by Zack

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2002 - Zack - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF/f; bondage; prisoner; n/c; XX

by Zack

Part One 

Notice: This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons is entirely coincidental.

The most junior member of the Northern Empire Bank's legal department was sitting in his climate-controlled office and sweating like a pig. He picked up his phone, put it down, and then picked it up again and reluctantly punched in a number that had nothing but bad memories for him. 

The phone rang four times. Just as his hopes were building that it wouldn't be answered a voice proclaimed, "Loan Administration, Sharon Green speaking." 

"Ah, Ms. Green, this is Larry in the legal department. I'm afraid I have some bad news." 

"Not again! What have you fuck-ups botched this time?" 

Larry winced and moved the phone farther from his ear. "It's that farm foreclosure we have scheduled for Saturday over in North Dakota. The person who was going to represent us has the flu and can't make it."

"Well, send somebody else. Even a cretin like you should have been able to think of that." 

"We don't have anybody else. We have a lot of people away on vacation because of the Thanksgiving weekend, and more are out sick." 

"Why don't you go yourself? You're a lawyer of sorts. How difficult can it be? A moron should be able to handle it, and that means you qualify." 

"North Dakota has very restrictive laws. They don't like corporations buying farms, so they make it as difficult as possible. The only people who would be allowed to represent the bank are attorneys who are licensed in the state and officers of the corporation." Larry fought to keep his voice level; everyone at the bank knew Ms. Green was a vindictive bitch, and he didn't want to become one of her personal enemies. 

"Well, hire a local lawyer to handle it. Or is that too complicated for you to understand?" 

"We don't have anyone on retainer, and we have to get management approval before we can do any hiring. You know how long that takes." 

"So what are you going to do?" 

"Well, ah, you're a corporate vice president. You could go." 

"Me! So now I'm supposed to be your errand girl? You stupid..." 

Larry patiently waited during several minutes of imaginative cursing, and when Sharon slowed a bit he broke in and said, "I'm really sorry, but it's not our fault that the flu is going around. I tried everyone else I could find, but you're the only qualified person who might be available." 

"You're right about being sorry. You're the sorriest bunch of incompetents I've ever seen. Well, if I'm the only one in the bank who isn't flaking off I suppose I'll have to go. When and where is the auction and how do I get there?" 

"The auction is 9 a.m. Saturday at the courthouse in the town of New Trondheim. We've already made all of the travel arrangements. You fly from Chicago to Fargo and then it's about a two hour drive west and south. You'll be traveling on Thanksgiving, but that was the only flight available." Because Larry had been taught to be polite he added, "I'm sorry if this messes up your holiday plans." 

"Spare me your sympathy, asswipe. You bozos owe me big time." She slammed down the phone. 

Larry winced again. Then he wiped his brow and counted himself lucky that he had gotten off so easily. 

Sharon raged around her office for several minutes before she remembered what her therapist had told her, and gradually she was able to stop cursing and get control of herself. She gulped some antacid tablets and her stomach pains eased. 

Actually, she didn't have any plans for the holiday. Her parents were dead and both of her sisters hadn't been speaking to her for several years. Sharon had broken up with her sort-of boyfriend several months ago, and no one she knew would voluntarily spend time with her unless she provided sex. She had planned to spend the holiday weekend alone in her apartment. 

It wasn't having to work on the holiday that burned Sharon; it was that someone even dared to ask her to do something this mundane. She had joined the Loan Administration department several months ago. It had been called a 'lateral transfer', and she still had her title and the same salary, but it was clearly a demotion. Sharon had started at the bank almost twelve years ago, just after she got her MBA, and she had spent every day since then clawing her way to the top. The transfer was an ominous sign that her career was headed for the toilet, and the associated stress was seriously affecting her health. 

Sharon decided that if she had to work over the weekend she was going to take the rest of the day off. As soon as Larry had emailed the confirmation numbers for her airline and car rental reservations she took the elevator to the parking garage in the basement of the building. Her silver-blue Mercedes E-320 was parked close to the elevator; at least she still had a reserved space. She sat in the car for a few minutes and thought calm thoughts. Then she drove out of the garage and into the traffic of downtown Milwaukee. 

