The Servant Ch. 02

Chapter 02 -- The holding cell

The metal detector went off when she tried to go through screening. The airport employee called over the tough-looking female officer, the one who shared Trish' last name. The island cop's eyes scanned Trish with a strange expression; curiosity mixed with impatience and a hint of contempt.

The cop grabbed Trish by the shoulders and forced her to walk through the machine. When it beeped, Officer Bousquet ordered Trish to take off her belt and shoes. Trish went through the metal detector only to have the machine beep again. There were several attempts to pass her through the machine, each of which resulted in a beep and an order to remove an item from her body. First her jewelry, then the stud in her eyebrow. The officer patted Trish on the hips and thighs, found nothing, and sent her through again. No good, the machine still beeped.

"Unbutton your blouse."

"What?"

"You will unbutton your blouse and open it."

"In the airport? No! Fuck no!"

"You will unbutton your blouse and open it. I order you."

"Fuck you! I'm not unbuttoning my fucking blouse for you!"

Before Trish realized what was happening, the cop grabbed her right arm, twisted it behind her back, cuffed her hand, then cuffed her other hand. With no further words, Officer Bousquet immobilized Trish with a painful grip on her neck and forced her to walk out a side door and into cinderblock building.

Two female cops and a woman in a medical smock were waiting inside the second building. The moment Officer Bousquet and her captive entered the room, the other three snapped to attention. With a quick nod, the officer ordered her two subordinates to grab Trish' arms. Now that the captive was immobilized, it was time to teach the arrogant tourist a little about island respect.

The officer fiercely slapped Trish across the face. She hit her so hard that the prisoner was stunned for a few seconds. Blood dripped out of her nose.

Officer Bousquet pinched the prisoner's chin with a powerful grip of her thumb and forefinger and forced her to look her in the eye.

"That was for 'fuck you'. On this island you will not address a police officer in such a manner."

Trish was so stunned and terrified that she could not speak. No one had ever hit her before. The officer ordered one of the assistants to unlock the cuffs restraining the prisoner's hands. Trish immediately held her throbbing cheek, but Officer Bousquet tapped her chest.

"Now, will you unbutton your blouse, or do you wish to be struck again?"

Her hands trembled as she opened her blouse. The officer flicked a piece of jewelry that she was wearing on her belly button. She directed her next order to the woman in the medical smock

"Take that off."

With a quick snip from a pair of sturdy medical scissors the assistant cut the ring in Trish' stomach. She carefully worked it out of the captive's skin and handed it to the cop, who tossed it to the side of the room.

One of the assistants brought a metal detector wand and handed it to Officer Bousquet. When the rod passed over Trish' chest, it beeped again. The officer ordered Trish to take off both her blouse and her bra. The burning ache in the American's cheek ensured that she would obey.

Once Trish was naked from the waist up, the officers saw why the metal detector had alerted. Trish was wearing nipple rings. The three cops and their assistant, who had never seen anything like that before, flinched in disgust.

"You will remove those sick things from yourself. And if you enjoy hurting...we are experts, you know...experts. We can make you suffer..."

"I...officer...I can't...they're kinda...permanent."

"No...not permanent at all."

The medical assistant stepped forward and cut the two nipple rings and removed them. Trish cringed...because her nipples were not the only part of her body where she still had jewelry. Officer Bousquet waved her metal wand yet again, and as soon as the device moved over the captive's crotch, it went off.

The two subordinates continued to tightly hold the prisoner while Officer Bousquet jerked her skirt and panties to the floor. Trish shook with terror as the cop studied her pussy, which was completely hairless from depilation treatments. Fascinated...the island woman ran her hand over the smooth skin.

Then she noticed that Trish's stomach was bloated. Hmm...interesting. She ran her hand over the captive's abdomen and pressed down. Trish grunted from pain. The young woman's stomach was hard. The whole thing now looked very suspicious. The officer suspected she knew what it was.

However, she wanted to know why that metal detector kept going off before pursuing anything else. She pinched Trish' inner thigh and ordered her to spread her feet. Her heart pounding from terror and her face flushed with shame, Trish complied, clumsily moving her feet apart. The cop crouched and spread the captive's pussy lips. OK...so there was the answer...the crazy girl had a ring on her clit!

