Part One
It started with how he looked at me. Sardonically, with this wry little smirk. Piercing blue eyes cutting through me like a knife. I couldn't get his face out of my mind.
I'm a clerk by profession, the go-to-pick-up -the-slack-make-sure- everything-goes-smoothly girl, and I try to keep my judge happy, running efficiently and on time.
It's not that I stopped being attentive when the new officer joined our courtroom team...I just had to try very hard to stay focused. God, that stare.
The day that it happened, I was wearing a tight white pencil skirt with a purple blouse. I'm very busty and my voluptuous breasts are hard to keep from peeking through the top, but I wore a blazer over it to hide my form.
No-one else was in the courtroom yet. It was just me and him. I knew he was watching me, and he knew I knew it. As I pretended nothing was happening, piling case files in order to match the day's schedule, testing the microphones, refilling the water pitchers, he just sat, stared, and smirked. It was a bit irritating, actually, and when he brushed past me causing the case files to fall onto the floor, I felt my blood boiling.
He grinned and said, "That was clumsy of you, wasn't it?"
I was already on edge and uncertain as to what he wanted. So I called him on it. I'm not one to mince words.
"Look," I said, "I know you're trying to get to me. What I can't figure out is why. That was a fucked up thing to do. I didn't drop the files. You did. And I'd appreciate if you quit being an asshole and helped me pick them up. Seriously, if you're interested in me or something, there's no need to behave like a grade-school boy with a crush. "
His face softened. It was almost like I had passed some kind of a test. At least, in my mind that's what I'd done. I mean, I'm just as starry-eyed as the next girl, but I'm not going to let some guy manipulate me and laugh at me just because he has captivating blue eyes.
But in the end, I did.
---
You see, he did help me pick up the files. So we were both kneeling on the floor, gathering the fallen items, and my breathing started to accelerate from my proximity to his body.
"I'm sorry for being an asshole," he said. "I shouldn't have acted so familiar. I can be a jerk to my friends in good fun, but I'll only ever be that way again if you say it's okay." With that, he stood up, gently trailing his fingers over my arm as I stayed kneeling on the floor. I felt shocked and confused, with goosebumps breaking out in waves that rippled in the wake of his touch.
"I think you're gorgeous," he said, looking down at me on the floor. "I have from the moment I walked in this room. I also see that you're honest and feisty, and I love that. I just have this feeling about you...I'm not looking for anything serious right now. Just a girl who will let me do my worst, test her limits, punish her and then reward her for her suffering. I'd be honored if that girl would be you."
Well I have to say, that was a first. I mean, I'd had guys be jerks, and I'd had them be sensitive, but certainly no-one had ever asked me to actually consent to the mistreatment.
He gave me my space while I pondered his proposition. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I had always loved the "bad boys." I just have hated the way they made me feel after the initial thrill subsided. But the promise of a reward to follow the punishment instantly brought wetness to my thighs. And at that moment, I decided that my clerk's job could use a little spice.
I looked him straight in his stunning blue eyes. "Okay officer," I said. "Do your worst."
----
Now I know he started out slow, but at the time it sure felt fast to me. The stenographer came into the room, quickly followed by the judge, and the officer went out to call the first case.
When the litigants arrived, I swore them in: "...Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" I had said that phrase a thousand times over, but I nearly forgot it because the officer kept his gaze fixed on my breasts. My nipples responded even as I finished the oath. I felt them tighten underneath my blouse, straining at the fabric.
The judge began to patiently devote himself to the litigants' droning, each of them describing the terrible things the other was doing, and why that other person was unfit for custody of their children (I work in family court, and spiteful co-parents are the worst). I think the only thing they stopped short of saying was that the opposition ought to have been sterilized. I tried to remain attentive and keep documents at the ready, while making sure I paid attention to the judge so I could type up his order at the end-usually I don't even need to listen to him. I almost always know which way he will rule.
The officer slowly made his way toward me, which on any other day would not have been unusual. It's quite common for the officer to work together with the clerk to run the courtroom. So no-one found it odd. The mere fact that no-one else suspected our game thrilled me. My entire body became rigid and tense, anticipating what was to come next.
