The Sex Offender: Crime, Trial and Punishment

By nathalie would



Part 1: Capture

The afternoon was crisp and cool, with a slight wind that caused Madame Ingrid and her girlfriend, Maxine, to reach up and smooth their hair from time to time. The women made an elegant picture: Madame Ingrid was clad in a supple, snug skirt of
black leather, her long legs encased in silky black stockings, ending in pointy stiletto heeled shoes; Maxine in a short, tailored grey wool skirt, the sheerest beige stockings and shiny, black stiletto-heeled boots ending just below the knee;
both in leather gloves, with perfectly coiffed hairstyles and exquisite make-up. It was a beautiful autumn day, with just enough of a chill in the air to make them feel both alert and cozy beneath their soft wool coats.

They had recently finished a fine luncheon at a luxurious little café, and were feeling warm, fed and at ease with the world. As the two strolled leisurely down the street, arm in arm, they caught sight of a somewhat tall, swaggering man. He exuded an air of unabashed masculinity, with an attitude to match, which caused the two women to exchange an extended roll of the eyes, wrinkling their noses in disdain. Madame Ingrid whispered to Maxine, "I can smell the testosterone from here, can't you?" Maxine had begun to giggle at Madame Ingrid's dripping sarcasm, but was cut short.

It happened quickly. The pair noticed a smaller, blonde woman approaching the towering bastion of manhood. She wore a tight, fitting sweater and a short shirt that showcased her long, stockinged legs and high heeled shoes. Due to the chill in
the air, her nipples stood out in an all too enticing manner.

Normally, Madame Ingrid and Maxine would have let their eyes roam over such a vision, perhaps stockpiling the image for later fantasy fodder. This time, however, they were beaten to the punch: The man had noticed her first. In the blink of an eye, his meaty hand shot out and grabbed one of the woman's breasts. He gave it a couple of rough squeezes before the victim was capable of screaming "Motherfucker!" slapping him across the face and taking off in the other direction. The man's face lit up in a satisfied smile, as he continued walking down the street, chuckling to himself.

"The pig," Madame Ingrid spat, her large green eyes icing over. A slow scowl crept across her porcelain face, twisting her fine features into something vicious, sinister and very, very enticing.

Maxine knew this look; she could read the Mistress' mind simply by hearing the tone in her voice. This man was in for trouble, more trouble than he could possibly imagine. Madame Ingrid was out for blood.

The Mistress grabbed Maxine's leather gloved hand with a sense of urgency; Maxine allowed herself to be led along a back street, parallel to the street on which they, and the sex offender, had been traveling. Madame Ingrid's breathing was deep
and hurried as she clutched at Maxine's hand, almost pulling her along with a quickened gait.

"Here," Madame Ingrid whispered, as she ducked into a back alley, "we will wait for the pig here."

Maxine knew what they were doing; this wouldn't be the first time. One of the Mistresses' greatest delights was taking a confident mass of machismo (especially one who had the nerve to treat women like pieces of meat) and turning the tables on them, making them cry, beg, cower in her presence.

.but that would come later; all things in due time.

Maxine fingered the police issue handcuffs in her coat pocket, waiting for Madame Ingrid's command. Her back was pressed up against a brick wall, as the Mistress peered around the corner, waiting: A watchful female hawk about to descend upon her unexpecting male prey.

Just as quickly as the pig had groped at the woman's breasts, Madame Ingrid lunged around the corner, her sharp talons grasping, pulling and capturing. Maxine found herself face to face with the pig, the sex offender. He reeked of stale beer and cigar smoke and she had the urge to cover her face, protecting her delicate nostrils from his putrid male stink. Unfortunately, there was no time for such daintiness; there was work to be done.

Madame Ingrid already had the pig's arms pinioned behind his back and Maxine produced a sizeable gag from the depths of her pocketbook. She deftly fastened it in his protesting mouth in the blink of an eye, muffling his irate bellows just as
they had begun to escape his lips. Next, the cuffs were locked firmly, aggressively around his wrists. His eyes flashed sharp daggers of anger at his two captors, as if to say, "How dare you?"

Madame Ingrid picked up on this right away. "You think you're a big man, don't you? You think that you can swagger your way down the street like you own the damn thing, grabbing and groping at every woman you see? You think they're all your
personal property, it seems. Well, big man, you don't seem very big now, do you?" She kicked him, disdainfully. "I think it's time for you to see how it feels to be the property of women!"

With that final utterance, his fate was sealed. Madame Ingrid and Maxine grasped him firmly, one at each side, and ushered him down the alley as he thrashed and wriggled to break free. Their living space was close by, and his muffled shouts of
rage went unheard as they found their way to the door, and then inside.

"Honey, we're home!" Madame Ingrid dissolved into peals of vicious laughter as she locked a first, second and third deadbolt. "No escaping now, is there pig?"

The man thrashed about more, but now the Mistress and Maxine needn't be so polite. He was on their turf now, where they were in charge. Madame Ingrid's stiletto heeled boot connected sharply with his shin.

"Quit moving, pig!"

A muffled grumble that sounded a bit too much like "Fuck you, bitch" could be heard through the gag. Maxine was having none of this. Her hand connected sharply with his face, creating a loud slapping sound that reverberated down the hallway. She liked the way that this sounded, so she slapped him a second, third and fourth time, becoming more forceful with each twitch of her delicate wrist.

"Oh, look," the Mistress cackled, "it looks like the piggie is getting sunburn on his face!"

"Better cool it off, then," Maxine chuckled. She worked up a sizeable gob of phlegm and spat in his face. "Listen to that sizzle! Fry, little piggie, fry!" She spat again, as the pig's face reddened even more. His grumbles and groans became more pronounced, almost discernable through the gag.

"You know, I think I'd like to hear what this little sex offender has to say," the Mistress contemplated. "Maxine, why don't we take him downstairs, get him comfortable and let him explain himself to us?"

"That sounds like an exquisite idea," Maxine concurred, a malicious smile spreading across her fair, pretty face.