A VISIT TO DOEVILLE by Joe Doe THIS SERIES WAS INSPIRED BY THE FINE DOEVILLE MAPS CRAFTED BY RICHARD BORDEN ("SUBMIT63"). ALAS, I'VE WRITTEN ONLY THREE CHAPTERS, BUT THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS, AND ANY OF THIS GROUP'S GREAT WRITERS IS FREE TO PICK IT UP -- OR EXPLORE THE TOWN IN SOME OTHER WAY. MY THANKS TO LAKEWOOD, FOR COINING THE NAME OF THE TOWN. (I AM HONORED.) AND TO SUBMIT63, FOR HIS MAPS AND INSPIRATION. Part 1 Dr. Andrea Nhu Khy knew she was getting close to Doeville when she saw the huge billboard... DESIGNER SHOES! ALL BRANDS! 75% OFF FOR COEDS WITH STUDENT ID! Andrea chuckled. The "specials" were always wonderful at the Johnson Mall in Doeville. The billboard had been her idea. The Sheriff had wanted a sign that would attract young women to the town...preferably alone. A woman traveling with her significant other would need to convince him to go shoe shopping. Good luck with that! On the other hand, if the woman was traveling alone, or with a group of her girlfriends.... BINGO! The ploy had worked brilliantly. That enticing bit of deception had kept the stirrups warm, and the reformatory, asylum, prison farm, and truck stop stocked with fresh recruits. She was so pleased with herself that she barely noticed the little red sports car swerving in front of her. The tires squealed on Andrea's Lexus as she slammed the brakes. She avoided an accident -– barely. Infuriated, she leaned on the horn. The two women in the convertible flipped her the finger and shouted, "Hey, four eyes! Don't they have cars in China?" Andrea fumed as the two young women hooted at her. She was not Chinese! The two cackling hyenas were just like the coeds she struggled to teach in her psychology class: ignorant, bratty, and disrespectful. Oh, how Andrea hated them. Tall, curvy American women seemed to be, for reasons that escaped Andrea, the world's standard of beauty. They came to her class dressed like hookers, showing off their long, tanned legs and big bosoms. As a 5'1", 100 pound Asian-American, how was she supposed to compete with THAT? Well, she couldn't compete, and they knew it. She heard them giggling behind her back as she marched down the hallway, whispering their demeaning nicknames: "Yellow Rose," "Doctor Nookie," and -- the one she hated the most -- "Little Andy" (a humiliating reference to her short stature and flat chest). Oh, what she wouldn't give to paddle them! She sighed with satisfaction as she watched the two giggling bimbos drive across the grass to make the cutoff for the mall. Her clever shoe trick had snared two more little airheads. It was easy to catch fish when you used the right bait. "Too bad you can't wear shoes when your feet are in the Sheriff's stirrups," she chuckled as she watched the two women drive to their doom. She was, after all, a psychologist, and, despite her youthful appearance, a damn good one. Thanks to her partnership with the Sheriff, she was also a very wealthy one. She had discovered Doeville on the Web and had written the Sheriff a letter suggesting various psychological techniques he could use to "smooth" his operations –- and improve his vital PPP (profit per pussy). The Sheriff was skeptical. Though an honors college grad, he liked to pose as a high school drop out, with little interest in "mumbo-jumbo" theories. In addition, he had a hard time taking women –- particularly female academics -- seriously. But there was no arguing with success. With Andrea's help, the money flowed in. The Sheriff was happy to share the wealth with the doctor -– in exchange for more money-making ideas. Andrea was delighted to oblige. In addition to the Sheriff's financial generosity, she relished the thought that she was helping to ensure that young women like the bimbo students who tormented her got the justice they so richly deserved. The next billboard for Doeville was quite different from the last. Following Andrea's suggestion, it was electronic, which allowed for an ever-changing display. The billboard depicted a smiling young woman in a business suit, under the legend, "Cassidy Mathews, 24, Pharmaceutical Representative." Her picture then disappeared and was replaced by this text: See her dance TOTALLY NUDE at the Longhorn Bar! Then the text disappeared, to be replaced by the image of Cassidy, now dressed in a short hospital smock, dancing on the bar. As she turned it was revealed that the poor dear's gown was missing the bottom