This story was inspired by (and borrows its central character from)
Joe Doe's "Searching Sara." It occurs soon after Joe's story, but
some time before my story, "The University Health Crisis." Most of
Part 1 is largely a re-write of "Searching Sara," setting the stage
for the rest, which is my own. (In Part 4, alert readers may also
spot a character from my story, "Karma.")
SARA'S DIARY
by
C. Lakewood
Part 1
Monday, June 7th, 8 AM
Dear Diary,
It seems strange, beginning this record so late in the year,
but recent events have compelled me to do so.
I've always been what is generally known as a "good girl"
-- not quite a certified Goody-Two-Shoes prude, but near
enough...vanilla upbringing, A-student, Phi Beta Kappa, grad
school, no drugs, no pre-marital sex, no extra-marital sex,
bland and conventional marriage to an academic 16 years
older than me.... Then, when he was named president of the
university, I really became "Caesar's wife."
Maybe all this was just setting me up for what started to
unravel the 13th of last month, when Donald and I had dinner
with the Sheriff, and he told us of his plans to raid the
main girl's dorm that Sunday evening. I found it all rather
exciting, increasingly so, the more I thought about it.
And I thought about it a lot, both during and after a three
hour after-dinner conversation with the Sheriff concerning
his techniques and procedures.
******************************
Home alone the following day -- Friday -- I occupied much of it
masturbating -- though, from lack of experience, I didn't do a
very good job of it.
I spent all of Saturday and most of Sunday lounging about,
daydreaming, and drooling into my panties. Late in the
afternoon, after finishing tea, I was restless. Donald was
in his study, fiddling with his fishing gear, so I took a walk.
It turned out to be a long, leisurely walk, all the way across
campus, and eventually I found myself outside the primary
women's dorm, Radclyffe Hall. It was relatively new (and said
to be exquisitely designed and decorated), so I decided to go
in and take a look at the interior.
Strolling through the first and second floors took some time,
but I was particularly entranced by the murals along the third
floor corridors, and I was still admiring them when a commotion
signaled the beginning of the Sheriff's raid.
When the Sheriff confronted me and asked why I was there, I
lied to him, claiming that perhaps I'd forgotten about the
timing of the raid.
(In point of fact, I might lie to others -- or even to myself
-- but I will never lie to you, dearest diary. I will confess
to you every shortcoming and perverted desire I have, though I
shudder to think of anyone reading what I write here.)
The Sheriff offered to let me leave, but I WANTED to stay and
be subjected to the humiliating ordeal, though of course I
couldn't admit that. Instead, I answered back with a starchy
legalistic argument, something to the effect that...
"I'm a female, and I'm here in the dorm. So the warrant
applies to me, too. Rules are rules, and they should be
enforced fairly...or not at all. And fairness demands that
I should be s-stri-ipped...and s-searched...just like all the
other women here."
I was sweating and breathing heavily. In fact, I was so
aroused that I could barely get the words out.
The Sheriff looked at me a moment, as if he could see right
into the darkest depths of my psyche, then smiled thinly,
glanced at one of the frat boys, and uttered the chilling
words, "Joe, go upstairs and ask Dirk Williams to come down
here and handle this woman's search."
I was horrified. Dirk Williams had lived across the street
from me some years ago...and I had baby-sat him for two years
when I was in high school and all four years in college...until
he was about eleven. I think he had a crush on me. The very
idea of Dirk being present was arousing, but utterly
humiliating.
I gasped. "B-but you can't let HIM...s-search me. Please!
You just CA-AN'T! You can't let him s-see me...see me bare
na-naked...."
The Sheriff smirked. "Oh, he'll do a lot more than merely
SEE you naked, Sara," he said. "He'll be in total charge of
your search. He'll be the one ordering you to do Jumping Jacks
to loosen any contraband, ordering you to squat and spread your
butt-cheeks, ordering you to kneel alongside the other naked
girls, with your bare bottom up in the air. In short, you'll
be completely under his control...."
Oh, god! "Completely...under...his...control!" I almost peed
myself. I remembered, years ago, when I had punished his bare
bottom with a switch when I caught him peeping at me in the
bathroom.
