joesoap2003
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Series like the "Dukes of Hazzard" give the impression that small town police corruption was confined to areas such as the southern states of the USA. As I know from experience however that is not the case.
It was a dark November evening in the 1970's and I was driving my Bentley through the streets of Little Egglesford. I was in a hurry to get back to London and was probably doing about 40mph. I saw a police car in the rear view mirror and dutifully stopped thinking I may get a caution and be on my way. Instead the police officer - a powerfully built man in his early 40's by the name of Dobson - insisted that I park the car by the pavement and accompany him to the local police station which in the way of these things was also his house where I would be summonsed.
Once there I was handcuffed and charged with reckless driving. He also mentioned in passing that there had been a couple of unsoved robberies in the village and would be charging me with these as well in order to "clear the books." Obviously I protested. "Sorry to hear that Sir." I think we will need to get Mrs Dobson through" and in one swift continuous movement pressed a bell and handcuffed me.
"Mrs Dobson's no end of a help to me in persuading guilty gentlemen to confess to their crimes" he said conversationally. "In the old days used to take them over our knees and give them a good 'iding but can't do that now as leaves too many tell tale marks. That's when Mrs D came up with the idea of having them tickled. Read in one these magazines she takes in about how Chinese Emperors used it as a form of torture. Much more excruciating than ordinary pain but totally undetectable - especially with the nice little refinements we've added.
At that a comfortable buxom lady also in her early 40's appeared. She had a sympathetic way about her and I hoped to throw myself at her mercy by pointing out my absolute innoncence as well as threatening to take the matter further. "Don't worry" she .said placing a maternal arm around me. Your'e in the best of 'ands we'll get the truth out of you before you know it. .
Now father" she said in that annoying lower middle class way they had of addressing eachother "pop him through to the Examination Room and prepare 'im whilst Mother goes upstairs to put on her Interrogation Trousers - that's assumin' I can find them that is"
"Shouldn't be difficult" said Sergeant Dobson with a grin. "Ripe enough to walk out the cupboard of their own accord I fancy. By the way dear" he continued giving her rounded backside a .proprietorial pat "make us a pot of tea with some of these nice cream biscuits. Could be in for a long evening"
Fifteen minutes later I had been stripped, and spreadeagled to a four poster bed which dominated the small overheated room to which I had been escorted. Mrs Dobson had changed into a crisp white blouse with tight black riding trousers and had seated herself comfortably with my face between her warm thighs whilst her husband was busily prodding, probing and stroking my helpless feet and body -; shaving off the hair and rubbing oil on to those parts adjudged to be the most highly sensitive till I felt like a chicken being plucked, tenderised and made ready for the pot..
" Driving a Bentley you say father. Plenty of money I'll be bound. It'll e nice to sit on a toff's face. Trust me trousers are rich enough for 'im.. Had a peer of the realm under these before. 'E was a ticklish gentleman, wasn't 'e. Lord Dancealot I called 'im. All that wrigglin' made me quite wet. Got six years ' after he'd done confessin. We used to visit 'im regular in prison for a check up just to make sure 'e was settlin' in nicely and not givin' no trouble to the authorities. Wonder what this 'un'll confess to.
Seregant Dobson .sipped his tea contemplatively. "Quite a bit I fancy" he said putting down the cup and resuming his ministrations. "Tickle up a treat 'e will, . Just listen to 'is screams. Good job we got this place soundproofed or the'd be 'earing 'im all over the village. I've tied his body tight but kept is 'ead nice and loose cos' I know how much you like to feel it writhing underneath you.
"Think of everything you do 'orace" she said finally mentioning him by name. "' Poor mite looked starving. Nice bit of trousered rump be just what the doctor ordered. Is 'e ready for roasting yet luv?"
Sergeant Dobson patted .his wife's firm thighs. "Can't wait eh. All in good time dear. Secret of gettin' a good confession's all in the preparation.
Ten minutes he pronounced himself satisfied. The last thing I saw was Mrs Dobson give a quiet smile before everything went dark as she seated herself on my upturned face. A straw was then placed on each side of my mouth to allow for ventilaltion
Having spent some time in the army and witnessed action at close quarters made me think I was familiar with pain.but this was of a different dimension. He tickled me in a maddening slow and ponderous manner making sure every square inch of my body and feet were subjected to the thorough and methodical attentions of his insistent fingers until I felt like a stringed instrument being played by a maestro.
I have heard it said that there are only two avenues of relief from a properly appled tickle torture one is to scream loudly for mercy ; The other is to hope that eventually the body and feet will acclimatise itself to the treatment thus weakening the effect.
In my case neither was available. Mrs Dobsons' s overpowering and ever moistening trousers prevented any sound escaping whilst Mr Dobson consistently applied a wet sponge to my most sensitive parts so that every moment was as agonising and unbearable as the one before. Having christened my predecessor Lord Dancealot I was named Mr Electric Eel for the manner in which my face wriggled franatically underneath her as I sought in vain to escape the perfumed embrace of the well filled trousers.
After some three hours or so I was not only ready to confess to whatever they wished but was positively begging to do so. Mrs Dobson's trousers and Mr Dobsons's fingers had not simply overpowered me physically but had quite shattered my will to resist..
I wanted to please my torturers.
Having got me to confess to .enough crimes to put me away for many years I never did go to prison. A large withdrawal from the bank saw to that. Presumably that had been the intention all along.
Have things improved today with all the supposed reforms of the police? Possibly so but maybe not.
