I’m used to getting my own way. I’m an only child. Mummy saw me as a carbon copy of herself and happily fed my ego. I was very pretty and she had every expectation that I’d grow up to be as beautiful as she’d been. Daddy adored me and has always spoilt me rotten. As a child I had a pony, attended ballet and piano lessons and enjoyed exotic holidays abroad. In my teens I was always at the head of the fashion game; I was given the money to buy expensive clothes and splash out on expensive parties. Needless to say, I was popular at school. Nothing much was required of me. I just had to be nice and pretty and give a little application to my schoolwork. Everything came easy.
I went to a good university and ended up as a financial consultant with a well known City firm and life continued its easy path. I had some decent boyfriends; none of them would set a room alight but they looked after me. At work I was promoted fairly quickly and so I developed from a spoilt young girl into a pampered business executive.
Stable, secure, nice and comfortable. Yes, nice. That’s how I would have described my life. I had a nice life; there were no problems. If not for a silly little incident I may well have been condemned to an excitement free life.
I’m a bit of a shopaholic. I suppose that’s my one real vice. I love buying clothes and make up. Anyway, I’d overshopped one lunch break and was running a little late. I’d been trying some sample lipsticks, decided on one and absentmindedly put it in my pocket. I paid for the other goods, left the store and hurried back to work. When I got home and unpacked the shopping I couldn’t find the lipstick and irritatedly thought I’d left it in the store. It was only later that I found it in the pocket of my coat and the thought of taking it without having paid rather excited me. During the next few days the incident kept popping into my head.
During a lunch break later that week I found myself wandering around in the lingerie department of a well known store. I examined a selection of panties and made a show of holding several pairs to the light before putting them back on the rack. I did the same thing with another pair but instead of putting them back I crumpled them up into a tight ball in my fist and, after looking around, casually put my hand in my pocket where I secreted them. Eventually, I left the store, my heart thumping nineteen to the dozen. When I got outside I casually walked away and found a coffee shop where I sat down and examined the stolen goods. My heart was still thumping away, not out of fear but exhilaration. I’d never done anything illegal before and I found the experience thoroughly thrilling.
That was when my criminal career began. I enjoyed shoplifting, I got an immense thrill from stealing. It wasn’t the acquisition that triggered the excitement but the possibility of being caught. I must have been shoplifting about twenty times before I really did get caught.
It’s the sort of occasion, like your first kiss or the day you get married, that remains fresh in the memory. It was a lovely spring day, almost summer, and I was wearing a beautiful cotton print dress. I went into the shop feeling happy and excited and left with that by now familiar feeling of exhilaration. I’d just got outside the store when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
‘Excuse me miss, would you mind coming back into the shop for a moment?’
I felt myself redden. ‘Whatever for?’
‘I think you know what for, Miss.’
The security man led me back into the shop, guiding me by the elbow. I let him lead me, my brain wasn’t working fast enough to protest and refuse, my capture had dulled it. The excitement had left me, I felt numb. He led me to an office at the back of the store where another security man was sitting behind a desk. He asked me to empty out my bag, which I did. I stood looking at the contents; a neat pile of assorted stolen junk. I felt queasy.
Two police officers arrived. One was a sergeant, I spotted the chevrons, he was the older of the two. He gave me a cursory, disinterested glance as he came into the office.‘Arrogant sod,’ I thought.
He spoke to the store detectives.
‘Hello gents, what have we got?’
They took him aside and spoke privately for a few minutes and then the sergeant turned to me and said:
‘Listen to what this man has to say.’
One of the security men spoke up.
‘Our CCTV operator has seen this woman acting suspiciously on a number of occasions and we saw her take some make-up from one of the store counters and put it in her handbag. She left the shop without attempting to pay and we detained her outside the store. She’s got various unpaid for make-up items in her bag.’
The sergeant spoke casually.
‘Okay, I’m going to arrest you for theft…’
My mind began swirling, I didn’t really hear what else he said, something about, ‘You do not have to say anything,’ it was like something from the movies. I was asked where I lived and as I tried to concentrate I heard him saying, ‘… The store security think you’ve been stealing from here on other occasions so I’m going to take you home as I need to search your house.’
I began to feel panicky and started to protest.
He cut me short.
‘Listen, we can either go back to the station and put you in a cell and I’ll search your house anyway or you can cooperate and I’ll take you home. The choice is yours.’
I didn’t really have a choice.
He turned to his younger colleague, a constable, and said:
‘You take the statements from these gents and I’ll pick you up later.’
As we walked out to the car park, I began to focus more clearly and decided to turn on the charm. I assumed he wouldn’t be used to dealing with a well educated, well spoken woman and I was well practiced at intimidating men. But halfway through a sentence he interrupted me.