Sharon lived in the western suburbs, almost closer to Madison than to her office, and as she fought the pre-holiday traffic she could feel her rage nearing the explosion point. She wished there was a chemical means of coping, but she had bad reactions to all of the usual tranquilizers. Once she was home things would be better; she would be alone in a dimly lit, quiet place. 

* * * 

Sharon experienced a remarkably smooth journey to New Trondheim. She was picked up at her apartment by a taxi and delivered to O'Hare Airport in plenty of time to catch her flight to Fargo. Her reservation was in order and she had no trouble going through airport security. It was a non-stop flight and it arrived on time. Her rental car was ready and she was on the road with no hassles. This unusual chain of events cheered her up so much that she was able to forget that she was all by herself on the nation's premier family holiday. 

Sharon left Fargo and drove west on Interstate 94 for over an hour before she turned off on the secondary road that led south to New Trondheim. The weather was clear and cool. Fall had been unusually warm this year and as yet no snow had fallen. 

The sun was close to the western horizon when Sharon entered New Trondheim. Like most towns in the Midwest it had shrunk as farming became more efficient and family farms were consolidated. On Main Street every third storefront was unoccupied, but there wasn't the aura of decay that Sharon had seen in other towns in similar circumstances. The sidewalks were swept clean and there wasn't any trash in the gutters. The buildings weren't rundown; even the plywood that covered the windows of empty stores was painted. 

There weren't any motels in town, but Sharon had a reservation at what was advertised as a 'bed-and-breakfast' inn. It was a large frame house close to the center of town. The elderly landlady showed Sharon to a room on the ground floor that was clean but had furniture that dated from the 1950's. When Sharon asked directions to somewhere she could buy dinner she was invited to have a meal with the other residents. The food was good, and from the conversation Sharon deduced that the inn was actually more like a boarding house. Sharon had lived alone for so many years that sharing a meal with more than one person was very unsettling to her, but she decided she could learn to like it. 

The next morning Sharon drove out to the farm that was going to be auctioned. She wanted to inspect it, but she also wanted to speak with the soon-to-be-ex owner. The bank didn't have any immediate need for the property, so it was willing to rent it out if the owner wanted to stay for a while. 

It wasn't far to the farm and Sharon easily located it. She parked her car close to the house and walked around a bit. The house had been built in the 1960s, as a replacement for the original structure which had burned down. Beside the house and a large, dilapidated barn there were many large greenhouses. She had read in the file that this was where the bulk of the bank's loan money had been spent. The plan was to grow tomatoes out of season, but something had gone wrong. 

Sharon knocked at the front door and it was answered by a woman a few years older than herself. 

"Hello, I'm Sharon Green from Northern Empire Bank. Are you Mrs. Olsen?" 

"Yes, I'm Lena Olsen. Come in, we've been expecting someone from the bank." 

Sharon entered and Lena closed the door. The two women weren't too different in age, but they differed greatly in appearance. Sharon was wearing an expensive blue wool suit and a silk blouse. Her only concession to her rural surroundings were her shoes; she had exchanged her usual heels for flats. Her dark brown hair was smooth and glossy and cut short. Lena was wearing a cotton dress and an apron, and her long blonde hair was in a loose single braid.

Both women had trim, athletic figures; Sharon because she visited the gym frequently, and Lena because she worked hard on a farm. Each silently evaluated the other and then Lena led Sharon into the parlor. 

A man was standing at the window, looking out. He turned when the women entered the room and said, "I'm Sven Olsen. You must be from the bank." 

"Yes, Mr. Olsen. My name is Sharon Green." Sharon was uneasy. Sven was visibly upset, and this was the first time she had personally forced someone from his home. 

Sven said in a bitter voice, "When the bank gave me the money they said we were partners. Why is it that when we have a setback I'm the one who gets hurt?" 

Sharon primly explained, "The arrangement was structured as a loan, and the farm was the collateral. The bank can't use the depositor's money to make equity investments. When you didn't make your payments we were forced to foreclose." 

