2 comments/ 76215 views/ 7 favorites Case #802120 Ch. 01 By: slave802120 Chapter 1: The Arrest "I wasn't drunk -- I only had two glasses of wine!" It's impossible for me to count the number of times I have repeated those words in the past week. I have said them over and over to everybody but nobody believes me. It was just two glasses of wine. Red wine. The Ambrosia of the ages; now the poison of our times. It's been five years since the White Slave Act of 2000 came into effect so there was no chance to plead ignorance. Not that a respectable woman like me would ever openly discuss the subject. But I knew about it. Everybody in town knew about it -- in the country. Everybody knew at least one woman who had been enslaved under the provisions of it but I never for so much as a second ever imagined I would be one of those women. Not me. Surely, not me. I have never broken the law in my life! Why, at the age of 43, would I risk everything and break the law? Especially the "public drunk enslavement" law. I can't believe I was so stupid. The bar I went to last Friday had a large, bold notice before you entered that warned "THIS IS A PUBLIC DRUNK ENSLAVEMENT BAR". It couldn't have been more plain a warning. Since the White Slave Act came out, I rarely drank so much as a single drink in a public place for fear of arrest, least of all in a bar. I never go to bars. Not in this day and age. They're just not my type of place and never have been. Not even before the year 2000, or B2K as it's now colloquially known. Why didn't I just go straight home after work, like I normally would do? I would never have gone to this bar if I hadn't let my boss (Nelson) talk me into it. He assured me it was just a regular bar and not one of the myriad of strip clubs that popped up like neon mushrooms over the past five years. He said this place had "ambience" and that it served a selection of fine wines. "All very European" he had said, and I believed him. Of course, it wasn't just me he invited. All the staff at the bookstore where I worked was invited. It was supposed to be a simple, social outing to celebrate a good month of sales. Some celebration it turned out to be. The bar was as Nelson had described. The refined elegance of a cellar-like room, warmly furnished and intimately lit with soft lights and candles. It appeared to attract an affluent crowd of predominantly older people and had wait staff dressed immaculately in black-and-white uniforms. In fact, it all made me feel like I was back home in England. The wine list, as Nelson had promised, included Californian reds as well as imported ones from Bordeaux and Spain. They even sold Verve Clique which I fondly remembered was called "Old Maid" by all the snobbish wealthy people I knew when I was growing up. In short, it seemed a world removed from the brash reality outside its doors. Nelson ordered two bottles of Old Maid for the table, and much as I would have enjoyed a glass, champagne has always gone straight to my head so I had him order me a glass of Shiraz instead. It seemed the safe option. The mood of our party was relaxed and jovial and the first glass of wine made me feel especially mellow and warm inside. A second glass was ordered for me, which I accepted without hesitation. I drank slowly and savored the taste. Sure, it was alcohol but it was expensive alcohol. It certainly wasn't the stuff "drunks" drink and with that thought in mind, I let Nelson buy me a third glass but on the proviso we ordered something to eat to go with it. I only had a sip of the third glass and then let it sit on the table while I waited for a cheese platter Nelson had ordered for everybody to share. I knew if I drank any more without food in my stomach, I would start to feel the effects of the wine. I knew this. But still, when Nelson called for a toast to celebrate our sales victory, I didn't decline the glass of champagne somebody poured for me. There were three toasts in all, including one for Jenny from the accounts department who announced she was pregnant. After all the clinks of glasses; the self-congratulatory praises and cheers; and the mouthfuls of sweet, bubbly good-cheer, I looked at the crystal flute in front of me and saw it was almost empty. A hot flush immediately came over me and my head began to swirl. I panicked. My memory of exactly what happened is a little hazy, but there's no way I would say I was "drunk". I've never been drunk in my life. Not ever. I was just a tiny bit tipsy. That's all. If only I had kept my mouth shut and not even mentioned how I felt. With still no sign of the cheese platter, I knew I had to do something to regain full control of my senses. Water was what I needed, but there wasn't any left on the table. I looked around for a waitress, but they were all busy elsewhere. Nelson even noticed my alarm and asked me what was wrong. The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them: I think I've had too much to drink. He gave me a concerned look but didn't say anything. I explained that all I needed was some water. Still he didn't say anything, but he stood and drew the attention of the barman. I really panicked now and felt like every eye in the room was on Nelson. On me. I wished for the floor to open up and swallow me. The barman rounded the bar and approached our table. "Yes?" he asked. "The lady needs a glass of water," Nelson said. I blushed and gave the barman a sheepish look. "I think she's had a little too much to drink," Nelson added. I was mortified. The blush of my face became a flush that burned hotly. I dared not look back again at the barman. My eyes burned and I felt sure they were now completely bloodshot. The barman didn't say another word. Instead, he quietly turned on his heel and returned to the bar. While he was away, I just sat there with my heart pounding furiously in my chest. Nelson appeared to be oblivious to the trouble I sensed he had now gotten me into. Nobody else at the table seemed aware of what was going on and their conversations swirled around me -- a fog of babble. It felt quite surreal. The barman finally returned, accompanied by two men. They were well dressed in dark suits, their faces smoothly shaved and expressionless. I knew even before they announced themselves they were officers from the Public Slave Office. I pretended everything was normal and desperately hoped somebody at the table would engage me in their conversation. None did. Attention slowly turned to the two men and the conversation around me fell silent. "That one," the barman said as he pointed to me. I stared intently at the almost empty champagne glass in front of me and cursed it under my breath. "Ma'am," one of them said. I tried to smile and look innocent. The guilt I felt was palpable. "Ma'am, please stand up," the second officer said. "Me?" "Yes. Please stand up." "Why? I haven't done anything --" "Ma'am, please stand up. That is an order." Other conversations at surrounding tables suddenly went quiet. I struggled to me feet. "See?" I asked after I finally stood straight. My knees felt like they would buckle at any moment. I and gave the two officers an uncertain smile. "How many drinks have you had?" the other asked. "Two. I've only had two glasses of wine, officer." The combination of guilt and dread made my mouth feel dry. The words came out slightly slurred, but still I persisted in trying to sound completely sober. "Two. That all I had," I babbled. A few strands of hair suddenly decided at that moment to spring free from the clip on my head. They fell across my left eye and just hung there, partially blocking my vision, which I realized was already slightly blurred. "We'd