Training OfficerA BDSM Story by Harley
Grant Part I: HomeworkChapter 1: IntakeThe knock on my door turned out to be the woman from three houses down. She was in training to be a police officer. She was really into it and wore her student uniform all the time. I’d been to her house and she had police memorabilia everywhere, posters of law enforcement up on the walls, even drank her tea out of police academy mugs. Once at her house, she’d caught me fingering the pair of handcuffs she’d carelessly left out. I mumbled some excuse, my face flushed. I didn’t think I’d given anything away. She asked if she could come in and ask me a favor. I invited her in and offered her some water. I liked her, she was so very clear about being a police officer and so committed to the honor and integrity of it all. There was no sexual tension between us, just friends. She started to explain that she was now in the training section of her class where they studied arrest and custody procedures. They practiced on each other, doing cuffing and applying restraints. She kind of skidded to a stop – a stop that I sensed occurred because she had planned to go on to ask to practice on me, but she lost her nerve. I looked at her. She was a little on the short side, a little on the thick and sturdy side. Not an unattractive face, but not a fashion model. She looked like a cop. “You get practice with your class, don’t you?” I asked. I wanted to make sure. “Yes, but that isn’t complete.” Again, the absence of an obvious proposal. I would have to take the plunge. “I have the feeling that you are not being totally straight with me,” I said. She looked a little panicked. Being honest and straight was so important to her. She appeared to be flushed. “I mean,” I said, “it is pretty obvious that you want to practice on me, like you practice on your fellow students, but I’m sure you don’t hesitate to ask them. Is there some reason why practicing on me would be different?” “You’re a civilian,” she said quickly, and dishonestly. “I don’t think that is the reason at all. Is there some reason you think I’d be interested in this?” As if my answers so far hadn’t been a clue. She put her head down for an instant. “Can I trust you?” she said. “Trust is very important to me, as I believe it is to you. Privacy, respect, we both know what those mean. I’d encourage you to go ahead and say what is on your mind.” She took a deep breath. “We practice the ordinary things in class, but I know a police officer has to do more things. We only practice for a couple of minutes but restraint can take longer. And we don’t practice long term custody or some of the more serious things. You know….” “Trust,” I said. “Some of your words could be taken in a couple of different ways. What exactly did you mean?” “Prisoners have to be searched.” “Strip searched?” She got red again, beat red. “And you’d like to have me naked in cuffs wouldn’t you?” I smiled, this conversation had certainly gone quickly to a very interesting place. “Is that all, I think there might be more.” By now, I hoped I’d given her permission and confidence to lay it all out there. “There are punishment positions for unruly prisoners, but” deep breath, “I thought you might like to be in those positions.” She looked panicked at me, perhaps surprised at her self for saying that. “I think we understand each other now,” I said. I smiled. “I think I’d like to help you with all of your practice assignments. But I will need some boundaries.” She nodded, this was stuff she understood. She was all about boundaries and what was right and wrong. “I have been thinking that time is important. There is feeding to consider, the policies I mean. And exercise breaks.” So disorganized for her, she must be excited. “It sounds like you are really talking about a prison, not an arrest.” “A cop isn’t supposed to like prison guards, I guess we all have our shameful secrets.” I tried not to laugh. If she only knew some of my shameful secrets. “Where would we do this?” I asked. “Are you actually interested? You know what I mean?” Again the pleading look. “Yes, I think we do understand each other. You saw me with the handcuffs.” “I was right,” and that was a statement of relief, not of triumph. This had been eating her. “Where could we do this? A hotel?” “Well, I have made some preparations in my basement.” Pause. “I have a cell.” “How interesting,” I said, and I was interested. Getting a little excited even. “How about those rules? And when should we do this?” “You mean it; you’d like to be my prisoner for a weekend?” A weekend. God, I was
