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1 ANCHOR POINT

FEEDING FANTASIES
by
Jim Stewart

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This began as a magazine article. Then, to illustrate my topic, I wrote the leading character in a popular TV series into an episode which involved police constable HAMISH MACBETH in a situation which really pushed my buttons and got my juices flowing.

THE ARTICLE:
Hollywood, the dream factory, has been feeding our sexual fantasies for generations. From Clare Bow, via Marilyn Monroe to Sharon Stone (or whoever); from the young Brando, James Dean and thousands of studs since, men and women have creamed their jeans or wet their knickers over images fed into their minds.
The process of constructing an erotic fantasy is something a lot of us do naturally and regularly.
We build our personal turn-on situations out of whatever images/activities appeal to us, drawing on a variety of sources. This erotic scenario building is like being the writer and director of our own personal movie. The process has been called 'The Theatre of the Mind's Eye'. If we choose we can also play a leading role or just sit back and be the audience. Who hasn't superimposed faces from the movies or TV onto their everyday sexual imaginings?
The casting couch is now in our living rooms. With TV and video recorder we can pump up a face, figure or dramatic character and mentally involve them in a scenario of our own choosing, commanding whoever we select to take part in our wildest fantasies.
Quite often, a situation we've seen in a movie or read in a book is the starting point for our fantasy - but we then develop the action according to our personal taste.
As an example of the way we feed our lustful imaginings; last week I found myself mentally hijacking two leading actors from a popular TV series, and forcing them to re-route the plot into a lurid sexual situation which involved all my favourite turn-ons

HAMISH MACBETH:
This self-sufficient, introspective, pot smoking policeman in a small West Highlands village is already fantasy fodder for a lot of nice respectable TV viewers. A lean and physically fit thirty-something with a tough streetwise Glasgow background, he has settled for a quieter outdoor life as a country copper.
I fancied seeing Hamish Macbeth being sexually challenged and jumped through a few unexpected hoops.

THE STORY SO FAR :
Currently Police Constable Hamish's sex life is nonexistent because previous girlfriend Isobel is working permanently in Glasgow, and the local girl who was his true love died during the previous series.

The 'situation' that sparked my imagination:
Suddenly, Hamish's easy-going, resolutely solitary existence in his untidy bachelor home-come-village police station is thrown into chaos. An inexperienced police woman from Glasgow has been assigned to join him for a week to study small community policing.
When the eager to learn young probationer, Ann Ellis, arrives she is not only very attractive but has the hots for sexually frustrated Hamish as soon as she sees him. Because the village police house has only one bedroom, Hamish has planned to bed down for the week in the seldom used holding cell on the premises. She moves into his bedroom and things soon get very tense around the house-cum-police station. A couple of semi-undressed close encounters contrived by eager-to-please PC Ellis threaten to seriously complicate Hamish's life.
Each evening he determinedly stays out late on invented 'personal business' so's not to lead either of them into temptation - because her daddy just happens to be Police Commissioner Ellis. Any sexual dalliance could lead to either career problems or promotion. And Hamish wants neither.

HAMISH GETS HOOKED
A plot development by Jim Stewart

After a restless night on his jail cell bunk, plagued with erotic dreams of black stockinged, tightly uniformed police nymphets, Hamish decides that a five mile run and dip in the loch in the cold dawn light might cool him down. He dresses in sweats and trainers and sneaks from his cell, but at the door he's confronted by daddy's girl eager to flex a few muscles. Dressed in loose fitting sweats with nothing underneath she is hot to trot.
During the first mile as she outlines her determination to succeed in the force, Hamish is aware of the outline of her breasts bouncing unharnessed under their soft covering. He hots up the pace and she relishes the challenge, glowing with pride as she chats about her enjoyment of the rigours of training college. She asks if he takes a morning swim and is game for a plunge. He insists that the water is too deep. With sweat making both their tracksuits cling, she paces Hamish up hill and down dale as they head for home. She says she wants him to respect her as a policewoman and is determined to prove that women can be as efficient as men in the Force.