Then she turned the knife. "You were the one who was supposed to have the expertise, so if the venture failed it's your fault. Any fool can grow a crop, but it takes real management skill to run a successful farm business today." 

"You could have given me a little more time. I was starting to make a profit, and once I get through the winter I can make my payments again." Sven was desperately trying to control his temper. 

"It's too late for that. The only way you can keep the property now is to pay off the entire balance of the loan." 

Sven growled, "Where can I get that much money? You bloodsuckers!" He pushed past Sharon and hurried from the room. 

Lena said, "Please excuse him. This has been a very bad experience for all of us, but it's been especially hard for Sven. He's very attached to this land; his great-grandfather homesteaded it." She wiped at a tear. "What's going to happen at the auction tomorrow?" 

"My bid will be for exactly the amount you owe the bank. If somebody else bids higher then they get the farm, and anything over the loan amount goes to you. I don't expect that to happen, because land prices have fallen so much that the loan is for more than the market value of the property. Assuming the bank gets the farm, would you be interested in renting it until you can relocate?" 

"I don't know; I'll have to talk to Sven." Lena was almost crying, but she remembered the local code of hospitality and asked, "Would you like some coffee?" 

"No, I've got to be going." Sharon wasn't going to stay a second longer than she had to. 

Lena showed Sharon to the door, and when it was closed she leaned against it and wept. She was still crying when the phone rang. She picked it up and choked out, "Hello." 

"Mom! What's wrong?" 

"Oh, Astrid, I'm so upset. The woman from the bank was just here and unless a miracle happens we're going to lose the farm. It's going to kill Sven." 

"It's so unfair! The bank sucked him in with their foul scheme and now they're going to grind him into the dirt." 

Astrid had attended the University of Wisconsin at Madison until her family's financial problems forced her to drop out, and her experience at the college had set her political philosophy so far to the left that she considered Hillary Clinton a right-wing extremist. 

"I know, dear, but they've got the law on their side. Unless someone puts in a higher bid at the auction tomorrow the bank will get the farm and we'll all be out in the cold." Lena started to cry again. 

"Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry. But I've got to go. The lunch crowd is here and the cafe is busy. I'll see you tonight." 

Astrid hung up and got back to work as one of the three waitresses employed by Mom's Cafe, the most popular restaurant in New Trondheim. Most of the patrons were regulars, and Astrid knew what they wanted without having to ask. She was very busy for an hour, and then the crowd started to thin out. 

When Sharon entered the cafe Astrid had a good idea of who she was; none of the locals had a suit that expensive, and Sharon was the only person who had ever hung a cashmere coat on the battered rack next to the door. 

Astrid stepped up to Sharon with every intention of denouncing her, but then another plan took shape in her mind. Her scowl turned to a smile as she greeted Sharon and guided her to a table. 

Astrid said, "Hello and welcome to New Trondheim. Where are you from?" 


"Oh, you must be here to represent the bank at the auction tomorrow." 

"Yes, but how did you know?" 

"There aren't many secrets in a town this size. Would you like coffee?" 

"Yes." Sharon looked at the menu; it offered what she had expected, but with some unusual additions. She asked, "Why do you have so many Mexican dishes on your menu?" 

"Our cook is Mexican, and the manager wanted to see if the folks in this town would buy something other than meat loaf and mashed potatoes. It seems that they won't, so we're having a sale on chili con carne. It's really good, and only fifty cents a bowl." 

"OK, I can't go wrong at that price." 

Astrid smiled and went into the kitchen. She said to the cook, "Juan! Where's your bottle?" 

"Bottle? Bottle? I don't need no stinkin' bottle." 

"Very funny." Astrid opened a drawer and extracted a pint bottle of vodka; it was about half full. She poured some into a bowl and filled the bowl with chili. She stirred and tasted, and added a bit more vodka. 

"I'll buy you another bottle as soon as I can. I'm just playing a little joke on a friend; don't mention this to anybody." 

Juan shrugged; he had three more bottles in his locker, so he didn't worry about making it through the day. 

Astrid slipped the bottle into her apron pocket and carried the chili to Sharon's table. Sharon tasted it and said, "This has an unusual flavor, but it's very good. I'm surprised." 

