Sleeping on the job

I had a particularly horrible dream last night, brought on, no doubt, by reading a crime thriller before going to sleep. I won’t go into details of that, but I was a police constable helping investigate serial murders.

Instead of focussing on the bad bits, I would prefer go remember the detective sergeant I was driving around, who was a) handsome, b) stern.

Although nothing of the sort happened in the dream, I’m pretty happy to imagine sitting in the car with him during a stake-out, only to feel myself drifting to sleep. A great icy splash of water in my face would let me know that the DS hadn’t failed to notice my indiscretion.

“Do you need help staying awake?” he would demand. “I’ll help you stay awake! Get out of the car and put your hands on the roof!”

“Ohh, sir…” I would whine, knowing exactly where this was going.

“Don’t you ‘sir’ me. Do what you’re told.”

At least he’d have had the mercy to not have all our colleagues listening to this on their radios.

I would slouch out of the car and stand there in the muggy summer heat, hands on the roof, my backside out. He would slide his belt out of the loops of his suit trousers, and measure it across my seat.

Teeth gritted, I would take six quick, thuddy licks of the doubled-over belt, hissing after each one. Any trace of sleep would be elliminated from my hitherto foggy mind.

“Awake?” the DS would ask.

“Yes, sir,” I would grind out through my teeth.

“Back in the car, then, and keep your eyes peeled.”

…And none of this would have helped the baddies get away, of course, because they would have waited till my spanking was over. So there.