WHAT HAPPENS IN MEXICO... by Joe Doe A FEMALE POLICE OFFICER EXPERIENCES HER FANTASY OF LIFE BEHIND BARS...IN FRONT OF HER CHURCH GROUP. Part 1 "Which one of you is Rachel Allen?" I asked. My wife raised her hand tentatively. "I am," she squeaked. I said nothing, but walked over and brusquely cuffed her hands behind her back. She winced in pain as the cuffs tightened around her wrists. Reverend Bosh intervened. "Excuse me, officer, but...." "I'll be with you in a minute, sir," I said, crisply. Rachel looked over her shoulder in panic as I hustled her out of the room and closed the door behind me. A few minutes later I returned. In addition to Rev. Bosh, Rachel's church group (now one short) consisted of Bob Peters (President of the Family Values Council) and Dee Wallace (the portly old maid church secretary). I pulled back a large, black curtain to reveal a one-way mirror. On the other side of the glass my very nervous wife strained against her cuffs. "I'll need to get the paperwork started," I said. I sat down at a desk in the corner and pretended to fill out Rachel's admission form, all the while watching the reaction of her church group to seeing her cuffed in the next room. The walls and floor of that room were tiled. There was an open shower stall in the back. In the center of the room, next to my blushing wife, was a full medical examination table. I watched as the group struggled to conceal their delight. My wife couldn't see them, of course, but they could see her. And they had no reason not to look. They were there to observe, weren't they? Rachel is a rent-a-cop, and I'm a senior prison guard. Recently, as part of a cultural exchange program with the Department of Justice, I had the opportunity to help open a prison just over the Mexican border. They'd learn how we did it in America, and I'd learn how they did it in Mexico. Rachel is working on her Master's Degree in criminal justice at her local college. When she found out that we could live in Texas while she worked on her thesis, and that my new salary would more than cover the loss of her rather meager pay, she readily agreed to take a six-month leave of absence. She used her time in Texas to take extra classes and become involved with the local church group. She quickly made herself indispensable: she taught religious education, joined several Bible study groups, and took it upon herself to organize security for several church events. Although I am a believer, I never had much use for organized religion, and made it a point never to meet or go near her church friends. I don't object to religion, mind you, but I always found her church friends to be a sanctimonious bunch, and (when you scratched the surface) more than a little hypocritical. Even with her myriad activities, my wife got restless, and she began pestering me to take her on a tour of the prison. Although she is a very prim and proper policewoman, she also has a wild side...which, up to this point, had been mainly unsatisfied. She has a number of Internet sites that she visits regularly and found one of the stories, "Policewoman Prisoner," particularly hot, because it so neatly mirrored her own fantasies of crossing the line and experiencing life on the other side of the bars. I had to admit the circumstances were perfect. I was in charge of admissions. No one knew us, and we'd only be there six months. And. being a Mexican jail, the opportunities for exploitation and humiliation were nearly limitless… And, as my wife joked, "What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico." My wife was eager to get started, at least until I upped the ante. "If you really want to make it humiliating, why don't you bring your church group along to watch?" I teased. "The only thing more humiliating than being ordered to strip down buck naked is being ordered to strip down buck naked in front of your friends." Rachel's face turned as red as a beet. "Oh! Can you IMAGINE!" she gasped. "That would be DREADFUL! But it would never work. They had wanted a tour of the prison, but they'd never let me be abused that way." "Are you so sure?" I teased. "They might act all prim-and-proper down at the church, when you're in control. But I wonder how they'd act if they had you in their clutches. Aren't you always saying that 'men are men'?" My wife stared at me, dumb-struck. "You don't think they'd...I mean...my CHURCH group. That would be SO HUMILIATING!" "I'm betting they'll strip you down. You're betting they won't. Of course I might let you back out...but then you'd lose the bet." My comments fired my wife's competitive spirit. "I won't back out," she said. "And I have NEVER lost a bet with you." "True enough. Then it's settled. We'll leave it up to your church