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A Mind’s Eye
By
Deputy Duffy
You are led into a brightly-lit room, squinting until your eyes
adjust. The door slams shut behind you with a metallic crash.
A sudden feeling of aloneness envelops you.
Your eyes scan the strange environment until they focus on a
polished steel table in the room's center, bright reflections of
light bouncing off in all directions. You're instantly uneasy as
to its purpose.
There's a yellow line, about two feet long, just in front of the
table. Your eyes scan upwards at the two cameras pointing down,
small red lights blinking. You gulp. You're not as alone as you
had thought.
Your reflection suddenly catches your eye when you move in front
of a large mirror on the far wall. You've seen enough cop shows
on TV to know that it isn't there for you to do your hair and
makeup. The feeling of loneliness all gone now, replaced by an
uneasy nervousness, as you suddenly feel like a fish swimming in
a very small fishbowl.
You are drawn once again to the steel table. Hesitantly, you
reach out and touch its surface, and you shiver from its coldness.
You consider sitting down, but choose to lean against the table,
as you nervously wait for what's coming.
Time seems painfully slow as your mind races back to the events
that led you to this point. There was the office party, the
couple of glasses of wine...and a couple more, the missed red
light, the blue lights, the young deputy, the botched field
sobriety test, the protests of innocence, the not-so-quick pat
down, the cold cuffs, the cramped back seat, the pleas for mercy.
Your mind suddenly shifts focus to your husband, your two kids,
your best friends, your boss, your co-workers, even your favorite
high school teacher. Suddenly, a judge appears before your eyes
and pronounces you guilty. Your eyes close and they're all there,
their faces filled with disappointment. A feeling of deep shame
floods through your body, tears well in your eyes, and you curse
your stupidity, over, and over, as the vision fades away.
Time drags on, and you do your best to regain your composure.
The black door finally swings open, and the young deputy returns,
carrying a clipboard. You take one last chance to pronounce your
innocence, but he isn't buying it. You can only assume that he
has heard it all before, even at his tender age.
Your eyes again find that yellow line on the floor, only now
you’ve been instructed to stand on it. Feet in place, you
nervously stare at the young man as he leans against the steel
table now, only a couple of feet away.
Your eyes meet. You can hardly breath from fear -- fear of the
unknown. He barks a simple four-letter command that sends
shivers down your spine, as your worst fears are realized. You
can’t move. You appear not to understand the meaning of that
simple word. But you're an educated woman, and, in fact, you even
know a couple of ways that Webster defines it. You know it can
mean "to deprive of possessions or to divest of honors, privileges,
or functions." But, deep down, you know how he really means the
word, which is "to remove clothing, covering, or surface matter."
From YOU.
The deputy snaps to attention, startling you even more, as he
again orders you to "Strip." You plead your case one more time,
but you know it’s futile. You look down at your outfit, instantly
wishing you weren’t dressed to party. It suddenly dons on you to
ask for a female deputy. Surely he doesn’t expect you to disrobe
in front of him, you plead, almost proud of yourself for thinking
of it.
His only response is unsettling. It seems there is not a female
to be found. And, yes, he wants you naked all right, naked for
his eyes, and right now. But you stand your ground, until he
mentions the sheriff, which shakes you, as you know all too well
his reputation.
Your hands quickly slip off your best vest and hand it over to the
deputy. You watch as he searches it and simply drops it on the
cement floor. If he knew how much it cost, he wouldn’t be so
carefree with it, you remind him, but he just chuckles and gives
it a kick.
You know you’ve only just begun, but you can’t stop shaking, as a
bead of sweat drops from your forehead. The deputy’s tapping foot
and hungry blue eyes aren’t helping. After contemplating your
next move, you unzip your skirt and let it slip down your legs,
carefully stepping out of it and handing it over. It, too, is
dumped on the cement floor.
His insolence is beginning to get to you, as he awaits your next
move, still tapping his foot on the floor.
You reach up to the top button on your red silk blouse, its color
matching your cheeks. Your hands tremble, making the simple task
difficult. One button and then the next, all the while knowing
how exposed this is going to leave you. You also can't help
wondering how many other sets of unseen eyes are also on your
strip show.