I was weak-kneed as the Sheriff led me into the third floor
lounge, which they had set aside for the actual searches. The
scene was overwhelming: a long row of naked, kneeling girls
and, behind them, a group of frat boys snapping on their latex
exam gloves. One boy with a fraternity paddle stalked up and
down the line, making sure that each of the girls kept her legs
spread and her butt in the air. I felt my bottom involuntarily
clench as the boy tapped the paddle against his palm. I had
always been conventional and fairly modest, and I found all this
most intimidating...and exciting.
Just then, as if on cue, Dirk Williams arrived...and I almost
panicked. I realized at that moment that my shyness was not so
much modesty, but more a matter of social respectability. Up
to now, apparently nobody but the Sheriff was aware who I was,
and I knew he could be discreet when it suited him. But Dirk's
being here completely altered the situation.
"We're ready to get started, Sheriff," the boy with the paddle
said.
"I think we might have one more here," the Sheriff announced
and gestured toward me.
For a moment, Dirk looked confused, but then he grinned.
"Have you been a naughty girl, Sara?" he asked. "You'd better
start behaving yourself, because, if you're naughty HERE, I'll
have to punish you." I shivered.
(And I'll always remember his words and patronizing tone.)
"Pay attention, now, Sara," the Sheriff warned. "If you don't
want to be spanked, you'll be nice and obedient...."
"Please...not Dirk," I murmured to the Sheriff.
"He's 19 years old, and I've deputized him for tonight," he
replied. "So you will address him as 'Officer Williams,' and,
when he gives you an order, you will obey him."
Then he leaned close and whispered to me, "You COULD walk out
of here right now. If you stay, though, I must remind you that
you'll be completely under his control...wiggling around on his
greasy fingers."
I looked up at the door ambivalently. Part of me was desperate
to go, but another part longed to stay. Then I glanced at Dirk,
standing there with his hands on his hips, a self-confident
smirk on his face....
And a large lump in his jeans.
I just felt compelled to say, "I-I'm s-sorry, Officer
Williams...s-sir. I'll be g-good. I promise." And I
began unbuttoning my blouse. As I stripped, Dirk -- Officer
Williams -- and the Sheriff remained silent, but the whistles
and lewd comments from the leering frat boy deputies left me
trembling and blushing all over.
When I was naked, it was Officer Williams's turn to whisper
in my ear. "I don't think any of the other guys knows who
you are, Sara. If you want to keep it that way, you better
be a good girl."
"I w-wi-ill be good...a good girl, s-sir...."
"Then...assume the position."
I obeyed.
******************************
I did indeed spend much of the next hour wiggling on Officer
Williams's long, thick fingers. While the Sheriff watched
approvingly, I was thoroughly and repeatedly probed in my
"cunt" and "asshole." (These were not words that I had
customarily used, but Officer Williams insisted that I do so
from then on.) He was especially amused that I was already
so aroused and wet that he didn't have to use any artificial
lubricant when he did my "cunt." (And, later, when he plumbed
my "asshole," he mainly lubed it with "cunt-juice.")
Every time I flinched or complained, he slapped my ass -- hard
-- once or twice. From time to time, he would call over
several of his friends to observe how loose and sloppy my
c-cunt was...or how stiff my nipples were...or how twitchy my
asshole was....
Or -- oh, god! -- how VERY sensitive my clit was.
At first, I resisted cumming, because I didn't want to do it
in front of...well, everyone. But eventually it all became too
much for me, and I stopped fighting my body's natural impulses.
From that point on, Officer Williams seemed to be able to make
me cum, violently and repeatedly, with only a casual caress.
In the end, everybody in that room -- the Sheriff, the frat
boys, and even the girls -- was watching me cum.
But, finally, it was over, and I was declared "clean." After
composing myself (to a degree), I was allowed to dress...more
or less. (Someone had stolen my bra and panties.) Somehow, I
managed to make it home.
As I slid gratefully into my bed, however, I knew that the
story was not over yet.
******************************
That was three weeks ago. Since then, I've managed to meet the
Sheriff several times at university events. On those occasions,
I always ask him leading questions, such as what it would be
like to spend a night -- or several -- in his jail; if the
women prisoners are strip-searched on a regular basis; if he
and his deputies watch them shower and then delouse them
afterward; if they are kept naked...handcuffed...helpless.
