Missy Buskins is an older woman, with sensual, expressive lips, long, curly golden-blonde hair, and the breasts of a goddess. I have slept with her a hundred times times in the last five years, in her big cabin up on the mountain above town, by a modest fire, wrapped in miles of blankets, nothing between us but warmth. We have spent hours petting each other, fingering each other, eating each other to the point of orgasm.

I love to fall alseep cradled tightly by this motherly, protective woman. The fact that she's a mall cop and I'm a chronic shoplifter and molly user, an anarchist, her natural enemy in every sense, does not change our relationship. I think I'm in her will. If I found out I was dying of cancer, she would probably be in mine. This is the story of how Missy Buskins became the love of my life, the woman I would want to marry.

I was just old enough to consent the first time Missy had her way with me. The year was 1998, I had turned eighteen the month before, and I was working at a McDonalds and stealing to have money for weed and Molly.

The first time was in the back room at the little mall in our Alaskan town, because she thought she had seen me sell a joint in the crowded food court. She had walked up beside me ten minutes later as I went to leave the mall, put a large, gentle hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. "Don't make a scene. You're coming with me now, is that understood?" Her cadence was firm, but there was warmth to her voice as well. She walked beside me to a little unmarked door, punched in the code "3411" on the panel above the knob, and opened it for me. I went inside.

It was like plenty of little back rooms, mostly rolling shelves full of office supplies. There was a cheap receptionist's desk crudely crammed into one half of it. An IBM typewriter sat on the desk, as well as a box marked "examination stuff."

I was a little scared, but I decided to play it up and maybe she'd let me go. "Don't you h-have to read me my ruh-rights?"

She was a hefty but decently fit woman, with sizable breasts and ample hips that have since caressed my ass in bed so many times... but I get ahead of myself. She wore a pretty generic mall cop uniform, dress shirt, bomber jacket, slacks and black shoes... the works. Handcuffs and a flashlight hung at her belt. Her hair was pulled harshly back. "No," she said. "I'm not a police officer. I work for a private security company. By coming in this room, you just forfeit all your rights. Now let's not beat around the bush." She grabbed me by the hips and, with surprising strength, lifted me up and sat me down on the desk. "You are being detained under suspicion of selling marijuana on mall property."

"Marijuana?" I said. I was playing dumb, but I was really intimidated. She was much bigger than me and clearly a good bit stronger.

"I could list synonyms, but suffice it to say, what I witnessed in the food court at 3:11 PM today was a federal crime. Now, I don't want to see a pretty thing like you in federal prison, so I'm going to give you a good cavity search and unless I find a lot of stuff, I might just let you go."

"Cavity search?"

"Deep cavity search. Consider it a sort of unofficial punishment. You slip up in my mall again, it gets worse."

"I don't---!"

She clamped her hand over my mouth. "Undress."

I understood my position. I undressed but tried to look defiant as I pulled my jacket, shirt and bra off. I turned around and pulled down my jeans and panties. When I turned back around, she was there, eyeing me up and down very oddly. I noticed her eyes lingered on my pussy. I think I got a little hot and wet down there--my first inkling ever that I might like women more than men.

Luckily, she wouldn't find anything. I had given that meathead from the high-school football team the last of my ganja. She turned me around with a firm grip on my shoulders and then put a palm on my back and smoothly, firmly forced me down until my tits were touching the desktop. "Stay there."

She got out gloves and a tub of vaseline from the box. Soon I felt a gloved, lubed finger pressing at my tight, clenched asshole.

"Open or I will take my shoe off."

Nothing happened. I couldn't open. I had had anal once--it had hurt and the boy had tried to jam his thing in farther than it could go.

I heard her do something behind me. Suddenly, she spanked me hard. There was a burning feeling as blood rushed back to the area she had hit with her big black shoe. The finger returned and somehow I let it slip in. It went as deep as the boy had managed to get, and then it started probing around--up, down, left and right. I moaned.

She bent down to me with her finger still inside, and in a gruff whisper asked "do you like that?"

