At last, here is the story I promised.  A poll that took forever to 
post, followed by a story that took forever to write.  I hope you 
will find it worth the wait.  -- JD

For details on the poll, see:
www.asstr.org/files/Authors/C_Lakewood/Stories by Joe Doe/Tibool's Pictures.txt

For the picture from Tibool that started it all, see:
http://www.chainganggirls.com/images/tib36.jpg






                      HARSH JUDGMENT 

                            by

                         Joe Doe




AND NOW, THE STORY.  JUDGE ASHLEY MARSH, WHILE VISITING A JUDICIAL 
CONFERENCE IN THE SOUTH, DECIDES TO ACTIVELY PARTICIPATE IN A 
"NATURE OR NURTURE" ARGUMENT INVOLVING A FEMALE CHAIN GANG.

		******************************

Part 1

"And what about you, Ashley?  May I trust a first hand experience 
with Southern justice won't offend your delicate sensibilities?"

Judge Ashley Marsh smiled demurely.  Beneath her starched, 
conservative façade she felt a delicious, thrilling tingle, 
and Judge Helms knew it.

The judicial conference had been a bore.  It wasn't until after she 
arrived that she realized that she had been invited to speak, less 
because anyone wanted to hear what she had to say than because 
having a female judge, let alone a female state supreme court 
judge, was a novelty in this part of the country.  Her carefully 
prepared speech had been greeted with the barest smattering of 
polite applause.  The response had flustered her so much that she 
had dropped her papers and had suffered the further indignity of 
several snickers and even a few wolf whistles as she bent over to 
retrieve them.

During the day, Ashley felt like an animal at the zoo, and the 
evening was even worse.  She had been invited to THE CLUB, and 
had been forced to rather awkwardly stand amongst a couple of 
hundred middle-aged, mostly overweight, cigar-smoking, and 
bourbon-swilling southern judges and listen as they lied about 
their golf scores, fishing exploits, and mistresses.  

Ashley was 32, but her petite body and youthful appearance made 
her appear some years younger.  Several times during the evening, 
she suffered the embarrassment of a guest asking her to freshen 
his drink, as she tried to explain that she wasn't a serving girl.

When the manager came and not-too-politely informed her that the 
club was segregated, and she would have to wait in the women's 
lounge, she felt strangely relieved.

The relief was short-lived.  The wives of the judges made no effort 
to hide their resentment of the young, pretty, well-educated Yankee 
whose mere presence many regarded as an attack upon their way of 
life.  Although she considered herself something of a moderate, it 
was clear that the women regarded her as some sort of gender 
deviate or, at best, as an emblem of liberalism run amok.

When Judge Helms and Judge Bovine, the hosts of the conference, 
came to rescue her with an offer to adjourn to supper at the 
Helms mansion down the street, Ashley was grateful for the 
judicial reprieve.

Helms treated Ashley and the party to a scrumptious fried chicken 
dinner.  Although, as a Northerner, Ashley was more than a little 
embarrassed by the utterly servile demeanor of the black servants 
who waited on her, she held her tongue.  If these people wanted 
to pretend it was still 1840, she knew there was little that she 
could say to convince them otherwise.  

Bovine spent the entire evening ogling her with his wide-set eyes, 
while his portly wife simply glared as she lazily chewed first her 
food, then her gum.  

Helms, in contrast, was the model of Southern chivalry, so much so 
that Ashley felt brave enough to ask about the cool reception she 
had received from her supposed "hosts." 

"What you don't understand, Ashley, is what a curiosity your 
presence has become," Helms explained.  "I'll confess that 
when I invited you here, I knew it would create something of 
a stir.  Women in these parts don't generally attend college, 
or pursue the professions.  You are, I know, the future, but 
it is a future that most of the people in our audience distrust 
and reject."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Mrs. Bovine sneered.  "Pretending 
to be a man is not becoming to a lady, Miss Marsh, and the 
respectable women of this county don't appreciate some little 
chit from the North coming down here to steal our husbands."

At this, Mrs. Bovine "accidentally" elbowed her leering spouse in 
the ribs.  He responded by regurgitating his mashed potatoes and 
gravy and dribbling them down to the front of his shirt.  

Despite herself, Ashley laughed out loud.  Judge And Mrs. Bovine 
were not amused.

Helms attempted to ease the tension by steering the conversation 
back on course.  "I knew, of course, that you were an accomplished 
female justice, and I had admired your opinions greatly.  However, 
I had no idea that you were unmarried...or how young and attractive 
you were.  I'm afraid that has only exacerbated various 
resentments."

"Well, with all due respect, Your Honor, the South is going to 
have to figure out a way to deal with women like me," Ashley 
said in a tone that made it clear it was not merely her opinion.

"We have a way," Mrs. Bovine hissed. 

"Now, Gertrude, be nice," her husband chided.

A bewildered Ashley turned to Judge Helms for an explanation.  
"Am I missing something?"

"Mrs. Bovine was making something of a joke," he explained 
unconvincingly.  "Our municipalities have rather strict laws 
regarding such things as vagrancy, loitering, and other such 
offenses.  Out-of-town visitors...."

"Yankee hussies!" Mrs. Bovine hissed.

"Visitors who disrupt our social norms are often arrested on 
such charges and sentenced to a term of service in one of our 
rehabilitation facilities."

"Chain gang labor," Mrs. Bovine explained, her voice oozing malice. 
"On the prison farm!"

"Women?" Ashley said, genuinely shocked.  "On a chain gang?"

"Really, Mrs. Bovine, I must protest," Helms protested, rather 
unconvincingly.  "Such conversation at the dinner table, and 
with a guest, no less."  He turned to the black maid, who at 
that moment was staring at her shoes.  "Missy, be a dear and 
fetch us that cherry pie.  I, for one, am ready for some desert."

The conversation soon turned back to the excellent dinner, the 
conference, and the unseasonable heat.  However, Ashley could 
not stop thinking about the chain gang or shake the feeling that 
the hateful Mrs. Bovine would very much like to see her on it.

		******************************

Since the subject of the chain gang did not naturally arise the 
next day, Ashley took the forward step of asking Helms if the 
two of them might have dinner at his house to discuss various 
"judicial matters" in detail.    

Since he was a widower and many years Ashley's senior, he agreed 
only on the condition that he could invite someone else along, 
lest vicious gossips besmirch his stellar reputation.  His 
selection, the elderly Judge Dithers, who had slept through 
almost the entire conference, made Ashley laugh.  They would 
be alone, without actually being alone.

Despite the relative privacy, she waited to broach the subject 
until the peach cobbler had been served.  "I couldn't help being 
curious at Mrs. Bovine's remark.  When I was 18 I found a lurid 
paperback novel in my brother's bedroom titled 'Chain Gang Girls.'  
It was about these two college girls who ended up getting arrested 
for speeding in the South and...well, about the dreadful things 
that happened to them."

Judge Helms glanced at Judge Dithers, who was napping.  He then 
turned to the two servants standing mutely by the door.  "Toby 
and Missy, if you'll excuse us...."

No further encouragement was needed.  The two blacks bowed and 
quickly left the room.

"What EXACTLY happened to them, Ashley?" Helms said, leaning closer.

Ashley adopted the hushed tone of a neighborhood gossip describing 
a particularly juicy scandal too outrageous to believe, but too 
exciting to suppress.  "Well, after they were sentenced, they were 
taken to the prison farm.  The Sheriff gave brought them to the 
matron, and they had to strip.  They stopped when they got down 
to their underwear, but the matron said that their panties were 
"contraband" and had to be taken off.  They had to strip down 
"bay-yur nek-kid,"" Ashley said, affecting a mock Southern accent 
that made the judge's eyes narrow, "with the warden and the Sheriff 
watching."

Ashley, feeling unusually flushed, unbuttoned another button on her 
blouse as she continued in a hushed whisper.  "As if that weren't 
enough, they had to bend over, and let the matron search...up 
inside them.  The Sheriff and the warden could see everything, and 
they snickered while the two girls were probed.  And then...."

"I get the idea...." Helms said.  

"Wait!" Ashley said.  "I haven't even gotten to the prison brothel 
yet."  

"It's obvious that you read the story quite carefully, Ashley," 
Helms said, in a tone left over from his prosecutorial days,  
"Did you remember the exact wording from a single reading?"

"Oh, no," she said, too engrossed in her story to realize fully 
what she was admitting. "I read it over and over.  When my brother 
went back to college I stole it from him, so I could read it every 
night."

"I see," Helms said.  "And when you heard Mrs. Bovine talk about 
our 'peculiar institution' naturally your curiosity was piqued."

"Well...yes.  Over the years I've read all sorts of books and 
stories about such places, but I never imagined that they really 
existed." she gushed, admitting more to the judge than she ever 
had to herself.  

"The novel you mention is a classic of the genre and has a 
prominent place in my own extensive literary collection on 
the subject.  Although the story is fictional, the type of 
prison it describes is not.  Such establishments are as real 
as you are."

It was a peculiar phrasing, "as real as you are," and Ashley felt 
a momentary twinge of discomfort as she found her own existence 
lumped in with the prison in a strange simile.  However, the 
momentary flicker of panic quickly gave way to a more familiar 
-- and deliciously naughty -- tingle.

She felt flushed, light-headed, and (because the wine was quite 
good) oddly liberated.  Although she had only known Helms for a 
short time, she sensed that in some strange way he was a kindred 
spirit.  Whether it was the potent wine or the strangeness of the 
environment, but Ashley unburdened herself as she had never done 
before.

"I've been the good girl my whole life," she confessed.  "Perfect 
grades, perfect career, perfect life.  I've always wondered what 
it would be like to end up in one of those places...to be stripped 
of everything...to be utterly powerless, and to have to do anything 
those wicked guards ordered me to do.  It's simply scandalous.  But 
somehow...strangely exciting."

Judge Helms assumed a pedantic tone.  "It's a common enough 
phenomenon.  The prisoner fantasy allows you to be a good 
girl, who gets to do "bad things," not because she wants to, 
but because she has to.  You can engage in the most wanton 
and unseemly behavior, because you are powerless to resist.  
Indeed, the absolute helplessness of your predicament would 
only increase your excitement."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to a prisoner in a 
place like that.  I'd do anything to experience what those girls 
in the novel did, to feel what they felt...."

Judge Helms reached behind him and opened his cigar box.  For a 
moment Ashley thought he was going to courteously ask her if he 
could smoke as he had always done in the past.  However, he did 
not, but merely lit his cigar, almost as if she were not there.  
As she watched him thoughtfully puff on his stogie, she wondered 
if his failure to ask her permission had been a mere oversight, 
or a portent of a powerful change in the dynamic of their 
relationship.

She decided to press harder.  "Mrs. Bovine seemed to think I was 
a good candidate for the prison," Ashley said, biting her lip 
nervously.  "She certainly wanted to send me there."

"Indeed she did," Helms replied wryly.  "And if you had been 
traveling alone through this area -- and you were not a judge 
-- your foreign ways and boldness of action would undoubtedly 
have given her a pretext for placing you there.  A simple phone 
call to the Sheriff and...."

Ashley shivered as he blew a smoke ring and smiled.  "But you 
are a state supreme court justice, and your absence would be 
missed."

"Certainly if I spent a few hours there...."

"No, my dear.  If you want to truly experience what the girls in 
that novel went through, an authentic sentence would be required.  
As I recall, our two intrepid heroines were athletic and hearty, 
and they spent nearly a week picking cotton in the fields before 
they requested...special duties."

At the mention of "special duties" Ashley squeezed her thighs 
together.  In the novel the girls had been put on the chain 
gang, and the overseer had worked them hard.  They were not 
forced to serve at the truck stop brothel, but had "auditioned" 
for the privilege in order escape the brutality of the fields.  

"Our term has just concluded, and I am not due back until the 
first week of September...."

"Splendid!" Helms said.  "Then call your secretary and tell her 
to inform your friends that you are taking an extended tour of 
our beloved Dixie and will not return until the fall."  

Ashley swallowed.  September seemed a long way off.  "A tour?  
What sort of tour?"

She felt excited, fearful, aroused, and terrified as she watched 
the judge casually blow an enormous smoke ring.  "A tour, my dear, 
in which your dreams will come true."

		******************************

Part 2

"And what about you, Ashley?  Helms said.  May I trust a first 
hand experience with Southern justice won't offend your delicate 
sensibilities?"

Judge Ashley Marsh's cunt spasmed, but she tried to remain 
outwardly cool.  There were six people in the stretch limousine.  
Like Ashley, all were alumni of the recent conference who had 
accepted the Helms's offer of a ride to the train station.  

The evening before, Ashley and Judge Helms had playfully flirted 
with the idea of incarcerating her at the women's prison farm, 
and now he was asking her if she wanted to push her fantasy 
further by visiting the prison itself.  

She realized that he was toying with her, testing her, exploring 
her limits.  She had been brave enough last night, safe and snug 
in his mansion, guzzling his fine wine.  But did she have the 
nerve required to make her fantasies a reality?

"By all means.  We don't have female chain gangs in Chicago, and 
I'd be fascinated to see one.  Obviously Gertrude thinks it's 
something I should see."

Ashley flashed the obese Gertrude Bovine her sexiest and most 
charming smile, and Mrs. Bovine glared lightning back at her.  
Her husband, Judge Bovine, smiled, in no small part because he 
was using the limo ride to ogle Ashley's lovely legs.

Judge Dithers, waking from one of his frequent dozes, looked at 
Ashley with concern.  "The prison farm is quite remote, and it's 
surrounded by the most dismal bog.  You might miss your train to 
Chicago, my dear."

Ashley "accidentally" revealed a rather fetching display of 
cleavage as she leaned forward to take the elderly jurist's 
hand.  "There will be other trains, Arthur," she purred.  
"But there may never be another opportunity like this.  
Isn't that right, Judge Helms?"

"Truer words were never spoken," Helms chuckled.  He gave his 
driver an order, and they turned onto a road that was elevated 
over an impenetrable bog.  

Ashley was initially intrigued by the large number of 

			DANGER: QUICKSAND! 

signs and the numerous alligators she spied sunning themselves 
along the sides of the road.  She realized that if a young woman 
did manage to escape the prison, she would find herself in a 
habitat poorly suited to pedestrians.

She became bored spotting gators and staring at cypress trees and 
so spent the next hour flirting shamelessly with the male judges, 
bragging about her accomplishments and intellectual prowess, and 
flashing just enough skin to keep the game interesting.  

Judge Helms, Judge Spite, and Judge Bovine were delighted, and 
reveled in the lively conversation.  Judge Dithers, when he was 
awake, seemed confused by the fast-paced banter and Ashley's sly 
double entendres.  The two wives, Mrs. Bovine and Mrs. Spite, 
were NOT amused, and spent the entire trip glaring daggers at 
Ashley as they elbowed their husbands.  Fortunately, the limo 
was large enough for the husbands to move out of harm's way, 
and the games continued.

Towards the end of the trip, Ashley rather boldly lit up one of 
Judge Helms's cigars.  The men watched transfixed as she playfully 
ran the stem in and out of her mouth in a most suggestive manner 
before bursting into laughter.

"I say, Ashley," Judge Bovine snickered.  "Your saucy manner 
reminds me of some of the little college chits who sometimes 
end up in my court room on their way to spring break.  They're 
quite the sight, standing in handcuffs before my bench, in their 
tight tops and short little skirts."  

"If you have the same reaction to short skirts in your courtroom, 
I hope your bench has modesty panels," Ashley shot back.  "It 
would be terrible if you had to adjourn court and retire to 
chambers to...take matters in hand."

She smiled triumphantly as the flustered Bovine and Spite blushed 
like embarrassed teenage boys as they struggled to hide the tent 
poles in their pants.   

Ashley glanced over at the frowning wives.  "Still, from what I've 
seen of the women of the South, taking matters in hand might well 
be your best option."