After Sharon had finished eating she sat at the table and studied some papers. Astrid kept watching her, and when she finally moved to leave the restaurant Astrid was waiting near the door. She took Sharon's coat off the rack and slipped the vodka bottle into a side pocket; then she helped Sharon into the coat. 

"Thank you. This certainly seems to be a friendly town." 

"We try to be." 

Astrid watched as Sharon walked to her car and drove off. Then she phoned the Sheriff's office and reported that a woman was driving drunk. She described Sharon's car and gave the license number and the direction the car was traveling. 

Sharon drove away from the cafe and wondered why she felt so strange. It almost felt like she was drunk, but all she had with lunch was coffee. 

She looked out over the bleak landscape and wondered what it would be like to live out here, especially in the winter. When she looked back at the road she was almost at a sharp turn where the road jogged around a gully. She hit the brakes and cranked the wheel to the right. She managed to make it around the corner without crashing, but her car swerved across the center line, dangerously close to the ditch that bordered the left side of the road. 

Sharon was shaken by her close call and started to slow down. Then she noticed the blue lights behind her. "Oh, shit!" she muttered, and pulled over and stopped where the road widened a bit. 

The patrol car parked behind her and Deputy Sheriff Erik Petersen walked up to Sharon's car. She quickly rolled down her window. 

He asked, "Are you all right, ma'am?" He had a concerned look. 

"Yes. Why do you ask?" 

"You took that corner kind of fast, and your car was all over the road. Are you sick? Did you hurt yourself?" 

"No, I'm OK. I was just distracted for a minute, and the corner came up faster than I expected." 

"Can I see your license and registration, please?" 

Sharon dug through her purse until she found her wallet, and then fumbled for a while before she was able to remove her driver's license and hand it to the deputy. "I don't have the registration. This is a rental car, so all I have is the contract." 

The deputy looked at the license and the rental contract. He asked, "Have you been drinking, ma'am?" 

"No, of course not." 

He opened the car door. "Please step out of the car." 

Sharon released her seat belt and climbed out. "What's the problem, Officer?" 

"I'd like you to take a sobriety test. Please close your eyes and touch your nose, like this." 

Deputy Petersen demonstrated what he wanted and Sharon tried to copy his actions. She wasn't very successful. She couldn't walk a straight line or stand on one foot, either. 

"Please step over to my car and take a breath test." 

"What for? I told you I haven't been drinking." 

"Then you don't object to taking the test, ma'am? Deputy Petersen guided her to his car and reached inside for the test kit. He handed the mouthpiece to Sharon and said, "Blow into the tube, please." 

Sharon blew into the tube. Deputy Petersen looked at the readout and said, "This indicates a blood alcohol reading of 0.13, which is over the legal limit of 0.08. I'm arresting you for driving under the influence. Please turn around and put your hands on your head." 

"You can't mean that! I haven't been drinking!" 

"That's for the court to decide. Now turn around like I told you." 

Sharon decided that it would be stupid to resist and turned around and put her hands on her head. Petersen closed a cuff on her right wrist and pulled it down behind her back. He used his other hand to force Sharon's left wrist behind her back and cuffed it too. 

Petersen patted down Sharon's body. He felt something in the left pocket of her coat and removed a pint bottle of vodka, about a quarter full. "Carrying an open container of liquor in a car is a violation in this state. I'm adding this to the DUI and reckless driving charges." 

He opened the back door of his car and ordered, "Get in." 

Sharon awkwardly climbed in; the deputy put his hand on her head to keep it clear of the door frame. When he started to close the door Sharon cried, "Wait! My purse is in my car." 

"I'll take care of it." The deputy closed the door and walked to Sharon's car. He found the purse on the front seat and the car keys in the ignition. He locked the car and returned to his patrol car, and Sharon was on her way to jail. 

Sharon squirmed on the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. This was hard to do with her wrists locked into hinged handcuffs, especially since her palms were facing out. She was getting really mad. She hissed, "These hicks won't get away with this!" 

