Chapter 1. Marissa's arrest

Marissa had worn handcuffs before but this time was different.  The first time Mike had secured her wrists to the bed frame with the furry pair they bought at the Pleasure chest was electrifyingly exciting.  And the manacles that held her hands behind her back when she was arrested for DUI were loosely applied by the CHP officer as he guided her to his squad car.  Her bare legs and tanned feet teetering in sky high thong sandals had distracted the lawman from tightening them too far.  No this time was surgical, raw and real as she lay faced down on the rough and wet asphalt immobilized and obedient.  Her hands were twisted in an unnatural contortion, palms facing outwards and the top of hands flush together with both thumbs pointing skywards.  This position was maintained only by the heavy set of hinged handcuffs that relentlessly dug into her wrists.  As she tried to ease the pressure on her wrists the cuffs transmitted the pressure up into her shoulders and back.  She knew she was in a lot of trouble this time.



Marissa bit her lower lip as she replayed the events in slow motion.  Her mind was still foggy from the bump on her forehead so images flashed in a linear but non chronologic fashion.  The salty taste of blood reminded her of the take down which also split her lip.  Insult added to injury was the undignified and un-dramatic way it happened unlike those she’d watched in reality television shows.  She had tripped over her own sandaled feet and “face planted on the road” when the deputy had commanded her to get on the ground. 



Note to self.  “Heeled thongs for regular DUI, Flat Rainbow flip flops for felony arrest.” 



Her throbbing toe whose encounter with the uneven ground caused her catapult throbbed.  She pondered that maybe she should invest in some sturdy shoes if she was to continue this pattern of behavior.  Then again she was a flip flops only California gal and damned if a few stinkin’ pigs was going to change her shoe repertoire.  Pig seemed a too cuddly pink label for the deputy who had gone through the procedure to put her n her present position although he was heavy enough when he knelt on the small of her back.  Somehow he thought Marrisa who was barely a hundred pounds soaking wet (probably ninety after week binging and purging) in a prone position, hands clasped behind her head, ankles crossed and one sprained, would suddenly salter and sprint away before he could apply handcuffs.  To get him to take his knee out of her now throbbing back she had quickly complied when the “baconater” instructed her to put her hands behind her back.  Unfortunately the pain in her back was replaced by the pain in her hands and wrists as they were contorted in the palms out display, department procedure to ensure that prisoners could not pick the lock.  Not that she would even be able to feel her hands in a short while after the sadistic policeman had ratcheted the cold steel manacles all the way to the hilt.



Her foggy brain was now cleared enough to hear another cop instruct her to roll on her side as her ran a pair of blue latex gloved hands up her body searching for obviously non existent contraband and weapons.  Her sundress was so thin it could hardly conceal piece of chewing gun foil.  Marissa craned her head back to get a glimpse of the process.  It was almost a reflexive and automatic move much like when she had sex doggy style and twisting back to kiss her lover.  A bemused surprise crossed the examiner’s face upon feeling the absence of a bra as he swept a hand through the crevice beneath her breasts.  Satisfied with his completeness the rolled her back on her front and told her to spread her legs apart.

 

“Damn.”  She muttered in the throat “What a time to wear thongs”



“Doesn’t a woman officer have to do this”  She uttered.



The policeman assured her that when she got to jail and woman cop would perform a much more intrusive search.  He was there only to make sure she was free of weapons for transport. 



“And by the way”  He queried “Is there anything up there I should know about?”



“Like what?”  Marissa thought sarcastically.  That she would have razor blades tucked neatly in parallel up her “crack” ready to cut the pig like pungee sticks in a Viet Cong trap?  Or bags of cocaine in condomns packed tight in her rectum?  Which will break open when the bumbling idiot probed her with his fat fingers giving her a massive lethal overdose?  Dying on the sidewalk.  Foaming from her mouth and nose, choking on her own vomit, seizing uncontrollably, the convulsions dislocating her shoulder because the cops refused to un cuff her when the paramedics arrived.  “’Nothing,” she murmured pathetically and truthfully.  Her hands and arms throbbed enough from the handcuffs for her not to provoke the police into further roughing her up.  Obediently she spread her legs and as promised there was only a minor probe of the gloved hands to ensure the absence of a protruding automatic weapon.  The search complete she was left in a crumpled heap while the officers completed other mundane tasks.



Marissa swirled on her stomach best she could to stretch out the kink left by the policeman’s knee.  Her sundress swirled around as an underground breeze blew out of the gutter grazed her prone body.  The thin fabric lifted off her thin calves feebly trying to escape the heated cement.  She realized that she was drenched in sweat and tears as the convectioning air cooled her damp dress, face and matted hair.  Adjusting her head she looked down the sidewalk underneath the police cars.  The Jackboots of the lawmen moved with random purpose.  A few steps forward, to the side, back.  Then standing on one, tapping the other.  A hand came down and drew a chalk mark around a shell cashing, another pair lit a flare and deposited on the road.  An Asian face peered dropped down and turned, his peripheral vision locked for a moment by her stare. 



It was Mike.