10-7, Part Three: Habitual Offender

**This story is the third in a series, and it will likely make more sense if you read it after the first two installments, "Field Sobriety Test" and "Due Care and Attention," in that order.**

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In the later part of the summer, before it drifted into fall, Jen started to enjoy driving home again. Weeks ago, she had straddled a police officer in the front of his cruiser, taking his thick cock deep inside her and riding him hard. A while after that, she had encountered the same officer on the same stretch of road. She had taken him in her mouth, sucking his cock until he had pulled her off, bent her over the center console of her car, and plowed her viciously until she screamed. Both times, she had gone home to her husband. Both times, she had tried to return to her normal life.

Jen had always thought it would have been easier if Charles had exploded in an entirely justified rage, cursed at her, even walked out on their marriage. Instead, he was the same sweet gentleman he had always been. He didn't deserve what was happening to him, she thought. She had spent the first week lying awake and restless beside him at night, before creeping into the bathroom, where she would bend over the sink as she masturbated, trying to see if her reflection in the mirror matched the one she had glimpsed in her car. Every day, the lingering scent of her arousal teased her in her car. On the one hand, she had to contend with the memory of Trent and the heat of his hard body in the back seat of her car. On the other hand, her guilty mind wondered if Charles could smell her there.

This had to end, she decided. She couldn't live like this, torn between stolen nights on the side of the road, fucking like an animal, and the life she was supposed to have chosen, comfort and stability with a good man. She resolved to forget Trent: no more fantasizing, no more hidden masturbation, nothing. She decided that if Charles asked her anything about those two nights, she would tell him the absolute truth, without reservation. And she started driving Charles's car.

This was an addiction. She would treat this like an addiction.

Jen was surprised by how smoothly her new plan had gone. She had resolutely refused to look at the single turnaround between mile markers 270 and 285. She had silenced Trent's voice in her head, forced herself to ignore the remembered sensation of his breath on her cheek or on her earlobe. There were nights, to be sure, that she doubted she would be able to forget she had done any of this. At first, she waged a nightly battle with herself, unable to keep from imagining him in her bed, a savage interloper among the Egyptian cotton sheets beneath the down comforter.

But after a month or so had gone by, she was driving all the way home in Charles's boxy, medium-sized SUV without thinking of Trent once. The first time she accomplished it, she was a little sad. But in time, even that feeling started to dim. Two weeks ago, she had even begun wearing panties again, disobeying his last command to her.

As the seasons began to shift and change, the clash of temperatures occasionally spit out an evening storm. Jen knew how the weather operated on her familiar stretch of road. Over the years at her job, she had learned to time her drive home so that she would be between storms, or just before one, or just after one. But tonight, distracted, she had miscalculated. Now, in the dark, the rain came down in sheets, almost as if it were being flung at the car. She had the road to herself again -- she hadn't seen another car for miles. Her hands tightened on the wheel, and she eased off the gas pedal. As the needle crept back to the left, a brilliant shaft of lightning split the sky. Her heart jumped with the resounding thunderclap. She would have to stop.

She should inch her way up to the next off-ramp and find somewhere to ride out the storm. But with the storm coming down all around her, she had to admit she hadn't been paying attention to which exit was next or how far away it was. Besides, there was no guarantee there was anything on the next off-ramp. Very often, the ramps only went from a four-lane stretch of road to one that was two lanes, with no sign of civilization in sight.

She hadn't wanted to stop in that turnaround. But as she eased off the pavement into the grass and gravel between the sides of the interstate, she tried to tell herself that she had no real choice in the matter. She wasn't sure of the next exit. She was reasonably sure it would stop raining soon, and then she could decide whether to take on the expense and inconvenience of making an overnight stop at a hotel. For now, she decided that it made sense to stop here.

Her conscience stirred at the back of her mind, a stern, puritanical inquisitor. She shouldn't be here. Trent would be likely to be here; he had all but told her he would be here. Wasn't she trying to forget him, the things he had done to her, the things he had made her want? Didn't she love Charles?

