iwillserveu
Posts: 1633
Joined: 1/1/2004
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Despite what some people think, a narrator is not the same as an author. I am not seeing a Cop-ish woman.
I was driving to a professional dominatrix because I like to get tied up sometimes. My check engine light came on and the engine started sputtering. I went from 60 mph to about 30 mph. On an interstate highway.
I was about to pull over when the state trooper pulled behind me and the light went on.
Did I mention it was about 10 am on New Years day and I must’ve fit the profile of a drunk trying to drive carefully?
Oh, before I forget to mention anything else important, I have SCA. I slur my words and can’t walk a straight line. Yeah, I can drive as long as I don’t have to lean to steer.
So the lady cop comes out and walks to my window as I roll it down and says “License and registration.” (I know what you are thinking. Lady cop+handcuffs+submissive guy. Great line coming like I left my license in my other pants. I wish it were that easy.)
Yes, I know in some states they make you get out of the car. They don’t do that in Massachusetts. Can I continue now?
I hand her my licence and registration as I say, “Problem, officer?” It comes out, “Prbm, offffficher?”
She thought I might be drunk before. Now she is sure. “Please get out of the car, sir.”
I get out as uncoordinated as I am. I can see her thinking this guy started drinking on Christmas and never stopped. She pulls out a piece of chalk and draws a straight line. “Would you please walk this line, sir.”
“No, I can’t,” I say, “but I’ll humor you.” I try and fail. “In Einsteinian curved space that line was straight. Can we just go straight to the breathalyzer? I would like proof I’m not drunk.”
She goes to her car and I breath into the tube. My blood alcohol is 0.00%. She looks confused. I tell her what I told you in the fourth paragraph. She does not believe the part about being able to drive and offers me a ride to the station.
“In the front?” I ask her.
“I won’t even hold your head as you get in the car,” she says.
I tell her the car has decided it won’t last as long as me, and ask her if I can use the phone at the station.
“Yes,” she says, “And it is not your one phone call. You are not under arrest.”
“Glad to hear that. Can I also get a ride home?” I ask.
“We’ll see if anyone is going that way, if not, you can get a cab. We’ll tow your car to our impound lot. You have 30 days to claim it before we declare it abandoned.”
At the Police station I call Mistress Julia and cancel. Then a woman comes and tells me she is heading into New Bedford after her shift ends in twenty minutes. I thank her.
When we leave and walk to her car she hands me handcuffs. “I don’t feel safe with a strange guy in my car. Put these on.”
I tell her I’m in no shape to be a threat to anyone and am wondering if she saw me walk to the car.
“Don’t give me any lip,” she says. “We monitor all phone numbers of out going calls, pervert. You like this stuff and I’d feel safer with you in these.”
I don’t usually trust someone I met 20 minutes ago, but she was a cop. Well, sort off. (She was like a captain’s secretary or something.) It also helped that I hadn’t been tied up in over a year. Sometimes we guys think with the wrong head.
Did you notice anything? I didn’t describe her. It really does not matter if she is willing to tie me up. (Heck, Mistress Julia was about 250 pounds but if she tied me up she could get what ever she wanted, and I’d pay for the privilege.) OK, this woman was a female Caucasian; about 140 pounds; 5’7”; black hair (with red highlights); legs that reached the floor. Inside she wore a purple dress with a clunky gold necklace and black pumps. Out side she wore a Parka with the fur lined hood and boots with a different fur coming out the top. (Did I mention it was January?)
I got it and cuffed myself. I’d like to say she reached over, grabbed the back of my head and kissed me. Yup, that is what I’d like to say.
What happened is different. She reached over, fastened my seat belt, and we left the parking lot.
I’m a witty guy, but I don’t talk much anymore. I get tired of answering, “What?” all the time.
Either she knew and was filling the silence or I could see why her husband left her. I couldn’t guess how he managed to break her stream of consciousness to put, “I want a divorce” into the conversation, but somehow he did.
The ride was only ten minutes, but I learned how she gave that man the best years of her life, and oh, her name in Marlene, but I can call her Mistress Marlene and her father, God rest his soul, had gout until he died in that horrible car accident the year after she started working for Mr. Johnsen, oh, that is Captain Johnsen and you know how when you split up after ten years you find out what you thought were your friends were really his friends and she talks to her mother even though through the Alzheimer’s her mother thinks she is her Aunt Rose her mother’s sister... OK, that is enough. I’ll give you the good part. She said she wanted a man, but on her terms and when I fell into her lap it was the answer to her prayers. (Did I mention she was Catholic? She’d feel guilty for this sin.) When we got to her house she pulled my head toward her and kissed me.
(To be continued with what happened in the house and the babbling woman discovers the chastity device if anyone cares.)
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When the Lady smiles i can't resist her call. As a matter of fact, i don't resist at all. Well that depends if it is a smile or a grimmace. 
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Extremely lucky - Female/male part 1 - 
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