There was something thrilling about it, actually--the wrongness of it. "No ma'am. I mean... yes, ma'am." Funny, I don't call anyone ma'am.

"We'll have to make your punishment worse then. Unless you want to go to the police station now."

"No, ma'am."

"Good."

Next, she put on a different glove and probed around in my pussy, deeper and deeper until she had three fingers up inside me. She rolled me over forcefully on the desk and then stuck her glove thumb in my pussy, and with her index finger she found my clit and started messing with it. She knew what not to do to a clit, and she did it. It was all I could do to keep from screaming.

"Nothing so far. I have no choice but to go deeper."

It was 1987. I had never heard the word "fisting." But when she formed her hand into the shape, I knew where it was going. She pulled a bottle of something called KY Jelly out of the box and drizzled it all over her gloved hand. She didn't immediately start trying to put it in. Instead, she walked over to a small radio on the rolling shelf and turned it on. It was a soothing tune... I later learned it was called "Time After Time."

Then she forceably rolled me over so that my back was on the desk.

"Legs in the air."

I raised my legs like I was about to get fucked, but oddly it felt more like I was about to have a diaper put on me.

I thought I was going to break in half. I'd been fucked in the pussy three times by three different boys. None of them were as big as her hand, and none of them were shaped like it--three fingers first, then thumb and pinky, forming a loose cone. She wasn't forceful enough to tear anything, but I thought she had. It went in and she fucked my pussy with her whole hand. I moaned.

"None of that. Keep very quiet."

I bit my tongue, but the pain was incredible. Finally, she went in further until she couldn't any more. I felt like my whole body was full of her hand and forearm.

And then, almost easily, she pulled out. I felt like my pussy was ruined forever. Cyndi Lauper or whoever kept singing on the radio. "The drum beats out of time..."

"Will you ever sell marijuana in my mall again?"

"No, ma'am."

"I almost believe you. I just need to do one more exam. Follow me."

She took my hand in hers. Hers was much bigger, like almost everything about her. There was a firmness but also a tenderness as she led me, naked, holding my hand, to an employees' bathroom.

There was a rack for spare rolls of toilet paper above the toilet, and from it hung something I didn't recognize. It was what I later learned was an improvised enema: half a liter plastic bottle, with the bottom cut off, turned upside-down like a funnel, hung up with a piece of a wire clotheshanger. The bottle cap had some sort of DIY seal on it that connected it to a long, skinny clear plastic or vinyl hose. At the end of the hose, it was wrapped with a blunt, oval mass of electrical tape, presumably to keep the end from being sharp. Halfway up, a big binder clip was pinching the tube at an angle.

Missy took it down. "I sterilized this before going on my rounds. It is a device for the purpose of flushing out your lower intestines. Do you understand?"

"No, ma'am."

"If I believed you were concealing a drug rectally, I'd use this to flush it out of your butt. I don't think you've been ballooning cocaine, but do you want my punishment or the federal government's?"

It was hard. I had no idea what this punishment was going to feel like, though I had some idea what it was to entail. Finally, I said "yours, ma'am."

"That's right," Missy said, taking a towel from the cabinet under the sink and spreading it next to the toilet. "Hands and knees on this towel."

I was terrified. Was that wad of electrical tape going up my ass? "Yes, ma'am" was all that came out of my mouth, though I had a thousand questions. I got down on the towel like I was ready for doggystyle, and stared at the wall. I must have looked so undignified... so undignified that it wrapped around and came back to dignified, with my set expression and sphinx-like pose. I held my back straight and level and did not stick my ass out. I did not betray that I was terrified, or at least, I don't think I did.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her fill the big funnel with water from the sink--she had waited several seconds, so I assumed it was going to be very hot or maybe very cold. Then she stepped behind me. I guess she was hanging the funnel up on the toilet paper rack above the toilet. Then came another lubricated, gloved finger. She lasciviously slid it in and out of my ass a couple of times like she was fucking it.

Then, like it was nothing, the nozzle made of electrical tape slipped inside me. And then, without a sound, she must have removed the clip. "If you expell before it's time, I will spank you and start a new enema with a higher temperature. Naughty girls get it worse than good ones."

