NUMBER 10,000 by Joe Doe THE LAST TIME IS THE BEST TIME, AS A RETIRING PRISON GUARD GETS TO DEMONSTRATE HIS SKILLS TO THE BLUSHING FEMALE WARDEN. Warden Rachel Moran strode into the exam room just as Otis was boxing up the last of his possessions. It was hard for her to identify with retirement, since she was only 28, but she could nonetheless empathize with the look of sadness in the old guard's eyes. "I just wanted to stop by and thank you for all of the fine work you've done over the years, Otis," she said, sincerely. "You've served me and my predecessors well." She paused and put her hand on his shoulder. "I want you to know that, if there is ever anything I can do to help you, just let me know. I am always there for you, my friend." She looked around the examination room that had been Otis' home for almost forty years. "A lot of women have passed through these doors, Otis," she said, wistfully. "I can't even imagine what it must have been like for you to strip, shower, and delouse all of those blushing young ladies." She chuckled. "I would think that even the cavity searches must have gotten old after a while!" "It never got old for me," Otis said, sadly. "Each woman was unique, and each reacted to my glove a bit differently. Some were timid, some tried to act brave, but couldn't quite muster it. Most just tried to look away and pretend they were somewhere else while I slowly worked my fingers up inside of them! But I'll remember each and every one of them!" he said, fondly. He pointed at the cameras in the ceiling. "Of course, since they introduced the film cameras in the sixties, I've gotten every one of them on film or tape." He smiled. "I'm sure the other fellas in the retirement home will get a kick out of watching all of those little honeys do their squats!" "How many women have you searched over the years?" Rachel asked, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. There was something about the way Otis leered at her when he talked about "the squats" that was making her uncomfortable.... "9,999," Otis replied, proudly. "Just one more and I would have gotten a $100,000 grant from 'The Golden Glove' foundation. That money would've really come in handy in my retirement," he said, with remorse. "After all these years, I can honestly say that's it's my only regret." "I'm really sorry about that, Otis," Rachel said. "But the state decides how many new convicts we get, and the law mandated your retirement date. If there was any way I could have gotten you another prisoner to process, I would have." Otis paused and considered the situation. "Well, actually, warden, I'm glad you brought that up. I was thinking about the problem last night, and the rules don't actually say that the woman has to be a PRISONER, per se." Otis took out a large carton from the corner and placed it between himself and the warden. She immediately recognized it as the sort of carton that was used to hold the clothes of female inmates who were admitted for processing. Without even being conscious of it, Rachel found herself slowly backing away from the portentously empty carton. "I could search ANY female and win the money," Otis said. "She wouldn't have to be a criminal. She could be a lawyer, or a doctor...." He paused and smiled. "She could even be a prison warden...." Rachel immediately felt a cold chill run down her spine. That dirty old man wanted to strip search HER! He was actually suggesting that she be stripped butt naked like some...some CRIMINAL! How outrageous! How humiliating. How exciting. Rachel swallowed and considered the situation. She had been fascinated by strip-searches for years, and always made a point of "supervising" the procedure whenever possible. She had always wondered what it would be like...to strip off her clothes, piece by piece, garment by garment, under watchful male eyes. It would be so humiliating...so deliciously dirty. But now that the chance to realize her fantasy had presented itself, she was having second thoughts. Rachel had always dismissed her strip-search fantasies as absurd. After all, she wasn't like the other women who blushed and squirmed, wiggled and twisted under Otis' leering gaze. She wasn't some little slut to be paraded through her paces. She was different than those women. Wasn't she? "How far...I mean…how much would I have to...take off...in order for you to get your money?" she stammered. "You'd have to strip to the skin, warden," he said, with a chuckle. "I'd have strip you, and shower you, and delouse you. I wouldn't ENJOY it, of course, no more than you would," he said, slyly. "But, in order to qualify, I would have to run you through the whole process. Right up to the part where I