Chapter 2: Dignity

I woke the next morning immersed in a feeling a dread. I'm normally long to wake in the morning but anticipation of the day brought me to a fully wakeful state immediately. I made myself coffee anyway, habits being what they are.

I had two hours before I had to leave. Sipping my coffee, I read the instructions. I had done so the previous night, in the bath, but I feared having missed something. I needed a refresher, if only to calm my own fear. Bad as it was, I didn't want to know what a punishment would entail.

The rules were fairly simple. The stack of papers was thick but most of it was reiteration of my basic place in the world for the next year. Over and over, the writing went on about who I was. "You are a toy. You are an object. You exist for the pleasure of others. Your desires are irrelevant. Your wants and needs are irrelevant. You are owned. You are a possession. Your thoughts are as important to us as those of our pencils..." I had to read every word of this to get to the basic instructions embedded within at random intervals. I reread it because it would have been easy to miss one.

I was not to wear panties, ever. I was only to wear what was given to me. I was to follow the orders of anybody who displayed a badge. Should I meet a police person away from the station, one displaying a badge, I was to immediately identify my position to them by saying, "Thank you for your service to the community. If there's anything I can do to repay you, just ask." I was to be clean every day. I was to fix my hair every day, keep my nails painted. My duties would be janitorial. I was to clean all day when not servicing one of my many new masters. There were three different floors to the station and I was to keep to a different one every day, rotating each of three days. I was to visit the sex shop once a month for a waxing.

I found nothing new; I had caught it all the previous night. While it was on my mind, I marked the one month interval on my calendar and prepared for my day.

The outfits were loose, flowing dresses, almost floor length. I had a set of new bras. They only served to push my breasts up, so they protruded straight from my chest, covering nothing. This left the dress to gently rub against my nipples and I shuddered at the thought of feeling this all day. Fully dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was a coifed, my face fully painted, and yet the dress could only be described as dowdy. I looked ridiculous.

On the bus ride to the station, I felt everybody must be staring at me but couldn't lift my eyes to confirm this. That horrible excitement, in spite of myself, betraying myself, that offensive need of mine stared at me unwaveringly. I felt a moment of relief stepping off the bus, squashed by the realization that I was now standing before the station. I stood, transfixed, fighting the urge to turn and run, go into hiding, maybe they wouldn't do anything to my husband after all. They hadn't seemed to want to. They hadn't seemed interested. That was before I walked into that station, before I brought attention to him. I changed all that. If he died, it would be my fault alone. And they just might kill him from spite.

I felt a hand on my bottom. "You're early. Good girl. Let's go in." It was Darns. It seemed too much of a coincidence that he would be there just as I arrived. He must have been waiting outside for me. The hand pushed my buttocks forward and I walked with him into the station. His hand on my ass, I thought of all the squats I'd done, the lunges, the one legged knee bends. I thought of all the sweat and pain I'd endured to keep my ass firm and tight. I thought of all the times I considered myself so much better than all those wives I'd watched let themselves go, get flabby and gain weight. Now I could only envy them.

He guided me, wordlessly, to a back room. It was large, full of chairs all facing a podium. It was some sort of meeting area. This was probably where they got their morning assignments. Darns closed the door behind us. He lifted my dress and ran his finger between my labia. "You're so wet. I couldn't sleep last night, thinking of all the things I'm going to do to you." He grabbed my breast over the dress. "You are in so much trouble, little girl. You're going to regret ever marrying that sissy fucking writer. You're gonna wish you'd married a real man. A cop. A protector. I'm gonna make you beg. You're going to beg for me." At this point, my whole body was trembling. The door opened and Murond walked in.

"Having a little chat?" he asked, offhandedly.

"Yes, sir," Darns said and grabbed a chair, putting it next to the podium.

Then Murond, making minor preparations on the podium, dashed my one, last, little hope, that I wouldn't be alone with Darns too often. "Darns here is my best officer. He requested that he be allowed to do your training and I was more than happy to oblige. He's a real treasure here. We're lucky to have him."

Darns pulled the dress up over my head. He didn't remove it from my neck, he draped it over my head, covering my face and sat me down. I felt my legs being pushed apart. I grabbed the sides of the seat.

I could hear people filing in, random snatches of conversation in the din as a slew of unknown hands fondled me and groped me.

"Nice tits on this one."

" ... he said he only had a couple of drinks. It's always a couple..."

"I don't know where I left it. I hate to have to requisition..."

"You think they'll give this one piercings? I love it when they're pierced."

"You see the new commissioner, yet? He was a national hero, a copper himself. That's how it should always be ... fucking elite scumbags don't know how to run a force."

"That's for damned sure."

"You know me, I rather prefer the tiny titties..."