like you to accompany us to --" "It's OK officer. I'm OK, really I am," I said. One of my knees finally collapsed under me and I dropped with a thud back in my seat. More hair dropped over my face. There was a long pause. My work colleagues began to look nervously away from me -- distancing themselves from me, as if I had become a dangerous liability to them. There were murmurs of disquiet from others in the bar. I just sat there smiling stupidly -- idiotically -- and continued to mumble that I hadn't done anything wrong at all. "We'd like you --" "Look, really, I'm fine. I'm fine..." I interrupted, polite but I could already sense an argument developing -- and argument I knew I would surely lose. The people sitting either side of me suddenly parted to allow the two officers to flank me. "You're under arrest," one of them said as I was grabbed. "No! Why? I haven't done anything. I only had two glasses of --" "You're under arrest, pursuant to the White Slave Act of 2002, for being drunk in a public place." "And for resisting arrest," the other officer added. They dragged me inelegantly from the table; my feet peddled in the air above the floor as they carried me a short distance to the bar and pressed me against it. I protested as politely and calmly as I could, but they weren't listening. One arm and then the other pulled behind my back. Cold steel manacles locked around my wrists. One of the men had a hand pressed between my shoulder blades and kept me pinned to the bar while the other busied himself with another set of manacles. They snapped with a ratchet noise around my ankles -- a short chain between them limited my steps to six inches at a time when I was finally led, like a convict, from the bar. "There's nothing to see here folks," one of the officers said I they led me through the room. People weren't staring directly, but I could feel their eyes on me. The cool night air outside chilled my flushed face. A car marked with the sign "Public Slave Office" was parked outside and I was roughly bundled into the back seat of it. A short drive later and I was escorted into the processing center. The booking officer, like the two who had arrested me, seemed completely disinterested in listening to my claims of innocence and dismissed them with a "yeah, yeah, sure you are." He wrote down details -- my name and everything -- and finally, with a lecherous wink, indicated to the two officers that I was "all theirs." They shuffled me along a corridor, through two steel-barred gates, and into a small, windowless room. It could have been any "interview" room I'd seen in police dramas on television, except there was only a single, hard-backed wooden chair in the middle of the room. And a camera; a video camera on a tripod. "I'm going to remove the cuffs in a minute. Are you going to give us any trouble?" one of the officers asked. It seemed a totally absurd question to me. Of course I wasn't! But I gave a meek reassurance anyway. After the cuffs were removed, I was told to sit on the chair and face the camera. The second officer had already positioned himself behind it and started filming. "According to law, I will now read you the White Slave Act of 2000," the first officer said. He read slowly enough for me to understand the legalese and the gravity of the situation I was in. He gave particular emphasis to the section relating to being enslaved by order of a magistrate and made it clear that, if they formally charged me tonight, I'd face court the following morning. There was no mention of being bailed until that time, or even legal representation. I was reminded that, as part of the introduction of the White Slave Act of 2000, the judicial system was changed from an adversarial one to an inquisitorial one. This meant that, unlike in the past where I would have been presumed innocent, I would now be considered "guilty until proven innocent". My heart sank. The Slave Act had a number of provisions that permitted the accused to be summarily dealt with by the arresting officer or officers. I could, I was told, avoid court completely if I agreed to confess my guilt. He went on to explain that, if I chose this option, I would automatically be considered a "person of limited rights". It would be a temporary arrangement and full rights would be restored after the successful completion of my punishment. As it had been made so clear to me how dire the alternative was, I reluctantly agreed to be summarily dealt with by the two officers. "Good," the interrogating officer said. It was the first time I had seen any expression at all on his face, and it was one I could see revealed his perverse delight. "Let's begin. I have here a statement for you to read out loud for the camera." My hands trembled as I held the laminated card and quickly scanned the words I was to read. It was a pro-forma type of statement, written in simple English, which essentially was a confession to the crime of being drunk in a public place. After a moment of being allowed to prepare, I read through the statement and then handed back the card. The officer then read out a statement of his own -- one that accepted my testament as the truth and which declared that I was now a "person of limited rights". He concluded by turning to me and asking if I understood what that meant. I nodded and said "yes." "What's the number on the arrest sheet?" the officer asked his partner. "802120," he replied. "OK, slave 802120, strip." The sudden realization of his command sent a shiver through my body. He called me "slave" -- a title I had never considered beyond it being something somebody else might become. And he wanted me to undress. Right there and then, in front of both of them and the camera. I began with my shoes and removed them. My fingers hesitantly picked open the buttons of my dress. I had to stand to remove it, and it dropped silently to my ankles after I shrugged it off my shoulders. I stepped out of it and gently kicked it aside. It felt suddenly cooler in the room, standing there in my underwear and stockinged feet. My skin prickled with a rash of Goosebumps. The tight elastic waistband of my pantyhose rolled down over my hips and eventually to my ankles. I could feel a strange tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach as I removed them completely and then reached from the clip of my bra. The bra strap went suddenly slack around my ribs and I slipped it off my arms. I was alarmed when I noticed my nipples were stiffly aroused -- a fact I'm sure didn't go unnoticed. My thumbs hooked into my panties and, after a nervous moment of contemplation, I pushed them quickly down my legs and kicked them free of my feet. "Put your hands on your head, slave 802120." I had tried to keep my nudity covered with my hands, but the instruction was clear. My fingers locked together behind my head and I stood there, completely naked and trembling while the first officer collected my clothes from the floor. I watched silently as he bundled them up and deposited them into what looked like a laundry chute in the wall. The muffled sound of my shoes bouncing away down a metal duct confirmed it was a chute. "I think we should also charge her with creating an attractive nuisance," the second officer laughed from behind the camera. His partner also laughed and then sat on the wooden chair. "Over my lap, slave 802120," he said. I looked at him as he patted his lap. It didn't take long to guess what he intended to do. Spankings were something that I had grown up with, but they had never been as perverse as the one I felt I was about to receive. I draped my naked body across the officer's knees and wriggled