SUPER BOWL SEARCH
by
Joe Doe
A YOUNG CORPORATE EXECUTIVE FINDS HERSELF IN THE MIDDLE OF A STORY
INSPIRED BY SEARCHEM'S REQUEST FOR A SUPERBOWL ADVENTURE.
"I can assure you, Miss Johnson, that we are well aware of the
rumors about drug smuggling that have been circulating on the
Internet over the last few weeks, and we are well prepared to
handle any problems that might come up," the security chief
explained.
"It's Ms. Johnson. And I certainly hope so, Mr. Searchem," Kathy
Johnson replied. "My corporation paid a lot of money for our
skybox, and, as the head of security, I need assurances that our
executives won't be involved in any scandals caused by your lack
of security precautions."
Searchem bristled at the insinuation, but tried not to show his
annoyance. "If you'll accompany me to the basement, Ms. Johnson,
I think you'll see that we are prepared for any situation that
might arise."
As the elevator sank deep into the lower levels of the stadium,
Searchem explained his precautions. "As you know, the rumors on
the Internet state that a large number of coeds between the ages
of 18 and 22 are going to smuggle drugs into the stadium and then
sell them at the game. To prevent that, we have obtained a Jane
Doe strip-search warrant for all young women who fit the profile
described on the Web: college coeds wearing blue jeans and college
t-shirts. Any girl 18-22 who fits the description will be taken
into custody and searched."
The two stepped off the elevator into what looked like a large
storage room, about the size of a basketball court. Against one
wall was stacked a mass of cardboard boxes.
"When the suspect is brought here, she will be placed in line to
await her turn at the stripping station. When she gets to the
front of the line, the miscreant will be ordered to place her
purse, clothing, and jewelry into her box. The girls and the
boxes will be numbered, and the girls will be placed in line for
the second phase of processing."
"I'm not sure I understood what you just said," Kathy said, slowly.
"Did you say the women would have to...remove their clothes?"
"Regrettably, yes," he said, with a devious smile. "Personally, I
hate the thought of making all of those lovely young women remove
their clothes, but it's essential that we perform a complete and
thorough search."
Kathy looked nervously at the hundreds of containers stacked
innocently against the wall. The "description" on the Web was
hopelessly vague, and she knew there would be hundreds if not
thousands of innocent women who would fit that profile.
"It looks like you have enough equipment," she said, nervously
eyeing the vast number of cartons stacked neatly against the wall.
"But are you going to have enough female police officers to search
all of those women?"
"Regrettably, no, but that isn't a big problem," he replied. "The
searches will be performed by our ushers; they are all 18 years of
age or older. And they are minimum wage, high school dropouts, so
the expense of this operation will be minor. Of course, the local
police will be on hand to lend assistance if any of the young women
become unruly."
Kathy swallowed. From what she knew of the local police, she was
sure there was no shortage of male officers who would be happy to
supervise the stripping of the luscious college coeds.
Searchem led her down the long hallway where the women would have
to wait for the second portion of their search. As they walked,
Kathy continued to ask questions. "So, let me get this straight.
If I were arrested, I would have to strip down to my underwear in
front of a bunch of MEN?"
"Of course not, Ms. Johnson," he replied, as his eyes ran up and
down her lovely form. "You would have to strip to the SKIN.
These ARE drug searches, after all."
He took her around the corner, and she was horrified to see at
least thirty exam tables scattered around the room. The tables
came in all shapes and sizes, but every one of them had a pair
of leg stirrups locked menacingly into position.
"The arresting guards will slip on a glove in the 'greetings' area
and do a preliminary cavity search, but we'll still need to send
each of the young ladies back here for a more thorough exam. The
first exam will be sufficient in almost all the cases, but there is
nothing as effective as the stirrups for ensuring a really GOOD
look."
Kathy felt her mouth go dry and her stomach tighten. None of the
exam tables had a partition, or a curtain, or any form of covering.
There wasn't a bed sheet or a hospital gown in sight.
The women would be totally exposed....
"I can't believe that you would strip someone like me down that
way," she whispered, almost talking to herself. "I mean, to strip
me...totally naked...in front of all of those MEN...."
"If you wear the kind of clothes Sunday that you are wearing today,
I doubt that will be a problem," he replied. "The warrant doesn't
cover women in expensive charcoal business suits."
She looked down at herself, slightly relieved. She was wearing an
elegant gray suit that was worth more than most of the security
guards would earn in two months.
