Part 2 of this story was developed from cc's "My ENF Fantasy" -- with his blessing. Alert readers will notice that that portion centers about one of cc's favorite plot devices. KARMA by C. Lakewood Part 1 Road Trip The Hon. Cassandra Sheridan leaned back in her executive desk chair and, through slitted eyes, regarded her young PA tidying up after the end-of-session conference. Cherie Roth was young, trim, and toned -- and her buttocks wobbled just enough under her modest mini-skirt to hint at how they would look naked and sweating, being worked over with a dog whip. She was bright and ambitious and inclined to be rather arrogant toward underlings, but that made the fantasy that much sweeter. A morsel such as Cherie was one of the perks of being a state senator, Cassandra thought, wistfully, and not being able to utilize her the way she should be was one of drawbacks. God! the senator reminisced, what a wonderful time she'd had last year on that "fact-finding" visit to Thailand, away from prying reporters and paparazzi.... She involuntarily licked her lips as she remembered those tight teenaged bottoms and the precise, parallel red stripes she'd decorated them with. She wriggled in her fancy chair; the crotch of her panties was growing damp, as it always did when she thought of that trip. And going around doing commonplace things with her cunt drooling into her panties always made her feel delicious -- as long as nobody discovered it, of course. (After all, she mustn't tarnish her image as straitlaced but compassionate, an image that had served her well. It was ironic that, because of it, she had sponsored the bill to severely restrict the right of local authorities to employ corporal punishment.) Well, she was about to go away for the summer recess. It would be only an RV trip into the Southwest, but she was thinking that she might well "get lucky" out in Nevada. "Okay, Cherie, that's good enough. Lock up the confidential papers, and let the cleaning crew deal with the rest. You can leave anytime. Have a good vacation, and I'll see you in two months." "Thank you, Senator. Bye." Cherie closed the safe, twirled the dial, and exited, gratefully. As her office door was closing behind Cherie, Cassandra was already at her second (and secret) safe. Keeping her driver's license, a couple of keys, and a thick wad of cash, she stashed her wallet, jewelry, Louis Vuitton purse, Patek Philippe watch, prop Kawasaki rimless glasses, and designer cell phone. She closed the safe and left her office with an air of expectation. She took a cab to where she'd parked her nondescript RV and efficiently went about modifying her appearance in order to foil the snoopers who were always lurking about. First, she dyed her light brown hair auburn and re-styled it. She hoped and expected to get naked during the trip -- perhaps often -- and so contemplated dying her sparse pubic hair, too, which was now an unlikely contrast. But, faced with the work involved and the uncertainty of the resulting color, in the end she just sighed and shaved it off. She was fairly happy with the look of her body (that she worked so hard to maintain), though she did wish her breasts were bigger, her abs tighter, and her butt smaller. She dressed in a t-shirt, mini-skirt, and sandals (instead of her usual power suit and heels) and finished off with minimal makeup and a lighter-than-usual shade of lipstick. In the end, she was well-pleased. Even close scrutiny was unlikely to recognize this casual tourist for the up-and-coming politician she'd been half an hour earlier. She also looked a few years younger -- early 30s perhaps. Before getting under way, she spread a towel on the driver's seat (a wise precaution, as it turned out). ****************************** She'd been on the road for little more than three hours -- and had still not reached the state line -- when she turned off the interstate and, a few minutes later, pulled into the "Robert LeRoy Parker Memorial Camp Ground." There was plenty of daylight left, and she had originally planned to get a great deal farther on, but her fantasies had been interfering with her driving, her crotch was a swamp, and she just had to find a place to park (at length) so that she could masturbate. The area itself was full of woodsy charm and practically deserted, but she thought most of the other campers she did see might have been named "Cletus" and "Brandine" or "Clampett." In addition, the office building was a shack, staffed by a hick