tie, leaving her butt cheeks on open display. Poor Cassidy! Even on the electronic billboard her distress and her blush were readily apparent. The sign had been Andrea's idea. After all, if a man just wanted to see a naked woman, he could spend $10 on pay-per-view at the hotel. Andrea knew that what men really wanted to see was something they couldn't have -– the girl next door humiliated and forced to prance naked for their twisted amusement. The psychology went deeper than that. Andrea had suggested to the Sheriff that the girls be forced to play roles that parodied their professional success. Executives were transformed into secretaries. Policewomen were convicts. College professors were naughty schoolgirls. "College professors were naughty schoolgirls...." For some reason, that notion gave Andrea a chill. She adjusted the climate control in her Lexus. Andrea regarded Cassidy's ordeal with little sympathy. As a pharmaceutical representative, Cassidy had traded on her good looks to get in to see doctors. All of her life Andrea had been forced to compete against women like that, who were tall, busty, and beautiful. They were treated like goddesses. Andrea was treated like one of the boys, or worse, an annoying kid brother who wouldn't shut up. The thought of Cassidy blushing and squirming as she rolled around the stage in her too-short gown tickled Andrea enormously. Cassidy would squat and twist, bend and spread, as the men leered and hooted at her. And the dollars she earned would pay for Andrea's next car. Would it be a Lexus this time? Or maybe a BMW. She took the exit and drove slowly past the truck stop. It was early in the day, but already the bar was crowded with cars. The adjacent motel was busy as well. Andrea smiled. As she had suggested, the women trolling for business in front of their rooms were all dressed in various costumes: as a sexy cowgirl, a harem dancer, a nurse.... A nurse? Could it be? Andrea pulled into the parking lot. She smiled. The nurse was none other than Cassidy Mathews, apparently working the truck stop that day. Andrea watched as the giggling girl flirted with two fat, bald Indian men in front of her motel room. Andrea watched as Cassidy twirled to show off her assets, then bent to display her cleavage. Her face registered shock and anger when one of the men squeezed her fanny, but she quickly recovered, giggling like the airhead she was supposed to be. At last, the two men handed Cassidy their tickets, and entered the motel room. The tickets were Andrea's idea -– at no time should female prisoners be allowed to handle money. Even the tips they were given on stage were in the form of monopoly money the men bought when they came into the club. After all, a prisoner who was exposed to money, even momentarily, might start to believe that she had worth. Andrea felt that it was vital that the women never be allowed to feel the sense of empowerment that money can bring. The tickets re-enforced the reality that the women were not free agents, but sex industry workers, spreading their legs on behalf of a vast corporation much bigger than themselves. As the two fat Indians went into the room, Cassidy's smile faded. She winced and smoothed down her skirt. She was clearly disgusted with the men, with her humiliating and demeaning costume, and, most importantly, with herself. Then Cassidy pasted the idiotic smile back onto her face, and entered the seedy motel room, closing the door behind her. Andrea smiled. The two men had handed Cassidy purple tickets, which meant that it was a special order. Andrea didn't know what perversions the two men would order the girl to do, but she hoped it would be nicely humiliating. As she put her car in gear, Andrea saw the blue and red lights of the police car behind her switch on. She hadn't seen the police. Where had they come from? Andrea turned around and pointed to the "FRIEND OF JOE DOE" sticker the Sheriff had told her to paste in her back window. The officer immediately turned off his lights and got out of the squad car. "Good day, miss. Is there anything I can do for you?" "No, officer. I was just...browsing." The hayseed officer tipped his hat. "Great. Let us know if there is anything we can do for you, or anything that will make your stay more pleasant. Any friend of Joe's is a friend of ours." Andrea smiled as the officer stopped traffic to make it easier for her to turn back onto the main road. Her "Friend of Joe" sticker