Crystal's StorySite

This is a true story of my first encounter with Dave (his real name), a state trooper (I’ll keep the state a secret).


Under the Influence of Trooper Dave

by: Christina Johnson


My name is Christina Johnson. I’m a very lucky girl. I have a good job, and I live in downtown Seattle in a beautiful condo. I live as a male, more or less, but I work at home and get to spend as much time as I like as Christina. My body is soft and feminine, and completely smooth from head-to-toe at all times. I visit a Korean nail salon every 2-3 weeks, where I’m treated like any other woman. I get regular manicures, pedicures and facials, and I also get my eyebrows waxed and tweezed. My nail color right now is OPI Matador Red on my toes, and a beautiful, feminine, French manicure on my fingers.

I’m not a drag queen. I’m very feminine and girlie, and when it comes to clothes and makeup, I go for the real girl look. I’m a brunette. My role models range from Joan Collins to Elizabeth Hurley. I have great legs, and love showing them off in short skirts, high heels and sheer nylons. I always wear Hanes Silk Reflections Thigh Highs in Little Color or Barely There, and I have lots of Victoria’s Secret lingerie. My fave is the Emma bra with French cut panties. I always wear high heels. I have 12 pairs of heels, ranging from sexy sling backs and pumps to stilettos and platforms. All my shoes have 4-inch heels or higher. I just love how high heels make my legs look; especially in short skirts, and I’ve learned to walk easily and naturally with lots and lots of practice. Along with perfect nails, I also strive for perfect hair and makeup. My makeup ranges from Chanel to Cover Girl, and I especially love L’Oreal foundation. I can get ready for a date in about an hour.

When it comes to sex, I’m strictly heterosexual… I date men.

A few years ago, I was living in another state, renting a house just outside of a major city. One Saturday night, I was home alone all dressed up as Christina. I looked fantastic in a short, black leather skirt I bought from Bloomingdale’s online, and a long sleeve, light gray, animal print, cotton sweater top, with built-in shoulder pads giving me a clean, sophisticated line. I wore my usual sheer Hanes stockings, and black, 4-inch stiletto pumps. I love pearls; they give a woman such a classy look. I wore my real pearl necklace and matching earrings, with a gold ladies watch and silver tennis bracelet. I also had on my favorite gold ankle bracelet, which gives me a sexy sparkle when I walk.

I was content sipping a couple of glasses of Chardonnay and flipping through my current copies of Vogue and Glamour. Around Midnight, I turned on the television and watched a little bit of Saturday Night Live. I finished my third glass of wine, and then made a decision that was to change my love life… for the better: I decided to take a drive. I grabbed my purse and slipped on my black leather coat (also from Bloomie’s). I checked my makeup in the mirror by my front door, and touched up my lipstick. That evening I was wearing Russian Red lipstick by Estee Lauder. I remember the color, because as you will see, it ended up in a very special place about an hour later. My perfume was Chanel No. 5.

I slid into the front seat of my car and carefully pulled out into the street. I had been drinking, of course, but I did not feel drunk at all. I felt perfectly safe to drive. I drove for a while through my neighborhood, then turned onto the interstate, a two-lane highway that led out of town. After about twenty minutes, I saw the familiar lights of a rural business area. There were two gas stations, a general store, a car dealership that sold mostly trucks, and, of course, the infamous strip club called "Sugar’s." I loved to pull into the parking lot and imagine I was one of the girls on my way to work. My normal routine was to pull in and cruise through the lot, hoping some men would check me out and think I was one of the strippers. Of course, I would just drive through, never summoning the courage to actually go inside. God, that would be so sweet, I thought: To go into a strip club and be ogled by every man in the place. Oh well, perhaps one day.

Although the parking lot was packed with cars, I was disappointed that no men were in sight. I circled the lot three times, then pulled back onto the interstate and headed for home. As I drove past the car dealership, I was startled when one of the vehicles parked facing the street, suddenly turned on its lights and pulled out behind me. "Oh shit," I thought. It was a police car, and it was following me.

My pulse raced as I thought about the consequences of being pulled over at this time, dressed as Christina. My eyes shifted nervously from my speedometer to my rearview mirror. The lights of the business area got smaller and smaller then disappeared altogether. Straight ahead was the darkness of the open highway. That’s when the red lights of the police car began flashing, beckoning me to pull over. Ohmygod. My heart was beating like a tom-tom as I pulled off the road and stopped on the shoulder; the police car pulled in behind me.