She had spent weeks trying to purge her mind and memory of Trent. She thought she had trained herself to forget the whisper of his voice, the heat and strength of his body, the mindless, animal craving that ruled her when she thought of him. She thought she had returned to normal. This would be her test, then. She turned off the lights and the engine, but left the key in, so that she could hear the radio. Periodically, the National Weather Service might break in to tell her where the storm was. When she was satisfied it was on its way, then she would be on hers.

Jen reached for her purse, digging blindly around inside it for her phone. She gazed into the darkness beyond the steering wheel as her thumb slid over the numbers for home. Rain beat down hard on the windshield, and she felt alone out here on the interstate, listening to the phone ring. She tried not to feel disappointed when the voice mail answered. Charles had probably gone to sleep.

"Hey, sweetheart, it's Jen. Listen, it's pretty bad out here, and I'm going to stop for a while and then try to find somewhere to stay, so I might not be there until tomorrow morning." She stared off into the rain. She thought she heard her voice tremble and had to reassure herself. She wasn't lying. She wasn't sneaking around. She really was stopping because of the weather. "Call me if you need me?" She took a deep breath. "Love you."

Rain hammered down on the roof of the car, and as she hung up, the trees bent and tossed in the strong wind. This was the right thing to do, she told herself. This was the right thing to do.

On the floorboard, her feet began to slide back and forth, the sensible shoes scraping against each other. She thought she recognized a song and strained to hear it. She glanced down at her tote bag and wondered if she should put on the overhead light and work on something she had brought home. Or read the book she always carried.

This was the right thing to do. This was the right thing to do. Lightning flashed brightly, spraying the gravel and brush with unearthly light. The clap of thunder, sharp and very loud, seemed to rattle her windows. There was still a lot of storm left. Frowning, she reached for her tote bag and the papers she had brought to work on. She might be there for a while, and now she welcomed the distraction.

Jen leaned over into the passenger side of the car, looking for a pen, and Trent's voice pushed itself into her thoughts. "So," he had said. "You think you can fuck your way out of this."

It was a distracting thought and no more. If she struggled with it, it would lead her to other distracting thoughts, back and back, until she lost all her earlier progress. It would pass, like the storm, if she gave it time.

The stretch and fullness as she took his three fingers. His mouth fastened to her breast through the fabric of her bra. Her shame evaporating before white-hot lust, if shame had ever been there at all.

The sudden rush made her ache. She pressed her knees together against the surge of desire that made her ready for him -- only for him.

That voice again: "Does he fuck you like this?"

Her pussy clenched. She licked dry lips.

'No,' she thought. 'Soon, it will stop raining, and I'll go home. This is the right thing to do. It's only natural that I'd be distracted here. Like an alcoholic at a bar, with all the sights, the smells, the sounds.'

The line of his jaw. Those big hands. The clean smell, with just a little sweat underneath. The musky scent of the other car. The leather interior creaking beneath them. His breath catching in his throat while she sucked and licked his cock. His voice raised in pleasure, lowered in command.

"Be a good girl," he had said. "Be a good girl."

She was so hot, so slick now. She rocked her hips back and forth on the seat, the forbidden panties sticking to her. Above the car, the sky seemed to open up, and rain battered the car. A blue-white bolt of lightning raced overhead, followed closely by the thunder, a huge cracking sound.

She closed her eyes, trying to bring herself back with her simple mantra. But once she shut out the sight of the outside world, what greeted her was the memory of her own reflection in the rearview mirror, wild-eyed and impossibly aroused. The feel of his rigid length, so deep inside her. The sound of her own cries.

She shuddered, her breath quickening. When she opened her eyes, the driver's side window was fogged, along with her side of the windshield. Her skin tingled as she remembered the warmth of his hands. Her body longed to be filled, controlled, used by his.