And so it continued, with Ashley entertaining herself at her hosts' 
expense until finally the journey through the bog ended, and the 
limousine confronted the massive iron gate of the Cracker County 
Prison Farm for Women.

Ashley was squinting through the limo's tinted glass when 
a crew-cut guard jerked opened the side door and shined a 
flashlight in her face.  

"Look like we got ourselves a fresh chicken," he chuckled, ogling 
Ashley's legs.  

"Could you buzz us through, son?" Helms said.  "We're in something 
of a hurry."

"Oh yes, sir, Judge Helms!" the guard said, in a tone that reminded 
Ashley of the servile domestics at Helms's home.  "Right away, 
sir!"

The door closed, and once again Ashley was plunged into darkness.  
It took her a moment to regain her senses and to register what had 
just happened.  The guard had called her a "fresh chicken."  What 
had he meant?

Then it hit her -- he had thought she was a new prisoner.  Even  
with her stylish fancy suit, he had thought she was a lowly 
convict, destined for the chain gang.  

The moment had not been lost on Mrs. Bovine or Mrs. Spite, and they 
smiled at Ashley in a most unpleasant way.  For the first time that
day Ashley felt the uncomfortable sensation of encountering a 
situation in which she was not in charge.

After being buzzed through the first gate, then the second, then 
the third, the party entered the prison proper. Ashley first 
sighted the sharpshooters in the tower and the guards on horseback 
patrolling the acres of cotton fields.  

It wasn't until the limo passed closer that she saw the prisoners 
working in those fields.  They were barefoot and wore identical 
uniforms: simple striped sack dresses with scoop necklines and 
hemlines that reached down to just above mid-thigh.  Each wore 
manacles around her wrists and ankles, which were used to shackle 
them into small groups of four or five.

Ashley watched transfixed as the female prisoners toiled in the 
fields under the watchful eyes of the guards.  It looked almost 
like a scene from "Gone With the Wind," except the "slaves" were 
of several races: black, white, brown.....  She frowned.  In this 
one respect, the color barrier in the South had truly been broken.

She wiped her eyes, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was 
seeing.  How many nights had she had fallen asleep dreaming of 
such a place?  Could it truly be real?

The scene was embellished by the appearance of a picturesque Greek 
Revival mansion at the end of long archway of oak trees.  "The 
warden's House," Helms helpfully explained.  The driver started 
to turn toward the house, but Helms stopped him.  "Go on," he said 
softly.

They drove on, past the rice fields, where prisoners worked in knee 
high water, past the quarry, where (to Ashley's shock) manacled 
female prisoners swung pick axes and carried heavy boulders to 
carts drawn by other inmates.

"I thought I'd give you folks the full tour," Helms explained.  His 
comment was directed at the group, but Ashley could see that he was 
looking directly at her as he spoke.  "Take us to 'Reception,'" he 
said, turning to his driver.  "We have some business to conduct 
there."

Ashley felt a tiny chill.  She knew from her extensive reading how 
absurdly deceitful the cheerful term "Reception" was and what it 
meant to a young woman to be "received" into a place such as this.  
But it was the judge's implicit threat of "business to conduct" 
there, delivered while staring directly at Ashley, that frightened 
-- and excited -- her the most.

		******************************

It had been a been a long ride, and the assembled party was 
grateful for the chance to stretch in front of the large 
limestone building.  

The building was very old, with massive stone columns that Ashley 
guessed were the older relatives of the heavy stones Ashley had 
seen the prisoners hauling out of the quarry.  Ashley frowned.  
The columns were huge, but she knew it would be easy enough to 
build the mansion and prison buildings with the "inexhaustible" 
supply of female labor.

Her attention focused, not on the architecture, but on a group of 
twenty inmates tarring the other half of the parking lot.  It was 
in the 90s, with brutal humidity.  She watched in sympathy as the 
wretched, sweating women struggled to spread the hot asphalt in 
the blazing sun.

As the older members of her party struggled to restore their 
circulation, Ashley walked across the lot to talk to one of the 
inmates.  She was quickly intercepted by a guard on horseback, 
who peered down at her through his mirrored sunglasses.

The guard then looked past her, and she turned in time to see Judge 
Helms give him a nod of approval.  The guard said nothing, but 
backed up his horse to allow Ashley to pass.  

She selected a young woman who was using a pick-axe to dig out a 
deteriorated section of the parking lot.  She was in her early 
thirties, with shoulder-length dark hair, and Ashley could tell 
that, if you washed the stink and sweat and filth off her, she'd 
be quite pretty.  

Ashley stepped gingerly to avoid having her high heels sink into 
the soft asphalt.  She was surprised that the prisoner before her 
was able to stand on the surface bare foot, but guessed that weeks 
of hard labor had toughened her soles considerably.

As she approached, the prisoner put down her tool and curtseyed, 
at least as much of a courtesy as she could muster with her 
ankles connected by a short chain.  

Ashley looked the prisoner up and down.  Her uniform was filthy and 
her hands bore calluses.  Her stink was overwhelming.  Although she 
was obviously poor white trash, her abject and wretched condition 
and the way she was staring down at her grubby feet filled Ashley 
with sympathy.

"What's your name, girl?" Ashley asked.

"Natalie, ma'am," she replied, still not daring to make eye contact.

"What crime did you commit?" 

"To be candid, I'm not entirely sure, ma'am.  My cousin, Holly, and 
I...."  She paused to point to a honey blonde girl working nearby.  
"Holly and I were on our way to an educational conference...."

Ashley was shocked.  Other than the mechanical drawl she used on 
the word, "ma'am," the girl did NOT have a Southern accent.  Her 
use of the word "candid" and her general diction were surprising.  

"An educational conference?"  Ashley was unable to hide her 
disbelief.

"Yes, I'm from Ohio, originally.  I teach history at the University 
of...."

"Who gives a shit what you USED to be, fish?" a southern female 
voice snarled.  "You just earned yourself a lickin', girl."

The wretched inmate scampered back to work, which allowed the 
matron to turn her full attention to Ashley.  She was black, 
tall, and muscular, with her hair greased back into a mannish 
style.  Her name-tag read, "SGT. MAXINE WATERS."

Ashley shuddered as the infuriated matron looked her up and down 
in a way that was most unappetizing.  "What you here for, girl?"

Ashley was normally ultra confident, but the jolt of seeing her 
fantasy turned to reality, her astonishment at finding a college 
professor on the chain gang (!), and her surprise at Maxine's 
sudden appearance, threw her momentarily off her game.

"Um...I'm here to visit...not VISIT...I mean...the judge 
said...um..."reception," Ashley said, pointing at the sign 
in front of the building.

"If you're due in court, you should be cuffed," Maxine barked.  

Ashley gasped as the matron deftly removed a pair of handcuffs 
from her belt and cuffed -- actually cuffed -- Ashley's left wrist.

She reached for the right wrist, but Ashley pulled her arm away.  
It was a small and understated gesture, but it was nonetheless 
an act of rebellion in a place where rebellion was not tolerated.

Ashley gasped as the burly Matron used her cuffed arm to spin her 
around like a doll.  Ashley was aware of being bent forward and 
winced at the pain in her shoulder as the matron wrenched her 
wrists together behind her back.  In short order, she was cuffed 
like a common criminal.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Judge Helms asked, approaching 
the pair.

"We had a new chicken running loose, Your Honor," Maxine explained.

"I'm not a NEW CHICKEN, dammit!  I'm a judge!" Ashley huffed.

"NEW CHICKENS speak when they're spoken to," Maxine barked, 
punctuating her comment by slapping Ashley across the face 
with the back of her hand.  It wasn't a hard slap, but it 
was hard enough to make it clear that Maxine was in charge, 
and Ashley, who was not used to being slapped around, fell 
silent.

Judge Helms paused for a moment, as if considering what to do.  
When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm.  "She is not a new 
chicken; she IS a judge.  And she is my guest."

"Uncuff me!"  Ashley ordered.

Maxine, still not convinced, ignored Ashley and looked at Judge 
Helms.  He nodded.  

Maxine gritted her teeth as she undid Ashley's handcuffs.

"Now apologize," Ashley said, rubbing her lip.

Maxine, unable to believe her ears, glanced at the judge again.  
But he again nodded.

It took five tries before the butch matron, who had never 
apologized to anyone in her life, managed an apology that 
was sufficiently loud and sufficiently abject to please Ashley.

"Your apology is accepted," Ashley said grudgingly.  "Now I'm 
parched.  Be a dear and fetch me a Coca-Cola."

Maxine was seemingly unable to comprehend the outrage coming out of 
Ashley's pretty mouth.  But the judge nodded, and Ashley had the 
pleasure of seeing Maxine obediently trotted away to fetch Ashley 
and the rest of the group their refreshments.

As soon as Maxine left, Judge Bovine turned to Ashley.  "You're 
lucky Judge Helms was here, Your Honor.  Otherwise I think that 
matron would have had you tarring the lot before lunch."

The assembled party, including Ashley, laughed at Judge Bovine's 
wit, but Mrs. Spite did not.  "I'm sorry Judge Helms interfered," 
she said.  "A little time on the chain gang might be just what 
you need."

"I don't think so," Ashley said.  "But it might help you ladies 
lose a few pounds." 

The two wives turned red with indignation.  Clever Ashley somehow 
always managed to turn everything they said about her back on them 
as an insult.  

"How dare you come here...."

Judge Helms diplomatically cut Mrs. Spite off.  "It hardly matters, 
my dear ladies.  If I hadn't interceded, someone else would have.  
Remember, Ashley is an Illinois Supreme Court justice.  She'd never 
fit in on the chain gang."

"Why not?" Mrs. Bovine said.  "She's the right age, and, if you put 
her in a uniform, she wouldn't look much different than the rest."

"Preposterous!" Judge Dithers said.  "Ashley is a supreme court 
judge, not a criminal.  Any fool can see that she's a woman of 
wealth, and taste, and the most refined...."

"That's because of the way she's dressed and the fancy airs she 
puts on," Mrs. Spite said.  "If you stripped her out of her fancy 
frillies and put a cotton basket in her hand, she'd stink up the 
fields with the rest of them."

"That's absurd!" Judge Helms said.  "Quality will always out."  

"Perhaps if the ladies had attended Harvard, as I have, they'd be 
better equipped to make an intelligent judgment," Ashley said.  
"If you spend your life living in a southern fried chicken coop, 
after a while everything starts to look like poultry.  Southern 
girls are bred to farm work, and I imagine it's easy to loop them 
together and trot them off to the fields."

At this outrageous insult to Southern women both the men and their 
wives glared.  

"Don't confuse me with you," Ashley sniffed.  "Harvard isn't a barn 
yard, and they graduate lawyers, not field hands."

A heated argument ensued, with the entire group debating whether a 
well-dressed and well-educated young woman like Ashley could ever 
blend in with a group of common criminals.  It was quite an 
interesting discussion, actually, with the judges offering up 
various theories of nature versus nurture, the impact of class 
distinctions on criminal behavior, and even predestination.  

Judge Dithers, Ashley, and Judge Helms argued that Ashley could 
never be a mistaken for a criminal, at least not for long, although 
there was a certain academic archness to Judge Helms's mock outrage 
that left Ashley more than a little irritated.  The two women, who 
clearly despised Ashley, disagreed, and it was apparent the idea of 
Ashley toiling on the chain gang delighted them.  Judge Bovine and 
Judge Spite, ever the impartial advocates, fell somewhere between, 
and debated both sides of what seemed to them to be a rather 
abstract and theoretical argument.

"If you actually put her on the chain gang for few hours and let 
her work up a stink, we could see for sure," Mrs. Spite hissed. 

"Yes, she wouldn't look so hoity-toity with a tar brush in her 
hand," Mrs. Bovine agreed.

Judge Helms seized the opening.  "Hmmm...that would be a 
fascinating experiment," he mused, as if his guests had 
just proposed some sort of entirely unique breakthrough.  
"Like all great experiments, our research would be incisive, 
novel, and definitive.  We could process Ashley into the 
prison, just like any other convict.  That would solve the 
dispute over criminal heredity, and whether, as the ladies 
argue, clothes make the woman."  

The two shrewish wives jumped at the idea, and the tone of the 
conversation immediately changed.  Judge Bovine and Judge Spite, 
who had been treating the entire conversation as an abstract 
Socratic argument, perked up immediately.  

"I, for one, would be fascinated to see your intake process," 
Spite said.  "If the crux of the argument is the feasibility 
of transforming any young woman into a convincing criminal, a 
close review of the transformation process itself would seem 
critical."

"Yes, I quite agree," said Bovine.  "We'll need to see everything, 
soup to nuts...."  Ashley noticed he was looking her up and down 
as he added, "And tip to toe."

For her part, Ashley listened more than she talked, conceding that 
it would be an "intriguing" experiment, while trying not to sound 
too keen about the notion.  Helms watched her closely, and she was 
both terrified by and deeply aroused by the possibility of her 
fantasy coming true.

At this point, Maxine arrived with the refreshments, and, as the 
group agreed on the necessity for "absolute realism," Ashley 
reveled in the sight of the Maxine suffering through her 
unaccustomed role of cocktail waitress.  She smiled broadly at 
Maxine as the guard popped the top off of her soda bottle and 
submissively handed over the ice cold bottle, all the while 
glaring at her in a way that made it clear that she'd like to 
be giving Ashley the back of her hand.

"If we want this to be realistic, we'll need to convict her of 
something," Helms said.  "I believe the courtroom is available 
today, so scheduling won't be a problem."

"The courtroom is here?" Ashley asked.  "I thought it would be in 
town."

"No, it's more convenient to try the cases here," Helms explained.  
"Rapid bench trials avoid the time and expense of juries."

"Here, here," Bovine said.

"Yes, indeed," Spite put in.  "Juries use their hearts instead of 
their heads.  Too often they are swayed by a pretty face."

"Yes, well, there's no danger of that in my case," Helms chuckled.  
"I race them through quickly, sometimes twenty per hour at harvest 
time.  Plus, by having the proceedings here I can give the women 
who are scheduled to be released their final merit review at the 
same time I'm processing the new inmates in."

"What's a merit review?" Bovine asked.

"Before we declare a female inmate as being fit for decent society, 
I take a few minutes to review their record at the prison.  You 
don't want to release a woman into world until she's contrite and 
has truly learned her lesson."

"Good thinking, Jessie," Bovine said.

"Yes, indeed," Spite agreed.  "The world would be a better place 
if there were more judges like you."

Ashley wasn't sure of the legality of arbitrarily adding more time 
onto a sentence already served, but there was so much of this that 
baffled her that she decided to start at the beginning.  "What if 
a young woman is found innocent?" she asked.  "Then you will have 
driven her out to the prison for nothing."

"Don't be silly, child," Mrs. Bovine said, as if she had just said 
something unimaginably foolish.  "Why would the police arrest them 
if they were innocent?"

"Quite right," Helms agreed.  "All of the young women who appear 
before my bench are strong, able-bodied, and excellent field 
workers.  Why, then, would I let them go?  An experienced jurist 
such as myself can tell just by looking at them that they are in 
need of correction."

"Like Ashley?" Mrs. Bovine asked.

The entire group laughed out loud at this splendid witticism.  
Ashley, trying to be a good sport, smiled nervously.  

"She certainly appears fit to me," Bovine said, ogling her yet 
again.  

"Well, she's rather small-boned, and unaccustomed to field work," 
Helms said, enjoying the way that Ashley was shrinking back under 
his appraising gaze.  But I imagine we could get an honest day's 
work out of her...if she were properly motivated."

More laughter.  Ashley tentatively joined in, not because she was 
amused, but because she suddenly had an urgent need to feel part 
of the group rather than the butt of the joke.