The patrol car drove into town and parked in front of an two-story frame house. The house was old but well-kept, with apple-green trim and fresh white paint on the clapboard siding. Part of the yard next to the street had been paved with bricks and several cars were parked there. 

Deputy Petersen opened the door next to Sharon and took hold of her upper arm. She stiffened her body and made no attempt to get out of the car. She angrily demanded, "Why are we stopping here? This doesn't look like the police station." 

"This is the doctor's office. After a DUI arrest I have to get a blood sample before I take you to jail." 

"You can't do this! I don't want to give a sample!" 

"You don't have any choice. The law says we can take a sample whether you like it or not. Please cooperate; it'll make it easier for everybody." 

He took Sharon's arm to help her out of the car, but she kicked out and struck his shin. She shouted, "I won't! Leave me alone!" 

Petersen closed the door and reached into the front of the car. Sharon relaxed, thinking that he had given up, but he opened her door again and now he carried leg irons. She kicked and struggled, but he locked them onto her ankles and dragged her out of the car. 

Sharon screamed and cursed as he forced her up the walk and into the doctor's reception room. Two women and a little girl were waiting there, and they looked on in amazement as she was dragged past them and into the treatment room. 

An elderly man said, "What's all this commotion, Erik?" His face registered disgust as Sharon shouted some extremely vulgar epithets. 

"A drunk driver, Doc. I need a blood sample and she doesn't want to cooperate." 

Sharon was so angry that she didn't notice the nurse who walked up behind her until a rubber bit gag was forced into her mouth and strapped in place. In the silence that followed Doc said, "Thanks, Bertha, that's much nicer. Where did that gag come from?" 

"It's what we used to use when somebody had a seizure. It protected their tongue. Now it'll protect our ears. You ought to charge her with disturbing the peace, Erik." 

"Right. But now I need a blood sample. Doc and I will hold her while you use the needle." 

He unlocked one of the cuffs and he and the doctor held Sharon's arms while the nurse got the sample. Then he re-cuffed Sharon and dragged her back to the car; the next stop was the jail. 

The jail was located across an alley from the courthouse and it was the most decrepit building in town. It had been built by the WPA in 1936, and no attempt had been made to beautify the rough poured-concrete walls. Every now and then there was a proposal to tear it down and build something else, but the plan always foundered because there wasn't any money. 

Erik parked out front and opened the back door of the car. He was expecting a struggle, but Sharon had managed to contain her rage and offered no resistance as she was led into the jail. The inside was as shabby as the outside; the floor was bare concrete and the walls were painted a particularly vile shade of institutional green. 

The outside door led into an anteroom, where a grizzled old man was sitting at a battered desk. He said, "Howdy, Erik. Who have we got here?" 

"Hello, Otto. She was arrested for DUI, among other things. Call Trude, will you? She'll have to do the processing and the search." Erik tossed Sharon's purse on the desk. 

Otto used the phone, and when it was answered he said, "Hi, Trude. Come over to the jail, we got a female prisoner." 

Over in the courthouse Trude Olsen felt a thrill go through her body. She was a clerk in the sheriff's department, but she wanted to be a deputy. When there was a female prisoner she acted as the jail matron. This was a rare event, but it couldn't happen often enough for her. She pulled her long blond hair into a ponytail, told the dispatcher where she was going, and hurried out the door. 

Back at the jail, Otto emptied Sharon's purse, got out a paper form, and began to inventory its contents. Erik led Sharon to a bench and told her to sit. He unlocked the cuff from her left ankle, slipped it through a U-shaped bracket bolted to the floor, and relocked it back on her ankle. Sharon was calm now, but Erik wasn't taking any chances. 

Erik sat down in front of a computer and began to compose his report. He had just finished and was printing a copy when the outside door opened and a young woman entered. He looked up and smiled. "Hello, Trude." 

Trude returned the smile. "Hello, Erik." 

She kept her gaze locked on Erik until Otto interrupted, "Can we get down to business here? Some of us got other things to do." 

Trude inspected Sharon and asked, "So this is our prisoner? What are the charges?" 

Erik replied, "DUI, reckless driving, open container, disorderly conduct, and disturbing the peace." He handed Trude a copy of his report. 