His answers, though circumspect, gave me fuel for my
fantasies....
(During those three weeks, I was spending a lot of time lying
in bed on a water-proof plastic sheet, naked, gagged with my
own soiled panties, masturbating relentlessly, fantasizing that
some harsh and cunning master with a badge was pulling my
strings, choreographing me, making me stop just before I
orgasmed, and waiting until I'd cooled off a bit before
ordering me to begin again, stopping and starting, denying me
the release that I so desperately needed, until I was virtually
lying in a pool of my own juices.)
We held the spring Commencement ceremonies Saturday, the day
before yesterday; Donald left early yesterday with two of his
oldest friends on a long fishing excursion; and I got a phone
call from the Sheriff that evening instructing me to report
to his office at 10 AM today, as a "routine follow-up."
I have no idea, dearest diary, what he intends, but I must
close now, for I don't want to be late.
******************************
Part 2
Tuesday, June 8th, 8:25 AM
Dear Diary,
I walked downtown to the Sheriff's office yesterday morning
(as proper for a penitent), arriving at 9:50. I was dismayed
to find Doug Barker -- aka "Deputy Doug" -- on duty. I had
often referred to him as "Deputy Dog," but somehow that didn't
seem so funny now. (I hoped he hadn't heard my joke.)
I stood nervously in front of his desk, feeling a bit like a
schoolgirl reporting to the principal's office, and the deputy
sat, grinning at me, for a long moment. At last he spoke, "And
yer here about 214.10, I suppose, ma'am?"
"Wha-what?" I was confused and off-balance.
"Local Ordinance 214.10: 'A suspect is guilty of misdemeanor
vagrancy if unable show possession at least $200 cash when
required to do so by legally constituted authority.'"
"Well...of course I-I don't have that much IN CASH with me...."
"Then yer in violation."
"But I have four credit cards! A debit card! An ATM card!"
"Cards don't matter none, Sara. Law specifies cash. So I
guess ya'll just have to have a little meetin' with the
Sheriff." He smirked and handed me a pen and a clipboard
with a form headed "PERSONAL SEARCH CONSENT WAIVER."
"Sign at the bottom, and we'll get ya started."
I did as he ordered, then followed him over to a table in the
far corner. On the table was a black plastic box, like a small
milk crate.
"Now then, Sara, ya just put yer purse and jewelry into this
here box." He slipped the waiver form into a bracket on the
side of the crate. He waited until I'd complied, then said,
"Pick up yer box and follow me."
I followed him down a short corridor, to a door marked
"PROCESSING."
He opened the door, and I stepped inside. “Just wait here
'til the Sheriff's ready for ya." He paused and grinned at
me. "See you later, Sara.... Woof! Woof!" The door clicked
behind him.
******************************
It was cool in the room, and I began to shiver some, from a
combination of the temperature and nerves. I wondered if
what was going to happen to me would be as demeaning (and as
thrilling!) as what Dirk -- Officer Williams, that is -- put
me through that Sunday.... Oh, god! I could feel myself
getting wet just remembering.
I pretty much kept my eyes downcast, but I couldn't help
sneaking peeks at the large exam table that dominated one
side of the room. The chromed stirrups were already attached,
set at an obscenely wide angle. Considering the possibilities,
I was getting progressively wetter.
Opposite the table was a big mahogany desk, a handsome,
obviously custom-made leather chair, and an ominous razor
strap hanging on the wall behind it.
I didn't dare sit down, and my legs were wobbly by the time
the Sheriff finally entered...followed closely by D- Officer
Williams. My cunt lurched...and, I must admit, it was a happy
lurch. The realization made me blush, hotly.
The Sheriff settled himself behind the desk and went through
the elaborate ritual of preparing and lighting a cigar -- the
box was labeled "Montecristo." After a couple of puffs, he
took a deep pull on the cigar, and, as he let the smoke drift
from his mouth, he leaned back, regarded me for a moment, and
then announced, "That Sunday, in the girls' dorm, Dirk Williams
gave you absolutely the most stringent cavity search I've seen
in my thirty years as an officer of the law." He beamed. "As
a result, I've appointed him a sort of intern-deputy, and he'll
be putting you through your paces again today. That suit you?"