Officer Bousquet ordered her subordinates to force the prisoner to bend backwards over a table, while the woman in the medical smock cut off the last of the offending jewelry.

The cop waved the wand yet again to assure herself that there was no other metal in weird places. Then she ordered the assistants to flip Trish over on her stomach. The women clamped down hard on her arms while the medical assistant changed surgical gloves. Trish saw the policewoman grab something off the wall.

It was a whip. It was about two feet long with a six-inch handle and three 18-inch leather tails. It was a frightening-looking object, especially for a prisoner who was helplessly bent over a table in an interrogation room full of cruel cops. Officer Bousquet cracked the whip on the table and showed it to her captive to let her know there would be no resistance...or else.

As she lay bent over the table and the medical assistant lubricated her bottom-hole, Trish understood that she already was in serious trouble, and it was about to get much worse. The moment that woman's finger went up into her bottom, Trish would have a lot more to worry about besides simply disrespecting a Caribbean Island police officer in a sub-standard airport.

With her whip ready to strike at the smallest hint of resistance, the officer watched with fascination as her assistant pushed apart the prisoner's bottom-cheeks.

Officer Bousquet struggled to maintain a cold professional demeanor. Against her wishes, she began to find the young prisoner extremely attractive. There was something intensely erotic about Trish' white skin and hairless body, especially given that she was being held down and was totally helpless. The police woman resisted the urge to run her fingertips over the American's bald vulva and smooth bottom. She pushed aside her budding sexual interest in the captive and limited herself to warning her to not dare move during the examination...or else...

Unfortunately, Trish couldn't help herself. She knew that there was no way the cops would not discover what she had in her stomach, but she struggled anyway, moving from side to side to keep the medical assistant from getting her finger into her bottom. Officer Bousquet nodded at her subordinate to get out of the way.

CRACK...CRACK!!!

Trish screamed as the pain from the two whip strokes seared into her backside. She couldn't believe how much it hurt. The scream faded into terrified sobs.

The officer and medical assistant watched as six reddish welts rose up on the prisoner's tender skin. Both women noted that yes indeed...white skin really marks nicely. The contrast between the reddening welts and the pale unmarked flesh that surrounded them highlighted the girl's total helplessness and vulnerability.

Watching the prisoner's pale skin and reddening welts proved too much for Officer Bousquet. The cop no longer could resist her desire to run her hand over her prisoner's bottom, touching the soft skin and raised whip marks. She was totally fascinated with her captive, to the point of ignoring the curious looks she was getting from her three subordinates. She felt the urge to gently kiss the welts, then put her face between...

The cop snapped out of her fantasy, embarrassed at having such thoughts towards a foreign prisoner. She resumed her cold, authoritative voice:

"Now you have felt the whip, Trish Bousquet. You will feel it again and again until you cooperate. You belong to the National Police of Santa Eduviges now. Whatever is your stomach also belongs to us. So you will submit and you will share. You will submit and share, either before I whip you, or after I whip you. That choice is yours. Simple and easy for both of us. Yes?"

Still crying, Trish forced herself to nod. The officer tightened her lips and laid another vicious blow into the foreigner's helpless bottom. As soon as the captive's scream died down the officer continued:

"You will show me proper respect, Trish Bousquet. You will not nod when I ask you a question. You will address me as Officer Bousquet. That should be easy for you, because you will notice that we have the same last name. Interesting, is that not?"

After a moment of silence, during which the only sound in the room was the quiet sobbing of the prisoner, the officer twisted backwards and there was another vicious CRACK!!!

"I asked you a question, Trish Bousquet, and you will answer. Don't you find it interesting that we have the same last name?"

"I...I...ohhhhhhh...I...yes, Officer Bousquet...that's interesting."

"Good girl. Now maybe we have an understanding. I will ask the questions. You will answer the questions. Simple and easy for both of us. Yes?"

"I...I...Oooooohooooo...yes, Officer."

"Now, another simple tasking. You have something hidden inside of you. I want to extract it and find out what it is. You will cooperate. Simple and easy for both of us. Yes?"

CRACK!!!

"Aieeeeeee! OW! Please...I can't..."

"Then you will cooperate."

