It began as a mistake. Mistaken identity, mistake in judgement, mistake in a whole lot of things I believed about myself. I am a “happily” married policewoman, university graduate with a double bachelors in criminology and social work. I am a proud feminist and believer not just in women’s equality, but honestly in our superiority to men who are abusive beasts constrained only by law from being the rapist thugs they all turn into with a little power or just the hint of freedom from consequences.
Being raised among white men left me understanding them all to well to ever fall prey to them. Black men honestly come off like they are trying to out white the white men, bringing all of the bad aspects that turn me off of white men, and forsaking whatever natural charms were theirs. I was, honestly quite beyond falling for any of them.
I was wrong. It took one Hindu cab driver to shatter my world, my sense of self, and the icy dam holding back rivers of repressed sexual need. It is almost funny how it happened, how I came to be here, doing what I am doing tonight, what I do every weekend now. Let me tell you the story.
I am a policewoman, but I have a fair bit of seniority now so I get off the shit details like traffic and the one that most women come to hate, hooker bait. It is so demeaning, with the other “brother officers” treating you worse than the Johns you bust, and the little creeps generally push the line on getting written up themselves.
The time finally came that the detail came up for the next hooker sweep, a new crackdown on working girls was being sent by city hall. We have a bid in for the Olympics again, and so reform has to be first and foremost in the press. Sweep up the street people, not to give them homes, just to shuffle them out of site and onto some other departments blotter, and go harass the working girls and their Johns so that the sites the press knows to look and that get written up in the paper quiet down. It will move two blocks in a random direction and begin again, everybody knows it, but that keeps the city happy, and the Olympic bid alive.
This time the Captain called me into his office, and started his speech about the detail. I stopped him to point out I was way too senior to be playing street walker, when he stopped me, and told me he was offering me the detail to run. My own command for a full three month long task force. A real feather in my cap and as he said, just the sort of thing I needed on my record if I wanted to have a shot at his office or one like it in another detachment. Well, damn. It really should be run by a woman, to keep the perverts on the force from treating the female officers like whores, so I said yes.
One month in our numbers were getting staggering. We were doing a brisk trade, and with only female officers questioning the girls, we were getting more about the pimps and who was trafficking in underage girls, who was using drugs to hook them, who was recruiting in the schools. We were making a difference.
Two months in, our numbers were starting to drop, not because we were failing, but because the street trade was drying up, girls getting thin on the ground, recovery centers seeing more intake from girls looking to get off the street. Some of the girls were moving off the street into “call girl” style higher end work as the street trade got too dangerous for Johns with money to risk embarrassment. To the politicians this is bad, to me, honestly, the girls are safer, there isn’t any drugs because no one wants to pay extra for damaged goods and disease risk, and its off the streets so who cares.
My girls convinced me to join them in the rotation, playing hooker at my age was different. I am in great shape, that is one thing being a cop has for it, I can work our on the clock and get access to great equipment and dedicated trainers. I found that being asked to be one of them made it different for me.
I didn’t just skulk on the streets, resenting every minute of being offered up like a piece of meat. I played the hooker. I mean I used the opportunity to try to compete with my sister officers as the sexiest hooker on the street, the one you wanted to pay to take not just an alley to fuck against your car, or blow you in your seat, but spring for the hotel to enjoy two or three times before you were done.
I noticed my libido really kicking up. I was hornier than I had been in years, and the girls in the locker room teasing each other about it had all of us going home to pounce on husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends in some cases, or like me, plug in devices and battery powered substitutes for the cock my husband rarely bothered giving me anymore.
The task force wrapped up early, our numbers low enough now that we could call it done. Street walkers and drive by traffic dead as disco. We held a party to celebrate, and we did so on a dare in our full hooker rig. It was a blast, a dozen sexy policewomen dancing together in the bar, turning away the drinks the desperate guys tried to buy us (don’t try to rufie a cop, we do see it coming), taking delight in turning the guys on on the dance floor by the girls grinding on each other.
I know how I look, I am tall for a woman, standing a full six feet, long raven black hair and blue eyes, broad shoulders for a woman, kept from looking mannish only by the delicate Nordic bone structure of my face, and generous breasts (44DD) that made my uniform before body armour came in, a bit of a fetish trigger for half the department. I work out a lot, so my long legs are topped with a generous ass that makes even my work pants look painted on, but in the short skirt I was wearing, it made me look like if I opened my stance even a little bit, the skirt would roll the last bit up my thighs and show you if I was wearing my thong or not.
Night ended, and I grabbed my clutch and called for a cab. When my phone went off that my cab was outside, I danced out the door, still on the high of my night out, and slid into the cab. I had to move carefully into the cab as I had on six inch heels, and honestly outside of hooker detail, I don’t have that much experience with them, so getting into the cab without fouling my shoes took a little bit of work, considering the buzz I had going.
