Consumerism Ch. 20-29

"Ok, so am I, but I wouldn't do any of this shit," you respond in challenging tone, frown, and watch me furtively through narrow eyes.

"It wasn't all at once," I say. "She put me on hormones first. According to her, it was temporary, and she could reverse it with testosterone later. She is a medical doctor and I trusted her. Months later they wanted me to dress like this. Then they started giving me medication. At first one but later more."

Your eyes stare down at the lab report before gazing up at me. "Is your job physically or mentally demanding?" you ask.

"No, it's boring most of the time," I answer with a shrug. "Not complaining though I just read during the dead times."

"These drugs, they're stimulants..." you say, lean forward, plaster on a slight smile, and try to hide the clearing of your throat.

The two of us stare at each other in silence.

"Your boss made a comment about handcuffs--" you begin with a pained expression and steady eye contact.

No, no, no, no. "I don't want to talk about him," I interrupt, look away and hold extremely rigid. Don't do it. My id vanquishes my ego and my body trembles and quakes.

"Well, I was just going--" you start.

"I invoke my right to be silent," I say, suck my cheeks in, go rigid, and lean back in my chair with my arms crossed against my chest.

"You don't want to talk anymore?" you ask, narrow your eyes, clench your jaw, and sneer at me.

"Not if it's about that." I explain, lean away from you, keep my neck stiff and cross my arms.

You stand up, release a heavy sigh, turn your back to me and shake your head. "Why didn't you quit your job?" you say as you look away from me. "Why are you letting this happen to yourself?"

"Look, I told you I'm quiet and keep to--"

"Bullshit!" you yell, slam your fist down on the table, get up in my face and stare at me crazy eyed.

I sob, slump into my chair, and say nothing. You may be quiet and keep to yourself like me. But you're not me. You're strong, confident, and socially able. I know it. You must know it as well. There's no reason for it. Barking at me like that. Forcing me to admit what should be obvious. Talking to you like this. It was a mistake. "I want an attorney," I say in a cracked voice through tears.

You grumble, creak open the door, and slam it shut. I sit and whimper.

After a long period of time, the door opens and you're holding handcuffs. "Now you're under arrest," you say. "I'm booking you into jail for driving under the influence."

26. El Cortez Apartments

As you walk me past the fenced pool, my eyebrows raise, and I realize that this is definitely not the jail you're taking me to. My heels clack against the outdoor concrete steps as you lead me up to the second floor. Your keys jingle in your hands before they scrape up against the inside of the lock. As you escort me inside, I am in a tiled room with a leather couch, large Sony television set, glass round dining table, and kitchen with usual accompaniments. Your hand releases me and I sit down on one of the chairs around the dining table.

You walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, grab a beer, open the can, sip malt, remove meat and vegetables, and begin making yourself a sandwich.

I frown, look down, and swallow. "Uhm," I mumble. "Aren't you... forgetting something?"

You look down at the items you have splayed in front of you on what is presumably your kitchen counter. After studying the items, you definitively nod. The fridge opens again, and your hand retrieves an onion and sets it next to the other items.

"I meant me, uhm," I stammer and hesitate as I look around his apartment. Its clean but seems a little barren. "Did you forget to bring me to the jail and brought me home with you instead?"

"I figured there wasn't any rush," you say as you grip a large, sharp knife. "You being quiet and wanting to be left alone. Doing whatever other people tell you to. I didn't think you'd complain much. If I just took my time. I can take you to jail later today. Maybe. If I feel up to it. We'll see I suppose." The kitchen fills with the sound and smell of peppers and onions chopping.

I sigh and look down. My eye catches a garbage can near your kitchen counter. There are beer cans and empty plastic vodka bottles. Not a promising sign.

"You're the first person I've had visit me here," you say, open a bread loaf, and retrieve a plate from your cupboard. "I've lived here since then. The riot. My ex-wife couldn't handle it. My reputation. I don't blame her. If I could divorce myself to get away from it, I would in a heartbeat." You carry a plated sandwich over to the table and sit across from me. "I used to feel the same way as you. I wished other people would leave me alone. You know what happened? I guess I got what I wanted."

My throat tightens as my eyes hold steady at you from across the table. I move closer to the dining table. You deserved better than the way you were treated. Even if you hassle me with this bullshit.