airhead wearing the name-tag "Brittanee," who turned out to be barely computer semi-literate. As the girl fiddled interminably with her PC, Cassandra slumped lower and lower in her chair, unmindful of how much the hem of her mini-skirt was riding up. She was normally hypocritically modest in public, but her mind was occupied just then with attempting to conceal her irritation toward Brittanee and with trying to keep a lid on her growing need to masturbate. But, unused to being thwarted, she was practically beside herself with repressed rage by the time the girl finally accessed the proper form. "First name?" Brittanee asked. "Cherie," Cassandra lied smoothly (though she couldn't have explained even to herself why she was using her PA's name rather than some entirely fictitious alias). Click-click-click-click-click-click. Click. "Middle?" "En-em-eye." Brittanee looked up, incredulous. "Your middle name is 'Enema'?" Cassandra had to remind herself to maintain a cool demeanor, as she did when faced with nosy reporters or dimwitted colleagues. "No. Not 'Enema.' N...M...I.... No...Middle...Initial." Brittanee blinked and then, several seconds later, nodded. Click. "Last?" "Roth." Click-click-click-click. Click. "License...." "Look," Cassandra interrupted. "I'm sooo tired. I'll pay you in advance, in cash, right now -- and even include a tip if we can let the rest of that go until later. What do you say?" "'Tip' turned out to be the magic word. ****************************** Minutes later, Cassandra had found her assigned space near the edge of the woods, parked, and retreated to the depths of her RV. There she stripped naked, started an appropriate fantasy rolling in her head, and got to work. She used only the lightest, will-o-the-wisp touch, however, for, as much as she had anticipated this, she didn't want to cum too quickly.... ****************************** She was well into the fantasy, playing both the "D" and the "s," when a distraction gradually intruded...which turned out to be a raucous car horn...right outside. She was trying to ignore it, when it stopped -- and was replaced, a moment later, by an insistent pounding on the side of the RV. Scowling, Cassandra huddled into a robe a opened the door a crack. She discovered a skinny yokel with a homemade haircut, jug ears, a scraggly moustache, and a severe overbite. "That there's ahr spot ya'll's parkin' in, lady," he drawled. "Let me dress," Cassandra said, aloud. (To herself, she said, "FUCK-ING RIDGERUNNERS!" and gave thanks that her district was in the urbanized northeastern part of the state, where there were few of the hillbillies who were so common hereabouts.) She threw on her clothes and pocketed some some money (in case a further "tip" became necessary). As an afterthought, she hid her driver's license and the rest of her cash in the secret compartment under the front seat. Then, wearing a disdainful expression, she stalked off to straighten out a few people. ****************************** Part 2 Ups and Downs It took a while to sort out Brit-ta-nee and the hillbilly interlopers, and, throughout, Cassandra was boiling inside. But she managed to maintain an icy exterior, even though she showed little restraint in ladling out venom onto everyone in sight. Afterward, still keyed up, she took a walk in the woods to unwind. It was pleasant there; she was surrounded by a variety of natural fragrances and even heard the occasional chattering of a bird. But it was also a hot day, even in the shade, for there was not much breeze in among the trees. So, while she was cooling off mentally, she was heating up physically. And, by the time she spied the clearing with its fair-sized pond, she was really beginning to sweat. It was so tranquil...deserted. All the damn hillbillies seemed miles away.... She briefly considered going back to the RV and fetching a towel and swimsuit, but decided that would be too much bother -- she was a state senator, after all. Feeling invincible, she daringly stripped off her clothes, piled them neatly under a gnarled dogwood, and waded out into the lake, with no more than a token glance about. She lowered herself neck-deep into the sun-dappled water and sighed contentedly as the last of her tension drained away. She sighed again -- with more than contentment this time -- and let her fingers spider-walk down across her erect nipples...and then farther down...to forage between her legs.... Hairless and underwater, her cunt felt so different. It was