Cop Out (FF/F)

[AlexUSA3]

Cop Out
Monday, January 17, 2022

My friend Felice Pryce is a police officer, and on our video game nights (basically nights where our respective work shifts work out so that we have a common opening, sometimes even during the day) she will come over and play while sitting somewhere in my and Destiny's apartment. I know these moments are where she unwinds, and even when we don't play video games together she will still sometimes wish to do something with one of her friends so she can vent and let out all the tension because—let's face it—a cop's life is never an easy one. It's awful and stressful,

It's a big turn around for us. We all went to prison for our crimes. Yet all three of us work in the justice system. I'm a split gym instructor and guard; Destiny's a regular guard. In fact, let's start in the justice system, in the Mudville Juvenile Detention Center, where I, the Gangsta Thief, was once incarcerated for the hundreds of thefts I committed from when I was 13 to when I was a 16 year-old riddled with guilt over her actions, spending 3 years in the facility.

There are, at any moment, on average, 110 to 115 girls in the prison, and one of my duties is that of a lunchtime guard, whether I'm on the 4 AM to 2 PM shift or the 12 PM to 10 PM shift, which is decided by whether I get "gym class" shift or "recreation hour" shift. It's awfully sad I usually get 98 scowl greetings and 10-15 "Hello Miss Martin" greetings. It's worse for Destiny, who has the doubly-stressful hard job of guarding solitary confinement girls. Today, however, was a rare encouraging day for me and Destiny, but Felice is exhausted from her work shift.

"It wasn't bad. I'm just tired," Felice lies on the sofa, still in her work uniform, "It's a lot worse when I find kids like my friends: abused, fearing abuse, desperate, terrified." I hear trembling in her voice, and I realize what she means. It's not much heroism. Rarely do you get to have a nice clean traffic stop. "I'm tired. I don't feel like playing games tonight. Would you girls please tie me up and ignore me tonight? I need to burn off some pent-up anger."

This is not my story to tell. Nope. For now, I'm turning things over to Felice to narrate.

Felice

I'm tired. I could close my eyes and fall asleep, but I force myself not to do so quite yet. I close my eyes and see that little boy, clutching a teddy bear, because his father beats his mother, and I can't help him because the mother lies out of fear of being pursued to the ends of the earth. It's so upsetting to walk away, wondering if some day that man will kill her… or him. I open my eyes and see my friends, Destiny and Jackie, trying to decide if I need a Xanax or to just sit down and go on a Red Dead Redemption crime spree. That's not what I need.

"I'm tired. I don't feel like playing games tonight. Would you girls please tie me up and ignore me tonight? I need to burn off some pent-up anger."

I stand up with a sigh and walk over to the cabinet that Jackie and Destiny installed just for us to put our holsters there. In reach if needed, but hidden from sight and mind otherwise. I take off my badge and quietly run my fingers through the raised brassy metal and it's black lettering, the words "Scott County Sheriff's Deputy" stamped on it. I treat it like a talisman before putting it in the cabinet and closing the door quietly. The teddy bear is all I see in front of me though.

My mentor told me this would happen and that the first few times would do this to me, and he's on the point. I'm allowed to be this way. What matters is that I learn not to be dragged down by this and that I learn to continue to act professionally and privately mourn such moments. He said it's OK to hate the scene as long as I do the right thing. The law prevents me from making such a clear cut domestic abuse arrest, and the hard part is learning to walk away from that and keep my sanity intact. That brown teddy bear will forever be seared into my imagination though. Those shiny black plastic eyes, the white belly, and the squish in his stuffing because of how tightly and frequently he is clutched when the boy routinely watches in terror as Daddy pounds Mommy.

I clutch a medal. Not any medal. There are 35 things on the chains around my neck: my dogtags and a crucifix accompanied by 32 saint medals. I clutch St. Michael the Archangel, patron saint of police officers. I don't wear those 32 medals without reason. Every single one of them speaks to some aspect of my personality, and in those 32 medals I find a link from myself to my Roman Catholic faith and to heaven. They got there; maybe I can too. The dogtags are a part of me that I cannot change. On the first, the front side has "09-29-2012," my date of incarceration, and the back has "09-29-2013," my date of release. The other's front has "JF09120214," my Mudville Juvenile Detention Center Prisoner ID number, and "F03," to say that I was assigned to bed 03 in prison Pod F. Those black eyes. Those days and numbers are from when I was imprisoned for a crime born in selfishness and cowardice. Am I being selfish or cowardly?