"Y-yes, sir," I murmured.
"Then you ought to express your gratitude."
"I'm sorry, sir. Thank you s-so much for letting Officer
Williams p-put me through my p-p-pa-aces, Sheriff, sir."
The Sheriff nodded to Officer Williams, who stood by, smirking.
"Okay, Sara, strip, starting with your shoes," the young man
said. "Put each piece of clothing neatly into your crate and
don't touch it again until the Sheriff or one of his deputies
gives you permission."
The weather was warm, and I was dressed very simply. I kicked
off my sandals and put them into the crate. I slowly unbuttoned
my sleeveless dress -- not so much out of modesty, but rather
out of a desire to build the tension...which was not, I must
admit, progressing very well. Oh, I was embarrassed and
excited, but also rather disappointed. The experience, though
certainly thrilling, was just not as intense as before.
Initially, I thought the reason was that it lacked the novelty
of that first time...the leap into the unknown...and that was
true, but there was surely more to it....
Meanwhile, I had removed my dress, folded it neatly, and placed
it in my crate. I reached back and unclasped my bra, pausing
almost coquettishly before disposing of it.
Officer Williams cleared his throat. "Are your panties wet,
Sara?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"Then take 'em off and hand 'em over. We need to put 'em into
a protective plastic baggie so the rest of your stuff won't get
stained with your juices."
I obeyed, trembling. I was now naked.
After bagging my wet panties, Officer Williams looked at me
reprovingly. "And what do say, Sara?"
I knew he expected me to...express my gratitude...again.
"Th-thank you, sir," I said meekly.
The Sheriff caressed his cigar. "All that pubic hair's just
a plain nuisance," he drawled. "Sara, you go fetch Deputy
Doug...and ask him to bring his shaving equipment."
"Ou-out front? Naked?"
"Tsk, tsk. As long as you're a 'person of interest,' here,
Sara, if you do something wrong -- question an order, refuse
to obey...or just be slow about obeying -- you just may get
a taste of that strap hanging on the wall. That's termed
'administrative punishment.' Now go get the deputy."
Oh, how I dreaded having to go out front -- I didn't know who
all might be there -- and ask a favor of that lecherous
deputy.... (But I also realized that the disappointment I
had been feeling had instantly dissipated.)
******************************
With my humiliation AND my arousal rapidly spiraling upward,
I peeked into the front office. Finding the deputy alone, I
marched boldly up to his desk, forced myself to stand at
attention, and blushingly made my request.
"Please, D-deputy, sir, the Sheriff would like you to...to
come to 'Processing' w-with your sh-shaving equipment."
He eyed me up and down, an amused expression on his face.
"Oh? So who's gonna get shaved?"
"I am, sir."
"That so? Whereabouts?"
"My-my pubic hair, sir."
"Pee-youbik hair? Whut's that?"
The bastard. felt myself turning even redder as I said, "The
hair around my...my cunt...and asshole...sir."
"O-kay. Well, I can see yer cunt hair. Turn around, bend
over, and spread yer ass, so I can check out yer asshole."
I quickly decided that the sooner I did it, the sooner I could
return to the comparative privacy of the Sheriff's office...so
I obeyed, even though it felt like my entire body was blushing.
And my blush increased the longer he just sat there, leering at
me. He was so crude....
It was unbelievably thrilling.
Then I heard the front door open and a new voice, "'Scuse me,
Depaty. Y'all wanta shine?"
("Oh, crap!" I thought. "Who's this?")
I started to straighten up, but immediately realized that, even
humiliating as it was, the bent-over position hid more of me
than standing erect would.
It then dawned on me that it must be the old black shoeshine
man who hung around the courthouse, barber shop, diner, and,
I guess, the Sheriff's office. At that moment, he came around
the desk and spotted me. "Whoa! I's sorry if I be disturbin'
yah, Depaty sir."
"No, no. This here's jus' a vagarant wantin' a favor...but
she's forgettin' her manners. Stand up straight, girl, an'
say howdy t' Mr. Fish."
Not wanting to get into more trouble, I obeyed, but trembled
uncontrollably under the old man's lecherous gaze. "H-hello,
Mr. Fi-ish...s-sir," I murmured.
"Tell him what ya want."