like she was fondling -- and being fondled by -- someone else entirely. It was delicious, and she prolonged it until her long-delayed orgasm at last overwhelmed her. And then she did it again. And again. ****************************** Pleasantly fatigued, she paddled about for a bit, then moved up onto the far bank, stretched out in a patch of fragrant clover...and dozed off. When she awoke, it was obviously late afternoon; the sun was sinking. Wasting no time, she swam back toward the twisted dogwood and scrambled up the low bank to where she'd left her things.... GONE! ****************************** There followed a few minutes of panic, in which Cassandra scurried about, searching places her clothes couldn't possibly be: under small stones, behind saplings.... She finally collapsed in a muck-sweat, panting, crouched with her arms wrapped around her, her eyes tightly shut (as if that would conceal her). At length, she managed to overcome her hysteria enough to get herself moving back toward the camp area and the safety of her RV. But the woods, which had been so welcoming earlier, had now turned menacing, sinister, oppressive. The trail seemed lined with whippy branches that flogged her legs and bottom as she passed. The leaf-mold littering the ground made footing treacherous. And there were frequent and inexplicable noises.... Most of all, she was terrified by the risk of being caught out here naked and becoming tomorrow's headline. The closer she got to the main camp area, the more people were about, and the more she had to take cover. She wound up worming her way tortuously through the tall weeds, the warm foliage tickling her belly, butt, nipples, and cunt. (And she seemed to be leaving behind a trail of pussy-juice that even a coon-hound with Alzheimer's could have followed with ease.) But she eventually did make it back to where she'd parked her RV.... And it, too, was GONE. ****************************** Part 3 The Arm (and Fingers) of the Law After another timeout for a panic-attack, Cassandra succeeded in pulling herself together yet again. As she crouched in the tall grass, her breathing slowly returned to normal, and the violent trembling became no more than an occasional twitch. She gradually realized that she had to move -- and soon -- and that helped. She planned her route over to the office hut where she'd checked in, waited until the area was clear, and then made her move. She darted from the brush where she'd hidden...across to a spectacular rhododendron...then to a spot behind a dumpster...then next to a parked car.... Then, finally, to the rear of the office shack. (As she peeped through an open window, she had the obvious passing thought, "Fucking hillbillies! Too lazy to install air conditioning....") Brittanee was gone, and, in her place there was an older woman -- mid-40s, maybe -- rather beefy, with short, salt-and-pepper hair. She was playing solitaire on the computer. Cassandra rapped on the clapboard siding. "Sssst!" she hissed, in a stage whisper. "Ma'am...miss...whatever...." Startled, the woman looked up. "Who might you be?" "My name's...um...um...Cherie...Cherie Roth. Please...please let me in. I'm all alone and have no clothes, no ID, no money, no RV...nothing. Everything I had is GONE! STOLEN!" "Stolen? From here?" "Yes! I checked in this afternoon...." The woman turned back to her keyboard. "Roth, you say?" She shook her head. "Nobody of that name is registered. What's the license number on your RV?" "How should I know THAT? There was a dimwitted girl here -- Brittanee -- she'd remember me. Ask her." The woman reached for a phone. "I will. In the meantime, you get yourself in here, where I can keep an eye on you." ************************************* Cassandra, having scurried willy-nilly into the office, was standing breathless and pigeon-toed in front the woman. "But why can't I have something -- anything -- to wear?" she whined. "Because I don't trust you, and I suspect that you're probably more manageable when you're naked. Now, stand up straight, and keep your arms at your sides. Your phoney 'modesty' is really irritating." "You have no right...." "I have more rights than you can imagine, missy. I'm an auxiliary deputy, so you just mind your manners." Just then, the office screen door banged open, and Brittanee came bounding in, giggling, "Aunt Thelma, you ack-chally caught a flasher?" Cassandra squealed, sank into a crouch, and tried to cover herself with her hands. "Okay. That does