group. I'll take your "processing" only as far as they say. If they're as holy as you think they are, you have nothing to worry about." My wife smiled. "This could be interesting. I mean, in prison and all. I'll be totally at their mercy. They are right wing, and their views are sometimes rather...harsh. Still, they're always extremely polite to me." "That's because you're a policewoman. I wonder how nice they'll be when you're a helpless little jailbird?" My nervous wife blushed and squirmed at the thought, but when we made love that night, she was insatiable. Now, as she stood in the reception room, fretfully shifting her weight from foot to foot as she stared at her reflection, I could tell she was having second thoughts. Her breasts bobbled slightly as she strained against her cuffs. She bit her lip. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her brow as she fidgeted in front of the mirror. Rev. Bosh, Bob Peters, and Dee Wallace watched my wife closely. Very closely. I had tuned a transmitter in our room to a tiny receiver in Rachel's ear. I coughed. As per our prearranged signal, she nervously shifted her weight forward and went up on her toes, as if straining to get out of her cuffs. Although the church group didn't know it, she could hear every word that they were saying. It was a simple plan, with an end result so obvious as to be almost inevitable. I would threaten to "process" Rachel -– and explain to her assembled party precisely what that meant. They would object vociferously and thus save her from a needless and gratuitous humiliation. After all, Rachel had committed no crime whatsoever. She was a respected member of their church. She was a police officer! There was no earthly reason to search her. Right? Rachel would experience the thrill of a near miss, and the delicious embarrassment of hearing her pastor fight for her right to keep her panties on. It was a simple plan. What could go wrong? Good. Rachel could hear me. Which meant she could listen in as the pious goody-goodies of her righteous church council deliberated her fate. Show time! "Which one of you is in charge?" I asked. There was a pause. "I suppose I am. I'm Rev. Bosh." I pretended to study a file folder as I spoke. "My understanding is that Ms. Allen is here to experience a day in prison, as part of an assignment for her Master's. And she invited her church group along to witness prison conditions?" "Yes, that's correct, officer," he replied. "I'll need you to pick out a work assignment for her. We can have her spend the day in the administration building filing. It's not really part of the prison, so she'll be able to keep her street clothes. It's air conditioned, and the work is pretty light. You can go with her and watch, of course. It's a much easier assignment than the chain gang." "The chain gang?" Bob Peters asked. "Yes, the chain gang," I said. "The warden is having some of the girls dig a new swimming pool. She'd alternate between digging the foundation and spreading hot tar on the new patio. Of course, if we do that, she'll need to put on a uniform." "A uniform?" Peters parroted, his interest clearly piqued. "What sort of uniform?" "Well, for the chain gang, it's a little tube top with 'PRESIDIARIO' -- that means "prisoner" -- on the front and back, plus a skirt. That outfit allows them to change clothes without us having to remove their wrist and ankle chains. We also leave them barefoot. It's so hot, we don't give them bras. Unfortunately, that means the tops soak clean through." I chuckled. "Indecent!" Miss Wallace huffed. "No wonder these little hussies are in jail." "You could watch her work from the second story porch of the warden's house. He always leaves some binoculars up there, so his guests can watch the show. There's also a wet bar and a delicious buffet at lunch time. It's quite the little country club, and the warden told me that, if you care to, he'd love to share a patio lunch with you." "Well, it would be impolite of us to refuse the warden's hospitality," Rev. Bosh said, feigning reluctance. "Are you sure?" I asked. "I have to be honest with you. The chain gang may be a picnic for you, but it won't be for that little girl in the other room. They work them pretty hard, and the filing assignment would be quite a bit easier." Through the glass I could see my poor wife coming out of her skin. She was twisting in her cuffs, bending her knees, and staring at the glass, waiting for one of her friends to come to her defense. She sang in the choir. She taught their children. She was on the family council. "How long is a typical shift on the chain gang?" Mr. Peters asked. "About 12 hours. They usually work them till it's too dark to see," I replied. "Well, you'd