Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Morris is staring with one hand on his baton, but he shakes his head. “It’s a start.”
Stella doesn’t hesitate. She slips her thumbs into the sides of her thong and slides it down, bending at the waist so her ass is perfectly, shamelessly on display. She steps out of the panties, kicks them to the side, and straightens, hands in her hair, chest out, completely nude. I watch in horror and awe as she struts in her cell again, this time with a deliberate, sensual sway.
She leans her back against the bars, arms overhead, and gives a little bounce, making her breasts jiggle in time with the lights. The guard’s pants are visibly bulging. I can’t look away, even as my cheeks flame.
“Do you like?” she purrs again, smiling seductively. “You’re so handsome, Officer Morris,” she adds. “Exactly the kind of guy for me.”
Morris stands there, savoring the show. For a long moment, no one moves, not even me. Then he shakes his head.
“More,” he commands.
Stella doesn’t hesitate. She giggles and then lifts a big tit in one hand, leaning her head down to lick her pink tip before doing the same with her other breast.
“Mmmm!” she moans ecstatically before pushing both tits up so that she can suck both nipples at once. “This feels so good!”
With that, Morris has seen enough. One hand on his baton, he strides over, and with the other, unlocks Stella’s cell with a flick of his wrist, the sound echoing down the hall like a starter’s pistol.
“Step out,” he orders.
Stella obeys, her walk a pageant queen’s strut, even though she’s completely naked save for her high heels. She stops in front of him, arms at her sides. He looks her up and down, lingering on every detail, then gestures with a jerk of his head. “Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me. Get dressed,” he rasps, “and wait in the booking office.”
OMG, is he going to demand sex from her there? Is he going to force her to give him a hand job, blow job, or even worse? But Stella’s not perturbed at all. She winks at me, gathers her crumpled clothes in one hand, and with the other scoops up her panties. She blows a kiss through the bars at me as she glides away, her body a perfect hourglass of bravado and shamelessness.
“Do the same,” she mouths at me with a wink. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I gape at my friend’s retreating back. I can’t do a striptease! I mean, Morris is okay handsome, but he’s nothing next to Trevor. No no no!
But the officer’s already looking at me.
“Your turn,” the guard rasps, settling back into his chair. The smirk is back, as wide as ever.
I feel like I’m going to throw up. The thought of doing what Stella just did—of undressing, performing lewd acts, being watched by this grinning, half-aroused stranger—makes my pulse pound in my ears in a bad way. But the alternative is worse: Trevor coming to bail me out, or worse, my mom, her lips thin with outrage and disappointment.
I take a deep breath, but my lungs don’t work. My hands are shaking.
Then, before I can overthink it, I stand, walk to the front of the cell, and press my forehead against it.
“Can I just go to the bathroom first?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Morris raises an eyebrow. “No bathroom breaks until you’re ready to deal.”
I back away, clutch my phone, and slide down to the bench, dress rumpled under my thighs. I blink back tears, but they won’t fall. I stare at the wall, trying not to listen as Stella’s whisper echoes in my ears.
“You can do it,” she says in my head.
But I can’t. I can’t show my body to this stranger. I don’t even know him, and besides, this is sexual coercion! It has to be against the law!
As a result, I sit there and wait for the next thing to happen, knowing that whatever it is, it will be worse than anything I can imagine.
And somehow, I still find myself hoping that Trevor will come for me.
I count the minutes. Not out loud, not even on my phone’s useless face—just in the clutch and release of my own jaw. The fluorescent lights never change. There’s no clock, no windows, nothing to mark time except the shuffling of police shoes outside and the wet coughs from the other cells that I can’t see. They’re like ghosts.
Stella’s gone. Her cell is empty, although her voice lingers—a phantom echo in the concrete. I keep imagining her: charming whatever officer’s on duty, and then sashaying out into the night. Maybe she’s at the 24-hour Walgreens already, snatching false lashes and allergy pills, her number blocked on every boy’s phone by morning. I miss her instantly, even as I want to murder her for leaving me behind.