A Courthouse Corruption

"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.