"Make it tight," I say suddenly, "As if you didn't love me, but do it so tight that I know that I am wrapped in love," with a sigh, I turn around and force myself to smile. That brown fur.

"Felice, are you OK?" Destiny looks at me, and I nod while looking past her to the wall.
"That is not a truthful response," Jackie says with a sigh, "You don't have to talk, but don't lie."
"No, I'm not OK," I see that little boy again, "Gag me really well. Make it nasty."

I look into Jackie's piercing blue eyes, and then Destiny's welcoming but reserved brown eyes. I sigh and look into their souls. They share my faith and know my weaknesses. I've only been on active duty like this for 6 months, and this is the first time my job has torn me like this. I adjust my scrunchie, making sure it's right close to my head and holding my hair right. A distraction.

I definitely look like a county sheriff's deputy with my black pants and the robin's egg blue shirt that accompanies it. The black combat boots I wear make me feel like a hybrid of myself and an absolute stranger. My friends are dressed similarly because of their jobs at the prison, where I've sadly had to drop off more than one girl, but their shirts are black. Those shiny black plastic eyes and the disjointed stuffing, from being squeezed so tightly. Long gone is the crispness of a shirt that has recently been ironed. I turn around and put my arms together behind my back.

Then I feel that smooth yet rough embrace of clothesline pulling my wrists together. Soon, I will be gagged and unable to turn back in this ordeal, but I force myself to look forward and to keep a strong image. I'm known as the strong dominatrix. Right now? I'm a tiny flower crushed under foot. I'm not broken, but I'm in need of maintenance. It's like an oil change for a car. I think. I don't care. Black plastic eyes, trembling due to the trembling of the comforted one.

"Felice, stop us at any time," Destiny quietly says while Jackie does the binding.
"I'll be fine," I choke down my desire to sob, "Tight, horrible gag, ignore me. Be savage."

There are no more challenges. When I say, "I'll be fine," I mean it. My friends know that after almost 10 years of friendship. Savage means I get a breast harness with armpit cinching and all the other good passes. Savage means elbows tied together tightly. Savage means a waist-crotch rope that is unforgiving. Savage means my legs are tied at mid thigh, above my knees, below my knees, and at my ankles. Savage means the ankle rope is worked into the heels of my boots. The horrible gag is truly horrible—Jackie's socks from a 10 hour shift at the prison, a tegaderm, and a black bandana OTM gag. Shiny black eyes. It's tight. It's horrible. It's savage. It's perfect.

I stand up and hop around the living room. It's silly. It's playful. It's relaxing. I want Jackie and Destiny to have confidence that I will be all right after a while. I came here right after I finished my shift, only stopping for a double cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. No one in that Burger King had a clue about what was racing through my mind as I sat there eating, but neither do Jackie and Destiny. Brown fur. This is the grim reality of our jobs: what has been seen cannot be unseen.

"Mmmmmm!" I turn around and enjoy the soft thud of my boots on the carpet. I love hopping in bondage. Even while producing bondage films, I like hopping around the set. It's subtly defiant yet also an outward expression of your fears and concerns. You're trying to escape your bondage while subverting expectations that you will stay where your theoretical captor can easily find you again. It's such a layered form of voicing yourself when you have no voice, and my voice is now quite rancidly suppressed by Jackie's socks. She helped lead a 1-hour gym session in these socks right after spending 2 hours on guard duty, and after that she spent another 6 hours on guard duty.

"GUH!" I choke on a sob, my desire to recall the boy and cry, but I stop myself short of that.

I pause a moment to sink into the soft grey carpet that characterizes the living room floor. It's an inviting color, but it's standard carpet that you buy at a regular store. Not cheap, but not good. It doesn't matter except it provides me a safe place in which to hop; Jackie and Destiny provide me a safe place to get down on my knees, lean on the charcoal grey upholstered sofa, and cry. That's what I need right now. I need to cry so that I can mourn that little boy I couldn't help, but I need to make these tears count not only for him but for the next 15 or 20 or 100 little kids I will find in the next 30 years of my career and also be unable to help. It's necessary to be able to continue.

Jackie, your socks are horrible, but they're just what I need right now. The intense flavors bring a sting to my tongue, and I cannot spit them out no matter how hard I try. It's perfect, and you're always thinking. I know it sounds like a gross comparison to make between Jackie's dirty socks and Destiny's, but it's a worthwhile comparison because Jackie and Destiny deliberately chose to ues Jackie's because Jackie spiritually struggles like me and because her socks frankly are nastier than Destiny's. Destiny sweats more; Jackie tastes worse. It's a toss up. They're at the front of my mind at the moment because crying like this is really bringing the socks to my full attention. I promise this story will eventually give way to more typical game night shenanigans.

