June 2003
INSPIRED BY DR. JACKLE’S WONDERFUL PICTURE NUMBER 1257 ON THE 
YAHOO MEDEROTICARTS BOARD.
 
I HOPE DOCTOR JACKLE DOESN’T MIND THAT I USED HER PICTURES FOR 
INSPIRATION; SHE IS CERTAINLY WELCOME TO POST THE STORIES ON HER 
BOARD, IF SHE WISHES. SHE IS ALSO WELCOME TO USE ANY OF THE JOE 
DOE STORIES FOR INSPIRATION IF SHE WANTS TO RETALIATE!
 



                        ROBOSEARCH 

                            by 

                         Joe Doe


FBI AGENT SUSAN PRICE INVESTIGATES A BUG IN THE STRIP SEARCH 
ROUTINE THAT CAUSES SEVERAL ROBOCOPS TO GO BESERK.
 


"How about a little love, babe?" the greasy punk asked. "I’d love 
to find out if you’re a natural blonde."
 
Susan Price said nothing, but simply flashed her badge.  The 
hateful smile on the leering man’s face immediately disappeared, 
and he and his two creepy friends immediately walked away from 
Susan’s government-issue Ford.
 
Susan smiled.  Being an FBI agent did have its advantages. 
 
She looked across the street at the five "automated officers" 
who were patrolling the plaza area.  Susan hated the idea of 
"Robo-Cops," and the stone cold faces of the five automatons 
across the street did little to relieve her concerns.
 
She had heard the rumors that a prankster programmer had set the 
"strip search routine" to attack innocent women, but, until the 
reports started coming across her desk at the bureau, she didn’t 
believe it.  The local police denied the charges, claiming that 
the women were just troublemakers hoping to cash in with a huge 
lawsuit.  Susan's superiors didn’t want trouble with the local 
police, and so they had denied her request to launch an FBI 
investigation.
 
But, when Susan noticed that the attacks always seemed to take 
place on Wednesdays around lunchtime, she decided to defy her 
superiors.  After all, there was nothing that limited where an 
agent might spend her lunch hour.
 
The four robotic officers seemed harmless enough.  One was 
directing traffic at the corner, while another was checking 
parking meters and issuing tickets.  The other two were standing 
on opposite sides of the square, acting as sentinels.  To Susan, 
it looked like just another day of routine police work.
 
GONG!  GONG!  GONG!
 
The noon chimes startled Susan momentarily.  When she regained her 
composure, she noticed that the four automated officers had left 
their posts and were now converging on a female motorist who was 
just getting out of her car. 
 
The pretty young redhead was driving an expensive yellow car, 
and Susan guessed that she was an executive in the tall office 
building that fronted the plaza. 
 
"Stop, lawbreaker," one of the officers said, as the woman was 
getting out of the car.  "You did not put your money in the 
meter." 
 
"I was about to, officer," the annoyed woman replied.  "You didn’t 
give me a chance!"
 
The woman reached for her purse, but one of the automated cops 
immediately seized her bag and pushed her against the car.  The 
officer locked her arms behind her back in a death grip and kicked 
her legs apart.
 
A few seconds later, a second officer firmly pressed the woman’s 
face and neck against the car with one hand while using its second 
hand to immobilize the young woman’s hands.
 
The woman gasped as she felt the third mechanical cop reach for 
the hem of her green dress and slowly begin to roll up the garment. 
 
"Oh, no, please!" the woman pleaded.  "I told you I was going to 
put money in the meter!  You can’t raise my skirt in public!  
Everyone’s WATCHING!"
 
Susan noticed that everyone was indeed watching.  The helpless 
woman in the rapidly contracting green dress was soon surrounded 
by a herd of smiling spectators, all of whom seemed as oblivious 
to her pleas for help as the mechanical cops were.
 
Susan considered intervening, but decided against it.  She knew 
that shutting the program down while the woman was in custody 
might cause the robots to lock into position, which could cause 
the woman to be injured.

As bad as this was, Susan knew that she would just have to sit 
there and watch.
 
She wasn’t surprised that the men who stopped simply stared and 
gawked; men were pigs, plain and simple.  What did surprise her 
was the large number of women who were watching with smug, 
satisfied smiles. 
 
The men stared at the pretty redhead with undisguised lust; the 
women stared with undisguised amusement, as if the poor woman had 
committed some horrible faux paux for which she was now paying 
the price.
 
Susan was parked opposite the woman and across the street, so she 
could still see everything that was going on.  The woman was 
wiggling on the roof of her car, and she started to squirm more 
when the officer behind her finally stopped rolling up her dress 
and inserted his fingers into the waistband of her white cotton 
underpants. 
 
"No, not my panties!" the woman cried.  "I beg you!  I’m not 
hiding anything, really!  I’m innocent!  I haven’t done anything!"
 
"If you haven’t done anything, how come they’re taking down your 
panties, lady?" one bystander put in.
 
"You must have done SOMETHING!" another woman noted.  "I can see 
you’re a natural redhead, so that’s not it!" she said, triggering 
a burst of laughter from the crowd.
 
The executive’s face blushed crimson as the cop slowly rolled her 
white panties down to her knees.  Susan felt a small chill as she 
saw the police officer behind the woman slip on a plastic glove.... 
 
Through the reflection in the glass of the car window, the 
helplessly prone woman saw the glove.  She winced and tried 
desperately to close her legs in self-defense.  But the cops 
expertly shifted her weight and then kicked her legs apart so 
that she was split even wider than before. 
 
"For goodness sakes, lady, close your legs," one man shouted.  
"I can practically see what you had for breakfast!" 
 