triggered a reception very different from the one most women got here. She drove on. To her right was the impenetrable bog surrounding the local prison farm. It was named "Ashley Marsh," after one of Joe's favorites. Andrea passed the enormous guard tower that marked the entrance to the single road in and out of the prison farm. The sign read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY VISITORS WILL BE SEARCHED In Doeville, would you expect anything less? In the distance, she could hear the dogs barking and howling. An escape? Not likely. Every now and then the warden liked to release a couple of the girls, to give the dogs a little exercise. The sweating girls would sprint through the vermin-invested swamp, with the dogs yapping at their heels, desperate to find a way out. There was actually no way out, other than the one heavily guarded road, but it was fun to watch them try -- and good exercise for the snarling pooches. The warden would let the girls run themselves to exhaustion, or until they were up to their necks in quicksand. The horror of the quicksand was enough to break even the most rebellious girl. After she had experienced it once, she would never run again. Even when the gate was opened, and shots were fired, and the girl was ordered to run, she wouldn't, preferring to risk death on the spot rather than the feeling of sinking ever deeper into the bog. Ha-ha-ha. The warden really was a card! Andrea drove on, enjoying the scenic route. The roads in the Doeville area were smooth and immaculate, thanks to the countless all-female chain gang road crews that dotted the roadways every few miles. The beautiful, scantily clad young women were chained together by the ankles and were supervised by guards on horseback. Pick up that litter! Swing that pick-axe! Dig out that pot hole. In Doeville a woman's work was never done. At the end of the scenic route was Lakewood Street, the main road leading into town. Andrea looked off to her right. There was the Honeypot Reformatory for Women and, beyond, the Honeypot Women's Asylum. Although it was nearly a mile away, she could see the lights of the asylum flicker, and she imagined she could hear the faint sounds of a feminine scream. Doctor Hal and his electroshock therapy machine were busy again. Andrea knew she wanted to drive towards town and away from the Honeypot Asylum. Dr. Hal deeply resented the fact that the Sheriff valued Andrea's advice so highly. Dr. Hal was particularly resentful that the Sheriff referred to her as "Doctor," since her degree was a PhD, not an MD. When she had retorted that in fact "Doctor" Hal had no medical degree at all, and that diapering women doesn't make one a doctor, he had became enraged. "If you'd like to visit me at the asylum, I'd be happy to arrange a FIRSTHAND EXPERIENCE for you," Dr. Hal had thundered. "In fact, based on your stories and your recommendations to the Sheriff, I've already prepared a full psychological profile detailing your insecurities, your greatest fears, and possible "treatments." By week's end, I'm sure it would be clear which of us had a better understanding of the fragile -– and, if handled properly, pliable -- female psyche." Even with her "Friend of Joe Doe" status, Andrea didn't dare go near that horrible asylum. She knew that, if that evil "doctor" had his way, it would be Halozine and nappies for her. Andrea could tell that the cop parked on the corner was interested, but, when he saw the sticker on her window, he smiled and waved. None the less, Andrea came to a full and complete stop before turning left onto Lakewood street.... The street that would lead her into the heart of Doeville. ****************************** Part 2: The Chain Gang and the Squishee As she drove down Lakewood street, Andrea spotted the golden opportunity she had been looking for. Five female convicts, their ankles chained together, were busy re-surfacing the parking lot at the local Kwik-E-Mart. Andrea smiled. Squishee time! She pulled to the far side, to make sure that none of the tar got on her car. She could feel the eyes of the uniformed guards burning into her as she put her Lexus into park. She made certain that her big, "I'm a friend of JOE!" pin was displayed prominently on the lapel of her crisp jacket before getting out of the car. The guards relaxed instantly as they spotted the pin. She flashed them her most becoming smile. The female inmates, too, looked at her, although they