Francie_Pants
TMF Poster
- Joined
- May 6, 2008
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Here's one I thought would be a fun idea, and had fun writing it. Hope you enjoy.
I was on my way to the beach, driving through one of those little towns that you have trouble even finding on the map, when I saw blue lights in my rearview mirror. I checked my speedometer, and saw that I wasn't speeding, and didn't remember seeing any indication of a speed trap, over the last few miles I had driven.
I pulled my car to the shoulder of the road. It was broad daylight, and the car had all the markings of a police car, so I wasn't worried about it being a fake. I waited for a moment, while the officer apparently did a few things in his car, and then came to my window.
Rolling my window down, I looked up at him, and asked, "Was I speeding or something? I don't remember seeing any signs indicating a change in speed limit."
He shook his head and replied, "No, you weren't speeding. Let me see your license and registration."
Fetching the registration from the glove box, and my license from my purse, I handed them to him. He seemed to be studying them a minute, before he spoke again.
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car."
Fear went through me like a knife, and I struggled to remain calm. This was probably just something routine, and I would be allowed to be on my way, momentarily.
As I stepped out of the car, he took a defensive stance, which puzzled me.
"What's going on, officer? I don't understand."
His voice was rough and commanding, "Face the car and put your hands on the roof."
I decided cooperation would be my quickest way out of this, so I turned and faced the car, putting my hands on the roof. He searched me, as I suspected would come next. Of course, he found nothing, because I wasn't armed, and had only some change in the pockets of my blue jeans.
The next move shocked and scared me. He pulled my right arm behind my back, and snapped a cuff on it. Wide eyed with shock, I began to question him, as he pulled my left arm down.
"Hey, wait! Officer, what's the problem?"
"You're under arrest for suspected arson, Ms. Pasternak. That's what's up." The click made me shiver as my left hand was cuffed to my right hand, behind my back.
"Arson? What are you talking about?"
He went through the process of reading me my rights, and all that, and escorted me to his police cruiser. Pushing me forcefully into the backseat, he nearly made me fall on my side into the floor, before closing the door behind me, going back to my car, taking the keys and locking it up. He then drove me back to the station.
I asked several questions on the way back, but he mostly ignored them, seemingly intent upon ignoring me.
Once we arrived at the station, he and another officer, who had been waiting for us, escorted me into the station, one holding each arm. They took me to a room that I guessed to be the interrogation room. They sat me down in a wooden chair, in front of a desk that had drawers on either side, but the middle, where the legs would be, if you were sitting at the desk working, was open all the way through. On the other side of the desk, a thick snap lock ring protruded, at a slightly upward angle.
I thought nothing of the ring, just assumed they had bought the desk at a salvage lot or something, because the department was pretty run down.
"Now, Miss Pasternak,” I was so deep in thought, that the roughness of his voice scared me, "Why don't you go ahead and tell us how you set fire to that house. You can save yourself and us a lot of trouble."
My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped. I had no idea what they were talking about, and I said as much, "I really don't have a clue what you are talking about. I was passing through, on my way to the beach."
The other officer was standing in the doorway was silent, watching and listening. The first officer spoke again, "Ms. Pasternak. The suspect was said to be fleeing the area in a car that matched yours identical. Around here, the chances of seeing the two cars of identical make, model, and color, in the same matter of time is slim to none. Now, quit with the innocent act, and confess. You'll have an easier time of it, if you do."
I blinked. I couldn't believe this was happening. I looked him square in the eye, and said, "I'm not confessing to a crime I didn't commit, I don't care what it means."
"Ok," he said, "We'll have to do this the hard way."
The other officer, apparently a deputy or something of that nature came over and pulled me back against the chair. He used a zip tie to secure the chain between my cuffs to the middle back slat of the chair.
"What's gonna happen, now? What are you doing?" I was starting to panic, because I'd never been accused of any kind of criminal activity before.
"We're gonna have to get you talkin',” the officer in charge said. As the second officer was zip tying my elbows together, the first officer pulled out a slightly larger set of handcuffs, which I quickly figured out were ankle cuffs, as he slipped one around each ankle and locked them shut, securing my ankles together. He then lifted them, and inserted the chain running between them into the snap lock ring, so that my feet were elevated, hanging from under the desk, sticking out on the far side of it from me.