I sat in my car for what seemed like minutes and watched the car in horror in my rearview mirror. What was I going to do? I quickly grabbed my purse and began fishing around for my driver’s license. My heart sank, as I knew my license said "male." How should I handle this? Oh god, this was going to be so humiliating. What if he decided to arrest me? Ohmygod, who was I going to call to bail me out?

I saw the car door open and a trooper got out and slowly walked toward me carrying a flashlight. As he came up to me, I rolled down my window and turned to look at him. I tried to give him a courteous smile, but he flashed the light in my face, and then slowly shined it down my legs, checking me out from head to toe. He held the light on my shoes and I shifted nervously, tugging my skirt down to show less leg. He shined his light right in my face and said very business-like, ""Evening ma’am. License, registration and proof of insurance, please." Trying desperately to maintain my composure, I handed over the items as directed. He shined his light on my hands and noticed, I was sure, my long, feminine fingernails painted in a deep red to match my lipstick. I had been to the salon the day before.

He took a long look at my license, and then flashed his light to my face, then to my license and back a couple of times. The name on my license was, of course, Christopher, and it said that I was male. But men don’t wear skirts and nylons and high heels and makeup and jewelry. I was obviously a man dressed up as a woman. I was just beginning to wonder about the food in prison, when he leaned forward and said sternly, "Please remain in your vehicle." Then he turned and returned to his.

He sat in his car for several minutes, and I watched his red lights spin round and round in my rearview mirror. Several cars passed us intermittently going in both directions. They slowed down as they passed and each occupant checked me out, wondering what kind of criminal was being interrogated on the side of the road. A couple of commercial trucks also went by, and as each slowed down to pass, I wished I could jump in and ride away with the drivers.

Finally, I saw the trooper’s door open and he slowly walked back to where I was parked. As he arrived at my window, he again shined his light down my legs and held it on my shoes, then shined it back to my face.

"Have you been drinking this evening… ma’am?" he asked. I thought I detected something in the way he said "ma’am." He obviously knew I was a man, yet he gave me the courtesy of referring to me as a woman. Maybe this would be OK. I gulped and took a deep breath. "Um, maybe just a glass of wine," I said in a low, feminine voice.

Again he shined his light down my legs. "I’m going to have to give you a field sobriety test. Drive ahead about a quarter of a mile and turn off when you see the sign, Road 19."

I looked up at him, respectfully avoiding his eyes. "Sir?" I questioned.

He responded sternly. "This is a busy highway. I need to do this in a more private area." Then he added, "Am I going to have trouble with you… Miss?"

I quickly looked down. "No sir," I said quietly.

My mind raced as I started my car and put it into drive. Was this routine? Or was he coming on to me? He had to have known what I was. He had emphasized the words "Ma’am" and "Miss" in a way that seemed to confirm my feelings. But, was this some kind of a pick-up scene, or was I really in trouble for drinking and driving? I turned the rearview mirror to check out my makeup. I looked very good… sexy… but was I sexy enough to attract a big, strong, masculine state trooper? This was either going to be one of my biggest fantasies come true… or my biggest nightmare. Thoughts of spending the night in jail took over as I drove down the highway looking for the sign for Road 19.

I turned off the highway and onto Road 19, a rural two-lane county road that ran parallel to an irrigation canal for as long as the eye could see, at least in the darkness anyway. I could see the trooper following me closely, but I noticed he had turned off his red lights. After about a hundred yards, he flashed his headlights on and off, signaling that I was to pull over next to a county maintenance shed. I pulled off and parked next to the shed; the trooper pulled up behind me. I sat nervously and waited for him to walk up. I rolled down my window and again was greeted by the beam of his flashlight.

"OK… Ma’am. I’m going to have you get out and walk to the rear of your vehicle," he ordered, still very business-like in manner. He opened my door and stood back so I could get out. I grabbed my purse and took hold of the hem of my skirt for modesty and swung my legs out onto the pavement. His flashlight followed the movement of my legs.

"You can leave your purse in your vehicle, you won’t need it," he said. I placed my purse back on the seat, and then stood and wobbled for a second in my high heels, getting accustomed to standing after sitting for so long. The trooper took hold of my elbow and steadied me like a gentleman. I turned and walked slowly to the rear of my car and stood with my hands folded in front of me, waiting for instructions. I shivered in the cool night air and squinted due to the bright beam of his headlights.

"Alright," he began. "I want you to walk slowly in a straight line back to my car. Then I want you to turn and walk back. Do it slow, and do it straight."