She slid off one shoe and then the other, her legs moving almost of their own accord. She leaned over until her face rested on the hard, molded plastic of the steering wheel. She reached down to take off her socks and remembered how this had felt, her body bent at the waist with him behind her. Slowly, she straightened up, tugging the hem of her skirt with her until her legs were exposed to the muggy heat of the car's interior. She slowly spread her legs, closing her eyes, letting them open wide as she imagined his heat and his weight settling on top of her. Her inner thighs twitched, longing to press against that solid frame.

She tucked her fingers beneath the waistband of her cotton panties, sliding them down over the coarse hair there until she reached her slit. She curled her back, lifting her hips so that she could use two fingers to open her swollen folds. Slowly, she tucked her fingers inside, as best she could in her position. A moan broke from her throat, and she began to move her hips, up and down first, then back and forth.

Good. But not enough. A tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth, a sinful pride that she needed more than this to satisfy her carnal appetite. She tried turning around, her knees on the seat, her back to the wheel, the way she had ridden him the first time. She could almost feel the rough material of his pants on the inside of her thighs, but it still wasn't enough. Her reach was awkward, totally unlike the strong, sure thrust she craved. Lightning came in another brilliant flash, showing her the back seats and the cargo area, just large enough for a neat double row of grocery bags. Charles believed in keeping both cars immaculate, so she knew nothing would impede her from lying down behind the back seats.

Awkwardly, she slid between the two front seats, remembering the feel of Trent's hands on her waist as he pulled her back onto him again and again. She dropped clumsily onto the back seat as distant thunder rumbled. She had gotten onto her hands and knees when the rain began to pour down in sheets again. Something about the sound increased her restlessness, making her nipples harden. She felt her flesh slowly opening. She turned around, lifting one leg into the cargo area and then the other, lowering herself into a clumsy half-crouch.

She sat behind the back seat on the right and stretched out her legs before sliding down to lie on her back. She put her feet flat on the floorboard, rough carpeting cool beneath her as she hiked up her skirt. Her heart beat faster as she lifted her hips, sliding her panties down, then bringing her knees together to pull them off. She dropped them over the back seat next to her and then rolled onto her back again. Here she could spread her legs wide, anchoring her feet on the floor. She pulled her skirt back up over her knees and looked down at her bare thighs.

She closed her eyes and let her imagination spin a fantasy world around her as she opened herself here in the downpour. As she caressed the slick, creamy flesh, she conjured up the most forbidden of her fantasies, so illicit because it brought him somewhere he should never be, into her marital bed. She imagined what she had never seen -- the powerful shoulders and arms, the broad chest exposed to her eager touch, her hungry gaze. She knew his legs would be hard and muscular between hers. She shoved three of her own fingers into herself, wanting to whimper with frustration. She wanted more, so much more.

Through her eyelids, she thought she could see light -- not the intense flash of lightning, but a warmer, steadier glow. When it remained in place for more than a few seconds, she opened her eyes. Back in the real world, the rain's deafening roar drowned out other sound. All her windows were fogged over now, but she could make out two separate lights through her rear window. Just as she realized what they were, they disappeared. She sat up now, startled. The turnaround was made for cars, but part of Jen's mind still needed to believe that no one else would pull up there -- no matter how badly she wanted that.

She wiped away a tiny bit of the fog, straining to see what was outside. She could make out the shape of a car, easily the right size and shape for a state police cruiser. Hope and fear warred within her. Was it him? Did she want it to be him? Could it be someone else?

She never saw movement, but she heard a car door clunk shut. A single beam of light cut through the dark and roamed over her car, piercing the fogged windows. She jerked away from the window, wanting to hide. What would she say? How would she explain how she came to be alone, and unmistakably aroused, in the back of her car?

The beam of light entered through the rear window on the passenger side. Lightning made a shadow of a man's broad shape, just before whoever it was knocked three times at her window.

The voice, raised over the rain, was familiar. "Open it."

Rising onto her trembling hands and knees, Jen made her way to the other side of the car and reached over to lift the lock up. Undimmed now by the window, the flashlight beam shone into her face. She closed her eyes against it, recoiled from it into the cargo area. The light went out with a click. She felt the car tilt just a little as Trent got in, graceful as ever, and shut the door.