Judge Helms continued.  "And you gentlemen are correct that the 
intake processing is a key element of the correctional process.  
By having the trials at the prison, I'm free to stay and watch 
the girls go through the full intake procedure, "soup to nuts," 
as you put it, whenever I find a case that...catches my interest."

"Like Ashley?" Mrs. Bovine asked.

The entire group laughed again.  Once more, Ashley, increasingly 
anxious, forced herself to join them, although, if the "intake" 
processing was like her brother's novel, what the judge was 
proposing was no laughing matter.

Helms laughed heartily.  "Yes, I imagine I'd make time for Miss 
Marsh's case, my schedule permitting," he said, chuckling.  "What 
about it, Ashley?  Would you like to while away the afternoon with 
an intriguing little diversion?"

There were some chuckles from the group at the judge's comedic 
understatement, but Ashley did not laugh.  "I-I suppose...if 
it's the only way to get the data," she said tentatively.

"There is no suppose about it," Helms sad sternly.  "In order to 
get the data that we need, and prove or disprove our hypothesis, 
we're going to have to do this for real.  We are going to march 
you into court and sentence you.  From that point on you will be, 
in the eyes of the law, a convicted criminal.  We will strip you 
of everything you have: your money, your power, and yes, even your 
personal property.  You will be friendless and powerless, and 
totally under the control of our Southern penal system.

"At the conclusion of your sentence, I will, of course, expunge 
your record, but until that time you will be a common criminal, 
and you will be treated as such.  Do I make myself clear, young 
lady?"

Ashley felt dizzy, frightened, and dreadfully excited, all at 
once.  "Crystal clear, sir," she said, in a voice that belied 
her competence and authority.

"You understand that, if you agree to do this, there will be no 
turning back.  I consider you a friend.  We have broken bread, 
and you have graced my table.  But, the instant I give the word, 
you will become a criminal, and once we start we will not stop 
for any reason.  Do you understand?"

Ashley nodded, meekly staring at her shoes.

"Are you ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN you want to proceed, knowing that from 
this point on there is no turning back, no matter what?"

Ashley could feel the eyes of the group upon her as she weighed her 
momentous decision.

Finally, she nodded.  

"I need to hear you say it," Helms said sternly.  "Speak up, girl."

The 32-year-old Ashley didn't like being referred to as "girl," but 
she knew that this was not the time to voice a complaint.  Instead, 
with as much courage as she could muster, she said, "Please, I want 
to get the data, Your Honor, sir.  I want to be admitted to prison 
and-and...treated as a common criminal, sir."   

"Excellent," Judge Helms said.  "Please go bring Matron Maxine 
over, so we can get started."


LIKE ALL OF US, I WAS GRIEVED TO HEAR ABOUT THE LOSS OF OUR 
CHUM, HOLLY, ALWAYS A FRIEND TO THESE GROUPS AND TO THIS AUTHOR 
IN PARTICULAR.  I GAVE HER AND HER COUSIN, NATALIE, A CAMEO IN 
THIS STORY AS A TRIBUTE TO HER, AND HEREBY DEDICATE THE STORY 
TO ONE WHO WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.  WE MISS YOU, HOLLY.

		******************************
 
Part 3

Ashley felt her heart jump as she learned that the matron whom she 
had bested would be involved in her "intake," but knew that it was 
too late to argue.  She dutifully walked across the yard to where 
Maxine was berating poor Holly for "missing a spot."

"Judge Helms would like to see you, ma'am," Ashley said.  

Maxine was annoyed to be interrupted, but, more than that, she 
was surprised at Ashley's meek and docile tone.  Why was a judge 
calling HER "ma'am," and why was she staring at her shoes?

The answer became clear when Maxine rejoined the group.  

"I need you take this young woman into custody and escort her to 
her holding cell," Helms said, pointing out Ashley as the accused. 
"Court will convene shortly."

"I don't understand," Maxine said, confused.  "Is this a joke?"

"No joke," Helms replied.  "Arrest this woman.  Now!"

Maxine looked at his unsmiling countenance, then turned to Ashley, 
who seemed like a frightened rabbit staring helplessly into the 
headlights while a massive truck bore down on her.  As she 
registered the fear in Ashley's eyes, Maxine's confidence returned.

Ashley winced as the matron cinched the handcuffs tightly around 
her wrists.  

"Come on!" Maxine growled, dragging Ashley by the arm.  It was 
difficult to walk in stylishly high heels with her hands cuffed 
behind her, but Maxine held her arm firmly in a way that ensured 
that it was she who controlled the speed.  

Helms and his party walked between the massive columns and through 
the front door, but Maxine led Ashley to a side entrance and down 
a flight of stairs into a subterranean basement.  

Ashley nearly fell as Maxine half-yanked her down the stairs, but 
the larger woman caught her and easily set her back on her feet.  
"It's hard to walk in these heels," Ashley said.

"Don't worry about it, Princess," Maxine said ominously.  "You'll 
be barefoot soon enough."

She roughly shoved Ashley into a dismal cell and slammed the barred 
door shut behind her.  "When is my trial?  Do I get a lawyer?"  
Ashley said.

Maxine left without answering.  

Ashley was surprised at Maxine's manner.  After their previous 
encounter, she had expected Maxine to beat the crap out of her 
the moment that they were alone.  But the matron's manner was 
far different; gruff to be sure, but not vindictive.  She didn't 
choose to stay in the cell and torment Ashley, although it was 
clearly in her power to do so.  Instead, she had simply dumped 
her there and left as if Ashley were just another detainee.

In a strange way, it was comforting.  She wasn't an inmate, at 
least not yet.  There was still the matter of her trial, and, 
whatever charge they dreamed up, she knew she had the legal 
skills to beat the rap.

She looked around the dismal prison.  There were several cells 
in the makeshift cellar, with barred cell doors that reminded 
her of an old western.  Ashley tried to sit on the cot, but the 
big  rodents who were nestled under the blanket objected.  

She retreated to the farthest corner of the cell.  Maxine had left 
her hands cuffed behind her back, and she had no way of defending 
herself should the rats attack.  But they ignored her, not 
frightened, but not much interested in her, either.  Apparently 
they had seen plenty like her before.

There was a covered wooden pail that she guessed was for certain 
"necessities."  After drinking a large bottle of Coke, she very 
much needed to pee, but, with her hands cuffed behind her back, 
there wasn't much she could do.  And she certainly didn't want 
to give that horrible matron the satisfaction of returning to 
find her squatting over a bucket.
 
With nothing else to do, she waited...and waited...and waited some 
more, wondering what was taking so long and what the others were 
doing.  

At last, Maxine returned and opened Ashley's cage.  "Am I going to 
see Judge Helms?" Ashley asked hopefully.

Maxine did not reply, but instead grabbed Ashley by the arm and 
led her up the stairs into a short hallway attached to a small 
courtroom.

Her subterranean cell had been dismally dark, and it took Ashley's 
eyes several seconds to adjust to the light.  It was a quaint 
Southern courtroom and reminded Ashley of the set of "TO KILL A 
MOCKINGBIRD."  She smiled, but her amusement was cut short as the 
bailiff gave the order for all to rise, and Maxine quickly hustled 
Ashley over to her place behind the defense table.

"Could you uncuff me, please?" Ashley asked.  

"We don't bother uncuffing 'em for court," Maxine said tartly.  
"But don't you worry.  This won't take long."

All rose, with the exception of Judge Dithers, Ashley's "counsel," 
who was sitting in the next chair, dozing peacefully.  

Ashley watched as the door behind the bench opened and Judge Helms, 
looking quite grand in his black robe, entered the court and 
mounted the steps to the bench.  He did not look at her, or at 
Judge Spite or Judge Bovine, who were both standing at the 
prosecutor's table, with their wives sitting behind them in the 
gallery.

The bailiff handed Helms the papers for the case.  The judge BANGED 
his gavel loudly three times, and the bailiff announced, "Hear ye, 
hear ye!  This court is now in session.  All those having business 
come forward and be heard.  Our first case in the docket is 
3830-1838.1: the People versus Ashley Marsh."

Judge Spite spoke for the People.  "The charge is petty larceny, 
Your Honor.  Petty in name only, I assure you."

Helms glanced through his court papers.  "Yes, I can see that.  
How does the defendant plead?"

Petty larceny?  Ashley was confused by the charge, but not by her 
plea.  "Absolutely, 100% not guilty, Your Honor," she said, her 
voice loud and firm.

Helms banged his gavel and gave her his sternest look.  "Young 
lady, in this courtroom, the defendant's lawyer enters the plea." 

Ashley's hands were still cuffed behind her back, and it was with 
some difficulty that she shook Judge Dithers awake.

"Where are we?" he asked, confused.

"We're in court, " she said.  "You need to enter my Not-Guilty 
plea,"

Judge Spite, standing at the prosecutor's table, took the floor.   
"The other night Miss Marsh told Judge Helms that she stole a 
book from her brother's bedroom.  It was a rather lewd book, one 
not at all fit for a proper young lady.  She told Judge Helms that 
she read the book over and over, to the point where she could quote 
its most lascivious passages from memory.  Of course, what she did 
with the stolen property has no bearing on the theft itself, though 
what she might have been doing as she was reading this scandalous 
tome might fairly be considered by Judge Helms during sentencing, 
as it pertains to character."

Judge Spite leaned in closer and addressed the baffled-looking 
Judge Dithers directly, "Tell me, Arthur, when a young woman 
freely admits to the crime, and confesses to the judge that she 
did it, and offers no defense, what sort of plea is that?"

"Uh, guilty, I suppose," Judge Dithers said, scratching his head 
in confusion.  

"GUILTY!" Judge Helms said, sealing the verdict with a loud BANG of 
his gavel.  "The prisoner will approach the bench for sentencing."

"Wait, I...." 

Her protest was cut short as Maxine roughly grabbed her arm and 
dragged her forward until she stood in front of the high bench. 

Ashley, who was diminutive to begin with, felt positively tiny 
as she craned her neck to look up at scowling Judge Helms.

"Does the prisoner have anything to say before the court passes 
sentence?"

"I'm a judge, and I know something about the law," Ashley said.  
"First off, I didn't do anything wrong, and I'm not pleading 
guilty...."

Judge Helms cut her off with a bang of his gavel.  "Anyone who 
knows the law knows that sentencing phase is not the time to 
change one's plea, or to re-argue the merits of the case.  It 
is a time to show contrition, and to present any mitigating 
circumstances."

Judge Bovine spoke for the prosecution.  "Given the nature of the 
stolen materials, and a reasoned guess as to what this supposed 
lady was using them for, the prosecution requests the maximum 
sentence: $500 fine and a term of 1 year at the Cracker County 
Correctional Facility for Women."

"One year?" Ashley said.  "For a first offense?  That's outrageous!"

Helms SLAMMED down his gavel.  "The defendant will speak when she 
is spoken to," he shouted.  "Now, then, how much money does the 
defendant have in her purse?"  

"$275," Maxine replied.

Helms cleared his throat.  "That money will be distributed as fees 
-- $125 to the bench as remuneration for the judicial services 
provided the defendant during her trial, and the remaining $150 to 
be divided equally between counsel and prosecutor."

Ashley watched in disbelief as Maxine took the money out of her 
purse and handed it directly to Judge Spite and Judge Bovine.  She 
had heard of jurisdictions where compensation for the prosecutors, 
judges, and Sheriffs was drawn largely from the fines levied in 
court.  Under such a system, Ashley realized, trips to the prison 
farm were never wasted.  The lack of adequate legal representation, 
the presumption of guilt, and a bench trial conducted by a judge 
who profited so directly from the defendant's guilt rendered guilt 
a foregone conclusion.

Ashley swallowed as she nervously looked up at Judge Helms.  They 
were friends, but there was no evidence of friendship now.  Helms 
towered over her like a king on his throne, and Ashley, her hands 
cuffed behind her back, was powerless to do anything but nervously 
chew her lip as she trembled in his presence.

She knew that this was no charade.  This was the point of no 
return, and, whatever her previous status, she was now just 
another prisoner in his court, no more and no less.  The thought 
terrified her, even as the reality of having her fantasy turned 
to reality caused her juices to dribble down her thighs.

Judge Helms stroked his chin thoughtfully as he mulled over her 
fate.  He consulted his papers, then tapped his pencil against 
his desk.  When the courtroom was in absolute, total suspense, he 
spoke.

"Since this was the defendant's first offense, the court was 
tempted to limit the sentence to a few hours of jail and a fine.  
However, the defendant's total lack of remorse and outright 
defiance has made mercy impossible.  I sentence the prisoner 
to a $500 fine and 30 days of hard labor at the Cracker County 
Correctional Facility for Women.  Sentence to begin immediately."

Judge Helms slammed down the gavel, signaling the end of court.  
All rose as he exited.  Ashley stared at his retreating figure, 
too stunned to move, almost too stunned to breathe.

A few moments before, she had been the one who sat on the bench.  
Now she was a convicted criminal.

As the others left the courtroom, Judge Dithers approached Ashley 
from behind.  "I'm sorry you were guilty," he said.  "Of course, 
your conduct was inexcusable, and maybe this is for the best.  In 
any event, I always liked you, and I hope whatever happens you'll 
always think of me as a friend."

Judge Dithers offered her his hand in a final farewell shake.  She 
responded by showing him her shackled wrists.

"Yes, well, quite.  Nothing more to be done.  Goodbye, Ashley."

"Wait!" Ashley said.  "You can launch an appeal.  You're the only 
one who knows I'm here.  If you got me a real lawyer...."

"A real lawyer!"  Dithers was clearly insulted.  "I'll have you 
know, young lady, that in my day I lost more cases than you'll 
ever try!"

"I'm sorry," Ashley said, acutely aware of the precariousness of 
her situation.  "I just meant...if you had practiced law more 
recently...."

Judge Dithers, still stung, looked at Ashley sternly.  "I've seen 
your type before.  New judges with radical new ideas, turning old 
judges like me out to pasture.  Judge Helms is right.  You need to 
learn respect for your elders, young lady.  Maybe you'll learn that 
lesson here."

"But, if you appeal...." Ashley protested.

"Appeal!  You haven't even started serving your sentence here.  If 
I were you, I'd forget about any appeal nonsense and turn my full 
attention towards doing whatever was necessary to survive."

"What do you mean?" Ashley asked.

"Thirty days on the work farm could be a death sentence for a 
pampered little rich girl like you, Ashley.  Judge Helms and 
the law won't be able to protect you any more.  Fortunately, 
you're a very pretty young woman.  That should help."

"I don't understand," Ashley said.

"Do I have to spell it out?  In order to survive in a place like 
this, you're going to have to do...things.  Things a decent, 
respectable woman would never dream of.  Remember, Ashley, 
whatever you do, or whatever they make you do, it's the law.   
The humiliation you will feel is just and an important part of 
your punishment."

Ashley panicked as Maxine took her by the arm.  "Please!" she 
pleaded.  "You've got to help me."

"Goodbye, Ashley," he said, then turned his back and walked away.  

The last thing she heard as she was led out of the courtroom toward 
her doom was the cheerful voice of Judge Dithers chuckling with the 
bailiff as he speculated whether the heat would have any impact on 
the home team's pitching.

		******************************

Maxine led Ashley out the door and across the hall.  "I need to 
go to the bathroom, please, ma'am," Ashley said, hoping that a 
submissive tone might buy her some sympathy.  It did not, and 
Maxine responded by pushing Ashley through a wooden door labeled 
"PROCESSING."

Ashley was surprised to see that the other members of her party, 
including Judge Helms, were already sitting there, awaiting her 
arrival.  Maxine turned to Helms.  "The defense counsel is still 
in the other room," she said.  "Should we wait for him?"

"No need," Judge Helms said, glancing at his watch.  "We don't have 
all day for this."

