Yankee Hospitality

By Amy Flanagan


"Hey, whereja think you're going, dressed like that?"


I stopped and whirled round when I heard that harsh female voice.  It was a policewoman, in her mid-twenties.  As an English girl, used to unarmed and tremendously polite policemen, I found the American armed aggressive police officers very intimidating.  The fact that she was female, and quite attractive with a very good figure, did not reassure me at all.


"I'm sorry, officer," I replied.  "Is there something wrong with my clothing?  I'm from London and it's quite normal there."


She looked me up and down, studying my close-fitting tailored blouse, clingy miniskirt and wide, tight belt that, I admit, did full justice to my figure.  Her eyes drifted down to my shiny black shoes with stilettos.


"Limey, huh?  Well, round here the only girls who dress like that are whores at night, not respectable people at ten in the morning.  Hands behind your back, palms facing out."


I did not have the courage to refuse.  She grasped my right hand and twisted my wrist.  I felt cold metal against my skin and heard two clicks as the handcuff teeth engaged.  Looking down, I saw the dark blue of her uniform trousers emerge from between my legs.  She spread my legs by pushing my knees apart with her own knee.  She grasped my left hand and again there was the cold metal and the clicks.


She took my little purse from my hand, opened it and quickly checked the contents.


"I'm gonna frisk ya now, Ma'am."


I suppose it was my fault for going to a small town, hundreds of miles off the tourist trail, where probably nobody had seen an Englishwoman for ages.  No doubt nobody would have batted an eyelid if I'd been walking around like this in Manhattan.  And why did she have to talk and act like that?  With those looks, if she only acted a little more like a London policewoman, I was sure I'd really like her.


She pulled up on the handcuffs, putting me in an off balance and uncomfortable position.  I stood up on tip toes in my stilettos to try to take the pressure off.


She grasped my left shoulder, and slid her hand down my arm towards my cuffed wrist; I felt the pressure of her fingers digging into my muscles.  The back of her hand rubbed down my back from the shoulder blade to my bottom.  She reached around and her left hand, held out flat, pressed against my belly. She rubbed it up my front, stopping just under my breast.  Then she did the same on the other side.  All this time, she gripped the handcuffs.  She pulled them up more.  It hurt a little, and I was even more off balance.  With the toe of her boot, she pushed my heels further apart, spreading my legs even more and giving me even more of a problem with balance.


"You don't have any weapons.  Right?"


"No, no, nothing, not even a pen-knife, I assure you," I stuttered nervously.


The back of her hand went up, along the inside of my inner thigh.  She reached up under my skirt, and then pressed against my crotch.  I could feel her fingertips reach inside the waistband of my panties. They ran along the entire circumference of my waist, pressing in, searching. Her thumb pressed into my belly button as it passed.


I was totally off balance, both literally and because I was taken aback by the intrusive nature of the search, especially in public.  I was in such a state that I had no idea if anybody was looking at us.  Her hand under my tight skirt had caused the hem to ride up, so the already short skirt was now so short that my black satin panties were now visible to anyone who looked carefully.


"OK, you're clean.  Where's your passport?"


"It's in my hotel bedroom, officer; the hotel's just round the corner," I replied nervously.


"Lead the way and don't try anything clever," came the gruff reply.


Nervously, I walked back to the hotel, my arms still handcuffed behind my back, with the policewoman just a few feet behind, almost literally breathing down my neck.  I didn't even try to pull down my skirt, no easy thing in those cuffs, in case she thought I was trying something.


It was such a relief to reach the hotel.  "I'm on what you call the third floor. I'd call it the second floor of course, being British."  I ran up the two flights of stairs, my tight miniskirt riding up even further as I took the stairs two at a time.  I could not see how the policewoman looked at my rear, studying my thighs and my panties.


I arrived at the door.  I realised that she still had my purse, and anyway my hands were still cuffed.  She soon arrived behind me.  Taking out the key card, she waved it over the electronic eye.  The lock clicked.  She reached out in front of me and slowly pushed the door open.  She let me go in first, but stayed very close behind me.


