The Newspaper Story

by Tiffini

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© Copyright 2017 - Tiffini - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF; reporter; story; M+/f; police; arrest; handcuffs; transport; cell; strip; jumpsuit; chairtie; spithoods; segregation; hogtie; hood; oral; sex; climax; cons/reluct; X

A bit of background, in addition to my regular 9-5 job, I do a bit of writing for a small community newspaper where I live. Just a bit of a way to supplement my income. I write under a pen name, so as to be able to write openly without friends and family knowing it’s me.

A few months ago, the editor called me, and asked me if I’d be interested in doing a special story, as crime prevention week was coming up a few months later. I said sure, and he said we’d set up a meeting to go over some story ideas.

Before that meeting happened, he sent me up to an Indian reserve about 8 hours away to do a story about a local church that was doing a missions trip there helping them build a new church.

I took the Friday off, and came up to the reservation with my husband – figured we’d have some alone time, which we really needed. Not to mention how we both hated to do 8+ hour drives on our own.

Saturday afternoon comes around, and we decide to head back home. We pack up, thank our hosts for their hospitality, and head out.

After about 5 minutes of driving, we are pulled over by the reservation Police. After getting my hubbie's licence & insurance info, they ask him to step out of the car. He does and goes to the back. A few minutes later, they have him sitting against a fence, and they ask me to get out. I get out, and they bring me to the back of the car. Next thing I know, they have me handcuffed behind my back, telling me I’m under arrest for unauthorized photography of Reservation Property. Trying to explain to them that I’m media has no affect. They put me in the back of the cruiser (which was barely able to keep running), and let hubby go on his way.

We make it back to the police station, and they bring me inside. In booking, they have me handcuffed to the bench, and what appears to be a senior officer comes up and sits across from me. He explains he’s the Chief of Police for the reservation, and he has been speaking with my editor. He explains how he’s been told of my upcoming article for crime prevention week, and my editor wanted me to write about spending a weekend in jail across multiple police jurisdictions. He said he was going to make sure the officers treated me like any other prisoner being extradited to my local service, and would personally ensure there would be no official record of it.

He left me in the booking area, and after about 20 minutes, a female officer came up to me, and brought me to a cell. They did a strip search, and then gave me back my bra and panties, along with a bright orange jumper. Putting it on, I see them putting my clothes in a bag, and then they sit me back down on the bench, handcuffed to it.

A bit later, they bring me to a solitary cell, and lock me in.

A few hours later, the chief comes in, and explains they have a bit of an issue. Their transport vehicle has broken down, and they have to get me to the airport for my extradition to the next service. He explains that this is not their standard operating process, but they sometimes have to improvise due to local of federal funding.

He leaves, as 2 officers come in. They handcuff me tightly behind my back, and put a lockbox on the cuffs. They wrap a waist chain around me, and lock the cuffs to the small of my back. A pair of leg irons go on me next, and they lead me out of the cell, and place me in a restraint chair. They explain again how this is not standard, and they are going to do everything they can to maintain my anonymity. They roll the chair out to the sallyport, and put it in the back of a pickup truck! They strap it in place so it doesn’t move, and then put 2 spit hoods over my head, securing them around my neck. They say again that this isn’t standard transport protocol, but it’s improvising. They leave a male officer in the back with me, as they drive me to the airport. Of course they drive me through the downtown core, in my bright orange jumper, totally visible to everyone walking downtown.

Upon getting to the airport, I’m met by a provincial police officer, who is surprised at my transport method. They said it’s not abnormal that they have to improvise, but they don’t normally go that high security, while looking at how they have restrained me. He says I must have done something to piss my editor off, laughing.

They released me from the restraint chair, but leave me cuffed up. He leads me slowly into a small plane, and seatbelts me in. Only once I’m secured in the plane he removes the spit hoods, warning me not to do anything stupid.

It’s about an hour’s flight, and eventually we are landing. We taxi over to a private area of the air field, and they lead me off the plane. Leaning me over the front of the van, they pat me down again. Then they put me in a small compartment in the back, and lock me in.

