POLICEWOMAN IN BONDAGE Read online

  POLICEWOMAN IN BONDAGE

  by

  Richard Carradine

  WARNING! All Olympia books are the subject of international copyright and should not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form - including electronically - without the publisher’s prior written consent. ANY and ALL violations of Olympia copyright will be pursued vigorously through the appropriate courts.

  Chapter 1. The scene is set:-

  Jane Brown was as ordinary in appearance as her name would suggest and, at just over one and a half metres tall, in earlier days she would have been considered too small for the police force. However the world turns and times change.

  In the early years of the twenty first century, women in Britain had still overtly retained all the rights of liberation that their mothers and grandmothers had struggled for in the twentieth century. In reality, of course, these had been eroded so as to be almost non-existent. A combination of technology, population pressures and the natural aggression of men had taken back what had been so hard fought for.

  For any individual to have any sort of paid work he, and almost invariable it was a he, had to be tremendously able or as always extremely lucky. Efforts had been made to see that all people had sufficient to live on but if you wanted the extras in life that could ensure your upward movement in the social scale, or at the very least the maintenance of your position in society, you had to have a job. As always society found a sop to its conscience for its own injustices, if you didn't come from a wealthy family who could ensure you got the education to enable you to retain your position in society, you could always take out a bond.

  The "Bound Servant" contract was a throw back to the eighteenth century where it was a form of term slavery that at times out-did the horrors of the plantation slave. Legalistically called a "Set Term Irrevocable Contract", of course the male Bound Servants soon became STIC men and the women, perhaps more honestly, Bond Slaves. It was hailed by the government of the day as a social opportunity for the poor and uneducated by which they might pull themselves out of the gutter by their own efforts.

  As always the rich and powerful, if they control the media, can sell running shoes to a paraplegic and the bill was passed without a murmur. Within a few years the rich had servants who were slaves in all but name and little changed except that all dangerous and dirty jobs that might be done by an expensive machine were done by a stic-man or bond slave.

  In many ways women as always received the worst deal of all. Prostitution had been made legal, men took most of what few jobs there were and, because of the lack of potential, legalised prostitution and slavery, so-called respectable women were forced back into a 21st Century form of purdah. Bond Contracts for women were almost automatically sexual in nature, for why not if prostitution were legal? The argument being that at least they only one or a specified number of masters to satisfy. The fact that whores had strict legal controls regarding their clients and the right to say no, was studiously ignored.

  It wasn't that when a bond contract was completed the bondsperson was not very well off in comparison with their non-working peers, the "Dolmen", but few had either the drive or ability to achieve more than a form of middle class mediocrity. In a generation or so their young would slip back to the bottom of the slope that their parent or parents had fought to climb up.

  Jane and her brother were saved from becoming Dolmen, as they were called, by the simple act of their parents allowing themselves to get killed in a public transit accident. The monies she and her brother received, via insurances and compensation, ensured that they had sufficient to guarantee an education that placed their feet firmly on the first rung of the middle class ladder. Jane found the one of the few niches in this society that respectable women might occupy without losing status or face. She had become a policewoman.

  Had Jane and brother Nick had any choice in the matter, both would have sooner chanced the dole rather than loose their parents. They had been a warm loving couple who adored each other and had plenty of affection to spare for their two children. Both were only in their late thirties when they were killed, attractive active people, their loss hit Jane and Nicholas hard.

  Jane was the one who made the greatest fuss over the tragic loss of their parents for she was only twelve. Nicholas, at eighteen and with all the misplaced machismo of the young male, concealed his pain. It was only when Jane grew older and had left home she began to realise how he had hurt and how she must unknowingly made it even harder for him.

  At eighteen and with no other relations close enough to consider taking on the responsibility of two youngsters, Nick had taken over both his mother and father’s role. The money from the policies and compensation had at least ensured they didn't have to worry about day to day living, although over the following three years the emotional strain on him must have been considerable.

  Within months of Jane passing her entrance exam and moving in to the police academy, Nick announced his intention of working in Australia. It was with relief for both of them when he climbed on to the plane, for as much as they loved each other, both wanted to be away and free to learn to live their own lives.

  The Police Academy was a revelation for Jane it opened her eyes to the world and taught her to consider others, for her peers had no qualms about standing up for their rights, unlike Nicholas. When at last she achieved the status of fully trained policewoman she felt on top of the world; nothing now could stop her moving up and on.

  At eighteen she had taken up her first posting in a police station in North London, eager and determined to show that she was a woman that could do the job as well as any man. Her ambition? To be in plainclothes in five, a sergeant in eight and inspector in twelve years.

  It took all of eighteen months for the realisation that, no matter how well she did the job, she would never progress past sergeant and that in the uniformed branch.

  She had tried all methods, hard work, initiative, passing exams and even the promotions couch. In desperation she'd allowed a senior superintendent to seduce her so that she could work her feminine wiles on him but all was to no avail. In fact it to worked against her, for once her colleagues knew she was bedding down with him, as within all small communities they soon did, she was marked as his personal property. So no copper interested in promotion or an easy life would attempt to form a relationship. Thus her social life to ground to a halt as well.

