The Electric Chair

The characters in this story are all consenting adults with prearranged limits, safewords, and hand signals. Only truly safe sex can be truly kinky!

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The arrest.

It was a lazy Saturday morning. The kids were at grandma and grandpa's house, and Anne was in the yard, trimming the roses, taking a moment to enjoy the rare silence that had settled over her home. Her husband Phil had gone to "do some errands." He had not said when he would be back.

But Anne knew. They had been planning for this moment all month, this rare and incredible opportunity when the children were away, and they had no obligations which would take them away from each other. Opportunities like this were special. They were going to make every second count.

Suddenly a voice behind her spoke: "Anne Richards?"

Even though she'd been expecting it, Anne jumped at the sound. She turned and saw her husband resplendent in the dress of a uniformed police officer. Suddenly all the years of suffering through his insanely early gym alarms seemed worth it. He filled the uniform quite nicely.

She smiled; a sneaky, suggestive smile that had helped her evade many real-life speeding tickets. "Yes, officer. What seems to be the trouble?"

"Do you know where your husband is?"

Anne was surprised. This was not the first time she had encountered this particular policeman (who often caught her in acts of indecent exposure and lewd behavior) but this was the first time he had ever mentioned her husband. "No officer," she said, feigning concern. "Where is he?"

"He's in the hospital." Anne gasped. The policeman continued. "He collapsed while buying a bouquet of flowers and was rushed to the emergency room. A doctor saw to him and diagnosed the issue..."

"What was it?" Anne was breathless. Where was this headed?

"She said it was the worst case of blue balls she had ever seen. Poor guy must have been suffering for months. She administered the proper oral care and managed to revive him, but he soon fell back unconscious."

A laugh bubbled up from Anne's stomach -

Chronic blue balls! Oral care! The bastard! -

and she stifled it, turning it into a fake sob. "Oh, my poor darling!" she cried, clutching at her breast. "Is he going to be okay?"

"A team of nurses is seeing to him. He is expected to recover, though he will require special treatment for the rest of his life."

"I see." Nurses. Of course it was nurses. Many of their more vigorous intimacies began with Anne in scrubs.

"You are his wife, correct?" The officer's voice changed. No longer solemn, it was now sharp, and questioning.

"Yes," Anne said.

"And that makes you his primary sexual caregiver."

Another laugh. This one got out. "Ha! I guess it would."

"Has your husband, with or without your permission, found sexual fulfillment outside your marriage?"

"No!"

"So you assume sole responsibility for providing his sexual needs."

"Damn right I do!"

The frown which soured the officer's lips became a smile, and his eyes began to gleam. It was not a friendly look. It was the look a fox gives a rabbit that has wandered into his den. It made Anne very nervous. And very excited.

The feeling grew as he stepped forward and pinned her arms behind her, tightening steel cuffs around her wrists. "You are under arrest for sexual negligence in the first degree. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. Anything you..."

The rest of his speech was cut off as Anne erupted with laughter. She doubled over, hands bound behind her, her body shaking in hysteria. The policeman's ears turned red. He jerked her forward and marched her toward the house. "Anything you say or do will be held against you. Any attempt to resist will be met with punishment." This did nothing to calm her. She could barely walk, and she stumbled about as if drunk. Suddenly the cop's hand smacked her ass. "Move it, bitch!"

That

got her attention. Still giggling, but finally able to walk straight, Anne was led around the house to the entrance of the garage. The officer took out a set of keys to unlock the door...

The chase.

Anne bolted. The officer saw her from the corner of his eye - "

HEY!

" - but by the time he turned she was halfway across the yard. Not that there was anywhere for her to go. A wood panel fence closed in the yard on all sides, and with her hands cuffed there was no way she could climb over. But she was not going to let him have his fun without working for it.

The pursuit carried them back and forth across the yard. He was quick to catch up to her, but not so quick as to actually

catch

her; whenever he got close, she put on a burst of speed and dashed away. But the gap was narrowing. And she was getting slower. There were a few times when she thought she was done for, only to have him stumble, or miss. Which meant that either he was getting slower as well, or...