As a measure of movement restriction, the second officer strapped a large belt around the seat of the chair, pinning my thighs to the hard wood.
Throughout all of this, I could only watch in shock and wonderment. I'd never seen anything like this on television, or heard of anything like this, of any police department I'd ever been around. Finally, I spoke again.
"What in the world is going on?"
"Just our procedure for getting a confession, Ms. Pasternak." As he spoke, he reached for my feet. He started untying my left cross trainer. Fear surged through me like a bolt of lightning.
"What are you doing to do? I didn't do it, I'm telling the truth. Can't I prove my alibi, somehow? What was the time of the incident?"
He was ignoring me now. His eyes were fixated on my feet. They seemed to light up, as he slid the shoe off of my left foot, revealing my black stockinged foot. I was wearing trouser socks that went up to my knees, and were slightly sheer, so that the outlines of my toes and foot curves could be seen through them. This seemed to please him. His eyes lit up like diamonds.
Taking his time, and apparently pleased with himself, he untied my right shoe, also, and slide it slowly off, amid my volley for protests and questioning.
"Come on, why are you taking my shoes off? This isn't funny, if it's supposed to be some sort of joke. Why are you doing this?"
The second officer seemed amused, he was just standing there grinning, as he watched his partner finish sliding the shoe off, and clearly begin to admire my stockinged feet.
A flash of deeper panic set in, as I saw him reach a wiggling finger towards the arch of my left foot. For the first time, I started wiggling and fighting against the bindings, as I watched, helplessly, while his finger moved in closer to the helpless foot.
When his finger made contact, it sent waves of tingles throughout my body, shaking me to the core with the initial impact of sensory stimulation. I nearly laughed out loud, instantly, but bit my lip to stifle it, before managing to speak.
"Don't do that, it tickles." Well, that was the wrong thing to say. He smiled so big, you could have played horseshoes on his gappy teeth, before he began to flicker all five of his fingernails against the smooth stockinged sole.
I had no choice but to laugh. I was helpless to defend myself from it. When I tried to use my other foot to protect it, he just used his free hand to grab it and hold it back. He didn't have to do that, for long, before his partner came over and held it for him. That freed him up to concentrate with both hands on my left foot. With one hand, he held it still, while with the other hand, he dragged all of his fingers liberally against the skin, leaving no area untested.
My ticklishness could not be hidden. Within moments, I was laughing so hard, that I was moving the chair they had restrained me to. It slide around the floor, because the desk was heavy and wouldn't move in unison with my attempts to free my ankles, and get my feet away from this torture.
His partner, seeing how much fun he was having, joined the attack. Holding my right foot still, and dragging his fingers all over that stockinged foot. Nothing I did could make the laughter stop. They were harping on my biggest weakness, to try and get me to admit to a crime I had not committed.
Tears flowed down my face, as the strain of the tickling overpowered me. Fits of silent laughter followed, as they systematically covered every ticklish nerve available on my feet, pushing me to edges of insanity.
I tried to beg them to stop, but I was laughing too hard to do much more than babble. They weren't listening for my begging, anyway, they were listening for me to confess. I refused. I kept right on fighting it, while the tickling persisted. They were persistent. When I thought they couldn’t possibly expect me to endure any more tickling, they just kept right on tickling. Five fingers, on each sole, dragging up and down, over and over again. Every few moments, one or the other would bend the toes back, and give the stems a thorough exploration, with wiggling fingers, but they had figured out that the arches were my point of weakness, and were focusing heavily on them.
When I thought for sure I was about to confess to every crime committed in the last fifty years, they stopped, and let go of my feet.
"Well, if she went through that, without confessing, I guess it's possible she might be innocent." The head officer seemed discouraged with the results, but satisfied with his moment of fun.
The other officer then said something that made me fume, "Well, they did say the suspect was male, with blonde hair."
Being female with red hair, that set me off.
"What?!? You knew that all along, and you did this to me, anyway! Of all the...." I cut myself short, when I saw hands reaching for my feet again, "No, no, wait...Ok, fine. Just let me go, and please take me back to my car, so I can get on my way to the beach."
They looked at each other and grinned.
The first officer said, "I don't know, did they ever catch anybody involved in those burglaries, over in the river bottoms?"
