouds chased each other across the blue sky. She opened her eyes more fully.

"Fuck," she said, reaching down between her thighs. "I can't believe that I keep having that same dream. There must be something really wrong with me."

Just then she noticed the ominous presence of storm clouds on the horizon. So Helen got up and started gathering her things quickly, not wanting the outside of her bikini to be as drenched as the inside was.




Part Two

At first Helen couldn't believe that she'd locked herself out of her own house. It seemed like a bad dream. She was standing on the back deck, looking speculatively at the large sliding glass door that led to the kitchen. The door wouldn't budge. She tried the door several times before realizing what a pickle she was in. She could see her reflection in the glass, causing her to wince. The thought of having to walk around the house and go through the front door wasn't that appealing since it meant one of her neighbors might see her dressed like this. One of the hazards of living on such a quiet street was having bored and vigilant neighbors constantly looking out their windows for something to watch.

However, it wasn't like Helen had much of an option unless she wanted to wait several hours for it to get dark.

So she padded out the back gate, going around the house in quick little steps.

Dreading the possibility of getting caught, she came to the front door, only to discover that it too was locked also!

"Crap!" Helen said, turning the handle several more times. "Dear Lord, this can't be happening to me! I must have the worst luck in the world!"

She started to panic. Feeling like she had no other choice, Helen began going around the house, checking all the doors again. She walked in a brisk pace, afraid that one of her breasts would pop out of the bikini. The only good news was that so far there were no signs of her neighbors coming out to watch the spectacle.

Then Helen started to get desperate, really desperate.

She began checking some of the windows on the 1st floor. She really didn't relish the thought of having to climb through a window (offering the world an unobstructed view of her thonged backside) but anything was better than this. It seemed like the house was locked up tight as a bug in a rug. Her only option was to break one of the windows and try to crawl in without cutting herself to pieces on the jagged glass.

Helen was already picking up a brick when she saw the cop car.

"CRAP!"

It came out of nowhere. The unexpected appearance of the cop car caused her to drop the brick, dart around the house and wait, her knees trembling slightly. She was waiting for the cop car to pass by. But after a few moments she realized that the cop car had stopped.

"This isn't happening," she muttered to herself several times.

She met him at the side of the house, halfway between the front porch and the tall wooden gate that skirted the backyard. A tall African-American in a cop uniform, he was the last kind of surprise she expected. His impact on her was startling. Several things happened at once. She drew in a quick, sudden breath. Her heart slammed into her ribs. She nervously folded her thin arms across the little patches of cloth that barely covered her nipples.

"Excuse me, miss. Is everything okay?" he asked with a smile.

His teeth were white and straight. His easy grin lit up a chocolate-colored, slightly weathered face. When his thick purplish lips tilted up at the corners, one dark brow tipped down, while the other arched high.

Although quite a large man, he seemed friendly enough. And maybe if Helen hadn't been so caught off guard, and maybe if Helen had been naturally attracted to black men, then she might have even considered him sexy.

"Ye-yes," she stammered.

"Can I ask you what you're doing outside this residence?" asked the black cop.

"I live here, officer."

"I see," he said, nodding slowly. "Do you have some ID then?"

"Actually, no. I seem to have locked myself out of the house. I guess I can be a little absentminded. Do you think you can help me get inside?"

All at once, the grin fell off the black cop's face. "I'm afraid that it's not my job to help people break into houses."

Still smiling, Helen tried to explain exactly what happened.

But he wasn't having any of that. He shook his head, then stared at the large heating/cooling system that had just clicked on because of the air conditioner. "Have you been drinking today, ma'am?"

Helen noted the change in his tone and started shaking her head. "No, of course not. I just need to get back into my house."

After Helen finished, she noticed that the black cop was staring at her for an embarrassing length of time, as if his job gave him the license to eschew common decency. Yes, Helen was dressed in a brightly colored bikini that desperately craved male attention. Yes she realized that she had a pretty great rack, with no sign of sag whatsoever, jutting out before her proud and firm. Yes, her nipples were deliciously pink, slightly erect as if they were auditioning for a part. But at the same time she was also on her own property and didn't like the idea of some stranger, black or otherwise, taking advantage of a slight inconvenience.