Maxine nodded.  Ashley sighed with relief as Maxine uncuffed her 
wrists.  The cuffs had been excruciatingly tight, and Ashley was 
relieved to finally be able to rub some circulation back into her 
hands.  

Her relief was short-lived, however.  She watched in dismay as 
Maxine produced a large plastic box similar to a milk crate.  
Ashley's purse was already inside, and the end was labeled:

			MARSH,  ASHLEY
			288-38377-7378

She gasped.  She realized she was looking at her property box.

Then the ritual began....

"Let your hair down."  

"Shake it out."

"Take off your watch."

"Take off your earrings."

"My, those are pretty diamonds," Mrs. Bovine said.  "I wish I had 
earrings like that!"

"Maxine, please add these earrings to my judicial fee.  The watch, 
too.  I don't want Mrs. Spite to feel left out."

Judge Bovine took Ashley's expensive ring as a present for his 
niece, while Judge Spite claimed her pearl necklace.  After all, 
as Judge Helms said, it was only right that everyone have a 
souvenir.  No one should feel left out.

Ashley watched in dismay as Mrs. Bovine and Mrs. Spite chatted 
happily as they donned her expensive solid gold watch and diamond 
earrings.  The two cows gushed like school girls as they admired 
each other, basked in their slavish husbands' compliments, and 
exchanged congratulations on their exceptional taste.

Ashley used the momentary diversion to reflect upon her "crime."  
Truth be told, she had felt slightly guilty about stealing her 
brother's "Chain Gang Girls" porn novel from his room when he went 
off to college, but she had rationalized "borrowing" it initially 
by reasoning that she enjoyed the book even more than her brother 
did, and that the use she got out of the book somehow justified 
the crime.

When he came home from school she did not return the book, and, 
when he said nothing about it, she reasoned that either he didn't 
notice its loss or didn't care.  In truth, she knew, he wasn't 
sure who had taken it.  Ashley?  The cleaning lady?  His angry 
mother?  In any event the novel clearly wasn't worth the 
embarrassment of questioning his mother, father, and teenaged 
sister.

Ashley knew, of course, that what she had done was wrong, and she 
had always felt guilty about both the book and what she had used 
it for.  On some level, she felt that she truly deserved to be 
punished.  Although Judge Helms had repeated stated the punishment 
was going to be "realistic," she had reasoned that it was a mere 
play on words.  She had never dreamed she'd be sentenced to a REAL 
jail term for an actual crime that she had committed.

It was more than a little ironic that she was being sentenced into 
precisely the sort of prison that she had fantasized about.  On 
some cosmic level, had she earned the sentence through her endless 
hours of diddling herself as she gloated over the heroines' 
humiliations?  Perhaps, and, although she hated to admit it, the 
fact that the crime was real and the sentence was somehow deserved 
made it all the more exciting.

It was also ironic that she was being incarcerated for petty 
larceny only to have the judges and their piggish wives steal 
hundreds of dollars from her.  But the property box was deep, 
and she knew that it was designed to hold far more than earrings.  
From the way the grinning men were looking her up and down, the 
loss of her expensive jewelry would soon be the least of her 
problems.

The spoils thus divided, Maxine impatiently returned to the 
business at hand.

"Shoes," she said crisply.

		******************************

Part 4

At Maxine's command, Ashley rather awkwardly removed her stylish 
high heels.  

"My, aren't those lovely," Mrs. Bovine said.  

"Yes, they've very pretty," Mrs. Spite allowed, before adding 
gleefully, "it's almost a shame that the convicts go barefoot."

"Jacket," Maxine ordered.

Ashley doffed her expensive jacket and handed it to the matron.  
After doing a perfunctory search of the pockets, Maxine folded 
it in half and casually tossed it into the box.

"Shirt," Maxine sad.

Ashley began undoing the buttons of her blouse slowly, reluctantly. 
Her faux "attorney," Judge Dithers, entered, followed by a portly 
man in a white linen suit that Ashley supposed was the warden.

"Oh, my!" he said, surveying the scene.  "What do we have here?"

"We need to get this girl into her uniform," Mrs. Bovine said, her 
voice dripping with eagerness.

"And do we need to watch this procedure?" Dithers inquired.

"Indeed, Arthur," Helms replied.  "Justice must be seen to be done."

For a moment Ashley thought that her lawyer was going to intervene 
on her behalf, but then she noticed his glazed, ancient eyes ogling 
her lacy white bra peaking from beneath her half-opened blouse.

He licked his lips as he gazed at Ashley's luscious form.  How long 
had it been...?  No matter.  "Proceed," he said.

Ashley was more than a little surprised that her so-called lawyer 
didn't make more of an effort to spare her the indignity of an 
eager audience, and she looked back at Arthur Dithers with pleading 
eyes.  But Maxine never wasted time on pointless appeals.

"Get on with it, convict," she said sharply.  "I have things to do!"

Ashley quickly finished unbuttoning her blouse, but turned her back 
on her audience before taking it off.  She knew she was being 
silly, since she wouldn't be showing more than people could see on 
the beach.  However, this was most decidedly not the beach.  It was 
a humiliating and shameful strip search being performed in front of 
her peers and their wives.  It was the knowledge of that difference 
that filled Ashley with an almost unimaginable shame.

She handed her blouse back over her shoulder and crossed her arms 
across her chest.  Maxine folded the garment and dropped it in the 
cratebox, then ordered her to "turn around."

"Skirt!"

Ashley reluctantly uncrossed her arms and unzipped her skirt.  It 
was a tight fit, and she had to wiggle a bit to get out of it, an 
action that caused her small but nicely shaped breasts to jiggle, 
much to the audience's amusement.  

"I wish I had a dollar bill," the warden chuckled.  

Ashley's eyes filled with tears.  She had never felt so alone.  As 
she listened to the group, she knew that there was no longer any 
way to maintain that they were laughing with her, not at her.

Ashley stood before the others in her white bra and panties and 
her white garter belt and black stockings.  She crossed her arms 
in front of herself again in a forlorn effort.

"Stockings!" Maxine barked.  

"Now just a second," Judge Spite said.  "I, for one, appreciate it 
when a young lady puts on such filly scanties.  My, those are nice 
-- all soft and smooth and lacy.  Ashley, be a darlin'.  Put your 
hands on your head and give us a nice slow turn."

Ashley had indeed chosen her undergarments carefully that morning, 
knowing full well that she might be showing them to whomever 
processed her and perhaps even (if reality matched the lurid pages 
in her brother's novel) to Judge Helms.  But, even in her wildest 
dreams, she had never imagined a lingerie fashion show with so 
many enthusiastic spectators.

But it was late in the day for regrets.  "You heard the man, 
convict," Maxine said.  

Ashley swallowed, put her hands on top of her head, and turned 
slowly in a circle.  

"Yes, quality will out," Judge Helms said.

Judge Bovine let out a slow whistle, too caught up in the moment to 
notice his wife's glare.  "I'll say," he said, as if in a dream.

"She looks a bit skinny to me," Mrs. Bovine said.  

"Yes, there's not much on top," Mrs. Spite added.  

"Well, it's true that girls with a few pounds on them usually have 
an easer time of it on the farm," the warden observed.  "Still, a 
girl like Ashley does have her uses."

The group was left to ponder what those uses might be as Ashley, 
her humiliating runway spin complete, dutifully removed her 
stockings and slipped out of her garter belt.

She paused and covered herself again.  

"Ah, the moment of truth," Judge Bovine said with a chuckle.

"Yes, this is where it gets interesting," the warden agreed, giving 
Maxine the nod to proceed.

"Take off your bra," Maxine ordered.

In a desperate attempt at modesty, Ashley once again turned her 
back and removed her bra.  She reached behind her to hand it to 
Maxine, who scarcely looked at the garment before tossing it 
into the box.

"Now the underpants."   

Ashley bent forward, but only slightly, so as to not give the eager 
male eyes behind her too lewd a view of her upturned bottom.  

However, as she lowered her panties, she discovered a worse 
problem; she knew she was excited, and indeed she had been 
aroused ever since the driver turned off toward the prison.  
But she was surprised to discover that the gusset of her 
panties was positively soaked.

She carefully folded her panties to conceal the wet spot and 
discreetly wiped her crotch to conceal her arousal.  Reaching 
behind her to hand her panties over to Maxine, she desperately 
hoped no one would discover her shameful secret.

"Turn around, spread your legs, and put your hands in the air," 
Maxine ordered.

"I say, is this really necessary?" Judge Dithers asked.  It was a 
feeble protest, and Ashley would have found it more convincing if 
his rheumy eyes weren't ogling her shapely backside.

"Yup," the warden replied.  "All new prisoners have to be searched 
for contraband...unless, of course, there's some reason to treat 
this one special."

Ashley looked over her shoulder at the group and pleaded with them 
with her eyes.  She was a Harvard Law School graduate, an 
accomplished attorney, and an Illinois Supreme Court justice.  
Clearly she WAS special, and her modesty and dignity were 
worthy of some consideration.

But the group's silence was deafening.  Ashley was just another 
criminal, and her processing would continue.

"Git to it!" Maxine barked.

Feeling more shame than she ever imagined possible, Ashley turned 
around, spread her legs, and put her arms up over her head, in a 
sort of modified Jumping-Jack pose.

She felt herself flush.  The women stared at her with sly smiles.   
They were envious of her beauty to be sure, but now they were 
simply reveling in her humiliation.  The men were easier to read: 
pop-eyed, they stared at Ashley with undisguised lust.

She was particularly aware of the men staring at the dark brown 
curls between her legs, and she hoped that her dampness wasn't 
obvious.

"Nice to see that the rug matches the drapes," Judge Bovine said.  

"Yes," Judge Helms agreed.  "Symmetry in such matters can be most 
pleasing to the eye." 

The judge's academic tone made her feel more like a living work of 
art than a live human girl, but Ashley soon had bigger problems.  
She swallowed as Maxine crossed the room and slowly extracted a 
latex glove from a cardboard box.

Oh, god!  Ashley's pulse quickened.  She desperately wanted to 
cover herself, to grab her clothes, to run away from this dreadful 
place.  But she did not.  Instead, she watched helplessly as Maxine 
slowly, teasingly slid the glove over her unnaturally long fingers 
and SNAPPED it into place.

"Take down your hair," Maxine barked.

Ashley obeyed, quickly removing the pins and handing them to the 
grinning matron.  Ashley shook her head, and the men smiled as 
her beautiful dark hair cascaded down over her shoulders.

"Ah, lovely," Judge Bovine said.

"Indeed," Judge Helms seconded.  

But Maxine was not interested in aesthetics.  As Maxine searched 
her long hair and scalp for weapons, Ashley's head pushed forward 
slightly, and she found herself staring at her bare feet.  She 
preferred looking down, since it allowed her to avoid the eyes 
of her audience while Maxine gruffly massaged her scalp.  The 
procedure was demeaning and humiliating, and, if this was what 
prison was like, Ashley understood why Natalie and the other 
inmates found it impossible to make eye contact with her.

"Show me the bottoms of your feet," Maxine said.

Ashley lifted first her left foot, then her right, for inspection.

"Open your mouth."

Maxine used a small flashlight in her ungloved hand to illuminate 
Ashley's tonsils.  She conducted the sort of exam that would make 
any dentist proud, and Ashley fought the urge to gag as the butch 
matron checked her cheeks, gum line, and even under her tongue for 
the imaginary "contraband."

Maxine walked away then, and, for a second Ashley thought she was 
going to get a prison uniform.  But instead she pulled back a 
white curtain to reveal an old-fashioned medical exam table.  
Ashley instinctively covered her crotch as Maxine brusquely 
adjusted the stirrups to their maximum separation before locking 
them in place.

"Really!" Judge Dithers said.  "Is this absolutely necessary?"  

"Them's the rules," the warden said, as if that ended the argument. 

"Yes, Arthur, absolutely it is," Judge Helms said.  "In a facility 
such as this, the security of the guards is paramount...."

"But really, the stirrups?" Dithers protested.  "In front of 
EVERYONE?  I mean, it's so dreadfully humiliating."

"Precisely my point," Helms argued.  "During the time that you've 
known Ashley, did you ever picture her, naked as a newborn babe, 
with her feet in the stirrups, her legs spread wide?"

"Of course not!" Dithers exclaimed.  "Unimaginable."

"Yes, exactly.  Such a thing IS unimaginable, and how can one 
imagine something that it is unimaginable?  If this is something 
that must be seen to be believed, must we not see it?"

"Yes, I suppose...," Dithers admitted, trying to follow the 
bizarre chain of reasoning.

Judge Helms nodded to Maxine, who gave the order.  "All right, 
Princess, it's time for some deep sea fishing.  Up on the table, 
legs apart, feet in the stirrups.  Let's go, hurry up!"

The room was so quiet that everyone could hear the sound of 
Ashley's bare feet scampering across the linoleum.  She sat 
down on the table and laid back.  Left foot into its stirrup, 
then right foot.  

With her legs split as widely as possible, she felt utterly 
exposed.  Her only comfort was that she was staring up at the 
ceiling and didn't have to look at the faces of the men and 
women staring at her outrageously exposed privates.

The warden let out a slow whistle.  "Whoo-wee.  That's what I call 
'quality.'  I'd love to put a quarter in that slot."

"Yes, this is first rate merchandise," Judge Bovine agreed.  "Even 
better than I had imagined."

"Capital," Judge Spite said.

Oddly enough, it was Judge Dithers who noticed it first, perhaps 
because he was the first to move in for a closer view.  "I say," 
he said.  "Is she...wet?"

A chill ran down Ashley's spine as her secret was revealed.  Oh, 
how she wanted to close her legs.  But she could not.  She was a 
convicted criminal being admitted into prison, and they had every 
right to search her.  Indeed, in this topsy-turvy world, closing 
her legs might actually be against the law.

Instead, she just bit her lip and stared at the acoustical tiles 
on the ceiling as the group formed a tight semi-circle around her 
widely splayed thighs.

"By golly, she IS wet!" Judge Bovine exclaimed.  "She's soaking!"  

"So, our blushing barrister got herself all hot and bothered during 
her search." Judge Spite said.  "That IS a surprise."

"Not to me," his wife hissed.  "I knew all along she was a slut."

"Someone should take their belt to the randy bitch's backside," 
Mrs. Bovine agreed.

Ashley, wishing she could disappear, chewed her lip as the warden 
gently stroked her shamefully wet sex with his chubby fingers.  
"Now this is what I call 'Grade A Cunt," he chortled.  "Hot, wet, 
and...let's see -- yup!  She's snappy as a rubber band.  This one 
might not be much good for field work...hell, she'd probably drop 
over dead after a month...but Judge Helms is right about the 
'merchandise' part.  We're going to make ourselves some money on 
her.  This, gentleman, is top of the line truck stop pussy!"

"I don't understand," Judge Dithers said stupidly.  "What does 
Ashley know about trucking?"

Judge Helms explained.  "The warden often rents the girls out to 
local farmers and businesses.  It's quite a profitable venture, 
since the girls work from dawn to dusk for free, and the guards 
are provided by the state.  I believe that the warden is suggesting 
that Ashley's...particular talents...might be best suited to the 
uh...entertainment industry."

"A truck stop whore," Mrs. Spite hissed.  "I'd love to see that -- 
Miss Hoity Toity selling it for a dime a dip!"

"Goodness gracious!" Judge Dithers said.  "I can't imagine poor 
Ashley being forced to work in a place like that!"

"We don't force nobody," the warden explained.  "This one here's 
a natural.  Watch this!"  