The smile they exchanged sent chills through my spine.
"Noooooooooo!!!!!!!"
I was on my way to the beach, driving through one of those little towns that you have trouble even finding on the map, when I saw blue lights in my rearview mirror. I checked my speedometer, and saw that I wasn't speeding, and didn't remember seeing any indication of a speed trap, over the last few miles I had driven.
I pulled my car to the shoulder of the road. It was broad daylight, and the car had all the markings of a police car, so I wasn't worried about it being a fake. I waited for a moment, while the officer apparently did a few things in his car, and then came to my window.
Rolling my window down, I looked up at him, and asked, "Was I speeding or something? I don't remember seeing any signs indicating a change in speed limit."
He shook his head and replied, "No, you weren't speeding. Let me see your license and registration."
Fetching the registration from the glove box, and my license from my purse, I handed them to him. He seemed to be studying them a minute, before he spoke again.
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car."
Fear went through me like a knife, and I struggled to remain calm. This was probably just something routine, and I would be allowed to be on my way, momentarily.
As I stepped out of the car, he took a defensive stance, which puzzled me.
"What's going on, officer? I don't understand."
His voice was rough and commanding, "Face the car and put your hands on the roof."
I decided cooperation would be my quickest way out of this, so I turned and faced the car, putting my hands on the roof. He searched me, as I suspected would come next. Of course, he found nothing, because I wasn't armed, and had only some change in the pockets of my blue jeans.
The next move shocked and scared me. He pulled my right arm behind my back, and snapped a cuff on it. Wide eyed with shock, I began to question him, as he pulled my left arm down.
"Hey, wait! Officer, what's the problem?"
"You're under arrest for suspected arson, Ms. Pasternak. That's what's up." The click made me shiver as my left hand was cuffed to my right hand, behind my back.
"Arson? What are you talking about?"
He went through the process of reading me my rights, and all that, and escorted me to his police cruiser. Pushing me forcefully into the backseat, he nearly made me fall on my side into the floor, before closing the door behind me, going back to my car, taking the keys and locking it up. He then drove me back to the station.
I asked several questions on the way back, but he mostly ignored them, seemingly intent upon ignoring me.
Once we arrived at the station, he and another officer, who had been waiting for us, escorted me into the station, one holding each arm. They took me to a room that I guessed to be the interrogation room. They sat me down in a wooden chair, in front of a desk that had drawers on either side, but the middle, where the legs would be, if you were sitting at the desk working, was open all the way through. On the other side of the desk, a thick snap lock ring protruded, at a slightly upward angle.
I thought nothing of the ring, just assumed they had bought the desk at a salvage lot or something, because the department was pretty run down.
"Now, Miss Pasternak,” I was so deep in thought, that the roughness of his voice scared me, "Why don't you go ahead and tell us how you set fire to that house. You can save yourself and us a lot of trouble."
My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped. I had no idea what they were talking about, and I said as much, "I really don't have a clue what you are talking about. I was passing through, on my way to the beach."
The other officer was standing in the doorway was silent, watching and listening. The first officer spoke again, "Ms. Pasternak. The suspect was said to be fleeing the area in a car that matched yours identical. Around here, the chances of seeing the two cars of identical make, model, and color, in the same matter of time is slim to none. Now, quit with the innocent act, and confess. You'll have an easier time of it, if you do."
I blinked. I couldn't believe this was happening. I looked him square in the eye, and said, "I'm not confessing to a crime I didn't commit, I don't care what it means."
"Ok," he said, "We'll have to do this the hard way."
The other officer, apparently a deputy or something of that nature came over and pulled me back against the chair. He used a zip tie to secure the chain between my cuffs to the middle back slat of the chair.
"What's gonna happen, now? What are you doing?" I was starting to panic, because I'd never been accused of any kind of criminal activity before.
"We're gonna have to get you talkin',” the officer in charge said. As the second officer was zip tying my elbows together, the first officer pulled out a slightly larger set of handcuffs, which I quickly figured out were ankle cuffs, as he slipped one around each ankle and locked them shut, securing my ankles together. He then lifted them, and inserted the chain running between them into the snap lock ring, so that my feet were elevated, hanging from under the desk, sticking out on the far side of it from me.
As a measure of movement restriction, the second officer strapped a large belt around the seat of the chair, pinning my thighs to the hard wood.