"Felice, can we help you at all?" Destiny asks me from the depths of her big heart.
"Mmm hmm. Eave ee ahone," I answer in gag-garbled English and take a deep breath.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I regain control of myself. The teddy bear will never leave me for as long as I live, but I can return to work. I must. The people of Scott County depend upon me, among others. I recall four medals in particular: St. Michael, St. Dymphna, St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, and St. Patrick. St. Dymphna for my battles against my mind; St. Elizabeth for my long departed mother; St. Patrick because of my time in prison. I have many others, but right now those four are the ones that I am invoking to comfort my soul.

I get up on my knees and take three long, slow, relaxing deep breaths. JF092120224 has paid an incredible price for her crime already, and the girl who committed that crime 10 years before the present would not have been able to mourn that little boy's situation. She would have been lost in her own head and not paid enough attention. The thought haunts me: some day, that boy will be motherless, only my mother… Oh, boy, I guess this is one that I should tell you.

It was my 13th birthday party when my mother first complained about a backache. She assumed it was because she was a forest ranger and stood on her feet all day the previous day working the usual shift and then came home and stayed up until 11 PM to surprise me with the perfect cake to celebrate my teenagehood. Three weeks later, she complained again about a backache. She had a physical scheduled anyway, and she waited two more weeks. The doctor said he wanted her to get an MRI. Three weeks later, with me holding her hand and terrified about what would happen to me and Dad, Mom died from liver cancer that had ravaged her body; she never drank so much as a glass of wine in her life, yet she still died from liver cancer of all the things. Five years ago, my dad met a nice woman, and two years ago they married. They love each other; I like her; she likes me; she knows she cannot fill that hole that will forever remain in my soul.

I sit up, and I look at Jackie and Destiny. They've never stopped watching me out of the corners of their eyes even if they've "left me alone." Destiny quietly walked away to do her usual gamer transformation: pajamas and a bandana. Jackie's been quietly sitting there, still dressed for guard duty, and never once issuing a complaint about babysitting me. Part of me wishes they'd ask me to split with them. I know typically it's best to not be roommates with close friends, and I cannot forget how quickly Jackie and another mutual friend of ours discovered enmity when they shared an apartment. Jackie moved in with Destiny; another friend moved into her old spot; everything went back to being like it was before. I don't want that, but I know I can trust these two to be by my side in moments like this, where I just want to chill in inescapable bondage.

"Mmm mmmm mmm mmm mmmm mmmm?" I ask despite the gross flavor of Jackie's socks.
"I have no idea what you said, but I'm glad to see you have relaxed," Jackie squeezes my cheek.
"Mmmm mmmm mmmmm!"
"I'm going to go get in my gamer girl garb," Jackie laughs, "Pizza will be here soon."
"Don't worry," Destiny turns to me, "I'll make sure she doesn't leave."
"Mmmmph," and I let myself fall so I'm lying on my back on the sofa.

Now, I humor you with what I like about my present situation and my bondage. The greatest of all bondage setups see the captive silenced with her captor's laundry, whether her panties or her socks. It's humiliating because it's nasty and tinged with someone else's odors, their sweat from their pores, and you can't do a bloody thing to stop it. More humiliating is when you realize that you like it because that means you've been subjugated by it perhaps a few too many times, but it is a fleeting feeling that lasts only through the experience in which the realization occurs.

I like bandanas, but not like many Cool Girls. I like the patterns in their own right and that they can be very useful. Here, I find the aesthetic of the black OTM gag to be positively charming, a gag only the true artists can appreciate on every level. Yes, it does muffle me a little bit, but how it hides things! Someone around me just sees a bandana that could have just as easily been used for a chic headband, not seeing the tegaderm underneath that. The bandana hides a secret!

Tegaderms are like the cherry on type of a sundae. Duct tape is a classic; vet wrap is for only the true bondage aficionados; but tegaderms are only arousing to those with a true appreciation for a sensual experience. It may be a medical bandage, but what's better than seeing the lips which are sealed shut, welcoming kisses. I will never forget the first time I brought my boyfriend with me to a bondage shoot. He game on camera during the film and kissed my tegaderm sealed lips, and I remember it so well because it was the first time we ever kissed. Just the memory is like a drug to my senses. He realized that I was vulnerable, and he never flinched or thought of hurting me.