He began to stroke Ashley's button, slowly at first, then more 
rapidly, casually masturbating her as he chatted with the others.  
She struggled to maintain her composure, but, as she listened to 
him describe her future career in his melodic southern drawl, the 
horrible, unstoppable tingling grew.  "Truck stop's easy duty next 
to the chain gang.  Way it works is...after a few days a juicy 
little peach like Ashley here will start offering it up to the 
guards.  If she's any good, they'll pass a recommendation on to 
me, and if she offers it up real sweet, I'll give her a ride.  
Finely, she'll audition out at the truck stop.  We got a lot of 
talent and only so many beds, so it's only the juiciest little 
sluts like this one that manage to keep their slots."

"By selling their slots," Judge Spite snickered.

"How much do you charge?" Judge Bovine asked.  

"How much do you want?"  the warden cackled.  "Our prices are dirt 
cheap.  We work the girls hard and price for volume.  In fact, 
seeing as how you're a friend of the judge, if you come in to see 
Ashley, we might even give you a judicial discount...out of the 
judge's share, of course."

"Judge Helms gets a share of the proceeds?" Judge Spite asked, 
clearly intrigued.

"He most certainly do," the warden said.  "In fact, he'll get 
a weekly report of every guy Ashley did -- age, race, and any 
special extras paid for."

That did it.  As he described her life at the truck stop, the 
pressure had been building, building, building.  But the thought 
of the judge gloating over the lengthy roster of every man who 
fucked her, and chuckling as he read the details of each 
perversion performed, pushed her over the edge.

Illinois Supreme Court Justice Ashley Marsh, with her legs spread 
wide and half a dozen near-strangers gaping at her twitching, 
spasming pussy, grunted her way through the most shattering 
orgasm of her life.

"Wooh-ee!  Look at 'er go!" The warden said, pulling his hand away 
so that everyone could watch her twitch.  "Like I said, that girl's 
a natural.  I could cook hotdogs in that little snatch."

"Disgusting!"  Mrs. Bovine hissed.

"Yes, disgusting!" Mrs. Spite echoed.  

"I see it differently, ladies," the warden said suavely.  "While 
you see a shameless vixen, humping her jailer's fingers and begging 
for more, I see a snappy little piggy bank that will turn a tidy 
profit for all concerned.  Watch me put another nickel in the slot."

The warden played Ashley like a video game, and she soon found 
herself blushing and squirming through her second, third, and 
even fourth orgasm.  The men considered her gasps and gyrations 
and twitches endlessly fascinating, and they could have watched 
for days, but the ladies finally objected, and, to Ashley's 
relief (since she wasn't sure her heart could take any more), 
the show ended.  

After that humiliating performance, Maxine's cavity search was 
almost (ahem!) anti-climactic.  It was long and thorough, and, 
by the time it was finished, Ashley had no doubt as to Maxine's 
sexual orientation.  

She also knew that she couldn't take the chain gang for long, and 
she'd soon be "auditioning" for the guards.  She was not into 
girls and hoped that the stern, mannish Maxine wouldn't be one of 
the guards she had to satisfy.

She breathed a sigh of relief as Maxine finally withdrew her long, 
probing fingers.  She expected to hear the sound of the glove being 
removed, but instead came Maxine's voice: "She's clean." 

"Not in my opinion," Mrs. Spite said archly.

Mrs. Spite's wit was met with a chorus of laughter, since everyone 
knew that the juicy, randy Ashley was anything but clean.  When 
the laughter subsided, the warden said, "Good job, Max.  Now check 
the other end."

"All right, Princess, we have to check number two," Maxine barked. 
"On your knees, ass in the air."

Ashley couldn't believe her ears.  Had she heard correctly?

The answer was Maxine's roughly yanking Ashley's foot out of the 
stirrup.  "Come on.  We've all seen enough of your twat.  Hop it!"

Ashley, weak and shaken from four shattering orgasms, scrambled off 
the table.  Commanded to show the merchandise from a different 
angle, she turned and climbed up on all fours.

"Head down, ass up!" Maxine barked, pushing down on Ashely's neck.  
Ashley obeyed, arching her back so as to raise her bottom high for 
her audience's viewing pleasure.

She had always thought her pert backside was her best feature, and 
she felt herself flush anew as the eyes of the men roved freely 
over her shapely fanny.  The sight of Ashley's bottom raised high 
in the air inspired an altogether different emotion in Mrs. Spite, 
and Ashley's embarrassment turned to panic as she heard her sharp, 
shrill voice cut through the air like a whip.

"Does this institution practice corporal punishment?"

Judge Helms smiled as Ashley's bottom cheeks clenched in panic.

		******************************

Part 5

"Yes, most definitely.  Corporal punishment is an important 
teaching tool," Judge Helms answered Mrs. Spite.  "The girls 
can be punished for falling behind their quota, or for failing 
to obey an order quickly enough or with the proper enthusiasm.  
Eyeballing their betters is also strictly forbidden and will 
result in prompt discipline."

"And what instrument is used?" Mrs. Spite asked.

"Typically, the razor strap.  Some guards prefer the tawse.  The 
cane is reserved for the more serious offenses."

"My!" Mrs. Spite chuckled, smiling evilly as Ashley's bottom cheeks 
clenched and jiggled in anticipation of the implicit threat.  "I 
imagine that must really sizzle, particularly with only that thin 
rag of a uniform for protection."

"Indeed it does," Judge Helms confirmed.  "But their uniforms 
provide no protection whatsoever.  Punishments are always 
applied to the prisoner's bare backside."

"Totally bare?" Mrs. Bovine asked, less to get an answer than to 
drive home the point to the blushing prisoner posed bottoms up 
before her.

"As bare as Ashley is now?" Mrs. Spite added, piling on.

"Yes, as bare as Ashley is now.  In fact, I'd say her bottom is 
perfectly positioned for punishment," Helms observed.  As he 
hoped, his observation triggered more nervous clenching.  

This WAS fun.  

"A good dose of the razor strap is precisely what THAT one needs," 
opined Mrs. Bovine.  

"Yes, look at the way her bottom is twitching," Mrs. Spite said.  
"You can see her fanny is itching for discipline."

Ashley's fanny was indeed clenching and twitching as she listened 
to their conversation.  Her blood ran cold as Judge Spite asked 
the next, logical, terrible question.

"Do we have a razor strap here?"

Judge Helms nodded to Maxine, and Ashley listened as the matron 
opened the cabinet behind her and retrieved the strap.  Ashley 
dared not look up or break her humbling position, but, from 
the universal acclaim, she knew that it would make short work 
of her bottom.

"My, that is a beauty!"  

"I'll bet it still packs a wallop."

"I'll say.  Look, they've even oiled it.  It must really hug the 
curves!"

"What do you say we give her a dose, Jessie?"

"Yes, by all means.  Let's hear the little pup yelp!"

"I must object," Judge Dithers said.  "Ashley has done nothing 
wrong.  She has cooperated fully, and there is no justification 
for her to be punished."

"Yes, I must agree," Judge Helms said, issuing his ruling.  
"Ashley has been an obedient bitch, ripe and juicy, and has 
proven herself well-suited to the collar.  We can set the 
strap aside.  Momentarily."

Ashley had not seen the strap, but Judge Helms corrected her 
ignorance and maximized her terror by laying the strap out on 
the table in front of her, so that it nearly touched her nose.

Ashley's heart raced.  The strap was long and brown and thick, 
well-worn but still in excellent condition.  She could tell from 
the way that it draped lazily over the sides of the exam table 
that the supple leather would indeed hug the curves.  

She wanted to hold the strap to better test its measure, but dared 
not move her hands.  She listened to the pounding of her heart as 
she craned her head forward and gently touched the strap with the 
tip of her nose.  As she had feared, the leather was deceptively 
soft and supple, and her nostrils quickly filled with the scent of 
the strap oil.

"Spread your legs wide, Ashley, and show us your bottom hole," 
Helms said.  "Your pussy appears to be okay, but the matron has 
to examine both ends."

BOTH ENDS!  Ashley was appalled.  The vaginal inspection had been 
bad enough, but now she was supposed to show them her tight little 
fanny hole, too?

"Really, Jessie," Judge Dithers said.  "Ashley is a judge, after 
all.  The idea that she would be smuggling contraband into a prison 
in her anal cavity is simply preposterous.  Probing around her 
anus, when you didn't even bother to check her purse, is simply 
absurd."

It was indeed, preposterous, and Ashley's heart leapt with joy at 
the spirited defense.  Finally someone was standing up for her 
rights.

"Ashley no longer has a purse, so that it not an issue.  As for the 
matter of contraband in her anal cavity, it is indeed preposterous, 
unlikely in the extreme," Judge Helms said.  "But, let us suppose 
for a moment that she WERE to smuggle in contraband.  Where would 
she hide it?  Would our Harvard lawyer put it in her purse, a place 
easily searched, and a place a guard would be most likely to look?  
Or would she choose the most unlikely place, the absurd place, the 
most preposterous place we could ever imagine?"

Ashley didn't have her purse, but the other women still had theirs, 
and no one had bothered to search them.  The men had not even been 
frisked.  Moreover, Ashley had ostensibly not known that she would 
be booked into the facility as an inmate, and thus logically there 
was no reason for her to smuggle contraband in her bottom or 
anywhere else.

The thousands of arguments that flooded Ashley's mind were cut 
short by her "lawyer's" weak, dishwater response.  "Yes, I 
suppose you are right," Judge Dithers conceded.  "I really 
hadn't thought of that."

Ashley fumed, and silently flashed forward to the day she would 
again be a judge, and she could strip Dithers of his law license 
and send the old geezer to a retirement home.

"Indeed," Judge Helms said, flush with triumph.  "Now spread your 
legs, Ashley.  Nice and wide, so we can see your bottom hole."

"Please, sir," Ashley said weakly.  "I swear...I swear I'm not....  
There is no contraband."

"A likely story!" hissed Judge Spite.

"Perhaps, but we can hardly be expected to take the word of a 
convicted thief, can we?  Now spread your legs.  Or would you 
prefer a dose of strap oil, first?"

Ashley's ears perked up at the sound of the dreaded word.  She 
stared at the strap in front of her, so long and soft and supple.  
She clenched her cheeks as she imagined the merciless strap doing 
its wicked work.

She didn't want to obey, but what choice did she have?  Gritting 
her teeth, she obeyed.

"No, Ashley, you'll have to do much better than that," Helms 
chided.  "We need to see EVERYTHING."

Ashley spread her legs wider still, but the judge was unimpressed.

"All the way, Ashley.  We'll have no false modesty from the likes 
of you....  No, wider.  We need to get a good look at that tight 
little pooper."

"The very idea!" humphed Mrs. Spite.  "The young trollop putting on 
airs, when not five minutes before she spread her legs like a ten 
peso puta in the window of a Tijuana brothel."

"Quite," Judge Bovine agreed. "We've seen so much, there's no 
reason we shouldn't see it all."

Grimacing, Ashley spread her knees to very edge of the table and 
lifted her fanny high in the air.

"Yes, that's better," Judge Helms said, finally satisfied.  "Now we 
can see what you had for breakfast."

Ashley squirmed in humiliation as she heard Judge Bovine cackle 
behind her.  "There's a cute little button hole," he chortled.  
"What do you say Ashley -- give us a wink?"

Have you ever tried not to think of something, after someone has 
told you not to think about it?  Trapped in just such a dilemma, 
Ashley found herself "winking" her tight little fanny hole for 
the amusement of the assembled guests.

"Now Ashley, before we get started, I want to ask you a question," 
Helms said.  Remember, we're all here to help you, so I want you to 
answer it honestly.  Now, from what I see, that little winker of 
yours looks quite tight.  Have you had much experience back there?"

"No," Ashley replied.  The mere thought of what he was asking 
caused her to wink again, triggering more titters from the 
people who were "there to help her."

"Have you had ANY experience back there?"

"No, of course not," Ashley said.  "I'm a nice girl!" 

Her protests of purity brought more laughter from the group and a 
remark from the warden that he'd be happy to "pop her cork."  This 
in turn triggered more desperate winking and still more laughter.

"I see," Judge Helms said.  "In that case, for your own comfort and 
safety, we need to loosen you up a bit.  I want you to give your 
rear horn a nice loud toot."

"What?" Ashley said.

"You heard me.  I want you to fart.  I know it's embarrassing, but 
you're a prisoner now, and you're going to have to learn to conform 
your natural body functions to the demands of your captors.  Now 
let's here a nice big toot!"

"I...I can't!"  

She shuddered as the judge picked up the strap.  "'Can't' is a word 
that no longer belongs in your vocabulary.  I suggest you replace 
it with, "Yes, sir" or "Right away, sir."

Ashley couldn't believe what she was being asked to do, but the 
feel of the leather strap being teasingly drawn across her bottom 
urged her to obey.

She farted, and everyone laughed.

"After that great big soda pop you can do better than that," Helms 
chided.  "Again!"

Ashley tooted her horn twice more, until at last the judge seemed 
satisfied with her obedience.  He gave Maxine a nod, and the most 
unlady-like search of Ashley's bottom began.

There was a large tub of generic lube next to the exam table, but 
Maxine did not use it.  Instead, she lubricated her long index 
finger in Ashley's own wetness before beginning her thorough 
probe.  

How many times had she brought herself to a shattering orgasm 
fantasizing about just such a prison search in one of the 
countless porn stories she had devoured over the years?  But 
now the fickle finger of fate had turned.  It was pointing at 
her, it was wearing a glove, and she was in the perfect position 
to experience its deep caress.

When Maxine at last removed her finger, it made a small popping 
sound, as if a champagne cork was being released.  "Happy New 
Year!" Judge Bovine shouted, much to the amusement of all.

All...except Ashley.  She did maintain her position, though -- 
bottom up and legs spread -- until commanded to move.  "On your 
feet convict!" Maxine barked, punctuating her command with a 
stinging SPANK! across Asley's exposed bottom.  "We don't have 
all day."

It seemed to Ashley that, when it came to humiliating her, they did 
indeed have all day, but she knew better than to argue.  She 
climbed off the table and covered herself as best she could.  But 
her efforts proved to be in vain, as Maxine quickly cuffed her 
hands behind her back.

"What about my uniform?" 

"Later, convict," Maxine replied.  "We have business in the barn 
first."

Maxine led her, buck naked and cuffed, by the scruff of the neck.  
As the others left, Judge Helms tarried a bit, then went back and 
fetched Ashley's still wet panties.  He held them up to his nose, 
savoring the aroma of her arousal.  He smiled and stuffed them in 
his pocket.  

After all, it was only right that everyone have a souvenir.

Ashley squinted when the basement door opened and the sunlight 
flooded into her eyes.  Conscious of her nudity and utterly 
unable to cover herself, she resisted when Maxine pushed her 
forward, but the big woman's beefy hand was totally unconcerned 
with Ashely's modesty.

Maxine marched Ashley, stark naked, across the compound as if it 
were the most natural thing in the world.  The guards paid special 
attention, however, and Ashley blushed furiously as they whistled, 
hooted, and made clucking sounds as they commented on the "tasty 
chicken."  

Ashley had been sweating it out during her time on the table, and, 
now that her breasts were bouncing in the breeze. her nipples had 
hardened into two diamonds.  But, with her hands cuffed behind her 
back, there was nothing she could do but blush as the men lewdly 
appraised her figure and promised delicious times for her on the 
prison farm.  

"How do you like your new outfit, Ashley?" Mrs. Bovine mocked.

"Yes, the men around here don't seem to be noticing your Harvard 
education," seconded Mrs. Spite.

The elderly Judge Dithers had been on his feet more than he was 
accustomed to and so adjourned himself to the limo.  Ashley watched 
nervously as her only advocate toddled away for his morning nap.

The parade ended inside the barn, but there was no respite for 
Ashley.  Maxine picked up a wooden privy bucket, took off the 
lid, and set it down in front of her.

"You said you needed to piss," Maxine said.  "Well, git to it."

The watchng women looked disgusted, but the men looked intrigued.  
Ashley had drunk two Cokes outside, and her bladder was quite full. 
But could she squat and pee into a bucket with half a dozen people 
watching?  

