Hot cop fantasies
I love playing with my cop friend, Glenn, whom I only get to see once a year, sometimes twice if I’m lucky. He always manages to scare me, whether we’re role playing or just playing. I’ll never forget the first time we played—he was playing a cop interrogating the girlfriend of a criminal—and I saw that he had a gun as part of his detective “uniform.” At the end of the scene I said, “Good thing the gun wasn’t loaded; that would have been really scary.” And he says, “Of course it’s loaded; why would I have a gun that wasn’t loaded?” As a detective he carries off-duty. Oh. Shit.
For the last few years at the Shadow Lane party, Glenn and I have cooked up different role plays, but I didn’t get to go to Shadow Lane last Labor Day weekend. So I was happy to see him in Vegas this weekend, where a “small” group of friends (the “50 Freaks”) had gotten together for a spanking party.
We arranged to do a two-part role play. First he was going to play my uncle, who punishes me for breaking curfew and staying out late. Then I was going to go back to my room for the start of the next role play, where he has “someone else” scare me into not being so careless when I’m out by myself. It was basically a take-down scene.
I started by coming out of my room and walking down the hallway of the hotel. A guy I don’t know (Glenn) was standing a few rooms away looking clueless. He was staring at his room door with a keycard in his hand. “Excuse me,” he said as I get closer, “but I’m having trouble with this. How are these things supposed to work?”
I said, “You have to have the arrows lined up facing the door. Did you have it upside down? Or maybe it’s not working because you had it near your cell phone. That happens sometimes. … Try it again.”
He said, “Can you try it? I’ve tried a couple times now; it’s not working for me.”
I said, “Uh, OK.” I tried the key and it worked. “OK, there you go.” He opened the door. I went to step away, but he grabbed me.
I was ready for this; I was expecting this as the role play . . . but I wasn’t planning on making it easy for him.
Too much for me
I pulled away, and then as he didn’t let go I grabbed the door frame. It was like I had no strength at all, compared to him. He was 6-foot-something to my 5’2” and I don’t have that kind of strength. I was dragged into the room, fighting all the way and losing. He twisted my arm behind my back, painfully. I was still resisting. He slapped my face, hard. He told me to stop fighting, because I wasn’t going anywhere.
The fantasy kicked up a notch. I had asked for this, hadn’t I?
He slapped me some more, called me a bitch, told me how dumb I was to help a stranger open his hotel room door. Told me that now he was going to do whatever he wanted with me. He pulled both arms behind my back and handcuffed me. (I did mention that he is a cop in real life, right?) The handcuffs bit into me. They hurt. Now I was totally helpless. He pushed me onto a chair and put duct tape over my mouth. I was breathing hard because of the struggle and because he’d slapped me.
He pulled out a knife and clicked it open. Shit. He grabbed my blouse with both hands and started ripping it. It was a stretchy sleeveless blouse, and the edges of the sleeves started to dig in painfully under my arms as he pulled and tore at it. I yelped. He took the knife and sliced upward, further destroying the blouse. I turned my head so I was facing away from the knife. He cut and ripped the blouse entirely off me, then cut my bra off, the straps first, then the center part between my breasts. Again I turned my head as the knife came up, nervously hoping he didn’t slip.
Taking it all off
He made me stand in front of him then, and he pulled my little black skirt off (at least he let me save one item of clothing). But then he cut my panties off.
He pushed me down onto the bed. I was very nervous. All the while he was barking at me how I’d better do what he said or the punishment was going to be much, much worse. I knew he’d spanked and paddled me pretty hard in the past and I believed him. I was thinking to myself, however, what would someone in my position in real life do? Would she try to run (maybe). Would she yell? I think I would be yelling and screaming, but the role play was intersecting with reality so I wasn’t going to scream too loudly. I didn’t want the real cops to come. And if I tried to run, I doubt I could have gotten far, and I really would have been pushing my luck with Glenn.
He started to cane my thighs. He really whipped the cane down. I was panicky and wondering how far he was going to go, and given my fear, the caning was hard to take. I didn’t think there were that many strokes – probably less than 10. But he kept snapping at me to be quiet. “I have neighbors!” he said. “Don’t disturb them.” But I couldn’t be quiet. He caned me a bunch of times, and then ordered me to stand up. I did this slowly, as my legs felt shaky. “Stand up when I tell you to stand up!” he barked. I wasn’t moving quickly enough.
He picked up the knife again. The knife made me nervous. He ran it over my body, over my tits, my breasts, my face. I was trying not to move, feeling the point of the blade scratching my skin, flicking across my nipples. “Stay there,” he said. He put the knife down and at some point he removed the handcuffs, to my relief.