"My passport's in the safe in the wardrobe.  You'll have to release me so I can open the safe," I explained.  With a show of reluctance, she removed the cuffs and clipped them to her belt.  Going over to the wardrobe, I opened the door and punched in the combination of the safe.  The door swung open, and I took out the passport and handed it to her.  She examined it carefully, shining a torch on it and comparing the photo with me.


"Are you satisfied now, officer," I asked nervously.


"I'm happy with your passport, but there's something funny in your wardrobe."  Striding over to it, she pulled out a ball gag and two lengths of rope.  "What's this then?" she snapped.


It hadn't occurred to me that she would take an interest in that.  "I gag myself with the ball gag and tie myself up with the rope.  It's called self-bondage.  Don't tell me it's illegal here. I've done it lots of times back home."


She looked at me frostily.  "I think you're running some kind of BDSM prostitution service," she said accusingly.  My jaw dropped open; I was too amazed to speak.  "Prove this self-bondage claim.  Strip naked, stuff a pair of panties in your mouth, put on the ball gag.  Then get on the bed and tie your ankles to the bedposts."


I wondered if she was serious, but rapidly decided that she must be.  Reluctantly, I stripped off.  She tossed me a clean pair of satin panties from the wardrobe.  I stuffed it in my mouth; I could only just get it in and my cheeks bulged.  I picked up the ball gag and pushed it into my mouth; it was so big that I could only just get it in.  I fastened the strap around the back of my neck, buckling it as tight as it will go; no way could I push the ball out with my tongue.  My bulging cheeks were squashed by the strap.  I lay down on the bed and picked up a length of the soft rope.  With practised ease, I tied one ankle to one bedpost, then the other to the other bedpost.  My legs were now splayed uncomfortably wide. I looked at her inquiringly, as if to say "are you satisfied now?"


She pushed me hard on the chest and I fell onto my back.  She pulled a pair of cuffs from her belt and cuffed my wrist to the bedhead.  Before I could react, she took a second pair and cuffed my other wrist.  I was helpless in a spread eagle, in a state of shock.  She rubbed my cheek gently with her hand.  "I'm not going to hurt you, limey," she said, speaking gently and mellifluously.  "Never, ever.  Do you trust me?"


What could I think?  Nobody had ever tied me up before, other than my self-bondage.  I was never sure that I could trust anyone to make me completely helpless and totally at their mercy.  This was a policewoman, but someone I had met only a few short hours earlier. Did I trust her?  Did I have any choice?


She went over to the wardrobe and hunted around.  She returned with a blindfold.  It was one I had made myself, by taking swimming goggles and covering the lenses with black tape.  She lifted my head up and placed the blindfold over my eyes, then buckled it behind my head very tightly.  Not a glimmer of light could now reach my eyes.  Raising my hips, she stuffed the pillows from the bed under them, making my spread eagle more stringent and exposing my crotch even more.


"Now I'll show you what I can do with my baton."


I felt the cool metallic ball of the tip between my breasts. The track of the movement of the baton's ball point came to a stop just at the base of my throat, and paused there. The side of the rod felt cold as it was rubbed over my shoulders.


She put her other hand on the inside of my thighs and caressed upwards. Deprived of sight, voice and movement, my mind went into sensory overload responding to the touch of metal on my skin and then, just a quickly, the tip of the baton disappeared.  There was a gap.  Blindfolded and in bondage, I had no way of knowing how long it was – seconds, minutes, hours?

But when the cold steel appeared again this time it was the knob of the pommel, the round base of the weapon, and it was resting on the hood of my clit.  The weight of the metal rod pressed straight down on it.  I tried to moan as I felt it press down with a little more pressure, but hardly any sound could emerge through the gag and mouth stuffing.  Then again, lighter this time until the weapon was lifted completely off my body.  I raised my hips slightly as my body betrayed me, desperate for the sensation of the black metal back on my flesh.