"I...I don't have to go anymore," Ashley murmured.

"When I say, "Piss," you piss!" Maxine snapped, punctuating her 
words with a hard SPANK across Ashley's bare rump. 

The group guffawed as Justice Ashley Marsh, buck naked and with her 
hands still cuffed behind her back, scampered over to the bucket 
and squatted like a housebroken dog.

"That's it, Ashley," Judge Bovine chuckled.  "Be a good girl and 
make pee-pee."

Farting had been one thing, but urination was another.  Perhaps it 
was the men staring between her widely splayed thighs, or the cruel 
expressions on the women's faces, or the idea of "making pee-pee" 
on command, but, strain as she might, she couldn't squeeze out a 
drop.

"Go on!" Maxine snarled.  "I'm not going have you peeing on me 
while I'm holding you down for the smith."

It was only then that Ashley noticed the large shirtless black man 
in the rear of the barn tending a brazier of red hot coals.  Her 
heart fluttered as she spotted the hot irons roasting in the coals 
and the assorted branding irons hanging from hooks on the wall.

That did it.  As Ashley realized why she was in the barn, and why 
they hadn't dressed her, and why the blacksmith was heating irons, 
she lost control....

The pitter-patter of Ashley's urine splashing loudly against the 
metal bucket echoed around the barn.

"My, look at her go!" Mrs. Bovine cackled.  "She's peeing like a 
horse.  I never thought a girl her size could hold that much." 

"Don't make too much of a splash, girl," Mrs. Spite chided.  "We 
don't want to have to rub your nose in it, now do we?"

Ashley was deeply humiliated, of course, but her fear trumped her 
embarrassment.  When the torrent of piss finally ended, Maxine 
wasted no time in picking her up by the ear and dragging her off 
to the blacksmith.

Ashley struggled, but Maxine was far stronger.  As they approached 
the brazier, Maxine thoughtfully stuck out her foot and tripped her 
prisoner so that she landed face down on the dirt floor.

Ashley screamed for help as felt Maxine pick up her left leg.  
"No!" she shouted.  "Don't let her do it! Don't let her brand 
me!  Please!"

"Good heavens, girl, she's not going to brand you," Judge Helms 
exclaimed.  "Those branding irons on the wall are from the old 
plantation days.  She's merely going to fit you with your manacles.  
Hold still, or you WILL be branded!"

Ashley stopped struggling and lay face down in the dirt as Maxine 
put her foot on the anvil.  With an ease born of years of practice, 
Maxine fitted one of the antebellum shackles around Ashley's 
slender ankle.  An instant later the blacksmith slipped the red 
hot bolt into place and hit it with his hammer.  Ashley barely had 
time to notice the heat of the rivet before Maxine dunked her foot 
into a pail of cool water.  

As Ashley's left foot cooled, Maxine turned her attention to the 
right.  The entire process only took a few seconds, and Ashley 
found herself amazed at the speed with which she was placed in 
bondage.

Maxine freed Ashley's wrists, and she once again breathed a sigh 
of relief as she attempted to rub the circulation back.  But her 
freedom was short-lived; she soon found herself kneeling in front 
of the anvil as they set about manacling her wrists. 

Her ankle cuffs were already chained together.  Her wrist cuffs 
were free, but all four cuffs had an open eye piece which allowed 
her to be chained like a dog, either to a padlock or another girl.

She had seen the cuffs on Natalie, but now she was getting a much 
closer look -- too close.  "This is a mistake," she said.  "These 
are the sort of things they used on plantation slaves."

Judge Helms smiled and nodded in agreement.

		******************************

Part 6

Judge Helms said, "Yes, they were originally used on black slaves, 
but they work equally well on white convicts.  Our beloved Dixie 
has made a lot of progress since the War of Northern Aggression, 
and we treat our white nigras the same as our black nigras. The 
work's the same as it was in 1830, and our overseers still know 
how to crack the whip."

Ashley had a better view than she had had when she was face down 
in the dirt, but that was no boon.  Tears of shame and frustration 
ran down her face as the blacksmith slid the last bolt into place, 
hammered it, and dunked her hand into a bucket. 

Any fantasies Ashley had of escape faded as she stared at her 
shackles.  Even if she did manage to get her clothes -- or 
SOME clothes -- to wear and make it past the guards and gators 
and quicksand, the chains would betray her to the first person 
who saw her.

She had soft, beautiful hands, the hands of a scholar, which had 
been used to write some of her state's most brilliant judicial 
opinions.  It broke her heart to think of her delicate hands being 
used to pick cotton.  

"Bend her over the anvil," Judge Helms said.  "I want to see 
something."

The order didn't have to be given twice, and, courtesy of Maxine 
and the blacksmith, Ashley soon found her bare bottom once again 
raised high in the air.

"My family used to own part of this plantation," Helms said.  "In 
fact, this branding iron here is our family crest."

"Oh, that is lovely!" Mrs. Bovine said.

"Yes, fine workmanship," Judge Spite agreed.  "It would definitely 
leave a mark of honor."

"Yes, capital," Judge Bovine said.  "And nicely sized, too.  Though 
it seems a bit small for a cow."

"It wasn't made for cows," Judge Bovine said. 

Ashley shuddered as she felt cold metal press against the center of 
her naked butt-cheek. 

"Moo, moo!" Mrs Bovine cracked, and everyone laughed.  (Everyone 
except Ashley, that is.)

"How does that feel, Ashley?  Judge Helms asked.

"It's cold...."   

"Well, maybe we should heat it up for you," cackled Mrs. Spite.  

"What do you say, Ashley?" Helms asked, pressing the iron against 
her bottom.  "Everyone else has a souvenir.  Would you like one, 
too?  A permanent reminder of your visit to Dixie?"

"If we're going to do it, we need to get it real hot so it'll leave 
a proper mark."

Judge Helms considered the matter for several moments, and Ashley 
held her breath as she felt him moving the brand across her bottom, 
as if trying to find the proper location for the humiliating mark 
of ownership.  

Finally, he spoke.  "As I recall, my family used this only when 
a slave tried to escape," he said thoughtfully.  "And I'm sure 
Ashley would never, ever try to escape.  Would you, Ashley?"

"No, sir," Ashley said, so terrified that she could hardly speak.  

"Because I know how clever you are," the judge said.  "But it's 
important for you to know that although you might be able to use 
your Ivy League brain to outsmart the guards and get out of this 
place, eventually I'd catch you and bring you back...."

He pressed the iron against her other bottom cheek, "And this will 
be heated when you arrive." 

Ashley gasped as he pressed the iron down, simulating her branding. 
"No, sir, I won't try to escape," Ashley promised, meaning every 
word.  

"Say it right," he demanded.  "Like this was a plantation, and you 
were a slave, trembling at the thought of your master's brand."

"No, suh, massah," Ashley said, in the best slave dialect she could 
muster.  "Ashley be a good girl, an' work real hard, an' not run or 
nuthin'.  Don' bran' me massuh, pleeeze!"

Pleased at Ashley's effort, he chuckled and removed the iron.  "You 
can take this," he said, handing it to the blacksmith.  "We won't 
need it...for now."

"Get up."

Ashley rose, and once again tried to cover herself.

"Wash your face in the bucket, Ashley," he said. "I can barely see 
you."

She had been lying face down in the dirt during her shackling and 
was grateful for the chance to clean a bit of the dirt off.  She 
didn't have time to get all of the filth out of her shoulder-length 
brown hair, so she shook it out in an effort to get rid of some of 
the bigger clumps. 

"Too bad we don't have a hose," Mrs. Bovine said.

"Yes, a fire hose," Mrs. Spite seconded.  "That would wash the sow 
down properly."

Ashley rose, and Maxine handed her a uniform.  Ashley's bare feet 
were chained together, but her manacled hands were not, allowing 
her to slip the dress easily over her head.

She reluctantly modeled her uniform for the group.  It was a 
sleeveless garment, of thin burlap, stitched together on the 
premises by prisoners pressed into labor as seamstresses.  The 
hemline ended well above mid-thigh.  It hung on her loosely, 
rather like a sack, although her breasts and hips were still 
vaguely visible underneath.  It was plain the extreme, although 
the nine thick orange horizontal stripes identified her as a 
criminal every bit as much as the shackles that bound her ankles.

"So what do you all think?" Helms asked.  "Does our brash barrister 
look the part?"

Ashley felt humiliated beyond words as her fellow judges and their 
hateful wives walked around her, surveying her like a piece of 
chained livestock.  They talked about her as if she wasn't there 
or, more precisely, as if she were an animal too stupid to 
understand their humiliating appraisals.

"Well, the clothes certainly do make the woman."

"Yes, she doesn't look quite so full of herself, now that we've got 
her in uniform."

"I think the shackles are the key.  They make the look."  

"After we brown her up a bit in the sun, she'll look just like a 
pretty mulatta."

"Shouldn't her ankle chain be shorter?  We don't want her to be 
able to run."

"Don't be silly, dear.  Remember, she still has to be able to 
spread her legs."

"Yes, but it's still not quite right."

"Yes, I agree.  She's still too hoity-toity.  We should have 
whipped her."

"Yes, I'll bet a little strap oil across that great big bare butt 
of hers would work wonders."

"Yes, the strap would help, but there's more to it.  She's still 
too...delicate."

"I can still smell her perfume."

"I told you we should have hosed her down."

"Yes, she's still far too...refined.  And, even when she's looking 
at her feet, you can still see how spirited she is."

"Yes, even when she's not looking at you, you can tell she's still 
eyeballing you, at least in her mind."

"Maybe we should put her to work in the fields.  After a few hours 
of work we won't smell that perfume anymore."

"Yes, that'll make her build up a good stink."

The group agreed, and the order was given.  "Put this inmate to 
work," Judge Helms ordered crisply.  "Stick her in the south 
fields, by the main house, and see that she works up a sweat."

"I'll see to it personally," Maxine grinned. 

She led the barefoot prisoner out the barnyard and towards the 
sprawling cotton fields.  To her chagrin, Ashley noticed that 
this time the guards paid her no mind.  Why should they?  The 
barefoot girl in the sack dress was just another nameless 
convict on her way to work.

		******************************

The longest legal brief on earth couldn't match the repetitive 
stress and mind-numbing monotony of picking cotton in the broiling 
sun.  It seemed to Ashley that the row would never end, and, when 
it did, she merely emptied her basket and began again.  

She wasn't used to walking barefoot, and the roots and gravel cut 
into her soles.  At last the pain got so bad that it was simply 
numbing.  In the meantime, her feet got so dirty that they looked 
almost like black work boots.

It was hard work, and she struggled to pace herself to keep from 
passing out from the heat.  The overseer, a huge man on horseback, 
watched her with a practiced eye, and, on more than one occasion, 
he snarled at her for her "laziness."

She had never been called lazy or, for that matter, been spoken to 
as if she were an ignorant field hand.  But she fought the urge to 
debate the point, knowing that a lively discussion of the matter 
would likely leave her with a very sore backside.  Instead, she 
watched the other girls and quickly mastered the art of putting 
just enough cotton into the basket just fast enough to avoid being 
punished, speeding up when "the boss" was looking, and slowing down 
to a crawl when he was not.  

She was nearly two hours into her work detail when she first 
spotted the handsome Greek Revival mansion at the end of the 
field.  It wasn't until she was nearly at the end of the row 
that she saw her "friends" sitting together on the patio, 
lounging together as they enjoyed their mint juleps, wine, 
cheese, and finger sandwiches pleasantly in the shade.

Ashley was very thirsty, and she looked longingly at the party's 
frosty drinks.  The penalty for her momentary distraction, 
however, was a crack of the strap directly across her behind.

"Eyes on your work, girl," the guard snapped.  "You're here to pick 
cotton, not gawk at your betters."

The guard was on horseback and it had been difficult for him to get 
in a truly powerful swing, so it was more startling than painful.  
Ashley wasn't used to a job where she could be spanked for 
"laziness" or, in her case, for eyeballing her "betters."  

Worse still the crisp punishment drew the attention of her 
erstwhile "friends" at the mansion, who laughed and waved 
at her as she rubbed the sting out of her bottom.

The warden spoke to one of the domestics waiting at his table, 
and the servant ran at breakneck speed to tell a guard of the 
warden's wishes.  That guard in turn rode over to the guard 
who had struck Ashley with the strap.

"The warden wants to see THIS one," he said, dismissively 
indicating Ashley with a small thumb gesture.  "Now."

"Give me your hands," the guard ordered.

Ashley did as she was told, and the guard easily threaded the rope 
on his saddle through the loop on her wrist shackle.  Without 
saying a word to her, he turned and started his horse towards the 
warden at a brisk pace.  Ashley had no choice but trot to keep up.  

The trip took only a few seconds.  She stood, her eyes suitably 
downcast, in front of the luncheon party who a few hours before 
had been her peers.

"We saw you strap cracking, Jake," the warden said, pointedly 
ignoring Ashley.  "What did she do?"

The presumption of guilt irritated Ashley, and she wanted to say 
that she hadn't done anything, but she knew better than to object.  
So she just stood, staring down, and listened as the others 
conversed.

"She weren't minding her work," the guard explained.  "From the 
looks of it, this one don't got brains enough to be minding the 
world and minding her cotton pickin', too."

The women tittered at the reference to Ashley's stupidity.  Ashley 
had to bite down on her lip to keep from responding.  She had a 
doctorate in law from Harvard, and some barely literate turnkey 
was sneering at HER intelligence?

"Is she making her quota?" Judge Helms asked. 

"Barely," the guard said.  "Just enough to get by.  They sure do 
learn lazy fast enough."

"Well, what do you say we smarten her up a bit?" the judge asked.  
"A bit of strap oil across her lazy rump will quicken her step.  
String her up from that big ol' live oak over there."

"It looks old," Mrs. Spite said.

"Yes, we've been punishing slaves on it for centuries," Helms 
explained.  There's even a groove in that big branch low down 
we use for the hoist.  We call it the 'teaching tree.'"

Everyone laughed heartily at the joke, except Ashley, of course, 
who was too stunned to speak.  Did he actually order them to 
"string her up?"

She had barely opened her mouth to object when the guard turned 
his horse and yanked her to the ground.  Her objection was 
overruled by the mouthful of grass she got as the horse dragged 
her along the ground to the magnificent, centuries old oak that 
stood about twenty feet away from where her colleagues were 
enjoying their picnic.  

The speed of the horse made the trip mercifully short.  Ashley 
rolled over and looked skywards as she came to a halt.  The 
tree that towered above her was enormous, and, under other 
circumstances, she might have found it beautiful.  But now she 
viewed it almost as a hanging tree....  

She had expected to be hauled up by her wrists and was surprised 
when the guard kneeled down in front of her and undid the rope 
attached to her manacled hands.  She was so distracted, in fact, 
that she barely noticed the guard cinching the manacles on her 
ankles together and attaching another chain to the pommel of his 
saddle.

Ashley didn't have the spit to scream as the horse walked forward 
and lifted her, feet-first, off the ground.  As she rose upside 
down in the air, her prison dress fell down around her shoulders, 
blocking her view and disorienting her further.  

The guard quickly solved that problem by taking the dress all the 
way off.  Then he clipped her wrist-manacles together so that she 
couldn't reach back and cover her bottom.  

She therefore hung upside and naked with the tips of her fingers 
only scant inches from the ground.  

From her highly disorienting viewpoint, she could see the judges 
and their wives, but the guard quickly rotated her so that her 
bare bottom faced the mansion and Ashley faced the crowd of 
prisoners who had been called out of the field to witness the 
punishment for "laziness."

Lazy!  She was the hardest working judge on the bench!  She hadn't 
been doing her best work in the fields, perhaps, but how could one 
be expected to feel motivated under such dreadful conditions?