He smiled down at her. "Of course, if you DID end up wearing the
coed type of clothes, by mistake, then you would end up here with
the other women. You would be stripped and numbered...." He
shrugged, pausing for effect. "And then, most regrettably, I'm
afraid, you would be searched...."
"The numbering process ensures that you receive your personal
property back at the conclusion of the search," he explained.
"Would you like to see how it works?"
Kathy nodded dumbly, still in shock from what she had seen.
Searchem pulled a red magic marker out of his pocket and bent
down. "We would write the box number on the right bottom cheek
of the woman who was being processed, like so," he said.
Her eyes widened as she felt something scratch her curvy bottom
through her tight skirt. How dare he!
She took a deep breath before responding, and thought about it.
"If he doesn't number my bottom, then I wouldn't be processed
correctly," she thought. "I might not get my secondary cavity
search, and I wouldn't get the right clothes back when they were
finished with me. It's really for my own good. Maybe I should
bend over a little, to make it easier for him to write a great
big number on my backside...."
The sound of Searchem's voice suddenly snapped her back to reality.
"For her own good," indeed! She couldn't believe that she was
having such strange thoughts.
"I left the cap on because I didn't want to stain your clothes,"
he explained. "But, when I use the pen Sunday, the cap will come
off." He grinned, looking deep into Kathy's eyes. "And I would
be writing the number on your bare bottom, young lady."
"You mean...my bottom would be totally bare?" she said, in
disbelief. "And then you'd write a big number on it? In
red ink?"
"Well, I'd have to make the number visible, and we are using a
laundry marker so the women won't be able to rub it off while they
are in line." He paused and smiled. "Of course, I'd like to be a
fly on the wall when all of those women have to explain to their
husbands, boyfriends, and roommates why they came home from the
Super Bowl with a great big red number on their bare backsides!" he
chuckled. "That would certainly be good for a laugh."
"It c-certainly would be," she lied, nervously rubbing her bottom.
How humiliating, to be numbered like a stray dog or cat.
She wondered what her number would be. She hoped it contained a
three. Three was her lucky number.
Her lucky number! Kathy snapped herself back, once again angry for
having such bizarre thoughts. She felt dizzy and lightheaded,
almost as if the search area had some sort of weird atmosphere that
was slowly stripping her naked even now.
She felt her confidence continue to ebb as she stared at the
menacing exam tables. She pulled her expensive jacket closed.
"I can't imagine what it would be like...having to strip
naked...having to parade around...having to put my feet up
into the stirrups in front of all of those DROPOUTS...."
"I have to say that I don't care for your snobbish attitude, Ms.
Johnson," Searchem said coldly. "Just because a young man didn't
go to Yale doesn't mean that he can't search a college coed."
"I went to Harvard," Kathy said, quietly.
"Of course you did, Kathy," he said, with a knowing smile. "I
should have known. It's a fine school."
He paused, and continued. "But, just because a young lady went to
Harvard, it doesn't mean that a 19-year-old minority student with
a tenth grade education can't do an excellent job strip-searching
her. I do believe that Harvard girls have the same basic anatomy
as the rest of the female population. He smiled. "In any case,
I'll find out tomorrow."
Kathy bristled at his insulting remark and fought to regain her
composure. "I suggest that you keep your mind focused on your
work, and not on things that are far beyond you," she sneered.
"Sunday is a very important day for my company."
"It's an important day for us all, Ms. Johnson. I can assure you
that I will do my best, and, if anything comes up involving you or
your company, I will handle it personally."
"See that you do, Searchem," she said crisply as she turned and
swaggered confidently to the elevator.
***********************************
Kathy stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. The cutoff
jeans displayed her long legs beautifully. She had deliberately
trimmed the bottom off of her old Harvard t-shirt last night,
hoping that the bare midriff would make her look hipper, but she
had overdone it, and the shirt barely covered the bottoms of her
pert breasts. White ankle socks and sneakers completed the look.
She had wanted to recreate the co-ed look of her days at Harvard,
but instead came out looking like something out of an MTV video.
She wasn't totally happy with the result, but she knew that it was
definitely the kind of look that could get a girl arrested.
She had gone through the plan a million times in her head. She
would go to the concession stand, buy a Coke, and head upstairs.
If she got caught, she would explain who she really was and use her
cell phone to call one of her girlfriends in the skybox to come and
get her before any real trouble started.
If she didn't get caught, she would get on the phone and raise holy
hell with the head of the local police department about Searchem's
complete and total failure to provide adequate security.
The thought of a smug and lascivious pig like Searchem getting
reamed out made her drool. There was something about the way he
looked at her when she was describing her feelings about the exam
table that infuriated her. How dare he!
