Pat Down Humiliation by Busty Policewoman

Terrence kept both hands on the wheel because letting go felt like falling. He was twenty, and the car made that obvious in ways he hated: the seat jammed all the way forward, his short legs stretched to the pedals, his narrow shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into the upholstery. The two-lane was empty, late light the color of pennies on the asphalt, trees thick on both sides and no other headlights anywhere. He had rolled the stop at the county line without thinking. He was still thinking about it when red and blue light filled the rearview and his stomach dropped through the floor.

He eased onto the gravel shoulder and shut the engine off. His pulse beat in his throat. A door opened behind him. Boots hit stone. In the side mirror a woman came up out of the glare, tall, the dark uniform of a county officer pulled so tight across her chest that every button looked one breath from quitting. She was forty-two. He could see it in the sure way she walked and in the fine lines at the corner of a mouth that was already curved, already amused, before she ever reached his window.

"License and registration," she said. The voice was low, lazy, in no hurry at all. "Rolled the stop back there. Quiet road. Doesn't make the sign optional."

He got the papers out with shaking hands. Up close she blocked the sky. Enormous breasts strained the uniform, cleavage a deep warm valley where the top of the shirt had given up trying to contain her, the name bar reading NOELLE just above all that soft heavy flesh. She took his license, read the date, and looked down at the short body folded behind the wheel the way a woman looks at something she has already decided to play with.

"Out of the car, Terrence," Officer Noelle said. "I'm giving you a warning on the stop. I want you out here for a pat-down anyway. Do you consent to that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, too quick, the word cracking. "I consent."

The door creaked. He stood, and the size of her hit him in the chest. She had a full head on him, more, her bust level with his mouth, the smell of warm skin and clean cotton and coffee wrapping around his face. His insecure little frame felt thin as paper next to the solid width of her hips and the huge soft weight of her chest. She smiled. It was a teasing, dominant thing, slow, like she enjoyed the way he had to tip his chin up just to meet her eyes.

"Turn around," she said. "Feet apart. And breathe. You're shaking like I already know your secret."

Gravel bit his shoes. Her hands came down on his shoulders, heavy and sure, and heat ran the length of his spine. Between his legs, small and traitorous, his tiny cock twitched hard against the seam of his pants, a humiliated jump of excitement he could not hide and could not stop. He stared at the dirt and prayed. Her reflection in the window, that same smile, said the prayer was already wasted.

She did not rush. Officer Noelle's hands moved like she had the whole evening and an empty road to spend it on. Palms slid from his shoulders down the outsides of his arms, checked his wrists, and came back up slow. They smoothed over his ribs. They settled at his waist and stayed a second too long, thumbs stroking once over the hem of his shirt.

"Jumpy," she murmured near his ear. The heavy curve of one breast brushed his shoulder blade through the uniform. "Most boys your size fidget. You vibrate."

"I'm sorry, ma'am." His voice came out thin. "I haven't been pulled over like this."

Her hands dropped to his hips. She patted the outsides of his thighs, then the insides, and on the way back up her knuckles dragged, deliberate, across the front of his pants. The touch was light. It landed exactly where he was hardest. His tiny cock jumped against her fingers, a small stiff twitch no bigger than two of them, and a sound broke out of him that was half gasp and half plea.

Noelle laughed, low and delighted, and pressed her palm flat over him so there could be no mistake.

"Oh, sweetheart. That's it? That's what you've been hiding like it was a weapon?" Her fingers curved, measuring, squeezing gently through the cloth. "I've checked belts thicker than this little thing. It feels like a thumb. A nervous, twitching little thumb trying to stand up for a woman who could sit on it and lose it."

Heat flooded his face so fast his eyes stung. He should have stepped away. He didn't. His hips pushed, shameful and eager, into her hand, and the tiny erection throbbed like it was grateful to be caught.

"Pathetic," she said, almost fond. "Real men fill a hand. Real men make a woman adjust her stance. This?" She rubbed him once, slow, from the small base to the modest tip, and he whimpered. "This is a secret you lose the second a busty cop decides to be curious. Does it always get hard this fast when somebody taller than you smiles?"

"Yes, ma'am. Especially you. I can't help it. It's small. I know it's small."