The answer came quickly as the razor strap SNAPPED across her 
shapely bottom.

Although she still didn't have the spit to scream, she did scream 
-- a sharp, piercing sound that Judge Helms felt sure would echo 
across the South to Chicago and from there to Harvard Yard.  

She could hear the voices of Mrs. Bovine and Mrs. Spite behind her.

"She felt that one!"

"Yes, indeed. I hope they skin her alive!"

SNAP!

"You can't whip me like this!" Ashley protested.  "I'm not an 
animal!"

SNAP!

"I-I have rights!"

SNAP!

"I'm NOT lazy!  Really, I'm not.  If we could only sit down and...." 

"I don't think she's going to feel much like sitting down by the 
time this is over," Judge Spite snickered.

"Yes, I imagine that this is how a lot of the lawyers whom she has 
defeated over the years have fantasized her," Judge Bovine said.  
"Pleading her case as her big red bottom dances a jig with the 
strap."

SNAP!

"Ow!  Please, I'll be good!"

"Better, Ashley," Judge Helms shouted. "But say it louder and with 
a bit more contrition, like a GOOD girl, eh?"

SNAP!

She didn't feel contrite, but as the strap kissed her bottom, she 
vowed to give it a try.

"I'm sorry I was lazy, sir!" she shouted.  "I'll work harder, 
really I will."

"Better, but a bit too polished.  This is the South, and you're 
talking to your betters.  Deep fry it!

SNAP!

"I'm sorry, suh!" Ashley shouted.  "I's jus' a stupid ign'rant 
field girl.  But I promises I'll try to do better!"

SNAP!

"Please massah!" she cried.  "Please cut me down.  I be a good 
girl, massah! I'll please you real good.  I p-promises I will!  
ANYTHING!"

"What you mean, there, girl?" the guard taunted.  "Are you offering 
me that sweet little ass of yours?"

SNAP!

"Yas, suh!" 

"What about that pretty little mouth?"

Ashley hesitated.  She had never, ever done such a thing, and she 
certainly hadn't planned on offering that particular pleasure to 
the toothless, rank, barely literate hillbilly guard whipping her 
tender bottom.  

SNAP!

The hillbilly's strap made a convincing argument, and, as the 
sizzle sank into Ashley's taut fanny, the lovely barrister 
quickly changed her plea.

"Yes, massah!' she shouted.  "I'll suck you real good an' swallow 
ever' drop."

At last, it ended.

The worst part wasn't the wasn't beating, or the even the 
humiliation of getting a bare bottom spanking in front of 
everyone, although that was simply awful.  The worst part 
was that, by the time her "whuppin'" ended, her self-esteem 
was shattered, and she actually felt like a chain gang girl, 
a worthless piece of white trash too ignorant to understand 
anything but the strap and too stupid to use her mouth for 
anything but eating, drinking, and sucking cock. 

She had promised to do anything, ANYTHING to please the guards.  
The horrifying reality, at least for Ashley, was that she meant 
it, and everyone who had heard her knew it.

Hanging loosely by her ankle shackles, she was too spent from 
screaming to speak, her red bottom at eye level, as the judges 
and their wives moved in for a closer view.

"Well, I think this ends all argument."

"I agree.  Look at her.  Hanging outside in her birthday suit for 
everyone to see.  Shameless, isn't she?"

"Did you hear the things she promised she'd do?  Disgusting."

"I'll bet she'd enjoy every minute of it, if she had the chance."

"Well, we can always give her the chance."

"Why not?  She's a convicted criminal, isn't she?"

"We've already proven that she's no better than the rest.  How long 
was her sentence?"

"Thirty days."

"Sounds too lenient."

"Well, Judge Helms will review her sentence at the end of her term. 
He's free to increase her jail time if she doesn't...keep her 
promises."

The laughter faded into the distance as the group walked back to 
the limousine.  Ashley wanted to protest the gross injustice of 
it all, but found herself too spent to do anything but watch, 
upside down, as the group loaded their ice bucket into the limo 
for their ride to the train station.  

As they drove into the distance, Ashley closed her eyes and steeled 
herself in preparation for what she knew would be the longest 30 
days of her life.

		******************************


Part 7: Epilogue to a Story of Crime & Punishment in the New South


	PRISONER PROGRESS REPORT  

	NAME: Marsh, Ashley
	NBR: 288-38377-7378  
	SENTENCE: 30 days
	CRIME: 37803-83, Petty Larceny (Items worth less than $25)

	SUMMARY...

On her first day in the cotton fields, Prisoner Marsh was strung up 
by the ankles to the warden's "teaching tree" and given 10 strokes 
of the razor strap across her bare rump for laziness. 

Her work improved immediately, and she worked hard in the field, 
constantly mindful of both the guards and the strap.  She collapsed 
twice from from the heat in the first two days, and soon was 
offering her favors to the guards in exchange for extra rations 
and a lower cotton quota. 

Prisoner Marsh was a bit stuck up and objected the first time a 
guard wanted to use her mouth.  She said it was "disgusting" and 
she'd never do such a thing.  The guard threw her in the hole, 
and the next morning she gave him a most enthusiastic slurpee.  
She obviously hadn't done it before, but, over the next few days, 
the other guards made sure she got plenty of practice, and her 
technique improved rapidly.  Before long she earned an audition 
for the warden.

The warden told her that he was holding an "investigation" and 
asked if she had seen any abuse while she was in the prison.  
While Prisoner Marsh polished his boots, she told him about 
everything that had happened to her.  She ratted like crazy and 
went on and on about how all the guards were "sadists" who should 
be put in jail.  

When he made her tell the details of what she had done to satisfy 
the guards, she blushed like a schoolgirl.  She blushed even redder 
when she complained about being half-starved, and the warden told 
her to shuck off her uniform so he could see for himself.

When he bent her over his desk for a routine contraband check, she 
was wetter than the bayou.  It took only a few seconds of stroking 
to bring her off, and the warden asked her if she'd be willing to 
transfer to the "entertainment division" to get out of the fields 
and continue the investigation.  She asked him what he meant, and 
he laughed and unzipped his pants.  

She spread her legs real wide for him, but pulled away when he 
spread her fanny cheeks apart instead.  She said she'd never 
done anything like that before, and the warden replied that, 
if she'd rather dig ditches, that suited him just fine.  

Tearfully, she asked him if he would lube her up.  So he let her 
get down on her knees and give him a quick suck just to get his 
tool wet.  She got as much saliva on his knob as she could, before 
bending over and sticking her butt up in the air, pretty as you 
please.   

The warden thought it was pretty funny because he could see her 
face reflected in his office window, and she looked scared as hell. 
He spit on his fingers and put a big old goober on her fanny hole 
just to give her a little more grease, and she thanked him.  Her 
eyes got wide as saucers, and her mouth made a little "O" when she 
felt his knob back there.  She was tight as a tick and made little 
squealing sounds while he did her.  As he reamed her, he told her 
that this is what "squealers" get, and he didn't want to hear no 
more complaints about the guards from her.  She promised to take 
it up the ass like a good girl whenever she was told, and to thank 
the men who butt-fucked her..."real po-litely."

The warden thought the combination of being hot as a pistol and 
shy as virgin was cute as hell, so he put her in a cheerleader's 
costume up on stage at the strip club.  She blushed beet red, and 
you could see she just hated it, especially when all the guys 
started hooting at her, but, wouldn't you know it, when the 
warden took the tips out of her twat, the money was soaked.

She was an eager little fuck-bunny, and she worked the truck stop 
real good, taking customers on two or three at a time.  We had 
some trouble with her when she refused a customer.  She had a 
bullshit story about how she had been an assistant D.A. once and 
had prosecuted this greaser for sodomy, and now he recognized her 
and told her he wanted to "re-enact the crime" with her.  She got 
all hoity-toity and said she wouldn't do it, so we took her out of 
the whorehouse and put her to busting rocks in the quarry.

It was almost two days before the warden got word that she'd 
changed her mind and was willing to take on anyone, anytime, 
anyway.  I think it would have been faster, but Maxine was her 
overseer, and I think it took her a bit to get used to the idea 
of licking pussy.  Anyway, the warden left her there for a week, 
busting rocks and licking twat, before he let her "audition" her 
tight little ass for him again.  After which, he sent her back 
to the whorehouse.  

The warden made sure her first customer was the guy she had turned 
down, and they played it out just like he wanted, although it 
wasn't no crime this time because he was an upstanding citizen, 
and she was just a whore. 

Bottom line is that she's been sucking and fucking up a storm.  
She earns 25¢ a trick and 10% of her tips, and, by working hard, 
she has more than paid off her fine.  The guards and the warden 
say she's real humble now, doesn't make eye contact with her 
betters, and never acts uppity like she used to.  And there ain't 
nothing she won't do in the sack.  In other words, she's one sorry, 
fully-rehabilitated Yankee, and all the folks agree that it's time 
to let her go and take her sweet carpetbagging ass back up North, 
where it belongs.

Respectfully, 

Capt. Munsey
Chief of Guards

		******************************

Judge Helms carefully folded Ashley's progress report and put it 
back in his briefcase.  The long wooden bench he was sitting on 
in the hallway outside the courtroom resembled a church pew, and, 
as the designated holding spot for prisoners, it was designed more 
for function than for comfort.

Ashley was running late.  The prison prided itself on efficiency, 
but doubtless because of her stellar progress report the guard 
decided to save a few minutes by striking the shackles off her 
wrists and ankles before he took her into court.  That way, when 
the judge freed her (as surely he would, based on the report), 
Ashley could get dressed immediately and take the bus back to town.

Sure enough, when the guard led her in by the arm, the first thing 
Helms noticed was that she was at last free of the humiliating 
shackles that she had worn everywhere, even in the whorehouse.  

She was barefoot, of course, and still dressed in the dirty prison 
uniform of a chain gang girl.  Her slender wrists and ankles were 
encircled with the telltale marks of the manacles.  

The judge smiled.  Ashley hadn't even looked at him as she had been 
brought in, instead keeping her eyes firmly locked on her dirty 
bare feet in a desperate attempt not to "eyeball her betters."  
Thirty days of the strap, the chain gang, and the whorehouse had 
left her well-trained, and the meek, diffident, and frightened 
young woman who stood trembling barefoot on the cold stone floor 
bore scant resemblance to the brilliant young jurist who had strode 
confidentially down the same hallway a scant 30 days before.  

"Hello, Ashley," Judge Helms said.  "It's so nice to see you again. 
Have you been enjoying your stay with us?"

Ashley was startled to hear the judge's voice, so startled that 
she almost broke the rules and looked up at him.  Fortunately, 
she caught herself, and continued to stare downward.  

"Please, have a seat.  Next to me."

"No, thank you, Your Honor," Ashley said, her voice barely a 
whisper. "It wouldn't be right.  A pig-ignorant girl like me 
can't get uppity with her betters."

Of course, the Harvard-educated Ashley was far from "pig-ignorant," 
and both of them knew it.  The judge glanced over at the guard, 
who was eyeing her like a hawk.  Although it was fun to watch her 
bow and scrape before him, Helms also wanted to have an actual 
conversation, which would be impossible while the guard was 
glowering over her, waiting for her to show the slightest glimmer 
of independent thought.

"Guard, could you leave us alone for a moment?" Helms asked.  "I'd 
like a private word with the prisoner."

The guard smiled, giving Ashley a little wink as he imagined what 
a "private word" might entail.  "She's a hottie, Your Honor," he 
said.  "Y'all have a good time now."

The judge smiled and waited for the yokel guard to leave.

"How was your sentence, Ashley?" he finally asked.  "Were you well 
treated?"

Knowing what was expected to her, she kept her eyes glued to the 
floor.  "Yes, sir," she lied.  

"I see.  Sit down, Ashley, next to me."

She hesitated.  

"That's an order, young lady," he said.  He didn't raise his voice. 
He didn't have to.  

She gingerly sat down next to him, and he chuckled knowingly.

My, someone seems to have a tender bottom.  Were you punished, 
Ashley?

"Only as I deserved, sir."  

"And WHY were you punished?"

"I was uppity, sir," she said, still staring at the floor.

"Ashley, I want you to look at me."

She tried to look up, but could not.  The last 30 days had been a 
nightmare.  She had been shocked by the suddenness and completeness 
of her transformation and by the ease with which the judge had 
stripped her of her rank and privilege.   

Manacled and dressed in a dirty chain gang uniform, she was no 
longer a judge, but just another jailhouse slut to be worked 
and used for the fun and profit of her jailors.  She had no 
rights and no dignity, and her sole purpose was to haul, and 
pick, and shuck, and fuck, and do whatever else she was told.

A few times she had tried to explain that she was really a judge, 
and that her humiliating imprisonment was a terrible mistake, a 
wager gone awry.  No one had believed her.  A few of the guards 
and her disgusting "clients" did recognize her to be a lady of 
quality, but that only seemed to egg them on into debasing her 
all the more.

As a result, she quickly realized that it was mentally easier for 
her to assume her new role, to forget her old life of dignity and 
responsibility.  She became the jailhouse slut of her brother's 
novel: submissive, slow witted, and randy as hell.

Now, when the judge asked her to look at him, she could not.  He 
was too mighty, too powerful, for her to gaze at him directly.  It 
was only after he remarked that "your cute little bottom must need 
some strap oil, since you can't follow a simple command," that she 
managed to meekly look up and meet his gaze.

A woman whom Ashley did not recognize walked by, smiled, and nodded 
to the judge, and then entered the courtroom.  The way that she 
looked at him, and the contemptuous way she barely looked at 
Ashley, reminded Ashley anew of her lowly position.

[Note from Joe: If you want to visualize this meeting, here's 
the original picture from Tibool that inspired this story: http://www.chainganggirls.com/images/tib36.jpg ]

The contrast between them was striking.  Judge Helms was dressed 
as a successful professional, while Ashley was dressed in a dirty 
jailhouse rag.  He was clean and well-groomed, while she was dirty, 
stinking, and disheveled.  His dress shoes shown like mirrors, 
while she was barefoot with her heels raised to avoid touching the 
frigid floor.  He wore dark socks, while her ankles were rubbed 
raw by her shackles.  His hands were free, with his arm resting 
nonchalantly on his briefcase, while her wrists were cuffed 
together.  She looked up at him, he looked down on her.

"You have a good report, Ashley," the judge said.  "But why did 
you snub me the other night?"

Ashley felt her heart sink.  It had been two nights ago, the end of 
a very long shift in the brothel, when the pimp blew his whistle 
commanding all the whores to assemble for a lineup.  Ashley was 
wearing her usual whore's uniform of red bra, panties, garter-belt, 
and heels and had quickly hustled herself out to the floor in order 
to join the other girls in greeting yet another in the seemingly 
endless parade of "clients."

Ashley was quite fetching in her red underwear, and she knew it.  
If it weren't for the manacles around her wrists and ankles, she 
would have been welcomed in any gentlemen's club in the world.

It was then that she saw Judge Helms -- fat, happy, holding a 
drink, and looking her up and down like he had just swallowed 
the canary.  She froze.

It was her duty to stand with the other girls like a slave in an 
old-time slave market, dressed in only her scanties, smiling 
sweetly as the judge sat in his chair.  One by one the girls would 
circle around him, jiggling and giggling as they strutted, trying 
to entice him to buy their wares.  

This couldn't be happening.  He knew who she was.  He knew she was 
a judge, not a convict, and certainly not a whore.  Certainly he 
wouldn't humiliate her this way, by making her prance for his 
viewing pleasure, dressed like a ho.

Their eyes met.  Ashley knew he recognized her, and she could tell 
he liked what he saw.  Far from feeling sorry for her, it was 
obvious that he was relishing every minute of her predicament.  