into a balanced position. His hands, large, warm and strong, pulled me higher onto his lap and then, without warning, slapped my bare ass several times with hard, stinging blows. I gasped and tried to contain my noises for the first two or three, but once the yelps started, they got increasingly louder and more sharp. "Stop fussing!" the officer said, slapping me even harder to emphasize the point. "A big, soft ass like this -- I'm barely touching you." I felt embarrassed by the way he talked about my ass. It's largeness has always been something that I was very self-conscious of. He repeatedly slapped it until I was kicking my feet off the floor and squealing loudly. "Spread you legs, slave," he said when he finally stopped hitting me. I could feel his hand already trying to separate my thighs. My toes danced across the smooth vinyl floor as I inched my legs apart. "Further," he repeated a number of times. I spread my legs as widely as I could manage. "Is your pussy wet?" he asked. A breath stopped short in my throat. He slapped my ass really hard and then asked the question again. "No," I softly whispered. "No?" His fingers grazed lightly up between my legs and traced the furrow of my pussy. I shivered at his touch. It was so intimate -- so unexpectedly tantalizing -- that I felt an instant rush of arousal, but I tried to lie. "No." "No?" He slapped me several times again until I was kicking and squealing. "No!" I shrieked. "You know it's an offence to be untruthful to an officer of the Public Slave Office, slave 802120?" I remained silent as his hand now cupped my pubic mound and his thumb sensuously wriggled in search of my clit. He didn't have much trouble finding it as it had swollen in anticipation of receiving stimulation. In was impossible to hide the fact when he found it. I moaned softly and squirmed on his lap. "Answer the question, slave." "Yes," I mumbled. "What's that? I can't hear you?" "Yes!" I gasped as a bolt of delight tingled my clit. "So. Tell me the truth. You're pussy is wet, isn't it?" His thumb's motions against my clit were driving me insane with perverse pleasure. It was incredibly humiliating that he could have gotten such a reaction from me so quickly. "No," I finally said. It was now a deliberate lie told in a coy tone that I hoped would encourage him to continue. Instead, his hand suddenly disappeared from between my legs and a shower of stinging slaps rained down on my burning ass. "Tell. The. Truth!" he said with each slap. I bit my lip and remained silent, except for the occasional yelp if he hit the same place twice too quickly. The spanking stopped and his hand returned to my pussy. His fingers rubbed my clit while his thumb slipped easily into my pussy. It wriggled inside me, moving quickly in and out like a small cock. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to fight back a loud moan of pleasure. I couldn't, and the empty room reverberated with the noises of my uncontrollable delight. There was no holding back the orgasm that suddenly gripped all my senses and I gyrated my hips enthusiastically in response to his stimulations. I could hear them making crude comments -- a kind of verbal humiliation to punish me for my reactions. But, right before I could experience the wonderful all over shiver of a full climax, he stopped and told me to get on my feet. The effects of the wine had worn off, but I was still dizzy when I stood. I absently combed my messy hair with my fingers and watched as he removed his trousers and boxer shorts. His cock danced obscenely up from his loins and he sat down again on the chair. "Sit, slave 802120," he said, indicating his cock. I hesitated for a moment and then started to position myself straddled over his legs facing him. "Not that way. Turn around and face the camera," he said. I stepped away and turned around. As I backed myself into position I instinctively reached down between my legs to take hold of his cock. "No hands!" he barked. "Put them on your head." I placed them on my head and cautiously lowered my ass until I felt his cock close to my pussy. There was a point where I couldn't stop from sitting completely, and I collapsed onto his lap -- his hard cock impaling me in one swift, smooth action. My toes could barely touch the floor and my entire weight now rested on his lap. The sensations of his rigid cock inside me took away my breath. He began to grope my breasts with his hands, finding my stiff nipples and twisting them firmly between his thumbs and forefingers. I wriggled my hips and squirmed to enjoy the full pleasure of his cock. Case #802120 Ch. 01 The officer filming stepped out from behind the camera and removed his trousers. I was in such a state of delirious rapture I could barely focus my eyes on him, but his cock was large and firm also. He approached and waved it under my nose. "Suck it, slave," he said as he forced the tip between my lips. I moaned softly and tried to relax as his cock pressed into my mouth. My tongue lashed the underside of his cock's thick head and explored the slightly salty tasting texture of it. "Use your hands," he said. "Masturbate me until I cum in your mouth!" I glanced briefly up at him -- a misty-eyed look that was a mix of humiliation and guilt -- and then took his solid cock gently between my two hands. My head bobbed slowly as my hands stroked and caressed his cock. The other officer's hands roamed from my breasts to my pussy. His fingers again found my clit and his touch instantly animated me. I moaned loudly and squeezed the cock in my hands. I could taste pre-cum in my mouth and my tongue poked and prodded in search of its source. "Don't you cum yet, slut," the first officer's voice resounded hotly into my ear. But it was too late already. I sucked furiously on the cock in my mouth and reveled in the sensations of the cock grinding up into my pussy. The fingers on my clit rubbed in a frenzied manner, driving me wild. "Are you cumming?" the other officer asked. "Mmmmmmmmm!" I moaned agreeably. Suddenly, my mouth flooded with a gush of hot, thick slime from his cock. I swallowed -- gulping quickly so as not to drown in the sea of it. His hands gripped the side of my head and his hips jerked his cock roughly and deeply into my mouth so I couldn't pull my mouth away, even if I'd wanted to. "Are you cumming, slut?" the officer with his cock in my pussy asked. He sounded angry. "Mmmmmmmm!" I moaned again. I could feel his hips jerking up off the seat and bounced like a rag doll on his lap for a few moments. The cock in my mouth quickly lost some of its rigidity and then withdrew. A small amount of cum mixed with saliva dribbled from the sides of my mouth. "Get up!" I was roughly pushed up off the first officer's cock. "Suck my cock!" he demanded. I could see his cock was glistening with my pussy juices and the thought of having to taste them alarmed me. But I slowly dropped to my knees and gingerly took his cock into my mouth. I did my best to blot the taste sensations from my mind and sucked and swallowed until all I could taste was the saltiness of his cock. A moment later, it erupted in my mouth. I swallowed most, but there seemed to be an endless amount of it -- much more cum than from the other officer. And it tasted different. It was a very pungent taste -- not strangely sweet like the other. It was also thicker and despite the endless amounts of my own saliva that formed to swallow the stuff, much of it still felt like it stuck to the back of my throat. He finally grabbed my hair and pulled my face out of his crotch. My vision was completely blurred and it took several seconds to clear enough to focus on him. I'm