DISCLAIMER:
The following features elements of Non Con, violence and gore. If these go against your sensibilities I understand. But I'm hoping you'll stick with it.
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"Riders on the storm,
Riders on the storm,
Into this house, we're born
Into this world, we're thrown..."
The wipers slapped time to the rhythm of the song as fat droplets pelted the windshield. It had been raining steadily the past few hours, but had only just reached the heights of what was looking to become a full fledged tempest.
The parking lot of Sharkey's was sparse for a Saturday night, most of the regular patrons having left earlier. My cruiser sat directly next to one of the few remaining vehicles; a classic 1992 Dodge Viper, in pristine condition by the looks of it.
The owner I'd observed entering the bar hours earlier stumbled out the door. Her formerly pristine red dress was now rumpled, wet, and clinging to her voluptuous curves as she staggered precariously on spiked heels, weaving side to side like a leaf in the breeze. At one point her ankle twisted and I was sure she would fall, but somehow she managed to steady herself.
I flashed my Cherry Tops just as she was fumbling with the keys to the car, then rolled down my window. "Excuse me, ma'am. But I sincerely hope you aren't planning on driving in that condition."
Startled, she almost fell again, grabbing the roof for balance. Even in the dark her eyes looked bloodshot as she turned and bent to squint at me. "Oh! Well hello there, hossifer. Not very nice of you, scaring me like that!"
"Yes, ma'am, sorry about that, truly. But I'm afraid I can't let you leave like that."
The woman looked incredulous. And stunning. Even with her hair now plastered to her head and mascara running down her cheeks. "I don't unnerstand. Am I under arrest, hossifer?"
"No, ma'am. Not unless you try driving away. Now please, get in the car." With a flick of the switch, I popped the lock on the passenger side and gave her my most assuring smile.
Still, she looked wary. But as the wind howled and the rain started to blow sideways, she realized the wisdom of at least getting out of the elements for the moment. With a resigned sigh, she opened the door and slipped inside. I quickly rolled the window back up from the button on my side.
"Thanks, I guess," she sputtered. "But...hic...now what? I mean, you gonna take me in? Or just sit here all night til I sober up? Or what?"
"Actually, what I should do is call you a cab. Or would you prefer calling an Uber?"
The woman looked dumbfounded. "Da fuck is an Uber?"
"Nevermind," I chuckled. "Tell you what, let's make this simple. I'm technically not supposed to do this, but my shift is just about over anyway. Why don't you just tell me where you live and I can drive you home?"
Again the woman looked blank. "Where I... live?"
"Yes. You know, your address?"
"I... I don't... remember."
"That's okay. I'm sure it must be on your driver's license."
"My drivers license. Riiight. Um, here's the thing. I sorta... misplaced my purse. Somewhere. I'm not shhure what happened. I know I had it when I went inside, but... but..."
Her eyes weren't just bloodshot. They were glazed over, barely open. Her head kept rocking as if she were on the verge of nodding off.
"Ma'am, I have to ask; are you currently under the influence of something other than alcohol? I'm not asking as a police officer. I'm merely concerned about your well-being at the moment."
"Something other than...? No. No, I'd never..."
"Think ma'am, did someone perhaps..."
"Stop calling me 'ma'am! Jeshus, you're making me feel like an old lady!"
Her slurring was getting worse. "I'm sorry. What should I call you? Do you remember your name?"
"My name? Yesh. It's...it's... Randi."
"Okay then. Randi. Now try to remember. Did you perhaps leave your drink unattended for a moment? Or did you maybe eat something, something somebody offered you? Or..."
Her eyes went suddenly wide. "The bartender. Brought me a drink I didn't order. Told me some guy bought it for me. But when he tried to point him out, the guy was gone. I... I drank it anyway. Guess I shouldn't have, huh?"
"No, ma...um, Randi. Definitely not. Maybe I should take you to the hospital, have a doctor..."
"No!" she cried. "Please, no hoshpital. I'll be fine, I just...just...:
Her eyes closed and she slumped back in the seat. Reaching over, I checked her breathing, then her pulse. Both were slow, but steady.
Glancing around the parking lot, there was no one to be seen. The bar was closed, the lights out. Which was for the best. A cop driving off with an unconscious woman in the front seat would draw the wrong kind of attention if observed. It wasn't like the old days. No one trusted us anymore. There would be questions, inquires. Neither of which I wanted.
