Swingin' Road Trip

While I'm dug deep into DITW's finale, I'd like to pop out this little quickie book.

If you read it, the concept is self-explanatory so I don't want to expound on it too much.

This will be a 10k short sporting a light and fun erotic narrative. I hope you like it!

And here's a link to the topless version: https://sta.sh/0223rdc79glf 

Bright red cop cherries flashed in the rearview, and Mike cursed his wife Millie. “I told you, Millie. I told you, I told you.”

Millie said under her breath, “We’re supposed to be having fun,” pulling down her top and dropping back into the passenger seat, tangled mane falling back around her shoulders.

“Legal fun, Millie,” Mike said, digging his fingers into his brow, indicating a right turn and pulling over at the side of the quiet road, the cop car nosing in behind him, staying back a safe distance in case the occupants had more weapons than the ones the cop had seen Millie brandishing.

“I don’t even know why that’s illegal,” Millie said, defiant, but still intimidated by the situation. They weren’t a couple of outlaws or bad hombres. Neither of them had a single bad mark on their record.

“It’s the damn patriarchy,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Took the words out of my mouth,” Millie said, adjusting her shirt and shooting a nervous look over her shoulder, seeing the cop get out of his cruiser.

“It’s not funny, Millie,” Mike said.

“Who’s laughing?”

Mike scoffed, muttering,“The patriarchy,” and rolling his eyes again. This time Millie caught him.

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you did it, now would it, Mike?”

“Millie, come on,” he said, trying to be the voice of reason. “Don’t start in with the cop about the patriarchy or some shit.”

“I don’t want to hear any value judgments, that’s all.”

“You’re not even wearing a seatbelt, Millie.”

Millie shot him a dirty look. “You were laughing it up a second ago, man. What happened to that guy?”

Mike checked the side mirror. “That guy just got pulled over by a state trooper in the American South. That’s what happened.” The cop got out of his cruiser and put on his state trooper hat. White guy, not that tall. Short, maybe. Still, the man carried the weight of legal authority—and Millie and Mike were far from home where anyone could vouch for them.

Mike prepared himself, facing forward again, hands gripping the steering wheel too tight. Millie told him to relax.

“I’m relaxed. Okay? Just let me do the talking.”

Millie smiled, and when Mike looked to the right he saw—though she smiled—a warm apology in her eyes. He couldn’t help smiling too. “You really did it this time, Millie.”

“I never do anything,” she said and chuckled. “The one time I do something, look what happens.”

The cop’s footsteps approached the driver side door from behind, and the cop said good morning. Mike turned to regard the cop, but the cop didn’t look at Mike. Or at Millie. He admired their convertible, looking it up and down, from nose to tail, brows bowed in an admiring tent.

“Nice car,” the cop said.

Mike said, “Thank you.”

“What year is it?”

“Um, a ’71.”

“Hemi?”

The car had ‘HEMI’ emblazoned along the side in big letters, jet black against the bright citron yella. “Uh, yes, sir.”

The man shook his head, still lost in appreciation for the old Barracuda. “Amazing condition. It’s mint.”

“Yeah. Thanks. All the, uh, the numbers match and everything.”

“Wow. A real show car.”

“Yes, sir. Was I going too fast?”

The cop stood up straight, cocked his head and smiled—not friendly, but in that oh-come-on way those in power used. “That’s not why I pulled you over, and you know it.”

“Oh, okay.”

“License and registration, please.”

Mike pursed his lips and sighed, resigned to the dark shadow this morning would now cast on the rest of the day. “Yes, sir.”

Mike asked Millie for the registration from the glove compartment, leaning to one side to liberate his wallet from his jeans pocket. The cop asked Millie for her ID and Mike groaned.

Sure enough, Millie said, “I don’t need to produce ID. I’m not the driver.”

Mike passed the trooper his driver’s license. “She’s Millie Seabrook. She’s my wife.”

The state trooper took Mike’s license and checked it out. Millie passed over the Barracuda’s registration, smirking. Mike handed it to the trooper.

“Okay, Mike,” the trooper said, a young guy, around their tender age of twenty-eight. He leaned an elbow on the door and leveled his eyes on Millie. “I know you’re not from around here, but I’m sure you know what you were doing isn’t allowed.”

“We were the only ones on the road,” Mike said, before Millie had a chance to say anything. “We didn’t, uh, didn’t think it would be a big deal. No one saw or anything.”

The cop said, “She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt,” eyes on Millie.

“I know,” Mike said. “I warned her.”

He chanced a look over at his wife. Millie wasn’t venomous or angry, she smiled at the cop, her bright eyes turned up. Trying to flirt, trying to get out of trouble using her feminine wiles. Mike turned back to the cop, and the cop resisted Millie, but his eyes lingered on her. The cop—wherever he’d been hiding—had seen them blast past doing seventy, Millie standing up in the convertible and lifting her top, her breasts bared to the sunshine and wind, hooting and hollering with her fists raised to the sky. And Millie was a stunner. Tall, lean, beautiful. And perfect tits. Absolutely amazing. He’d always been a lucky guy with the ladies, but once he’d met Millie, all he could think about was making her his wife and settling down with her. And what great luck that had been, too.

The cop nodded his chin toward Millie. “Where are you headed?”

Millie said, “The Hedonista. You know, the resort in Florida?” She wound a long auburn lock around her index finger.

Mike winced and bowed his head. She could have left the resort name out.

The cop looked at her for a long moment, showing no expression. “I know it,” he said. And there was a glimmer of recognition that sparkled in the cop’s eyes. Yes, he knew the Hedonista and knew what kind of swingin’ resort it was, and therefore what kind of degenerates he’d just pulled over in their obnoxious yellow muscle car.