"Can I help you?" she asked starchily as she tried to cover up as much of her breasts as possible. She suspected that he was mentally storing the image of her scantily-clad body for later when it was just him and a big jar of Vaseline. It was probably a common fantasy of cops to come across some big-breasted housewife in distress. But Helen was not the type of woman who just threw herself at random strangers just because they had fast cars, big biceps, and guns. "It's not polite to stare like that, you know!"

"Look, I'm going to need to see some ID," the black cop said. "We've been having a lot of break-ins in this area and everyone is on high alert. If you don't have ID, ma'am, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

Helen smiled back, not believing for a second that he was being serious. Never in a million years could she have fathomed that someone would be so bad at their job that they would actually mistake her for a burglar. In fact she was still smiling at the black cop when she saw him reach for the pair of handcuffs at his waist.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to come with me. We'll get all of this straightened out down at the station."

"No, no, no!" Helen said, back peddling on the freshly cut grass. "What are you doing?"

"I'm bringing you into custody."

"Why? Are you retarded?"

"Ma'am," he said, dangling the handcuffs in the air, "do not resist arrest."

Acting on instinct, Helen turned her back and started to run, causing her boobs to jiggle enticingly. Almost immediately she was encircled from behind by a pair of brawny black arms that would have looked appropriate on the cover of a muscle magazine. He was so close behind her that she could feel the creases of his beige pants press into her exposed rump.

"Let me go, you big gorilla," she said, trying to wriggle out of his suffocating embrace. But her resistance was all for naught. He was too big, too quick, and too well-trained. Already the black cop was pinning both her arms behind her as he fastened the metal cuffs around her wrists. The bottom of her lip quivered uncontrollably, her knees were shaky, and she had to remind herself not to cry.

"This is insane!" she said. "You can't be serious? This is a joke right?"

Finally the officer turned her around so that Helen was facing him again, her barely covered nipples just under his strong chin. He was tall, much taller than Helen's husband. It was odd, and disconcertingly pleasant to have a man tower over her like that.

With a no-nonsense expression, the black cop looked down at Helen and said, "There's nothing funny about protecting this community, ma'am. I take my job very seriously. We swear an oath."

Helen had a few of her own oaths to swear, but she managed to keep them to herself. "But I'm not even wearing any—"

She stopped, unable to complete the sentence because it only reminded her of how embarrassing the situation had become, how quickly things had escalated out of control.

"Would you like to put some more clothes on before we go to the station, ma'am?"

"Yes, please."

"Fine," he said. "Where are your clothes?"

Unable to remove all of the sarcasm from her voice, she said, "Usually I keep my clothes in my house. Which I think is pretty common. So my clothes are in my house actually."

"You mean the house that you have no key for and no ID showing that you actually live here?"

"Yes, that's right," she said, realizing a second too late how incredibly stupid she sounded saying it.

"Come on," the black cop said, "you're coming with me."

Mercilessly, he marched Helen through her own front yard in nothing but some handcuffs and a bright gold bikini which was turning out to be the worst decision of Helen's life.

She could tell by the way he kept glancing down at her (or sometimes allowing her to walk a few paces in front of him) that the black cop was checking her out, taking advantage of the situation. But what could she do? Legally speaking, he probably had every right to book her.

Helen was so ashamed. She wanted to cry. She kept her head down. She wanted someone to wake her up from this terrible nightmare. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were more animated than usual. If only one of her neighbors would materialize and vouch for Helen. On the other hand, Helen wasn't sure if she could handle such an embarrassing knock on her social status.

The squad car was parked at the end of the driveway. Helen stood next to her own mailbox while the officer opened one of the back doors.

"Watch your head, ma'am," he said, as if manners and politeness were a big deal to him.

Helen looked at the backseat of the squad car, then at the looming black officer. Her cheeks went from red to bright red. "You're going to drag me downtown wearing only this?"

"I'm afraid so," he said firmly.

Helen, embarrassed, seemed to be hesitating for as long as it took her to come up with a solution. Nor did she have to wait very long for one to come along. Because just then she saw the welcomed sight of a shiny brown Lincoln town car pull onto her quiet street. The person behind the wheel was her neighbor, Mrs. Holderschmidt, a 70 year-old lady who could vouch for Helen's identity. Maybe tonight Helen would find this whole episode highly amusing. Maybe she would even tell her younger sister, who would be incredulous. Maybe she would even tell her husband, who would demand that she try on that tiny thong bikini at once!

"Well?" said the black cop impatiently.

Suddenly Helen's eyes became clouded with despair as the Lincoln town car drove by and disappeared in the distance. It wasn't her neighbor. And Helen knew she was running out of miracles.