going to pee my pants with excitement. “A weekend, that is a commitment. But it could be very exciting. But what about those rules?” “Oh, yea. Here is what I’m thinking. You will report at 6:30pm on Friday and I will control you until 2pm on Sunday. You have my word you will be released then. I will promise not to injury you and I will feed you. But you will be confined all of the time to my basement and in restraint of various kinds extensively. You will obey my commands or the punishments will increase. No prison can run without that. I know you like this and I think I can promise that you will have a great weekend. You have my word that I am not crazy or unstable and I understand that with such power comes responsibility and the need for control. I will not consume any alcohol or drugs while I am on duty. I will respect the privacy of the prisoner. I will take responsibility for your safety.” That was a speech. All I could say was “I accept your terms and I will report at 6:30 on Friday evening.” I stood, she stood and we shook hands. Fuck, I could hardly wait for Friday. I tried not to let it show. Friday I came home from work early and took a shower and shaved again. I ate a light dinner and dressed neatly but casually. I knocked on her door at as close to exactly 6:30 as I could manage. She opened it and directed me to come in. She was in her full police officer uniform, even the hat. She shut the door behind me – and locked it. “Remove all your clothes and put them the duffel bag. Remove all jewelry, glasses, wigs and false teeth. Place any contraband in the bag and you will not be punished for it. If we find contraband after this point you will earn demerits leading to punishment.” She’d learned that speech in class. Wigs? I complied, putting my clothes neatly in the bag along with my watch. I had no other contraband. As soon as I was done, she said, “Turn away from me and put your hands behind your back. Do not make any sudden moves.” I did. As expected a pair of handcuffs was secured around my wrists. They were clicked down to be fairly snug but not too tight. I could feel her check for clearance. She double-locked them. All per regulation. A belly chain went around my waist and was locked. I felt a second pair of cuffs go around my wrists. “Must eliminate single points of failure,” she grunted. The belly chain had a little chain dangling from it and this went around the middle of both sets of my handcuffs, securing my wrists to the small of my back. She knelt down and fixed a pair of leg irons on each ankle. Taking the chain that connected them, she stood up and connected it to the belly chain. This was the classic ‘come along’ tie, with the exception of the additional pair of handcuffs. She told me to turn around and I found myself facing her, naked and cuffed. Too bad girls don’t get a visible hard on; I suspect we both were aroused. “Permission to speak?” I asked. “Granted.” “May I say that was efficient? And I like the second pair of cuffs, the extra weight is a good feeling.” “Thank you.” She grabbed me by the arm and escorted me through the house. We walked to the back of the house, entered a little landing, turned and went downstairs into her secret world. I tried to take it in. It was quite the little prison. At the far side was a sizeable cell with iron bars across the front. There was a little interrogation area off to one side with a chair bolted to the floor opposite a more comfortable chair. I got the impression there might be other smaller cells at one side but I couldn’t see clearly. She led me over to a side rail. “Bend over,” she said, pushing my head down near the rail. Quickly she secured my head to the rail with a loop of chain and a lock. She removed one leg cuff and ordered me to spread my legs. Then she secured my ankles to bars pulling my legs wide apart. She then proceeded to put on gloves and give me a very professional cavity search. “You didn’t practice this at school,” I guessed. “We studied the procedure. But actual practice is valuable.” She patted me on the ass. After checking my mouth as well, she put me back in the come along, released my head and escorted me into the big cell. Locking the door, she then let me back up against the bars and she removed my cuffs. I explored the cell. Traditional narrow bed hanging from chains, small toilet. Concrete walls on three sides, bars across the front. I complemented her on the amount of work that must have been involved. She informed me I was free until late snack. She then went over to a little desk I hadn’t seen before across the room sat down and busied herself with paperwork. Later she got my clothes and effects, inventoried them and presented me with an itemized inventory to sign. Still later she came back and told me it was time for cell inspection. She had me back up against the bars again and reapplied the two pairs of cuffs and a different pair of leg irons, this time it kept my ankles closely connected. I was told to lay down and then, working through the bars, she applied a chain between the ankles and wrists and pulled me into a pretty tight hog tie. Only then did she enter the cell and proceed to inspect my area for any contraband. I was released. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully and I had lots of time to relax. Nothing lets the stress go but having no choice but to relax. Lights out came early and I went to sleep. [ On to Chapter 2 ] |