To Each Her Own
Carter: I always pictured you in the back of my car... in handcuffs.
Reese: To each his own.
It was one of our typical exchanges, reversed. Usually he makes the innuendoes and I deflect them. This time my comment just slipped out and he deflected, thankfully. It would have been embarrassing if he had risen to the bait.
But the more I think about it (alright, fantasize about it) the more it seems like a good idea. I would never carry it out, of course….but how would it go down?
First, getting the cuffs on him. I'm no slouch when it gets physical. I'm army trained in hand to hand of course. But the man has-skills. I'm not entirely sure I can take him down. I suppose I could stun him and cuff him, but could I get him wrangled into the back of the squad car? He's a big guy.
Oh hell, all this thinking is disrupting the fantasy. All I know is that I would have to take him down by myself. If he "let" me it wouldn't be nearly as much fun.
Once he's cuffed and subdued (read unconscious) where do I take him? A safe house? Too risky. My house? Risky too, but the thought of him cuffed to my bed is doing things to me. I'm getting excited by the image of him cuffed and shackled and in my power as he comes around. Is he naked? Hell yes! Does he struggle? No, he's too cool for that. Waking up cuffed to the furniture is just another day at the office for him, no doubt. He's been faking it for a bit, because when his eyes open he's fully alert. His eyes meet mine almost immediately and his wary expression gives way to that damned smirk.
"Carter. I misspoke. I should have said to each her own. Where do we go from here?" Where, indeed.
Even now I'm torn between wanting to shoot him and wanting to fuck him senseless. But to shoot him now defeats the purpose of the fantasy. I remove my jacket and my holster and gun. I lay them down far away from Reese. I'm still in what's left of my "uniform"; slacks and a silky blouse, but when I turn back to him I find he's glad to see me. That only becomes more evident as I slowly unbutton my blouse and unfasten my pants and shimmy out of them. Because this is a fantasy I'm left wearing skimpy black lace panties and bra. I don't even own these items of clothing anymore, not since….
Reese's erection is rampant and the smirk is gone. I come close to him.
"Carter," he groans. "You're killing me here. Let me touch you."
"I don't think so," I purr in his ear.
Now he struggles, just a bit, but he goes still when I touch him. I trace his scars gently with my lips and he squirms and curses softly under his breath.
By this time my panties are wet and I remove them and the bra. I cup my breasts and he moans. I mount him and he tries to thrust his hips upward, but I have him pretty well immobilized. This is my ride, my fantasy. And ride him I do to a stunning orgasm. Then I roll off and lie next to him on the bed, not touching. He turns his head toward me and the smirk is back, a little pained because he didn't get to come, poor boy.
"I feel so used," he murmurs. He grins. "Not that I'm complaining."
The smile softens and his voice is velvet. "If you released my hands I could make it so much better for you-next time."
I do.