not sure why, but I expected to see him smiling. He wasn't. He had a dark, thunderous look on his face. "I told you not to cum before me, slave 802120," he said. I stared blankly up at him. "You were warned, but still you disobeyed. For that, I'm going to report that the summary execution of your punishment failed. You'll be taken down to the holding tank and will face the magistrate in the morning. Now, get up." I was stunned. "No! Please, no!" I whimpered as he dragged me to my feet by my hair. But that was that. My mind reeled in terror as I was again shackled and led out of the room, naked, back down the corridor to face the desk sergeant. There, I was formally charged with the two crimes I'd been arrested for plus two additional charges of "inadequate cock-sucking abilities." It was a nightmare and it was only just beginning. Case #802120 Ch. 02 Chapter 2 – Charged The arresting officers escorted me back to the foyer of the Public Slave Office and left me there, standing naked and shackled before the desk sergeant. There was some commotion as other officers entered from the street dragging a young girl by chains attached to a collar around her neck. She was screaming at them in Spanish -- really screaming, like a banshee -- and frantically trying to kick out and punch the arresting officers. Once they got her in through the doors, she stiffened her legs, like a dog resisting a bath, but her high heels provided no grip on the marble floor and she skidded effortlessly into the foyer. My blood curdled at the high-pitched sounds of her wailing and, though I felt some sympathy for her, it seemed clear from the looks of her cheap dress, tattoos and piercings that she was a hooker. "Will somebody gag that bitch!" the desk sergeant grumbled. I watched him nervously as he reached into his desk and pulled out a sinister looking black leather hood. He threw it over to one of the officers who had arrested me and, with a little bit of assistance from his partner, he wrestled it onto the girl's head and zipped it tightly closed and secured it with a padlock. She could still be heard, but her screaming had at least been muffled enough that I could clearly hear the desk sergeant. "Right," he said. "Hmm, I see you have accumulated a couple of new charges already, hmm?" Swallowing cleared a knot of embarrassment from my throat but I and could still taste the lingering saltiness of cum in my mouth. I wriggled my fingers behind my back and curled my toes. Being reminded of the humiliation I had just endured caused a little tingle to ring through my clit. "Phil," the sergeant called to one of my arresting officers. "What's wrong with, um (he had to check my file number) -- what's wrong with slave 802120's cock sucking?" The loudness and the embarrassment of the question about me made me shudder involuntarily. "Nothing," a voice came back from behind me. "But she cums too quickly." The desk sergeant raised an eyebrow at me and smirked. "Yeah," Phil said after he moved to stand beside me. "And she loves the taste of cum too. She sucked our balls dry and swallowed the lot!" His comments would have disgusting enough if they had been made about the hooker, still struggling to escape the officer who now had her almost subdued. But he was talking about me! My head slowly shook from side to side to deny what he was saying. His partner was now standing next to me as well, and one of the other officers moved around to look me up and down. "She does?" the third officer asked. "Oh yeah!" Phil said. "Do you see any cum on her, Al? There's none on the floor of the interview room either. Swallowed the lot, she did. Every last drop." The officer standing in front of me unbuckled his belt, unzipped and pushed his trousers to the floor. There didn't seem to be anywhere for me to look except down at his cock, and it was large but not very aroused. "Let's see how good she is then," he laughed and I was pushed to my knees. "Do you want me to take off her cuffs, Al?" Phil asked. "No, I want her to make me cum using nothing more than her mouth," Al replied. I reluctantly pressed my face close to his cock and caught the tip of it in my mouth. Its semi-flaccid state felt unusual, although this made it easier to completely fill my mouth with it, right down until his pubic hairs tickled my nose. I rolled the tip of it around with my tongue and gently squeezed it by pressing the spongy shaft against the roof of my mouth. It was sort of like munching a jelly sausage but without using my teeth. After a few minutes of slurping and sucking without effect, I felt the first signs of his cock stirring to life. It was almost imperceptible at first, except I noticed a slight swelling and firming of it and now, when I pressed my face hard into his crotch, I could feel it prodding right at the back of my mouth. It also felt like it was rising in elevation, having gone from a downward, drooped pitch to more of a angle perpendicular to his thighs. Except for the occasional muffled grumble from the Spanish hooker and my nostrils noisily sucking air, the foyer was silent. All eyes were on me, including the desk sergeant who now had moved from around his desk to have a closer view. I closed my eyes again and concentrated on sucking. Unlike my two arresting officers, this one remained passively still and left me to bob my mouth on his cock. I felt an odd sense of annoyance at this, and whimpered my frustrations -- softly at first, but with an increasing pitch that I hoped could be heard without being too obvious. His cock continued to swell in length and expand, but there was still a softness about it that made me think there was a long way to go before he'd be fully erect. My thoughts were focused on what I was doing and so I didn't immediately know who had just entered the foyer through the front door behind me, but there was something -- call it intuition -- that suddenly snapped me back to reality. I opened my eyes briefly and glanced sideways just as my husband appeared. "What the --!" I froze solid, paralyzed by the shock of seeing him -- of him seeing me, with my mouth stuffed with cock. "Can I help you?" the desk sergeant asked. "Keep sucking, slut," Al said. He jerked his hips and pumped his cock deep into my mouth to get my attention. I could feel my whole body burning up with embarrassment. I continued to stare helplessly up at my husband. His eyes remained locked on mine. They were as wide as saucers and unblinking for a long moment. "That's my wife!" he finally said, spitting the words out in an incredulous tone. "What's going on?" My husband was the last person in the world I could think of who would become hysterical, but that's what he sounded like. I can't even describe it exactly except to say he sounded completely dumbstruck. "Your wife?" The desk sergeant didn't sound at all concerned. "Well mister, as you can see, your -- wife -- is busy sucking cock at the moment." "I ... I ... I can see that! But -- why --?" "She was arrested and charged earlier tonight for being drunk in a public place, and for resisting arrest." "Drunk? Resisting arrest?? I don't believe it! Ingrid?" My husband just stood there with his jaw hanging open, giving me the most incredulous look. A sad, disbelieving look that filled me with guilt. "And for being a useless cock sucker," Phil added. His wry laugh peppered the silence. "There's nothing you can do tonight. She'll be locked up in a holding tank and will appear before a magistrate in the morning," the desk sergeant said. While all this was going on, Al's cock in my mouth had been growing larger and more solid. Its girth had expanded to the point where it physically