better hurry and get her into a uniform," the pudgy Miss Wallace said. "She's missed half the day, and I don't want to be late for lunch." "Yes, ma'am, right away," I said unctuously. I turned to Rev. Bosh. "Does she need to be searched?" In the next room my wife's jaw dropped. For a moment, I thought she'd given it away, but thankfully everyone was looking at me. "Excuse me?" Rev. Bosh asked. "Strip searched," I replied. "Chain gang prisoners are considered maximum security, and, as such, they are always subjected to a strip search." "You mean she'll have to take off her clothes?" Miss Wallace asked. Mr. Peters chimed in. "ALL of her clothes? Every stitch? Underwear, too?" "Yes, sir," I replied. "So she would be stripped...butt naked? To the skin?" Peters asked, still trying to fathom the concept. Miss Wallace, in a voice that reminded me of the Church Lady on "Saturday Night Live," chimed in. "Serves them right! The way these young women strut around today with next to nothing on. They should all be stripped naked, if you ask me." The fact that my wife was, at her church, the model of propriety, and that she was at this moment wearing a very modest dress that covered her to knees, was obviously lost on the church lady. I responded to the eager Mr. Peters instead. "Yes, sir," I replied. "Ordinary prisoners go through a full strip search. All clothing and jewelry are removed, and then they are tagged and bagged." Rev. Bosh clarified. "And would she be required to remove her clothing in that room? With us watching?" "Yes, she would be processed in that room. If you cared to watch...well, that's up to you." "Um...we are here to observe prison procedures," he said, ogling Rachel, as once again he feigned anguished reluctance. "I don't like this one bit, but I suppose we have to." "Yes, as unpleasant as it may be, we really need to see everything," Peters said, eagerly. "We should hurry up and get started," Miss Wallace urged. "There's only 10 more hours until sundown, and we want her to put in as full a day as possible. Besides, I'm starved. When did you say they'd serve lunch?" I picked up the phone and summoned the matron. Carla, a fat old lesbian Mexican with slicked back hair, entered the room and uncuffed Rachel. I called Carla using the small two-way radio on my belt. "The prisoner has a hearing problem," I said. "Let her keep her hearing aid." Carla looked at the glass and nodded. Then she turned to Rachel. "Take off your clothes. Now!" My wife nervously stared at the window as she surrendered her purse and jewelry and took off her shoes. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the glass. Then she quickly unzipped her dress and wriggled out of it. "Slip, too!" Carla barked. As Rachel handed each item over, Carla pinned it with a tiny laundry tag before dropping it into a clear plastic property bag. My blushing wife was soon standing in front of her pastor wearing nothing but her garter belt, stockings, and lacy white bra and panties. She paused for a moment, obviously hoping someone would intervene on her behalf. No one did. "Keep going, honey!" Carla barked. She rolled down her stockings and took off her bra. She stood with her arms over her breasts, staring at the glass and seeing only her mirrored reflection. "Hang on a second, Carla," I said. Rachel was now stark naked save for her lacy white panties. She nervously bit her lip and hid her breasts as she awaited the next move. The fact that she was keeping her breasts covered did not please Peters one bit. "Are prisoners allowed to cover themselves during a search?" he asked. "Tell her to put her hands on top of her head," I told Carla through the little radio. Carla repeated my order. Rachel's eyes flashed as she stared at the mirror. But she obeyed. "My, she does have a lovely figure," Rev. Bosh noted quietly. "I'll say," Peters added. "The folder says she's a police officer," I said. "We could let her keep her panties." Bosh and Peters frowned, but said nothing. Miss Wallace's piggish eyes narrowed with disapproval. I looked at my nearly naked, shivering wife. We had a pre-arranged signal if she felt things were getting out of hand: she was supposed to scratch behind her ear. She had never thought it would go this far, and I could tell that a part of her could scarcely believe that she was standing bare-breasted in front of three church leaders. It was obvious that she was humiliated beyond belief. But there was something about the way she was breathing that made me think she was also turned on big-time. I waited for her to give me the signal. No signal came. ****************************** WHAT HAPPENS IN MEXICO... by Joe Doe THIS IS LOOKING MORE AND MORE LIKE THE STANFORD PRISON EXPERIMENT Part 2 "Of course," I added, looking at Rev. Bosh, "it's entirely up to you whether she's allowed to keep her panties...." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, she IS a police officer. And we don't want to humiliate her unnecessarily. I mean...if we can avoid it, that is. Still...." It was obvious from the bulge in his pants that he wanted very much not to avoid it, and to come up with a pretext for seizing her panties. A spirited church conclave ensued, with each member of the group deliberating the pros and cons of removing my poor, blushing wife's panties. Through the glass I could see Rachel sweating bullets. Nearly naked, she'd been helpless to say a single word in her own defense as the pious hypocrites had stripped her to the buff, one agonizing garment at a time. Her thighs were clenched tightly together. I was the only one standing close enough to the glass to see what she was desperately trying to hide -– the wet stain spreading from the crotch of her lacy white panties. Her desperate, pleading eyes told her story. Had they seen yet? No. She was safe. No, wait. They had made her take off her bra. Would her panties be next? No! No! NO! Her panties were her last defense against revealing her shameful, humiliating arousal. She HAD to keep them on.... Her eyes burned into her own reflection as she strained to see the faces of the smug, self-satisfied jurors casually deliberating her fate on the other side of the glass. She had chosen them carefully, and she viewed each of them as her friends. Even Miss Wallace, who had an obvious hatred of young, pretty women, had befriended her and had made a point of telling her how she was "different than other young women who look like you." But now that she was in their power, it was clear that they were putting their personal friendships aside, and using this as an opportunity to process my sweet wife like a filthy little jailbird. Although she tried not to stare, lest she give the group any ideas, I could see that Rachel was already nervously glancing at the exam table that stood only a few feet away. Her panties were more than a defense against revealing her shameful arousal. They were the only thing standing between her and a humiliating ride in the stirrups. She squirmed as the fate of her soggy underpants was carefully deliberated. "Those look like very delicate panties," Peters said. "So soft, so lacy. I'd hate to see them get ruined...." "They seem a little snug," Rev. Bosh observed. Perhaps if she turned around...." "Ask her to turn around, Carla," I said, speaking into the radio. "Slowly." My wife obediently turned, giving her 'friends' a perfect view of her shapely backside. "When we came in, I saw that one of the guards on the chain gang was carrying a strap," Miss Wallace said, thoughtfully. "Do they practice corporal punishment here?" "That's an excellent point," I said. "If she's going to be on the chain gang, I'll need to warn the officer in charge not to punish her. They always trump up some reason to punish new girls on the first day, regardless of how well they behave, so they learn their place." "Sounds like a sensible policy to me," Miss Wallace said. "Tell me...do they punish the girls over their pants?" Peters asked, his eyes fixed on Rachel's fidgeting bottom. "No, sir," I said. "They always strap them on their bare fannies." Rachel's lovely bottom cheeks clenched and unclenched. "Well, well, well," Miss Wallace said, not even trying to hide her pleasure in Rachel's predicament. "I imagine Miss Perfect will lose some of her sass after they paint her pretty little caboose." "Will we be able to see her disciplined from the patio?" Peters asked. "Yes, sir, you will," I said. "With the binoculars you'll have an excellent view. Of course, if I tell the guards she's a police officer...." Rev. Bosh interrupted. "No matter how much we might like to, I think it would be improper of us to interfere with the prison's disciplinary procedures. Telling them she's an officer would undermine her ability to observe. Besides, if she's a good girl, and does as she's told, there shouldn't be a problem." "And, if not, then...," Miss Wallace observed, philosophically. She finished her sentence by loudly CLAPPING her two hands together. At the sound of flesh spanking flesh, Rachel's bottom twitched again, but the SPANK was so loud no one noticed her reaction. "Yes, well, young women who misbehave SHOULD be punished," Rev. Bosh said, sternly. "Rules are rules." And clichés are clichés. I had made it perfectly clear that she would be punished regardless of her behavior, but no one cared. It was obvious from the gleam in their eyes that they were already lusting after the sight of Rachel's naked fanny cheeks wiggling