Keeping his eyes on my breasts he leaned over toward me, warm breath on my cheek, and whispered, "I want you to act perfectly normal. I'm just talking to you about which case we should call next. Nod slightly if you understand, and if you are still willing to let me mistreat you." I nodded. The wetness between my thighs was spreading and I felt butterflies.
His tone changed, and what came next was not a statement but a command.
"Okay you fucking slut. Take off your panties."
I was shocked, yet not surprised. He stayed there beside me, looking at me demandingly. Very cautiously, I surveyed the room. My desk is right beside and a bit below the judge's. It's covered in front, so I'm only visible from the waist up. The litigants were facing me but also paying me no mind. They don't care about anyone but the judge. The stenographer faced away from me. The officer looked down at my skirt and waited.
I took a deep breath, checked one more time to make sure no-one was watching, and then reached up under my skirt to pull down my soaking panties.
"Give them to me," he ordered, and his voice took on a deep gruffness that had not been apparent in our earlier conversations. I held out my panties and he stuffed them in his pocket, then handed me a small white box. "Now, on our next break, I want you to take this into the bathroom. Open it up when you are in the stall. I want you to put them on as tight as you possibly can. It will hurt."
I felt an almost indecipherable combination of fear and anticipation, ignorant as to what the box could possibly contain.
At our next break, I excused myself as quickly as I could. Once in the bathroom, I headed straight to the handicapped stall and opened the box. I had never seen them before. The box contained two black scary-looking implements. They looked like tweezers with a circular binding. They had to be nipple clamps.
My breasts were still absurdly hard and tight, thrilled from the morning's entertainment. I applied one of the clamps to my right nipple and began to tighten. At first it felt pleasant. At about halfway it felt uncomfortable, and when I closed my eyes and tightened them all the way, my nipple protested so loudly I didn't think I could do it. But I did.
I repeated the steps with the second side, and sneaked a peek of myself in the mirror inside the stall.
My breasts fell undulating nearly to my waist. My throbbing nipples were much longer than normally appropriate. Clamped with the silver chain to connect them, I did not recognize myself.
I put my bra back on, followed by my purple blouse, and the fabric pressed against the clamps to make the pain almost unbearable, tweaking my nipples in different directions from all sides. I was once again a respectable clerk with my pencil skirt, top, and blazer. I felt mischievous. I also felt extreme pain.
I re-entered the courtroom in time to see the next pair of angry litigants entering. I stood to give them their oath, all the while trying to ignore the host of sensations coming from my chest.
My torture had begun.
PART TWO
Time passed by in a blur. I did my best to stay focused, but it seemed like every two minutes I caught a glance of the sheriff's officer, his gaze fixed on me, and it sent shivers down my spine and sparked a throbbing shudder deep in my groin. My lack of panties meant I was perpetually aware of the wetness pouring from between my legs, dripping onto my thighs and my skirt. I hoped to god the fabric was thick enough that I wouldn't have to do some thinking on my feet with the judge and my coworkers.
After about a half hour I was wincing every time I moved, and the officer strolled over to me casually.
"Anything wrong?" He inquired quietly, leaning over my desk, ever non-chalant.
I whimpered in response, "These things are hurting me."
"You know you can always request permission to remove them." I hadn't thought about that before, didn't know how these things worked.
"Okay," I said. "Can I remove them?"
"Can I remove them...?"
I wasn't sure what he wanted. "Please?" Suddenly I had to suppress a gasp. With his back to the litigants and the judge's attention turned away for a moment, the officer had grabbed the chain between the clamps and pulled. The movement was brutal and after thirty minutes of being squeezed to a point of total tenderness, the pain was overwhelming.
He saw my hurt expression and smiled sweetly. "Good. Now I think you'll remember. You will always call me Sir. You will address all requests to Sir, and you will call me that even when there are others watching. Now, what is it you wanted?"
Wounded, I mumbled, "Please can I remove them Sir?"
"Good slut," he said. "Yes, you may. And you may even put these back on." He handed me back my sodden panties, grinned, then turned and strode away without glancing back.
At the next possible opportunity, I bolted to the bathroom. It was with monumental relief that I removed the clamps, at which point I rubbed my breasts and my nipples with both hands until I finally felt the blood circulating normally again. I was in such a state of tension and distraction that it wasn't until my panties were back on that I looked down and noticed the writing: PROPERTY OF SIR. Holy fuck.