Again I tried to moan.  I tried to guess where I'd be touched next. Losing my sense of sight meant that my skin had become more in tune to everything.  I could feel the warm breeze through the window run across my nipples, the smooth satin sheets under my back and the cruel bonds securing my arms and very widely spread legs.


Again, the metal lightly brushed my left inner thigh and the pommel knob traced a straight line from my knee all the way to the outer edge of my labia. It paused there for a moment, then dropped down, following my flesh, travelling its way across the curve of my bottom before it was taken away from my body again.


Gently, she pulled my labia apart with her fingers.  I was totally and utterly exposed.


Now the hard familiar ball of the pommel knob pressed against my opening. The polished metal entered me easily and plunged in deeply.  Then the handle started to work in clockwise circles, so that I could feel the knob inside twisting against the side of my vagina.  Instinctively, I lifted my hips and matched the movements she made with the instrument deep inside me. 


My heart was beating faster than I could ever remember it doing.  The handle was thrust in and out.  In and out.  In and out.  Harder.  Deep inside.  Her thumb hit my clit with each down thrust.  Fast.  Hard.  Now she was rubbing my clit with her thumb. An orgasm of unusual intensity was on the way.  My body felt as if it was blowing higher and higher, like a leaf on a rising wind, flying helplessly, tossed here and there with no control.


Thrusting even harder, she held the handle upright inside meu so the pommel knob hit my G-spot again and again, and the handle ribs rubbed the side of my vagina.  I was trying with all my might to buck my hips and cry out, but the restraints and the ball gag totally frustrated all my efforts. My mind was swelling like a balloon and was about to explode.  I could take no more.  My back tensed to arch and I was on the verge of the biggest release I had ever known.


But then she pulled out the baton and pushed down as hard as she could on my belly with the palm of her hand.  My mind suddenly deflated and I came down to Earth with a crash. What had happened? I lay there feeling incredibly let down and disappointed.


The policewoman kissed me on my forehead and then on my breasts.  "This is my favourite sport, orgasm denial," she laughed. "It's going to be a long night for you, limey!"


I had vaguely heard of orgasm denial but had never really considered what it meant.  It is a cruel torment.  Surely she wouldn't put me through that again?  What did she mean, a long night?  It was still morning, surely.  Did she intend to keep me like this for that many hours?  Would she deny me several more orgasms?  How much of this could I take before I went mad?


The policewoman went off and came back.  I had no idea what she did.  I couldn't see.  I couldn't speak.  I could do little more than move my head.


I was startled as my nipples were lightly brushed by something cold.  The shock ran all the way down my body, like electricity.  She pinched my nipples, rolling them between her fingertips.  I moaned through the ball gag, but nothing coherent could emerge.  My nipples soon grew hard. Then she started licking them.  Her tongue darted from the tips to circling the edges.  She started to suck on my left breast, taking as much of it as she could into her mouth.  In a flash, the gentle action of her mouth was replaced with insidious pinches that would not release.  Oh no!   It was my own nipple clamps!


She was sitting on the bed again.  She grasped my knees, pulling them a little further apart.  Her breath was hot on the insides of my thighs.  I was beginning to recover from the let-down of that ruined orgasm, but now there was the nasty pinching pain in my nipples.  It was quite bearable, but I knew that I could only stand it for so long. And I was still completely helpless, with no idea what was coming next.  Would she force me to have another ruined orgasm?  I was so confused, and apprehensive.

"I love the smell of you," she said, wrapping her mouth around my most intimate region.  She drew back. "And I love the taste of you."  Her mouth returned, adding more pressure.  Her tongue licked my across the labia.


Soon I was brought back to arousal.  She had already violated me with her stick, and now she was doing it with her tongue.  I was completely powerless to stop her.  I still had no idea whether I could trust her.  Ideally, I thought, I should just resign myself to this, and try to relax and enjoy it, because it is quite pleasant.  After all, wouldn't I be delighted if I could get my boyfriend to do it?  That would be something to relish. But it was so hard to relax because I was so fearful of what was going on and what might happen.