She held him there, towering at his back, enormous breasts pressed to his shoulders, breath warm on his neck. When she spoke again the teasing had gone thicker, honest under the mockery.

"Secret for a secret, little Terrence." Her thumb stroked the head through his pants, lazy and cruel and sweet. "Humiliating little-dick boys like you turns me on. Not the dangerous ones. The short, insecure twenty-year-olds who shake and look at my tits like they ought to apologize. I get wet when I feel a cock this tiny and watch the owner realize I am never going to pretend it's enough." Her lips nearly touched his ear. "I am soaked right now. Because of this pathetic little erection. Because you haven't asked me to stop."

His breath broke. "I don't want you to stop."

"Say the rest of it."

He turned his head just enough to see her smile and the deep cleavage straining her uniform. "Please don't stop. Pat me down however you want. Mock it. I like it. I'm choosing this. If you want more, I want that too. Please, Officer Noelle."

She gave his minuscule cock one more squeezing stroke that made his thighs tremble, then stepped around in front of him. The uniform skirt hugged her hips, the hem high on thighs that looked like they could pin him without effort. Color sat high on her cheeks. Her chest rose harder now. "All right. We escalate. Out here. You and me. Tell me to put you back in that car at any second and I will. Until you do, this tiny cock belongs to the woman who found it."

"Yes," he said, relief naked enough to make her grin. "Please. I want that."

"Then drop your pants."

His hands shook on the button. The zipper was too loud on the quiet shoulder. He shoved pants and underwear down to his ankles, and the evening air hit him, and there was nowhere left to hide. His cock stood out from his body, flushed and small, the whole of it barely clearing her palm when she reached down and took it bare. Noelle looked at it. She looked at the enormous breasts still fighting the uniform. Then she laughed, open and unkind and delighted, the sound rolling down the empty road and dying in the trees.

"God. Look at that." She gave him a little shake, and the stiff little length bobbed, already shiny at the tip. "I have tits bigger than your pride, sweetheart. One of them could cover this whole pathetic cock and still have room to breathe. You got hard for a pat-down and this is all you brought me?" She squeezed. A bead welled up. She smeared it with her thumb while she smiled down from all that height. "Real men would be nudging my wrist by now. You're nudging nothing. You're a snack I could forget I was holding."

Terrence made a broken sound. His face burned. His cock pulsed in her fist anyway, eager, leaking, humiliatingly alive. "I'm sorry," he said, and meant please don't let go.

"Don't be sorry. Be useful." She popped the straining buttons with her free hand, shrugged the shirt open, and reached back. The bra gave. Her breasts spilled out, heavy and mature, pale where the uniform had hidden them and flushed at the wide dark nipples. They hung full and soft and huge, swaying as she straightened, and next to them his cock looked like a joke someone had told too quietly. Evening light caught the soft undersides, the faint sheen in her cleavage, the way all that weight moved when she breathed. She lifted one breast in her palm and brought the nipple close enough to nearly kiss his wet tip. The difference was obscene. Her tit dwarfed him. She laughed again, softer, aroused, the sound catching in her throat.

"See? That's the comparison. My breast. Your cock. One of these makes men stupid. The other makes me want to pat your head and tell you it's all right you'll never fuck like a man who fits." Her voice had gone rough. "On your knees, Terrence. You said I could have you. Get down there and worship them."

He dropped. Gravel bit his knees and he didn't care. From down there she was a monument, uniform shirt hanging open, skirt still on, those massive breasts filling the sky above his face. He leaned in because she crooked a finger and because he wanted to, and his mouth found the underside of one heavy tit, warm skin and the faint salt of a long shift. He kissed. He licked. He buried his short face in the deep cleft and groaned when she caught the back of his head and pulled him in harder, smothering him in soft flesh that smelled like her and like heat.

"That's it," Noelle said. "Use your mouth. It's bigger than your dick anyway. Suck."

He took a nipple between his lips and sucked, clumsy and desperate, tongue circling, and she sighed above him, a real sound, her hips shifting. Her free hand stayed on his cock, stroking the little length in short mocking pulls that never let him forget how quickly her fingers ran out of him. He worshipped the other breast the same way, open-mouthed, drooling a little, kissing the soft lower curve until she shivered. Every time he glanced down he saw her fist covering almost all of him, and the sight made him throb so hard he whimpered against her skin.