Trish cried, but she quit moving. She was defeated. There was no point in trying to put off the inevitable: they were going to find the cocaine and that was the end of it. She hated to think of the hassle this would cause her trust fund manager. She knew that eventually she'd get out of it...but it might be several days...or even a couple of weeks...and who knew what would happen in the meantime?

The prisoner winced as a rough finger worked its way up her bottom. A couple of seconds later the medical assistant triumphantly extracted a bluish grape-sized oval and showed it to Officer Bousquet. She heard the cop's voice:

"Very good, Intern Bruneau. See how many more she's got."

For the next several minutes Trish winced as the medical assistant dug around her intestines, in search of bluish ovals. After extracting 12 more she commented:

"Officer, I believe she should have an enema, and also she should have her stomach emptied."

"Very well. Let's do her stomach first."

With a snap of her fingers, the officer ordered her assistants to pull Trish off the table and force her onto her hands and knees on the floor. The medical assistant placed a large metal bowl under the prisoner's face. Then she put a cloth mask over Trish' mouth. The prisoner was terrified and struggled. The officer struck her hard across her welt-covered bottom. Trish screamed as the assistant held the mask firmly over her nose. There was a whiff of a foul-smelling chemical that instantly made her gag. She threw up...several times...emptying her stomach into the bowl. She momentarily passed out, but the medical assistant grabbed her hair and the officer struck her yet again with the whip.

Trish cried, retched, and expelled a couple more of the pellets. The bowl now contained more than half of the cocaine she had been carrying.

Officer Bousquet coldly pondered the sick, broken, humiliated woman kneeling on the floor. She was a good judge of character and saw Trish for what she was...a spoiled rich girl who had gotten away with a lot of crap in her life. Well rich girl, it's time to pay up. You won't be getting away with this one. She had in mind a cruel idea that would take away whatever dignity Trish still thought she might have.

"Give her some water. Then I want you to take her out to the carwash area. Bring the enema bottle and call everyone who's not busy."

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A half an hour later the naked prisoner was led out of the interrogation room past a couple of trailers and a barracks. She was too scared and miserable to take much note of her surroundings. She had not heard the officer's last orders to her subordinates, so the only thing she knew was that she had been forced to drink some water and sit on the floor facing the wall. Now she was being dragged outside, naked, to a cement slab. A terrifying thought crossed her mind: was it possible they were going to shoot her?

No, nothing like that, although what Officer Bousquet had in mind was not much better. A group of cops and airport security agents, mostly men but some women as well, were standing around the slab. Several had cameras and there were a couple of video recorders.

Trish' captor kicked her shin and ordered her to get on her elbows and knees on the cement in the tropical sunlight. The hot surface burned her skin when she complied, but with her bottom already covered with searing welts, she dared not disobey. She looked up with horror when she saw the medical assistant approaching her with the enema bottle. The cop flexed the whip to remind her prisoner not to get any ideas about resisting.

Trish cried as she felt the nozzle enter her exposed anus and push its way in. Her audience laughed and made lewd jokes and comments as they watched and took pictures of the hapless American. Trish closed her eyes as the assistant unclipped the hose and the warm water flowed into her intestines. She winced at the increasing pressure as the bag emptied. After several minutes, the medical assistant pulled out the nozzle.

Trish overheard the men placing bets over how many pellets would come out of her once she expelled the water. The prisoner remained on her elbows and knees, thinking to herself: this can't be happening...this really can't be happening...

Officer Bousquet ordered her two subordinates to pull Trish into a squatting position.

"Release your water."

Crying from total humiliation, Trish obeyed. Noxious brown water splashed onto the cement as she felt pellet after pellet exiting her bottom. When she was finished, one of the assistant officers forced her to stand upright and cuffed her hands behind her back. Trish heard one of the men announce:

"Who guessed seventeen? That's what we've got, seventeen."

Yes, indeed, there were seventeen pellets lying on the cement. Trish watched through teary eyes as the men handed over their cash to the one who had the right number. And the men were not done with her. Several wanted to pose with her, to get pictures of themselves with a naked American white girl.