And yet, once again my body took control.  I soon got to the stage where I felt myself being blown about on the wind and my mind swelling like a balloon. I felt my muscles tensing and my back beginning to arch.


But then, she suddenly pulled out and thumped down on my belly with her palm.  Then she pinched my labia together with her fingers, digging her fingernails in hard, to ensure the ruin of my orgasm.  Again, I deflated and crashed.  This felt even worse than the first time.


The policewoman stood up and ran her hands along the inside of my thighs all the way to my ankles.  She massaged me, and it was not unpleasant though it did very little to offset the let-down of being denied the relief of climax.  Her black thigh-high leather boot heels clomped across the floor as she made her way to the head board.  She checked the cuffs at my wrists, and laughed.  "You are completely helpless.  Your widespread arms and legs don't serve you any more, and won't until I decide otherwise."


Then a strange sound, a buzzing.


Something gently touched the tip of my nipple.  It was my vibrator.  I could feel that it was set to the lowest level of vibration.  The sensations sped through my body and tingled between my legs.  This was torture.  I writhed impotently.  I was far from recovered from the second ruined orgasm.  My nipples, always sensitive at the best of times, were already much more sensitive from the nipple clamps and the near orgasm.  Being unable to see made things still worse; deprived of sight, I was far more conscious of her body and even more sensitive to touch than I otherwise would be.  Because of this, even the very gentle stimulation I was receiving had a marked effect on me.  I knew that I would burst soon if this kept up.  I could not keep still, but in my bondage I could hardly move.


She held the tip of the vibrator over my nipple, the device just barely touching it.  The buzzing grew louder as she turned up the intensity setting.  She ran it round the circumference of the exposed nipple. My nipple bounced off the side of the vibrator and danced around from the thousands of rotations a second of the tiny motor inside the machine.


I could bear it no longer.  I must come, I must.  If I could only speak I would beg, grovel, offer to do anything to be allowed to come. If I didn't, I knew I'd go out of my mind.  I writhed and squirmed with all of my strength, but it was just useless.  Please, please, let me come I screamed into the gag, but only an indistinct mumble emerged.


The vibrator was lifted from my breast.  It was loud in my ears as it was held right next to my head in her hand.  Then it stopped and the room grew very quiet.  Then I could hear her boot heels again as she circled around the bed as I lay there, spread eagled and helpless.


The policewoman climbed between my legs.  Leaning over my body, she removed the nipple clamps.  There was a stinging sensation as the blood flowed back, nearly as painful as when the clamps went on.  I knew that my nipples were as hard as bullets and completely erect.


The vibrator was humming again, loudly.  It must have been turned to its highest setting.  It was inches away from my crotch.  Relief was so close.  So close and yet so far.


She rolled one of my nipples in her fingers, taking turns brushing the tip with the palm of her hand and lightly pinching it between her fingers.  Every muscle in my body was tensing.  She begin licking my other nipple, hard at first, pressing it right down, then soft, just letting her tongue dance on it.  She nudged the tip of the vibrator forward until it was leaning up against my vulva, the tip resting right on my clitoris.  The vibration.  The licking and sucking. It was making me delirious.  My head felt swollen to thrice its normal size, but I was dreading the moment she would steal this climax away from me too...


But no.  She held my hand, sucking my right nipple, and pushed the vibrator deep into me. That sent me right over the edge and I exploded like a supernova.


For many minutes I lay writhing on the mattress, howling through that ball gag, knowing nothing of my surroundings.  But gradually reality returned.  I could hear the jingle of keys.  I felt freedom as though I'd been a prisoner all my life as she removed the handcuffs. The blindfold. The gag. I sat up on the bed, a little dizzy and lightheaded still enjoying the afterglow of my orgasm.


"I'm through with you now, limey," she said.


I staggered to my feet, walked over to her and hugged her, my breasts squashing against hers.  She hugged me back and one hand cupped my bottom.  "Please, could you stay just a few minutes longer and just do one more thing ..."



The End


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