Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
All characters are over 18.
Officer Rod, booked me way back in the 80’s. He was a pathetic individual and a blemish to intelligent Policeman everywhere. The story takes place in a small Australian town.
Officer Rod hated the bush. Nothing happens, no murders, no investigations, no big operations. Just boring country people, banging on about John Deere tractors, Headers, wheat, and of course, the price of wool. Wool was very important in this part of Australia.
Fucking Crows, black as shit, mocking him with their “AAAARRk, AAARRk,” sitting on the power lines, watching him, teasing him…’If you hadn’t “FAAArrrked” up you’d be back in Melbourne’. In Melbourne, there is real police work, proper Detective work. ‘FAAArrk, you’re a loser’ they screeched at Officer Rod.
Life as a country Cop was boring. Boring, dull and monotonous. In winter, it was cold and wet, in summer it was hot. Summer was really hot and really dry. Rod liked the summer, there could be a bushfire and a fire would involve the police, a bushfire gave Rod something to do. Officer Rod was important during bushfire season.
The powerful Ford, all clean and shiny, stationary behind the toilet block. Officer Rod had the window down, ready with the radar gun. Big V8 rumbling at idle, cop radio on, the heater blasting -fighting the cold morning. It was cold, frosty cold, see your breath cold, nose dribbling cold. Winter brought out the skiers, the skiers ignored the speed limits. Rod sat and waited. Nothing about but sheep, trucks, cars, kangaroos and the noisy fucking crows. Rod talked to himself, “I fucking hate being up at dawn, its fucking cold. Fucking skiers, driving way too fucking fast. Fucking wankers with all their fucking money. Fuck it’s cold.”
The radar beeped, he’d got one. Rod hit the sirens, they were loud. He’d clocked the car at 120. It was a local, a local cocky’s kid in a Ute. Officer Rod’s wheels spun in the wet gravel, they bit the bitumen, they left rubber on the road. The kid in the Ute still hadn’t seen the two blue lights, hadn’t heard his sirens. Going quicker than the kid, Rod quickly pushed up his arse, the kid eventually twigged, there was a cop on his tail. The kid slowed. Rod killed the siren. He left the lights on, blinking blue flashes bouncing off anything that would reflect. Rod strolled towards the kid in the Ute. He took his time. He adjusted his gun belt. It was loaded with his cuffs, his baton and a well loved Smith and Wesson. The gun wasn’t necessary, he knew the kid. There’d be no trouble.
The kid was a handy footballer, his dad was a hot shot cocky. The dad ran sheep on a very large property, about 5000 acres. Big wool cheques. He’d bought his son the big Ute for his 18th. He bought it new, apparently he paid cash. Cockies dominated this part of the world. The 80’s were good for sheep, these guys were pulling in plenty of coin.
The window wound down, cigarette smoke and Stairway to Heaven poured out. “Ben, slow down you idiot. I got you over 120.”
“Morning, Officer Rod.” A cheeky grin. Rich and young, his whole life ahead, future looks good. He’ll inherit the farm, he’ll be a cocky one day.
“It’s Sergeant, you little shit, now slow the fuck down.” Ben looked like he’d had a good night, grey bags under his eyes and hickeys spotted his neck. He’ll be in trouble when his mum sees him.
“You’re not going to book me?”
“No mate, just a warning, it’s dawn and there’s Roo’s about. You fucking well know better. I don’t want to be scraping your sorry arse off the road. Tell your dad that Officer Rod let you off with a warning, tell him next time it’s a ticket.”
“Thanks Sarg’, I’ll let Dad know. I’ll see you at footy training. I’ve gotta fly, I’m running late. Josie wouldn’t leave me alone this morning. She calls me the wombat, you know – eats, roots and leaves.” Ben laughed at his own joke, Rod didn’t even smile. “I’m late, Dad’s gunna kill me, there’s frost. We could’ve lost a heap of lambs last night.”
“Ben, you stayed at Josie’s last night? When’s her parents back?” Rod asked.
“Another week, I guess. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see Josie’s Mum, I know she just cant wait to see you. ” Ben flicked the butt into an icy roadside puddle. He took off with a laugh, a growl from the V8 and a scream from Led Zeppelin.
Rod watched as a big mob of ‘Roos bounded through the adjacent paddocks, their chunky tails outstretched for balance. Kangaroos, another example of how evolution got a bit fucked up in Australia. Brainless animals, nothing higher up the food chain, just trucks, cars and cocky’s Utes to keep their numbers down. Make a big mess when you hit one.
