The village looked pretty vacant as Jeff drove up what was, or at least what seemed to have used to have been, the main road. He hadn’t told me where we were going, only that he had a surprise for me.
“The county took over this small village police department about six years ago or so,” he remarked as we drove. “Then about a year and a half ago, this village department ceased operating altogether and everything was moved over to the county. The village had only about seven hundred residents left, so they were absorbed into another township.”
He turned the car into a parking lot and a sign in front read “Cadenville Village Jail and Courthouse”.
“They had no use for this jail or courthouse, so they vacated it,” he told me. “Put the property up for sale.”
He stopped the car and we got out.
“So, last week, I bought it,” he concluded.
I looked at him.
“What for,” I asked, intrigued.
He gave me a smile.
“Let’s go inside,” he said simply.
He unlocked the front door and we walked in. He turned on the lights and he clearly had had the electricity reactivated. It reminded me slightly of the jails and courthouses you see on old TV shows from the 1960s, but a little larger. There was a reception desk and as he led me back, there were desks which would have been utilized by a village sheriff and maybe two deputies. We walked further back and through a door and there were five jail cells, all empty of course, but still in good condition. Each was furnished with a cot with a sheet and blanket, a pillow, a toilet, and a sink.
“You’ve told me on more than one occasion how much you’ve fantasized about being arrested, being in jail,” he said. “And we’ve played around with things in the bedroom, I know.”
I blushed and grinned.
“But I thought maybe you’d like to spend some time in an actual jail. Be a prisoner. Even for an extended time, if you’d like.”
The idea of it was an immediate turn-on.
They call us “jail bunnies.” Some women are turned on by doctors, some by military men, some by physical laborers. Women get turned on by all sorts of things, but there are some of us who are turned on by the idea of being in jail. The idea of being arrested, restrained, frisked, confined, and completely under the authority of someone else makes us hot and wet. Our ultimate fantasy is to be locked in a cell and to have a cop or a guard come and have their way with us.
“I know it’s not a prison or whatnot,” Jeff said, “and maybe not exactly what you had in mind…”
“I love it,” I replied. “This is amazing. You did this for me?”
He smiled and shrugged.
“What did you mean by extended period,” I asked.
“Well, that’s all up to you,” he said. “You can come and go as you please or we could have a bit more fun with it. I could keep you locked up here and you’d have to do exactly as you’re told, just as if you were really in jail.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, but again, the idea of it turned me on.
“Well, I do have a job, Jeff,” I said.
“You could quit,” he said. “And look, that’s not me saying a woman shouldn’t work. I’m just putting the option out there. I’d be happy to take care of you.”
I blushed again. He was offering to take care of me financially so I could quit my job and live out a titillating fantasy for myself.
“Look, I know this might come across as a bit creepy, even,” he said. “Me asking to lock you up. And if it’s something you’re not comfortable with…”
“No, Jeff, I’m completely comfortable with it. I…I trust you, completely. I just…it’s all so surprising is all.”
“Do you want some time to think about it?”
I thought for a moment. Jeff and I had been inseparable since we started dating nine months ago and he’d been very open about seeing a long-term future with me. We had so much in common, both in life and in the bedroom and he seemed determined to make me happy in both places. I didn’t want to take advantage of his money or what he was willing to do for me, but he never seemed to think for a second that that is something I had in mind.
“No,” I said. “I…I’d love it. Thank you. Can you…can you let me have two weeks so I can put in notice at work?”
“I don’t think prisoners get to set their schedule like that,” he said with a grin.
I laughed, knowing he was joking.
“Two weeks, then,” he said. “It will allow me some time to prepare the place and get a couple of other things ready for you.”
***
Fifteen days later, on a Monday morning, making the experience as real as possible for me, Jeff handcuffed me behind my back and put me in the backseat of his car and once again drove me out to the village where my new home was waiting. I sat in the back of the car, my heart racing, smiling to myself, a warm tingling feeling between my legs. I was dressed in jeans, a dark t-shirt, my blonde hair falling to my shoulders. To help play into my fantasy, Jeff had even dressed up in a police officer costume. But the handcuffs were far from costume props: they were police-grade steel handcuffs, double-locked and tight around my wrists.