Well, she was going to outsmart Searchem and his rent-a-cop force,
and teach the male chauvinist pig a lesson about "girl power" in
the process. She smiled as she contemplated the possibilities.
If her plan went well, she might open up her own firm and bid on
the security contract for next year's game.
She quickly tied her hair into a ponytail and stuck a wad of
bubblegum into her mouth. Then she tucked the bag with her
street clothes and purse under the couch in the ladies room,
and quickly headed for the service elevator.
The last thing she wanted to do was run into someone she KNEW
dressed like THIS!
Kathy stared at the unfamiliar sea of buttons in the huge service
elevator and decided that M1 probably meant "Main Floor."
She could feel her heart beating in her chest as she sank lower and
lower. Used to being in charge of security details, the feeling of
being the prey was a new and exciting sensation.
It was quite thrilling. The thought of scampering around in her
little bimbo costume while all of those horny but feckless guards
fell all over themselves trying to catch her was unbelievably
exhilarating.
She pulled her hand out of the front of her jeans as the doors of
the elevator began to slide open.
She was stunned to see at least 10 guys standing in front of her
wearing blue security uniforms. On the wall behind them was a sign
that said "Maintenance Level 1" and a heap of ominously empty boxes.
She desperately tried pressing buttons to get the elevator doors to
close, but one of the officers, a pimply-faced geek who couldn't
have been more than 20, grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the
elevator. "It looks like Number 333 has decided to turn herself
in," he guffawed.
Kathy looked unhappily over her shoulder as the elevator doors
closed and the car began ascending back to civilization without
her.
"That was very thoughtful of her!" another guard said. "Saves us
the work of having to drag her cute little buns down here for her
search."
It was only when Kathy reached for her cell phone in her jacket
pocket that she realized that her expensive jacket was resting
comfortably underneath the couch in the skybox ladies room.
Her scanty college coed costume hadn't been tailored for a cell
phone. After all, what right did a little bimbo like her have to
make a phone call? She was there to be strip-searched, not jabber
on the phone. Who would want to hear anything she said, anyway?
"I-I think...I got off on the wrong f-floor," Kathy stammered,
trying to make her way back to the elevator.
Two guards cut her off, and one handed her a box. "Actually, young
lady, I think you got off on the RIGHT floor. Time to get in line,
sweet cheeks."
Kathy broke free and made a run for it, ducking through a side door
and running down a long hallway. She could hear the guards gaining
on her as she burst through another door.
She found herself in a sea of men holding plastic cups of beer.
She could see the concession stand in the distance, but she was
still confused. The men weren't watching the game, not here on
the maintenance level. Why was this hallway packed?
She didn't have much time to contemplate the answer as she pushed
down the hallway, desperate to escape her pursuers. She was
shocked to hear the vulgar language and crude comments coming from
the men around her, and, for a moment, she thought the comments
were directed at her. But all of the men seemed to be facing in
the other direction.
Shorter than the men, she easily hid in the crowd of guys. She was
only a few feet away from the elevator when she realized what the
men were looking at. They were crowding in front of a thin gauze
curtain, easy enough to see through if you stood close enough. On
the other side of the curtain were dozens of butt-naked women,
waiting their turn on the exam table.
The women tried to ignore the crude comments of the vulgar, drunken
men gawking at them from only a few feet away as if they were part
of some x-rated halftime peepshow. Most of the blushing women
tried desperately to cover their breasts and genitals with their
hands as their leering admirers made detailed observations about
their splendid anatomies.
The elevator doors were open now, and no one was watching. But
Kathy found herself transfixed at the sight of the naked, powerless
women squirming helplessly in front of the drooling, whistling men.
Every now and then a small fight would break out about whether one
of the women had natural breasts or implants, or whether one was a
natural blonde. For a few measly dollars, one of the guards would
settle the fight by dragging the humiliated, butt-naked woman over
for a closer "inspection" by the drunken buffoons.
Kathy nervously stroked her hair. Her beautiful, naturally blonde
locks had always been her prize possession, but they could cost her
dearly today.
"There she is!" the security guard shouted. "Stop her!"
She tried to make a break for it, but the men who had totally
ignored her now formed an impenetrable human shield. The drunken
hooligans literally picked her up and passed her over the top of
the crowd, a procedure that provided a wonderful excuse for the
horny men to feel the flesh they would soon be seeing.
Like a condemned prisoner forced to ride his coffin to the gallows,
Kathy was given her degrading box and "put back in her place"
immediately behind girl number 332.