it," Thelma growled. She stepped over to Cassandra and jerked her to her feet. Cassandra lost her head. Catching Thelma off-balance, she managed to deck the heavier woman and then made a break for the door. But Brittanee had not lettered repeatedly in high school for nothing. She easily checked Cassandra into the wall and kept her pinned there until Thelma had recovered and cuffed Cassandra's wrists behind her back. "Now, then," Thelma said, taking her seat behind the desk. "You ever see this one before, Brittanee?" "Well, she WAS in here earlier...twice," the girl conceded. "The first time, she wanted to rent a space, but wouldn't give me the plate number of the RV that she SAID she had and wouldn't show me no ID.... The second time was a little later. She'd gotten into a fight with a nice family and was real snotty to them, to me, and to ever'body." Cassandra was speechless. "Okay, that's enough...for now," Thelma concluded. "I have to inform you, Jane Doe aka Cherie Roth, that you are under arrest." "No!" Cassandra gasped. "What're you charging me with?" "Public nudity and assaulting a police officer will do for starters...." Thelma looked smug. "Brittanee, hon, you look through the first aid box and see if you can't find some sort of lubricant and rubber gloves. Meantime, I'll advise the prisoner of her rights, then I'll phone the Sheriff, and THEN...I'll show you how to do a big-time cavity search...." ****************************** Cassandra was miserable. Thelma had carefully demonstrated her technique for cavity searches and had then allowed Brittanee to practice, over and over. Both were much amused to discover that their prisoner was so aroused by their treatment that her cunt was overflowing. Even so, they used plenty of lube -- and not normal stuff, either, but some sort of ointment that made her itch abominably...which in turn caused her to writhe and wriggle and rub her thighs together.... And then the two bitches would punish her legs and bottom with switches until she managed to come to "attention" again for a minute or two. And they laughed at her -- AT HER! And commented that her breasts were rather too small...and her waist rather too thick...and her rump rather too broad.... All the while, she was blushing and sweating and begging for mercy. "It's simply not fair," she thought. "I've often played an 's' -- but only in fantasies...just for fun. In real life, I'm a 'D.' Oh, god! -- how my cunt and asshole itch. Those damn bitches! I'm a SENATOR! I should be the one in control, tormenting those two yokels. But I WILL be. As soon as I get back to the capital, things'll be SO different.... "But, first, how am I going to get out of this mess? This morning, I was powerful -- but now I have NOTHING...except my wits. Maybe this Sheriff'll turn out to be a discreet and reasonable man, someone I can confide in, and who will see the advantage of having a friend in the Senate.... He and I could sip sherry and talk about law and order, both philosophically and practically. I'd lay on the charm with a trowel...and mix in promises of appropriate pork...and then, voila!" ****************************** Eventually, the Sheriff arrived and personally took charge. Cassandra considered that encouraging...at first. But he looked a lot like Victor McLaglen and seemed to have two personalities. Toward her, he was crisp, intelligent, and articulate, but, with Thelma and Brittanee, he was the personification of the red-neck good ol' boy. There was obviously more to him than met the eye, and Cassandra wondered if that would turn out to her advantage. But she wasn't at all pleased when he made her stand, naked and cuffed, out in front of the office, where she was gawked at by hillbillies, while he gossiped and drank coffee with Thelma and Brittanee. ****************************** En route to town, in the back of the Sheriff's car, Cassandra mulled over when she should reveal her true identity...and what exactly she should say when she did confess. Even though, in the car, she could speak with him one-on-one, she preferred to do it face-to-face, rather than talking to the back of his head. So she decided to wait until they were inside the Sheriff's office.... ****************************** That office, as it turned out, was virtually a porno cliché. She'd read about fictional jails arranged along these lines, but never dreamed that one might actually exist -- complete with a couple of drooling deputies, a prominently placed exam table, a large shower stall (curtainless of course), delousing equipment, a camera for mug shots...and comfy chairs for privileged spectators. She gritted her teeth as the deputies stared at her and grinned and licked their lips shamelessly. But the Sheriff eventually sent both men out on separate errands, and her chance had come. "Um...Sheriff? My-my name's not really 'Cherie Roth'...," she began. "Oh, I know who you are, Senator. I was in the gallery during the debate on your recent corporal punishment bill. You were very eloquent then, and now it's law.... At least, it WILL be law when it officially takes effect in...let's see...57 days. 