Well, today certainly wasn't going to be like every other day, that was a fact. It was with excitement and trepidation that I left the bathroom to see what the rest of the day would bring.
-----
Back in the courtroom, the judge was conferencing with his law clerk, and for once the room was free of belligerent litigants trying to ruin the lives of the people they had once sworn to love and cherish forever.
The officer smiled when he saw me and said low enough for only me to hear, "Ah, my property! How do your tits feel?" I refused to meet his gaze, and I got wetter as I got madder.
"Better now, Sir," I mumbled.
"Good, good! Be a dear and keep your gaze down at the floor in front of you, just like that. Never mind me. Oops!" Somehow he managed to fake a trip. I felt his hands and the cold hard edge of metal, something pulling at my legs and suddenly, a buzzing sensation directly between my legs.
As soon as he had begun, he finished, picking himself up from his "trip" in time to nod casually at the judge and stride back to his post by the rarely-used witness podium. The law clerk left and the officer called the next case.
The officer caught my eye only once, and mouthed, "DON'T LOOK DOWN." And so I was left to wonder what he had done to me, though I was sure the buzzing couldn't be anything but a vibrator left tantalizingly just out of reach.
Midway through Mr. and Mrs. Talks-too-much-but-don't-say-anything-interesting's custody battle, the missus requested to present her "proof" that her former spouse was an unfit father-Facebook photos of him sticking his tongue down the nanny's throat. I suppressed a yawn; people are always thinking that these things are evidence of everything, when really all they show is that the husband was banging the nanny. And that's it. Surprise! He still gets to be the father of her children! Anyway, the officer had chosen precisely that moment to step out of the courtroom, so I was the next in line to retrieve the papers. I began to rise from my desk...and found that I couldn't. My ankles were attached firmly to something. I wasn't sure what. But I couldn't move. The judge and the litigants stared at me as a blush began to fill my face.
"I'm sorry, your honor," I stuttered, "If you will just give me a moment." The seconds dragged on as I wracked my brain to figure out what to do, when suddenly the officer came back in and as though he had already known what was happening, grabbed the papers and walked them to the judge. I was livid.
On his way back to the post he sidled up beside me and whispered, "So cute when you're mad! Don't worry, I'll always come through in the end!" In response I merely glared at him.
His tone changed and he whispered, "You better watch yourself you whore. Unless you want me to exchange the vibrator...for this." He grabbed my hand and closed my fingers around a thick hard piece of plastic. "In fact, I think you'll be inserting this on your next bathroom break." He reached around the desk as if to grab a pen and pinched my thigh so hard my eyes teared. "Good slut," he smiled at me, "Try not to be too chained to your desk!" And with that he walked away.
I put my hand under the desk and stared. He had handed me a butt plug, and my ankles were handcuffed to a bar that was tied to my chair.
It wasn't even 11:00am yet. I might not survive the day, I thought, and let out a low whimper. The officer grinned. The case continued.
----
PART THREE
I'm not sure how he managed it, but the officer managed to enable me to stay chained, literally, to my desk, without getting up. Instead, I continued my normal tasks, typing and printing the orders, and the officer kept whisking said orders from the printer as though it was his job, not mine. No-one seemed to notice. The fact that everyone was going on around me as normal was positively thrilling, and despite my growing discomfort, my need to fidget, use the restroom, walk around, I grew wetter and wetter in the delicious secret-ness of it all.
After the officer called the next case, he placed a packet on my desk without looking at me and then walked away. If anyone had noticed (although in fact no-one did), they would have simply thought it was a case-related document, something to file, stamp, or otherwise tediously process.
In fact it was a sadomasochistic checklist, instructing me to circle, on a scale of "No" to "5," what I would or would not be willing to endure for the benefit of my "Sir."
I felt my breathing accelerate and my pussy tighten and drip as I read through the endless descriptions of sexual perversion and torture. Some of them were absolute no's-permanent tattoos? Piercing?! Others just left me bewildered-mummification...pegging...I assumed they weren't referring to normal pegs.