The line moved slowly, and Kathy jumped up and down see what was
ahead of her. At one point, she could see a girl with a box
numbered 284 slowly unbuttoning her blouse in front of some
leering guards.
Another time, she saw a girl nervously preparing to remove her
panties. Behind her, a beaming African-American security guard
with a huge red marker anxiously waited to write her demeaning
ID number on her bare bottom as soon as she dropped her drawers.
Kathy finally got the attention of one of the guards. "You don't
understand," she wailed. "I shouldn't be here! I'm not a coed!
If you let me out of this horrible line, I can prove it to you!"
The guard was a gangly black man about 19 or 20 years of age.
Kathy had singled him out because she vaguely recognized him as
one of the guards who had worked for her until she had fired him
a few months before.
She wasn't sure if the guard recognized her, but she was relieved
when he told her to put down her box and come with him. The guard
quickly ushered her into a small hallway that led to another
service elevator. Kathy felt her pulse quicken when she saw the
elevator. The safety of her skybox was only minutes away…
"Th-thank you for believing me, s-sir," Kathy stammered. "I don't
know what I would have done if you had left me in that terrible
line!"
"Well, I'm not convinced yet, Goldilocks," the guard snickered.
"Whether or not I put you right back in that line depends on how
good a job you do convincing me."
"I-I don't understand," she replied, nervously.
The guard smiled, and turned her so that she was facing him. Then
he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her down until she was
kneeling in front of him.
Kathy was used to being in control, and, therefore, she was naïve
about the way men treated women who were totally in their power.
She didn't understand why she was on her knees until the grinning
black man began to slowly unzip his pants.
Kathy looked up in horror. As the head of security for a major
multinational corporation, she hired and fired dozens of flunkies
like this one every month.
She was an important executive, and she couldn't believe that the
minimum-wage loser in front of her actually expected HER to blow
him. She tried to explain how preposterous the concept was, but
the guard's response was to teasingly run the tip of his penis over
her upper lip, which gave her a tiny, pre-cum version of the famous
"Got Milk?" mustache.
She considered her options. She knew that Searchem was lurking
somewhere, and the thought of having to strip down naked in front
of her hated rival made her blood run cold. She also knew that she
would be a prime target for the drunken hooligans plucking out
pubic hairs to verify "natural blondeness." There was always the
chance that someone from her skybox might wander down and see her
naked; she didn't even want to THINK about that.
Swallowing her pride (and resigned to swallowing much more), she
submissively kissed the bulbous head before her. Then she began
to teasingly run her tongue up and down the long black shaft....
She provided exemplary service, and she was naturally enraged when
the guard returned her to her spot right behind number 332.
Her box was still waiting for her there....
The satisfied guard treated her complaints about "being in the
wrong place" as a big joke. "Now, I know you're anxious to get to
the front of the line and strip down naked in front of everyone,
but you'll just have to wait your turn like all the rest," he said,
with a big smile. "Don't worry, Number 333. We'll have you naked
as a jaybird before you know it!"
The other women looked at Kathy with little sympathy. The guard's
copious load had greatly increased the size of her "Got Milk?"
mustache, and, indeed, she now had a small goatee, as well. Her
"neighbors" in the line were clearly disgusted by Kathy, and they
declined to enlighten her about her appearance.
Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold the box as
she stood in line waiting for her turn. She nervously ran a hand
over her bottom cheeks and imagined what it would be like to have
the grinning guard number her like a stray cat.
She grimaced. A few hours ago, she was the head of security for a
large, multinational corporation. She ate security guards like the
ones in front of her for breakfast. "Now I'm just one more stray
pussy, here to be numbered and PROCESSED," she thought, grimly.
Number 331 had just pulled down her panties when Searchem looked
along the line and saw Kathy. At first, he seemed surprised, and
she dared hope that he might rescue her. But then his face broke
into a huge, wicked smile, and she knew that her fate was sealed.
Searchem immediately told one of his subordinates to run up to the
skybox and tell Kathy's employees that, if they wanted to see "a
unique and entertaining spectacle" starring their boss, then they
should accompany the guard back down to the maintenance level --
and for them to bring anyone else who might "enjoy the show."
Searchem smiled when he saw the dried cum on Kathy's face. It was
almost as if she were wearing a sign that said "Free Blow-jobs!"
He vowed that the snobbish lady who had insulted him the day before
would not go home thirsty.
He had only been watching so far, but, as Kathy neared, he slid on
a thin latex glove.
Kathy grimaced. As promised, Searchem was going to make sure that
any problems involving her or her company would get his "personal
attention."
Edited by C. Lakewood