"Greedy little thing," she murmured. "Hard as a nail and still nothing to hold. You love this. Being on your knees for a woman who has to bend down to let you reach her tits. Say it."

"I love it," he said into her breast, muffled and honest. "I love how big you are. I love how small I am. Please. I'm so hard it hurts and it's still not enough for you. I know."

"Good boy." The praise landed like a slap and a kiss at once. She was breathing faster. When she shifted, the crotch of her panties showed a dark wet spot under the skirt's hem, and his cock jumped in her hand. She noticed. Of course she noticed. "You see that? That's what your tiny dick does to me. Not by filling anything. By being a joke I get to play with. Up. On the hood. I want a ride, and I want to feel exactly how little of you there is when I sit on it."

She hauled him up by the wrist, firm, not cruel. Pants tangled at his ankles, he shuffled after her to the patrol car. The hood was warm from the engine, broad and slightly dusty. She turned him, pushed, and he went down on his back across it because she wanted him there and because every nerve in him wanted to be put where she said. The metal held his shoulders. The sky was empty. The road was still empty. Noelle stepped out of her panties in one impatient motion, uniform skirt rucked in her fists, and climbed up over him.

She faced away. That was the cruelty and the gift of it, reverse, her broad back and the open shirt, her huge bare ass settling as she positioned herself over his hips and looked out toward the windshield and the quiet trees. Bent over the hood, she reached down between her thighs, found his cock with two fingers, and laughed once, breathless, when she had to search a second for something so small.

"There you are. Hold still. Thrust like you think you're big enough to meet me and you'll slip right out, and then you just get to watch. You can still tell me to stop."

"Don't stop. Please ride me. I know I won't fill you. I know I'm not enough. I still want it. I want you to use it."

"Then take what I give you."

She sank. Hot, soaked, swollen, her pussy opened around him and took him in one easy slide, and the awful perfect truth of it was how little resistance there was, how quickly she bottomed out with most of her still empty. His entire cock buried, her body barely snug around something that small. Terrence cried out. The heat of her was everywhere, slick and fluttering, and it was still obvious that a real man would have been stretching her while he was only a stiff little presence she could clench for fun. Noelle braced her hands on the hood past his knees, bent forward, skirt bunched at her waist, and rode him reverse, facing the glass, using him from above.

She didn't start gentle. She rolled her hips in short grinding circles, then lifted and dropped, and every drop swallowed him whole and left him gasping. Her ass flexed, heavy and perfect. Wet sounds filled the quiet, obscene and loud, her pussy so soaked that even his modest size made a slick noise each time she took him.

"Listen to that," she said, voice shaking with a laugh and with real arousal. "Soaking a cock I can barely feel. You like hearing how wet your humiliation makes me? Little Terrence with his little dick, lying on my hood, a toy that doesn't reach the good spot unless I tilt just right." She tilted. Ground. A moan broke out of her, genuine, and she chased it, fucking down onto him in quicker strokes. "God, you're throbbing. Already. Stamina of a nervous boy. Size of a secret. Real men last. Real men make me work. You're going to pop because a mature woman sat on you and told you the truth."

"I'm trying," he gasped. His hands settled on her hips because she reached back and planted them there. Her skin was hot. He felt the powerful flex of her as she rode, squeezing, barely needing to aim. "Officer Noelle, you're so tight on me and I'm so small and I can't— I'm close. I'm already close."

"Of course you are." She bounced harder, the hood creaking, her voice mean and breathless and thrilled. "That tiny thing is jumping inside me like it's apologizing. Don't you dare cum in me. A load from something this small doesn't even earn the mess. You pull out when I say. You put it on the ground, where jokes belong."

He held on, and failed. The squeeze of her, the slap of her ass against his stomach, the filthy steady degradation, the sight of her broad back and hiked skirt and the knowledge that his whole cock disappeared and changed nothing — it stacked too fast. His balls drew tight. His thighs shook.

"I'm cumming, ma'am, I can't, it's now—"

"Out."