I giggled a bit as I slammed the door, and gave my address. The cabbie was an East Indian, a Hindu from the Hindipop playing on the radio. As he pulled away, I saw him adjust his mirror to be looking right at me. I realized that with my long legs and short back seat, the high heels forced me to splay my knees outward, and he was getting a clear shot of my inner thighs and little red thong. I was so hot from making those white guys jealous that the idea that I was trapped with my legs spread for this Hindu to ogle didn’t anger me, it aroused me.
“Oopsie” I said, sucking one finger into my mouth. “My legs are a bit too long for these heels and your car. If I am distracting you, I could take off the heels?”
I was teasing, I had been in control all night long, and the fact I was trapped exposing myself made me feel like taking the power back, but this cabbie was not like the boys in the bar. His eyes were so dark, so…..not cruel, but something like it. Predatory, not angry, but a mixture of commanding and something darker. Suddenly it felt less like a joke.
“You will keep your legs spread while you are in this cab, I think you are used to keeping them spread, only this time you will be doing something useful and pleasing me.” He didn’t say it as a command, nor as an order, simply as a fact of little interest to him, and beyond any capacity to argue.
I felt his eyes upon me as we moved slowly through traffic, and felt my body responding to his eyes. I arched my back, threw my shoulders back to highlight my breasts under my little yellow dress. My nipples were getting hard watching him watch me.
His voice was a shock when it came, I was getting lost in his eyes when he spoke.
“Take your bra off, you look silly with your yonee on display and your stan covered like a good wife”
Every girl knows the trick, it has been driving boys crazy since the bra was invented. It was a way to take back control of this conversation and flirtation. I snaked my hands back into the sleeve gaps of my dress and undid the bra. I fed it out through the same gaps, intending to pull it out with a flourish. I forgot we had been sticking our change down each others tops in the bar as a joke, so I had quite a few bills tucked in the bra, and sweat had stuck them to the undersides of my breasts. I had to stop half way out or get paper cuts on myself.
“Little whore forgot her tips in her tits” He laughed, long and loud. I blushed. I was a policewoman, even if I was pretending to be a hooker. He can’t talk to me like that.
“Pull the dress down, show me what makes you worth that money” His voice was arrogant sneering Hindi, dismissing me as beneath his notice. I will show him, men have offered a whole lot to see or touch what I have, and none of them got so much as a glance.
I pulled down my top, and collected the cash, folding it up and tucking it in my clutch. I gave a shake to show him what he would never have, and made to pull my dress back up.
“No whore, the dress stays down, or I leave you here” It wasn’t a threat, I mean, not coercion as far as the law was concerned. I still should have objected, should have threatened to have his licence pulled, but when he said that, called me whore again, my body just caught fire. I was already sexually frustrated before tonight whipped me into a fury, but something about this Hindu’s commands just made me want to pretend to be a whore….just a little longer.
“Yes sir” I said meekly, running my hands over my breasts, pinching the nipples for him, as they were already so very, very hard.
He took a turn away from my house, I knew the route he was taking, it would circle back again, but take me a long scenic route through the park first. I guess I would be paying at least double for the ride home with entertainment. The fact he was so free to do this let me know who he thought had the power. I suddenly felt my thong was feeling very wet, and very constricting right now.
“Good little veshya, now take the panties down and show my how a dirty little girl like you makes her money. Be a good little randee and show my how you like to use that little white hole of yours and I might steer some business your way”
Oh god, he did believe I was a whore. I should have stopped, right then I still could. That is a lie, I was doomed from the time I got in the cab. I pulled my thong over my knees, and down to my ankles where it bound my legs. I boosted my hips forward and started to play with my pussy as he drove.
He turned on the light at every traffic stop, so randomly the light would come on, and cars full of people would see me naked finger fucking myself. We turned into the park as I came for the second time, he kept demanding I continue or he would leave me at the side of the road just like that.
We got to the park and stopped. He hit something on his dash to stop the meter, and walked out front of his cab. He pointed to his feet, and told me to get my white whore ass out there.
I looked like an idiot, my dress around my hips, almost falling twice as I trip on my thong tangled in the straps on my high heels. I totter to stand in front of him, I tower over him by almost half a foot in these heels, and he takes breast in his mouth as he spanks my ass so hard with a single smack. Pulling me to him, he drags my head down for a kiss that makes my mind shut off. I mean it had been a long time since anyone kissed me like that. Come to think of it, no one had kissed me like that outside my dreams.
He pawed my ass, alternately slapping it and squeezing it. He raped my mouth with his tongue and felt me dry humping the bulge I felt in him, trying to grind my pussy on his belt and zipper. He stepped back and slapped me lightly on the face.
