The Jail Bunny Ch. 01

The village looked pretty vacant as Jeff drove up what was, or at least what seemed to have used to have been, the main road. He hadn't told me where we were going, only that he had a surprise for me.

"The county took over this small village police department about six years ago or so," he remarked as we drove. "Then about a year and a half ago, this village department ceased operating altogether and everything was moved over to the county. The village had only about seven hundred residents left, so they were absorbed into another township."

He turned the car into a parking lot and a sign in front read "Cadenville Village Jail and Courthouse."

"They had no use for this jail or courthouse, so they vacated it," he told me. "Put the property up for sale."

He stopped the car and we got out.

"So, last week, I bought it," he concluded.

I looked at him.

"What for," I asked, intrigued.

He gave me a smile.

"Let's go inside," he said simply.

He unlocked the front door and we walked in. He turned on the lights and he clearly had had the electricity reactivated. It reminded me slightly of the jails and courthouses you see on old tv shows from the 1960s, but a little larger. There was a reception desk and as he led me back, there was desks which would have been utilized by a village sheriff and maybe two deputies. We walked further back and through a door and there were five jail cells, all empty of course, but still in good condition. Each was furnished with a cot with a sheet and blanket, a pillow, a toilet, and a sink.

"You've told me on more than one occasion how much you've fantasized about being arrested, being in jail," he said. "And we've played around with things in the bedroom, I know."

I blushed and grinned.

"But I thought maybe you'd like to spend some time in an actual jail. Be a prisoner. Even for an extended time, if you'd like."

The idea of it was an immediate turn-on.

They call us "jail bunnies." Some women are turned on by doctors, some by military men, some by physical laborers. Women get turned on by all sorts of things, but there are some of us who are turned on by the idea of being in jail. The idea of being arrested, restrained, frisked, confined, and completely under the authority of someone else makes us hot and wet. Our ultimate fantasy is to be locked in a cell and to have a cop or a guard come and have their way with us.

"I know it's not a prison or what not," Jeff said, "and maybe not exactly what you had in mind..."

"I love it," I replied. "This is amazing. You did this for me?"

He smiled and shrugged.

"What did you mean by extended period," I asked.

"Well, that's all up to you," he said. "You can come and go as you please or we could have a bit more fun with it. I could keep you locked up here and you'd have to do exactly as you're told, just as if you were really in jail."

I couldn't help but laugh, but again, the idea of it turned me on.

"Well, I do have a job, Jeff," I said.

"You could quit," he said. "And look, that's not me saying a woman shouldn't work. I'm just putting the option out there. I'd be happy to take care of you."

I blushed again. He was offering to take care of me financially so I could quit my job and live out a titillating fantasy for myself.

"Look, I know this might come across as a bit creepy, even," he said. "Me asking to lock you up. And if it's something you're not comfortable with..."

"No, Jeff, I'm completely comfortable with it. I...I trust you, completely. I just...it's all so surprising is all."

"Do you want some time to think about it?"

I thought for a moment. Jeff and I had been inseparable since we started dating nine months ago and he'd been very open about seeing a long-term future with me. We had so much in common, both in life and in the bedroom and he seemed determined to make me happy in both places. I didn't want to take advantage of his money or what he was willing to do for me, but he never seemed to think for a second that that is something I had in mind.

"No," I said. "I...I'd love it. Thank you. Can you...can you let me have two weeks so I can put in notice at work?"

"I don't think prisoners get to set their schedule like that," he said with a grin.

I laughed, knowing he was joking.

"Two weeks, then," he said. "It will allow me some time to prepare the place and get a couple of other things ready for you."

***

Fifteen days later, on a Monday morning, making the experience as real as possible for me, Jeff handcuffed me behind my back and put me in the backseat of his car and once again drove me out to the village where my new home was waiting. I sat in the back of the car, my heart racing, smiling to myself, a warm tingling feeling between my legs. I was dressed in jeans, a dark t-shirt, my blonde hair falling to my shoulders. To help play into my fantasy, Jeff had even dressed up in a police officer costume. But the handcuffs were far from costume props: they were police grade steel handcuffs, double-locked and tight around my wrists.