put you in your cute little uniform and take your mug shot!" Otis walked over to the shower and playfully picked up the long-handled bath brush that he used to scrub down prisoners. "Scrub-a-dub-dub", he said, playfully pointing the brush at Rachel and moving it in slow circles. Rachel flinched as she pictured herself standing in the shower with her legs spread wide and her arms up over her head. Otis would have the hose in one hand, and the coarse-bristled brush in the other. He used the brush for the initial scrub down, but he always finished off by running his soapy fingers over the "delicate" areas. Rachel shuddered. No part of her would go untouched. She had watched the grinning Otis scrub down countless naked, blushing women over the years, but she had never fully understood the look of shame and helplessness in their eyes until this moment. The thought of a successful career woman such as herself standing there buck naked while that dirty old man washed her down like she was a dog was so humiliating that it was almost unbelievable. She swallowed hard. She wondered how many of the women who had stood where she was standing right now had thought the same thing? Probably 9,999.... She looked over at the open gang shower and the ominous delousing nozzle next to it. She nervously clutched her jacket more tightly closed, desperate to offer herself a bit more protection. The chemicals burned and stank, but, like her predecessors, Rachel had ignored the inmates' complaints. She knew that most of the women didn't need to be deloused, but she thought there was something amusing about letting Otis put "his bitches" through their "flea dip" as he laughingly called it. Rachel frowned. She was one of "his bitches" now. "Couldn't I just...strip down to my underwear, Otis?" she pleaded. "I think you'd better start calling me 'Sir,' Rachel," Otis said, sternly. "Now, ordinarily, I don't discuss the terms of a strip-search with a prisoner, but I'm going to make an exception in your case. I don't want you to feel that you lost your undies through your own stupidity, or because you were too weak and ineffectual to properly negotiate." Rachel ground her teeth at the insult to her management abilities, but she knew that she was in no position to quibble. Not when there was so much at stake.... "So you want to stop at your underwear, do you?" he asked, chuckling. "Tell me about your underwear, Rachel," he said, with a leer. "What do you want to know, sir?" she said, nervously staring at the floor. "What color is your bra?" he asked. "What color are your panties?" "They're both pink, s-sir," Rachel said, softly. "Are they a matching set?" Otis snickered. "Yes, sir, they do match," she said, still looking down. "Oh, isn't that special?" he said, in a patronizing voice. "Rachel put on her prettiest pink panties just for me! Tell me: are they all frilly and lacy, with fancy edges and delicate, dainty trim?" he teased. "Yes, sir," she said, meekly. "Well, I'm sure they're lovely, Rachel." He shook his head sadly. "But they're going to have to come off." He reached up and undid one of Rachel's elegant diamond earrings as he continued. "You're going to have to slide your lovely, delicate pink panties down those beautiful white legs of yours and give them to me, Rachel, so I can put them in the box along with the rest of your things." "We can't let a little jailbird like you run around the prison with such pretty unmentionables, can we?" he teased. "But don't worry, sugar buns. The state will issue you a nice sensible pair of plain white cotton underpants for you to wear. They're not as delicate and comfortable as the soft squirrel-covers you're used to, of course. But I'm going to enjoy watching you wiggle into them, just the same!" He took off her other earring and dropped it in the ominous black box, laughing as Rachel's hands immediately flew up to cover her "bare" ears. Each woman was unique, but the warden was too prissy for words. This was going to be good! He moved behind her and gently eased her out of her expensive charcoal jacket. "Your dainty little underpants would have to go into the box, Rachel, and so would all the rest of your clothes. I would have to strip you naked as a jaybird, Rachel, just like the all the rest." Otis smiled and nodded at the exam table in the corner. "And, of course, you'd be the 10,000th little honey to slip her dainty little feet into the stirrups! What do you say, Rachel? It is quite an honor to mount up in the saddle for my last round up, isn't it, cowgirl?" Rachel shook her head no, instinctively crossing her hands in front of her crotch to protect herself. "I know it will be difficult for you, of course, seeing