There are so many senses involved, even overwhelmed, in bondage. I once drove a captive crazy during a scene because I tied a bandana over her nose after heavily spraying lemon oil on it. On top of a dirty laundry gag, a blindfold, and tight bondage, the lemon oil was as overwhelming as a pair of dirty socks being put over her nose. That's why I like making "laced" gags where some irritating but not harmful foodstuffs are put on the gag—think vinegar powder, alum, cinnamon, and the like. Done right, it overwhelms the taste buds and stimulates the salivary glands. What I have right now is none of those things, but it's pungent and unavoidable and just as strong.

I'm enchanted by the feeling of my arms so tightly pulled behind my back and so strictly bound to my torso. I try to separate my arms, and nothing happens. One last flash of the boy holding a teddy bear gives me a fleeting moment of sadness, and I pause to pray for him and his mother. I try to twist my arms around to the front of my body, but I fail to do it. This helplessness is like a powerful drug, and the squeeze of the ropes releases hormones that bring me composure.

What I don't understand is why my leg bondage is the part that feels the most thrilling. I wriggle my legs to absolutely no effect, and I repeat it with just as pathetically laughable results. Passing the rope into the heels of my boots makes me feel like I'm fully under another person's control. I have been reduced to a plaything for some other person. All of my agency has been robbed. My breasts are trussed up for restraint and to make the breasts themselves erotic bondage theater.

"Mmmmmmmmm!" and let's not get into that beautiful gag talk. I want to keep this PG-17.
"Well, well, well, officer, would ya like to hop over here?" Destiny points to her computer.

She's playing a video game online with many of our friends, as is Jackie. I normally partake as well, and I'm generally regarded as one of the better overall players. I'm not that good, but I'm an excellent student of psychoanalysis and have studied my friends' weaknesses so that I'm one step ahead of them at all times, ready for that headshot that sends them to respawn hell. I stand up and hop on the soft grey carpet towards Destiny's station, and she welcomes me into view.

"Hey, girls, look who's here right now," Destiny presents me like I'm a game show prize.
"Mmmmmmmmm!" I hop in a happy way, assuring everyone I'm all right now.
"She deserves a good time. Let's say 30 of them!"
"No no!" I say, knowing that a "good time" in this context means spanking, and I hop away.
"Get back here Felice," Destiny grabs me by the harness and reels me in amidst my laughter.
"Gmmm mmm mmmm!" I look her in the eyes and blush because I love BDSM. More later.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Isn't she adorable?" Jackie drags me over by grabbing my ponytail.
"Gmmmmph!" I comply and hop to ease the pain, and I sit on the desk to show my arms.
"Sexy arm bondage, Felice!" I hear someone say before I stand up.
"What's under the bandana?" another asks me about my gag.
"Oh, a tegaderm and my socks," Jackie explains while I roll my eyes.
"Jack is a horrible, horrible woman, I know. That's a war crime!" Destiny earns that headshot.

This is a type of fun in bondage, having Jackie hug me while I helplessly stand there. She keeps a hand around my hair, like a leash; while petplay isn't my thing, I love the feeling of having a captive attached to a leash. It's so layered in meaning, Even when it's not dehumanizing, it is a powerful flex. It's not domination or submission. It's total subjugation with so many meanings.

There are so many fun or good reasons for there to be domination, submission, subjugation, and even intimidation in bondage. It's about exploration of emotions, for both the captor and captive or even just one and not the other. Mutually agreed rules lead to the greatest adventures; consent is given but the captive doesn't know what will happen. Now that is thrilling! Oh, how I would love to narrate a story from my dominatrix persona, but for now this will have to suffice. Such a joy it is, though, when two friends agree to forgo the BDSM and simply say "I've bound you and gagged you, and now I will cherish your friendship like the precious gift from God that it is."

On this note, Jackie pulls up a chair and makes me sit. I don't get a choice. She ties my waist to the chair so that I am trapped there. Now, all our friends can watch me struggling and hear all of my scrumptious gag talk. So Jackie's socks taste horrible. It's OK. I can handle the flavors for a little entertainment. The prior despondency over the little boy and his teddy bear will forever be a part of me, but I've found contentment in tonight's evening. I'm just a captured cop in uniform now. Now, I've found contentment, love, and happiness through Jackie, Destiny, and prayer, and I now want to share those things with others. Isn't that the right thing to do? I think it is.

Thank you for journeying alongside me through this adventure to get to this point. I'll make two promises here concerning future stories. One is a game night from my perspective, and one is an intense dominatrix bondage film scene, OK? All right, my lovely readers, it's a date!

Kiss kiss

[hafnermg]

Great story!! It's rough what those who work in the justice system have to see and process, it's beyond what most can imagine.