As I double-tasked my clerk duties and what I now understood to be my "submissive" duties, I put question marks beside the questions I did not comprehend, and answered the others as honestly as I was able.
My breath grew short when I reached the open-ended question section. List all the degrading names you would ever allow yourself to be called. I took a deep breath to steady myself, then started writing with venom:
Slut
Whore
Bitch
Fucking bitch
Idiot
Fuckhole
I tried to be creative, nervously laughing at myself for not knowing what else was out there.
Brainless whore
Ugly bitch
Wow, the adjectives made those words sting. Did I really want to be called these things? No...and yes.
That was just the beginning. There was an entire blank page for fantasies. Sitting there, on the record, the litigants blathering on, my ankles still tied underneath me, my wetness surely reaching the seat underneath me, I must admit I became a bit carried away.
Kidnapping
Blackmail rape
Stranger fucking
Things I hadn't even known I knew about suddenly spilled from my pen onto the paper, and I was lost in my imaginings of the sensations that were possible.
As lunch approached I began to experience an intense need to use the restroom, but my pride kept me from asking him to release me. The desire to relieve myself kept growing, the pressure on my bladder building. The officer saw when I finally placed my pen on the desk and pushed the "paperwork" to one side. He came over swiftly, winked at me and whispered, "You haven't moved in a while, whore!"
When I thought I couldn't stand it anymore, I looked painfully in his direction and he sauntered once more to my desk.
"Yes, ya dumb bitch?" He said mischievously.
Despite everything else I felt myself grow wet once again. "Please Sir, I need to use the bathroom."
"I'll let you, if you beg properly enough."
I took a deep breath. "Please Sir, please let me go to the bathroom." He just kept staring at me...clearly that wasn't enough. Nervously, I sneaked a glance at the judge. Totally distracted.
"Sir, I'm just a dumb whore who needs to piss really bad. Please can you unlock me?"
"Dumb whore, huh? Yes, you are...my dumb stupid whore," he crooned in my ear. He was practically singing as with tortured slowness he bent over, whispering, "dumb stupid whore needs to piss..." I listened, mortified and stunned at the juices spilling from my hot cunt at the sound of his abuse.
"Go take your piss, you dumb whore," he said. "Remember my instructions and then meet me in the conference room, 302. Stand with your back to the door, bent over the table. I'll cover for you."
I practically ran to the bathroom, and I wasn't sure if it was my imagination but there seemed to be some strange looks thrown my way from the law clerks. I hoped they couldn't smell my cunt juice...it felt like I was swimming in it.
A river of piss streamed from me, and when I wiped I had to triple the paper because of how wet and dripping my pussy had become. I sighed, relieved, and then tensed again when I remembered the plug. Fuck.
----
It was with painful embarrassment that I waddled from the bathroom at what I hoped was a somewhat good impression of a normal court clerk walking to room 302. I opened the door, closed it behind me, bent over the table...and waited.
I heard the door open and then lock. My body tensed, and I braced myself for the ass beating I was surely about to receive. So I was shocked, relieved, and then horrified when I felt nothing at all. I didn't move.
"You best breathe now, my fucking slut. This one might be your last." There was a momentary pause, and then his hands were around my neck and he was squeezing the life out of me. I collapsed on the table, wriggled my legs. I felt panic surging in my gut up into my chest. Time slowed. My nipples hardened. My pussy dripped onto the floor.
He released me, and I heaved myself onto the floor, crying at his feet. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing.
He came down beside me, stroked my hair, pinched my nipples, caressed me, soothed me and held me.
"Sweet little sub...good little sub...I'll decide when you breathe now, won't I?"
"Yes, Sir. Yes you will," I said.
PART FOUR
Back in the courtroom, the judge had just finished the morning calendar. I was confused to see my co-worker Julie sitting in my chair.
Julie turned to me and said, "Officer Jenkins mentioned you were feeling nauseous. Gosh, you really don't look good. Do you need to go home?"
I was suddenly aware of my flushed face, and the sweat that had appeared on my brow and the back of my neck. I was also aware of a murderous look directed at me by the officer, which I interpreted to mean that I better not leave. I smiled nervously at Julie and told her I was feeling better now, thanking her for subbing.