forced my mouth open wide and made my jaw ache. "What about a lawyer?" my husband asked; his tone slightly more calm. "Oh yeah. Get yourself a good lawyer, mister. If she's convicted tomorrow, which is highly likely, the court will seize all her assets. You should go home now and get --" "Seize assets?" my husband interrupted. "If you'll let me finish please," the desk sergeant grumbled. "Get yourself a good lawyer and get your financial and property affairs in order. Anything you own jointly could be sold up by the court." "You've got to be kidding me?" My husband's voice became shrill again. "Listen shithead! I'm doing you a favor here!" the desk sergeant said. "A favor? Where the fuck am I going to find a lawyer this late on a Friday night?" "That's not my problem, pal. Sort it out yourself. Now, get the fuck out of my station before I have you arrested." My eyes began to burn, but the tears refused to flow. Nobody had ever spoken to my husband like that before. He's such a strong man and just doesn't take that from anybody. But I could see he was powerless in the situation. This was the law he was dealing with -- the government -- and there wasn't a thing he could do. I gave him a look that I hoped reassured him we'd get through all this. He just stared at me -- the blood drained from his face and with a pathetic, hangdog look of defeat -- before walking slowly from the foyer. Case #802120 Ch. 03 Chapter 3 - Mug Shots My thoughts were still on my husband when the cock in my mouth finally discharged. At first, I wasn't even fully conscious of the fact he was ejaculating because there wasn't a lot of fluid -- just a sudden increase in the saltiness of my saliva. I sucked slightly harder and prepared myself for a blast of gushing jism, but it didn't happen. Officer Al was now jerking his hips a bit, and I could tell by his low, throaty growls that he was in the throes of pleasure, but that was it. There was maybe fifteen seconds of this and then he pushed my forehead back and withdrew his cock. "Whatd'ya think, Al? Did she make you cum?" Phil asked. "Yeah. A bit." "Only a bit?" "Well," Al paused while he pulled up his trousers. "I had already cum three times tonight. She was lucky to get anything at all from my balls!" All the men laughed loudly. I just felt numb. "What about you, Sarge? You want to empty your balls too?" Phil asked, turning to the desk sergeant. "Yeah, but not now. I've gotta get Miss Tijuana over there processed before I finish my shift." He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the wall -- 11:45pm. The girl in the leather hood made no sound or anything to suggest she even heard him. "OK then. Well, I'm outta here," Phil said. He turned to leave but suddenly stopped, as if he'd suddenly forgotten something. "Brad!" The officer in charge of the hooker laughed. "Yes, Phil?" "Do -- you -- want to fuck this slut's face before we lock her up for the night?" "Thanks man, but I've got to process this bitch first, and she's been such a fucken cunt to bring in that I'm saving myself to fuck her ass good and proper!" The officers all laughed at this, like there was some secret joke going on between them. I didn't care and was too tired to try and guess what was going on. All I wanted to do was get off my knees and have the booking process finished. Officer Brad and Al then jerked the hooker's leash and dragged her toward the corridor that led to the interview room. I watched silently as she tripped and stumbled blindly behind them -- her screaming protests reactivated but mumbled behind the mask. "On ya feet, slave 802120," the desk sergeant said. I struggled to obey his command, but the short chain between my ankles made it exceedingly difficult. With much effort, I eventually got to my feet and shuffled behind the desk sergeant as he led me into a small room behind his desk. "Stand against the wall," he said, indicating a brightly painted wall with height markers on it. "Mug-shot time." I remained expressionless as he snapped Polaroid photos of me standing against the wall -- full frontal; in profile; and finally from behind. When I thought he was done I started to turn back to face him, but he ordered me not to move. I stood there facing the wall for what felt like an eternity, no longer sure whether or not he was even still in the room. I was about to sneak a look over my shoulder when he suddenly reappeared behind me. He tied a black satin scarf as a blindfold around my head and knotted it tightly. I felt momentarily unsteady on my feet in the darkness but eventually a sense of balance returned. Not being able to see what he was doing made me feel uneasy, although the sound of the Polaroid clicking and whirring again at least provided a clue. I'd hear a few shots and then he'd reposition me, turning me this way and that until I could no longer remember which way I was facing. He didn't say anything, but if I concentrated really hard, I could hear him breathing. The sound of keys rattling caught my attention. I sensed him close behind me and then felt his hands at my ankles. The manacles around them were unlocked and removed, followed by the ones securing my wrists behind my back. I heard them drop with a clunk on the floor. "Put your arms out," he said from a position uncomfortably close behind me. "Place your hands on the wall and assume the position." I knew what he meant, and my pulse quickened a beat. I reached out cautiously until I could feel the wall in front of me and placed the palms of my hands against it. Pushing myself slowly away, I stepped back until I was a full arm's length away from it and then took a couple of small, tentative steps that forced me to lean forward. "Spread your legs," he whispered. I inched my feet apart on the floor. "I need to check you for contraband," he said. I drew in a quick, short breath when his hands lightly slid across my shoulders and up into my hair. He combed his fingers through it in a manner that I thought was more for pleasure that business. Satisfied I wasn't hiding anything there, his hands drifted back down to my ribs. They slipped slowly around and eventually cupped my breasts, which he then proceeded to softly grope. "You're very easily aroused." His voice was hot and moist on my shoulder as he gently tweaked my nipples. I held my breath. He was still dressed, but I could feel the hard bulge of his erection in his trousers pressed against my pussy. "Answer me," he said. "I'm not sure," I mumbled meekly. "Sure you are. The other officers said you are. What did Phil say? He said you cum very quickly. Yes, that's what he said." I could feel my face blushing. His thumbs were toying with my nipples, flicking them until they were tensely swollen with signs of my arousal. I attempted a denial but it didn't sound convincing; not even to me. He continued teasing my nipples and discreetly rubbing his cock mound against my pussy. Eventually, the warmth of his body against mine lifted and his hands disappeared from my breasts. The next sensation I became aware of was his fingers now down between my legs, lightly feathering the outer lips of my pussy. I gasped. The scent of my arousal suddenly filled my nostrils and made me acutely aware of how close to orgasming I had become. His fingers -- first one, and then another, pressed effortlessly up into my moist pussy. I was already on standing on the balls of my feet and couldn't climb any higher to escape when I felt him scissoring his fingers in my pussy. He gently stretched and manipulated my vagina for a few moments and then eased a third finger into me. They squirmed and twisted before a fourth finger ultimately joined them. "Just