‘Look, this is hardly the crime of the century, you’ve got no previous convictions and as far as I’m concerned, if you co operate, you’ll be suitable for a non crime resolution which will mean you won’t get a criminal record.’ Then he stopped me by the car. ‘But don’t patronise me, do you understand? As far as I’m concerned you’re no different from any other shoplifter’
I was stung by his comments and silently got into the police car.
We said very little on the way to my house, although he did tell me his name; Sergeant Mace. He seemed bored, indifferent. Despite my shame I also felt angry. I wasn’t used to being treated like this. I’d been apologetic and charming but he’d barely paid me any attention. He was almost curt. When I got home he followed me inside the house.
‘Just to remind you Miss Cunningham, you’re still under arrest, and as I suspect there is property outstanding from your thefts I have the power to search your premises.’
‘Yes, thank you constable, you’ve already told me that.’
The bloody cheek! I was furious. I’d never been treated so off handedly, so dismissively, before. Who the hell did he think he was? What pissed me off more than anything was that I was in no position to argue.
It was even more galling that the bastard was good looking. He was about thirty, over six foot, lean and fit. He had short, dark hair and a rather angular face. But his eyes were the thing. I hadn’t worked out whether it was the shape of his brows or the way his eyes were set that made them so piercing. When he looked at me it was as though he was looking into me, not at me, the pretty surface, but right into me, and despite my outward confidence I found him rather unsettling. Men don’t normally unsettle me, it’s usually the other way round.
‘Well,’ I thought ‘we’ll soon see.’ I’d had an idea. I wanted to unsettle him, unnerve him, perhaps even frighten him a little. I wanted to take that arrogant look off his face.
‘I keep most of my cosmetics in the bedroom, I suppose that’s the best place to start.’
I said this sullenly as if acknowledging his control of the situation. I led him upstairs into my bedroom and left him standing by the door while I walked around to the other side of my bed. I opened a bedside drawer, casually took out a vibrator, tossed it on the bed and then continued rummaging through the drawer as though I was looking for something in particular. I was hoping he’d be shocked. I came across a stolen lipstick, removed it from the drawer, stood up and began to unscrew the top as I walked over to a large mirror which was on the wardrobe door right next to where he was standing. I posed in front of the mirror, pouted my lips and touched them up with the lipstick. And then I turned to Mr Arrogant Bastard.
‘What do you think?’ I asked and I reached up and kissed him on the lips. I intended to scare him, to get my own back, show him that he wasn’t the only one with the power.
‘My, my sergeant, what would they think down at the station if I accused you of sexually assaulting me? How could you possibly defend yourself? You saw a sex toy, it sent you wild, you made advances, I rejected them. What do you think would happen?’
‘You’d do that?’
‘I might sergeant, I don’t like jumped up, ignorant men. I might well consider it. After all, who do you think they’d believe?’
I’d hoped to see some evidence of discomfort but his piercing eyes looked unconcerned. He reached up to his chest and pointed to a device, hanging next to his radio, that resembled a mobile phone. I gathered it was some kind of recorder.
‘Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to come into your house, alone, without any sort of back up? Do you really think I haven’t come across devious people like you before? I get all sorts of allegations thrown at me.’ He grinned, disdainfully. ‘Dear dear, miss, dear dear.’
I felt really stupid.
‘I was only joking,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to frighten you a bit, you’re so bloody rude and high and mighty.’
‘No, you’re the one that’s high and mighty. You’re spoilt and stuck up.’
I began to speak, intending to deliver a crushing rejoinder, but he grabbed my wrist, sat down on the bed and pulled me across his lap.
‘Well, Miss Cunningham, I think it’s time you learnt a little lesson. The world doesn’t always bow to the whims of spoilt little girls who have never grown up.’
I was amazed and temporarily disoriented, I’d never been manhandled in such a way. But after the initial shock I started to struggle. It was too late. One of his hands was pressed firmly down between my shoulder blades, pinning me across his lap. And then, incredibly, he spanked me; four or five sharp spanks that made me cry out, not in pain, but in disbelief and anger. How could I describe that moment? It was surreal. A policeman, in my house, on my bed, spanking me! But I quickly came to my senses, my anger returned and I began to struggle again.
‘You fucking bastard, I’ll have you sacked, get off, get off’ I screamed.
He said nothing but spanked me again, harder, and I was now thrashing about, my eyes filled with tears of frustration and rage. But he was so strong and I was so firmly pinned across his lap that my energy was soon sapped and I was reduced to pathetically flailing my arms and legs about.
When I stopped to catch my breath, he said:
‘Are you sorry for the disrespectful way you’ve treated me?’’
I couldn’t believe this was happening.
‘ME treated YOU? You bastard!’
