Copyright© September 2004 - all rights reserved
They say there's a first time for everything. Damn right, they are!
Here I am, locked up in a police cell for the first time in my life.
Busted. Possession of drugs. Drunk and disorderly. Failure to provide proof of identity or age.
"I'm afraid you'll have to accompany me to the police station," that bitch said in her self-important tone of voice. That really rubbed me up the wrong way.
Resisting arrest. Insulting a police officer.
They wanted the name of a responsible parent or guardian they could contact. I had to give them my home address. Now they'll probably get dad out of bed in the middle of the night. I hope he'll tell them to get lost. On second thoughts, maybe not. If he does, then I'm stuck in this hole. I hope he calls one of his lawyer friends and gets me out of here on the double.
I hope he'll sue them for abuse of power or something like that. But that's not very likely. He's got this thing about abiding by the law, respecting the authorities and all that crap. Fucking bootlicker! Well, I hope he'll do something to get me out of here. I really do.
What if he decides to do what he's threatened so many times before: deny that I'm his daughter, refuse to help me, let me sort out the mess I've got myself into, on my own? I could be rotting here for the rest of my life!
What a dump this place is. How do they expect me to sleep on this bed, hard as a rock? And the smell! Can't they put that toilet into a separate room? Makes you wonder what they do with all the tax money they get every year!
It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have such a splitting headache. Maybe I did have a bit too much to drink. After all, a girl's got to have a bit of fun sometimes.
I really did have a ball until the cops arrived. I was looking forward to a night of wild sex with this bloke I met. Mike was his name, I believe. He had a good-sized knob. I could feel it through his jeans when he rubbed up against me. You couldn't see him for dust, though, when he realized what was happening. Typical! 'Every man for himself.' What about looking after your woman? Knight in shining armour? Ha, bloody ha!
Maybe I shouldn't have mixed E with alcohol. They say it sends you on a horror trip. Perhaps they're right. But it can't get any worse than the mess I'm already in.
Ouch, my head! Everything's going around in circles. It's probably best if I stop thinking and try to get a rest. Tomorrow, things will sort themselves out.
"Get up, slut, this isn't a hotel!"
There's this giant of a police officer standing at the foot of my bed. Bald as a billiard ball. I wonder if his mates call him Kojak. Probably not. He doesn't seem to have much of a sense of humour.
Next to him is the bitch who arrested me. The one who said I was insulting a police officer, just because I called her a bloody cocksucker. I shouldn't have. That was just blatant flattery. I don't think any self- respecting guy would let her anywhere near his cock.
She looks more like a dyke, really. Probably fucks her girlfriend with a strap-on every night. Not tonight, though. Tonight she's working. Maybe she fucks the prisoners when she's on duty. The prisoners? Christ! That means me! I guess, I'd better get that bald guy on my side and do what he asks.
"Take off your clothes, we need to check you for hidden substances."
What? The guy wants me to strip for him? Isn't he satisfied with looking at my tits? They're almost hanging out of my top after they tore it when I tried to give them the slip.
Baldy's got a truncheon in one hand and slaps it noisily into the palm of his other one. Is he threatening to use it on me if I don't do as he says? He wouldn't hit a defenceless woman, would he? Would he? I'd better not risk it. My head feels bad enough as it is. Alright then, here goes my top. There wasn't much of it left anyway.
Everything? He wants me to take off everything! Isn't there a law against male officers strip-searching female prisoners? He'll probably say his presence was needed to prevent me attacking the dyke. Okay, if that's what they want. Let's see if I can make it entertaining for them. My black leather miniskirt goes first, then the fishnet tights. I'm sure they'll like the black thong with the skull and cross-bones motif. And here I am, naked as I was born.
"Face the bed and bend over with your legs spread."
Holy shit! This guy wouldn't look out of place in a concentration camp. You would almost think my little striptease left him completely cold.
"Further apart! Put your hands on the bed to support yourself."
Looks like the dyke's going to join in the action. She's put on a pair of rubber gloves and is lubricating them with some gooey stuff. Now she pushes a finger into my cunt. One finger? No. Two. Three! Christ, that feels tight.