All I know is that I have never speeded since so maybe it was all for the best after all.
It was a dark November evening in the 1970's and I was driving my Bentley through the streets of Little Egglesford. I was in a hurry to get back to London and was probably doing about 40mph. I saw a police car in the rear view mirror and dutifully stopped thinking I may get a caution and be on my way. Instead the police officer - a powerfully built man in his early 40's by the name of Dobson - insisted that I park the car by the pavement and accompany him to the local police station which in the way of these things was also his house where I would be summonsed.
Once there I was handcuffed and charged with reckless driving. He also mentioned in passing that there had been a couple of unsoved robberies in the village and would be charging me with these as well in order to "clear the books." Obviously I protested. "Sorry to hear that Sir." I think we will need to get Mrs Dobson through" and in one swift continuous movement pressed a bell and handcuffed me.
"Mrs Dobson's no end of a help to me in persuading guilty gentlemen to confess to their crimes" he said conversationally. "In the old days used to take them over our knees and give them a good 'iding but can't do that now as leaves too many tell tale marks. That's when Mrs D came up with the idea of having them tickled. Read in one these magazines she takes in about how Chinese Emperors used it as a form of torture. Much more excruciating than ordinary pain but totally undetectable - especially with the nice little refinements we've added.
At that a comfortable buxom lady also in her early 40's appeared. She had a sympathetic way about her and I hoped to throw myself at her mercy by pointing out my absolute innoncence as well as threatening to take the matter further. "Don't worry" she .said placing a maternal arm around me. Your'e in the best of 'ands we'll get the truth out of you before you know it. .
Now father" she said in that annoying lower middle class way they had of addressing eachother "pop him through to the Examination Room and prepare 'im whilst Mother goes upstairs to put on her Interrogation Trousers - that's assumin' I can find them that is"
"Shouldn't be difficult" said Sergeant Dobson with a grin. "Ripe enough to walk out the cupboard of their own accord I fancy. By the way dear" he continued giving her rounded backside a .proprietorial pat "make us a pot of tea with some of these nice cream biscuits. Could be in for a long evening"
Fifteen minutes later I had been stripped, and spreadeagled to a four poster bed which dominated the small overheated room to which I had been escorted. Mrs Dobson had changed into a crisp white blouse with tight black riding trousers and had seated herself comfortably with my face between her warm thighs whilst her husband was busily prodding, probing and stroking my helpless feet and body -; shaving off the hair and rubbing oil on to those parts adjudged to be the most highly sensitive till I felt like a chicken being plucked, tenderised and made ready for the pot..
" Driving a Bentley you say father. Plenty of money I'll be bound. It'll e nice to sit on a toff's face. Trust me trousers are rich enough for 'im.. Had a peer of the realm under these before. 'E was a ticklish gentleman, wasn't 'e. Lord Dancealot I called 'im. All that wrigglin' made me quite wet. Got six years ' after he'd done confessin. We used to visit 'im regular in prison for a check up just to make sure 'e was settlin' in nicely and not givin' no trouble to the authorities. Wonder what this 'un'll confess to.
Seregant Dobson .sipped his tea contemplatively. "Quite a bit I fancy" he said putting down the cup and resuming his ministrations. "Tickle up a treat 'e will, . Just listen to 'is screams. Good job we got this place soundproofed or the'd be 'earing 'im all over the village. I've tied his body tight but kept is 'ead nice and loose cos' I know how much you like to feel it writhing underneath you.
"Think of everything you do 'orace" she said finally mentioning him by name. "' Poor mite looked starving. Nice bit of trousered rump be just what the doctor ordered. Is 'e ready for roasting yet luv?"
Sergeant Dobson patted .his wife's firm thighs. "Can't wait eh. All in good time dear. Secret of gettin' a good confession's all in the preparation.
Ten minutes he pronounced himself satisfied. The last thing I saw was Mrs Dobson give a quiet smile before everything went dark as she seated herself on my upturned face. A straw was then placed on each side of my mouth to allow for ventilaltion
Having spent some time in the army and witnessed action at close quarters made me think I was familiar with pain.but this was of a different dimension. He tickled me in a maddening slow and ponderous manner making sure every square inch of my body and feet were subjected to the thorough and methodical attentions of his insistent fingers until I felt like a stringed instrument being played by a maestro.
I have heard it said that there are only two avenues of relief from a properly appled tickle torture one is to scream loudly for mercy ; The other is to hope that eventually the body and feet will acclimatise itself to the treatment thus weakening the effect.
In my case neither was available. Mrs Dobsons' s overpowering and ever moistening trousers prevented any sound escaping whilst Mr Dobson consistently applied a wet sponge to my most sensitive parts so that every moment was as agonising and unbearable as the one before. Having christened my predecessor Lord Dancealot I was named Mr Electric Eel for the manner in which my face wriggled franatically underneath her as I sought in vain to escape the perfumed embrace of the well filled trousers.
After some three hours or so I was not only ready to confess to whatever they wished but was positively begging to do so. Mrs Dobson's trousers and Mr Dobsons's fingers had not simply overpowered me physically but had quite shattered my will to resist..
I wanted to please my torturers.
Having got me to confess to .enough crimes to put me away for many years I never did go to prison. A large withdrawal from the bank saw to that. Presumably that had been the intention all along.
Have things improved today with all the supposed reforms of the police? Possibly so but maybe not.
All I know is that I have never speeded since so maybe it was all for the best after all.