His question re invigorated me and as I resumed my struggle he resumed his spanking. By now the stinging pain had subsided, my bottom had started to numb and an oddly comforting warmth was spreading around my buttocks accompanied by a rather pleasant tingling sensation. The harder I struggled, the harder he spanked. When I stopped to catch my breath and summon more energy he stopped spanking. I felt confused. I was still angry but the anger had released a flood of energy, some of which was sexual. My feelings of anger and humiliation were being superseded by feelings of exhilaration, excitement, arousal and a realisation that I was actually enjoying this confrontation. I felt disgusted with myself and determined to override these unnatural feelings.
‘Is that all you can do you pathetic little shit?’
He began spanking me again, and I responded battling not just with Sergeant Mace but my own emotions as I felt an overwhelming desire to give in.
‘What do you want?’ I gasped.
‘I want you to apologise for treating me in such a condescending manner.’
‘What?’ I said, outraged.
‘I want you to thank me for teaching you a valuable lesson about….’
He didn’t finish. I began thrashing about again, but the dynamics had changed. I no longer wanted to struggle free, I was enjoying the numbing, tingling warmth inflicted with each slap, I was enjoying the feel of his hand pressing down on my back, I was enjoying the subjugation. I wanted to provoke, antagonise and tease him. I wanted his attentions.
I had stopped struggling and was now responding to his spanking, raising my bottom, slightly, after each delivery; I was now a willing recipient. He tempered his strokes accordingly, they became slower and fewer but the delivery was more concentrated. Delicious. By now I’d expended so much energy that I just lay across him breathing heavily. He stopped spanking me but I didn’t attempt to free myself, I wanted to stay there. I’d given up. He’d won. I heard my voice, submissive and timid:
‘I BEG your pardon?
‘Why are you sorry?’
‘Because of the way I treated you.’
‘And you won’t treat me that way again, will you?’
‘How will you treat me?’
I felt completely in his power. I liked it.
‘Stay as you are,’ he said, and he removed his hand from between my shoulders.
I didn’t have the energy or the inclination to move. I know this sounds weird but I didn’t feel threatened at all.
I felt the heaviness of his body as he leaned across me and I heard the sound of a jar unscrewing and assumed he’d picked up a jar of moisturising cream from the top of the bedside cabinet. I didn’t look round, I wasn’t really interested; I felt strangely relaxed and was enjoying the warm sensations still tingling around my buttocks. I felt my dress being pulled back over my bottom.
‘Just relax,’ he said, softly, almost in a whisper. I already had. He eased down my panties and I felt a glorious coolness as he began to spread a thick dollop of soothing moisturising cream over my bottom. I couldn’t help but groan. ‘How does that feel?’ His voice was mellow and reassuring.
‘Wonderful,’ I heard myself saying and I lay my head on the bed and enjoyed the cool, creamy caresses of his hands as they gently massaged the cheeks of my bottom.
‘Want me to stop?’
‘No, no, please… Keep going.’
He didn’t speak anymore and in the silence I could concentrate on the pleasure of his hands as they glided over my skin and his fingers as they traced lines along the cleft of my buttocks. Gradually, he worked one hand between my legs, caressing my moist lips, slipping inside, teasing, then withdrawing, then deeper, then on my clit, his touches light and soft. At the same time he used his other hand to explore the cleft of my buttocks, his fingers stroking, tickling and wriggling. I came; a slow, pleasant tremble that ignited a thousand nerve endings. He continued to play with me and the pleasant tremble built into a shuddering, powerful orgasm and I squirmed on his knuckles as his fingers wriggled inside me. Eventually, I lay across his lap feeling pleasantly defeated. I can’t ever remember feeling so lazy and relaxed. I couldn’t have paid for a better service.
He lifted me from his lap, lay me on the bed and covered me with a duvet. He kissed me gently on the lips. ‘Take that as a warning,’ he said, then added with a smile, ‘If you need me, give me a call.’
As he stood up I noticed the front of his uniform trousers were covered with moisturising cream and I remember a feeling of amusement as my eyes closed. I heard the door click shut as he left and I fell asleep.
When I awoke, I felt refreshed but I had to wrestle with a myriad of conflicting emotions as I tried to work out the mechanics of that surreal encounter. I tried to feel outraged, violated, abused, but instead I felt relaxed, excited, exhilarated. I showered, washing away the traces of moisturising cream, and as I soaped myself the thought of the spanking provoked delicious, arousing feelings.
I went out that evening and during a meal, as my boyfriend droned on, I kept replaying that wonderful spanking in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. By the end of the week I had to call Sergeant Mace. He was very understanding.
I’ve been unable to stop my criminal activities. Sergeant Mace has made me a high priority case and has taken a personal interest in my rehabilitation. I’ve confessed to various crimes; his punishments are draconian.
I called him half an hour ago. His voice was deep and steady. ‘What have you done this time?’
I hesitated, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. ‘I’ve parked on a double yellow line.’
I heard him sigh, a deliciously threatening, sinister sigh.
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’