Or he was toying with her, running her until she tired herself out, leaving her with no energy to resist whatever was to come.

She stopped dead in her tracks. She wouldn't be played that easily.

Her sudden stop gave little warning to her pursuer, who ran straight into her and knocked her off her feet. With her hands cuffed she could not stop her fall, but he managed to catch her, wrapping his arms around her waist and lowering her softly to the ground. For a moment they were still, panting heavily, each catching their breath. A bead of his sweat landed on her arm, and she realized that he wasn't as fresh as she imagined.

Of course

, she thought,

he never does cardio.

It had been a true race around the yard. And she had been winning.

Not anymore. He scooped her up and carried her to one of the lawn chairs. He sat down and placed her over his lap. Then he pulled off one of her sandals, lifted her skirt, and whispered in her ear, "The neighbors will think I'm clapping shoes together. Unless you want them to know otherwise, you'll keep quiet. You're going to wish you hadn't let yourself get caught."

A second later the sandal came down hard on her ass. She caught the scream in her throat, but it leaked out as a long and piercing moan. After that she held her breath, unable to keep back her cries any other way. He was right: the spanking sandal sounded just like shoes clapping together to shake off unwanted dirt. It was as painful as it was loud.

Eventually, the clapping stopped. Anyone listening would have assumed he had worked through several sets of shoes. By then her skin was as red as a tomato. She had gone numb to the pain, but now it came crawling back, stinging along sandal-shaped imprints running up and down each butt cheek and across the backs of her thighs. Tears rolled from her eyes as he pulled down her skirt and lifted her to her feet. Her legs had fallen asleep, and it took several minutes before the tingling in her legs and the pain on her ass faded enough to allow her to stand unaided.

"If I have to chase you again," he said, bringing her slowly towards the door, "then I'll use the other sandal on your front half, and not just on those pretty tits of yours." His eyes dipped from her boobs to her pussy, and suddenly the urge to misbehave retreated to the back of her mind...though it did not disappear. He gave her ass one final smack. "Move."

They made it to the door. He went for his keys. This time she stayed put. She had already managed to outsmart herself, so she would play along.

For now.

Processing.

The garage door swung open, and Anne was brought inside. Immediately she could see that something was wrong with the space. There should have been shelves lining the far side of the garage, but all she saw was a blank white wall. It took her a moment to realize it was not a wall, but a sheet. A row of them hung from the ceiling, breaking the room into two sections. This side was mostly empty, save for a few boxes and a folding table, and whatever lay on the other remained a mystery.

He locked the door the moment they were inside, then stepped behind her to remove the cuffs. She let out a sigh and rubbed her wrists. "Thank you, officer, those were very..."

"Quiet." His voice was harsh, still frustrated from earlier, and she allowed herself a tiny smirk. It faded as he looked at her body with hungry eyes. "Take off your clothes."

"Now officer, I don't think..."

"Civilian clothes are not allowed inside the courthouse. For your trial, you will be issued a prisoner's uniform. Now strip."

"No."

He locked eyes and took a step closer. It was hard to hold her ground. The man before her bore little resemblance to the one she had married. His eyes were cold, and he stared at her as if trying to hurt her with his gaze, as if he wanted nothing more than to tear the dress from her body and make her scream.

Part of her needed him to do just that.

"You will do as I say."

"Make m -"

The words were still in her mouth when his hands shot forward and grabbed her wrists, hoisting them above her head. There dangled two ropes that she hadn't noticed, each with a small noose at the end. Her hands slipped through the loops, and when she tried pulling her arms down the loops tightened, trapping them above her head. A red ball gag was pulled from his utility belt and shoved between her teeth. He stepped back to stare at the trussed up, gagged woman before him, who saw the way he looked at her and began to beg, though with the gag in it was hard to know what exactly she was begging for.

"My, oh my," he said over her muffled cries. "I can see how your husband ended up in the hospital. You really are quite the tease, aren't you? Fortunately I have broken in stubborn little mules like you before. You just need the right...motivation." From his utility belt came another toy, and this one made Anne's eyes go wide. Her cries became frantic, and suddenly Officer Phil was listening for three very distinct moans, watching for three very exaggerated head shakes. They didn't come.