Murond's voice broke through. "Okay, settle down. Get seated. We've got a lot to go through today. As you can see, we've got a brand new cunt for the station." This was met with clapping and hooting. "Yes, yes, settle down. You'll all get your chance. I know you were worried we wouldn't have one in time for the ball but Darns here found a sketchy little author married to a nice, firm ass. We all owe him a debt of gratitude." There was more clapping. "He'll be doing her training. For the next couple of days, you'll need his permission. Then she'll be public property. She's responsive, too. Nice and wet. I think you'll all enjoy this one.

"Also, I'm sure you've all heard that we have a new commissioner. We got a PR note that he'll be visiting each station personally. He was the man who found the rebel hideout. It's because of him that our citizens no longer live in fear of terrorist attacks. We'll need to go out of our way to show him great respect when he gets here.

"Today's focus is on the graffiti kids. I want you to keep an eye out for whoever has been defacing public property of late. Talk to the people who work out in the open. Street vendors, curbside whores, bums ... anybody who might have seen anything.

"Okay, get out of here. And be safe. Dismissed."

The din rose again. I heard more snatches of conversation. Rustling. Somebody pinched my nipple. Some laughter. Eventually, quiet. I could hear one person breathing. I knew it must be Darns. I don't know how long I sat there, listening to his slow, deep respiration.

So sudden it made me jump a little, he commanded, "Say, 'please fuck me.'"

"Please fuck me."

"Do you want it?" I thought for a moment. I did. I didn't want to but I did. It would be best not to hide this fact.

"Yes. I want it."

"Tell me how much you want it."

I couldn't have felt more grateful to have my face covered. I could just say it, anonymously. Well, pretend anonymously. "I want it so bad. I need it. I'm so wet. I want you to use me. I want to feel you inside me." I couldn't help but think of the instructions, how my wants are supposed to be irrelevant.

My words were answered with more silence. He pulled the dress back over me, grabbed my wrist and abruptly pulled me behind him. He led me to the bathroom, in a serious hurry. Inside, he opened a small closet, took out a sign that said,"Closed for cleaning". He hung it on the outside of the door and locked us inside. He grabbed my dress and pulled it over my head, barely giving me enough time to lift my arms up so that it could slide off.

"Now," he walked to the end of the room and stood between two urinals. The floor was tiled, two slight indentations with drains in the center. There was a line of toilet stalls opposite a line of sinks. Everything was stainless steel. "Go into the closet and bring me all the cleaning equipment you think might be needed to get this bathroom spotless."

I found a broom and a mop. I brought them, leaned them against the wall next to him. I returned and found a caddy with cleaning products, a toilet brush and a scrub brush. I lay that at his feet. I found some window cleaner for the mirrors, some newspaper to use with the cleaner, a bucket. I brought them to him. He looked at me stonily. There must be more, I thought. I returned to the closet and looked around desperately. A toilet plunger. Maybe? I brought it to him. Still I got a stony look. I returned, dug through the place frantically. Nothing but extra rolls of toilet paper and napkins, hand soap, a funnel. What could you possibly need a funnel for in a utility closet for the bathroom? I felt the blood drain from my face. I stared at it for a moment then brought it to him. The smile on his face told me I was correct to bring it.

"Sit with your back, here, against the wall." I lay against the wall, my shoulders propped against it. He grabbed under my knees and pushed them back toward my shoulders. "Take them. Hold them there. Now, look. You are too quiet. Talk." I didn't know what to say. He grabbed the toilet brush and then I did know what to say.

"Please, don't. Whatever you're going to do. Please, I'll do anything."

"I know you'll do anything. That's true, regardless. There's nothing you can offer me that you don't have to give me, anyway." He pressed the brush against my pussy. The bristles were steel, pushed down to a flat surface from use. He pressed the flat part against me. It would have been more painful had the bristles still projected outward. It was less painful because of years of intimate contact with piss, shit and, well, vomit had to be another possibility. "Talk."

"Oh, god. It's so gross. Please, take it off." He began slapping my pussy with the brush. "Ow. Please, no." He rubbed it over my breasts, smacked my pussy a few times, ran it over my nipples. He rubbed lightly but he used the less worn part; the sharp metal abraded my skin. "Oh, please, please. It's so dirty." Then I remembered the word he'd used in the meeting room. "I beg you. I beeeeeg you."

"You are dirty. You are a dirty little whore. You think you're better than a toilet brush?" He ran it over my pussy, back and forth. He did it so lightly is almost tickled. I could only whimper. "The toilet brush should be the one disgusted at having to touch that filthy pussy." He held it in front of my face. "Apologize to the brush. Say you're sorry it had to touch you."

"I'm sorry you had to touch me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a dirty little whore."

"Kiss it. Lick it."

"Please."

"DO IT!"

And I did. I kissed it and licked it. I felt a trickle run down over my asshole. I wanted to die.