What does she think she'll find in my twat? Gold?
This reminds me of a story I read in the paper the other day, about a prison in Brazil or some place like that. There were some women visiting their men inside, and they smuggled cell phones in for them in their snatch. That's funny, isn't it?. Smuggling a cellphone into prison. So they can use it in their cell. Cellphone - cell. Get it? I've got to try to remember that one.
Well, I haven't got a cellphone in my pussy, and even if I did, there isn't a law against it, as far as I know. I'm not visiting any inmate, I'm locked up here myself.
I wonder what it feels like when you've got one of them in your cunt and it starts ringing. Maybe I should try it out. Stuff the phone inside me and then dial my number from another phone. But that's no fun. That's almost like masturbating. And I would lose the element of surprise. No, I've got to get someone else to call me.
Maybe I could put an ad in the paper. 'My cellphone is up my twat. Call me.' And then the number. But then I would have to keep it inside all the time. And maybe some idiot calls me at six in the morning! Yikes! Would have to specify a time. 'Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 6 to 8 pm.' Or I could post it on one of those pages in the internet. That would get an instant response. It gives a completely new meaning to the term 'phone sex', doesn't it?
Gosh, that bitch is really going to town in my pussy. I mean, I knew she was a lessie as soon as I set eyes on her. She isn't looking for anything. She's just enjoying herself, pushing in and out. It feels like her whole hand's in my cunt. It feels so friggin' tight! She's fucking me with her hand! I've never been fucked like this before. It feels great. I can hardly stay on my feet. Now her other hand's at my rear entrance. She pushes a finger inside. Two! She keeps moving both hands in and out. Aaah. That's fantastic! More, please! Deeper! Harder! Faster! Fuck me! Fuck me you bitch! Make me come! I've never been stretched like this before. And I've never been fucked in my ass and my cunt at the same time. This is too much! I'm coming! Yesssss!
They've gone. They have left me here, slumped on the floor, my arms and head resting on the hard bed. My legs gave way when I climaxed and I landed on my knees. I'd never come that hard in my life! It was fantastic! That bitch really knew what she was doing. How she stretched my pussy and my ass at the same time! Maybe I should come here more often. Wow, that's a good one: I should 'come' here more often. How do I come up with this stuff?
I wonder if all dykes know how to do this. Maybe I should make friends with some of them.
What a strange place to learn something new about sex! It just goes to show that you've got to live your life to the full and take things as they come. Or should that be 'take things as you come'?
Now I'd better crawl back onto that bed and get some rest. I don't feel like putting my clothes back on. I just want to relive that mind-blowing experience.
"Get up, slut, this isn't a hotel!"
The bald guy's repeating himself. He said the same thing a short while ago. And it isn't even funny. As if anybody could mistake this dump for a hotel!
"You gave us a wrong address, slut. Did you think we were so stupid that we wouldn't find out? Did you think we'd just let you go because you gave us an address in a posh neighbourhood?"
"There must be some mistake. I gave you the address where I live. Ask for John Walters, he's my father," I plead.
"Nobody sends me on a wild goose chase twice. If you want someone to contact your father, talk to the duty officer in the morning. Maybe he'll believe you. At the place we've just been to, nobody's ever heard of you."
I'm dumbstruck, ready to panic. Is this my father's idea of 'teaching me a lesson'?
"On your knees, slut."
What does he want from me now? Does he want me to say my prayers? Well, I'm not in the mood for praying - yet.
The guy's got his truncheon again, and he is slapping it into his other hand in a slow, steady rhythm. Maybe I'd better do what he wants.
"Seeing that you're going to enjoy our hospitality a little longer, you may want to show how grateful you are to us for allowing you to stay at such a comfortable place."
Hospitality? What hospitality? Comfortable place? What comfortable place? This guy must be out of his mind. Or he's got a warped sense of humour. He unbuckles his belt and opens the zipper of his trousers; then he drops them.
Maybe the rumours about bald men are true. They say they've got no hair on their head because all their virility is between their legs. There's no shortage of virility here. It's not completely hard, but it's huge! And I don't need a soothsayer to know what he wants from me.