There came a gurgling sound, and then a flood of pressure inside me, in an indescribable area encompassing ass, lower back and gut. I felt like I was about to shit myself. I felt a strange feeling, almost a cramp, as my guts were flooded with water a degree or two too hot. I wanted to push, send it all spraying out over Missy and the bathroom. I didn't, somehow.

But it didn't stop. The almost-cramping became a definite, indescribable pain, like constipation or the fading of punch in the stomach. I wanted it out. Tears came to my eyes. "Please, ma'am, you've got to let me up on the toilet. I'm going to... I'm going to..."

"If you do, young lady, I'll take off my shoe and tear you a new one. I don't like criminals demanding I do things for them."

"No, ma'am."

I noticed that my stomach was distending. I felt so full and so ready to expell that it was painful. I let out a long, low moan.

Finally, there came a gurgling sound overhead. Missy took my one arm out from under me and stood me up, which made the feeling that I was about to explode even worse.

She put me up against the wall with one hand on my right breast. "Are you going to deal marijuana in my mall again?"

"No, ma'am."

"Sit down but do not even think about expelling your enema."

She held my hand and lowered me down onto the toilet seat. Then she crouched in front of me and reached between my legs with her gloved hand. Suddenly I was conscious that she was pressing her lubed thumb up against my asshole. With a little squirt of the pressurized contents of my ass, it went in. She was plugging me up.

"Are you going to deal marijuana in my mall again?"

"No, ma'am."

"Look me in the eyes."

I did. For the first time I noticed how deep, dark and round her eyes were. I was dazed for a second. "No, ma'am. May I please...?"

"Yes." She pulled her thumb out, and in the least dignified moment of my life, I shat the contents of my bowels while making eye contact with a security guard. As I finished, I looked for her ungloved hand with my hand. I found it. She gripped my hand tightly, and her expression softened. I think for the first time she believed me.

She wrapped my in the towel and led me back to her office.

"All right, I'm letting you go. But first I want to put an adult diaper on you."

I looked at her. She was dead serious. "A lot of times, when I take an enema, for constipation or to relax, I leak for hours afterwards. I wouldn't want you having explosive diarhhea on the way home."

"Do I...?"

"Get on the desk please, miss..."

I was already on the desk with my legs in the air, waiting for a diaper. "Miss Janie Morstan."

"Officer Melissa Buskins. Do you want powder?"

Something about the gruff-but-tender, matter-of-fact way she offered to put baby powder on me was... the most lesbian thing I have ever heard.

"Yes, please, ma'am."

She took a shaker of talcum out of the box on the desk and powdered me up, spreading my vulva a little to get some in between, rubbing it down onto my asshole with a finger. Then she produced a large adult diaper and eased it under my ass. "Down," she said, simply and as a command, but not roughly. I lowered my legs. She closed the diaper and stuck the tabs together.

I got dressed. My jeans bulged a little over the diaper, but thankfully I hadn't tried to put my panties on over it. I thought about shoving them in my pocket, but instead I handed them to Officer Buskins.

She held them near her face and took a little sniff, before folding them tenderly and placing them in her jacket pocket. "Now bend over one last time," she said, as I put my shoes on. Almost automatically, I bent over the desk.

She slapped my ass, from such an angle that the diaper didn't absorb much of the blow. Still, it was not a hard spank. "Now be good," she said, and showed me out into the main promenade of the mall.

My face flushed again when I realized that the bulge in my pants was probably noticeable, but I looked back at her once and made a beeline for the exterior door at the near end of the promenade.

I got home and stripped nude, but somehow I couldn't take the diaper off. It made me feel safe, and the feeling of powder lubricating but also drying my ass and vulva made me feel... oddly... like more of a woman. I wore it to sleep that night.

The next morning, I looked up Missy Buskin's phone number in the Yellow Pages. On my ancient princess dial phone, I dashed off the numbers as quick as I could, before I thought better of it. The ringing tone was loud in my ear.

"Hello?" that stern, motherly voice said.

"This is the girl you punished yesterday. When can you do it again?"