She rose off him in one smooth motion. Cold air hit his wet cock, its own humiliation. She swung a leg over, climbed down, and dragged him with her off the warm hood onto the gravel, flat on his back, pants still snarled at his ankles. His cock slapped his belly, angry and small and finished, and the second his shoulders hit the dirt it jerked and spilled. Quick. Thin. A few weak pulses striped the ground beside his hip and dribbled over his fingers, nowhere near a man's orgasm, already cooling on the gravel while he was still gasping through it. Premature. Pathetic. Done before she had even gotten hers.

Noelle stood over him, skirt still up, pussy gleaming, and laughed so hard her huge bare breasts bounced. "Look at it. On the ground. Like I told you. Couldn't even stay on my hood for the whole sad little finish. A minute? Maybe less? I felt you give up before I got a rhythm I liked."

He couldn't answer. He lay there owned, cock twitching through the last weak drops onto the dirt, face burning, still aching because humiliation had always done that to him and she had found the exact shape of it. She didn't give him time to shrink. She stepped over his head, one boot on either side, and lowered herself, and the soaked heat of her pussy came down over his mouth.

"Open. You came on my roadside. You can at least make my cunt cum. Tongue out. Worship this the way you worshipped my tits."

He opened. He wanted to. The taste of her hit him, salt and slick and the faint trace of his brief time inside her, and he groaned into it and licked. Noelle settled her weight with enough care not to smother him and none at all for his dignity, grinding her soaked pussy against his face, smearing him from nose to chin. Her clit dragged over his tongue. She rocked, slow and then harder, using his mouth the way she had used his cock, except this time she could actually get what she needed. One hand braced on the hood. The other squeezed her breast, pinching a nipple while she rode his face and talked down at him between moans.

"There. That's better. That's a hole I can work. Your little dick couldn't reach this spot and your tongue doesn't have to be big to be obedient. Faster. Suck my clit. Yes— like that. God, you're messy. Chin dripping. Twenty years old and already on your back in the gravel, letting a forty-two-year-old cop use your face because your cock embarrassed both of us." Her hips jerked. Her voice cracked raw. "Don't stop. I'm close, and it isn't because of that tiny thing leaking on the ground. It's because you know what you are and you licked me anyway. Filthy little boy. Pathetic little cock. Good— good tongue—"

He sucked as she ordered, lips sealed, tongue flicking, hands on her thighs because she put them there. She ground down hard. The wet sound of it was louder than his breathing. Her thighs trembled around his ears. Then she came, powerful and unhidden, a rough cry tearing out of her as her pussy pulsed against his mouth and a fresh rush of slick coated his tongue and his cheeks. She rode it out in grinding rolls, not gentle, chasing every aftershock, cursing softly, laughing once in the middle like the pleasure and the mockery were the same muscle. When it finally loosened she stayed heavy on his face a moment longer, panting, letting him feel exactly who had finished and who had not been allowed to matter.

Then she rose.

Noelle stood, breath still uneven, and the smirk came back before her hands did. She worked those massive breasts into the bra, buttoned the uniform until the cleavage was only a threat again, and smoothed the skirt down over her bare hips. The panties stayed in the gravel. She left them. Terrence got to his feet because standing felt like the last order she hadn't had to give, pants tangled at his ankles, face soaked, his spent little cock soft against his thigh and the last of him drying on the dirt.

She stepped in close. Two fingers, casual as a citation, flicked the soft little length of him. It jumped, oversensitive and useless, and a fresh burn of shame went through his whole body.

"I'll be keeping an eye on this tiny dick from now on," she said, pleasant and dominant, already turning away. "Same road. Same short boy. You pull over when I want another look. You liked that. Don't pretend you didn't."

"I liked it," he said, hoarse. "Yes, ma'am."

She didn't answer. The patrol car door shut. The engine turned over. Red and blue died, and she pulled off the shoulder without another glance, taillights shrinking down the empty two-lane, dust drifting back over him where he stood exposed in the penny-colored light, thoroughly owned, the warning still in his pocket and nothing else left to cover him.

Standing in the dust she had left him, pants at his ankles and his spent little cock bare to the empty road, Terrence realized the worst part was not that Officer Noelle had laughed at him, but that he was already hard again at the thought of her coming back to do it.