knew better than to make eye contact with one of their betters. But Andrea could feel them admiring her lovely shoes, her pearls, and her expensive, worsted wool suit. Her elegant attire was in marked contrast to the midriff-baring HOOTERS-style outfits the girls on the chain gang were forced to wear, with the humiliating word "INMATE" across the chest, and the large bulls-eye target on the back. The guards had never actually shot anyone, except with paint pellets, during the humiliating "practice escapes." The point of the target was the same as the guards on horseback, with their prominent hunting rifles. The female convicts were animal livestock who, if they dared to try escaping, would be hunted down by their rightful owners. It was another one of Andrea's little touches. As far as she was concerned, no detail was too small. The guard on horseback smiled down as he trotted over to Andrea. She had suggested the horses, to give the guards the advantage of height. But Andrea, who was barely over five feet, without shoes, had never realized how enormous that advantage was. She felt her stomach tighten as she looked up at the horse and at the hulking, rifle-toting guard. "May I help you, miss?" he asked, as he discreetly verified the authenticity of her "Friend of JOE" badge. "No, I'm just getting something to drink." "Yes, it's a real scorcher," the guard said, with a chuckle. "Would you like a bottle from the cooler?" One of the other guards opened up a large cooler crammed full with cold beer, bottled water, and soft drinks of various kinds. It was in the nineties, and the girls who were shoveling and tamping the steaming asphalt over the parking lot were much, much hotter. Andrea smiled as she watched the thirsty girls eye the cool beverages. The guard behind one of the girls was less amused. He raised his razor strap high in the air, and, with a snap of the wrist, CRACKED one of the lovely female inmates squarely across her tight little seat. "Back to work!" he shouted. "You're here to break a sweat, not eavesdrop on decent folk." Andrea smiled. In fact, she was making a point of talking loudly enough for the helpless prisoners to hear, and her enjoyment of their plight was anything but decent. But the reference to her as "decent folk," combined with her smart business clothes and obvious professional status, hurt these girls more than any strap -– and Andrea was loving every minute of it. Andrea relished their thirst, their helplessness, and their envy of her superior status. "No, I'm going to have a Squishee. Should I get the girls something?" "No, if we water them, it just makes them piss themselves. But don't worry yourself, miss. Out at the prison farm, the guards will give these girls something to slurp anytime they want." All the male guards laughed. The female prisoners bit their lips in disgust, but dared not look up from their toil. "How nice!" Andrea said, pretending not to understand the lewd reference. After all, she was "decent folk." Andrea casually sauntered into the store. She would have liked to have lingered, but the asphalt stink was starting to bother her, and the heat of the day was simply unbearable. Even in the few seconds that she had been outside, poor Andrea was beginning to "glisten." Horrid! As she entered the store, the fat hillbilly clerk looked her up and down. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Yeller Rose, come for a visit. Are you going to launder my shorts, or are you just here to help with the railroad...." But, when Andrea turned to reveal the pin on her label, the clerk immediately stammered an apology. "I'm SO sorry...I had no idea. Look, any friend of Joe is a friend of mine. I love you people.... I mean...I even own a Toyota truck." Andrea was a bit taken back. She knew that the pin gave her immunity, but it was obvious that the idiot behind the counter was actually AFRAID of her. Being a friend of Joe was even better than she had thought. "Do you sell Squishees?" Andrea asked haughtily, determined not to let the man off the hook so easily. "Of course...no charge! Here, let me get it for you. When you run into Joe, I certainly hope you tell him about how hospitable we are at the Kwik-E-Mart here in Doeville. I mean, Mr. Doe and his friends are certainly welcome here anytime and...." "That's all right, I'll get it myself," she said. As she entered the aisle with the Squishee machine, Andrea stopped cold. The tile on the rear portion