Hi subs
- Thread starter Pearlss
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KindredFlame
Sexual Deviant
- Joined
- Jan 27, 2019
- Posts
- 1,091
Well you could arrest me anytime in that outfit. Please don’t take me to jail I will do anything.
KindredFlame
Sexual Deviant
- Joined
- Jan 27, 2019
- Posts
- 1,091
Officer Eleanor Pearlss, Badge 347, was halfway through her usual graveyard shift, the rhythmic hum of her patrol cruiser a familiar lullaby against the quiet suburban streets of Sector C. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth from the encroaching autumn, and the streetlights cast long, weary shadows. It was just past 2 AM, a time when most honest citizens were asleep, and the nocturnal activities of others tended to stand out with stark clarity.
That clarity struck her like a sudden beam of light when she rounded the bend onto Willow Creek Lane, a rarely-used cul-de-sac that abutted a dense, overgrown park. There, under the dim glow of a single, flickering streetlamp, sat a vehicle that screamed "out of place." It was a sleek, obsidian-black SUV, a high-end model, likely a Cadillac Escalade or a similar luxury behemoth, its windows so darkly tinted they looked like polished onyx. It was parked haphazardly, slightly askew, half on the patchy grass verge, half on the asphalt, in an area known more for discarded fast-food wrappers and dog walkers than for expensive cars late at night.
A prickle of unease, a familiar instinct honed over years on the force, rippled through Pearlss. She slowed her cruiser, the tires crunching softly on the asphalt, and then killed the engine a block away, plunging her immediate vicinity into near silence save for the distant urban hum. Her hand instinctively grazed the grip of her service weapon, though it was more a gesture of readiness than fear. This wasn't right.
Stepping out, Pearlss moved with the quiet grace of a seasoned officer, her boots making barely a sound on the pavement as she approached the dark vehicle. The air felt heavier now, charged with unseen tension. As she drew closer, a faint sound reached her ears, a low, guttural moan that seemed to pulse from within the SUV's sealed interior. Then another, more sustained, accompanied by a soft, rhythmic thudding. Her brow furrowed. The sound was undeniably human, ambiguous yet urgent enough to trigger a rapid sequence of defensive protocols in her mind. Rape. Kidnapping. Her heart rate quickened.
Reaching the driver's side door, Pearlss raised a gloved fist and rapped sharply, three quick, authoritative knocks against the heavily tinted window. "Police! Open the door!" she commanded, her voice firm, cutting through the stillness of the night.
The moaning ceased abruptly, replaced by a sudden flurry of frantic motion from inside. She heard the distinct rustle of clothing, a muffled grunt, and then hurried, whispered voices—low, urgent, and undeniably feminine. The sound was no longer of distress, but of panicked concealment. The immediate assumption of a violent crime shifted, but the situation remained highly suspicious.
Without hesitation, Pearlss unclipped her powerful tactical flashlight from her duty belt. With a practiced flick of her thumb, its brilliant beam cut through the darkness, aimed squarely at the SUV’s front windshield. The penetrating light bypassed the tint, momentarily illuminating the interior like a stage.
What she saw instantly recalibrated her assessment, though not her resolve. Two women, both appearing to be in their mid-twenties, were scrambling. One, in the driver's seat, was tugging frantically at a silk blouse, its buttons already undone, revealing the bare skin beneath. Her dark hair was a disheveled mess, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and mortification as they met Pearlss's unwavering gaze. The other woman, slumped awkwardly in the passenger seat, had a skirt bunched around her waist, revealing bare thighs, and a bra strap askew over her shoulder. They blinked into the sudden, intrusive light, caught utterly off guard, like deer frozen in headlights.
Pearlss’s expression remained unreadable, her posture professional and commanding. The situation might not be a violent felony, but it was certainly a public disturbance, and decidedly out of place. Her voice, calm but imbued with undeniable authority, cut through the awkward silence.
“Step out of the car please!” she ordered, the beam of her flashlight steady and unyielding.
That clarity struck her like a sudden beam of light when she rounded the bend onto Willow Creek Lane, a rarely-used cul-de-sac that abutted a dense, overgrown park. There, under the dim glow of a single, flickering streetlamp, sat a vehicle that screamed "out of place." It was a sleek, obsidian-black SUV, a high-end model, likely a Cadillac Escalade or a similar luxury behemoth, its windows so darkly tinted they looked like polished onyx. It was parked haphazardly, slightly askew, half on the patchy grass verge, half on the asphalt, in an area known more for discarded fast-food wrappers and dog walkers than for expensive cars late at night.
A prickle of unease, a familiar instinct honed over years on the force, rippled through Pearlss. She slowed her cruiser, the tires crunching softly on the asphalt, and then killed the engine a block away, plunging her immediate vicinity into near silence save for the distant urban hum. Her hand instinctively grazed the grip of her service weapon, though it was more a gesture of readiness than fear. This wasn't right.
Stepping out, Pearlss moved with the quiet grace of a seasoned officer, her boots making barely a sound on the pavement as she approached the dark vehicle. The air felt heavier now, charged with unseen tension. As she drew closer, a faint sound reached her ears, a low, guttural moan that seemed to pulse from within the SUV's sealed interior. Then another, more sustained, accompanied by a soft, rhythmic thudding. Her brow furrowed. The sound was undeniably human, ambiguous yet urgent enough to trigger a rapid sequence of defensive protocols in her mind. Rape. Kidnapping. Her heart rate quickened.
Reaching the driver's side door, Pearlss raised a gloved fist and rapped sharply, three quick, authoritative knocks against the heavily tinted window. "Police! Open the door!" she commanded, her voice firm, cutting through the stillness of the night.
The moaning ceased abruptly, replaced by a sudden flurry of frantic motion from inside. She heard the distinct rustle of clothing, a muffled grunt, and then hurried, whispered voices—low, urgent, and undeniably feminine. The sound was no longer of distress, but of panicked concealment. The immediate assumption of a violent crime shifted, but the situation remained highly suspicious.
Without hesitation, Pearlss unclipped her powerful tactical flashlight from her duty belt. With a practiced flick of her thumb, its brilliant beam cut through the darkness, aimed squarely at the SUV’s front windshield. The penetrating light bypassed the tint, momentarily illuminating the interior like a stage.
What she saw instantly recalibrated her assessment, though not her resolve. Two women, both appearing to be in their mid-twenties, were scrambling. One, in the driver's seat, was tugging frantically at a silk blouse, its buttons already undone, revealing the bare skin beneath. Her dark hair was a disheveled mess, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and mortification as they met Pearlss's unwavering gaze. The other woman, slumped awkwardly in the passenger seat, had a skirt bunched around her waist, revealing bare thighs, and a bra strap askew over her shoulder. They blinked into the sudden, intrusive light, caught utterly off guard, like deer frozen in headlights.
Pearlss’s expression remained unreadable, her posture professional and commanding. The situation might not be a violent felony, but it was certainly a public disturbance, and decidedly out of place. Her voice, calm but imbued with undeniable authority, cut through the awkward silence.
“Step out of the car please!” she ordered, the beam of her flashlight steady and unyielding.