and dancing under the kiss of the razor strap. So what if the charges were trumped up? She should have been a "good girl." "We've seen enough, officer," Rev. Bosh said. "You can have her turn around." I gave Carla the order, and Carla relayed it to Rachel. She turned, once again exposing her breasts. "So...should I let her keep her panties?" I asked. "They are quite lacy, and I'm sure the prison panties would be much more practical," Bosh said, pensively. He sighed. "If that were the sole consideration, the panties she has on would have to come off." "All the way off," Peters agreed. I decided to point out the obvious. "I'm sure she'd rather ruin a pair of panties than have to surrender them in front of her pastor." "True enough, but there is another angle we haven't considered," Bosh said, thoughtfully. "Those panties are not prison issue. Therefore, technically, they are contraband." "Contraband isn't allowed in prison," Peters said, firmly. "Of course it isn't," Miss Wallace agreed. "Contraband must be seized." "Confiscated." "Forfeited." I looked through the glass. My wife's face was a mask of feminine helplessness. She stood shivering, almost naked, while her pastor and her friends cunningly reclassified her panties as contraband. "So what should I do with her panties?" I asked. Rev. Bosh sighed sadly, but his tone was firm. "Tag them and bag them," he said, crisply. I spoke into the radio. "We'll need to have her panties, too, Carla." "Underpants off," Carla said. "Now!" With an almost unimaginable reluctance, my wife lowered her underpants and handed them over. As per Carla's direction, she resumed her stance with her hands on top of her head, revealing her curly blonde pubic locks for everyone to see. "Oh, my!" Peters said. "So Goldilocks is a natural blonde after all," Dee Wallace said, with a chuckle. "Yes, well, there is nothing to be ashamed of," Rev. Bosh said. "God created us in the glory of our nakedness, after all." The other two chimed in their "amens" as my wife squirmed and blushed for their lascivious viewing pleasure. Carla smiled faintly she noted the wetness in the crotch of Rachel's panties. She smiled, and Rachel blushed beet red. Carla bagged the underpants. She looked directly at my wife, and made a big show of SEALING the bag, as Rachel looked on. Carla walked over to the exam table. Rachel's eyes flashed with panic as Carla snapped first one stirrup, and then the other into place. "Ah," said Rev. Bosh. "Getting the table into game position, I see." I spoke into the radio. "Hold up, Carla." Rachel was absolutely, completely, stark naked...but her audience wanted to see still more. "Are cavity searches standard procedure?" Mr. Peters asked, hopefully. "Yes, they are," I admitted. "In fact, sometimes the girls call that the 'Derby room,' because every prisoner who visits the room she has to 'mount up' -- put her feet in the stirrups -- and go for a ride." The tension in the room eased as all three of the church visitors laughed heartily at this display of penal wit. "The Derby room!" Miss Wallace cackled. "I love it!" Rev. Bosh said, laughing out loud. "Classic!" "It does seem...appropriate," Peters agreed. "And, since it's the standard procedure...." From the corner of my eye, I watched my blushing wife clench her thighs tightly together. Her pleading eyes spoke volumes. I felt it was time to draw the line. "Yes, but she is a police officer, not a criminal. Truthfully, if she showed her badge, she wouldn't even be frisked." "She's on leave, I believe," Miss Wallace said, crisply. "Still, no reasonable person could possibly believe that she is concealing contraband. A cavity search would be entirely gratuitous." "Would it?" Miss Wallace asked. "True, WE know she isn't carrying contraband. But you haven't even told the officer searching her that she's a police officer. If Rachel really wants to experience what life is like behind bars, she'll need to take the good with the bad. Stopping now would be inexcusably slipshod. I'd have half a mind to call her professor and suggest that he flunk her." "Hear, hear!" Peters seconded. "In addition, there is another, far graver reason," Bosh noted. If she isn't searched, and drugs and contraband are discovered in the prison, wouldn't she be the prime suspect? Remember she volunteered to go to prison. Not searching her would throw her motives into question and place her in a highly vulnerable position." The position would hardly be more vulnerable than the one Rev. Bosh was angling to place her in now, but I decided not to argue, and to leave it up to my wife. Instead of the radio, I used the phone on the wall and called the room next door, asking Carla to put Rachel on the phone. "Hello, Ms. Allen? I need