of the aisle had been removed. On the floor, on her knees, a lovely blonde female convict worked to scrape the cement floor clean with a putty knife. The girl on the floor was wearing the standard chain gang uniform, unlike the other girls, she was barefoot, and both her wrists and ankles were shackled together. She had a tracking bracelet, with a blinking red light, around both her ankle and her neck. A big iron ball completed her ensemble. Most people would have thought her security was overdone. To Andrea, it was delightful. Even on her knees, it was obvious that the girl was tall and beautiful. Her hair had been shorn into a humiliating buzz cut, but she was obviously a natural blonde. She reminded Andrea a bit of Heidi Klum -- minus the long hair. The humiliated beauty didn't dare look up at the elegantly dressed Asian woman standing in front of her. But Andrea knew this would be too much fun to pass up. She turned to the storekeeper. "She looks filthy. Why is she so near the food?" "Don't worry," the man replied. "She don't touch nothing. She jus' pries up the worn tiles, scrapes the floor clean, and lays new ones. Learning a trade." "What happened to her hair?" "She musta had lice. It's okay, though. Once they come down with it, they're deloused twice a day. Plus they shave 'em -– tip to toe!" he chortled. "Filthy little piggy, isn't she?" Andrea said, her voice oozing contempt. "You can say that again," the storekeeper chuckled. "But don't worry, they spray up between the legs with this chemical crap. Burns 'em like hell, but I wouldn't of touched her without it." Andrea smiled slightly as she saw the girl's cheeks flush. So the fat store clerk had "touched her"? Andrea wanted to know more. "Do-you-speak-Eng-lish?" she said, talking to the woman as if she were a visitor from another planet. The prisoner didn't look up, but nodded. "So what did you do?" Andrea asked. "I didn't do anything!" the miserable girl whimpered, her voice barely a whisper. Andrea smiled and turned to the clerk. "Are girls on the chain gang allowed to address ordinary women?" "They certainly are not, miss, and I apologize," he replied. "She'll get punished for that!" "No problem. I'd like to talk to her," Andrea replied. "Why were you arrested?" she said to the girl. The prisoner looked at the clerk, then back down at the floor. She said nothing. Andrea turned to the clerk. "She seems shy. Might I have a word with her alone?" "I don't know," he said, doubtfully. "I'm not sure if...." "I'd be ever so grateful, and I know that, since I'm a personal friend of Joe Doe, that you'll want to extend me every courtesy." "You mean you've actually MET Mr. Doe?" the store clerk said, amazed. "Well, of course. Take as long as you'd like. I'll be in back. Call me if you need anything." Andrea smiled. She HADN'T met Joe, of course, but there was no reason to tell the clerk that. The power of suggestion.... The clerk hung the "CLOSED" sign, locked the door, and went into the back. Andrea focused on the girl. "What were you convicted of?" "I didn't do anything!" the girl said. "When I came in here, the store clerk hit on me. He told me I had a pretty mouth, and he offered me $5...." Andrea smiled as the blushing girl hesitated. "$5 to...to take it in my mouth." "What did you say?" "I told him it would take a lot more than that for me to do HIM, and he should go fuck himself." "I see. Then what happened?" Andrea said. "I left the store and paid for my gas with a credit card, out at the pump. Two minutes after I drove off, a squad car pulled me over. They said I stole the gas!" "Did you have a receipt?" "No, there was no paper in the machine. But I'm sure it said it was authorized...." "I see. Did you call the credit card company? Surely there'd be a record...." "No, the deputy took my cell phone. But the Sheriff and the judge both said they called the credit card company and were told that I hadn't paid for the gas." Andrea pretended to mull the facts. "Well, it doesn't seem like both of them would lie...and the credit card company too. Were you upset when you left the store? Perhaps you made a mistake." "No, I didn't make a mistake," the girl said. "I'm sure that...." "Well, judging from where you are, you clearly made SOME sort of mistake. If had been me, I would have gone inside for a paper receipt." "Yes, but...." "What's your name?" Andrea asked. "3733-58583-3838," the girl replied. "No, before you went to