After one last look around, I started the engine and pulled out of the lot.
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"Where... where am I?"
Randi had remained unconscious during the ride, but had woken up as we'd arrived and I was attempting to lift her from the car.
"My place. Can you walk? It would make this easier."
"I think so." Wrapping her arm around my shoulder, she tried pulling herself up. It wasn't easy, but we managed to get her on her feet. The rain had let up only slightly, and the driveway was spotted with puddles, making our path treacherous.
The rain was merciless as we made our way up the walk to the front stoop. We took the stairs slowly, one at a time. At the top of the final one her foot again twisted, and her heel fell off into the hedges. I made a mental note to come back for it later; couldn't let things like that lay around.
Randi fell to her knees just after I closed and bolted the door, the two of us soaked and dripping all over the hardwood floor.
"I'm shhhory," she slurred, drool running from her lips. "I dunno whash wrong wif me, I feel so..."
I managed to help her into a nearby chair. "You were given rohypnol. It's a tranquilizer. Illegal here in the U.S. Commonly used as a date rape drug. You're gonna drop in and out of consciousness, and feel very weak fine."
"That... that fucking bartender..."
"Yeah. Don't you worry about him right now. I'll be talking to him very soon, I promise."
"I feel... oh, God, I'm gonna..."
I grabbed a nearby trash can just in time. Randi retched loudly as I held her rain soaked hair back, preparing myself in case she began to choke. The smell was strong and unpleasant, but I had dealt with this kind of thing before, enough that it no longer bothered me.
When I was sure she'd finished, I carefully set the can aside. "Feeling better?"
Her glazed, watery eyes could barely focus on me. "Yes. No. I don't know. I'm so sorry, um... you never told me your name?"
"Daniel. But my friends call me Danny."
"Danny." Her smile was captivating, despite the dribblets of drool and puke running from her lips. "You've been so kind, so caring. Thank you. I hate to trouble you more, but..." Her well defined cheeks blushed with shame. "...I really, like REALLY, need to pee."
"Of course."
Once up from the chair, her height dwarfed me by at least two inches, despite her lack of heels, the second shoe having come off inside the foyer.
I was also impressed with her build. She had curves in all the right places, of course, and her body appeared typically ladylike. And yet I could feel solid muscles hiding beneath her deceptively soft, feminine surface.
Still, those long legs were weak beneath her, and we barely made it to the bathroom before she slipped from my grasp, tumbling to the floor.
She landed on her deliciously plump ass, her sopping wet dress riding up as her legs splayed open. I wasn't the least bit surprised that she wore no panties. Women like this rarely did.
Before I could help her up to the toilet, her bladder let loose. The stream was dark and cloudy, a sure sign of dehydration. The smell of piss filled the tiny room. "Oh god," she groaned, "oh god oh god I'm so sorry oh fuck I can't stop it oh god..."
I had to step back to keep it from getting on my shoes as the yellow puddle spread across the formerly clean white tile floor.
Withdrawing the short distance to my linen closet, I retrieved some towels. By the time I'd returned to the bathroom, Randi had passed out again, her back slumped against the tub, head lolling listless to one side, legs wide, her pussy glistening with wetness.
I couldn't help but stare for a few moments. If she wasn't in such a drunken, drugged, disheveled state, she'd be drop dead gorgeous, a right pistol in the sack I was sure.
I shunted those thoughts aside for the moment to focus on the task at hand; cleaning up the mess. I was glad she was unconscious, it would make this easier.
I put a towel down to soak up most of the piss before reaching down and lifting her into the tub. Her dress came off easily enough; a zipper down the back. And of course she wore no bra beneath it either.
Her breasts were beautiful, large and firm and, by the look, completely natural. Which surprised me; I'd taken her for the plastic surgery type.
I left her to lay there while I cleaned up the floor, stuffing the soiled towels, along with her dress, into a plastic garbage bag. The bathroom would need a complete bleaching of course, but I'd do that later. After.
Turning on the shower, I used the detachable head to rinse her off, head to toe. With a washcloth, I gently wiped away the mascara and ruby red lipstick smeared across her face, as well as the last traces of vomit from her chin.