to ask you a question. I suggested forgoing the cavity search, but Rev. Bosh is concerned that it might make you vulnerable to allegations of smuggling. He and the other members of your group feel quite strongly that you should experience the entire procedure. It's entirely up to you, of course, but I wanted to share their concerns." My wife hesitated for a moment as she looked at the glass. I could read the hesitation in her eyes. She had told me that she would go as far as they wanted her to go, but she had never DREAMED it would be THIS far. Would she back out now...and lose the bet? Rachel looked down at the ground. "I'll...leave it up to Rev. Bosh," she said, quietly. "Whatever he thinks best." "Very well," I said. I hung up the phone and turned to Bosh. "She said it's up to you." "I see," he said, once again feigning contemplation. "Well, it's a tough decision. On the one hand, we have Officer Allen's dignity, and the near-certainty that she isn't carrying any contraband. I think it's entirely clear that a cavity search would be unspeakably humiliating and obviously unnecessary." "Pointless," Peters echoed. "Wholly unnecessary," Miss Wallace said. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel's nervous frown ease. "On the other hand, we still have the uncomfortable necessity of maintaining proper academic rigor." "Quite right," Miss Wallace chimed in. "And we wouldn't want her to be accused of smuggling anything," Peters said. "Why, we'd be doing her a favor to have her searched." "Yes, we would," Bosh agreed. "But there is another, more serious reason, I'm afraid. I hate to say it, but, from time to time, Rachel has shown a certain unbecoming brashness, an independence of spirit, that I have found most disagreeable. There's no room for her sort of cockiness in prison." "Absolutely," Miss Wallace agreed. "Put her in the stirrups. That will show her." "Yes," Peters said. "A slow, thorough cavity search -- under our supervision of course -- is exactly what is called for." "Yes, as much as I hate to say it, a good probing might be just the thing to knock her down a peg or two," Rev. Bosh said. "And it IS the 'Derby Room.'" ****************************** WHAT HAPPENS IN MEXICO... by Joe Doe THE EXPERIMENT REACHES A CLIMAX (IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE). Part 3 "So you're saying...?" I asked. Bosh's tone was measured, but it was obvious that he was relishing his power. "Yes, officer, I think it's time to tell our haughty little girl to straddle her mount and take a ride in the derby." "Quite right," Miss Wallace agreed. "She won't look so uppity with her feet in the stirrups." "Hear, hear!" Peters said. "Break the little filly in. A nice ride around the track will be good for her." I looked Rachel, who was staring at the glass, mouth agape, in stunned disbelief. My voice crackled through the radio. "Mount her up, Carla. Check front and back. Slow and thorough." Carla smiled broadly. "Up on the table, cupcake," she ordered. "And spread 'em wide!" "Please," Rachel squeaked, her voice cracking with panic. "I'm not carrying drugs. I'm...I'm a good girl!" Carla made an elaborate bowing gesture while holding out her arm, as if ushering Rachel to her horse. "Your steed awaits, Princess," Carla snickered. Then she slapped Rachel across her naked fanny. "OW!" My wife said, jumping and jiggling. "That was a good one!" Miss Wallace snorted. "See? Naughty girls DO get spanked," Peters chuckled. "Up on the table! Now!" Carla barked. Carla raised her hand to deliver another spank, but Rachel was too fast. My three visitors watched with gleaming eyes as my blushing wife obediently scampered onto the table. She daintily put her feet in the stirrups, being careful to keep her knees together and her hands over her crotch. But Carla was having none of that. Carla rudely spread the stirrups wider -- and spread my wife's knees as well. "Hands on your head, convict. Lace your fingers." Rachel reluctantly obeyed, and Carla moved to the sink, leaving my wife completely exposed. "Look at that!" Miss Wallace said. "The little trollop is sopping wet! I don't believe it! She's enjoying this!' Rachel, who could hear every word, stared at the ceiling, legs spread, totally vulnerable, totally helpless. The twitching of her toes was the only evidence of her unspeakable embarrassment. At the sink, Carla loudly whistled the Tom Jones classic, "Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat" as she washed up and SNAPPED! on her rubber glove. "Well, it seems Ms. Allen isn't as innocent as we were led to believe," Rev. Bosh chuckled. "I'm starting to think I've been far too easy on her. I think a harsh dose of discipline is exactly what this randy little vixen