#MACBETHcuffing

Back at the modest cottage come police station, as they mop off, she continues to insist on the necessity for women being able to handle themselves in physically violent situations. She complains that in her recent unarmed combat training the men didn't give women opportunity to prove themselves. She tells Hamish how unfair the men were, for example, with handcuff training. Her cuffs are there, she asks Hamish if he thinks she could cuff him even if he seriously tried to resist.Exhausted from his run and distracted by her physical presence he is noncommittal, but she is hyped and insists she could cuff him against his will. Before he can tactfully avert the situation, she has grabbed him by the sweats, turned him round and slammed him against the wall. On a roll she is kicking his feet apart and shouting that he should put his hands up the wall. When he hesitates she pulls him back and slams him against the wall more painfully. As he tries to reason with her he does as she repeatedly orders. The Speedcuffs click around one wrist and it is twisted down into the middle of his back. In spite of his protests she drags the other arm down and connects with the cuff. As the procedure ends she is elated and steps back.
Hamish painfully moves his feet together before turning round to face her. He is glowering with rage but when they both realise that his prick is rigid as a tent-pole he is reduced to silent embarrassment. She laughs breathlessly. "You see! I know how to get my own way. I knew I could do that. And I could get you to the cell, even if you resisted. Do you think I could, Hamish?"
He shakes his head and is about to object when she yells; "Damn you, Hamish Macbeth!! All I want is for you to see that I'm good at my job. I can handle myself. I need a chance to prove myself. I'm not just here because of who my father is. So, you are going to the cell, like it or not".
Hamish's refusal dies on his lips as she arm-locks, bends him over and frogmarches him along the corridor despite his protests.
At the open cell door she pushes him inside and stays outside, but does not close the door; "I want you to respect me, Hamish."
He remains with his back to her, his sweats clinging to his damp body.
"Do you respect me, Hamish?" she insists.
He does not move, so she adds sharply; "Turn round and look at me, damn it".
He turns round and his nob still sticks out against his damp track suit.
"Is that a sign of respect, Hamish?"
He does not answer and she moves towards him. "Is it?" she demands.
He refuses to speak and she grabs his rigid cock with a firm grip, lifting and twisting it slightly; "Is it a sign of respect, constable Macbeth?"
Eventually he answers "Yes!"
Still holding it "Yes what, constable Macbeth"? she demands.
He is uncomfortable rather than in pain, "Yes what?" he asks.
"Yes, constable Ellis. I am your colleague and would like to be your equal. Indulge me, constable Macbeth? Give me opportunity to prove that I could be your equal? An equal match for you?"
He remains silent, so her grip turns into a stroke of his penis. He squirms.
"I think I could make you say and do a lot of things, constable Macbeth?"
He doesn't reply so with a sudden grip she again lifts; "Couldn't I, constable Macbeth?!"
"Yes."
She lifts higher "Yes, what!?"
"Yes, policewoman Ellis."
She corrects him, "Police constable Ellis!"
Stepping back through the cell entrance she closes the barred door.
"Humour me, Hamish. I'm used to getting my own way. But I need to know I can get it even against strong resistance. So you will be doing me a favour if you put up a good fight."
She turns the key and takes it from the lock. "Don't go away," she added jauntily as she walked away.
Hamish is left to sweat. It drips from his nose but with hands cuffed behind his back, he can only blow it off.