  Life at the station had developed in to numbing boredom. Her ‘Lover’ blocked any attempt by her to move to another station and, if she attempted to refuse his sexual advances, she immediately drew awkward shifts, all the grotty jobs and general petty persecution. Jane began to withdraw in to herself and to escape the grey reality she began to replay the fantasies that had dominated her thoughts as a young girl.

  On this particular day she had been passing the superintendent’s office when he had opened his office door and virtually pulled her inside, locking the door behind her. His demands had of late had begun to change, insisting she wear stockings rather than tights under her uniform, making her leave her panties off at all times, forcing her to perform oral sex on him; even demanding anal sex, something she had refused so far. All this hadn't shocked her, in fact there was little she would have found shocking especially after the six months she spent on vice and, had he any feelings for her as a person, she might have enjoyed it all.

  This time, though, he had turned her round, forcing her to bend over his desk. Lifting her skirt, he exposed her lack of underwear. Suddenly she felt him pushing his erect penis into her; she was dry and unready. The fat pig of a man lost in self-gratification interpreted her squeals of pain as pleasure and before she could even begin to feel any excitement, his sperm
gushed hot and thick in to her pussy.

  It was only fifteen minutes since he had pulled her in to his office and she had sat drinking tea in the canteen. She sat musing on the timing in her mind. Yes, that was about right. One to one and a half minutes to grab her and climax, five minutes during which he had demanded she lick and suckle him clean, two minutes tidying herself and walking to the toilets, his jism running stickily down her thigh, three minutes to wash herself clean and now she had been drinking this tea for the last three and a half minutes. The only excitement of any sort she had felt was when initially she had made the douche water too cold.

  A male voice intruded on her grey depression, it was Sergeant Fletcher, regaling a young copper with the events of his day.

  "There's this fellah called Jordan at the Grand Hotel, obviously worth a mint, he's advertising for Bond Slaves and quoting a very large bond fee too!" The Sergeant's voice dropped confidentially. " Well, as you know, any contract involving personal female services has to be vetted by the police on behalf of the Committee for Public Morality, so along I toddles to see him." The young copper hung on his words his mouth agape and eager. "The manager directs me to the penthouse suite and I have to go through this reception area before I can get in to see him. Well you've never seen such a collection of professional and amateur toms in your life. I recognised most of them from the checks we run at the municipal knocking shop and from the pussy run when we do the rounds and pick up the unlicensed ones."

  By now the youngster had closed his mouth but he couldn't stop his tongue from licking out. "Anyway I goes in and me and this guy talks over his Bond, it’s all in order, he's after sex slaves all right. He's into bondage and female submission, he sez he's after the very best! I sez 'Well sir you've certainly got some real lookers out there.’ He sez, most of those will be a waste of time, it’s not looks he's after, he can have those cosmetically adjusted!"

  The Sergeant's voice took on a note of admiration. "There's a phrase, Cosmetically adjusted! Surgery, he means. Anyway," he continued. "Toms, e' sez normally don't have either the right attitude or sufficient intelligence for what he wants."

  Jane's tea had grown cold as she tried to listen without appearing to do so. The canteen burst open with bang and noisy male laughter drowned the conversation at the next table. Startled, Jane looked at her watch and realised she should be elsewhere. She got up slowly and left. At least balling the super ensured that mere sergeants were reluctant to tell you off.

  Chapter 2. The game commences.

  The small apartment in the police block was neat and comfortable, Jane had lightened its basic functionalism by means of strategically placed plants and lights. She sat, apparently listening to music though had you turned it off and then asked her what was playing, she would have been unable to tell you.

  She had arranged to take the following day off; she had in fact demanded it and received authority for it whilst the Superintendent had still be in the afterglow of coitus. There had to be some advantages to allowing that Fat Pig to fuck her.

  Would she have the nerve to go through with it? Did she really want to? Turning to face the light switch she called.

  "Bright!" The sound sensitive receiver triggered the lights and the room went from subdued to bright in an instant.

  The loose bottoms of the exercise suit slid in a pool around her feet and in a couple of seconds the top followed. She studied herself in the long mirror set in the wall beside the entertainments centre. "Well," she thought. "You may be no beauty but you’re not all bad."

  Stock taking time. Hair: blonde, wavy and very thick, definitely a plus.

  Face heart shaped, with thin lips and slightly curved nose. It was a shame about the eyes, well not so much the eyes, more the lids, heavy, almost oriental, some people found them attractive but would he? All in all not a bad face, more character than beauty but it certainly didn't frighten the horses.

  Automatically Jane's eyes moved way down. Legs shapely and well proportioned, now they definitely were an asset.

  She turned and craned to look at herself in the mirror. Bottom very neat, the pig loved her arse, in his case and as far as she was concerned, far too much!