Rod killed the lights and drove back to the toilet block. One of his best spots, he hid the Ford beside the dunnies where the traffic can’t see him until it’s too late. The toilet block is part of a roadside barbeque area, about 10 minutes from town. Rod had the local council remove the graffiti and keep the place spick and span. The toilets inside were new, shiny stainless steel with little Escort Etimesgut yellow tablets floating in the urinal. It’s a great place to catch the Melbourne people on the way to the snow. Must be something about skiing, skiers always drove way too fast.
The older locals called the new Sergeant, Rod or sometimes officer Rod. He made the kids and the blokes at the Footy Club call him Sarg, or Sergeant. Rod liked a bit of respect. The skiers had named him ‘Double Bubble Trouble’. Rod’s police Ford Falcon was the first pursuit car in the state with two blue lights. When you hit those lights at night, the sky lit up. Rod was the only cop in town, a single man station with a residence attached. It was a loser’s job, a sideways, out of sight out of mind. Rod was too good for the job, too good for the country. Rod was a city cop. Rod should be busting scum in the city.
Rod aimed the radar at an oncoming Volvo. He smiled as the car exceeded the limit. “Here we go again, a Volvo wagon, fucking flying, a set of skis on the roof. A chick driving.” Rod hit the double blue lights, sirens screaming, he took off in pursuit. Gravel sprayed, the tyres bit the bitumen. He caught up to the Volvo. The Volvo pulled over. Rod just knew she would be cute.
“She’s on her own, not a local, this could be fun.” Rod said to no one in particular. Rod hitched up the gun belt, adjusted his hat and sauntered over to the Volvo. Legs spread like he’d got of a horse, or his balls were too big. Rod leered into the open driver’s window. She was young. Young and very cute.
“Morning missy, stay in the car. Licence please.” Not a question, an order. Her tits filled that pale pink sweater nicely. She was tasty, lots of blue eye shadow and large shoulder pads. The shoulder pads made her tits look even more generous. He wanted to have a go at something as hot as this, try his luck, and see how much she wanted to avoid a ticket. Rod calculated how pointy her nipples would get when that sweater came off, he held his thumb an inch away from his forefinger.
Rod took her license back to his Ford. He took his time and radioed in the licence and rego’ details, it all checked out. Car registered to her mum, same address. Armadale, one of Melbourne’s better suburbs. A cute rich girl, with big tits in her mum’s warm Volvo.
He leaned in the window and dropped the license on her lap. Rod watched as she groped for it. Nice thighs. Nice tits. Pretty big size for a 19 year old.
“Paula Marie Johnson, could you please step out of the car.”
She cowered at Rod size, his uniform, his gun, his power. She crossed her arms, hiding her breasts. She shivered, was it the cold or was she scared?
Rod looked her up and down twice, then he recited his usual lecture, “Slow down. Don’t be a casualty…” She didn’t say anything, she looked straight ahead, wishing this would end.
Rod dragged it out, enjoying her fear. He straightened up, he adjusted his gun belt around his gut. He arched his back. He took off his cap, he scratched at his hair. He counted to ten. He got up close to her face. Time for this kiddy to hear some Cop facts.
“You heading up to the snow for the weekend.” It wasn’t a question. Rod lectured and stared at her tits.
“Look missy, I could give you a real hard time. I could take you back to the station. I could impound the car. I could have your parents come and get you.”
She started to plead. “I’m sorry officer, I didn’t mean to speed. I was just keeping up with traffic.”
“Missy, that’s bullshit. There isn’t any traffic, we’re on our own out here. Just you and me and the Kangaroos.”
“Look, I’ve called it in, so I’ve got to write up the ticket, but I can be nice. I could knock say 10ks off your speed, you won’t have to go to court. You won’t lose your license and you can still go skiing. “
Panic lifted from her face. She smiled as Rod wrote the ticket.
Rod delivered the usual Cop spiel. “$75.00 and 3 demerit points. 28 days to pay, dispute in court, blah, blah, blah.”
She knew she was lucky. Rod followed her into town. Rod sat on her tail. She cruised.
Rod thought, shit, she was tasty, big titties and on her own. I should’ve tried her. Knocking 10ks off her ticket should’ve cost at least a blow job. She’d tell stories, Double Bubble let her off lightly. Far too cold to get my dick out this morning. She was lucky.
Two boys in a red ALFA Romeo, big skis on the roof. 80 kilometres per hour in the 60 zone. Rod had them. Cracked taillight as well. Rod stuck a ‘canary’ on the windscreen. The ALFA was now officially un-roadworthy. They had a week to get the taillight fixed, plus a $150 fine.
Rod looked at the rich kids and thought, Double Bubble gets his rep’ back. Don’t fuck around in this town. The kids bleated, they were skiing for the week, no time to get the car roadworthy. Tell someone who cares. Rod left them to make their own arrangements. They’d struggle to get a taillight for that ALFA anytime soon.