"No worries," she replied. "Wanna get lunch?" From time to time, Julie and I share a bite to eat at a nearby pizza joint. I enjoy talking to her and a breath of fresh air might be nice. But as I was opening my mouth to agree, the officer again caught my eye and I knew he had other plans in store for me.
"Sorry," I said, "I brought lunch today. But enjoy!" She shrugged, gathered up her things, and headed out.
Suddenly the courtroom was empty, leaving the officer and me alone. He looked me up and down, studying every inch of me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, my nipples went hard again and I was intensely aware of the plug I had inserted back in the bathroom, widening me, filling me up, making me sensitive to every touch, every movement, every breath.
I stood still and did not say a word.
"Stay where you are," he barked, and then turned away abruptly, walking to one of the back entrances and calling down to his sergeant that he was locking the courtroom for lunch. All at once, the lights switched off and I was left in complete darkness. I heard the clicks of the doors as he locked each one, and then...nothing. Fearful, I sank to the ground, clasping my knees with my hands, plugged ass rooted to the floor. I couldn't see anything and I couldn't hear anything. At first I felt confident that he was there and just testing me, but as the minutes ticked by and still there was nothing, I began to think that this was his new way of torturing me-leaving me alone in the dark. I started to contemplate just going over to the door and opening it. You could always exit, you just couldn't come back in. Outside there was sun, people laughing, eating, enjoying themselves. What the heck was I doing in here?
But I felt paralyzed, obedient to the sheriff's command to stay where I was, and the more absurd the situation became, the more steadfastly I was clinging to its bizarre set of rules. He had ordered me to stay, and stay I would.
I must have just been starting to relax and let my mind wander when I felt a warning hand around my throat and his voice hot in my ear.
"On your hands and knees, bitch." The sound of his voice and the way that he insulted me made my blood boil at the exact time as it made my knees weak. I felt my nipples harden again as I summoned the courage to swallow my pride and position myself on my hands and knees.
"Faster, you filthy cunt." My urge to submit overcame my ego and I obeyed.
This time it was my plugged ass that he was after. Roughly he pulled my skirt up, tore my panties down to the floor around my knees, and began beating the shit out of me with cupped hands and fists. He was relentless. At first I let out an involuntary gasp, and in response he covered my face with one of his hands without dropping the pace. Thud, sting, thud, sting, again, again again. My muscles started to get weaker and my body sagged down towards the ground.
"Bitch," he breathed into my ear, warm air making my hair stand on end and wetness spilled from my cunt to my thighs. "I told you to go on your hands and knees. But fine. You want to show me how stupid weak you are, now you get to pay. Up on your knees."
I hesitated.
"NOW."
I pulled myself to my knees. I heard the slap of leather and metal as he unbuckled his belt, and braced myself for another walloping. Instead, I felt him wrap the belt around my neck. Nipples hard, cunt wet. Involuntary instantaneous reactions. He took one of my hands in his own, almost tenderly, and brought it to the belt end. Then he took the other hand to the other hand. I could feel him smiling as he sweetly commanded me to pull.
"What?" I gasped.
"I mean it, you filthy piece of trash. Pull. Hard. With both hands. NOW."
I pulled. Cutting off my own breath, feeling my face go red, my pulse clearly tangible against the belt, and it was so paralyzing that I didn't even notice he had begun to beat me again, alternating smacks from my ass to my pussy. I stopped and he slapped me hard across the cheek.
"What did I tell you, dirty whore? You don't breathe except when I give you permission." And so on and on he went, beating my plugged bottom as I choked myself, stopping only when he would let me, and I went beyond my breath, beyond pain, beyond sensation. I lost myself and my body became his instrument, my mind clear of all distraction.
Suddenly he stopped. I still couldn't see, but I felt him sit beside me, heard him pull his beltless pants down around his knees. Then he cradled my head in his lap and drew me onto his bulging cock. He somehow caressed me with one hand while pulling my hair to bounce me up and down, ignoring me as I choked and gagged and sobbed, again and again and again, tears popping from my eyes and streaming down my face.
When he came, it was prolific, stream after stream of thick hot cum, down my throat, on my face, in my hair, on my blouse. He released his cum as I released my tears and then he held me tight.
