Lock me up.

Bella didn’t know what else this crazy witch might make her do. She had already been **** to doff her duds, reveal her buds, exposed her diaper, and oh so much more, all in front of several hundred wide-eyed motorists. She figured that she might be able to work out a better deal with her fellow cops, that is, people who were still cops, she reminded herself. They didn’t really like her, it was true, she had: tried to get them fired after they had rebuffed her clumsy sexual advances, bungled several painstaking investigations resulting in numerous overturned convictions, including a mob boss, a crime lord, and a rabbi (don’t ask); and had now publicly disgraced the whole department, again, as well as putting them all in hot water with the mayor’s office. Yet, all her jumbled thoughts could produce was, “At least the devil I know is better than the one I’ve just met.” It may not have been the wisest decision to agree to be handcuffed to the bench. Perhaps it resulted from some lingering overconfidence that she could still control her fate, or at least those around her. If she had time she might wonder about her inclination to be chained, nude in public. Then again, Tasmin hadn’t given her much time to think.

Finally she spat out, “Just handcuff me, let me wait for the police here.”

“Suit yourself, Shorty.” Not allowing her to close her splayed legs, she was frog-marched around, longer than necessary, but still pretty directly, to the bench for bus stop 69. Pushing her down roughly to sit in the middle was quite an easy task, Bella was a tubby, 109 lb weakling, after all, and Tasmin had been fucking the best personal trainers the city had to offer for years. Grabbing Bella’s left foot, Tasmin gracefully, even artfully, removed the other handcuffs she had swiped off Bella’s former uniform and clasped a bracelet around each narrow ankle that terminated in a titanic tootsie, her spread toes now fluttering dumbly in the light, warming breeze, even as she pantomimed for the crowd that she was disgusted that the worst odors were emanating from Bella’s feet, and more.

Her right foot having received the same treatment, she was completely splayed in the most humiliated position conceivable. Being **** to sit up while slouched back with her hands pressing behind her made her pot-belly look enormous and even gave her tummy a few folds. Leaning back handcuffed, her shoulders spread her meager assets even thinner, until it looked there was nothing on show atop her puny pectorals except her very hard nipples. Her big feet looked even bigger, since they were thrust forward, closer to the observer at a flat angle, the **** perspective made them look even more disproportioned. Worst of all, her crotch was spread more obscenely than in most unrespectable pornos. Her holiest of holies was on full display, slowly gaping open, untrimmed; and unluckily, even unwashed. It was bad enough that her over excited sex was patently obvious to even the blind and deaf, but now Bella certainly regretted her rushing off this morning without having taken a shower. Her stubbly armpits were opened up to daylight from her handcuffed position. Weh she trie to bury her face in her underarms, the only possible cover from her chained position, she only grew more humiliated, and sexually excited, the dumb officer girly, as Tasmin would put it, hadn’t even remember her deodorant this morning. Whether or not it was Tasmin’s essence that seemed to keep invading her mind, that thought that reverberated around her head was certainly, indubitably obvious: that this was the worst possible public presentation. Her vulgar form seemed to offend all the senses in the most ribald comedy. Her feminine charms had been stripped away, her clout, her power, her womanhood all discarded. What was supposed to be a mysterious treat to entice her lovers was grossly displayed in broad daylight to anyone who bothered to look or crack a joke.

After taking one final photo for posterity, Tasmin turned away, only hollering over her shoulder, lying, “Good luck I’ll get right on calling your buddies at the precinct, first thing.” Tasmin wasn’t heartless, of course she would call, eventually, but Bella’s pick up would revolve around, as all life did, Tasmin’s schedule. She wasn’t finished having fun with Bella by damn sight, but she did have to take care of her daughter. Definitely her lunch at Morton’s would have to come first. Maybe a facial. “Who knows, she thought giddily, a whole spa day?”. But she would call and schedule for Bella’s pick up before dinner of course, at least. Probably. This traffic stop had cost her little, certainly less than the plucky young rookie. Truth be told, the path ahead was clear of traffic for miles, thanks to the gawkers that were plugging the road just behind her car. The universe always seemed to smile on Tasmin, and she was actually going to be saving a few minutes with this highly unorthodox, improvised traffic maneuver. Still, why should this Bella chick get off so lightly? The only reason this had worked, on top of her political power and uncanny charisma, was that everyone in the department made fun of, disliked, or outright despised Bella. She had managed, in her short tenure, to rub nearly every officer the wrong way, even the ones who had been down in the basement’s stacks of files, presumed missing for decades. Hell, even Tasmin, who never listened to her husband’s anecdotes, recalled Bella’s name immediately when she first read it from her name tag, now perched on top of Bella’s soiled diaper in the locked squad car.

Bella tried to stay calm and think nonsexual thoughts. This was hard for her at any time, and somewhat understandably, particularly hard for her now. Bella had always known she got off sexually on a power trip, and when she was a cop had always worn a remote control vibe at her desk or while on the beat. It made her feel that much sexier, more powerful, and had brought her many drool inducing orgasms. As her firing had concluded all but 15 minutes ago, the vibrator, set on its lowest, was still buzzing gently inside of her. In a torturous balancing act she tried not to concentrate on the vibrator slowly buzzing while trying to keep her thighs clenched as tightly as possible to stave off it buzzing it’s way right out and into the open with the barrier of her panties no longer in play. The most tv friendly image going through her mind was her bare feet shown sole wise like perverse steaks set up in a butchers window, her whole body meat for sale, and no one buying.

She could see the signs and prices now written in the style of a most risque Warner Bros. Cartoon, “extra long filet of sole”, along her foot, “breast meat, fresh out,”, suspended from her nips, her labia dangling, her clitty with a wooden sign hung on it reading tuna, the word fresh crossed out with a sign wedged into her pussy admonishing “discount, day-old”. From her belly fat to her big feet, all her faults, flaws, her most humiliating secrets and most embarrassing deficiencies were presented here, center stage, live, no ticket needed for admission.

She definitely wished she had made a different choice.

“At least this can’t possibly get worse.” She tried to repeat it like a mantra. Little did she know…