I took a deep breath and placed my left foot out in front of me. I walked slowly toward his car, being careful to put one foot in front of the other. I tried to walk in as feminine a manner as possible. The only sound I made was the swishing of my nylons and the clicking of my high heels on the pavement. I walked directly into the beam of his headlights for about ten feet, then turned and slowly walked back. I still didn’t know what was going on; whether or not this was for real. He seemed so official, I was sure I had imagined his attraction to me.

"You walk pretty well in those shoes," he commented, taking me totally by surprise. I looked up at his face and noticed he was shining his flashlight on my legs and high heels.

"So… you dance at Sugar’s?" he asked, breaking his official tone for the first time. Ohmygod, I thought, he must think I’m a stripper. Does he really think I’m a woman, or is he just playing with me?

"No sir," I replied quietly, looking down at the pavement.

"You should," he said with a grunt. "Those legs should be seen by as many men as possible."

Now I knew what was happening. He was definitely hitting on me. I just didn’t know for sure if he knew I wasn’t a real woman. I stood in silence, looking down at the ground with my hands folded in front of me as he continued to check me out with his flashlight. He walked around and stood behind me. I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting for something to happen. Suddenly, I heard the sound of metal tinkling, and I started to turn around.

"Eyes ahead!" he commanded, and I quickly looked forward toward my car. "Hands behind your back," he ordered firmly. All of a sudden afraid, I started to turn around again, but he stopped me, gripping me by the back of my neck.

"Resisting arrest?" he barked. He pushed me forward onto the trunk of my car, bending me at the waist. He grabbed my left hand and twisted it behind my back, slapping handcuffs around my wrist. He pulled my right arm behind my back and cuffed it to the other. Then he tugged me back so I was standing straight up. Terrified, I began to cry. He pressed up behind me and whispered throatily into my ear. "Looks like someone needs a lesson in respecting an officer of the law," he seethed through gritted teeth.

"I-I-I respect you," I cried through my tears.

"We’ll see about that," he huffed. He tugged on the handcuffs and guided me forward to the maintenance shed. He held me still at the door and fumbled at his belt for a set of keys. Looking straight ahead with tears streaming down my cheek, I heard him unlock the shed’s door and jerking it open he pushed me inside. I stumbled forward in my high heels, afraid of the darkness.

"Stay right here," he whispered sternly directly into my ear. It was difficult standing in high heels and a short skirt with my hands cuffed behind my back. The trooper slammed the door of the shed behind me and I was left alone in the darkness, sobbing to myself. I heard a car door being opened, then a couple of seconds later, slammed shut. Then a few seconds later, I heard another car door being opened, then shut. After several minutes I heard the shed door opened abruptly. The shed was immediately illuminated by the trooper’s flashlight beam. I saw that it contained several maintenance tools, shovels, rakes, a small tractor, a couple of wheelbarrows, and at one end, several bales of hay stacked to the roof, and one lone bale in front. The door slammed shut behind me and the trooper swung his flashlight beam from one end of the shed to the other. Still behind me, the trooper grabbed hold of the handcuffs and guided me toward the lone bale.

"Sit," he ordered. He swung me around and held me by the arm as he forced me to sit on the bale. I plopped down and tried to keep my knees together and sit like a lady. I was very pleased that I managed to maintain my femininity throughout the ordeal. He stood before me, shining his light into my eyes. I looked at the ground, stifling my tears, my arms hurting from the handcuffs. He stepped forward and reached out, taking my chin into his large hand. He lifted my head and I looked up at my captor. He was tall, six-feet-four I guessed, with broad shoulders and a rugged, masculine face. He had a thick, dark moustache that made him look like a rougher version of Tom Selleck, though not nearly as handsome. He glared at me for a few seconds, and then released his grip on my chin.

"You look like shit," he said ominously. I thought he was commenting on my general appearance as a female, until I noticed that he held my purse in the same hand as his flashlight. He thrust my purse at me and growled, "Fix yourself up." I wiggled around on the bale, struggling with my bonds. He muttered disgustedly, realizing that I was helpless with the cuffs on. He dropped my purse in my lap and took his keys off his belt. "Turn around," he said. I shifted my arms so he could reach the cuffs. He unlocked the metal bonds and removed them from my wrists, then folded them and replaced them in a leather case on his belt. I rubbed my wrists until my circulation returned, and then I opened my purse and looked inside for my compact. The trooper loomed over me in silence and shined his light into my purse to make it easier for me to see. I pulled open my compact and peered at my face. He was right… I did look like shit. My mascara had run down my cheeks and my lipstick was smeared from crying. My makeup had all but melted and my face was shiny and oily. I pulled out a tissue and quietly daubed my face, removing as much makeup as possible. While the trooper watched and held the light, I reapplied powder to my face, and then slowly removed a tube of mascara from my purse. I applied mascara to my eyelashes and returned it my purse. I looked up at the trooper. "Lips," he said, using the light to indicate I needed more lipstick. I pulled out my tube of Estee Lauder Russian Red and applied a thick coat, pressing my lips together to make it smooth and even. I put my lipstick and compact back into my purse, then looked up at the trooper for approval.