needs." "Hear, hear!" Peters said (yet again). "A little razor strap justice," Miss Wallace added. Carla chuckled as she slowly ran her fingers over Rachel's exposed sex. "Well, it looks like we won't need any lubricant," she snickered. "In fact...." Carla looked at the glass and grinned. Much to my surprise, she inserted two fingers inside my wife's pussy, while using her thumb to rub the exposed clitoris. Despite her humiliation, Rachel moaned and pushed back. "Look at that," Peters said. "The little whore is humping her hand." "Outrageous!" Bosh concurred, his eyes glued to the glass. "Scandalous!" Miss Wallace agreed. "If I had a whip I'd skin her fanny right now!" It didn't take long for Rachel to orgasm. She craned her neck up a bit to look at her reflection in the glass. Despite her arousal, there were also tears of humiliation in her eyes. How had she fallen so far, so fast? Carla ordered Rachel up onto all fours. As Bosh, Peters, and Miss Wallace watched, my wife spread her luscious fanny cheeks so Carla could probe her rear winker. After that, Carla ordered her off the table and into the shower area at the back of the room. Rachel jumped slightly as Carla turned on the icy water. "Her bottom cheeks have a delightful bounce to them," Peters observed. "They'll bounce more when they get the strap!" Miss Wallace chuckled. "Are you using a disinfectant soap?" Bosh asked. "Yes, sir," I said. "It burns and stinks, but it will kill any lice." "Good!" Miss Wallace said. "If it were up to me, all of these dirty little strumpets would be stripped butt-naked and scrubbed down, head to toe, with a coarse bristle brush." "Perhaps she should face us while she showers," Rev. Bosh suggested. "After all, we need to ensure that she is properly disinfected." "Yes, particularly that filthy little strawberry patch between her legs. Did you see how juicy she was?" Peters added. "Scour her out!" Miss Winters said. "Give me a toilet brush, and I'll do it myself." I spoke to Carla through the radio. "Tell her to turn around. We need to see her crotch scrubbed out thoroughly. Tell her to work up a real lather between her legs." Carla repeated the order. Rachel obeyed. She spread her legs, and rubbed the harsh, stinking soap between her legs as her friends congratulated themselves on their moral correctness. "I'm glad to see the little bitch is getting a proper scrub down," Miss Wallace said. "Yes, she shouldn't be allowed to run around loose, with all that filth between her legs," Peters said, piously. "I'd like to thank you for allowing us to come today, Officer," Rev. Bosh said. "This has been an eye-opening experience." "Yes, a revelation," said Peters. "I used to think that Mexican prisons were overly harsh," Bosh added. "But now I'm glad that there's a place where shameless harlots can be given the discipline they need." "Hear, hear!" This time it was Miss Wallace who seconded. After the shower, we watched as Carla made my wife shake out her hair and prance around in various poses for a very thorough delousing. Despite her coughing and sputtering, the toxic procedure met with hearty audience approval. Miss Wallace was particularly pleased when Carla sprayed the noxious, burning chemicals directly on "that putrid little stink hole of hers." The group watched as at long last a very humbled police officer was given her new uniform: a white tube top that covered her breasts like a second skin, with the humiliating word "PRESIDIARIO" emblazoned on it, and a denim mini-skirt. Rachel was assigned to the chain gang. When I explained why the chain gang wasn't issued panties, the group agreed that having to go bare bottom was indeed "appropriate" for a woman of her low character. She'd get no shoes or socks, either, but ankle and wrist bracelets would need to be fastened on. Carla led my barefoot wife to the blacksmith shop, with the church group following close behind. We were greeted by Rufus, a muscular black man in his late fifties with a shock of white hair and an enormous smile. As he caught sight of my wife, he laughed. "My, yo' sure are a pretty one. It's going to be a pleasure to slap the shackles on yuh." Rufus chatted with Carla as the metal pegs heated in the fire, while the group stood with me, expressing their admiration for the harsh discipline in general and the chain gang concept in particular. "I'm glad to see you're putting these lazy little sluts to work," Peters beamed. "I couldn't agree more," Rev. Bosh said. "No point in having them live like queens at taxpayers' expense." "Discipline is what they need," Miss Wallace added. "A good bare-bottom fanny-tanning...." My wife could hear everything, of course, but she was rather pointedly excluded from the conversation. After