You muster up all your courage and spread the two halves of your
blouse open. After you're given the command, you slide your arms
out of it and hand it over. He just treats your fancy blouse like
a rag, balling it up and tossing it down. Your eyes focus with
longing at the growing pile of discarded clothes, now strewn on
the dirty floor.
His eyes return, and you instinctively cover your body with your arms,
as you realize your underwear selection of a small, lacy,
peach-colored bra, tiny matching panties, wispy garter-belt, and
sheer, thigh-high stockings were meant for your husband's eyes and
not his.
Your fancy heels are too sexy for your current situation, but he
wants them on.
He suddenly starts barking orders like a drill sergeant, and you
reluctantly follow. You soon find your hands interlocked behind
your head, elbows back, legs shoulder-width apart.
Your heart pounds as he slowly circles you like you're his prey.
He compliments your bra selection and runs his fingers under
the straps. You squirm from his smooth touch and his slimy
personality. You watch him carefully as he moves in front of
you. Your face is flushed with embarrassment when he pulls the
front of your bra away from your breasts, as if he wanted a sneak
preview before he asks, rather bluntly, for you to remove it.
Again you plead your case. You feel the anger rising and yearn to
slap his snotty face. Guys have been trying to see your tits
since you were a teenager, and, at 35, you still haven't gotten
used to their hungry eyes seemingly always focused on them. You
notice he's no different, when you unsnap your front latch and
slid off the bra.
It joins the pile, and you cover your naked breasts with your
hands, trying to retain some modesty. He's seen it before. Your
hands are back behind your head in no time, your breasts on full
display. Your erect pink nipples add to your embarrassment, but
it gets worse. You're soon lifting your breasts up by your
nipples. Then, following another command, you start shaking
them back and forth, while leaning forward. His actions are so
juvenile to you, you're surprised he doesn't make you jump up and
down.
Back in position, you look down at your source of embarrassment.
You're usually proud of your ample breasts, but you've always
taken more pride in the fact that you had never stooped to using
them to further your career.
Today, you wish you were as flat as a board. You also wish you
had left the garter-belt and stockings at home, as well. His
eyes shift to your lower body, and he wants the panties next. You
had prayed that, when he saw your breasts, it would be over, but
deep down you knew that he wouldn't be satisfied until he saw all
of you.
You pull the thin bows that hold your delicate panties together.
You suddenly feel like a virgin again; the feeling of taking off
your panties, your last line of defense, is unnerving. You look
to him for mercy, but he is anxiously waiting for them, hand
extended. You sniffle like a scolded child, and he barks at you,
and you hand them over. Your hands immediately take their place,
but not for long. You are ordered to put them behind your head
again and to turn slowly for him, so he can examine every side,
every angle. It's all his for the taking, all because he wears
a badge.
Now it's time for his next command. You obediently unhook each
stocking and roll them down your legs, keeping your legs straight,
bending and feeling your breasts dangling, swaying heavily. Then
you are ordered to roll them back up and re-attach them. A feeling
of relief comes over you, since you figure this is the start of
your re-dressing process.
Your relief is short-lived, however, as his next command startles you.
You can't believe your ears! He wants you up on all fours
on the steel table like a puppy dog. He even snaps his fingers
at you. You just shake your head, whimpering, until a sharp slap
on the ass sends you scurrying. It's right out of your worst
nightmare. You are now under his thumb. Your education, your
money, your status, are now meaningless.
You climb onto the table. It feels colder than it did before, or
perhaps it's just that your flesh is hotter. He pats you on the
head when you're into position, which you've always regarded as so
demeaning that you've never even let a lover put you into it.
He gives a lewd command that hits you like a punch to the stomach.
Teardrops fall to the table as you spread your legs for his eyes.
You quickly find out that it's for more than his eyes when you
feel his fingers touch your pussy. His boldness causes you to
lunge forward in alarm. A strong arm guides you back into place,
and the fingers immediately return. You close your eyes in shame.
The strip-search becomes a cavity-search. You feel your pussy
lips being manipulated and gasp in horror when his fingers pull
you open. A finger, maybe even two, invade you, twisting and
turning. Your pussy feels full of fingers. You squirm about,
until they finally make their way out. Has he finally listened
to your high pitched plea?
You crouch there, feeling violated for a moment, then....