His words were like a lullaby: "My beautiful dirty little slut, my filthy whore." I cried softly and let him hold me. I had been degraded and abused to the point of no return. He had broken me. And now he held me, holding the broken pieces in place, and I surrendered to his embrace.
PART FIVE
I had forgotten I was even hungry when I felt a piece of bread on my lips and the smell of peanut butter and jelly rose to my nostrils.
"Pretty little slut, want a bite?"
"Yes Sir," I breathed, "Please."
"Good girl. You knew to ask permission." He began feeding me pieces of the sandwich, my head still on his lap, sitting on the floor in the dark. With each piece I humbly requested that he feed me, he would comply, all the while stroking my hair and holding me.
I felt myself returning to my body with the food and his embrace. I began breathing more normally, and I realized my eyes had adjusted just a tiny bit to the darkness. The only light in the room filtered through underneath the back doors, and I could just make out shadows of movements and very vague outlines of furniture.
I don't know how long I had lain there but it felt like hours. At some point soon the judge would be coming back from lunch. The officer must have thought about that because he sat me up gently and moved away just an inch. I could tell he was plotting his next move, and even though I couldn't really make out his face, I could feel him assessing me, weighing me, deciding what I was capable of and what I could endure.
"How do you feel?" he asked me.
"Weak. Scared. It was nice when you held me." I steadied myself and then said, "And I'm much better now with the gourmet lunch you treated me to on our first date."
His laughter was strong and loud, and it warmed me to the core that he had approved of my quip. "So the slut's a comedian! Nice work, girl! Well, are you ready to repay me for this very expensive meal?"
I didn't even stop to think about it. "Yes Sir," I replied.
"Good," he said. "Brace yourself. I think I'd like to torture you."
I'll never know exactly what he did. I'm pretty sure he had covered the video cameras in the courtroom already, or maybe he hadn't needed to because it was dark. But through some intricate system of ropes (of course he had ropes with him) and pulleys...he pulled the fire alarm.
All hell broke loose. Suddenly the courthouse was alive with action. Piercingly loud sirens became activated with an automated voice commanding everyone to leave immediately: "PLEASE FILE OUT CALMLY TO THE NEAREST EXIT. PLEASE FILE OUT CALMLY TO THE NEAREST EXIT. PLEASE..."
As the sirens continued to blare, he picked me up and ran in the opposite direction of the crowds, holding me in his arms as he sprinted up the stairs to the old abandoned judge's chambers and the holding cells on the other side. The sound of the siren was hideous, and the lights were still flashing.
"Cute little slut," he yelled in my ear. "I'm going to have to leave you so they don't think I've been missing this whole time. But I'll be back, okay?" I nodded.
With that, he deposited me in the holding cell, padlocked the door, winked, and left.
At first my brain couldn't even compute what had happened. Then my emotions began churning at light-speed, flipping from denial to outrage to panic to terror. The lights and the sounds wouldn't stop. They were incessant. They were meant to be piercing, for they were supposed to serve as incentive to get the hell out. It was horrible, overwhelming—claustrophobic. For a moment I thought perhaps he hadn't really locked the door. But I checked it, and when I realized that he had, I simply gave up. Crawled into a corner. Rocked back and forth and sobbed.
The sounds became dull to me after a while and I sort of lost track of everything. Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear people down below me, and out on the street, muttering about how probably "some punk" had pulled an alarm...everyone seemed to immediately jump to the conclusion that it was a false alarm, and people were chattering and laughing like normal, snippets of their conversation making the way through the endless sirens and droning voice, "pleasefileoutcalmlytothenearestexitpleasefileoutcalmlytothe..."
By the time he returned, I was just gasping for air. The tears had run dry and I felt numb. He saw me through the cell window, looked me up and down, and smiled.
Over the din of the fire alarm system he crooned, "That's my girl. I told you you'd be okay. You're okay, right sub?"
"Yes Sir," I replied, involuntarily, for I was not okay. I wasn't. Was I? I didn't even know. I needed him to tell me. He had said I was, so I must be.
It was almost as if he didn't realize the chaos that had blown up around us. "Are you thirsty?" He asked me. I nodded, too tired and scared to do anything else.
"Open up then," he grinned. I didn't understand. Then I saw him unzip his pants and aim himself right out me through the bars of the cell.