'Til then, the old rules apply, and I'd be more than happy to make you intimately familiar with them." He lit a crooked black cigar. "But...I'm willing to give you a choice: you can answer the various charges -- assaulting a police officer, gross public indecency, and all the rest of it -- under your real name, with full press and TV coverage...OR...'Cherie Roth' can quietly plead guilty and accept an indeterminate sentence (which probably will work out to be...57 days). What do you say?" Shivering, "Cherie Roth" just hung her head and thought again of Thailand. ****************************** Part 4 The Prelims A quarter of a hour later, one deputy (Clevon, the more inbred-looking one) returned, with a bucket of fried chicken (extra crispy), a tub of cole slaw, a dozen doughnuts, and two quarts of malt liquor. Sheriff and deputy proceeded to chow down, while the prisoner "Cherie Roth" stood, up on the balls of her feet, with her legs spread and her hands on her head, watching them eat and listening to her stomach rumble. At last, the Sheriff lit a cigar, leaned back in his big desk chair, and told Clevon to begin processing the "fish." Clevon carried the last doughnut over to the PC, sat down, and flexed his fingers like a concert pianist. He called up a booking form and glanced at a slip of paper beside the keyboard. "First name 'Cherry' an' last name 'Roth'?" "Yes...sir," she answered. "Except that my first name is pronounced 'Sheh-ree.'" "Haw! No way. It'd be spelled different, then. 'Sides, that there's too snooty. Ah likes 'Cherry' lots better -- a good name fer a whore or a stripper. Now, movin' on.... This note don't give no middle name." "En-em...um.... No middle initial." "Age?" "Thirty-s...um...thirty-three." The Sheriff winked and blew a smoke ring. (He knew how old the senator really was.) "Add-ress?" "Well, my RV was stolen...." "Maybe. Whut's yer perm'nent add-ress?" "Oh...um...575 13th Street, Capital City." (She congratulated herself on making a fake street address out of the first five digits of her phone number; she would surely remember that, if necessary.) "Marital status?" "Single." "DEE-scription.... Hair, auburn...." He squinted at her. "Right now, that is. Whut's the REAL color, Cherry?" "L-light brown, sir." (The deputy wasn't as dense as she'd first thought.) "Eyes?" "Hazel." "Hokay. Now git yerse'f up on that there scale." Happy to break position, she hurried to obey. Clevon fiddled with the weights and then announced, "130." He measured her with a tape ("34-26-36"), and consulted the height chart on the wall ("5-7"). He circled back to the PC to enter the information, then picked up a digital camera, drawled, "Mug shots, sweetheart," and began snapping photos, both facial and full length, from a variety of angles. After that, he took her fingerprints. Back at the PC, he looked up at the Sheriff. "Whut're we chargin' her with?" "Assaulting a police officer, gross public indecency, lewd and lascivious conduct, and -- since she doesn't appear to be carrying $200 cash -- misdemeanor vagrancy," the Sheriff said. "You can look up the codes and fill 'em in later." The deputy chuckled. "Oh, Ah knows 'misdemeanor vagrancy' is 214.10 -- done filled that one in often enuf." The Sheriff, having finished his cigar, got up and ordered "Cherry" back into position. Then, standing casually off to one side, he began snapping his well-oiled strap nonchalantly, with seemingly effortless flicks of his wrist. She trembled, and sweat trickled down her vulnerable butt-crack. With each flick, the end of the strap came closer and closer, until it was giving her quivering bottom teasing kisses. "We got some others coming in bye and bye," he said. "So we'll postpone the rest of the standard processing.... But, to pass the time, Clevon, if you've got any questions -- personal questions -- for the