You hear the unmistakable sound of a rubber glove being snapped
on. Your head swivels and you stare at him in disbelief. Smiling,
he nods. Your asshole is next. Your upper body is pushed down,
squashing breasts onto the table. You squeal, for the cold metal
sends shivers through your already emotionally-drained body. Your
nipples harden.
Your mind races back to your first rectal exam, done in the office
of your mother's doctor, his aged finger doing the honors. The
humiliation that day is nowhere near what you feel now, as you
think about the simple fact that at least he had a medical degree
and not a cowboy badge.
You feel the deputy's finger break your seal, rudely waking you
from your mind's journey. You cry out for mercy as his finger
presses on. Nothing in your 35 years has prepared you for today.
His finger finally withdraws, and your hips crash down onto the
table. You lay there, an emotional sobbing wreak.
You're given a wet nap to clean yourself up, but you mistakenly
use it to clean your tear-streaked face. With time, you're slowly
regaining your composure. Then, all at once, he's standing in
front of your face, his uniform pants doing little to disguise
his erection. You scramble up to a sitting position, violently
shaking your head.
You listen as the indecent offer is made. At first, you're aghast.
You're no whore. But, as he turns to leave, you surprise yourself
by begging him to stay. You look at the wall clock and know that
you are expected home any minute. Time is your enemy.
You slip off the table. You have only seconds to make a mammoth,
life-changing decision. You almost laugh as you remember that it
took you a half an hour just to decide what shoes to wear tonight.
Your mind battles with the pros and cons, but, untimely, you let
a firm hand to the shoulder be your excuse. You find yourself
kneeling on the cold cement floor, right in front of the young
man, his crotch only inches from your face.
He reaches down and fondles a breast. It sickens you, but you let
him. He tells you to get started. You know it is a solution to
your problems, regardless of how perverse it might seem to you.
You hope you have the strength to deliver, while praying that you
will be able to live with yourself, afterward....
You reach up with trembling hands and unbuckle his pants, noticing
for the first time that he isn't wearing his gun-belt. He crosses
his arms, seemingly satisfied with letting you do the work now.
You unzip his fly. The metal scratching sound causing you to
shiver. You work his pants down carefully. When he steps out of
them, you toss them aside, but you wonder if it has anywhere near
the same significance for him, as your pile of discarded clothes
did for you.
When you look up, you cringe at the sight of his tented
boxer-briefs. You even think about changing your mind as
you grab his waistband, but you muster up some courage and
pull the material down and off. You stare at the floor,
afraid to look up again, unwilling to look at what is surely
facing you now, so you close your eyes and gingerly let your
hand guide his hard cock into your mouth. You start by sucking
on the head like a inexperienced schoolgirl. You can tell just
by the stretching of your jaw that he is bigger then you had
hoped. You take a quick peek.... Yeah, it figures.
You cover your teeth with your lips and, whimpering, start moving
up and down the shaft. You suddenly flash back to the last time
you did this...this...perversion. It was back in college, and you
did it only to join the sorority you pledged. You still remember
it as if it were yesterday. For the initiation you had to get a
picture of a hard cock in your mouth, from a complete stranger, no
less. Finding one wasn't that difficult, but the stranger wasn't
happy with just the picture. You remember how he held your
hair...fucking your face until he'd cum in your mouth and down
your throat. Your sorority sister was more interested in taking
additional pictures than in helping you out. You destroyed most
of those pictures, all but one. The perverse picture of you with
cum dripping from your lips got you into that sorority, but its
unknown whereabouts still haunts you to this day.
You're suddenly startled out of your trance by the deputy's hips
driving forward, in a face-fucking maneuver. It's so eerily
familiar, and your reflex is to pull back. He lets you know that
he's not happy with your performance so far, and that time is not
a factor for him. You vow to do better, regardless of how much
you loathe him.
This time you attack with more gusto. You try to use your hands,
too, but he won't allow that, and you're left with just your lips and
tongue to work with. You go into cruise control and try not
to think much about what you're doing, but rather concentrate on
why you're doing it. Then he tilts your face upward. He wants
you looking up into his eyes, as you suck his cock. You wonder
how his beautiful blue eyes could harbor such wickedness.