“Don’t try to take what you haven’t earned whore. Down on your knees if you want to earn this Hindu cock, you needy white slut” He said with such insufferable arrogance, yet here I was pushing my yellow hooker dress off to use as knee pads, kneeling naked save for my high heels in the road, framed by his headlights as I unbuckled his pants and took out his, surprising large dark cock.
Your first Hindu cock, its uncut, long, dark, heavy, tapered to better push in tight places designed for smaller cocks I guess. It is HOT to the touch, hotter than white cocks, and the balls hang heavy and potent beneath like a bull.
I took him in my mouth, jacking his foreskin slowly as I worked just the head into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. I had been playing a hooker for three months almost, and now here I was, no longer playing, being a whore for this Hindu cab driver.
I almost came when I thought that. Oh god I wanted it to be real, to be his whore. I moaned as I started to bob on his cock. He laughed, I looked up to see his phone in his hand as he fucked my face, I knew that meant something, but I was so overcome with lust that I forgot what. He slapped me again and told me to suck his big Hindu balls like the good white whore I was and prove I was worthy of being fucked by a real man.
I took his balls in my mouth one at a time, my hands cupping his ass, squeezing it, feeling the hard heavy muscles of it and wondering what it felt like to be plowed by a bull like this. He slapped my face with his cock, smeared it all over me as I lapped at his balls, then he grabbed my by my long black hair and walked me over to his cab, bent me forwards over the hood, big tits dangling down. He kicked my legs wide, much like I was trained to do to suspects when doing a pat down, then slapped my ass hard and told me to get ready for a proper fucking.
I am no virgin, I have been married a decade, dated extensively in college, several were serious athletes, but none of them had the raw sexual power of this Hindu bull.
I had condoms in my clutch, not that I need them as a married woman, but I always carry some in case the girls I am out with are going to do something stupid, so they have protection. Here I was feeling a bare Hindu cock force its way into my pussy. I had been working three fingers into my cunt before we stopped, so expected him to slide in easily, my husband would have.
The head did, but it just kept getting wider, thicker. I tried to lean forward to get away from the stretching, but he had a hold of my hair and yanked me back, impaling me on his rampant bull cock.
Then the fucking began. The real fucking. Not love making, not sex, fucking. He fucked all resistance out of me, all independence, all pride. He fucked me brutally through three orgasms, finally holding both my arms behind me to support me like Christ on the cross as he fucked me without mercy. I was begging him, I don’t know what for. To stop, to not stop, to never stop.
He demanded to know if his Hindu cock is better than my pimps. I tried to object that I had no pimp. He slapped both my tits so hard, and roared.
“White whore, tell me who owns this pussy”
I was a married woman, I was a police woman, I was a free woman……no more.
“You own this white pussy, you own me, you own me” I begged and I came again.
He pulled out then, and came all over my face, not letting me take him in my mouth until his last few squirts. He made me show him the cum on my tongue, before letting me swallow.
“Get in the cab, whore. Stay naked. Do not clean off my cum, but use your dress to keep my cab clean, I run a clean business, and I have pride, not like dirty white whores like you”
As we drove home, he turned the heat up to keep me warm and I found myself drifting off to sleep. At my home he carried me up the stairs like a gentleman, then took out my phone as I fumbled with my clutch to open my door. He handed me back my phone after taking a picture of my cum covered face with it.
I didn’t know why he did that until he called the next day. He used my cum covered face as his contact image, so when he calls I see my face covered in his cum. He sent dashcam video and car video, and of course phone video of me playing with myself, blowing him, and him fucking me into submission and oaths of obedience.
He told me I was free to go clubbing on Friday night, but to go easy on the drink, he would have a party for me to attend where some Hindu gentlemen would like a party favour or two, and it was getting hard to find decent priced hookers these days.
This is my reward for driving the hookers off the street, for putting them out of business. I have delivered myself to a Hindu cab driver who has decided to step up and fill the void of missing street walkers by turning out the first white whore he came across.
My fingers went down into my uniform slacks. I sat there in my police uniform, on my way to start work for the week as an officer of the law, but I unbuckled my gun belt, unbuckled my web belt, unbucked and unzipped my pants to put both hands down my panties. I frigged my clit like I was trying to rub it out of existence, and my fingers slipped too easily into a pussy that was already lubing when I saw who had called. I sat their surrounded by my police woman uniform and power, my fingers deep in my pussy, his voice deep in my mind, his eyes deep in my soul. I came.
I texted back.
“Your white whore will be ready to serve you all weekend sir”
I may be a white policewoman. I may be a wife, a feminist, and a university graduate, but I am also a whore for my Hindu pimp. The world sees just another Hindu cab driver, but he is now my Master.