prison." "Uh...Brittany." Andrea smiled. Brittany. Of course. "What did you do for a living, Brittany?" "I was a model. I'd done a couple of lingerie catalog shoots, and I was in a fashion magazine once, although what I really wanted to do was act. My agent thought...." Andrea cut her off. "Brittany, none of that matters anymore; we need to focus on who and what you are now, and your new life as a convicted felon. If I'm going to help you, you need to be totally honest with me. When you left the store, were you upset?" "Of course. That clerk is a pig! I told him to fuck himself." "Looking back, that wasn't very smart, was it? If you had been a little nicer, or had simply laughed it off, maybe.... What you were wearing? "A denim skirt and a t-shirt." "Was it a short skirt?" Andrea said, accusingly. "A mini? Showed a lot of leg?" "Well, yes, I guess.... But this isn't my fault!" Brittany's voice cracked. "Brittany, you're going to have to level with me. You said you were upset when you left the store." "Yes, but...." "Isn't it possible you made a mistake? 'Authorized' and 'Declined' are similar words, particularly when a girl is as upset as you admitted you were." "I didn't make a mistake...." "But you did. If you had paid cash, and got a receipt, you wouldn't be here. Why didn't you do that? What's wrong with you? What were you thinking?" Andrea fought the urge to smile as she watched Brittany's confidence erode. "I guess...I didn't think...." "Yes, precisely," Andrea sneered. "You didn't think. You made a mistake. You made many mistakes. You're the one who came here for gas. You paraded yourself in front of that hillbilly in your scanties until you provoked a reaction. You were rude to him. You used foul language. You became abusive, and then you got angry and distracted. You used a credit card instead of cash. You didn't get a receipt. All I'm asking is: isn't it possible that the credit card WAS turned down? Can you be absolutely, positively sure, beyond a shadow of any doubt, given everything else that was happening, and all the other mistakes you made?" "I guess...maybe. I mean...I think...." "If thinking was your strong suit, you wouldn't be here," Andrea shot back. "But you're going to have to start by taking responsibility for your actions. Were you charged with any other crimes?" ****************************** Part 3: For Now! Brittany was silent. Andrea pressed. "Brittany, I have to know. What else did you do?" "They charged me with...soliciting." Andrea shook her head sadly. "That's what I thought. I mean, with the way you were dressed...and claiming to be a 'model,' well, it's pretty obvious that you're really a...." "But I AM a model!" the girl protested. "They twisted my words. When I said it would take more than $5 to get me to blow him, they claimed I was negotiating! But I'm not a prostitute. I'd never.... "You're lying to me again. I'm a psychologist, and I can tell. When that man said he 'touched' you, what did he mean?" Brittany stared at the filthy floor, too ashamed to make eye contact. Andrea, relishing her smug, superior position, pressed on. She had already managed to convince Brittany that she had committed a crime and deserved prison. Could she convince her that she was a whore? "Today, when I was out there working with the other girls, the man came out. He'd recognized me from court. He told the guards he needed some work done inside and gave them $10." "I see," Andrea nodded. "So he paid for your...services." "No!" Brittany protested. "It wasn't like that. They MADE me! The guard took me inside, cuffed my hands behind my back, and left me alone with the storekeeper. The guy laughed and said I didn't look so stuck up in my cute little prison get-up. He called me 'cue-ball' and asked me if I liked my new haircut and working on the chain gang...like it was all some big joke." "He told me I looked like a bum with no hair, but that I still owed him a blow job, and he'd be willing to overlook my 'chrome dome' if I swirled my tongue around a lot and was 'real sweet.' He said if I didn't, he'd tell the guard, and I'd be punished." "How would you be punished?" Andrea asked, pretending not to know the answer. Brittany stared at the floor. "The...the strap!" "Wow, I saw it outside. That must really hurt!" Andrea said. "I mean, I saw a girl outside get just one stroke, and it looked like it really sizzled!" She fought the urge to smile as Brittany rubbed her bottom. "Plus, I imagine