"Ma'am would you like me to help you into the car?"

"No thank you," she said bitterly.

"Would you like your handcuffs removed, ma'am?"

"My hero," she said sarcastically.

He removed the handcuffs and waited for her to get in the back of his car. "Everything okay, ma'am?"

"Yeah, everything is really terrific, I've never been more comfortable in my entire life," she said, wincing as soon as her naked buns touched the hot polyester of the car's backseat.




Part Three

Helen was relieved on one account —none of her neighbors were witness to the humiliating scene outside her house today. Of course once they got to the police station they would give her something to cover up with. Then she could clear this whole misfortune up. She was hoping not to involve her husband, but the main thing was to get back home as quickly as possible.

Just thinking about recounting this tale to Bill made Helen smile. Her whole life she'd always lived on the verge of prudishness. So it was good to know that when she was a little old lady she would be able to have at least one crazy story.

Then Helen looked out the window and noticed how different the scenery was. Large suburban homes had been replaced with dilapidated apartments, government housing projects where every window had iron bars. Family-friendly SUVs had been replaced with customized vehicles that rode low to the ground while blaring loud rap music. Health-conscious joggers had been replaced with street people living out of cardboard boxes. It wasn't just a different part of the city, it felt like Helen was in a different world. Helen defensively crossed her arms over her chest as a man with wild hair, bloodshot eyes, and a soiled trench coat looked up from the fire burning in a metal trashcan.

"I never got your name," Helen said, trying to refocus her attention on something else.

"Officer Black," said the cop without any hint of irony.

"Do you really think I'm a burglar?"

"You wouldn't be in the back of my squad car otherwise," said Officer Black.

"At the station," she said, "I assume that I'll be given something to wear, correct?"

"Correct," he said.

The cold air was causing her nipples to jut painfully away. "And when will we be arriving? I'm just curious."

"Soon," said Officer Black. "I just need to make a quick stop first."

Surprised, Helen leaned back into the seat and watched as the squad car slowed down to a complete stop. Helen didn't want to say what she was thinking, that pulling over like this showed a lack of professionalism. So she merely watched as Officer Black got out of the car and entered a nearby liquor store.

"Jesus," she said with a bitter laugh, "this day just keeps getting better and better."

She closed her eyes, practicing some of her breathing techniques from yoga class.

Her meditation, however, was interrupted by the sound of car doors opening up. Before Helen realized what was happening, two black men climbed into the backseat with her, squeezing her into the middle position.

Her first impulse was to compress herself as small as possible. Her legs clamped together, she leaned forward, she squeezed her arms around her chest, she breathed in. It was bad enough being taken to the police station —when for all practical purposes she was naked. But having to share the backseat of a squad car with two other men was almost more than she could bear.

Then it got worse.

Far worse.

"Squeeze in!" said another voice, male and decidedly African-American. "We got one more!"

"Get your ass out of here!" said the black guy to Helen's right. He was tall, with a long face, wearing a baggy NFL jersey and several gold chains. "They ain't no mo' room! There's barely enough room for me, Jamal, and this white girl!"

"Then make room Tyrone!" said Officer Black. "And hurry up. Jamal scoot yo' ass over so Tyrek can get in too. Yawl need to stop playing around. I got a job to do."

Helen glanced over long enough to see Tyrek, who was eagerly waiting to get in the backseat of the car now. Unlike the other three black man, he seemed like a kid, barely out of high school.

"How we gonna make room?" asked Jamal, a short squat black guy with a flat-top style haircut, who was bristling with indignation. "They already three of us back here!"

"Well obviously someone is going to have to sit on someone else's lap," said Officer Black, losing patience.

As soon as she heard this, Helen realized what this would mean for her. A second later she felt a pair of large black hands clamp around her waist, then pull her over until she was sitting on the black guy named Tyrone. Since he was the taller and lankier of the three, it made sense. But when Jamal saw Helen perched on the other man's lap, he snarled in envious disgust.

"Damn motherfuckin' Tyrone! Why you gotta just grab a chick? You always grabbing chicks like that! Goddamnit! I'm tired of this shit! You could have asked her who she wanted. You didn't have to just grab her like you own her!"

"Man, you just jealous," Tyrone said.

Helen was trying to keep her weight forward now, with her ass barely resting on his leg.