Throughout all of this, I could only watch in shock and wonderment. I'd never seen anything like this on television, or heard of anything like this, of any police department I'd ever been around. Finally, I spoke again.
"What in the world is going on?"
"Just our procedure for getting a confession, Ms. Pasternak." As he spoke, he reached for my feet. He started untying my left cross trainer. Fear surged through me like a bolt of lightning.
"What are you doing to do? I didn't do it, I'm telling the truth. Can't I prove my alibi, somehow? What was the time of the incident?"
He was ignoring me now. His eyes were fixated on my feet. They seemed to light up, as he slid the shoe off of my left foot, revealing my black stockinged foot. I was wearing trouser socks that went up to my knees, and were slightly sheer, so that the outlines of my toes and foot curves could be seen through them. This seemed to please him. His eyes lit up like diamonds.
Taking his time, and apparently pleased with himself, he untied my right shoe, also, and slide it slowly off, amid my volley for protests and questioning.
"Come on, why are you taking my shoes off? This isn't funny, if it's supposed to be some sort of joke. Why are you doing this?"
The second officer seemed amused, he was just standing there grinning, as he watched his partner finish sliding the shoe off, and clearly begin to admire my stockinged feet.
A flash of deeper panic set in, as I saw him reach a wiggling finger towards the arch of my left foot. For the first time, I started wiggling and fighting against the bindings, as I watched, helplessly, while his finger moved in closer to the helpless foot.
When his finger made contact, it sent waves of tingles throughout my body, shaking me to the core with the initial impact of sensory stimulation. I nearly laughed out loud, instantly, but bit my lip to stifle it, before managing to speak.
"Don't do that, it tickles." Well, that was the wrong thing to say. He smiled so big, you could have played horseshoes on his gappy teeth, before he began to flicker all five of his fingernails against the smooth stockinged sole.
I had no choice but to laugh. I was helpless to defend myself from it. When I tried to use my other foot to protect it, he just used his free hand to grab it and hold it back. He didn't have to do that, for long, before his partner came over and held it for him. That freed him up to concentrate with both hands on my left foot. With one hand, he held it still, while with the other hand, he dragged all of his fingers liberally against the skin, leaving no area untested.
My ticklishness could not be hidden. Within moments, I was laughing so hard, that I was moving the chair they had restrained me to. It slide around the floor, because the desk was heavy and wouldn't move in unison with my attempts to free my ankles, and get my feet away from this torture.
His partner, seeing how much fun he was having, joined the attack. Holding my right foot still, and dragging his fingers all over that stockinged foot. Nothing I did could make the laughter stop. They were harping on my biggest weakness, to try and get me to admit to a crime I had not committed.
Tears flowed down my face, as the strain of the tickling overpowered me. Fits of silent laughter followed, as they systematically covered every ticklish nerve available on my feet, pushing me to edges of insanity.
I tried to beg them to stop, but I was laughing too hard to do much more than babble. They weren't listening for my begging, anyway, they were listening for me to confess. I refused. I kept right on fighting it, while the tickling persisted. They were persistent. When I thought they couldn’t possibly expect me to endure any more tickling, they just kept right on tickling. Five fingers, on each sole, dragging up and down, over and over again. Every few moments, one or the other would bend the toes back, and give the stems a thorough exploration, with wiggling fingers, but they had figured out that the arches were my point of weakness, and were focusing heavily on them.
When I thought for sure I was about to confess to every crime committed in the last fifty years, they stopped, and let go of my feet.
"Well, if she went through that, without confessing, I guess it's possible she might be innocent." The head officer seemed discouraged with the results, but satisfied with his moment of fun.
The other officer then said something that made me fume, "Well, they did say the suspect was male, with blonde hair."
Being female with red hair, that set me off.
"What?!? You knew that all along, and you did this to me, anyway! Of all the...." I cut myself short, when I saw hands reaching for my feet again, "No, no, wait...Ok, fine. Just let me go, and please take me back to my car, so I can get on my way to the beach."
They looked at each other and grinned.
The first officer said, "I don't know, did they ever catch anybody involved in those burglaries, over in the river bottoms?"
The smile they exchanged sent chills through my spine.
"Noooooooooo!!!!!!!"
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