The medical assistant picked up the pellets. One of the lot attendants brought a hose and washed off the slab. Officer Bousquet ordered Trish to return to the slab, so she could be washed off as well. The grinning old man with the hose was very thorough with his task, washing her down several times and concentrating on squirting her sore bottom and the area between her legs.

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A few minutes later Trish was sitting on the floor in the back of a police van with her hands still cuffed behind her back. The vehicle was sweltering and had no windows, so she could not see where she was being taken. She tried to maintain her balance as the vehicle made several unexpected stops and turns. The most awful detail about the trip, however, was that she was still totally naked.

When the van finally pulled to a stop, Officer Bousquet opened the back door and ordered her prisoner to get out. Trish emerged into the courtyard of a whitewashed colonial-era police station. The courtyard was hot from being blasted by the tropical sun all day, but after being in the oven-like van the air felt refreshing by comparison. The cop firmly gripped her prisoner's arm and led her inside.

Just a couple of doors past the entrance, the two women entered a judicial hearing room. There was not much in the room except for some benches, a video recorder, the judge's desk, a flag, and the portrait of a man in a military uniform that Trish guessed must be the country's leader.

Trish realized that her treatment as a prisoner was not anything out of the ordinary. She saw two naked young men, both of them Islanders, already kneeling near the judge's desk. Like Trish, their hands were cuffed behind their backs, and like Trish, they had been whipped. One of the men had been beaten about the same as Trish and just had whip marks on his bottom. The other, however, had been flogged much more severely and had dark welts covering his bottom, thighs, and shoulders.

Officer Bousquet tapped Trish with her whip and ordered her to kneel next to the two men. Without her hands free to help her keep her balance, Trish struggled to get on her knees. She watched as her captor presented some papers to the judge. The medical assistant entered the room and handed over an evidence bag full of cocaine pellets. The two women talked to the judge for a few minutes. Officer Bousquet then pulled Trish' body jewelry from a pocket and showed it to the judge, who gave the prisoner a disgusted look.

"Bring her before the desk."

"Yes, your honor."

Officer Bousquet grabbed Trish' arm, kicked her leg, and pulled her to her feet. She positioned the captive in front of the judge, who spent several minutes looking over her attractive figure. Finally he ordered the prisoner to kneel.

The judge held up the pellets and addressed Trish:

"Did you have this cocaine inside your body when you got off the plane?"

Tears flowed down Trish' cheeks as she mumbled: "yes, your honor. I had it inside me."

"Then, given your confession and the evidence Officer Bousquet and the other members of her unit have presented, this court finds you guilty of cocaine smuggling. Because of your reprehensible behavior and the threat you present to our society, you are sentenced to a life of servitude."

The judge directed his next comment to Officer Bousquet:

"You may remove your prisoner, Officer. Holding cell # 6 is available, so you can lock her up right away."

Trish gasped. That was it? That was her trial? What the Hell? She gave the judge an exasperated look. Irritated at her show of arrogance, he queried:

"Trish Bousquet, do you have anything to say to this court before you leave this room?"

"I...I mean...like...I...don't I...like...get a defense attorney or something...or a call to the US Embassy? I mean...like in most places...?"

"You are clearly guilty of drug smuggling, so what do you need a defense attorney for? And as for a call to the US Embassy, we cannot accommodate you. Santa Eduviges does not have diplomatic relations with the United States. Your State Department does not recognize the government of Generalissimo Renaud, so there is no US Embassy here. If we ever do get recognition, I'll grant you permission to contact your government."

The judge turned to Officer Bousquet:

"That is all. You may take her out."

"Thank you, Your honor."

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Officer Bousquet and the medical assistant escorted Trish through several hallways full of police officers and staff members that were getting off work and heading home for the day. A lot of the men and a few women looked at her attractive body. She could do nothing to cover herself because her hands were still cuffed behind her back.

Finally the three women went downstairs and entered a short hallway with eight sturdy metal doors. Trish realized that each door entered into a prisoner cell. The two officials pushed her inside one of the cells and took off her handcuffs. The cell was very small and had no lighting. It was totally empty except for a bottle of water and a strange-looking pot that had a lid on it. Seeing that the room had no toilet, Trish realized she was looking at a chamber-pot. Gross... There was nothing else, not even a mattress. Was this going to be her prison cell?