"I...I want...to get m-my cu-unt and asshole sh-sh-shaved, Mr.
Fish."
The scrawny, grey-haired man licked his lips. "That sounds
real int'restin'...."
"Wanta watch?" the deputy smirked.
"Sho' do!"
"Okay then. Sara, ya run an' 'pologize to the Sheriff an'
tell him I'll be in soon's old 'King' here gives me a shine."
I turned and gratefully started to return to the inner office,
when the deputy called out. "Hold it, girl! Whut 'zackly did
I tell ya to do?"
I thought quickly. "Unh...run? I'm so sorry, sir...."
"So...tell the Sheriff yer gittin' uppity. Now scat!"
"Yes, sir. Thank you," I said as I broke into a run.
******************************
The Sheriff didn't seem to mind the delay much, but he still
made me pay for it. While they casually inspected my clothes
for contraband, they had me doing calisthenics. And, after
countless Jumping-Jacks, Squat-Thrusts, Flutter-Kicks, and a
couple more exercises I didn't know by name (alternating with
Running-in-Place), by the time the deputy and Mr. Fish
strolled in, I was soaked in sweat and near exhaustion.
So I really didn't mind when I was ordered to lie down on the
exam table, put my feet in the stirrups, and prepare to be
shaved.
"I got me a new formula," the deputy announced. "Extra-heavy
on the menthol an' wintergreen. Any little bit that runs
into her cunt or asshole -- an', trust me, more 'n a little
bit WILL -- she'll feel it for HOURS."
(Oh, god! He was sooo right!)
"You'll note, gentlemen," the Sheriff said between puffs on his
cigar, "that sweating intensifies her cunt-odor. I can smell
that she's 'in heat' clear across the room. We'll have to
fumigate the place to get rid of her stink."
(And he, too, was right. Maybe I should start wearing plastic
panties to contain my smell.)
While the deputy was working up a stiff lather, he asked
Officer Williams to smear my cunt-juice all around my
crotch. "The way she is," he chuckled, "don't need to use
no water -- she's plenty wet enough." Then he proceeded
to brush on the lather.
He anchored me in place with two fingers up my cunt,
flourished his razor, and began shaving me. (Donald
was so vague and naive about certain things, and I
imagined I could "explain" that the shaving was to
cure some un-named "feminine problems." Besides, I
think he would probably prefer my cunt to be hairless.)
But that was in the future. I had other concerns at present.
Red-faced, I had to ask the deputy to pause twice, so that I
could cum, noisily, writhing on his fingers.
When he'd finished, my crotch was as smooth as a baby's --
though though the "new formula" continued to torment my cunt,
as promised. While the Sheriff was admiring the deputy's
shoes, Mr. Fish was allowed to wipe away the last traces of
lather and then to apply some re-growth inhibiting goo. (The
black bastard really took his time, too.) I humbly thanked
him afterward without having to be prompted.
Then Officer Williams resumed his search. He put on a pair of
special latex gloves from the box next to the table. These
were, for the most part, as thin as regular exam gloves, but
the fingers were textured (not unlike dish-washing gloves), so
that a cavity search felt like a sandpapering.
Then he went about "lubricating" me. Considering the swampy
condition of my cunt, I didn't think I really needed any
extra lube, but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.
When he picked up the big vibrator, I realized that he planned
to manufacture natural "lubrication." He stimulated me
remorselessly for several minutes before he was satisfied
with the amount of "lube." He then spent an excruciating
amount of time satisfying himself that I wasn't trying to
smuggle anything. And he didn't stop...searching...until
I had orgasmed multiple times. (Those damn gloves!)
(Few things are as humiliating as having an involuntary
orgasm forced -- or "forced" -- upon you.)
After that, I had to shower (with the four men watching and
making disparaging comments about my physical imperfections).
******************************
They didn't let me dry myself after the shower. Instead, I
stood trembling in the center of the room, hands on head,
dripping onto the tile floor, as the Sheriff circled me,
caressing his supple black strap.
"Before we proceed to the penalty for misdemeanor-vagrancy,
there's something else that needs to be seen to," he said,
in a menacing voice. "My deputy says you're acting uppity."
"I...I...."
SLAP! The strap landed precisely across the center of my
cringing buttocks.