"This will teach you some manners," he said as he pulled her dress above her body and wrapped it around her head. Underneath was a pair of lacy knickers, and a bra that did nothing to hide her swollen, brown nipples beneath its translucent fabric. The garments were frilly little things, completely useless against the electric zapper he held in his hand. With the dress wrapped around her head Anne could only guess at where it might be headed. It was a terrible shock when it went straight into her belly button and came to life.

The air snapped. Anne squealed as a tiny spark jumped from the device to her skin, and she continued squealing as he worked his way around her body, placing the electrified tip anywhere and everywhere he wanted: across her stomach, up her ribs, over her chest, then down her back, before leaving the trail to zap her more sensitive parts: in her armpits, beneath her boobs - those hurt like a

bitch

- and up inside her thighs.

Then the toy came to rest against her pussy. Anne froze. Zapping her cunt wasn't a hard limit, but it was a soft one, and she wondered whether he would pull such a stunt so early in the scene. Then she remembered how she made him chase her, and how she had stared him down, taunting him. A strange sense of calm settled over her as she surrendered to the inevitable. A moment later, it came.

Then it was over. She dangled from the ropes, gentle sobs working around the edges of her gag. "Can you stand?" he asked. Anne got to her feet. The ropes around her wrists were loosened, and suddenly her arms were free. She let them fall, and he pulled the dress down from her head so he might get a look at her. Tears rimmed her eyes, and she looked a little dazed. "Color?" he asked. "''reen," came the muffled reply.

Exit concerned partner - enter bedeviled tormenter. "That'll teach you to disobey. You're severely testing my patience. For the last time: take off your fucking clothes."

Anne scrambled to get out of her dress. She reached for her bra clasp, hesitated, then undid it, letting it fall to the floor and spilling her boobs from its cups. Hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her panties she pulled them down, trying to ignore the trail of drool that came with them. The officer whistled. "That's a hot fucking pussy you got. Shame you never let your husband near it. It would have saved you both a lot of pain."

She tried not to laugh. Ten years of marriage and two kids had done nothing to dampen their excitement for each other; they often behaved like teens who have been given the keys to their parent's lake house. Her husband was a regular visitor to her vagina, and the fact that he could say his lines with a straight face was nothing short of hilarious.

Now naked, Anne was stood up against the wall and given a wooden sign to hold. It looked like a mugshot board, and her suspicions were confirmed when the officer pulled a tripod from behind the wall of sheets. "Hold that to your chest." She held up the sign. "Lower." She lowered it. "Lower." It dawned on her what he wanted, and she lowered the board until it no longer hid her breasts. The camera flashed, her titties in full view. "Turn." Flash. "Turn." Flash.

Dozens of mugshots were taken. The prisoner struck various poses at the behest of the arresting officer, holding each pose as her image was captured from several angles. Halfway through the shoot the officer reached for his utility belt and pulled out a set of nipple clamps. They were tight, and pulled low by a heavy chain dangling between them. He also removed her gag, and she showed her appreciation by smiling wide as the camera flashed.

Indeed, the prisoner seemed to relish the click of the shutter, laughing and winking as if modeling the red carpet rather than having her naked body documented as evidence. She even volunteered a few poses herself, spreading her legs and holding the sign high above her head, making sure everything was in view of the lens. Even the most humiliating pictures, where she faced away from the camera, ass stuck out, hands reaching behind her and spreading her cheeks as wide as they would go, left her beaming.

Finally the officer said, "Okay, we're done." As he put the tripod away Anne glanced down at the board she'd been holding.

"Hey! What are you smiling about?" The cop's voice was still hard but his eyes had changed, having gone soft in the middle. Her own eyes softened in return. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just...that used to be my nickname in college."

"Sounds like you were quite the menace to society."

"Still am."