prisoner, why you just go ahead and interrogate her." The deputy nodded. "Y'all got no beaver, girl," he said, grinning. "That there means yer lousy...or y'all's a whore...or -- prob'ly -- both. Well, we shore know how to treat whores around here...an' Ah got me some speshul stuff fer yer lice...." "I don't have...," she began. "Nah, nah," he cut her off. "Good girls is seen an' not heard...'less they bin ast a question. An' y'all wants to be a GOOD little girl, right?" SNAP! urged the strap. "Yes!" "Yes, whut, Cherry?" SNAP! "Yes, s-sir! I promise!" "Promise? Promise eezackly WHUT?" "I promise to be g-good...a good little girl, sir." "An' allus obey yer betters?" "I'll obey m-my bet-betters, sir." "That there's a real sexy mouth. Ah'll just bet y'all is real good with it. Right?" "Oh, god!" she thought, hesitating. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! "YES, SIR! Whatever you say!" "Y'all wanna use it on us?" SNAP! "Yes, sir!" "An' moan and wiggle an' show ever'body how much you LOOOVE it?" SNAP! "Yes, sir!" "An' swaller ever' last drop?" "Yes, sir! I'll swallow ALL of it!" "An' lick yer lips afterwards an' beg fer more?" "Yes, sir!" ("Oh, god!" she thought. "The idea's actually making me horny.") "Please, sir, I'll do it however you want, whenever you want...." "Like my ol' pappy used to say, 'They's no time like the present.'" ****************************** Part 5 Thelma Redux Some time later, as both the Sheriff and the deputy were enjoying cigars -- and their prisoner was back in position and desperately wanting to finger herself -- they heard a throbbing car pull up outside the station. The Sheriff straightened in his chair. "Sounds like Pete," he observed. "Now we can get back to official business." The office door opened, and the other deputy -- a big, swarthy, hook-nosed man -- entered. "Hey, Meat." Clevon nodded to the man. Cassandra/Cherie/Cherry blinked. ("Meat?" she wondered, vaguely.) "Hey," Pete answered. "Thelma'll be right along. We miss much?" "Jus' the pree-lims.... Hey, Thelma...lookin' good." The woman from the camp ground entered, now dressed in a crisp blue uniform. She smiled at the men and leered at the prisoner. Cherry cringed mentally. She felt much more vulnerable with that woman present. As if reading his prisoner's mind, the Sheriff lit a fresh cigar and gestured to Thelma. "Cherry -- the prisoner -- needs a shower. See to it, will you?" "My pleasure, Sheriff." Thelma strutted over and delivered a stinging slap to Cherry's already tenderized bottom, herding her towards the curtainless shower stall. "In there an' scrub down, fish! And do a good job...a THOROUGH job...or else somebody'll have to help you...." "Yes, ma'am!" Cherry scampered into the stall. Thelma turned the only tap, and Cherry squealed as the spray of icy water hit her. Thelma chuckled. "Better get used to cold water; hot water's for good girls." She tossed her a cake of coarse soap. "Now get busy.... Start with your hairless cunt." Cherry obediently began rubbing the soap against her crotch, though the soap didn't lather very well. "How dare that bitch refer to my 'CUNT'!" she seethed. Shivering, she looked around the room, at the lecherous yokels who would be her "betters" for the next 57 days -- the butch bitch Thelma, the treacherous Sheriff, and the cretinous deputies. (At least that pervert Brittanee, wasn't around.) She promised herself that, when she got back to the senate, they'd all pay...and pay...and pay.... Thelma interrupted her thoughts of revenge with more orders. "Do your titties now! Your nipples look like they're not as stiff as they were earlier. Scruba-dub-dub, 'til you've got 'em stiff and proud. "Now your butt! Get in there good...deep between your cheeks. Make sure you get your asshole REALLY clean...'cause we WILL be sticking our fingers up there later.... Soap up two fingers real good and then goose yourself...hard.... Yeah, in and out, in and out. Good practice for you...." After watching her prisoner finger-fuck her own asshole for several minutes, Thelma turned the shower off. "Stay in there for your delousing, fish," she ordered. Clevon leaped to his feet. "Lemme do that, Thel," he volunteered. "Well, I guess you ARE the expert...." Clevon had already hauled over the large green canister. "Turn around, Cherry.... Bend over an' spread yer butt-cheeks. Cooties like t'hide where the sun don't shine." He sprayed her asshole for a couple of minutes, then had her stand up and face front so he