He moved away to get something, coming back with a bunch of wooden clothespins. He put two on my nipples, and then ordered me to sit on the edge of the bed and lie back. He put clothespins on my labia and the folds near my clit. I don’t think he got the clit itself, but it was pretty harsh even so. There were about five clothespins there, plus the two on my nipples.
“Stand up,” he said. I obeyed. “I want you to perform for me.”
Shakin’ all over
He told me to do five jumping jacks. With the clothespins on my nipples and pussy, I did my best. The clothespin on my left nipple fell off. He put it back on, then told me to do five more jumping jacks. I did five more, and he told me my boobs weren’t bouncing enough. I needed to be more enthusiastic. Fuck. I was self-conscious about everything bouncing at this point, but I did it again, as enthusiastically as I could. He took the clothespins off my nipples, then took a small leather strap and strapped me across the right nipple. I cried out. He strapped the left nipple. I cried out again and bent over, trying to protect myself. “Stand up!” he ordered. “And what did I tell you about making noise? Am I going to have to gag you?” He hit my nipples again, twice, and I roared through the duct tape.
He picked up the remnants of my cut-off panties, then ripped off the duct tape already on my mouth. “Are these panties wet?” he mocked me, and then sniffed them. “I think you were excited earlier. I can smell it.” He shoved them against my nose. Maybe he was right. I’d only had the panties on for 20 minutes or so but I detected a muskiness. “Open your mouth,” he said.
What ran through my mind right then were those warnings about people accidentally choking on panties while panicking. It made me more nervous, but I resolved not to panic. He slapped more duct tape on over the panties, holding them in place. Then he strapped my nipples again. My grunts and screams were still coming through, even with the gag. He slapped my face again as he continued to tell me to be quiet, which I knew would be impossible if he kept strapping my nipples. Then he pushed me back down on the bed, on my back. He started to run his hand over the clothespins on my pussy. “Do those hurt?” he said, again with a mocking tone. I nodded. “Well they’re about to hurt worse,” he said, and then he yanked them off. The blood rushed back to that area. Yow! At least they had only been on for about 15 minutes; if he’d waited an hour it would have been worse. He said to spread my legs and grab my knees, holding my legs open.
Things get serious
“You’re going to get another strapping,” he said. “And I think you know where. Do you know where?”
I nodded, petrified. “This is part of your punishment for struggling.” Internally, I was thinking, I can use a safe word; I don’t have to go through with this. I didn’t want to use a safe word. I wanted to be brave. I looked at him, thinking, Is he going to do this? He raised the strap and whipped it down. Fuck! I screamed, closed my legs and rolled onto my side. “Open your legs! You are going to take five strokes,” he growled. He looked so freaking mean. I had no idea what he was going to do. Was he going to make me?
I rolled back into position, spread my legs, but when he raised the strap again I panicked. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I closed my legs again, and started to plead. “Please, Glenn. Please don’t do this. I can’t …” He told me again to get back into position, but I continued to beg, wondering what the resolution was going to be. Would he grab me and do something worse to me? What was my punishment going to be? I should just take it, I thought. Then: I can’t take it … I can’t take it. It was only four more strokes. But the first one hurt like a motherfucker… I kept begging.
Finally, he said, “Sandy.” And his voice was a little calmer. “Get back into position. Trust me.” I didn’t know whether he was saying, “Trust me, I know you can take it but it’ll be over in a few seconds,” or “Trust me, it won’t be that bad.” I calmed down a little and opened my legs, bracing myself. He strapped my pussy—but nowhere near as hard as the first stroke. The third stroke was slightly harder, and the fourth and fifth were each a little harder—painful, but tolerable. Thank god.
He pulled me up off the bed, took the duct tape off and the panties out, pulled me close to him in a bear hug. “It’s OK,” he said. “It’s OK.”
I felt overwhelmed by his strength. I was grateful he stopped, but floored by how far he actually did go. I let him hold me for a while. I was still shaking quite a bit. I was high from it all, yet in a mellow way. When he finally released me I drank some water, as I was parched from having the panties in my mouth. Then I lay back on the bed again, feeling too numb to go anywhere yet.
I didn’t need aftercare, but I always love being able to just lie around and talk for a bit afterward—the coming down part. He told me something he’s told me before, how he doesn’t like slapping women and has to prepare himself for my fantasies. I smiled as I thought, It’s not a requirement that I have to have my face slapped. But it certainly does increase my fear and make things more real for me.
We lay around for a while and talked until I finally started to feel a little more normal. I sense that he liked the scene as much as I did, and that made me happy. Role plays can be tricky. I had the emotional glow and the soreness all over my body that just feels oddly good when you finish a hot scene. It was the first scene of the weekend; a very good start. There were more adventures to come…