as how we've been friends for so long," he said. "It will be hard for you to spread your legs and put your feet up into those cold, hard stirrups, knowing how it will leave you completely vulnerable...completely exposed. It will be pretty humiliating to look up and see me smiling down at you with the cold rubber glove on my hand." "Of course, if I don't miss my guess, I don't think I'll need much lubrication in your case. Am I right about that, Rachel?" he said with a knowing smile. "Has all this talk about strip-searching you got you all wet and juicy?" Rachel, her face crimson with shame, nodded quickly. The truth is, she had never been so excited in her life. "Well, then, we had better get started, young lady," he said, sitting down in a chair immediately in front of Rachel. "After all, I've got a schedule to keep, and the warden doesn't like me to dawdle! Why don't you start with that fancy white blouse of yours?" Rachel's hands were trembling as she slowly unbuttoned her expensive silk blouse. There was something about the smug smile on his face that was deeply humiliating to her, but somehow she couldn't resist. Rachel looked up at the cameras that were gleefully recording every second of her humiliation for posterity. The cameras were filming her from every angle, and she knew that Otis would use the extensive footage to cut together a perfect montage of her strip tease. She imagined the dirty old men in the retirement home watching the tape and laughing as she slowly peeled down for their amusement.... What would the men say about her, she wondered. Would they like her better than the other girls? Would her tape be special? Would the men realize just how humiliating this ordeal was for her? In the end, would number 10,000 be any different than the 9,999 others who had preceded her? Rachel looked at her expensive silk blouse and immaculately pressed worsted wool skirt and assured herself that she WAS different. After all, she wasn't a criminal -- she was a former police officer with a degree in criminal justice and an Ivy League law degree. She was top of her class in school, top of her class at the academy, and, at age 28, the youngest warden in state history. Anyone who saw her striding down the hall in her crisp designer clothes knew that she was a force to be reckoned with. But when people saw Otis parade her down the hall in her scanty uniform to her cell, would they still see her as a force to be reckoned with? Or would the frightened look in her eye identify her as a "new chicken," ready to be plucked? Rachel frowned as she looked at the plain plastic carton that now held her expensive earrings. In a few minutes her shoes would follow, and then her jacket...her blouse...her skirt.... When she was absolutely naked would she really look any different from the 9,999 women who had gone before her? Or would she just be one more pretty little bimbo spread out on the exam table like a blushing butterfly? Rachel knew she would be a little prettier than some of his victims, perhaps, and a lot more humiliated than many. But, in the end, she would be reduced to just one more tape sitting on the shelf in Otis' disgusting collection. She clenched her teeth as she remembered Otis bragging about how he was going to "rent out the tapes to the other dirty old men, like an X-rated Blockbuster!" Number 10,000, no doubt, would turn a tidy little profit for him. He grinned up at Rachel, relishing her look of shame and humiliation as she performed her slow strip tease to order. Otis could make a pretty woman blush just by looking at her, and Rachel was certainly a pretty woman. One advantage of age was that he'd learned how to take his time, and milk every second of the search. It would be slow and humiliating, and unforgettable for the both of them. Rachel was a powerful, confident woman, but you wouldn't know that by looking at her now. Her mouth was dry; her palms were sweaty; her quivering fingers could barely undo the buttons on her expensive blouse. The soft pink fabric of her bra was barely visible, and she was already a nervous wreck. He had stripped many powerful women over the years, and he enjoyed reducing them to numbers. Each one may have walked into the prison haughty and aloof, but, by the time she walked out -- naked, cold, probed, and stinking of disinfectants -- she was just another notch on his belt. He watched closely as the beautiful warden submissively placed her expensive blouse in the box. Then she nervously crossed her arms in front of her chest in order to hide her wispy bra, and obediently waited for his next command. Otis smiled. He was really going to enjoy processing Number 10,000. Edited by C. Lakewood