Trude looked it over and commented, "My, she's had a busy day. Where'd the gag come from?" 

"Doc's office. She's got a very foul mouth, and Bertha didn't like to hear it." Erik moved to the door. "I've got to get back on patrol. Can I see you tonight? We can do another training exercise." 

"I'd like that." 

Erik and Trude looked into each other's eyes until Otto interrupted. "I got to leave for a while too, Trude. The only other inmate is Ole; he's sleeping it off in a cell. You should be able to handle things here." 

Trude was over a decade younger than Sharon, and her muscular body was five inches taller and twenty five pounds heavier than Sharon's 5'4", 120 pound frame. She didn't expect to have any trouble. 

As Erik and Otto were about to leave the jail the tow truck driver entered. He said, "Here are the keys to that car you stopped, Erik. I parked it out front." He put the keys on the desk next to Sharon's purse and followed the others out. 

Trude said, "OK, Sharon, time to get you checked into our hotel." She unbuckled the gag and took it out. "I don't like foul language either, so keep it clean unless you want the gag to go back in." 

Sharon worked her jaw, and when she could talk she asked, "Don't I get to make a phone call? I need a lawyer. Does this town have any?" 

"Yes, we have three. One is the District Attorney and the other two are out of town for the holiday." 

"Then I'll have to find one from out of town." 

"If it's not a local call it'll have to be collect." 

"My cell phone is on the desk. If I can use that it'll save you the cost of the local call." 

"OK." Trude removed Sharon's handcuffs and gave her the phone. 

Sharon rubbed her sore wrists while she tried to decide who to call. She really needed legal help, and the only lawyer she knew (except for those clowns at the bank) was her sleazy ex-boyfriend, Richard. A weak reed, but she didn't have many options. Besides, she remembered his phone number. 

She called, and when Richard answered she said, "Hello, Richard, this is Sharon. I need your help." 

"I knew you'd come crawling back when you found out you couldn't live without me. Get your ass over here before I change my mind." 

Sharon ignored his comment. She knew Richard was an asshole; that was the main reason they broke up. Biting back her normal reaction, she said, "I need legal help. I'm in jail in New Trondheim, North Dakota." 

"Sorry, I have business here in Milwaukee and I'm not schlepping out onto the tundra, even for you. Unless you finally killed somebody." 

"I'm charged with drunk driving. You do a lot of business in North Dakota. Don't you know anybody out here?" 

"Let me think a minute; New Trondheim sounds familiar." Richard rummaged through his Rolodex. "Yeah, here it is. Heidi Schultz. She works in Bismarck, but her family comes from New Trondheim; just the other day she was telling me how much she missed it. I'll call her office on my other line." There was a delay, and then he said, "Her answering machine says she's gone until Monday. What do you want me to do?" 

"Can you leave a message to have her call me? Even if she doesn't do criminal defense work she could probably recommend someone." Sharon gave her cell phone number to Richard and he hung up. 

Trude got some keys from the desk. She removed Sharon's leg irons and led her into the cell block, which was separated from the anteroom by a solid door with a peephole. There were six small cells, three on each side of a center aisle. Each cell had three walls of concrete, and the side adjacent to the aisle was made of round steel bars. 

There weren't any windows in the cell block; light and ventilation were provided by barred skylights over the aisle. Each cell had a small grill in the ceiling that was connected to an oil-fired forced air furnace. The furnace room, a small shower room, and a storeroom were located at the end of the aisle, behind another solid door. Otto had converted the storeroom to a bunk room, and he (unofficially) lived there. 

Each cell contained a commode, a sink and an iron-framed cot. The cot was bolted to the floor and narrow steel strips were woven across it to act as springs. A thin, rolled-up mattress was on each cot. 

The first cell on the right was occupied by a disheveled man. He was sprawled on his back and snoring loudly. 

Trude said, "That's Ole, the town drunk. I'll put you on the other end so it won't be quite so loud." 

"How long will it be before I can get out of here? Will I have to wait for my lawyer to show up?" 

"You won't get out unless the judge decides to let you out, and you'll most likely see the judge Monday morning." 