“We sure want to get there,” Millie said, practically pouting her pillowy lips, showing the cop that wishful little-girl expression. “If there were only some way we could get out of this problem. I really am sorry. What can we do to make this right?”

Mike’s scalp prickled and he swore to god his heart just stopped. The moment after he heard his wife sexually proposition a state trooper dragged on forever, and heavy dread pushed down on him like an anvil. Propositioning a cop could get you in jail. They’d need a lawyer. Their road trip was off to a hell of a start.

The cop stood there forever, and when Mike looked up to see what he thought, his neck creaked like it needed a quart of oil. The cop was stone-cold expressionless. His jaw muscles flexed. He didn’t look pleased. At last the cop cleared his throat, said, “Hang tight.” He returned to his cruiser with Mike’s ID and registration.

Mike sank down in the driver’s seat, groaning like he suffered a mortal injury. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished he could teleport to a different location. He hissed, “What are you doing?” 

Millie asked him what, like she didn’t even know.

“What do you mean what?” He sat up again, incensed. “We’re going to jail now. You know that, right? First week into our road trip and you’re committing crime after crime, flashing your boobs and now this..”

Millie smirked. “We’re like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“You know how they ended up, right?” He leaned close, locking eyes with her. “Me and my brother saw their car at Primm Valley. A thousand bullet holes, Millie. Like ten thousand maybe.”

“They went out in a blaze of glory.”

Mike checked over his shoulder to make sure the cop was still gone. “You propositioned him,” he whispered with fierce intent.

“No, I didn’t,” she said, tsking him. “Well, I hardly did.”

“Wish there was some way out of this. And making that sexy face.”

“Aw, you think my face was sexy?”

He shook his head and looked at Millie. Frustrated, but he couldn’t help smiling. Millie sat in the passenger seat looking like a million dollars—jeez, maybe a hundred million—her long, wind-tossed hair full of bounce and heft, hanging over her creamy shoulders; her big breasts loose and braless under her tank top (she’d snapped off her bra before she decided she would do her topless Titanic moment, and the bra lay on the back seat floor), and the shortest pair of jean cut-off shorts, showing off her long, bare legs.

When he met her eyes again, Millie said, “I didn’t proposition him, baby. Come on. Anything I said is just hopeful. The language wasn’t seductive.”

“You’re just lucky they don’t allow impersonations in court.” Then he imitated some Georgia district attorney imitating her before the jury, batting his eyes like he had long beautiful lashes like Millie did, saying high and breathy, “I just wish there was some way we could make this better.”

“You’re out of order,” she said and bopped a fist against his shoulder. She gripped his collar and looked at him with affection. 

The humor left his face. “Are you, though? Are you making an offer?”

They regarded each other for a long while and then Millie’s smile began to show, her plump lips stretching off to one sly side. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

“But not like this, Millie,” he said, taking her hand from his shoulder and kissing the backs of her fingers, kissing the huge diamond he’d gifted her—to replace the middling diamond he’d bought her when he proposed.

She said, “Why not?”

“We’re going to end up in jail.”

Millie chuckled. “I don’t think you have the constitution for this.”

“My constitution’s fine.”

“Look at you. You’re green and sweating.”

He scoffed and gave her hand back, leaning away from her. “I’m either going to jail or watch you do something with a cop. I’m not ready for either.”

“It’s too late now. And that’s what we’re here for. That’s what the trip’s about.”

He sat straight again and faced her. “Under controlled circumstances, Millie. Not like this.”

“Maybe this way is more fun,” she said, and looked at him devilishly.

“Oh my god. Are you doing this to me on purpose? Are you serious? This guy, this cop?”

“He’s really cute,” she said, casting another look back at the cruiser. “Oh shit, he’s coming back.” She sat facing forward again, adjusting her hair.

Mike said, “This will be the first time. You want the first time like this?”

“It’s just working out this way, Mike. Do you not want me to?”

He rubbed his cheeks and pulled down on them until he felt the breeze touch the soft pink flesh behind his stretched eye holes. “I don’t want to get in trouble. I don’t want to go to jail.”

Then it was too late to work out any kind of plan. The cop was there, standing door-side and handing Mike back his ID and registration. “Here you go, sir.”

Mike thanked him, gave Millie the registration and tossed his license in the console on top of his wallet. He looked up at the cop, wondering what he would do to them for the illegal offer. And, yeah, maybe a woman like Millie would think the cop was cute. Young, good features, strong nose, expressive green eyes.

The cop sucked his teeth for a second, like he was preparing his thoughts to deliver the official judgment. He leaned his hip on the door, looking at both of them at the same time. 

“All right, folks, look . . . I’m not giving you a ticket. Just a warning.”

Millie, bright and cheery, said, “Really?”

“Really. State of Georgia, Mrs. Seabrook, looks down on that kind of raunchy spring break energy, but seeing how the road was empty, I think I can let it go. You’re not in the habit of doing it, are you?”

Millie vigorously shook her head no.

“You’re free to go,” the cop said, but now he leaned on the door sill again, face lowering to them, eyes on Millie. “But you’re also free to take the next exit, turn right soon as you get off, there’s a long gravel road there…”

“Okay,” Mike said, unsure.

“That’s a good, quiet spot I usually take my break at.”

Mike nodded, looked at Millie, and Millie nodded too.

The cop stood up again, patted the door sill—pat-pat. “Anyway, you’re free to go. Have a nice day.” He left them and walked back to the cruiser.

They sat in silence for a while, then the cop turned off his cop lights and drove out onto the empty roadway again, waving to them as he passed.

“Wow,” Millie said.

“I thought we were in so much trouble.”

“You worry too much.”

“Maybe,” Mike said and started the powerful Hemi, sitting there and listening to the V8 rumble.

Millie said, “Are we, uh, are we getting off at the next exit?”