"Yes, sir! I'm s-sorry, sir!"
"Will you show proper respect in future?"
SLAP!
"Oh, yessir!"
"And what is the best way is for a girl like you to show
respect for your betters?"
"I...I don't...."
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
"Please, sir!"
"A girl like you shows respect by kneeling down and giving her
betters 'bad girl blow jobs' -- wet, sloppy ones -- whenever
we want...and that includes Mr. Fish. Right?"
SLAP! SLAP!
"Oh, yes! I promise! All of you! Whenever you want! However
you want! Please, sir!"
"Very well. We'll consider that settled. Now then, will you
accept 'administrative punishment' for misdemeanor vagrancy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you will sign the proper consent form and receive six
strokes of the strap."
Oh, god! Six more on top of the eight I've already gotten.
They were awful -- but they did take my mind off my burning
cunt and asshole...and I guess I got what I deserved.
After the strapping, I had to thank each of them for "seeing
to" me.
I was then assigned to scrub the cell block floor. It took
some time because each of my "betters" came by, one-by-one,
to check on my work and to get his blow-job. (Mr. Fish, who
stopped by TWICE, had a surprisingly large cock for so slight
a man. It tasted musty and exotic...and delicious. I
swallowed down his thick cum and thanked him quite sincerely
for allowing me the privilege.)
After I finished my work, I was permitted to dress (except for
my panties, which were forfeit) and leave, after being warned
that I must return next Monday and show that I'm not a vagrant
by having at least $200 cash on my person.
(I knew that, however much money I'd have, it would be far
short of the required amount.)
Walking home without panties made me very nervous. I couldn't
shake the impression that people I passed in the street knew
how depraved I was.... The insides of my thighs were moist; I
hoped it was merely sweat. When I got home, I stripped naked,
verified that, although very wet, my cunt wasn't actually
dripping, and then cut a half dozen switches and spanked
myself until all the switches were broken and useless.
******************************
Part 3
Tuesday, June 15th, 7:35 AM
Dear Diary,
Yesterday was not nearly so tiring as what I went through
the previous Monday. I arrived at the Sheriff's office
with $2.00 cash in my purse, and what ensued was pretty
much the same as before. The humiliation, though, had not
paled by repetition and was every bit as intense -- and
satisfying -- as it had been the week before. And, as
before, dear diary, I shall probably spend much of the
coming week naked and masturbating and re-playing my
degradation in my head.
One of my chores this week was to oil the Sheriff's strap.
I couldn't keep from trembling as I pampered the evil thing.
Though faded, the marks from last week's orgy with the switches
still showed and were commented upon by my betters (Mr. Fish in
particular). On the way back home, I stopped off at a dollar
store and bought a plastic fly swatter. It really stings, but
doesn't leave much of a mark.
******************************
Part 4
Monday, June 21st, 5:45 PM
Dear Diary,
Instead of waiting until tomorrow morning, I am so aroused
(and humiliated) that I had to report immediately.
The Sheriff had phoned me Saturday evening that I should
expect to spend the night in jail, and I was particularly
excited about what might lie in store. (I had NO idea!)
When I got to the office about my usual time, to my surprise,
another woman was just putting her purse into a brown crate.
"Hey, Sara. Meet Cassandra...who likes to be called 'Cherry.'
She's also (heh, heh) a vagrant."
"Cherry" had light brown hair and was clearly 5 or 6 years
older than me, a couple of inches taller, and a few pounds
heavier...but generally built along similar lines.
As we proceeded back to "Processing," I initially wondered why
this stranger was here. As we undressed, I sneaked glances at
her, and I saw that her nipples were erect, her clitoris
prominent, and her pubic hair already removed (perhaps
permanently?), I became rather jealous of having to share
what had been my unique experience with another female.
But then, as I saw more and more of Cherry's naked body, I
became...well...intrigued. I mean, never in my life have
I ever had a lesbian affair. That would be too sordid even
for me. As corrupt as I am, I don't think I could solicit
one -- BUT, if I were ORDERED to do it by, as they say,
"legally constituted authority," then I'd have no choice;
I'd just have to obey.... Wouldn't I?