The sandwich crunches when you bite it. You stare at me, sigh, put the sandwich down, and come over to me and unlock the handcuffs.

I frown, blink rapidly and look around the apartment again. "Um, I don't understand," I say.

"You can leave," you say, shrug your shoulders, and sit back down at the table. "I'm not going to charge you with it. The DUI. Not since you weren't aware that you were impaired. It wouldn't be fair."

"So, you believe me?" I ask in a shaky, soft voice and scratch at my throat.

"Yes," you say. "I can tell by how you've been acting this whole time. You're timid and cowardly. You don't stick up for yourself."

"I suppose that's true," I concede.

"Well stop doing it, it's annoying," you complain, pinch your lips, shake your head, and sneer at me. "Show backbone."

It's so exhausting dealing with you. You want to see me act aggressively? Fine. It's something I hate to do. The ultimatum. But sometimes brute force is the only way to get people to shut up. I narrow my eyes, cross my arms and sneer back. "Are you going to fuck me or what?" I bitch.

"Excuse me?" you ask in a raised voice.

"You heard what I asked," I snap back at you, flare my nostrils and stare. "I'm not putting up with this shit. You cuffing me, driving me to your apartment, and being alone with me here like that. Just to eat your stupid sandwich and let me go. I'm not leaving here like that. Not when you have a bed here and a penis. It was your choice, Officer. Bringing me here. You broke the law doing it. I know that. You know that. Now finish what you started and fuck me. And yes, I have a cock. You'll just have to deal with it. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you did what you did."

You freeze, mouth open, and your arms hang loosely to your side. "F-fine," you stammer. I knew I could make you shut the fuck up.

I look you in the eyes as a relaxed smile spreads on my face. "Great, now put those handcuffs back on me," I entreat and stick my hands behind my back.

27. Officer Holtz's Bedroom

My right-hand cuffs to the radiator in the back left corner of your bedroom and I look up at you. You're holding my dress in your hands and your duty belt is sitting on top of a dresser on the other side of the room next to the entryway. I pull at my hand and the cuffs scrape against the metal boiler. I wear a black transparent brassier, a mostly transparent black pair of panties that does cover my hard penis, and a black garter belt. My stockings and heels remain affixed to my legs and my back props up against your cold apartment wall.

You toss the dress behind you onto the bed, cup my chin with your moist right hand, lift my head and stare down into my eyes. There is a trembling in your hand.

I wink at you, twinkle my eyes, and grin widely. "It's so embarrassing Officer," I remark. "You catching me whoring myself out like that. I was scared at first. When I saw you were taking me here. But I know your job is tough. I don't blame you for it. Taking the law into your own hands like this. Well, I suppose I have no other choice." I unclasp the bra behind me with my free left hand, toss it aside, show you my big fake boobs, and unzip your pants. My left-hand slips inside and grabs your big penis, senses its warmth and pulls it out so my eyes can stare at it. It's got a nice hand feel. I stroke the shaft, smile contently, clink my bracelets, and sweat on your penis through my hand.

You hold your chin high, grin knowingly, hold each of your police vest straps with each of your hands, stare firmly at my large breasts, and lick your lips.

"Uh huh," I say as I notice you stare at them. I nod my head, loosen my shoulders, focus my gaze on your hard cock, lean forward, and push your fat veiny pole in-between my sleazy hooker boobs and squeeze it for you using my left hand and right elbow.

You grab my breasts with your hands and squeeze them causing me to gasp. Your fingers are coarse and rigid. The opposite of my soft feminine digits. I could tell by their texture. You use them to shoot guns, grab people, fight, and lift weights. The handcuffs rattle and scrape as you hump your big penis against my cradling tits.

After letting you have your fun with my brand-new boobs, I remove your cock and hold it with only the thumb and its two nearest fingers. I lift the shaft up and inspect it from underneath. "Mmhmm," I approve and look at your balls. "Uh huh," I concur. Your penis plops into my mouth and I suck on its rubbery tip. My left hand rubs the shaft, clinks the bracelets, and tickles your wrinkly balls. It tastes sweaty and musky and reminds me of the smell of the back of your police SUV.

You moan, lean back, pant, and enjoy my pretend punishment. "Oh God, those glossy lips of yours..." you muse warmly, look me in my eyes, and smile bright.