We'd agreed, tentatively, that we would start my "sentence" at six months. I would spend that time locked up at the jail. If at any time I grew weary of it, I had a safe-word I could use to tell him I wanted to get released, but, absent that word, any protest I gave would be considered part of a long-term roleplay between us.

Jeff pulled the car into the parking lot and stopped the engine. He got out of the car and opened my door for me and took me by the arm and helped me out. He walked me up to the entrance and unlocked the front door and led me inside. He took me to an area we hadn't explored when we first same here two weeks before: an booking area.

"Alright, Kellie," he said in as serious a voice as he could muster. "I'm going to remove these cuffs. I want you to place your hands flat on the wall over your head. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, trying hard not to giggle, to make the experience as real as I could for the both of us.

He unlocked the cuffs from my wrists and I put my hands on the wall as he had requested. I heard him set the metal cuffs down on the desk and his hands gripped my waist and began to make their way up my body, patting me down. They frisked my stomach and then each of my arms and finally my chest. I felt an even warmer tingling sensation between my legs. Then his hands patted my hips, all the way down my legs, and then up my thighs and between my legs. I took a deep heavy breath.

"Take off all of your clothes," he ordered.

I smiled to myself and turned and faced him, trying to remain in character. I removed my t-shirt and jeans and my socks and shoes and I stood there in my lace bra and matching panties.

He shook his head.

"Those are unacceptable attire, here," he stated. "You'll be issued plain white undergarments. Please remove them."

I shrugged and took them off and stood in front of him completely naked. He couldn't help but smile as he stared at me, even though he'd seen my naked body many times. He walked around me, grinning, taking in every inch: my breasts, my glistening wet pussy, my ass.

"Get a good enough look," I remarked, trying to pull myself back into the moment, trying to act as someone truly being sent to jail and subjected to this treatment would act.

Finally, he got himself back into character and he handed me a white tank-top undershirt and a pair of plain white panties.

"Put them on," he instructed.

I did as I was told. Then he handed me an orange uniform. This wasn't some cheap fantasy costume from an online intimacy store: they were a shirt and pants akin to orange scrubs. On the back, 'CITY JAIL' was stencilled in black lettering.

"Put it on," he said. I put the uniform on and stood there and finally, he handed me a pair of white socks and a pair of grey canvas shoes. I put them on as well.

He took me by the arm and led me over to another wall where there was a height chart. He stood me in front of it and he handed me a sign which, on a black background with white lettering, read:

BRENNAN, KELLIE

INMATE 2262024

"Face the camera and hold the sign up," he instructed. I did as I was told and he took a picture of me and then a picture of each side of me.

He walked over to me and turned me around and pulled my arms behind my back and I felt the handcuffs lock around my wrists again. He led me out of the booking area and into the block of cells. He stopped me at one of them, removed the handcuffs, guided me into the cell, and then closed the door, locking it, with a loud clang.

"Get comfortable," he said. "This will be your room for the next six months."

He walked away and left me alone. I let the confinement and the isolation of it all settle in and wash over me and it continued to titillate me even more. The vulnerability of it, the fact that I was locked in and couldn't leave -- I shuddered with excitement. I knew that if I wanted out, that if I was truly uncomfortable in any way, Jeff would let me out and end it without hesitation. But the idea that I was now completely at his mercy and that he could do whatever he wanted to me -- it turned me on to no end.

I knew he and I were going to have sex while I was here. That was a given. He was going to fuck my brains out and I was looking forward to it. But he and I had also agreed that there would be no sex in the first week. Allow the anticipation to build up, we had agreed. That would make the release even more intense when he finally got inside of me. Until then, I'd have to survive on masturbation if I wanted any sexual pleasure.

But the truth was, at the moment, I wanted to avoid even self-pleasure. I wanted the excitement of being locked in a cell, wearing that uniform, unable to go anywhere to become as much a reality in my mind as possible.

I laid down on the cot and it creaked a little beneath me. I stared at the bars of my cell. Most people would be scared to death at the idea of being in jail.

Me?

The next six months couldn't move slow enough.