Holding Cell

Consent can sometimes be a troubling part of writing a fantasy. I don't write things that aren't consensual, even though I know that it's a fantasy, and hence isn't really happening. So instead, I write consensual non-consent. But it's sometimes difficult to do that, to get that message across, without detracting from the story. Today, I tried being a bit more subtle. Hopefully, the message still came as much as the characters did.

I sure hope other people think I'm as funny as I think I am. This story has a bit of tongue-in-cheek feel (and without rimming!) that I really enjoyed.

The Holding Cell

Allie put her hands through the bars and leaned on her forearms. She pressed her face between the bars and let out a sigh. “I hate this part,” she said.

Ashlie rubbed a hand down her back, trying to be comforting. “It's okay. Just wait a little longer.”

Allie groaned and looked at the clock. “We've been here forever.”

The clock finally ticked over to six. They heard a conversation in the other room, then someone leave. 

The lights out front went off. A few seconds later, the door opened.

The sheriff stood with his badge in hand. He lay it and a clip from his pistol on the table by the door. Then he pulled the handcuffs out of their pouch and walked over. He took Allie's hands and slapped the cuffs on her wrists, trapping her between the bars.

“So.” She pulled the cuffs against the bar, then looked at the sheriff. “Is there, like, a fine or something?”

The sheriff chuckled, “Something like that,” he said. He looked over at Ashlie. “Step away from the door please.”

She took a few steps back. His hand was on his gun as he unlocked the door, pulled it open, and stepped into the holding cell.

“You two ladies are in a lot of trouble,” he said.

Allie started laughing. “I swear to god,” she said. “If you say that we can come to some kind of 'arrangement'” she made air quotes with her fingers, though neither of the others could see, “I'm going to be sick.”

The sheriff was taken aback. “What?”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It just sounds like a bad porn.”

He took out his nightstick and clipped the back of her leg. She fell to her knees and gasped in pain. Then she felt the barrel of his gun against the back of head.

“Is that better?” he asked. She nodded, unable to talk yet. “Easier this way?”

Ashlie took a step forward. The gun shifted to her, and Ashlie held up her hands. “Don't hurt her,” she said, moving around to put herself between the sheriff and Allie. “Please. We'll do whatever you want.”

Allie groaned again, but not in pain. She shook her head. Ashlie gave a little warning kick with the side of her foot. “Shut up!” her whisper was harsh. “You're ruining it.”

The sheriff pulled back the hammer on his gun and leveled it at Ashlie's head. “You're damned right you'll do what I want,” he said. “And we'll start with you getting down on your knees. On your knees. Unzip my pants.”

When Allie laughed at that, the sheriff kicked her in the side. She started coughing in pain, curling up into a ball. The sheriff looked at where her hands were still cuffed. She gave him a thumbs up.

He kicked her again.

Ashlie dropped to her knees and reached for the cop's zipper. She pulled it open, fished aside his underwear, and pulled out his cock.

She wrapped her lips around the top, and he pressed the barrel of the gun to the side of her head. “I feel teeth, or you try anything funny, and I will blow your fucking brains out.”

Read the rest of the tale in Book Three: Boots and Bondage