relax," he said. My breaths were shallow and rapid as I felt the back of his other hand pushing up the inside of my left thigh. I could feel him wriggling the fingers of this hand as if trying to bring them together in prayer in my stretched pussy. He was starting to hurt me, but I had no idea how to tell him to stop. His thumbs came together and wriggled between my ass cheeks, which he then spread obscenely. I could feel him holding them spread and then his hot breath close to my anus. "Oh my god!" I gasped under my breath. His tongue, wet and ticklish, began lashing my puckered anus. It was a thoroughly revolting thought to think what he was doing, but at the same time it felt so ticklish I had to choke back a fit of giggles. The four fingers of both his hands now packed my pussy, buried completely in me as he tongued my ass. The sound of his noisy slobbering against my ass was disgusting, but still the giggles bobbled up inside me. It was so perverse; so bizarre. I squirmed and wriggled, not to escape but to spread my legs just that little bit further. Occasionally his touch would really touch a pleasure-sensitive nerve and I'd throw my head back and moan loudly. I felt so ashamed of myself; so dirty and disgusting. "You like having your ass played with?" he asked. I dared not answer but my giggles betrayed me. His tongue continued its assault and pressed hard like a freakish cock against my anus. I shivered all over and burst into fits of unstoppable laughter. "OK then, if it's in the ass you want --" His fingers suddenly withdrawing from my soaking pussy made a vulgar slurping sound that shocked me and reduced my laughter to a few sporadic breathless chuckles. I was still blindfolded, but I could hear him remove his trousers and, judging by the time he took, his shirt as well. An icy coldness then dribbled into the crack of my ass. I could feel him spreading my cheeks again while the lube trickled toward my anus. He pressed the nozzle of something directly against my tingling anus and then I felt a sudden burst of cold slipperiness. The next thing I sensed was his cock, blindly prodding up between my thighs in search of my ass. Once found, he inched closer between my spread legs and seated the tip of his cock against my tightly tensed sphincter muscle. His wasn't a large cock, although it was definitely large enough and hard enough to take away my breath when it finally broke past my resistance. I panted and gasped; my ass burning with the heat of friction as his cock pressed deep into my ass. He reached around and grabbed my breasts and hugged me tight. Stars began to flash in my darkness. His body pressed tight against my back while his hips rocked behind me, slowly fucking my ass with a steady rhythm of short, sharp strokes. I could tell by his erratic breathing that his excitement was escalating at an exponential rate. He bucked hard against my ass and began grunting obscenities into my ear. His fingers pinched my nipples very hard, stretching and pulling them to the rhythm of his fucking. He kept repeating how tight my ass was -- how good it felt on his cock. "I'm gunna cum! I'm gunna cum!" he grunted as his hip thrusting increased to a crescendo. "I'm gunna cum in you ass, you slut!" His cock was really burning and stinging my sore, tortured anus and I became desperate to have him stop. There was no way to escape from my position between him and the wall without collapsing and possibly having him do my ass serious damage, so I started mumbling him the same sorts of obscene encouragements he'd given me. "Your. Cock. Feels. Good. In. My. Ass." I timed my words for his thrusts and gasped after each one. Even though the pain was becoming unbearable, I tensed my ass muscles and tried to hold his cock still. "Cum! Cum now!" His grunted sounds became unintelligible, sounding half-animal and half like an infant whimpering a high-pitched tone. He jerked and spasmed his entire body against mine as if having an epileptic seizure. And then he suddenly stopped. I held my breath for a moment and tried to orientate my senses to what was going on. A sensation of warmness suddenly filled me somewhere deep inside. It was a wonderful, out-of-this-world type of sensation that at first I thought I was imagining. But it was very real. It was his cock, still buried deep in my ass, filling my ass with his hot jism. He hugged be tight and remained motionless for a few seconds and then, after three quick thrusts of his hips, slowly pulled his spent cock all the way from my ass. The suction of it felt like it was going to suck out my innards and I shrieked as the tip of his cock finally popped out of my tortured sphincter. Hearing the sound of a gassy, quiet fart as my ass tried to readjust to its normal size was the final indignity. Surely, it couldn't get any worse than this? Case #802120 Ch. 04 Case #802120 - Part 4 - Awaiting Trial I barely got a wink of sleep that first night in the holding tank. Throughout the night, guards rattled keys and cell doors opened and closed with crashing loud clangs. From time to time there was the sound of women screaming. Or sobbing. Or both. I was locked in a cell by myself, which was perhaps the one small piece of good fortune I had received since I was arrested. It provided me with a small piece of privacy inwhich to evacuate the stomach-cramping cum enema the desk sergeant had given me when he fucked my ass. I spent the night naked on a narrow, metal-framed single bed. Its lumpy mattress smelled putrid with the stench of stale purfume and various dried bodily fluids that stained it. The graffiti on the walls looked like it had been scrawled by mental patients. When morning did finally come, it was signalled by a deafeningly loud buzzing sound piped through speakers in the ceiling. From the moment it sounded, there was an instant commotion -- a buzz of activity with everything from renewed screaming and wailing to guards barking orders and chains rattling. The sound of the chains was distant at first, but soon I watched as a procession of naked young women, some barely out of their teens, shackled together and being led down the corridor outside my cell. An unshaven man wearing dark blue coveralls with a Girls Gone Wild logo on the back followed behind, prodding the slower moving girls with what looked like an electric cattle prod. Eventually, a guard carrying a clipboard came to my cell and told me to stand beside my bed. I immediately did as I was told and then watched as he unlocked the door to my cell. "Time for your shower, 802120," he announced. The shower block was already filled with steam and a dozen or so other naked women of all ages and sizes grouped under an array of shower nozzels that spouted from the ceiling like a surrealist candelabra. "Be quick," he grumbled before leaving me alone with the other women. The warm water felt so good and I just stood under it for a long while with my eyes closed and letting it wash over me. I was virtually oblivious to the other women until one of them bumped me with her hip. I opened my eyes and saw she was a short girl, maybe 30 years old, and rather plump all over. But it was her eyes that most caught my attention. They were the brightest green eyes I had even seen and they had a look that sparkled, but which felt slightly sinister as well. She curled up her lips into a cattish grin and stared straight at me. "I'm sorry," I apologized for apparently being in her way. When I tried to step aside, she stepped in the same direction. I apologized again and stepped the other way. She followed. A growing sense of alarm really rang loudly when I realized others had started to