  Back smooth and quite broad for a woman, it wasn't too masculine, was it?

  She faced the mirror again. Neat thatch of blonde hair covering a plump mound. The only time "Fat Pig" had come close to getting her going had been the time he had worked his face against her mound and licked her but he had stopped all too soon. Well as far as she was concerned, a pussy was a pussy was a pussy, though the Pig had said hers was tight and neat. She hadn't a lot of experience of other men's reactions to go by.

  Jane looked long and hard at what she considered her major fault that outweighed all her better points. Her tits, or rather their absence. She was as flat as a board. A wry thought crossed her mind. "Well, I'm sure he'll like the decoration even if there's no pudding under it."

  Jane had been eleven years old when she started her first period; her mother had been calm and comforting about the whole thing.

  "This means that you've started to be a women and not a little girl, Jane." Unselfconsciously Jane had reached out and stroked her mother’s full firm bosom.

  "When will I start to get a bust?"

  "Soon Jane, soon."

  "Can I have rings like yours?" Nipple rings were still quite rare, although not as unusual as in the last century.

  Jane's mother and father were completely relaxed around their children, not being extrovert but neither being coy where nakedness was concerned. Jane had long accepted the fact that mothers had rings through their nipples, it was only when at the age of nine she had seen a friend’s mother naked that she realised that not all women wore them. When Jane had asked her mother about this strange fact, she in turn had been quite open about them.

  "Your dad asked me to have my nipples pierced and because I love him I had them done. Now I find they give me a great deal of pleasure and I like the look of them." The fact that her father, who she loved dearly, had wanted her mother to wear them made it perfectly acceptable, in fact admirable, to the young Jane. "It’s not really a secret but just private to your dad and I, I'd prefer if you kept this private in the family." Jane nodded sagely. She liked secrets especially secrets that were special to her family.

  Time passed though and at no time did Jane ever look as though she was going to develop a "serious" bust.

  "Don't worry," she was told. "I was as flat as you until I had Nick." This reassured Jane somewhat but now she turned her attention to the rings instead. To get some peace Mum had given in and Jane's fat little nubs had been pierced.

  A rueful look crossed Jane's face.

  "Well, Mum," she said to the mirror. "that's one thing you didn't know about your little girl, she's never going to grow a bust like you did. So unless I take some action I'll be stuck with padded bras for ever."

  It was during the medical for the police academy that the doctors found that because of certain anomalies in the formation of Jane's womb, the likelihood of her ever conceiving was so remote as to be almost zero. In Jane's mind it equated to no children, no bust, no femininity.

  "But I do think he'll like these!"

  The fascination with her thick stubby nipples had begun not long after her nipples healed from the piercing. Unlike most girls, Jane's nipples were not unduly sensitive but once infibulated she found she could orgasm from manipulating the rings. This, for an eleven year old, was a wonderful secret to possess. Within a few weeks she had started to play with them, tying them, pulling on them, eventually she started to stretch them. She found she could keep herself deliciously aroused by keeping her teats under tension.

  When her nipples had been pierced, bar bells had been fitted rather than rings so that they would heal quicker. Now she utilised these bars to ensure her gratification.

  To keep a permanent tension on her young teats she had at first used some fibre washers she had found in her father’s toolbox.
These light washers are normally used by engineers use to ensure a watertight or oil tight joint on pipe connections. She had taken half a dozen that fitted over her stubby nipples and now she manipulated the bar and teat through the close fitting hole. On release, the tension of the nipple trying to pull the bar back through the hole clamped the washer against her aureole, giving her a delightful frisson of pleasure that was as near continuous as any woman could achieve.

  At first one washer was sufficient to ensure a constant bearable tension but, with young growing flesh, soon others followed. However, whereas another young girl might have started to feel foolish at her actions, her parents’ death reinforced this practice. It became one of the few sources of comfort in a lonely world. By the time she was thirteen three washers under each bar were needed to maintain a tension on her teats.

  Not only had the accident taking her parents from her ensured that there was no one to discourage the practice, by the time she joined the academy she had become adept at concealing her foible from prying eyes. She now only wore her nipple enhancers when off duty, although by now her nipples, even un-stretched, were as long as the first joint on a man’s thumb and as thick.

  Jane pushed a slim finger at a nipple where about a centimetre protruded through the stretchers. The washers had long been replaced by gold wire framework that the fitted over the nipple and was held in place by the fat bars. Fresh piercing had been done twice before, the last just over a year ago when Jane had not only had her extended nipple re-pierced at its new base but also had a heavier fatter bar fitted so that there was no chance of the pin pulling through if ever she got over enthusiastic in the tensioning.

  She sat naked in front of the mirror checking that the thick plait that hung down her back was tight and neat with no stray hairs. Perfect! Carefully she rolled the thick braid in to a spiral on the top of her head, then, lifting up her uniform hat from the top of the dressing table, she sat it carefully in place over it. The long hatpin was thrust through hat and coil, holding all securely in place on her head.