"Come on, you fucking piece of trash. On your hands and knees like a dog, there's a good girl. We're going to play catch, so open your goddamn mouth. You said you were thirsty."
I don't know if I was more horrified by his request or by my willingness to comply. But I found myself on my hands and knees, chasing after the yellow stream flowing from his dick in endless amounts. As I closed my mouth to swallow, it flew onto my face and shirt dripping down my body to form puddles underneath me. He continued to taunt me with obscenities even as I followed his instructions. When he finally finished, I the bitter taste permeated the air around me, and I felt it in my mouth, up my nose and steaming from my once-pretty top.
"It's a shame about your blouse," he said to me. "I'd like to wash it. And I was a bit concerned they would think the whole fire alarm thing was a joke. So I lit a fire." My eyes went wide, and in the corner of the room, beyond the bars of the holding cell near where the guards used to sit, he had indeed lit a fire.
"I think we'll wash you off now, won't we." I couldn't even process what he was saying. I just watched him unlock the cell and come inside. In one deft movement he had pulled my hot piss-soaked blouse over top my head, and then tied it in place. I was blinded by pee-fabric and trapped on the fifth floor of the courthouse with a fire burning in the corner, and a sadist twisting my arms behind my back. And that's when the sprinkler system kicked on.
Part 6
Fear. That awful sensation of panic that grips you deep in your bowels...goosebumps. Tingles. I read once, somewhere, that fear is one of the deepest emotions we can have. Sure, you might be quick to say you are angry or frustrated...but when it comes right down to it, at the root of those emotions, you will find fear. Fear of death, fear of abandonment, fear of others...fear of yourself.
What that officer did to me that day in the old abandoned courtrooms and cells...he deliberately and comprehensively fucked with my mind by playing with my fear. He took those things I am most scared of; death...judgement...being alone...and he turned them into a challenge. I would call it a game, but that is too light of a word; what he did was serious. But he took Fear, marched it to me, and challenged me to stare in its face and fight back. And when he did that, I was able to summon deeply stored reserves of courage and strength, and I won. I won, you will see, by surrendering.
In that split second when I realized the fire was raging in the corner, I surrendered completely. I gave in to the goosebumps, the tingling and the panic. I allowed them to consume me, to transform into sexual energy. To grow wet in the face of fear...surely that is our best revenge!
The officer walked me toward the fire and my body grew limp so that he had to hold me in both arms.
He smiled at me, a warm, sincere, smile and said, "Trust me. I promise I won't let anything bad happen. You are being very brave." The rational side of my brain reminded me I had only known him for a few days, had no reason to trust him, should turn tail and run once his back was turned. I took a deep breath and turned the rational side of my brain all the way to off. I allowed myself to trust him and submit completely.
The stream from the sprinklers was strong, and as he carried me toward the fire, he exposed me to each sprinkler as we passed it, until what was left of my clothes became sodden and transparent. Water streamed down my face and I could no longer smell the piss that had covered me moments before. My teeth were chattering and I was shaking, probably half from the water and half from everything else I had just been through. He had positioned a small tarp some feet above the fire, so although the water did get to it and keep it in check, it continued to burn brightly. He lay me down almost lovingly on the floor beside it, and the flames began to warm me. He sat beside me, watching me, stroking my face, and then asked me if I was ready to continue. And here I hadn't imagined it could get any crazier. I had lost my capacity to speak. I simply nodded. He told me I had done well, and reminded that I could stop at any time. But I did not want to stop, ever. I had tasted what it was like to own myself completely by giving myself up, and I never wanted to stop.
He smiled sweetly: "I had a feeling about you!" I swooned at his words of approval. He must have judged that I was indeed ready, for without any further preamble, he carried me over to the sprinkler and set me directly underneath it.