gather in a circle around me. I smiled nervously and nodded more apologies. The guard who has escorted me to the showers was nowhere to be seen, but I saw what appeared to be one of the other inmates watching for his return. "Don't scream or we'll mess you up, real bad," the green-eyed girl snarled at me. Naked female bodies closed in around me, blocking every possible avenue of escape. My polite apologies became frantic pleas, begging to be left alone. Hands started reaching for me. I was soaking wet, but I not soapy and the tight grips of their hands didn't slip when they grabbed my wrists and arms. I struggled desperately as yet more hands grabbed me by the ankles and I was lifted and carried to a low, narrow bench seat away from the spray of the showers. They lowered me down onto my back and kept tight grips on my arms and legs, holding me spreadeagled while the green-eyed girl stalked me. I craned my head up to watch as she circled, finally to stop between my spread legs. The hungry look in her eyes was unmistakable. "Please!" I whispered loudly, trying to remain calm and reasonable. "I'm not a --" "Not a -- what --?" she asked sarcastically. "A dyke?" There was a really ugly, threatening tone in the way she said it. "No. I mean, I didn't mean it like that." I struggled to find any word that would appease her. "You're saying that you're not a dyke, but that I am?" Other women watching laughed. "The prissy English bitch is calling me a dyke!" the green-eyed girl laughed and looked to the others to solicit disapproving remarks. "Please!" I whimpered, not knowing how I could apologize enough. "Please? OK. Since you asked so nicely," she shrugged and unexpectedly started talking in a very pleasant tone. She said it to mock me and I watched helplessly as she slowly crawled up between my spread legs. I squirmed and struggled but the hands holding me had me trapped. Sight of the green-eyed girl's head disappeared between my thighs so that all I could see was her eyes and the mop of dark red hair on her head. Her face pressed up against my pussy and her mouth clamped tightly over my clit. I gasped in horror as her tongue started assaulting my clit mercilessly, striking fear into my heart and a breathtaking pleasure into my clit. My fingers balled into small fists and I curled and stretched my toes when her mouth, like a vacuum, sucked my clit hard. I threw my head back and bumped it hard on the wooden bench, but I couldn't feel any sensation other than my clit being drawn fully into her mouth. My head tossed from side to side and I bit my lower lip hard to hold back the scream of perverse delight that rose from the depths of my being. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!" I whimpered and prayed to be released before my senses were battered with an orgasm. I repeated my prayer over and over until the words all melded into one long blur of an emotional shriek of rapture. Every muscle in my body tensed against the onslaught. Laughing faces above me swirled in my unfocussed vision. When my clit was released from her powerfully sucking lips, it was only so she could bury her tongue into my pussy and tongue fuck me. She alternated back and forth between her two targets until at last, she slithered up from between my legs and onto my body. Hands continued to hold me while her tongue licked a trail up from my pussy, over my breasts and ultimately up the side of my neck. I turned my face away, fearing she was about to try and kiss me, but it was my ear she was after. The tip of her tongue squirmed against my ear, causing instant rashes of ticklish goosebumps to break out all over my body. And then she started nibbling my ear lobe. When she wasn't biting me, she whispered horasely into my ear -- "I'm going to fuck you!" It sounded all the more threatening because I'd never heard a woman say such a thing -- to another woman. "Are you ready?" she cooed in my ear. I didn't say anything but just tried to keep my mouth away from hers. "Hmmm ... you feel that?" At first I couldn't feel anything at all except for the weight of her body pinning me to the bench and the hands holding my wrists and ankles. I stopped struggling for a second to try and figure out what she was saying. And then I felt it. It felt like a large cock sliding into pussy. The look of shock on my face must have been visible for all to see, because she grinned and evil grin and then resumed nibbling and tonguing my ear. "Fuck me back!" she whispered in a perversely seductive tone. I felt my wrists and ankles being released, but I was still trapped under the weight of her body. "Fuck me back. Come on, hug me properly and fuck me back!" The bench wasn't wide enough for me to rest my arms on and so I felt I really didn't have any choice. I cautiously wrapped my arms around her shoulders and held onto her as the cock in my pussy rhythmically stroked deeply in and out. "Your legs. Wrap your legs around me and fuck me back!" I began to forget it was a woman fucking me. I slowly raised my knees and crossed my ankles behind her back. This clearly pleased her and she nuzzled my neck affectionately as the cock continued to pump my pussy. Her hands slid up and cupped the sides of my head. I resisted at first as she tried to bring my face around to meet hers, but she was strong and I lost the urge to fight. Her face, being so close to mine, nolonger looked as hard and unpleasant as it had a short while earlier. Her lips puckered and pressed lightly against mine, which remained sealed but not tightly so. It was more of a reflex action at first, but my lips slowly softened to meet hers. Her tongue shot out and lightly probed the inside of my mouth in search of my tongue. I accepted it passively for a brief moment and detached from her kiss. She kissed me again a couple of times like this -- just short, tongue interludes -- before my tongue cautiously flicked back to meet hers. She moaned her delight and squirmed on me as my pussy was sensuously ravished with a cock. "Are you going to cum for me?" she whispered when she wasn't kissing me. I was in such a dreamy state of pleasure that I immediately promised I would do anything she wanted me to do. The kissing resumed and the tempo of the cock in my pussy increased. Her breathing fell into rhythm with mine and I began bucking my hips up to meet the thrusts of the cock. "Tell me when you're cumming -- I want to cum with you," she hissed into my ear. "Mmmmm ... soon!" I said honestly. She stopped kissing me and started squirming on top of me. "I'm so close!" I panted. "Just a little bit --" "Guard!" a lookout cried across the room. I didn't properly hear the warning or realize what was going on until the green-eyed girl suddenly jumped off me and left me squirming alone on the wooden bench. The circle of women quickly broke from around me and rushed back to the shower. I could still feel cock in my pussy and I struggled to my elbows so I could look between my legs. By the time I realized what it was inside me, the escort guard was almost across the room. His eyes were trained directly on me and the dildo protrucing obscenely from my pussy. It wasn't like any dildo I had ever seen. It looked like a giant, think pink snake, about 18 inches long and with a thick head at each end. I could feel the blood rushing from my face -- the shock at being caught by the guard in "flagrante delicto", as if I had been lying there masturbating with it instead of having my shower. He reached down, pulled it unceremoniously from my wet pussy and waved it in my face. "Shower. You have 2 minutes!" he said sternly. I quickly rolled off the bench and rushed to return to the shower