you'd get more than one stroke," Andrea added. Brittany, still rubbing her fanny at the thought of it, nodded! "Have you been spanked, Brittany? Were you a naughty girl?" Brittany stared at the floor. "I got six on my first day, for 'being lippy.'" Then I got a baker's dozen, a few days later, because I wouldn't do something a guard wanted me to do." "What was it the guard wanted you to do?" Brittany did not reply. "Was it a...sex act?" Andrea asked, softly. Brittany nodded. "And since your punishment, have you done everything the guards wanted?" Brittany nodded. Andrea adopted her most parental tone. "Brittany, this may shock you, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. You're in prison now, and the old rules don't apply. You need to do what you have to in order to survive. Do you understand?" Brittany, still unable to make eye contact, nodded. Andrea looked down at the beautiful, humiliated, kneeling girl. Andrea had never felt so powerful in her life. "I don't know. Maybe it will be easier on you if you think of it as part of your punishment. You're a thief and a prostitute. Maybe this is how you have to pay your debt to society." "But I'm not...." "Now, now. We've already established that you stole that man's gas. As for the prostitution charge, you just told me that you've been bartering sex acts for favors, in prison. If that isn't prostitution, I don't know what is." "But I HAD to," Brittany whined. "If I didn't, they would...." "Yes, I know, they'd spank your naughty little fanny and make you stand in the corner like a bad little girl." "It isn't like that. That strap! You saw that girl outside. And it's even worse in the prison." "Why is it worse in the prison?" Brittany's cheeks flushed. Andrea fought the urge to smile at the girl's obvious discomfort. "Why is it worse in the prison, Brittany? Do they give you more strokes?" "Yes," she muttered. "Is that all?" She did not reply. "If I'm going to help you, you're going to have to be honest, remember? Is that the only reason the spankings in the prison are worse?" "No," she mumbled, staring at the floor. She was really squirming now, and Andrea was loving every minute of it. "Do they...do they take down your pants?" Poor Brittany. She looked like she wanted to disappear. "Yes...yes ma'am," she said, rubbing her butt. The "ma'am" was a nice touch. Andrea could tell that, even now, the poor little dear was reliving the moment, feeling the shame, humiliation, and helplessness of having her pants lowered to her knees and having her cute little fanny spanked. "Well, at least you had your underpants on," she said, soothingly. "I mean, on the bare that strap would REALLY smart," she chuckled. "The underpants weren't much padding, but at least they left you a tiny shred of dignity!" Andrea's "comforting" did the trick. Brittany burst into tears. Andrea looked down at her imperiously as Brittany sobbed and rubbed her bottom. "Oh, Brittany!" Andrea said, her voice oozing sympathy. "They spanked you BARE? On your bare naked fanny?" The girl nodded. "Were there...male guards in the room?" The weeping girl bobbed her head. "A lot of them?" A second bob. "Did you...um...did you kick your legs? Did you show them things you shouldn't have?" "I couldn't help it!" she said, sobbing. "It hurt so bad! And they were all laughing, talking about how naughty I was, and how I needed to learn respect. And when I started to squirm, and kick...they whistled at me. And all I did was try to use the phone." Andrea reached into her purse and handed Brittany a Kleenex. "Oh, Brittany, don't you see how you bring these things on yourself? Stealing. Breaking the rules. Making them strap you. Then, when they give you the punishment you deserve, you kick your legs open like a 10 peso puta in a Mexican sex circus." "I couldn't help it!" she protested, pausing to blow her nose. "I told you I didn't do anything wrong." "You also said you tried to use the phone. Didn't you know that was against the rules?" "But no one knows that I'm here!" she wailed. "If I could get a lawyer...." "You've already had your trial, dear. Besides, you've admitted you were guilty. You committed a crime, and you were duly sentenced. Lawyers are for good girls." "I AM a good girl!" "Good girls don't steal gas and then lie about it when they are brought into court. Good girls don't turn tricks, or let everyone ogle their goodies. Have you tried to use the phone since your