Let the guards call the cops
From Create Your Own Story
This represents a fantasy, and not any actual situation or insinuation against law enforcement.
Status: Naked & Humiliated
The guards keep you in their flashlights as one instructs someone over the walkie-talkie to send the police. He give the details in a seemingly professional manner, his voice breaking only a few times. It seems like forever, with you in their flash light beams, hands on your head, legs spread apart.
A stocky woman with short hair, in a police uniform, walks in the door and heads over. She handcuffs you, wraps you in a blanket, and reads you your rights, before guiding you to the back of the squad car.
As she drives into town, she puts her arm up on the seat next to her, and talks to you through the grate.
"Let me tell you, miss. It doesn't look like anyone is going to press charges today, but we still have to process you, and you'll end up with a fine. But you get one uptight asshole who spots you, and fills out all the right paperwork, you're looking at the conviction to a sex-offense. That means no living within 1000 yards of schools, your name on an internet registry, hate mail, and death threats. Bottom line, don't go out naked anymore, you hear me?"
You nod silently, avoiding her gaze.
You pull into the station, and she escorts you through the back doors. You are still clutching the blanket tightly around your body.
A male officer starts to hoot at you, but it transforms into a cry of pain as the female officer is grabbing his ear, pulling it down.
"I told you, creep, you keep it up, I will have your dick as a trophy on my wall." She turns to you. "Come on, honey, let's get you dressed."
She escorts you to a musty storage room, where she locks the door behind the both of you. Inside are unorganized boxes of clothes. She scratches her ear, and waves her hand at the boxes. "Try to find something that fits. I dare you."
You begin to go through the boxes, when she approaches from behind you, resting her hand on your shoulder, which had become exposed.
"You know, I can delay your processing." Her finger idly plays under the margin of the blanket, slowly pulling it off your shoulder. "So you don't end up getting thrown in Holding."
You turn to face her, and the back of her hand caresses your cheek.
"Trust me, a delicate flower like you will not do well in Holding."
You:
