This story concerns an older woman held in a police station for being in a car in which drugs were found, and having to wait handcuffed with a full bladder because there is no female police available to search her.  No hard sex, no brutality.  A bit of watersports (hold-it, mostly) with some (reluctantly consensual) exhibitionism, mild bondage (handcuffs).

MMM/F  Exhib  W/S  Mild Bond



WAITING FOR SEARCHING

By Francine

It was two thirty in the morning at the small town police station.  Not much happened in this area of interest to police, and this was a rather quiet night, much as usual.   In the front room of the station only three people were present.

Sergeant Alvin Russell busied himself with paperwork at the main desk.  There wasn't anything really pressing, but someone had to do the record-keeping chores, and, anyway, it was a way to fight boredom.  Seldom, in this town, were police called on to do any serious crime fighting.  Tonight, all the business they had was the arrest of two young men passing through the town at a bit more than the speed limit, just enough to attract the attention of a patrolling officer; but after stopping them for speeding evidence of drugs was found in the car, and a search had turned up a cache of cocaine.  The two offenders wound up in the holding cell in the rear, from which they would be picked up in the morning by the county police.  Seemed a pretty routine night.

A bit away from the desk, Officer George Golitari lounged in a chair, reading a magazine.  If no calls came in, he might go out in the police car for a cruise around the town in another hour or so, just to assure the citizens the cops were around.  Nothing very scary ever seemed to happen here.

A police radio blared sporadic bits of communication, none of which seemed to concern the two officers on duty.  The hum of an air conditioner provided the only other obvious noise.  No one was talking.

There was one other occupant of the room, and a visitor might easily have missed her, for she had been trying her best to appear inconspicuous.  She was a nice looking, well groomed lady in her late fifties, wearing a long-skirted black party dress, with a corsage of roses on one shoulder.  The off-the-shoulder style left her other shoulder bare, showing her white skin.  The dress was not especially low cut, but was nicely styled.  She sat in a chair adjoining the railing separating the police officer's desks from the public area of the station.  One hand was in her lap, as she repeatedly made a fist and then unclenched it, appearing to be in some discomfort.  If one looked closely, it would be noted that the other hand rested near the bars of the low barrier, and her  wrist was attached to the barrier by a handcuff.

Sandra Morgan looked as though she come from a party, for she was certainly dressed for one. Indeed she had.  It had been a good party and fun, too, at least until her trip home.  She had been invited to a party given by several of the fellow employees of her company, held at a site some fifty miles from her home.  She had been taken there with some friends, who had driven considerably out of their way to pick her up and take her there.  It had been a good party, which she enjoyed.  She wasn't a real drinker, but she recalled that she had drunk several glasses of wine, not enough to make her drunk, but enough for her to be feeling the effects a bit.  She had also partaken of soft drinks and several glasses of fruit juice, so the alcohol had been considerably diluted.  She definitely was not drunk.

About midnight, the party began to break.  Two young men, well known to others there, had offered her a ride home, since they were going directly through the town in which she lived, and the friends who had brought her would have to drive many miles out of their way if they were to take her.  It had seemed a safe and reasonable decision to accept the proffered ride from the two young men.  They had seemed nice and gentlemanly, and she did enjoy their company.

After they left the party, they drove in the planned direction,  a trip of about fifty miles, passing through only two or three small towns or villages.  There was no traffic, it was late, and while the the driver had not been careless, he had not paid close attention to speed limits on the deserted roads.  As they passed through this one small community, they saw the flash of lights behind them, and found themselves pulled over by a lone policeman.  

Sandra had expected that this would result in nothing more than a warning, or at worst, a speeding ticket.  But the alert officer looked into the car, and spotted evidence that would not have been noticed by Sandra.  All of them were taken to the police station, where the car was searched, and a quantity of cocaine was turned up.  Sandra, knowing nothing of this, was almost in shock.  She had to watch as the two young men were booked on drug charges, then taken to the back of the building where they were locked up pending a transfer to the county police.

Meanwhile, Sandra had been told to wait in the front office, and the sergeant had handcuffed her to the railing.  She was horrified and humiliated.  Never had she been in any trouble with the law, and she loudly protested that she knew nothing of the drugs, and was only a passenger.

Her protests had been to no avail.  Sgt. Russell admonished her, "Lady, you were in that car with those two young fellows.  We found drugs and drug paraphernalia in the car.  Both of them were searched, and we turned up drugs on both of them.  They are facing drug charges, and will be transferred to the county jail in the morning.  I have no way of knowing your connection with them, but you have to be subjected to search, also, because you were part of the group.  If you come up clean, you may be released because you do have identification and apparently no alert is out for you. But I can do nothing until you have been searched for illegal substances.  And, I can't search you.  Male officers are not allowed to search women prisoners, and we have no female officer here right now.  So you have to wait."

She had tried to find a way out, "Does it have to be a strip search?" she had asked, "You've looked through my purse, and I don't mind  if you want to pat me down - where would I hide anything?" Her innocence the sergeant found a bit naive and annoying.

"Lady", he had told her, "I don't have to tell you where women try to hide stuff.  You can figure that out yourself.  And yes, you do have to be strip searched, so get used to that idea.  For all I know, you may be the principal character in this little scenario.  You're old enough to have a little drug business of your own going, and you're not going to disarm me by trying to appear innocent.  If there's nothing on you, we'll find it out.  The only thing I can do right now is ask you if have any of the stuff on you, produce it and come clean.  Then we'll book you along with the others!"

Sandra knew she had no illegal drugs on her.  She almost wished she had, because that at least would get her  free from this chair and into a cell.  As it was, she was locked to this one spot.  She asked if she had to stay right there, and promised not to leave if they would take off the handcuff.  No luck.  "We're taking no chances, lady;  if you have any evidence on you, you're getting a chance to get rid of it before we find it.  You stay right here where we can keep an eye on you."

That had been around one o'clock.  Since then she had been kept handcuffed to the railing, effectively confined to the one chair.  He arm was getting tired.  She was quite uncomfortable, and not only because her arm was tiring.

The sergeant had told her they were trying to find a female officer to search her, so they could settle what to do with her.  From the conversations and telephone calls she overheard, she had deduced that the town had only one female officer, who was presently not on duty.  They had tried to call her, but there had been no answer.  They had checked some other police facilities in the closest towns, but they had no female officer available either.  So she waited.

About two o'clock, she had asked the sergeant, quietly and much embarrassed, "Sergeant, will you allow me to go the bathroom?  I really need to, please?" 

He shook his head.  "Mrs. Morgan, you don't go anywhere until we've had you searched.  You don't get any chances to flush away evidence, or drop it into a trash bin.  We're doing our best to get a police woman to check you out, but we haven't found one yet, and until we do, you stay right where you are!"

"Please, officer, understand that I'm a woman being held here - I don't have any choice in you holding me.  But I do need to go to the bathroom, rather badly, and I think you should let me! " Her protests got nothing but a shrug, and the final comment, "You stay right where you are until we get you searched." 

Sandra was indeed uncomfortable.  Her mind flashed back to the wine, the soft drinks, the juice; all the liquids she had consumed at the party.  She had used the bathroom before leaving the party, but that was over two and a half hours ago, and with her considerable liquid consumption, her bladder was feeling quite full.  

She sat, having no real choice, trying to find a position that would relieve the tired muscle in her cuffed arm, and the increasing fullness in her abdomen.

The clock edged toward three.  Her discomfort was getting much worse.  She squirmed noticeably, and her face carried a grimace.  Again she pleaded for relief.  "Sergeant, please have a little understanding for me.  I am very uncomfortable, and I need to go the bathroom.  Isn't there anything you can do?  I simply can't wait and wait and wait -  please!!"

The sergeant looked at officer Golitari.  "Any ideas? " he asked.   

The policeman scowled.  "I don't know what we can do but make her wait until we get a female officer.  We can't search her, and until she's searched, we can't let her leave our sight."

Sandra interrupted, "Look, I'm desperate.  If you will let me go to the bathroom, you can come along and watch, if you want.  I 'm not trying to get rid of anything!"

Golitari raised an eyebrow, "You're not trying to get rid of anything?" he inquired, suggestively. 

"Look, you know what I have to get rid of - my kidneys have been working on what I drank last evening, and it wasn't liquor.  I 've got to let it out, or I'm going to spring a leak.  Have a heart, you guys; my bladder is stretched to the limit!  I don't relish a man watching me use the bathroom, but I've got to have some relief!  You don't realize how much it hurts to keep holding it!"

The two policemen again checked messages for any sign of a female officer, with negative results.  Then they tried again to call their policewoman's phone number, but got no reply.

Finally Officer Golitari had a brainstorm.  "Al, maybe there's one way you can give her a little relief," he began.   Russell was interested.  He waited for more,

The policeman went on, "you could ask her for a urine sample, and get her to give one here. We're entitled to ask for one, and there's no rule saying that she has to do it privately.  She could do it without taking her clothes off, and if you keep the sample, then she hasn't had the chance to get rid of anything.  How about it?"

"George, that won't help her much.  The little jars only hold a little bit, and she's got a bigger problem than that.  Besides, I don't really expect her to do it here in front of us, do you?"

Sandra broke in, "Look, you guys, I'll do it in front of you if that's what you need.  But, please, I've got to get some relief. Just don't make me keep holding it!"

George had another suggestion, "You know, we've got bottles that are a little bigger. There's a one that'll hold about a half pint. We could let her fill that one!"

"OK, OK, please just let me!" Sandra really sounded desperate.  

The two men looked at each other.  Sandra continued to beg, "Please, please, don't just talk about it.  Let me, please, please, now!"

"OK" the sergeant responded.  "Al, see if you can work it out.  But you can't uncuff her.  She's got to do it with the cuff on, and without taking her clothes off.  If you can figure a way for her to do it, you can let her lose a half pint.  Maybe then she'll feel a little better."

George took the half pint jar, and went over to Sandra.  He sized up the situation.  "Sorry, Mam, but you heard the sergeant.  I can't uncuff you.  I'll move the chair, so you can squat there.  Can you pull down your underpants with your free hand?"    She nodded, and tried.  It was an awkward posture.  Her left arm was extended upward., cuffed to the railing, as she tried to squat. With her right hand, she reached under her long skirt, and tried to work down her panties.

Finding her long skirt a problem, she looked to George, "Would it break the rules if you held up my skirt for me?  Please?  Please?"   George looked to Sgt. Russell, who just shrugged. George picked up the hem of her skirt, and held it high enough to expose her thighs and lower body.  She shifted so she was facing him, her panties now down to her knees.

He gave her the small jar.  She tried to position it under her, then suddenly realized it was out of her sight.  "You'll have to tell me when it's full, so I can stop!" she told him.  He nodded, dropping his head to look at the jar, realizing he was looking directly at her genitals covered by dark pubic hair.   Suddenly, a stream of urine shot out into the jar.  In what seemed only a few seconds, the jar filled.  "Stop!" her ordered her.  She clenched her muscles, grimacing in pain and with the effort.  The flow stopped.   

George withdrew the jar, and held it up for inspection. It was full to the brim of very light colored urine.  "Well, she doesn't produce very strong stuff.  She must have drunk a lot, because it's so diluted.  No wonder she's been fussing to let it out.  Bet she's got lots more in her!" 

Sandra, still terribly uncomfortable, rearranged her clothes and resumed her seat.  "Really, that didn't help very much, and I can't hold it much longer; please, please, find a way for me to relieve myself before I do it all over the floor here - if I have to wait another hour I won't care how I do it!" 

The two men watched her squirming and showing facial expressions of great discomfort.  "You do it there, and we'll get you a rag to clean it up, or maybe you'll have to do it with your dress!  We're trying to ease your pain, so don't make threats at us!" Al was still suspicious that she was covering up some kind of contraband hidden on her person.

About half past three, the phone rang.  After a bit of conversation, Al addressed Sandra, "Well, we have good news for you.  Officer Frances Coleman is on her way - you're about to get your search!"

Sandra struggled to hang on. Her bladder was now so distended it was giving her continual pain as it tried to stretch beyond its limits.  She was unable to sit still, and continuously moved and fidgeted, her face contorted.  She was desperately trying to hold on a few more minutes.

Around a quarter to four, a uniformed officer walked in the door.  He introduced himself.  "Hi! I'm Frank Coleman of the Uniontown force.  I was told to drive over here, because you've got a prisoner and you need my help.  What gives?"

The two men simply stared.  Gradually, Al explained the situation with Sandra, adding, "We thought you were a female officer - no offense, but is there some misunderstanding?  We need a woman police officer to strip search this prisoner!"

"Must be some kind of misunderstanding!  But my name is Francis, really, and I've had this sort of problem before.  Goes with the name. However, I guess I can't help you, so.."

"Please, officers, " Sandra broke in, "I've just got to get this over, I just can't wait, so, please, please, just let it go that this officer is Frances with an e, and let's get this done!!"

Her anxiety was obvious.  Al tried to explain to Frank,  "She's been here for three hours, and we can't let her go to the bathroom until she's been strip searched. I'm sorry for her - I know she's been hurting pretty bad because she came from a party where she a lot to drink, and her bladder's probably stretched about up to her neck.  We even let her give a urine sample, under her skirt, naturally; but it didn't help her much, and I don't know what to do with her.  Look, if you want to do a strip search on her, and she consents to it thinking you're Frances with an e, I'll go along with it.  "

"Please, officer, " Sandra begged, "I'll consent, anything to get this over, just please, please, get on with it!  Don't make me wait any longer!"

Frank considered the point.  "Well, she's no sweet young thing, so it may not look too bad for me anyway, but I don't want to do it privately, - I want to be sure there are witnesses so I don't get accused of doing something with her.  Tell you what, will you two guys agree to watch if she consents to strip herself in front of me?  I'll be the officer doing the search, but I don't want to touch her, and I want you guys to watch it."

Al looked at George.  "OK with me, how about you?"  George agreed.  Al looked to Sandra, "OK, lady, we're doing this the way you asked; and we'd better never hear any fuss from you about it later. If I uncuff you, are you willing to strip right here, and we'll all do the search of you and your clothes?" 

Sandra, shaking, horribly embarrassed at what she was about to do, but desperate to get it over and relieve herself, replied clearly, "OK, let's get started - please!!"

Al unlocked the handcuff.  She straightened up, standing by the railing.  Frank now addressed her, "Mrs. Morgan, I want you to remove your clothes a piece at a time, as I request you, and hand each item to me.  I will then give the items to these officers to inspect.  First, please remove your shoes."

She slipped off both her shoes and passed them to Frank, one at a time.  He immediately handed them to George.

"Next" , he said, "I must ask you to take off your dress."

She unpinned the corsage from her dress and handed it over.  Then, unfastening the dress rapidly, she pulled it down and slipped out of it.  She handed it to Frank.  Now she was wearing a black half slip and a black brassiere.  Below the slip, her stockinged legs were visible.

Frank passed the dress to George.  "Next, the bra," he instructed.

She reached behind herself, unhooked the bra, and dropped it from her body, passing it to Frank.  Her breasts, not really large but drooping just a little, swung about as she moved.  She tried, for just a moment, to hold her breasts with her hands, then dropped both arms.  "Does the slip go next?" she asked.    "OK" Frank indicated.  She stepped out of the half slip, leaving only her white panties and stockings..  Instantly she pressed her hands to her crotch.

"Please, please, please, let me pee!  I don't care who watches or where, but please let me, now, NOW!" She was insistent.  To herself, she could hardly believe that she had uttered these words.  Her distress had reached a point that modesty was no longer even a consideration to her.  

Frank told her, "take off the panties", then, turning to George, "you guys got a bucket around here somewhere? I don't think we should let her use a toilet - too easy to flush away something if she's hiding." 

George responded, "There's a bucket outside.  But don't let her do it in here - she may make a mess on the floor!"

Frank answered, "Then let's take her outside, right in front.  There's a good light out there, and no one's around to see at this hour.  If we make her stand up to do  it, and let her do it into the bucket, we'll see if she's doing any hiding."

Sandra had dropped the panties and handed them to Frank.  She felt slightly ridiculous standing there in nothing but a pair of elastic top nylon stockings, with her pubic hair prominently on display just above them.  "Do I need to take these off, too?" she asked, indicating the stockings.

"Everything comes off", Frank responded.  Sandra sat on the chair, almost naked, and removed the stockings.  She handed them, one at a time, to Frank.  He motioned for her to stand, which she did.  Her hands went to her bare crotch in an effort to help hold her bursting bladder.

Now she was standing in the police station, totally nude, desperately clutching her crotch, and they were talking about making her walk outside, under a bright light, and making her urinate from a standing position into a bucket, while they all watched.  She felt humiliated beyond belief, but she would do anything right now to get relief.

She was led outside, under the bright lights illuminating the front of the station.  There was no shelter, no privacy.  A bucket was placed on the ground.  Frank told her what to do.  : Mrs. Morgan, we want you to spread your legs and straddle the bucket, standing up.  You may urinate, but try to get it into the bucket.   And keep your hands away from your body."

She complied.  The spectacle, she thought, was unbelievably humiliating.  A gray haired woman, absolutely nude, standing astride a bucket in the middle of the night, under a bright light, urinating in front of three men!

With great difficulty she tried to convince her muscles to relax and allow her the blessed relief. Gradually it happened.  While she closed her eyes to avoid seeing the men, and knew she was blushing every shade of red, her urine stream poured from her crotch into the bucket.  From the sound, which seemed like thunder in the otherwise silent night, she knew it was going into the container.  She felt humiliated almost beyond belief, but, oh, what a wonderful relief!  The release and end to the pain and pressure in her bladder was what she so desperately wanted that it mattered not what price she paid in this gross insult to her modesty and privacy.  

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at the policemen.  All three were standing in front of her, their eyes focused on her crotch and her profuse urination.  Part of her wanted to stop, but the greater part demanded completion of the relief.   As her stream gradually diminished, she pushed down, as hard as she could, to keep it going and expel that last of the liquid inside her.  Finally, it was over.  The stream stopped.  She moved away from the bucket.

"Wow", Frank commented, "I never saw anything like that. Look what she had in her.  No wonder she was making such a fuss!"

"Let's take her inside and finish the search", Al directed.   She was ushered inside.

"We need to look you over, and do a quick cavity check, Mrs. Morgan.  Please stand still, and place your hands behind your neck.  Spread your legs!"

She complied, revealing every part of her anatomy to the three men.  They walked around her, as she stood under the bright light, peering into her armpits, closely looking at her still wet crotch with its drops of urine still in evidence (they hadn't let her wipe).

"You can lower your hands, now, and use them to hold your breasts up, so we can look under them", she was instructed.  The emphasis was on her slightly dangling breasts, unsupported and hanging a bit loosely.  Flushing a little at this instruction, she held her breasts up, a hand under each.

Then she got the instruction she hated the most, "Now, you must reach down and hold open your genitals - spread the lips, so we can see in--".  The men weren't quite sure how to phrase this instruction, but she understood.  She complied, displaying her most private areas.  George produced a flashlight and shined it into her splayed privates.  She winced, but said nothing.

Then they had her bend over and spread her buttocks as they peered at her rear.  With this final invasion of her privacy finished, Al announced, "OK, Mrs. Morgan, you look like you're clean.  I am sorry we had to put you through all this.  You may get dressed now.  We're going to let you go, and I hope none of us will be hearing any more about this."

In haste, she put her clothes back on. Frank called a taxi for her, which appeared a few minutes later.    They were obviously glad to have her out of the way. She suspected, however, that they had at least to a small extent, enjoyed the show.  She would not complain to anyone, not ever wanting to have to talk about this awful experience.  Awful.  It was.  Tortuous, painful, humiliating.  But, maybe, those three policemen had not found a fifty seven year old woman totally distasteful to look at.  Maybe.  But she surely wasn't going to ask.

The taxi driver asked her if she had been in some difficulty at the police station.  "No", she answered him, "just a rest stop, really.  I needed to use the bathroom."   He gave her a perplexed look in the rear view mirror.  She smiled that her sense of humor was beginning to return.

					END 