"Open the door for just anybody? Just like that?"

"I knew it was you."

"Waiting for me?"

She was silent, considering the question.

"Answer me. Were you waiting back here for me?" He reached up to the driver's door and locked all the doors with a flick of the switch. Then he leaned back and reached over the back seat, taking her wrist firmly in his hand. He pulled it and her toward him, his eyes never leaving hers as he squeezed her fingers together and pulled them into his mouth. The wet heat of him made her pussy tighten eagerly, and she whimpered when his tongue swept over her fingers.

"You taste like honey," he said. "Lie back down. Go back to what you were doing."

He released her hand. She lay back on her elbows and hesitated.

"Lie back down. I want to see you make yourself come."

Slowly, she resumed her position. Lightning lit the inside of the car, but she knew it would be impossible to hide the expression on her face, even in the dark. She reached down between her legs again, giving herself a long stroke with her fingertips. She heard faint rustling sounds, the clink of his belt buckle. She almost opened her eyes at the sound of snaps coming unfastened, the lowered zipper. She was afraid he was undressing and that she was missing the sight of him.

When she opened her eyes, though, he was still fully clothed. The sleeve had been rolled up to the elbow over his powerful forearm, which rested on the back seat. He looked down at her.

"Don't stop," he said. "I'm watching you."

She closed her eyes again. A moment later, she heard him take a deep breath, as if he were settling in to watch a television show.

Her fantasy was again interrupted by the warm touch of his hand, sliding down her calf and back up again. The contact was soon broken, leaving her skin suddenly chilly, but an instant later, he was touching her again, next to her own fingers. When Jen withdrew her fingers, he replaced them with three of his. The sensation rocked her, making her buck under his hand as he worked her. Soon his fingers were gone again. The sudden deprivation made her whimper again.

"Look at me," he said, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him sucking his fingers. He made a throaty sound of approval. "Come up here."

She went back up the same way she had come in, swinging one leg over and putting her weight on it before moving the other. This time, Trent rested his hand on her thigh as soon as she shifted her weight onto it. She put her hands on the door for balance and looked back over her shoulder at him as his other hand gently trapped her thigh between him and the back seat. He patted her leg, almost companionably, to hold her in place, as if she were a skittish colt. One hand on her thigh, he pulled her skirt down and off. She felt the touch of his face against the inside of her thigh, the barest brush of his razor stubble, the surprising softness of his hair. He parted her then with two of his fingers, and a second later, his mouth was on her.

She gasped, the intensity of it making her bolt away, but his hands held her firmly in place. The first taste of her made him growl with delight, and she thought her knees might buckle. He devoured her relentlessly, his fingers digging into her as his tongue swept over her, plunged into her. His lips burned against her, opening her. He pushed his face into her greedily, lapping her up with broad strokes.

She twisted and bucked in his hands, clinging for dear life to the door. The interior of the car seemed to shrink around her as she wailed and moaned. Even over the pounding rain and her own mounting cries, she could hear the sucking and slurping of his mouth as he feasted on her. Her nipples hardened and the exposed flesh of her legs went up in goose bumps; every inch of her begged for the touch of his mouth. His grip prevented her from going forward, but she began to push back onto him, grinding against him as she panted and moaned.

His hand came down hard on her exposed thigh, making her yelp. His mouth came away from her, but his heavy breathing kept her warm.

"Be still," he said, his rough voice almost inhuman. A fraction of a second later, his mouth was on her again with a firmness that made her squeal. He found her clit with his tongue, teasing it with quick strokes and then with longer, firmer ones. He drove his tongue into her again, as if seeking the source of her sweet nectar. Suddenly, she felt a firm pressure on the swollen center of her, and she screamed with pleasure, her fingers stinging from their death grip on the door. Then he drove his tongue deep into her one last time, gently pinching her clit between his thumb and the knuckle of his finger.

She gasped as her climax was ripped from deep inside her. She felt almost as if she were being pulled inside out; a raw, rough shaft of pleasure clawed at her, like something primal being born, making her scream as if it were pain that consumed her.