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In the small holding cell of the Fort St. John police station, it was unexpectedly quiet — too quiet for a place where shifts, raids, and other people’s mistakes usually end. She sat on a narrow bench, knees pressed together, palms resting on top of them, and with genuine pleasure examined how her heavy breasts, pulled tight by a thin mesh, pushed out between the straps. The corners of her lips stretched into a wide, almost childlike smile — from the awareness of the absurdity and from the way this body felt: the weight, the pressure, the constant reminder of itself with every breath.
‘Fuck… they’re really mine now,’ the thought flashed through her mind, and her fingers pressed a little harder into her thighs, feeling the smoothness and softness of her skin, watching how the mesh top cut into it, how her breasts swayed ever so slightly with each breath.
She had come to her senses about five minutes ago, at first not realizing where she was and muttering something angrily under her breath. But she immediately fell silent when she heard how strange her voice sounded. She understood everything in that very moment, and all the questions that had popped up in her head instantly went quiet.
The lock clicked.
The metal door slid aside, and she, leaning forward slightly, smiled even wider as she looked at the man in uniform who appeared in the doorway.
Tall, young, but with obvious signs of what people call “attractive carelessness” when talking about those whom nature has gifted with model-like looks. But Officer Ryan McKenzie was not one of them. On him, the stubble, the messy hair, and the slightly sleepy look would make a sane woman feel uneasy rather than tempted to flirt.
Taking a sip of freshly brewed coffee, he scanned the cell as if trying to find someone else in there besides this girl, who kept staring at him with a wide smile.
Ryan squinted, took another sip, and finally looked at her.
— Good morning, officer, — she drawled with the same wide grin, then immediately coughed, laughed, and tried to force her voice lower — Or maybe… like this… UGH! Haha. Still sounds like a fucking mouse!
Her laughter filled the walls of the cell, as if someone had suddenly turned an old radio up to full volume — bright, slightly raspy, but absolutely genuine, without a trace of fear or shame.
Ryan winced and leaned back a little, as if the sound had hit him physically.
— Knock it off, — he said curtly. — This isn’t a club.
She was still chuckling, wiping the moisture that had come from coughing from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. The smile didn’t go anywhere, it just became more crooked, more alive.
— Sorry, — she breathed out. — It’s just… — she waved her hand through the air, as if trying to catch an explanation, — I didn’t expect this to be so… funny.