I stopped peeking at her and started openly scrutinizing --
and found that she was doing the same to me. The Sheriff
had an amused look on his face, but I didn't care. I found
my mouth watering. Her cunt-lips looked...inviting.
As they were searching her, I paid rapt attention. I could
guess that I must look very similar. When it was my time on
the table, it was her turn to study me, and she had a hungry
look on her face.
Afterwards, prior to our shower, they bound each of us (our
wrists to our elbows)...and, of course, we would be showering
together (ostensibly to save water). The shower stall would
be cramped, and I wondered what it would feel like to rub up
against another woman's wet, soapy body. Would I -- would we
-- get so aroused that we orgasmed? Would it be obvious?
With our hands cuffed like that, how in fact would we soap up?
Especially our crotches? Would we have to hump each other
like dogs masturbating? As it turned out, the answer to all
these questions was "YES!"
They kept us bound for the administrative punishment phase, but
freed us for our work assignment -- cleaning the trash out of
a store room and hours of moving heavy cartons from the loading
dock into the now-empty room. We spent our "rest periods"
giving blow jobs to our betters.
Tired and sweaty, we were fed (baloney, beans, and corn bread),
bound again, and then put into a cell. There was only one
bunk, and it wasn't long before we had begun exploring each
other's bodies with our mouths. The interior of the cell was
brightly lit, and I initially assumed that was so we could be
spied on by whomever. But, when I spotted the red video camera
light, I knew it was worse than that. (Worse? I will confess
to you, dear diary, that I cum just thinking about the
existence of a tape that shows what all Cherry and I did to
each other that night...and wondering who might be watching
it....
At any rate, neither of us got much sleep that night.
In the morning, an itchy suppository was inserted up our
assholes, then we were butt-plugged, put on either end of
a double-headed dildo, and left alone for a couple of hours
("alone," that is, except for the video camera!).
About mid-morning, we were allowed to dress, and I walked home
-- with the butt-plug in place. (I wondered if anyone I passed
could tell.)
I already miss Cherry sooo much. I hope we get to see each
other again, soon. My cunt is lonely.
******************************
Part 5
Tuesday, June 29th, 8:10 AM
Dear Diary,
I must admit (at least to you, dear diary) that I was
disappointed that Cherry -- or at least some other female
"vagrant" -- was not there to share my humiliation and
chores and...well...the togetherness that came afterward.
I fantasized about Cherry whenever I masturbated...and I
did that a lot....
******************************
Part 6
Tuesday, July 6th, 8:50 AM
Dear Diary,
I was alone again yesterday. Parts of the experience had close
to the same impact as in the beginning, but much did not. Was
it that the novelty was wearing off, that I needed to be "seen
to" in ever more outrageous ways, that I desperately wanted to
share the experience with someone else (preferably Cherry), or
perhaps some permutation or combination of these factors. Then
too, Donald is due back from his fishing trip on Sunday, so my
"free" time will not be so free henceforth.
After I had finished dressing and was about to leave the
station, the Sheriff told me that he was coming to our
house for dinner next week and that, after today, my Monday
sessions at the station were indefinitely suspended. He
gave me a DVD entitled "The Best of Sara" as a memento.
Is this the end of the adventure?
I spanked myself with the fly swatter unmercifully, all day.
******************************
Part 7
Friday, July 16th, 11:15 PM
Dear Diary,
The Sheriff came to dinner tonight; we ate some of Donald's
fish. I found myself rather tongue-tied in the Sheriff's
presence, much to his private amusement. While Donald was
fetching the wine, leaving us alone for a few minutes, the
Sheriff made me give him my panties. So I spent the evening
naked under my skirt and teetering just on the edge of orgasm.
I've been ordered not to wear panties until further notice.
For the time being, I must visit the station at noon every
Monday, strip, ask the deputy to shave me (if I need it),
give him and Mr. Fish a "bad girl" blow job, and then
masturbate while they sneer at me.
It isn't like it used to be, but it'll have to do...for the
present.
******************************
Part 8
Thursday, September 13th, 2:45 PM
Dear Diary,
I read today in the "Doeville University Daily Forum" an
announcement that the Bulgarian girls' national gymnastics
team will begin its tour of the USA with a visit to our
campus next month. A picture of a toothsome gymnast
accompanied the item.
Food for thought....