could work on her cunt. Her crotch and ass-crack were already burning and itching from the soap, but the potent delousing fluid made her hop up and down and whimper, "Please...oh, god, please...." "Ah thinks she LIKES it," Clevon chortled. He finished by dousing Cherry liberally all over, from head to toe. The excess fluid disappeared down the shower's floor drain, but the acrid odor lingered. Nose wrinkling, Thelma flipped a wall switch, and a ceiling exhaust fan whirred into action, vacuuming away the fumes and the humidity. After Cherry had drip-dried sufficiently, she was ordered out of the stall and into the center of the room. "Position," Thelma growled. Cherry spread her feet widely apart and put her hands on her head. There she stood, trembling under the effects of the delousing fluid. "Pee-ooo! That stuff really stinks, girl," Clevon laughed. "Burns and itches, too, they say," the Sheriff added. "Well, the smell will soon pretty much disappear, and the burning will go away, but I'm afraid the itch will stay with you a very long time. Not much you can do about that...but I'll give you a couple minutes to try...as long as you don't break position." Cherry's betters all enjoyed the sight of her wriggling and squirming in a fruitless attempt to quell the savage itch that was centered in her loins. After a bit, Thelma snapped on latex exam gloves. She said to the Sheriff, "We searched her pretty thoroughly this afternoon, Brittanee and me, and I'm willing to stipulate that she's got no contraband hidden in her hair, ears, nose, or mouth. It won't hurt none to double-check the other places, though." "Carry on," the Sheriff replied. "Okay..., 'Cherry,' Thelma said. "Lift your titties by the nipples and shake 'em. That's enough. Hands on head, now. Squat down and frog-march around the room. Stop. Cough three times and hop up and down in place. Okay. Frog-march some more." She waited until Cherry was sweating heavily and gasping for breath and then had her halt and resume the "position." "Almost time to go exploring, but you should know that there's a budget crunch on, and we're trying to save money in various ways. You're gonna have to provide your own lubrication for the cavity search.... So go ahead." Cherry regarded her blankly. Thelma raised an eyebrow. "Start 'peeling the peach,' as we sometimes say in these parts...or 'driving Miss Daisy,' or 'spanking the clam'...." Cherry continued to look befuddled. Thelma grimaced. "God! Are you thick! FIN-GER-FUCK-YOUR-CUNT! And use your left hand." The light went on at last, and Cherry obeyed -- none too happily. Her left hand moved awkwardly to her crotch, and, staring at the floor, she began playing with her clit and cunt-lips. "Look up," Thelma ordered. "Let your betters see your face as you work. And don't you dare cum without my permission. This is for economy, not for your satisfaction." They kept her at it for almost ten minutes, stopping and starting, commenting on her technique and her appearance, warning her not to cum.... Thelma finally halted her and told her to bend over, then reach back and spread her butt-cheeks. "And, like before, look at your betters." She waggled her gloved fingers. "Ready? Here we come." She slid two fingers deeply into Cherry's cunt (teasing the aroused clit in passing) and zeroed in on the swollen G-spot. "Uuunnh...," Cherry moaned. "You LIKE this," Thelma sneered and added another finger. "Don't you? Tell the truth." Cherry murmured, "Yes, ma'am, I...I li-ike it." And she DID like it. But, at the same time, she hated it. The prospect of cumming for the amusement of these twisted hicks was beyond humiliating. Revenge fantasies swirled through her brain, at odds with her mounting arousal, as Thelma's skilled fingers played her throbbing cunt and twitching asshole like a virtual concert master. "Oh...GOD! Oh, ma-ma'am.... Please...." "'Please?' 