I suck on your penis, puff out my lips, wink at you, and playfully pull away. My left hand lifts your shaft to a vertical position and squeezes, my bracelets clink, my eyelashes flutter at you, my glossy lips pucker and I loudly slurp your testicles into my wet mouth one at a time.

"Yes lovely, suck my balls," you encourage, gasp, bite down on your lower lip, close your eyes, and slightly lift your chin.

I comply, suck your balls, spit them out one at a time, stroke your shaft, clink my bracelets, stare at you, and smile. "Officer, I'm ready to be proper punished now for my whoring around," I request. "Cuff me up and throw me on your bed." My eyes look over at his bed. It's got an orange comforter over white sheets. Reminds me of a dreamsicle.

Click. My hand frees before I put both hands behind my back. You wrap the unlocked cuff around my left hand and double lock the restraints above my ass. Click, click.

My cuffs rattle as you grab them and lift me up off the ground. As I requested, you stand me up and toss me violently onto your soft bed. I land on my stomach and immediately sniff your bed. It smells clean and I detect floral fragrance. I smile and fidget. My body scoots and I roll over on to my back. I stretch out my neck and settle my head into a comfortable position on your white pillows. My arms and hands are cuffed behind my lower back which I lay on while my face and front torso face the ceiling. "My pussy's good and wet for you Officer," I lie while adopting a toothy grin. "Just in case though..." My eyes dart over to his dresser. "Why not use a little bit of that coconut oil you've got over there?"

You nod, grin, and walk over to the dresser. Your hard cock bobs back and forth with every step and I keep close tabs with my eyes. When you squeeze the bottle, it farts. Oil shoots on to your big penis and my mouth waters while your hand oils it up. You approach me on the bed holding the bottle. I lift my legs up, lean back against the bed and spread my ass for you. You detach my stockings from the garter belt allowing you to slide my panties off and expose my hard penis and ass. The bottle squeezes more oil into your hand. You penetrate me with three fingers, and you grease my asshole. The coconut smell is fresh and compliments your orange bed.

You unstrap your boots and remove them one at a time, climb up on to your bed, grab the base of your greasy penis, and aim it at my fleshy star. I swallow, wet my lips, widen my eyes slightly, smile nervously, and feel your big penis push inside of my body. You mount me, penetrate my anus, throb inside of my own throbbing insides, waft musky sweaty air into my nose, and grab my hard cock like a handlebar. Your right-hand squeezes and strokes my penis while you ride me, pump in and out, and roughly fuck me.

"Yes Officer, fuck my nasty pussy," I beg, moan, jiggle my boobs, part my lips, and stare intensely at you. As your hard penis slides in and out of my greased-up hole, my gland squeezes, mouth opens, and I gasp and froth. "I can feel it. Your cock. It's bringing back law and order in there." I twinkle my eyes at you before moaning.

You tower above me, arch your back, jackhammer my asshole with your penis, stroke my own hard cock with your hand, ride me like I'm you're punishing a nasty whore and breath faster and louder. Your muscles tighten, jaw sets, eyes alert on me, and your brow furrows.

"It's ok, Officer," I say in-between gasps. "Go ahead. Come inside. You don't need a warrant. I consent to whatever you want to do in there." I feel it throb inside me.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, shiver, gasp, and cream my sweaty, oily asshole with your warm milky come. It's not all at once. You came well prepared apparently and proceeds to empty an entire clip into my asshole. When you finally finish, you pull back carefully while your hand continues to stroke my own hard cock.

Both of us stare at my asshole, fidget, wet our lips and lean in. Finally, a jet of your warm come squirts out of my flooded star and streams warm down my ass and onto your bed leaving a cold trail in its wake. The sight sends me over the edge and my own penis comes all over my flat stomach with a few rogue jets even making their way all the way up to my big boobs. My mouth is wide open, breathing measured, and eyes look inward. I sigh deeply and look at you with a shy smile on my face.

28. Officer Holtz's Bedroom -- Evening

You cuddle me in your muscular arms. We're both naked now together underneath your orange comforter. The stockings, heels, garter belt, and handcuffs are now all atop your dresser. "Why did you want to have sex?" you ask, smile and rub my shoulder with your hand.

My eyes sparkle at you. "Why not?" I ask. No, I can do better than that. I like you and the small talk is so worth the effort this time. "It's because of how I was dressed. Also, how you were dressed. I enjoy it. Being affectionate. Besides, you're lonely, right? You wouldn't have brought me here like that otherwise. Also, I'm kind of a perv and you had handcuffs. I role played a little because I like it kind of sleazy."