My hands are going numb at this point – being palm out, chained to the small of my back with a lock box isn’t standard process... I eventually arrive at the destination, and I’m scared at this point. Even from the sallyport I can hear the yelling inside the walls. They take me out, and bring me into the intake area. Only then do they move the cuffs to the front – but they leave the lockbox on.

They re-finger print me, remove the cuffs, and place me in a segregation cell. They tell me that I’m going to be transferred to my home police service the next day, but to try to get a good night’s sleep. I try to sleep on what seemed like a 1” mattress, but with the lights on, and the noise, I couldn’t sleep at all. With no way to tell the time, it just crawled by very slowly.

Eventually, they open the food port, and give me breakfast. No one had fed me all along. It sucked though, 2 pieces of bread, a slice of ham, and a slice of cheese, along with an apple juice.

I devour it, even though it sucked royally.

They open the food port door what feels like a lifetime later (but likely an hour or two), and instruct me to go to my knees, ankles crossed, hands behind my head.

Once I’ve done this, they open the cell door, and re-handcuff and shackle me, stand me up, and lead me out. I see the local chief of Police and another officer waiting. They lead me to a local car, and place me, all chained up, in the backseat. We begin the hour-long drive back to my hometown.

When we’re at the edge of town, they pull over, and the chief opens the “latch” between the front and back area, asking me if I want them to conceal my identity. I reply back “of course”. The officer gets out, opens the back door, and removes my seatbelt. They push me onto my stomach, and hogtie me. Closing the door, they continue the rest of the way back to the station.

Coming into the sallyport, they carry me out, and place me, hogtied, in another segregation cell.

About another 30 minutes later, the chief comes by, and releases me from the hogtie, leaving me cuffed. He explains that they were asked to treat me like they would a non-compliant prisoner, so I would have lots of content for my story. He leaves the cell, and they lock the door behind him.

After what seems like hours later, the door opens again, and another officer comes in, and leads me out. He walks me to the sallyport, where I’m placed in yet another cruiser. They place a spit hood over my head, and drive me to the newspaper office. They lead me into the editors office, still chained up, hooded, and in a bright orange prisoner jumpsuit. They sit me down, and remove the hood. The editor asks me about my experience, and how I’ve fared. He tells me that he didn’t think I would agree to being arrested and spending some time in different police jurisdictions, so he pulled in a couple favours.

After we talk a bit (which was surprising easy even though I was still in chains), the officers put the hood back on my head, and lead me back to the cruiser. Putting me in the backseat, they hogtie me again, and drive me back to the police station. They carry me back in, and place me in a cell in the sallyport. Hard concrete floors, nothing in the cell. They lock the door, and I’m alone... again, it seems like hours, since I can’t do anything.

I am worried though, as I have been all along, that they’d be able to tell just how turned on by the whole process I really am. I feel the wetness between my legs, and my nipples are so hard.

Eventually, they come back in, and place a leather hood over my head, tying it down tight, and I hear the “click” of a padlock securing it in place. They pick me up, and put me in the back of yet another car. It starts, and I’m driven somewhere. I’m released from the hogtie, and am brought out of the car, it feels like I’m outside somewhere. I’m lead inside, and the hood is removed. I see my hubby standing in front of me. “Thank God!” I exclaim “ let me out of these cuffs!”

“Not yet” he replies, “I’m not done with you yet”.

He forces me down to my knees, and he stands in front of me. I get the hint, and using my teeth, pull down his zipper. He gets his member out, and I bring him to orgasm.

I expect to be released at this point, but no, he lays me down on my side, and opens the front of the jumpsuit – reaches down and moves my panties out of the way, and takes care of a very pressing need.

After he’s done, I’m totally exhausted, but he sits me up, and puts a glass of wine in front of me with a straw. I sip on it for a while, and then he gives me my nightly meds. I tell him I really don’t want to sleep cuffed, but I feel the meds starting to take effect, in a stronger way than normal. I say it must be the alcohol, and next thing I know he’s carrying me upstairs, still chained, and placing me on the bed.. I fight it, but fall into a deep sleep.

I wake up, completely naked, and not in any chains, my husband sleeping beside me.

I gotta start working on that story – the trick is now how to keep it “G” rated…

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