'Please' what? "Please don't make me cum...not here, not in front of them...." Thelma leaned close and hissed into Cherry's ear. "Get this straight, you pervert trash, while you're in custody, no matter how long that'll be, WE will control your orgasms. You'll cum whenever and however we want...and you won't cum when we don't want you to. It doesn't matter what you want; you have no say one way or the other. Now, cum for the boys!" Immediately, as if she were programmed, Cherry surrendered to Thelma's relentless fingers and helplessly began cumming over and over and over.... ****************************** Part 6 Work Release After a night in a cell (during which she discovered why the big deputy was nicknamed "Pete the Meat"), Cherry was given some cold, leftover chicken for breakfast and then was issued a pair of cheap flip-flops and a t-shirt emblazoned, "Robert LeRoy Parker Memorial Camp Ground." (Though tight across the chest, the shirt was long enough -- JUST long enough -- to cover her hairless cunt with about an inch to spare.) She was then reminded that she'd have to earn enough money to eventually pay for some clothes and a bus ticket back to Capital City. Therefore, instead of just being allowed to loll around her cell, she was enrolled in the work release program; she'd pick up trash and do other menial jobs at the camp ground during the day, dance at the JayBird bar in the evening, and sleep (and service the law) in her cell at night. She spent much of her sentence in a welter of rage and self-pity, but she did find ways of coping. The nights were not entirely unpleasant, for example, even though she had to shower in cold water and be deloused (renewing her crotch-itch) every night before the "conjugal visits" began. She quickly discovered that, if she were cooperative and obedient, the men could be appreciative. She found stripping demeaning -- and lap-dancing worse -- until she learned a sort of dissociative, "out-of-body" technique, in which she was able to observe the performance as if she were just another member of the audience. Towards the end, she was even imagining that the rest of the audience was made up of teenaged Thai girls, who insisted she do all sorts of wonderfully obscene things.... The days out at the camp ground were the worst. Every time she tried drifting off into fantasy-land, something would always drag her back to sordid reality. The t-shirt didn't cover much, and teenaged yokels -- both boys and girls -- followed her around for hours, ogling her. Worst of all, though, Brittanee was constantly supervising, correcting, belittling, and prompting her with a switch. Her frequent breaks were spent satisfying Thelma or Brittanee. (And she was rather surprised to find that Thelma's cunt tasted sweeter than Brittanee's.) But the day of her release did come at last. After one final delousing, she was presented with an almost diaphanous mini-skirt, a bus ticket home, and $17.87 (her earnings, after deduction of various expenses). She was allowed to keep the now rather frayed and faded t-shirt and worn flip-flops. There was one final indignity, however. The bus was "somehow" over-booked, and she had to stand up the entire trip back to Capital City. That was tiring, but otherwise didn't matter much. She was preoccupied with looking forward a few hours to the time she was safe again in her own apartment and could give her cunt the attention it was crying out for. She was so preoccupied, in fact, that she was largely oblivious to the looks -- lustful (male and some female) or disapproving (most of the female) -- she received during the whole of the trip. ****************************** Part 7 Some Ten Months Later.... There was a brisk knock on his office door, and the Sheriff looked up from his PC as Clevon entered, grinning. "We got us a visitor, Sheriff -- Cherry Roth." The Sheriff seemed more smug than surprised as she followed the deputy into the office. She was in the same outfit that she'd been wearing the last time he'd seen her. "Um...Sheriff, sir.... I find that I have a broken tail-light. Since I'm not carrying any cash...none at all...I was hoping you could direct me to an ATM or to a mechanic who'd take a credit card." "A defective car AND no cash? Well, I'm afraid that you'll have to ask Clevon to 'process' your request. And be polite." "Yes, sir, Sheriff." She nodded. Her voice was meek, but there was an undertone of excitement in it. After the two of them exited, the Sheriff leaned back in his big chair. His expression was thoughtful. At length, he turned again to his PC, called up his e-mail program, and began typing. From: Sheriff@CaneCty.gov To: Cherie_Roth@statemail.gov Subject: Identity Theft Date: 1 July 2009 Dear Ms. Roth: I have in custody a woman -- late 30s, 5'7", dyed hair, hazel eyes -- who claims to be Miss Cherie (no middle initial) Roth of Capital City. Please phone my office at your earliest convenience so that we can discuss the possibility of your visiting here to confront this woman. Together, we could also determine what additional penalties might be imposed on her....