Your left-hand rubs my right breast. "I'm like that too," you say. "I tried to be professional with you. When I looked at your license that day. I was surprised obviously. But I also crushed on you. It's just how I am. I have a thing for girls like you. It was wrong for me to take you here like this and I apologize."

"And deprive me of getting to cuddle with you in your bed?" I ask with a snort while I squeeze your left bicep. My head tilts to the side, my right eyebrow raises, and I blink at you. "You really like. Uhm. The type of girl who has a penis? I'd never expect that from someone like you. An officer. With big muscles."

"Yeah, I dated a girl like you before," you explain. "Before I was with my ex-wife. The time prior to when this stuff became both culturally popular and unfortunately controversial. The relationship didn't work out. We were different people. She loved to socialize, hit up the clubs, and be around other people. I'm not like that. Still, she was very hot and great at sex. Just like you."

"Yeah, but I'm not really the social type," I say.

"I know," you agree, a smile slowly builds on your face, and your hand feels moist against my breast. "It bothered me at first. Thinking I was kind of gay or something. But you know I still love women, being a man, and liking the things that I Iike. Nobody knows me better than I do. Even if I'm not the spitting image of the type of man I once thought I was. I'm ok with it."

I smile back and rub your arm. "I didn't choose this," I admit. "They forced me into it. Pressured me. Got me to sign contracts. Threatened me. Drugged me. Manipulated me." A sigh escapes my parted lips. "My feelings. They're mixed. I do enjoy it a lot though. Sleeping with you. Cuddling." I hug your body against mine under the warm and soft comforter.

You adopt an intense gaze, hold in a breath, and tense your jaw. "They're breaking the law," you say. "No way they're not. How many times do I read the news. And there's some story in there. Another corrupt scandal involving Vanholt. The criminals I arrest. They go to jail. Why is it that someone with a suit jacket and a white collar gets a free pass? Bullshit. This time it'll be different. You'll be my informant inside. Wearing a wire recording all the fucked-up shit they're doing. We'll tap phones. Figure out what they've been doing to you. My reputation may be hopeless and beyond repair. Most people who know of me hate me and always will. But if my investigation leads to the indictment of Vanholt executives. Well, there is one group of people who will respect me again. Treat me as a legend. One I happen to highly value. Law enforcement officers."

My brow furrows, the smile disappears from my face, my eyes narrow in confusion, and I gaze probingly at you. "Uhm," I stammer. "These are powerful people you're talking about. You don't know what it's like. I've been around them. They are rich, resourceful, and smart. Besides. She says she can help me. Eventually make me less socially anxious."

Your eyes bulge, lips curl, and teeth glare. "You sound like you have Stockholm syndrome," you accuse and growl. "These people drugged you. Lied to you. They put your life in danger. Letting you drive without telling you what medications you've been taking. Ones that impair you. Look, I know you don't want to hear this. But what they've been doing to you. It's some of the cruelest sexual abuse I've seen. And I've seen some sick things in my police career."

My eyes tear up and my nose sniffles. You sure are brave. But also, foolish. "Maybe you're right," I say as I cough, try to slow my breathing, and adopt a quick, false smile. "I just got a little nervous there with you referring to me as an informant. I'm not used to it. Being involved with the police."

You hold me in your muscular arms and kiss me. A tear runs down my cheek.

29. El Cortez Apartments -- After Midnight

I wear my dress over lingerie and garter belt, stockings, and brass bracelets. My feet bare, I hold my heels in my left hand. Where is my purse? I recall you left it in the kitchen. You snore on the bed asleep. I skulk into the kitchen. Sure enough, it's there on the counter. Right where you made yourself that sandwich. I grab it with my right hand. The door opens, I walk outside, it's dark, and it feels very nice outside. It's a shame that this time of year, you have to be out this early for it to be pleasant. I drop the heels onto the ground and slip my feet inside before attaching the straps.

My eyes peer back toward your apartment door. I swallow, grimace, avert my gaze, and clear my throat again. Can you imagine it? Me testifying in front of a jury. Telling random strangers that I took drugs, sucked cock, and let him beat me in our hotel room with his belt. I sigh. Getting cross examined by some slimy defense attorney with that contract I signed.