"Nice," he said softly, and I managed a weak smile. He stood silently before me, shining his light again at my legs. Some movement in his pants caught my eye and I glanced down at a rising bulge in his crotch. He saw that I was looking, and reached down and cupped his manhood through his pants.

"You’d like some of this, wouldn’t you, bitch?" he said suggestively. I looked up into his eyes and slowly nodded my head up and down. He squeezed his crotch and gave a low laugh. "I knew it," he said. "I know a cocksucker when I see one." His words and attitude put me at ease. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me after all. And I also knew I wasn’t going to jail, not tonight anyway.

"You want to suck this cock, don’t you bitch?" he said sternly. Again I nodded and he rubbed his crotch even harder. He stepped forward and took his hand away. "Help yourself," he smirked.

I scooted forward on the bale and reached out and took hold of his belt buckle. This was totally what I wanted, and I wanted him to like it too. I unbuckled his heavy leather belt and he caught it before it fell to the ground. I guess he didn’t want his gun to go off. Excuse me… I mean his pistol. His "gun" was definitely going to go off… in my mouth that is.

I unbuckled the smaller belt that held up his pants, and unbuttoned them, easing them down to his ankles. He wore loose, white briefs underneath, and they barely contained his huge bulge. I tugged down his underpants and his large, thick cock popped out and hit me across the bridge of my nose. I gasped at its size and girth. Gently, I took his huge cock in my hand and squeezed him playfully. I looked up at his face and saw him towering over me in a very manly way. I felt weak and feminine and very, very horny for him.

I stroked him slowly and his cock hardened further in my grip. While looking directly into his eyes, I leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock 3 or 4 times, then opened my mouth wide and slid his huge tool down as far as I could. When it hit the back of my throat I gagged, as any girl would, even the most experienced cocksucker, which I most certainly was. His dick was huge, at least nine inches long and very thick. I held it at its base and sucked it deep into my mouth. I wiggled my tongue along his tender underside, which I knew drove men wild. He reached out and put his hand on the back of my head, then slowly slid his hips forward burying his cock down my throat. I gagged again, but he held my head firmly and wouldn’t allow me to take it out of my mouth. Stuffed down my throat, I was forced to breathe through my nose or I wouldn’t have been able to breathe at all. I kept my eyes locked on his, becoming his obedient little cocksucker… just what both of us wanted.

I breathed deeply through my nose and cupped his heavy balls in my hand, swallowing his dick all the way. I choked and gagged and spittle ran out my lips, but his cock stayed planted down my throat, my head held tightly by his hand. He wiggled his hips from side to side, burying his dick in my willingly mouth, and again I was forced to breathe rapidly through my nose. Tears began streaming down my face and still I looked deeply into his eyes, showing him my obedience to his assault. He looked down at me as the dominant male, and I responded as his submissive female. Slowly, finally, he withdrew his cock and tapped it back and forth across my nose and cheeks. I gasped for air and gulped back my spittle.

My eyes left his face for a brief moment as I looked at his cock right in front of me. It glistened, dripping wet with my saliva as I held it in my hand. My feminine red nails accented his masculine penis, thick and hairy and very, very hard. It was then that I noticed it was coated with the telltale tint of my Russian Red lipstick. I smiled and looked up into his eyes again. He also saw my lipstick on his cock and smirked his acknowledgement.

"Break’s over. Get back to work," he ordered. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and slid his cock back down my throat. This time he allowed me to suck it in and out, and though I still had to breathe through my nose, it was much more pleasant, and I didn’t choke or gag. I moaned softly as I bobbed up and down on his hard, hairy cock. I cupped his balls in my hand and sucked his cock in and out, taking it deep down my throat each time. Each time his cock slid out of my mouth, I saw that it was coated with saliva and red lipstick. I was so proud of myself. I was giving my man just what he wanted, and I loved servicing this stud. I wondered how many other girls had been in this same position; perched on this bale of hay, giving this hunk a slow, wet blowjob.