"I bet that hand protector he’s wearing will fit you like a glove," 
another bystander said.  "You know what they say: 'If it doesn’t 
fit, you must acquit.'"
 
Susan felt the muscles in her neck tighten as the plastic cop who 
was kneeling behind the woman reached into his pocket and removed 
a small tube of lubricating jelly.
 
"Please, you can’t do this to me," the woman shouted.  "I’m the 
president of this company!  Call my lawyer!  Someone help me, 
please!"
 
Out of the corner of her eye, the woman noticed the 20-year-old 
man who worked in her company's mailroom.  "Freddy!" she cried 
out, desperately.  "Go get some help!  Go inside and call the 
police...and get building security."
 
Freddy just smiled back at her.  "You can fire me if you want, 
Ma’am," he said happily.  "But I have a good viewing location 
here, and I’m not giving it up!" 
 
The woman twisted helplessly against the car and she watched the 
reflection of the police officer behind her slowly lubricating 
his middle fingers.  When they were sufficiently greasy to fit 
through a keyhole, he began to slowly move his hands up towards 
her exposed crotch.
 
Susan looked on unhappily as the robot slowly ran its fingers up 
and down the lips of the humiliated woman’s exposed sex.  Susan 
had seen the strip search process in action, and she knew that 
this program had been modified to draw out the psychological 
aspects of the search and make the procedure as degrading as 
possible. 
 
The person who wrote this virus had a very twisted sense of humor.
 
At last the preliminaries were over, and the probing officer began 
to slowly sink his mechanical fingers into the woman’s exposed 
sex, while the amused crowd looked on.  The woman let out a 
"Ohhhh!" that grew more shrill as the fingers sank deeper and 
deeper, and that, in turn, led to further taunts from the crowd:
 
"Hey, I think she likes it!" one man said. 
 
"Listen to the piggy squeal," a woman said, with disgust.  "Any 
woman who drops her drawers in public like that gets what she 
deserves!"
 
"Talk about taking the law into your own hands!"
 
"I’m signing up for the police academy today!"
 
To Susan’s horror, the mechanical tormenter took its time and 
methodically probed the woman’s insides with a computer-like 
thoroughness.  To Susan, the assault seemed to combine the worst 
of all possible worlds: a relentless mechanical assault by a 
machine, performed in front of dozens of leering, jeering 
witnesses. 
 
When at last the mechanical cop pulled his fingers out of the 
redhead’s pussy, Susan thought the search was finished.  But then 
the other cops slowly spread the woman’s bottom cheeks apart.  
Susan winced in compassion as she watched the mechanical officer 
remorselessly re-lube his fingers in preparation for the second 
assault.
 
The woman actually grunted when the fingers were inserted into 
her rectum, and her response immediately caused the cheerful 
crowd to begin mimicking the grunting sound she had made when 
the fingers were driven home. 
 
The second search was as relentless as the search, and Susan 
squirmed in her seat as she watched the robots probe their 
victim for a full 3 minutes.
 
"She’s clean!" the leader robot shouted, punctuating his verdict 
with a painful and humiliating slap on his victim’s bare buttocks.  
As soon as the woman’s hands were released they instantly flew 
back to rub the large red handprint that had been left by the 
mechanical officer.
 
The woman seemed surprised when the robot officers helped her pull 
up her panties and smooth down her dress.  But she was positively 
thunderstruck when each of them patiently waited in line to 
profusely thank the still-blushing woman for her cooperation. 
 
The terrified woman was frightened that one false move could 
trigger the cops back into action, and so she played along, 
awkwardly accepting their bizarre thanks. 
 
Susan couldn’t help smiling as the woman nervously put her money 
in the meter and walked briskly towards the building.  If nothing 
else, Susan was sure that the beautiful redhead would never be a 
traffic scofflaw.
 
But Susan had seen enough.  If the stories were true, then the 
robots would turn their attention to another helpless victim as 
soon as they had released this one.  Susan was determined that 
watching one woman stripped was more than enough. 
 
She drew her badge and quickly made her way across the street.  
Taking control of the situation, she barked, "Okay, lead heads, 
the fun is over.  FBI Agent Susan Price, badge number 18383, 
orders you to 'End Program' NOW!"
 
The robot cops stared at her for several seconds as if processing 
the information.  Then the lead officer spoke. 
 
"Stop, lawbreaker," the mechanical officer said.  "Impersonating 
an FBI agent and jaywalking are serious offenses." 
 
"I’m not impersonating an agent, bolt brains, I AM an agent.  Shut 
down...NOW!"
 
She knew something was wrong.  The mechanical cops were supposed 
to recognize her voiceprint and retina images and respond 
immediately to her commands.  But, instead, the thing simply 
stared back at her and smiled. 
 
Susan reached for her gun, determined to stop today’s festivities 
the old fashioned way.  The local police department didn’t like it 
when you shot up their toys, but they could bill her!
 
She was startled when an oppressive hand easily ripped her purse 
off her shoulder and pushed her towards the yellow automobile.  
Before she could respond, her face was pressed against the glass, 
and her arms were locked behind her back.
 
She didn’t have to be told what would happen next.  The hood of 
the car was still warm from the redhead in the green dress.
 
"Someone help me, please!" Susan pleaded.  "I’m an FBI agent!  You 
can’t let them search me...like this!  Not out in public!"
 
"You didn’t lift a finger when they searched the other woman," one 
woman said, angrily.  "One cop doing it to another is justice, if 
you ask me."
 
Susan looked over and saw the grinning punks who had hassled her 
earlier looking down at her.  "Well, well, sweet cheeks," the 
chief troublemaker said.  "It looks like I get to find out if 
you’re a natural blonde after all!"



Edited by C. Lakewood