The Entrapped

She pauses and smiles. She is entertained. She is in charge.

“And one other decision,” she postulates, drawing a small pocket knife from her vest and thrusting it toward my restrained penis. “Do you want to be led from here appearing as a girl or as a guy?” her hand extending to the cable tie which cloaks my maleness.

***

Sergeant Kelly seems to understand me better than I do. Stripped naked, standing cuffed and in heels, she forces a decision... seeming to know that this estrogen laced male mind is easily befuddled. Thus she manifests her control... well beyond the threat of arrest and that imbued by the shiny steel which encircles my wrists.

Ultimately I decline the snip offered by her pocket knife. I arrived appearing girly... I will depart appearing girly... I hope.

“Come. We have to make a first step. There’s a bit of a short cut to Central Park West... though I doubt we’ll go unseen.”

She grasps my elbow and I have no choice but to walk with her. I am under arrest... I think.

Out of the Rhododendrons to the isolated path, my bag in her firm grasp, she thankfully turns away from the main concourse where I am known to draw many eyes. Yes, there is relative seclusion. And when we encounter an occasional stroller, Sergeant Kelly fervently displays her badge, momentarily drawing eyes from my prepubescent nakedness, silently announcing to all that official police business in being undertaken.

But we approach Central Park West, as busy a thorough as any in New York. Pausing on a covered pathway, some fifty yards from a crossing traffic light, her fingers once again explore between my thighs, discovering that which I feel... the continuous vestigial ooze of maleness. She chuckles.

“Three blocks north along Central Park West to the precinct?” she inquires. “Or one block west to your apartment?”

I fully understand the message. The way to the precinct... including formal arrest and overnight incarceration... is fraught with pedestrians. To my apartment... there is the relative inactivity found on any cross street at dusk. Plus, perhaps my pending arrest will be quashed.

I am happy to be offered the choice. It is an easy decision.

“My apartment please, Sergeant Kelly.”

***

I panic as Sergeant Kelly searches my bag for my keys. In only passing two strollers on West 63rd Street, neither of which I recognized, it has been a relatively uneventful walk in the nude. But the delay in unlocking the main door may reverse all the advantages of the choice of being taken home if a neighbor spots me without clothing and Sergeant Kelly flashes her badge as she’s already needed to do four times.

I am sure a note or visit from the landlord would result.

Finally I nod when the proper key is displayed and we promptly enter the building and safely ride the elevator. On the ascent, Sergeant Kelly checks her watch.

“Off duty,” she announces, mercifully holding the key for quick entry to my apartment.

Mission accomplished, I sigh in great relief stepping into the confines of my abode. In the panic and trepidation of my detainment, I had not thought of the next step in this encounter. As Sergeant Kelly leaves me alone in the living room, instinctually checking the adjoining rooms for possible interlopers, I realize that no discussion, no offer or explanation, has been forthcoming.

She returns.

“Nice. Not overly flashy, but livable.”

Remaining cuffed, strong hands grasp my shoulders and guide me to kneel on the carpet.

For some reason her brief hold brings comfort. I feel safe in her care... as she has adequately demonstrated in extracting me naked from the park... no questions... no interference... she was totally in charge.

She opens her purse and pulls forth my blouse and skirt.

“Put these on for a moment,” releasing my cuffs.

I slip on the garments. She then slides a cell phone from her pocket. Aligning and pointing, I know the camera function is being used. A flash comes then another. I am once again photographed and I meekly position myself, offering myself to the camera lens as I did so often naked for Nurse Sueann.

“Now strip again.”

She sits on the couch and lights another cigarette and types out a quick text message, pressing ‘send’ she resumes speaking.

“You are one submissive boy,” Sergeant Kelly notes, my silent obedience prompting the comment.

“We see a lot... on the Vice Squad. Many strange and horny guys... many kinks... many girls exchanging their youth and their bodies for dough. Most just rolls off... if you know what I mean. It’s not that we’re not asexual on the squad... we’re more or less inoculated.”