"But that's impossible! I have to be at the auction tomorrow morning. Can't I post bail and get out now?" 

Sharon panicked. If she didn't put in the bank's bid at the foreclosure auction her career was doomed. She had to get out of here. If she could get away from the jail the South Dakota border was about ten miles away. She could hide out down there overnight and sneak back into town just before the auction. 

"Only the judge can set bail. You won't be out before Monday." Trude unlocked the last cell on the right and swung open the door. "In here". 

Sharon bumped Trude and the key slipped out of her hand. When she bent to pick it up Sharon shoved her into the cell and slammed the door shut. Sharon kicked the key away and ran out of the cell block, closing the door behind her. She grabbed her purse and car keys from the desk, opened the jail door, and collided with Erik, who was just entering. 

Sharon struggled desperately, but Erik easily forced her back inside and shut the door. 

She screamed, "Let me go! You dirty mot...". 

The rest of her comment was cut off when Erik put his hand over her mouth and nose. Sharon fought and thrashed, but Erik forced her into the cell block. 

When he saw Trude in the cell he said, "Hi there! I think you have it wrong. The prisoner is supposed to be on the inside of the cell and you're supposed to be on the outside." 

Trude was not amused. "Shut up. The bitch surprised me. I didn't think she'd be so stupid as to try to escape; it's not like she was facing a murder charge." 

"Assumptions like that are what get cops killed. You were lucky this time. You didn't get hurt and your prisoner didn't get away. The sheriff isn't going to like it when he hears about this." 

"Please don't tell him! It wouldn't help my chances of becoming a deputy." She looked at Sharon. "Not that I really care, but the bitch is turning blue." 

Erik removed his hand from Sharon's face and she gasped for air. Before she recovered he locked a cuff on her right wrist and pushed her arms between the bars on the front of the cell. Trude closed the other cuff on the left wrist and Sharon was chained to the cell bars. 

Trude said, "The gag is on the desk; let's get it on her before she starts screaming again. I think the cell key is on the floor over there." 

Erik tossed the cell key to Trude and retrieved the gag from the desk. Sharon resisted, but with Trude and Erik working together the gag was jammed into her mouth, and Trude buckled the strap so it was very tight. 

Erik locked the leg irons on Sharon's ankles. He said, "We've had enough from you. You can cooperate while Trude searches you and I'll wait outside, or you can fight and I'll have to stay in here and help her. If we do it that way you're going to get roughed up and your nice clothes will get rumpled." 

Sharon's instinct was to fight, but her reason told her it would be useless. She nodded her acquiescence, and when Erik was gone she didn't resist when Trude removed the handcuffs and helped her strip. The leg irons were unlocked long enough to take off her pantyhose and panties, and then locked back in place. Trude put Sharon in the shower, and then got a jail uniform from the storeroom. 

As soon as Trude was out of sight Sharon unbuckled the gag and spat it out. She got into the shower, but the water was barely warm, so she didn't stay in any longer than she had to. She used the small towel, and when she was dry Trude gave her the uniform and ordered, "Put this on." 

Sharon examined the dowdy garments. There was a calf-length denim skirt with an elastic waistband, a gray tee shirt with 'Jail Inmate' stenciled on the back, and white cotton socks. There wasn't any underwear, and she asked about this. 

Trude explained, "What you got is all you get. Now go into the cell and use the toilet so I can get you settled for the night." 

"I haven't had any dinner!" 

"Too bad, mealtime is over. Now get in the cell." 

While Sharon was peeing Trude unrolled the mattress on the cot. She ordered, "On your back on the cot. Put your hands to your sides." 

Sharon wondered where all this was leading, but she did as Trude told her. Trude used plastic handcuffs to attach Sharon's wrists to the frame of the cot. She unlocked an ankle cuff, wrapped the chain around the frame of the cot, and relocked the cuff. As the final step she jammed the gag back into Sharon's mouth and buckled it very tightly. 

Once she was fastened to the cot Sharon was frantic. Surely she wasn't going to be tied down like this all night! She screamed and protested; the gag prevented articulate speech, but she could still make a lot of noise. 