spanking?" "No, ma'am," she said, her tears subsiding. "I've been good." "Precisely. They spanked you for your own good. They tried to explain the rules to you, to treat you like an adult. But some stupid, willful, cute little girls like you think they're special, think the rules don't apply to them. Some little girls don't learn until you take down their britches and tan their fannies. It sounds to me like they taught you a lesson you needed to learn." "Yes, ma'am," she said, drying her eyes. Andrea had her exactly where she wanted her. Now she moved in for the kill. "When you took the storekeeper in your mouth, did he take very long to cum? Was it quick or slow?" "Quick!" "I'm surprised. He's old. I thought it would take a long time. What did you do?" "I sucked really hard. Plus, I-I flicked my tongue around the little vent and looked up at him the whole time. He was smiling down at me. I could see he liked looking at me." "It sounds like you were very...professional. Did you swallow?" She nodded, humiliated. "Every drop?" Another nod. "Good girl!" Andrea patronized. "Did he give you anything afterward?" "He let me have some cold cuts he'd thrown in the trash. My hands were still cuffed, so I had to.... Brittany stopped, too humiliated to continue. Andrea, ever helpful, thoughtfully finished her sentence. "So you stuck your head in the trash and rooted them out like a stray dog?" Brittany blanched, but nodded. Andrea shook her head sadly. "Brittany, I'd like to help you, but don't you see what you did? You blew that dirty old man for table scraps! Do you want me to march into court with you, dressed that way, semen caked on your lips, and complain that cold cuts in the trash weren't fresh? They'd laugh me out of the state." Brittany took a note out of the front of her skimpy prison pants and passed it to Andrea. "No, I don't want you to go to court! I want you to get this note to my father. He's an attorney, and he can help me. He can...." Andrea attempted to pass the note back. "Brittany, you must understand that no one can help you. And the sooner you accept the fact understand that you deserve this -- that the punishment's for your own good -- the better off you'll be." "No, please! My parents and I are really close. I'm Daddy's little princess, and I know he's looking for me. I promise, if this doesn't work, I'll be a good girl. I'll do all the disgusting things they want me to do! I'll even work in their whorehouse!" Brittany's frantic pleas were cut short by the store owner's return. "Is she bothering you, miss?" he asked. "No, not really," Andrea replied. "She asked me for some water and I gave it to her. That's not a problem, is it?" "Not for you, it isn't," he said, glaring at the terrified girl. Andrea tried to pay for her drink, but the storekeeper refused. Everything in the store, it seemed, was "complimentary." After all, she was a friend of Joe. Brittany shot Andrea a pleading look as she left the store. "Eyes on your work," the storekeeper snarled. Andrea pointedly pretended not to notice Brittany as she walked out of the store. Andrea was surprised to find the inmates washing her car. Needless to say, they had done a wonderful job, and her Lexus glistened like new. "Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you, ma'am," the guard said, as he opened the car door for her. "Actually, there is one thing. There's a girl inside there, named Brittany...." "Inmate 3733-58583-3838?" "Yes, that's her. "I'm in charge of...psychological operations at the prison. I want you to give this escape note to the warden. Tell him to wait a couple of weeks, then let Brittany overhear a conversation that her parents are coming to rescue her. Then, after another three days, have the warden tell her that her parents were "eliminated" because they tried to interfere. The warden should stress that it's all her fault. He can punish her then." "Well, we'd never hurt nobody's parents!" the guard said, shocked. "No, of course not," Andrea said. "But the important thing is I want her to think that SHE doomed her parents. You'll need to put her on suicide watch for a few days, but, after she gets over the shock, she'll be the tastiest little whore you have. Believe me, that will break her, and she'll be yours then." The guard chuckled. "Thank you, ma'am. Much appreciated. Bye now. Drive safe!" Andrea smiled and waved as she pulled away. The guards waved back. The prisoners did not. Edited by C. Lakewood