The first time, I wasn't expecting it. The water went up my nose and my mouth and sent me coughing and choking, gasping for air. He let me catch my breath, paused to tell me that if I ever simply could not take it anymore, I should squeeze his wrist three times, and then he plunged me in head first once again. Now I was ready for it, and it became a challenge, an absurd kind of game. I found that the calmer I remained, and the more I trusted he would eventually set me free, the more I could let go and survive the drowning. For drowning me he was. Each time he pushed me a little farther. I was drenched from my head to my toes. My only thought was on my breathing. Now I can breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Now I cannot breathe. Trust, hold, recover, breath, trust, hold, recover, breath, trust, hold recoverbreathetrustholdrecoverbreathe...I was in a state of trance, surrendering, submitting, trusting, giving up, and winning. The most uncomfortable was when he directed the water straight up my face so that I felt burning in my nostrils. But I took it. I took it all. I took it proudly.
When he finally stopped, I collapsed on top of him, clinging to him, my Devil, my God and my Salvation. The one who opened me so I could see inside myself. He let me hold him, stroked me back, and then he carried me back to the fire. From a zip lock bag he recovered a towel, rubbing alcohol, and what appeared to be cotton dip sticks. He lay me on the floor on my back in between sprinkler systems and covered me with his body so that I would not get wet.
"I want you to see this, sub. Watch." He dried my exposed abdomen. He took the cotton dipstick, dipped it in the alcohol and wrote, Property of Sir. Then I watched, first bewildered, then astonished, and finally horrified, as he took the dip stick, plunged it into the flames...and lit me on fire.
Part 7
I watched the flames as though from a distance, hypnotized, someplace else. The scent of alcohol was quickly replaced by the smell of burning flesh, but from my state of trance I felt only slight curiosity, vaguely wondering if it was my body that was burning but not caring too much either way. Almost as quickly as he had lit the fire, painting the words across my belly and bringing them to life, he snuffed them out. Yet even when I felt the delayed shock of the heat on my abdomen I did not return to my body. I was far away, watching. I trusted him that he would do what was right. My ego had evaporated, and I was outside myself, outside the scene.
Again and again he painted me with fire, drawing designs upon my body, lighting them, putting them out. Singeing me, stinging me, playing with me, my body a canvas, he, the artist. From my safe place I watched, enraptured with the play, the fire, the heavenly artwork. The flames were all-consuming, engulfing, a singular point of focus, energy and attention. They were pain, they were fear...they were beauty.
He rolled me onto my belly and my body responded only to his touch-I did not engage a single muscle on my own. I became aware of a mirror located several paces in front of me and I observed the room's goings-on with a sense of detachment. I also became conscious of a cease to the chaos, and in a distant foggy way, I realized that the alarms and the sprinkler had stopped. The fire, too, had stopped, and he seemed to have scattered the remnants. From the last of the embers, that pile of now-sodden old files that had served as fuel for his sadistic fantasy, he lit a device that looked to me like a mop but was of course an implement of fire play. Then, holding the implement in one hand, he used his boots to scatter and obscure the last traces of the fire. Then he began to beat me with the flogger's flames.
Over and over he traced a road of fire across the skin of my back. I could see him in the mirror and my mind sat back to absorb the scene. I had never felt so beautiful. The flames whipped across me. They stung like nothing I had felt before, and the waves of hurt came in unpredictable flashes, making it all the more shocking. From my distant state of trance I savored the pain, and my courage, and my freedom.
When it stopped, I barely noticed. I lay there, limp, breathing, my mind a void of blissful nothingness. I felt him pacing about me, getting rid of all traces of our actions. I was still very out of it when he came beside me, lifted me as though I weighed nothing, and whispered in my ear,
"You came up here to get some rest over lunch. There appears to have been an electrical glitch that started a fire and you suffered some burns. I found you. Do you understand?" It took all I had to summon some sort of body awareness to nod my head ever so slightly.
"Good girl," he whispered soothingly, and at that I collapsed my head into his chest, breathing onto his throat, arms wrapped around his neck. From my still trance-like state I worshipped the officer. My protector. My guardian.
I know that there were gasps and then applause when he brought me out into the shining light of day. He was my Sir, my Master, my returning hero, who had saved me from the fire. And while the accolades were false and contrived manipulations of a man who had wreaked havoc on the court that day, I felt that such applause had never been so duly earned.
The officer had touched my soul. He had profoundly altered my existence. He had cut me to the quick and shown me just exactly what I was capable of. When eventually he set me down and I walked on my own two feet and I spoke with my own voice, I felt invincible.
Being a court clerk was never quite the same after that day.