Trude spread a blanket over Sharon and said, "This is what happens to bad little girls. If you do as you're told and stay quiet I might let you up tomorrow. If you're still causing trouble you'll find that things can get much worse." 

She left the cell, slamming the door behind her. When she was out of the cell block and the door was closed behind her she could still hear Sharon's protests, but they were faint enough to ignore. 

Erik asked, "Everything secure?" 

"Yes. She may find it a bit restrictive, but the bitch has it coming." 

Erik warned, "Don't go too far. It may turn you on to tie her up, but the sheriff won't like it if you cause a lawsuit." 

"Restraining her is completely justified. She has shown she's violent, and she assaulted me and tried to escape. Don't forget to add that to your list of charges." 

Otto entered the jail and said, "Hi, kids. Everything OK?" 

"Yes, now. The prisoner tried to escape, but Erik recaptured her. I had to fasten her to the cot. Be careful, she's very violent." 

"Playing games again, are you? OK, I'll go along and leave her alone until morning." 

Erik said, "It's time for our training exercise, Trude. Today I'm going to demonstrate a special application of plastic handcuffs. You know that the usual method of applying the one-piece cuffs is to use two, one for each of the prisoner's wrists? This is the easiest thing to do in the field, but you can also use just one cuff around both wrists. It's easier to do this if you have the help of a partner." 

Erik handed a plastic cuff to Otto, and then pulled Trude's hands behind her back and held them back-to-back. "Put the cuff around her wrists, Otto." 

Otto closed the cuff around Trude's wrists and pulled it snug. Erik tightened it several more notches and Trude winced, but she didn't complain. "See how much more restrictive that is, Trude?" 

"Yes, I can't use my arms at all." 

Erik opened the door to the outside. "We can finish the exercise at my house. See you later, Otto." 

Erik hustled Trude outside and shoved her into the back of the patrol car. They drove to his house and went inside. 

Erik said, "You really messed up this time. If that woman had escaped you could kiss off any chance of becoming a deputy. I won't tell the sheriff, but I'm going to have to reprimand you myself. I think twenty swats would be about right." He sat on the couch and pulled Trude over his lap. He flipped up her skirt and pulled off her panties. 

Trude moaned as he stroked her bare bottom. "You're right, I really messed up. Twenty swats is the right number, but you should use the strap, sir." 

Erik pushed Trude to the floor and stood up. "In that case, we'll need some more preparation." 

He moved a chair into the center of the room and collected some rope. Trude moaned and struggled against the tight plastic band pinning her wrists as Erik pulled her to her feet and moved her so she was facing the back of the chair. 

He removed Trude's skirt and shoes and then ordered, "Spread your legs!". Erik tied her knees and ankles to the chair legs. He formed a small bowline in another piece of rope and put the rope end through it to form a running noose, which he put around Trude's neck. He wrapped the rope around a rung at the front of the chair and pulled until Trude was bent over. When he tied off the rope the noose was snug, but she wouldn't choke unless she tried to straighten up. 

Trude was panting now. A rope around her neck always multiplied the feeling of helplessness she got from bondage; not only was she controlled, but her life itself was now in the hands of another. Erik knew this, and he too enjoyed the control it gave him over her. He just had to be careful that she didn't strangle herself. 

Erik said, "I'm not going to gag you. The neighbors aren't home yet, so you can scream without bothering anybody. Ready?" 

"Yes, sir." 

The first stroke drew a red line across Trude's bottom, and she gasped. As always, she resolved to take the punishment silently, but less than half-way through the whipping she could no longer hold back, and she screamed and begged until all twenty lashes had been delivered. 

Erik didn't untie her from the chair right away; first he went into the bedroom and took off his own clothes and unwrapped a condom. Then he released Trude's legs and untied the neck rope from the chair. She rushed into the bedroom, and Erik was pulled along by the leash he held, like a child trying to control a big dog. Trude leaped onto the bed, and as soon as Erik touched her she screamed again, but not from pain. 

End of Part One 

Foreclosure continues in
Part Two

Story copyright© 2002 by Zack.  All rights reserved.
I welcome your comments.  Email me at [email protected]


story continues in