Rod went back to the Jubilee Police Etimesgut Escort Station. The attached house behind the station wasn’t much. In fact, it was shit. Crappy Formica, worn shag pile, kookaburras etched into cheap beer glasses. Rod went to his office, he shuffled paper, faxed off a couple of reports. His traffic numbers were good. Plenty of easy pickings with the kids heading up the mountain. He did bugger all, he hated country towns. He should be in Melbourne, real policing to be done there.
Rod gave up on the office work. He walked the main street. The butcher’s shop window had the teams up for Saturday. Jubilee v Hamson, local grudge game. No shit, Rod had been dropped to the seconds. Payback for shirtfronting the captain at training. He went down hard, didn’t get up for a while. Attitude was frosty in the showers. Rod and the Captain didn’t share a beer.
Rod leaned back in his office chair and let his mind wander, he thought about Josie’s mum. Rod first met her when he’d just arrived in Jubilee. Rod didn’t know who she was, he just knew she was hot. He clocked her at 15ks over the limit. She was surprised when he wrote the ticket. Apparently the previous sergeant didn’t book the locals. Josie’s mum wasn’t just any local, her husband’s family were the town. They owned the place. Her old man was the biggest cocky, he had the best property, the biggest wool cheque and the newest Jaguar. He was the local Justice of the Peace. At the time, Rod didn’t know any of this. He booked her, she was pissed. He suggested she could make the ticket disappear, she told him to “Go Fuck himself.” Josie’s mum was feisty. Rod was pleased, he liked them hot and feisty.
After first booking Josie’s mum, Rod spent a fair bit of time out near their farm, hoping he’d catch her speeding again, hoping she’d come around to his way of resolving traffic infringements. She played tennis on Tuesdays, she looked fucking hot in the little white skirt. Rod often cruised by the courts on a Tuesday morning. Rod went to their farm a lot, he always had something or other for the local Justice of the Peace to sign. Josie’s dad farmed during the day, he often wasn’t there. Josie’s mum always said to call back at dark. Rod enjoyed their meetings, he just knew Josie’s mum was hot for him.
One time he went out to the farm to see Josie’s dad on police business. Josie’s Dad was home, he a serious chat to Rod, he was pissed with Rod. The chat wasn’t pleasant. He told Rod to leave his missus alone. Rod thought he obviously didn’t trust his wife around the new Sergeant.
Out of habit and with nothing better to do, Rod drove out to the farm, he knew Fran and Jim were away. Josie would be home alone, her boyfriend Ben would still be out with his sheep. Rod cruised up the long drive lined with big oak trees. The Ford Falcon jittered over the cattle grids. The farm house was huge, built in the last century. Swimming pool, grass tennis court. Big sheds, one for machinery, one for shearing. Enough accommodation for a decent size team of shearers. It was now about 10am and still cold.
Rod walked along the big veranda and banged on the fly wire door. Josie eventually opened the door, and looked like she was just out of bed. A short INXS T-shirt and nothing else, she was chubby. It was cold, her nipples were proud. Her neck had hickeys. Obviously, Ben gave as good as he got. Josie tussled her hair, Michael Hutchence et al rose up. Rod spotted her panties. She knew he gawked. She had her mum’s red hair.
“Morning Josie, when’s your dad back? I’ve got some Stat’ Dec’s for him to sign and process.”
“Hi there, Rod. Mum and Dad are back on Sunday. Cruise ship docks in Sydney tomorrow then they’re driving home. They should be here late afternoon. Is it Dad you want to see, or my mum?” she said cheekily.
“I need your Dad, he needs to sign the paperwork.”
“Is there anything I can do for you, Officer Rod?” She crossed her arms and lifted her girly tits. She smiled, she liked to tease the local Cop.
Like most of the town, Josie knew Officer Rod was infatuated with her mum. Rod gave her the once over. She got her chubby arse and her looks from her dad. Josie’s mum was smoking hot. Josie was 18 and already turning to fat. Josie’s mum looked after herself.
“You’re looking cold, Josie, go put some clothes on.” Rod turned and left her there.
Rod was keen for Josie’s mum to return from her cruise. He didn’t like the idea of her spending all that ‘one on one’ time with Jim. Rod had worked out a new deal for Josie’s mum. She speeds a lot, she likes driving fast. If he catches her, she doesn’t get any tickets, instead they play Rod’s new game. Up to 10 ks over the limit and it’s a blow job, 15 ks and it’s a tit job, 20 ks over and they fuck. Rod had no idea what would happen if he catches her going any quicker. Rod thought about the time he caught her not wearing a seat belt. No one in the bush wore seat belts. Rod lectured her how a seatbelt could save her life. He told her how the Jaguar would Etimesgut Escort Bayan crumple if it hit a big kangaroo, the seatbelt would save her from certain injury. Rod remembered how bored she looked as he gave her this advice. Rod thought she must have wanted a spanking for her misdemeanour instead of a lecture. Rod pushed that image from his mind, spanking Josie’s mum was just too weird for him.