with the others. Their sniggering was still resounding in my ears right up until my moment in court. Case #802120 Ch. 05 Part 5 - The Trial My clothes were returned to me after my shower and I was allowed to wear them when I was transported from the holding tank cell to the courthouse. Once there, and after my details were added to the day's trial list, I was escorted into a small room and had my shackles removed. The Saturday morning sunshine streamed into the room and I could see people outside doing everyday things. Except for the bars on the windows, and the fact I was at the courthouse and not at home, everything almost felt perfectly normal after the bizarre events of the previous 12 hours. I was staring absently out the window when a court orderly announced the arrival of my husband. He was accompanied by a man he introduced as Paul Rosin -- an attorney who would defend me in court. I embraced my husband tightly and didn't want to let him go, but there wasn't much time and there was a lot to discuss. Mr Rosin did most of the talking and my husband nodded a lot. I mostly just sat there listening and trying to absorb everything. Mr Rosin also read my husband the whole White Slave Act of 2000, just as it had been read to me the previous night. The densely worded legal jargon still didn't make a lot of sense to me, but Mr Rosin appeared to understand it all, so I felt a little more comfortable and confident. "Now, one question before we begin," Mr Rosin said. He directed it at me. "Did you undergo a blood test?" "A blood test?" "A blood-alcohol reading?" "No," I replied. "Should I have?" "Well, it could certainly have helped to prove our case if you had. Assuming, of course, that it could have shown a low reading. How many drinks did you have?" "Two. I only had two glasses of wine!" Mr Rosin began scribbling notes in a pad. For the first time since my arrest, I felt like somebody actually believed me. "Two glass. Wine. Red or white?" he asked. "Red," I replied confidently. "Standard sized glasses?" "Yes, I think so." "Anything else?" The smile on my face sort of froze when I remembered the champagne. "Well, I had some champagne for the toasts," I said. Mr Rosin continued to scribble without looking up. "How many toasts?" "Um, three. No wait! Four. Um, three --" Mr Rosin peered up over the silver rim of his glasses. "Three or four? It's important that you know." "Three. It was definitely three," I said firmly. I actually remembered now it had been four, but I thought it was only a small lie and nobody would know anyway. Mr Rosin went on to ask a lot of other trivial questions about the events of yesterday that led up to my arrest. I answered them all as best I could remember and was eager to tell him all about the perverse things the arresting officers had done to me, but he closed his book and told me flatly that none of that was relevant to my case. "It's not? But ... but that's so unfair!" I whined. "Let me put it this way for you, Ingrid. Right now you are facing two very serious charges: being drunk in a public place and resisting arrest. Either one of those on their own, if convicted, could result in you being enslaved. We need to deal with this issue first before we start making very serious accusations against the police. OK?" I could physically feel a sense of defeat crushing me. "Yes. Yes, I understand..." I said solemnly. "Good. I'll see you in court," Mr Rosin smiled, rose from the table and pressed a buzzer near the door to page a court orderly. "It's OK," my husband said as he hugged me again. "It's going to be OK." I hugged him tightly and pressed the side of my face against his chest. I could hear his heart beating. It was a fast, unsteady rhythm that betrayed his outwardly confident assurances. Time passed slowly after my husband and Mr Rosin left the room but eventually, the door opened again. Two uniformed guards from the Public Slave Office entered and reshackled me in steel manacles before I was shuffled to the courtroom. I nervously glanced around the room at the judge's bench, the 12 empty jury seats, and the small public gallery behind the prosecution and defense tables. Two bailiffs were casually chatting at the back of the room and a third came over to take custody of me after my shackles were again removed. The wait before everybody arrived seemed interminable. "All rise," a bailiff called for attention. "Case number 802120 in the county court of Eastlake; judge Travis T. Walters presiding." The trial, such as it was, lasted about 30 minutes. Throughout it I sat nervously fidgeting and listening as witnesses for the prosecution took the stand and, under oath, made statements about me that were totally untrue. I desperately want to call out my denials of what they were saying, but Mr Rosin quietly patted my thigh and warned me to keep quiet and calm. The two officers each told identical stories -- that they'd received a call to the bar at around 8.45pm where they found me "intoxicated and causing a disturbance." They cited witnesses, including my boss, Nelson, the barman and several patrons who would testify to this. They also asserted that I became aggressive toward them when they tried to speak to me and that I had to be physically restrained by them when they arrested me. I had never heard such bare faced lies before. The judge, for his part, sat casually in his chair tapping a pencil against his chin as he listened. Occasionally he'd look in my direction to frown and shake his head. My own attorney inadvertently made things look even worse for me during cross-examination of my boss. He drew from Nelson a lot of good things about me, like how diligent I was at work and how he considered me to be "quiet and unassuming". When asked about the events at the bar he explained it was a low-key celebration at a respectable establishment. He'd said he'd ordered two bottles of champagne which were to be shared between everybody at our table. "Two bottles?" my attorney asked. "Yes. That's all. I figured that would be enough for everybody to have a glass each -- a modest amount that woudn't get anybody into trouble," Nelson said. "That sounds reasonable. And my client -- she had one glass like everybody else?" "Well --" Nelson faltered. "Either she did or she didn't, Mr Lucas," my attorney said. "Well, she was drinking red wine," Nelson said. He flashed me a brave smile. "How many glasses of red wine, exactly?" "Um, three." "Three?" My attorney threw me a sharp, annoyed look. "Yes. I bought her three glasses of red wine." My attorney asked the judge for a moment to speak with me. "You told me you only had two glasses!" he hissed at me quietly. "I did! He bought me three, but I only drank two of them!" He grumbled and resumed his cross-examination. "Very well Mr Lucas. Three glasses of red wine. But she didn't look to you like she was in any way affected by the wine?" "Well, um, you see --" "Just answer the question please, Mr Lucas," my attorney leaned against the witness box and gave the gallery a confident smile. "She told me she had too much to drink," Nelson mumbled. My attorney's expression of confidence collapsed. "That will be all, Mr Lucas," my attorney said, immediately trying to end his cross-examination. The judge wanted to hear him explain and of course Nelson, clearly under duress, told the judge how I had admitted to him that I thought I had too much to drink. But the most damning evidence of all was my own admission of guilt which had been video taped by the arresting officers. The tape of my confession was played for all to see, and that was that. The judge didn't hesitate at all when he finally announced, "Guilty!"