I bobbed my head up and down on his cock, going faster and faster, creating suction and absolutely swimming in saliva, which leaked out of my lips. His hand rested on the back of my head and I reached around with my hands and gently squeezed his buttocks, my mouth impaled on his cock. I was taking it all now, his balls slapping my chin as his cock slid in and out of my throat. I moaned excitedly and breathed rapidly through my nose, building more and more friction. He gripped my head tighter and bucked his hips, forcibly fucking my face.

At the height of our rhythm, he began assaulting me verbally. "That’s it, bitch, suck it good!" he wailed. "Fucking little cocksucker! You want it good, don’t you whore?" I whimpered and moaned, excited at his abuse. "Take it bitch! Take it all the way, you fucking cocksucking whore!"

He fucked my face for all it was worth. His cock pistoned in and out of my mouth and saliva dripped in buckets from my lips. His balls slapped my chin. I looked up at his face and saw him looking at the ceiling, his eyes tightly closed, and sweat pouring off his brow. This stud knew how to use a girl’s mouth.

All of a sudden, he let out a loud grunt and pulled my head all the way forward, impaling me on his cock. My nose was mashed deeply into his pubic hair and I could barely breathe; his balls pressed tightly against my chin. His whole body shook violently and he let loose with a torrent of cum that warmed the back of my throat and coated my tummy.

"God yes! You fucking whore!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He came in buckets and it backed up in my throat and filled my mouth to the brim, leaking out of my lips. He jerked back and forth several times, spurting his cum into my mouth each time. Fully spent, he took his cock from my mouth and gripped in firmly with his free hand. He stroked it several times and shot blast after blast of warm semen onto my face. This guy must not have cum in months, I thought. I gulped as much of it down as I could, reveling in the thick creamy taste. His cock finally stopped spurting, and he wiped it back and forth across my cheeks, rubbing his semen into my skin. I saw that his cock was coated with sperm, saliva and red lipstick, a delightful combination, if you want my opinion.

His breathing returned to normal, mine too, and he stood over me, his cock pulsing after a full workout. I looked up at him, cum dripping off my chin.

"Clean it," he ordered.

"Sir?" I asked.

"Clean my cock, whore. You made it dirty… you’re gonna clean it up."

I was glad to. I took it delicately in both hands and kissed it lovingly. Then I licked it up and down, swallowing the strands of semen that coated his beautiful dick. I was one well-fucked bitch, and he was a very satisfied stud. I finished cleaning his cock, then picked up my purse and took out a tissue to clean my face. The trooper stopped me, grabbing my hand before I could wipe my face.

"Leave it," he growled.

He grabbed my purse and pulled me to my feet and pushed me toward the door. I walked gingerly in my high heels. I’d been wearing them for hours and they were killing my feet. He guided me by my arm back to my car. He took big manly strides, but I could only mince in quick, short steps because of my high heels. He pulled open my door and tossed me inside.

"Wait here, girlie," he said gruffly. Then he added, "Clean your face and I’ll take you to jail." He returned to his car.

Ohmygod, I thought, this guy is really something. I mean, I loved his aggressive, dominant attitude, but did he really expect me to drive home with his cum all over my face?

Yes he did.

He came back to my car and handed me my purse. Then he handed me some papers. It was my license, registration and proof of insurance, along with a ticket for driving without my headlights on! Was he serious? I had just given him a fabulous blowjob, and now he was giving me a ticket? For driving without headlights? Jeez, what a hardass

I saw that he had written down my male name, Christopher Johnson, and had checked the box for "male." He leaned in and said in a very stern and patronizing tone, "I’d get you a job as a dancer at Sugar’s… but they don’t hire men."

Then for good measure, he added, "You’re a real good cocksucker though."

He reared back and laughed heartily, the first time I’d seen him express anything remotely on the light side. "Have a good evening… Ma’am," he chuckled. Then he turned and went back to his cruiser. I sat in my car, stunned by what had just happened. He pulled away and turned back toward the interstate. After he was gone, I reached into my purse to find my tissues to clean off his cum, but they were gone. He had taken my tissues and left a business card he had gotten from Sugar’s. On the back of the card he wrote, "You’ve been used by Dave. Maybe I’ll call you sometime."

I got a warm feeling in my tummy and sighed. I hoped that he would call me sometime.


2001 by Christiana Johnson. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.