The judge's eyes slowly ran down over her breasts, belly, loins, 
and legs, stopping only at her manacled ankles.  It was not the 
gaze of a friend or peer, but that of a dog looking at a steak.  
Ashley felt sick as he licked his lips and smiled.

She knew she would be his jailhouse ho for the evening, and she 
could think of nothing worse.   

So she turned and hid in the bathroom until the lineup was over.  
Then, for the rest of the evening, she threw herself at a variety 
of men to make sure that she was "busy" until the judge was gone.

Why did she do it?  As a whore she knew she had no right to refuse 
any customer for any reason.  But the memory of having to service 
that pervert she had once prosecuted still haunted her.  He had 
relished turning the tables on her, and taunting her, and using her 
in the most degrading ways imaginable.  And Ashley, tears in her 
eyes, had been helpless to resist....

"I'm waiting for my answer, young lady," Judge Helms said.  "I was 
your guest, and I expected you to treat me as such.  Did you think 
that you were too good for me?  That's it, isn't it?"

She WAS too good for him.  She was a Harvard-educated state supreme 
court justice, and he was a hillbilly judge who threw young women 
into the clink for "speeding" and "malicious mischief" and other 
trumped-up charges.  

Ashley WAS better than him.  She was better than all of them.  But 
how to say it in a nice way, a way that wouldn't give offense?

"I wanted to keep our relationship...professional," she said.

"But it WOULD have been professional, Ashley.  Remember that I told 
you that, once you were a prisoner here, you would no longer be my 
friend, you would be a convicted criminal.  That night, I would 
have sat in the chair, and you would have knelt before me, and 
unzipped my pants, and serviced me in the only way a girl like you 
is fit to do.  I would have given you a good mark for humility and 
left satisfied that you had learned your lesson."

"Tell me, Ashley, if we were on the plantation, what would you call 
a slave who thought she was too good to serve her master?"

Ashley hesitated.  She knew the word he wanted.  It was a word she 
had seldom heard spoken aloud before her visit here, but, in the 
last 30 days it was a word that had been applied to her often, 
usually before a punishment.  

"'Uppity,' sir" she said, once again looking at the floor.

"Louder."

"'Uppity,' sir!"  

The guard knocked on the hallway door.  "Are you done with her, 
Your Honor?"

"Yes, I'm through," he said, rising from the bench.  "Let's get 
this over with."

Ashley panicked as the guard took her arm and led her into court.  
Sensing the judge's dissatisfaction she looked over her shoulder 
and began to plead frantically.  "Wait!  Your Honor...if you want 
me to...I can do it right now...."

"You had your chance," he said coldly.  "Now it's time for justice."

Inside the courtroom, Ashley had to stood behind the defense table, 
alone.  As a convicted criminal, she was no longer entitled to a 
lawyer.  On the brighter side, there was no prosecutor either.  

All rose as the judge, a portly young man who was having a bad hair 
day, entered the room and sat down.

"The prisoner will approach the bench," he ordered.  

The bailiff took Ashley by the arm.  Once again she had the 
horrible sensation of standing barefoot and handcuffed before 
a judge who held her fate in his hands.

"Well, this seems like an open and shut case.  You've certainly 
earned a pretty penny for us, young lady.  You must be quite the 
eager beaver."

The knowing laughter from the courtroom burned in her ears.

"Have you learned your lesson, young lady?"  

"Yassuh, yer honor," Ashley said, staring downward. 

"If I let you go, are you going to be a good girl?"

It was a humiliating question, but she knew her part well.  "Oh, 
yassuh, yer honor.  I be real good.  I promises!"

The judge raised his gavel.  "Very well, then.  By the power vested 
in me by the people of Cracker County I order you...."

The verdict was interrupted by the sound of Judge Helms clearing 
his throat.  Ashley looked over her shoulder as he motioned a 
guard to bring him something to write on.  

Her heart pounded as she watched Judge Helms write what appeared 
to be a single word on a small scrap of paper.  

The guard walked past Ashley and handed the word to the presiding 
judge, who read it aloud. 

"Uppity," he said, looking down at Ashley.   "You uppity, girl?"

"No, sir!" Ashley said, panicked.  

"Are you eyeballing me, girl?"  

"No, sir!" Ashley said, once again returning her gaze to the floor.  

The judge looked at Judge Helms, who nodded.  "Well, it's obvious 
to me that you still need a lesson.  Ashley Marsh, I sentence you 
to another 30 days hard labor on the Cracker County Prison Farm for 
Women...plus 10 strokes on your bare behind for being uppity.  
Close your mouth, girl!  You're not catching flies."

"Please, Your Honor, I...."

The gavel cut her off.  "Case closed.  Get her hooked up again, and 
then take her back to the quarry.  Make her earn her way back to 
the house."

Ashley pleaded frantically as the guard dragged her out.  "Please, 
Your Honor!  Judge Helms!  You can't do this to me!  Please!  I'm 
not uppity!  No, please!  Don't shackle me again!  Not the strap!  
I'll be a good girl!  I'll do anything you say!  I'll suck and fuck 
and take it up the ass and say 'Thank you, sir' afterward...."

The courtroom door closed, and prisoner 288-38377-7378 was gone.

		******************************

The second thirty days were worse than the first.  First, Ashley 
was transferred back to the quarry.  It was in some ways easier, 
since she had more muscle than when they first sent her out to the 
fields, and the calluses on her feet and hands no longer blistered. 
But she was thinner now, and long days of hauling rocks and 
swinging a sledgehammer quickly took their toll.

She had long since steeled herself to the horrible taste of the 
slop she had to eat out of the feeding troughs during her "breaks." 
She needed the calories and guzzled it down like the barnyard 
animal she now was.  

Nonetheless, she soon found herself in the demeaning position of 
offering her services to the guards, not only to get out of the 
quarry and back into the brothel, but also to get little extras 
like a piece of fruit or (if she were really lucky) a leftover 
candy bar.  She found herself targeting the tubbiest and least 
attractive guards since they always seemed to be the most generous, 
thrilled no doubt at the pretty girl's eagerness to please.
 
Maxine was the worst.  She required hours to satisfy and offered 
nothing in return, except of course for the all-important chance 
to "audition" for the warden.  

When she at last earned the precious opportunity, the warden once 
again "auditioned her" from behind.  After several weeks in the 
brothel, taking it up the caboose was no longer a novelty for her, 
but the warden's smug attitude and the way he made her beg for the 
privilege made it much more demeaning.  She grunted and squirmed 
as he reamed her, comforting herself with the thought that his 
enjoyment of her humiliation would make him finish that much 
quicker.

The first time she had been put to work at the truck stop, she had 
found the work unspeakably degrading and had nearly puked with 
shame the first time she had been forced to swallow. 

This time it was different.  she still blushed like a tomato when 
she put on the denim skirt, cowboy boots, tube top, and Stetson hat 
that branded her as a cowboy hooker.  But she was so eager for the 
work -- and the calories -- that to hump as many men as possible 
no longer seemed like a moral issue at all, merely a matter of 
survival.

Sure enough, after only a few days of hard riding at the truck 
stop, she was promoted to the main house.  She was still a whore, 
of course, but it was classier, and she no longer had to parade 
around in her humiliating cowgirl and cheerleader outfits or twirl 
her little lasso to attract truckers who had stopped to find a 
place to pee.  She worked indoors, ate real food, and dedicated 
herself to pleasing a classier brand of pervert.  

The brothel had no calendars because it was generally understood 
that the girls would be more productive if they concentrated on 
pleasing clients rather than their parole dates.  Ashley, ever 
mindful of the failure that had doubled her sentence, and eager 
to avoid returning to the quarry, followed this rule, and 
concentrated on pleasing each of her clients fully and absolutely. 
She could play any part and be any woman that a client wanted her 
to be; customer satisfaction was her sole goal in life.

Nonetheless, she had done the math in her head, and she knew that 
(if they kept to the schedule) tonight should mark the end of her 
second 30 days.  She fully expected to receive a hearing in the 
morning, but was careful not to mention it or seem in any way eager 
lest her "brashness" earn her yet another 30 days.

In her time at the brothel, she had dressed as a nurse, a pirate, 
a cheerleader, a roman slave girl, and even any national female 
political figure that she could reasonably pass for.  As an 
experienced whore, she was beyond being shocked, which is why it 
was all the more amazing that the costume she found laid out neatly 
on the bed that final night shocked her like no other could have.

It was the street clothes Ashley had been wearing when she first 
came into prison.

Ashley recovered from her shock and obediently donned her clothes.  
Her purse was also there, which surprised her further (since, as 
a prisoner, she was strictly forbidden from handling money, charge 
cards, ID, or anything else that might identify her as a real 
person and thus aid in a possible escape).

She pointedly ignored her purse; after 60 days of incarceration her 
role as a lowly prisoner had been so drilled into her that she was 
frightened even to look at it.

Her panties were missing, and she was unsure as to whether she 
should keep the red panties she was wearing or simply go commando.  
But she quickly decided on the latter, reasoning that this prison 
left nothing to chance, and that if the authorities had wished to 
give her the privilege of underpants, they would have provided them.

Once dressed, she was free to sit on the bed and try to figure out 
what was happening and what the riddle of her street clothes might 
mean.  By the time the door opened, she was not surprised to see 
Judge Helms walk in.

"Hello, Ashley," he said.  "No, no...please.  Sit down.  No need to 
be formal now."

She sat back down on the bed while the judge sat in the large easy 
chair in the corner.  "You're looking well," he said pleasantly.  
"Putting on a few pounds, I see."

"Yes, sir," Ashley said, being careful to keep her gaze directed 
downward.  "The food is much better here, sir."

"Yes, and from what I hear, you're on something of a high-protein 
diet," he chuckled.  

Ashley found his remark to be crude, degrading, and insulting -- 
but, knowing what was expected of her, laughed like a little 
airhead.  "Yes, sir," she giggled.  "Very amusing, Your Honor."

Judge Helms, pleased, lit a cigar.  "I think prison has changed you 
for the better, Ashley.  You're still quite lovely, of course, but 
not quite so full of yourself, I suspect.  Am I right on that?"

"Yes, sir," she said, eyes still averted.  "You're very perceptive, 
sir."

"Let's play a little game -– a legal game.   I want you to come 
over here and explain to me why you should be released.  Your 
oral argument, as it were."

Ashley rose and stood before the judge.  She wasn't sure how she 
should start.  Clearly staring at her shoes like a frightened bunny 
weakened her case, but did she dare to look him in the eye?  No, 
not when so much was at stake.

"Well, sir, my progress reports are excellent, and I've already 
served twice my original sentence.  If you consider...."

"You know, when you were driving here, you looked mighty sexy with 
that cigar in your mouth.  What a little tease you were."

"Um...thank you, sir," she said, uncertain as to how to respond.  
She had been a tease, and she had certainly paid the price -- and 
was paying it even now.  

She struggled to resume.  "If you consider the amount of money I've 
earned for the county, I think you'll agree that it more than 
exceeds fair restitution for any...."

"No, no, no.  That's a LEGAL argument.  However, you're not a 
lawyer anymore, are you?"

"No, sir," Ashley admitted.  

"I should say not.  I don't want to hear a lot of facts and 
figures.  I want you to present the sort of oral argument a 
girl like you is fit to make."

He smiled and took a long drag on his cigar as the lovely lawyer 
in front of him turned the most delicious shade of red.

She was humiliated beyond words, but her last attempt to avoid 
pleasuring this man had cost her 30 more days on the farm.  
Without saying a word, she sank to her knees and quickly 
unzipped his fly.

It was a bit too quick for the judge's tastes.  How many times had 
Ashley put a man in a rubber in the last 60 days?  Too many to 
count.  And the easy way she sank into her duties left the judge 
unsatisfied.  After all, if she were to learn the lesson he wanted 
to teach her, she would have to feel the humiliation he wanted her 
to feel.  

"Eager to get started, I see.  I wonder what your law clerks and 
bailiffs would say if they could see you on your knees?"

Ashley's jaw dropped at the horrifying thought of the subordinates 
she lorded it over watching her service the judge.  Taking 
advantage of the convenient "O" that was her waiting mouth, the 
judge quickly slid his member out of his shorts and into her 
gaping pie hole.

Shocked and surprised, she gagged and tried to pull back, but the 
judge would have none of it.  Using her hair as a handle to slide 
her mouth up and down his rod, he gave the order, "Get busy, you 
little tramp.  Show me what your mouth is good for."

She forced herself to stifle her gag reflex.  No longer resisting, 
she slid her mouth down the length of his shaft until the tip 
tickled the back of her throat.  

"That's good!" the judge grunted.  "Suck it like a good little 
whore.  Suck it like your life depends on it...as it very well 
might."

Ashley stiffened in terror at the threat, and the judge chuckled.  
"That's right, my little whore.  Suckle it sweetly, or I might 
decide that you need a YEAR here to practice."

That was all it took.  Abandoning her dignity, Ashley ran her 
velvety tongue down his shaft before teasing his slit with the 
tip of her tongue.  She felt humiliated, nauseated, and utterly 
helpless as she tasted the first few drops of his pre-cum, and 
her eyes filled with tears as she remembered a time long ago when 
she had sipped the judge's best brandy and socialized with him in 
his study.  Oh, how far she had fallen.

The judge's commentary reinforced her humiliation.  "That's it, 
use all those tricks you picked up in the jailhouse.  You're a 
good little cocksucker, aren't you?  Of course you are!  You'll 
suck whatever the warden puts in your mouth for another bowl of 
slop in the chow line to feed your hungry belly or to save your 
sweet little cheeks from the razor strap."

The charge was all the more humiliating because Ashley knew it 
was true.  

"Oh, here it comes!  I want you to swish it all around your mouth 
so you get a really good taste.  Don't swallow any.  I want it to 
dry in your mouth, so you can taste it all the way on your long 
train ride back to Chicago."

Her train ride home to CHICAGO!  Ashley's heart leapt at the 
thought.  So much so that the first spurt fired directly into 
the back of her tongue, right on the salt/bitter sensors, giving 
her the fullest possible tasting of the judge's copious load, 
which he had been saving up for some time, in anticipation of 
giving Ashley the biggest mouthful possible.  

She wanted to gag as the load filled her mouth, but was careful 
not to swallow, lest she spoil her release...again.  When at last 
he finished, he patted her on the head, and chuckled, "I'll be 
sure to tell all of your lady friends from the conference about 
your performance here tonight.  I'm sure the wives of all of the 
judges will be delighted to know that you've taken so well to your 
new career.  When you get back home, you will write each of them a 
nice thank-you letter...a DETAILED letter."

Ashley blushed crimson at the thought of Mrs. Bovine and the other 
wives snickering at her ordeal, but she knew that she would write 
those letters.  The judge used his cock to smear his load around 
the inside of her mouth, and then he ordered her to kneel before 
him with her mouth open until the sticky wetness dried to his 
satisfaction.

		******************************

It was a long train ride back to Chicago, and, as per the judge's 
order, she didn't eat or drink anything until she detrained at 
Union Station.  She could have, of course -– she was out of the 
judge's jurisdiction shortly after he waved goodbye to her from 
the platform.  But, despite her respectable clothes, she knew 
that she was still a convict until her arrival back in the 
sanctuary of the city she loved so well.

But the first thing she did after getting back home was to write 
those very DETAILED letters to Mrs. Bovine and Mrs. Spite.  (And, 
for good measure, she even wrote one to Maxine.)

		******************************

The new term would start soon, and she began preparing herself for 
the grueling judicial schedule ahead.  As fall turned to winter, 
and then to spring, however, the memory of her time in Cracker 
County never faded.  And, as her long vacation approached again, 
she was more and more preoccupied by the question of how she might 
ask Judge Helms for permission to visit him that coming summer....  

Perhaps she should confess to a disturbing tendency to become 
uppity once more.


THE END


Edited by C. Lakewood