Rod drove away from the Farm, he headed back to the highway and the toilet block. Time to catch some more skiers. Rod thought that he could do with a blow job right about now. Rod thought about the ski bunnies heading up for the weekend. All these bunnies knew that if they blew Officer Rod, they wouldn’t get a ticket. Rod would let the bunnies blow him and the boys would get the tickets. Boys weren’t allowed near officer Rod’s dick. That was off limits. Rod just couldn’t stand the idea of a big fat smelly dick filling his mouth with hot jizz. Late one night, Rod caught two poofs kissing in the campground, he kicked the shit out of them and sent them on their way. Rod couldn’t tolerate poofs and their diseases.
Rod eased the Ford beside the toilet block. The ground was wet, really wet. Big dumps of snow in the hills meant rain down here. Rod set up the radar gun, engine idling, heater on, background mess chattering from the radio. He watched the traffic. More skiers, way too fast, a new Mercedes, absolutely flying. He locked the radar at 145. Rod hit the double bubbles and siren. He stomped the accelerator, back wheels spun, the car slid sideways, he couldn’t get any traction. Mud was flying everywhere, the car went nowhere, the wheels still spinning. The Ford was stuck in the slop, sitting down on its axle. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! Rod slapped at the steering wheel. The skiers didn’t slow down.
It was Friday afternoon, heaps of traffic heading up the mountain for the weekend. The regulars saw Rod and his two bubbles. They honked and waved as the tractor pulled the Ford out of the mud. Rod had to beg the farmer to pull him out. Rod wasn’t popular with the men in this town. The skiers laughed at the crippled Ford. The incident would be a fun story over a beer at the Summit Bar that night. ‘Double Bubble Trouble bogged and rescued by a cocky with a tractor.’
Rod drove back into town. He carefully washed the Ford. He removed the mud. His wife sat on the back steps and watched him. He vacuumed the interior. Rod looked at her. She was fat, she smelt, she didn’t look after herself. Not like Josie’s mum. She drank as she watched, her gut was bigger than her tits. She’d gotten fat since they’d moved up here. Must be her job at the bakery. She wasn’t happy with the transfer, she liked Melbourne.
“What’s for tea?” Rod asked.
“Chops and mash. You home tonight?”
“Nah. I’m working. Special Operation going down.”
“What special operation?”
“You know I can’t tell you, it’s police business.” She laughed, her gut wobbled.
“I need to go to div’ HO for a meeting soon. I’ll be staying overnight. Probably Sunday.” Rod spun the bullshit. There wasn’t a meeting, just his regular fuck session with Kerrie.
The chops were cold, the beans were cold, the mash was lumpy. Useless wife, can’t even cook. Rod hit the road and went out into the night, still plenty of snow bunnies to deal with.
Only one score for the evening, two housewives in a new Range Rover. The driver said she’d blow Rod if he made the ticket disappear. She was smoking hot, she looked like Olivia Newton John with big double D cans, she wore bright red lipstick. Her girlfriend was Asian, she stripped and played with her pussy while her friend blew him. She moaned and squirted all over the dashboard. No matter how much she begged, Rod wouldn’t let the Asian chick suck his dick, Rod didn’t like gooks.
Rod watched the Range Rover disappear, he finished the paperwork. He’d collected another $75.00 for the states revenue. He drove home with a raging hard on.
Hamson were a pretty good side, they were on top of the ladder. Rod was playing in the backline. The Full Forward Rod lined up against was good and young. He was fast, really fast. Rod struggled to tag him. He had long blond hair. He marked in front of Rod, he had a shot at goal. He missed. Rod told him he was shit and his sister was a better kick. He called Rod a fat fuck. Rod glared at him and said if he called him that again, he’d do him. He laughed and said Rod couldn’t get near him. Although later in the game Rod did get near him. The blond forward was going for an overhead mark. Rod punched him in the back of the head, he went down. The umpire blew his whistle. Rod remonstrated with the umpire he said he was going for the ball. The umpire didn’t do anything, he knew Rod was a copper. Rod’s team lost. Rod had a shower and watched the Firsts’ game. They lost. Rod thought their backline was shit, defence was crap. They needed him out there.
Rod waited until the young blond forward left the bar. No surprise to Rod, the opposition forward drove a Ute. Another rich cocky, getting fat with the big wool cheque. The blond forward drove away from the ground, he hit 65 in a 60 zone. Rod’s two bubbles blazed, sirens screamed. Rod pulled him over. Rod breathalysed him. Over the limit. Mandatory loss of license for three months. Who’s the fat fuck now! Rod went home.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32