*****

When Ellis returns she is dressed in her trim uniform with full belt equipment including her side-handle baton and carries her leather gloves and some rope. She drops the rope and produces the baton: "Face the wall." He doesn't move. "You know the procedure. Face the wall or I don't open the door."
Silently he turns to face the wall. "Spread your legs." He complies. She unlocks the cell door and gently inserts the baton down behind the handcuffs. Before Hamish realises what she is doing the baton side-handle is hooked below the cuffs and the stem of the baton is pressing upwards between his legs which also pushes down on the handcuffs. She draws him backwards until he is outside the cell. She withdraws the baton and gently pokes him in the back with the end of it; Dangerous these new truncheons, but very efficient. Turn round slowly."
As he does so he sees that the end of the stick is aimed at his stomach and ready to jab if he makes a rash move. Nothing is said but the situation is clear.
"Now you are going to indulge me but I want it clear that if I give you the opportunity to resist, you will. Agreed?"
"Yes - police constable Ellis."
She smiles. "In the circumstances I have decided to give myself a promotion. Sergeant Ellis." She nods, inviting agreement.
"Yes, Sergeant Ellis."
"Have you ever been jabbed in the gut with one of these sticks?"
"No - Sergeant Ellis."
"But you've done it to a few people."
"Yes, Sergeant Ellis."
"I'm glad you've decided to play along."
"Do I have any choice?"
"No, so you can do it with a clear conscience. Indulge me. Put it down to my whatever the opposite of a deprived childhood is. Back up against the bars, Macbeth."
With the end of the stick she guides him until his cuffed hands are against the bars next to the door.
"Spread your legs." He complies. "Wider." The baton hovers dangerously close to his crotch as she reaches for the rope.
Keeping the baton within striking distance she walks into the cell and again hooks the baton through the bars and behind the handcuffs. The main stem of the baton is under his crotch as before. He stands firm with his back against the bars. A leather belt lies on the bunk with Hamish's other clothes. Without releasing the baton she picks up the belt. Suddenly, it is around his neck before he can make any counter move. She carefully buckles the belt twice around the bars and his neck, not tightly, but with feet apart and hands cuffed behind, he is helpless.
She gently massages the baton backwards and forwards under his crotch from behind.
"Indulge me, Hamish. Have you ever fantasised about being dominated and powerless. Have you ever in your life been so powerless, Hamish? No decisions to make? No choices."
Leaving the baton where it is, she kneels and loops rope around his ankle. The wrinkled white sweat-sock above the muddy trainer is pulled tighter to the iron bar of the cell. The rope is then run to the other ankle which is similarly restrained.
She comes out of the cell and faces Hamish. The baton is sticking out under his crotch. She fondles it as though it were his penis; "Do you still respect me, Hamish?" She lifts the stick until it is quite painful.
"No!"
"No?" She smiles, mildly amused. "You don't respect me?"
He shakes his head.
"Hamish, are you just saying that to test me? To find out if I can make you respect me?"
"Look Ann ..." A resounding slap across the face cuts him short.
"Look, who?"
Resignedly he agreed, "Sergeant Ellis."
"Better. How long is it since you've been punched in the gut, constable Macbeth? Punched hard in the gut? I've developed a mean punch, but so far only used it against a solid leather punch bag. I'm looking for experience, constable, and I want you to help me gain experience. I've admired your expertise. I have admired the way you carry yourself in the community. The people have respect for you. I have respect for you. Now, I want you to have respect for me. Then we can be equals. Then we can be well matched - a good team - a good pair. You'd like that wouldn't you, constable. Tell me you'd like that. Tell me you'd enjoy us doing things together. I know you would. You've tried to hide it but I know you'd like it."
Her lips have been approaching his and it is impossible for him to move his head aside. The lips brush his and she begins to unbuckle the belt. As soon as his neck is free his lips move towards hers but she draws back slightly, making him strain forward. She hangs the belt behind her neck to leave her hands free, before beginning to massage his stomach and chest. Tied only by his spread ankles, he strains towards her. She begins to lift his tracksuit top exposing naked flesh. Her hands roam under it and move upwards. Gradually she eases the fabric up and in one move lifts it over his head to behind his neck. She continues to massage his chest and fondle his nipples as he strains towards her.
Suddenly she replaces the belt around his neck and the bars with his shirt trapped behind his head and his chest totally exposed. He groans in frustration as she buckles the belt clamping his head back against the bars. But, keeping her face close to his, she touches his lips with her fingers; "Have you ever been gagged, constable?"
Suddenly anxious, "No!"
"No you haven't?"
"No."
"Not ever? Not even in fun? Even out on a Stag Night or Rugby Club piss-up?"
Hamish confirms, "No!"
She moves to get her leather gloves. "You haven't lived. Open your mouth."
He doesn't. She continues reasonably; "I can make you. Do you believe that?"
No response.
"Be a sport. Open up."
She teases his mouth with the folded gloves. "Trust me."
Warily he opens his mouth and she lays the folded gloves across his teeth; "Close, and don't let them drop."
He grips the gloves with his teeth as she begins to tweak and twists his nipples. He groans. She applies her lips to a nipple and his groans become sharp cries into the gloves.
"Shushh! Don't want to disturb the neighbours."
Her hand roams down his stomach and inside his sweatpants. He moans with pleasure. The moans increase but suddenly end in a muffled yelp.
"Don't lose it, Macbeth. If you lose it I shall be very very disappointed. I shall be very angry. So, don't lose it. But, just in case, where do you keep your condoms?"
She removes the gag but he just stares at her.
"Where do you keep your condoms?"
He is embarrassed. "You're not going to pretend you don't keep a stock."
"Medicine Cabinet in with the burn dressings. I put them out of the way while you were visiting," he admitted ruefully.
"Best laid plans!" she smiles, as she replaces the gloves across his mouth and walks into the cell. From behind she suddenly loops rope across his mouth and ties the gloves efficiently and firmly into place. She then returns to face him and pats his cheek, saying; "Just in case you change your mind."
Again she leaves him to sweat.
When left alone he speculates desperately. Suddenly he hears a knock at the front door. He panics and writhes in his restraint but remains totally helpless.