You are suddenly pulled to your feet and, in a swift motion, lifted
back onto the steel table, this time, however, you're on your back,
the cold steel causing goosebumps all over.
Defeated, you lie on the table, trembling. Terror and a strange
anticipation wash over you, as you brace for his insertion. You
take one last look. It's true. He is bigger then anything that's
ever been inside of you. Your legs spread apart, and you hold
your breath, as he rubs his cock along your sloppy-wet pussy,
before slowly entering you.
In and out it plunges. He's tentative at first, but then he
finds a rhythm and begins fucking you with deep strokes. You
struggle with yourself, since you don't want to give him the
satisfaction of knowing that you're getting off on this. You
even try to stop the moans and squeals from slipping from your
lips with every thrust. You close your eyes, but it doesn't
last. He seemingly wants your eyes as much as he wants your
body. Your breasts attract his attention, and he squeezes them
in time with his deepening thrusts. He finds your sensitive
nipples and rolls them in his fingers.
Oh, god! Oh, god!
He suddenly turns you over. You have a panicked moment, but he
finds your pussy once again. You resume breathing. His thrusts,
however, seem harder and deeper in this position. You begin to
feel like a cheap whore bent over the table like this, him
pounding away. And then he orders you to plead, "Fuck Me, Boss!"
over and over and over....
His fucking is making you feel things that are increasingly harder
to ignore. It's been over ten years since anyone but your husband
has had your pussy, and you feel ashamed that this bastard with a
badge could have an effect on you that your husband never could.
You try to put it all out of your mind, but when his hand reaches
around and starts rubbing your clit, that's impossible. Your
tears return, and you surrender. He's beaten you completely.
Your head is swimming; you're euphoric, as your body dances in
orgasm.
The deputy laughs. He is proud of himself. His cruel words
snap you back to reality as he brags about his prowess, but,
before you can really fret about that, he presses his cock
against your lubricant-dripping asshole. You scream out in
panic.
You're shocked by what you've just said.
You struggle to your knees again and open your lips, choosing
the lesser of two evils. His cock quickly finds your mouth.
You realize that, as repulsive as this act is to you, you must
do it. You also now know that you will do anything to avoid an
ass-fucking.
You give it your best so far, but the task is not a simple one,
as the young man insists on using his hard cock as a tool of
humiliation. He slaps it against your face and extended tongue,
and then, as an added insult, he wants you to beg for it, beg him
for his cum. And you finally, desperately, give up your last
remaining shred of respectability and beg him to cum on your face.
He's happy. But first you have to do some more cock-sucking.
And he's not as close as you thought. Soon, your jaw is aching,
your knees are raw, and your inexperience is really hampering
your efforts to get this over with. (And all your slurping and
drooling are adding to your embarrassment.)
But he discovers that your hair is a useful tool in guiding you in
the right direction. Eventually, his moans and twitches let you
know that his orgasm is fast approaching...and then he pulls out.
While you catch your breath, you're left, mouth agape, tongue
extended, just like a puppy dog awaiting a treat. You feel the
first spurt, and you flinch away, but a handful of hair keeps you
in place, as the remaining syrupy fluid finds its mark. As you
gag on your salty treat, his slimy cock worms its way back into
your mouth, and you lick it clean until he is finally satisfied
that your part of the deal is completed.
Finally, with one eye plastered shut, you are led across the hall
and into a bathroom. You're afraid to even glance in the mirror
as you splash water on your face and then soap and scrub it clean.
You also take the opportunity to wash out your mouth, since his
aftertaste is less than pleasant and is also a disgusting reminder
of what you'd just had to do. You finally look into the mirror,
almost ashamed of the reflection looking back.
Will your life ever be the same?
Your clothes are dumped on the floor at your feet. You hurriedly
dress and are led to the back door, thankful that he has lived up
to his end of the deal. Your eyes light up when you see your car.
You almost find it funny that he seemingly has no problem with you
driving now. You quickly make your getaway, all the while vowing
never to drive in this part of Vermont again.
Then you remember the cameras.
You gasp.
You know that you have a lot more than just an old, still picture
now to haunt your every day.
The End
Thanks for reading my story. Your comments and suggestions are always
welcomed.
Edited by C. Lakewood
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