"What's wrong now?" said Officer Black, sitting back down behind the car's steering wheel.

"Tyrone! He's the type of brotha who just goes around grabbing whatever he likes! That white girl can sit on my lap!"

Officer Black pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just get in and close the door. Yawl is exhausting! There's enough room for everybody! Just get in!"

The last guy to get in was Tyrek. He was wearing a pair of ear buds which were loud enough to hear a smattering of rap lyrics. He didn't say anything, barely even acknowledged the presence of the scantily clad white woman perched on Tyrone's lap as the squad car shifted into gear and tore down the city street. It was like all cop cars were outfitted with big-breasted white girls in the back seat to keep your lap warm.

Helen was mortified. She rode with her head down, her face a deep red with embarrassment. The whole way Tyrone kept his long fingers on both sides of her waist, holding her there, as if there was any place to go other than his lap. As Tyrone and Jamal began talking about a recent football game, Helen couldn't believe that she was actually in this situation. It certainly tested the perimeters of what could be considered legal.

Her plan was to make it to the police station and go from there. She tried to unobtrusively as possible blot out the car's passengers from her peripheral vision. As much as possible, anyway.

"Wow, you look great," Tyrone eventually said.

It took Helen a moment to realize that he was addressing her now. She couldn't have been more uncomfortable if she tried.

"Where you strip at?"

"What?" she said.

"You a stripper, right?"

She shook her head, not saying anything.

"Oh, you just walk around all day like this, okay," Tyrone said. "You like showing off that sexy body, I guess."

Helen realized that the car had suddenly become very quiet. She could tell that everyone was waiting to hear her response.

"There was a misunderstanding," she said softly. "That's all. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Well I'm fucking glad you are," chimed in Jamal, rubbing his hands together while he openly ogled the side of Helen's bouncing cleavage. "Damn girl, I hope you never leave me!"

"What's your name, white girl?" asked Tyrone.

"Helen," she muttered.

"Yeah, you look like a Helen," he said. "And I see that big rock on your hand. You married, right? To some white boy?"

She nodded a little sadly, not wanting to conjure up the reaction of her poor husband. It shamed her to know that he'd married the type of woman who could put herself in this type of situation. She blamed herself.

"What would he say if he saw you like this, in the back of a cop car, hanging out with some real street brothas."

"Not happy," she said, shrugging.

All four black men in the car laughed together.

Helen was still on Tyrone's leg and he told her to lean back and relax. He told her that he didn't bite. When he said this, he said the words softly, whispering them into her earlobes.

When Helen didn't object, she felt herself being pulled into the grooves of his jeans so that she was sitting directly on his crotch now. She was far from relieved by this realignment in the backseat of the car. But it was more space for her bottom and her leg/core muscles didn't have to contract as much in this position.

"That's better, baby," Tyrone said. "Isn't that a lot more comfortable?"

Unlike Tyrone, Helen wasn't smiling now. If only she had more fabric protecting her backside from the rough contours of his jeans. She kept trying to shift her weight, to find a more comfortable position in his lap. Unfortunately, this only proved to stimulate Tyrone even more.

Helen jumped as if she'd been shot. "What the heck is that!" she said, moving her bottom back to his outstretched leg.

"Sorry sexy," Tyrone said, now proudly sporting a huge erection that tented the front of his baggy jeans. "But you've been grinding that sweet ass of yours on it. What did you expect was going to happen?"

"Disgusting," she said, rubbing the top of her head which she'd bumped against the car's roof in her excitement.

"You can grind that booty on me!" Jamal said.

Nobody paid attention to Jamal.

Tyrone laughed and said, "Sit back down, sexy, get comfortable, baby. We're all friends."

"I'm not sitting on that!" Helen said, catching a glimpse at something unbelievably huge twitch inside Tyrone's pants. There was no doubt that she would do everything she could to avoid Tyrone's boner. But at the same time, she felt her nipples stiffen into hard points, and there was a burning sensation between her legs now.

Now her cheeks were suffused with a vivid color. At first the blush was caused by embarrassment, then by anger, as she saw an insinuating smile break across his sensual mouth.

Around then the squad car pulled over. Officer Black got out, opened the door for Tyrek who nodded in appreciation, mumbling some slang words which were too soft to hear from the backseat of the car. Confusion was written all over Helen's face as she saw the skinny black kid disappear into a side-alley full of menacing shadows. Was this a cop car or was this a taxi?

At least there was more room now.


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