*****

Ann returns with condoms and a couple of other items.
"Some woman from the church. Wanted to know if you would help with a social on the 28th. I told her you would. She asked where you were but I didn't tell her you were somewhat tied up. I think she might have taken me literally." She winks at him facetiously. "How you doing, Macbeth? Hanging in there?" She gropes under his balls, playfully. "Yes you are hanging in there - and still being respectful." Looking him full in the face, she added; "I think it's time for the unveiling."
She snaps the elastic on his jockstrap. "You show me yours and I might show you mine - nudge nudge, wink wink. I've spent almost a year putting up with chauvinistic station-house sexist shit. It feels great to have the boot on the other foot. Talking about boots on other feet, I found these upstairs."
She produces a pair of his heavy climbing boots which dangle heavily from long laces.
"I think I'd like to see these hanging from your scrotum."
She drops them with a weighty thud. He flinches.
"And this," she produces an old fashioned bobby's wooden truncheon, "it's amazing how phallic they are. I guess the handle end with all these knobbly bits could find its way into your rectum - with a little help from this." She produces a tube of K Y.
Hamish can not even shake his head because of the belt around his neck and rope holding the gag which also fixes his head to the bars.
"I am going to rape you, constable Macbeth; Maybe impale myself on you and let you do your worst - or best as circumstances permit; maybe impale you on this truncheon and then get you so horny you'll screw yourself. Maybe I shall drain you a couple of times and make you drink it while keeping a heavy weight swinging backwards and forwards from your balls. And you know what, constable, you may hate it at the time but you're going to get off on it for years after the event."
Hamish mumbles unintelligibly into his gag.
"Don't worry, we won't be disturbed. I told the old biddy you were busy trying to crack a computer problem and didn't want to be interrupted. And I put the answering machine on, saying we'd be back later tonight but in an emergency they could page us."
She ceremoniously places the pager alongside the KY and phallic truncheon, then moves the alarm clock into prominent view; "That gives us about eight hours until supper, all being well. Who knows what mood we'll both be in at that point with the whole night still ahead of us. You will probably be nicely mellow. If you're sensible, you'll accept what happens as inevitable, and put it down to experience. Who knows, you may end up asking for more after supper."
She begins to methodically peel off her uniform.
"Do you think I could get you to a point where you are begging for more? Our Controller sent me here to pick up some practical experience. He talked about hands on experience in the field. Told me you could show me a few tricks. And I'd like that Hamish. I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."
She has removed her bra and now rubs her breasts against his naked chest. Her hands slowly begin to slide his pants and jockstrap down over his hips. She pushes them down to his knees, which brings her face level with his crotch - but she then stands up and smiles into his face.
"My week's up the day after tomorrow and you'll never see me again. That is, unless you want to. Glasgow's not that far away but for the next eight or sixteen hours, Hamish, you are mine. And, if you play your cards right, I can be just as totally yours. Imagine that, constable Macbeth."
She releases the rope on his gag.
He makes a decision and indicates that he is intentionally keeping the gloves between his teeth.
She nods her approval.
"You're fit and in good shape. I'm newly trained to peak condition and ready to prove myself. Imagine! Just imagine the possibilities."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Because your likes and dislikes probably differ from mine, I've left you to chose your own food for fantasy from this point onwards ...

THE END

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