At this point he was in front of her, and he leaned in and locked his lips to hers. It was not the aggressive kiss of a captor forcing himself on a hapless victim - she had received that kiss before, and this was not it. He had, for what would be the last time, broken character, and was kissing her as her husband, her one and only, and Anne leaned in and kissed him back for all he was worth.

The trial.

As soon as they broke apart, Anne was brought to the folding table and given an orange jumpsuit. "No underwear?"

"Don't get smart."

She stepped into the jumpsuit. It featured regularly in their games, but as she buttoned it up, she noticed an unfamiliar current of air running between her legs. There was no time to ponder it, for as soon as she was dressed a blindfold was placed over her eyes. The world went dark, and with the loss of sight came the heightening of sensations on her skin: the rough fabric against her stinging ass, the clamps on her breasts pinching painfully at her nipples, and that strange wind blowing over her pussy.

He brought her into the house. Blinded as she was it was easy to imagine herself being led from a holding cell to a courtroom, as they both wished to believe. The route he chose was circuitous, enhancing the illusion and making her wonder if he had moved the furniture to accommodate their scene, for where she expected to encounter the couch or bash her shins against a coffee table there was nothing in her way.

Finally, after several minutes of disoriented meandering, he brought her to a halt and removed the blindfold. There was a moment of stunned silence as she took in the room. He

had

moved the furniture. The couch and chairs were pushed against the wall, making space for a massive wooden platform placed in the center of the room, upon which sat an old wooden desk, creating a judge's bench that looked real enough to have been pulled from an actual courtroom. And standing behind the bench was the man who'd put it all together, resplendent in black judge's robes. He looked down at her with poorly hidden disdain.

"Be seated. But slowly."

The reason for his advice became clear as she eased herself down and felt something poke at her vagina. She glanced down to see a dildo mounted on the seat, ready to fuck her through a hole in the rear of her jumpsuit. It seemed the breeze she had felt hadn't been an accident. With great care, she eased herself onto it. The dildo was large. Sitting on it stretched her mercilessly. A low moan crawled up her throat.

"Anne Richards," the judge said, "you have been brought here on charges of sexual negligence in the first degree. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty!"

The judge narrowed his gaze. "Need I remind you that your husband is currently in the hospital for a severe case of blue balls? The evidence against you is overwhelming. A guilty plea will result in a lighter a lighter sentence. How do you plead?"

"Kiss my ass."

Such a response might normally sour the face of a presiding judge, but all this one did was smile. It was the same smile worn by the cop who had arrested her: the smile of a wolf whose prey has bumped into his snout. Anne saw him smile and felt a faint trembling of fear.

"Very well," said the judge. "Let us proceed." His hand slipped into his robe, and she heard a faint click. Suddenly there was a trembling deep within the walls of her pussy, and she realized that it was not a dildo that she had been impaled on. It was a vibrator.

The evidence was laid out before her. It was overwhelming (just as the Judge had said) and all quite damning. A lot of it came in the form of text messages she had sent through the week, promising all kinds of wild, erotic dalliances, and following through on none of them. She had offered nudes but left his inbox empty. She had promised a lap dance but had not shaken a hip. The offer to blow him after dinner, the agreement to swap chores in exchange for a strip tease, the tantalizing suggestion of anal, all pledges that ended with the satisfaction of a fake lottery ticket.

But that was not all: several signed affidavits testified to her flirtatious behavior, such as rubbing her ass against his crotch, making him rock hard before leaving him out to dry. In her mind the occasions had not been many - certainly not zero, for where was the fun in that? - but no more than two or three over the preceding week. Yet it seemed that every low-cut shirt, every wink, every whisper of desire had been marked, and was now being used against her. In this court, bending over was a criminal offense.

All the while, as the charges were lain against her, the vibrator kept up its merry buzz inside her pussy. She had loosened up around it, and the painful stretch had been replaced by a warmth that radiated from her anus to her stomach, its core nestled just above vagina. It pulsed inside her, as if a second heart was beating in her groin. Her mind was pulled in its direction, making it hard to hear what the judge was saying.

"...and failing to deliver, after pledging a view of your titties should he do the dishes, and then keeping them covered."