all, she was a prisoner now, and it was clear that her opinion was of no concern. Out of the corner of my eye I watched her gently stroke her wrists as she watched the iron pegs turn red in the fire. She looked at the heavy chains hanging on the walls, and I could tell that she was imagining what they would feel like on her wrists and ankles. Carla came over and tapped me on the shoulder. "We have a problem. The folder says we are only going to hold her until tomorrow. But Rufus is going on vacation for two weeks -- beginning tonight. If we put her on the chain gang, we won't be able to strike off the shackles and release her until he gets back." "We could always put her on another assignment," I suggested. "The office, perhaps." Given her current status, Rachel didn't dare speak, but I saw her eyes brighten at the prospect. But Rev. Bosh would have none of it. "This young lady needs discipline, not a cushy sinecure in some bureaucrat's office." "I really think that's her decision," I said. "Is it?" Bosh asked, pointedly. "Rachel, come here." Rachel, her head bowed, walked over and stood in front of her scowling pastor. "Rachel, would you rather work in some stuffy office, or enjoy the fresh air and sunshine of the great outdoors?" he asked. "I'd like to work in the office, sir," she said, meekly, staring at her bare feet. "Rachel, during your examination we couldn't help noticing how...excited you were. Are you excited right now?" She said nothing, but continued to stare at her dirty, bare feet. "Do I need to...check?" Bosh rasped and flexed his thick fingers. She looked up at him in panic. He wouldn't! He couldn't! Could he? "Ye-yes, sir.... I guess I AM still excited...." "That being the case, and, after what we all saw today, do you think that you DESERVE to work in an office?" My wife bit her lip. "Yes," she squeaked. "I'm still...I'm still a decent person. I don't deserve...to be punished." "Really? Is that so? Well, it is your decision. But I'd hate to have to tell the congregation what I saw during your examination. Masturbation -- and lesbian masturbation at that -- is a grievous sin." My wife's eyes flashed wide with panic. Was he really going to tell the congregation? "Of course, I'd have to tell your academic advisor as well," he said, sadly. "I might even have to call your boss back at your old department, so he knew what sort of woman he was employing." Rachel freaked. "Please, sir, I couldn't help it. I swear...." He spoke with the authority of an accomplished actor, expert at his part. "You'd be banned from the congregation, thrown out of school...," he said, gravely. You might even lose your job. It would break my heart to do it, of course, but it would be my sacred moral duty." "On the other hand, if you were to agree to take your punishment here and now, as a sincere act of contrition, I'd be willing to let it go at that." "What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico," Peters said. "There's more to it than that," Carla said. "They're looking for putas at the whore house. When the pimps visit tonight, they'll probably rent her from the warden for the weekend. With those chains around the ankles and wrists, she'll end up at one of the cheap places, where they'll work her hard." Miss Wallace laughed out loud. "Imagine that! Little Miss High-and-Mighty, being whored out as a 100-peso hooker. I'd love to see that." Rufus chuckled. "Prob'ly the place they call 'Taco Pussy.'" "Tell me," Peters said, thoughtfully. "Are the girls allowed to choose their customers in these places?" "No," Carla said. "If they refuse a customer, they get the strap." "Even if it is someone they know?" Peters said, all the while ogling Rachel lasciviously. "Even if...it's a woman?" Miss Wallace asked. The last question shocked me. Carla's answer didn't. "Putas take on all comers, and they do whatever the customer wants." Bosh, Peters, and Miss Wallace smiled broadly. Bosh turned to Rachel. "If you are taken to one of these establishments, Rachel, it will be our moral duty to visit you, to monitor your rehabilitation. Of course, to maintain our cover we may require you to do...things that you might consider unsavory. But if you keep our secret, we'll keep yours." My wife looked to me with desperate, panicked eyes. "You can always back out," I said softly. She looked at me, then at her group. She submissively dropped her head and stared at her feet, too humiliated to make eye contact. "I'll do whatever Rev. Bosh says," she said, her voice barely a whisper. He frowned. "No, I'm afraid that's not good enough. It really must be your choice. Now, tell us, do you truly deserve to be punished?" "Y-yes, sir.... I-I do," she murmured. "Do what?" "I DO truly deserve to be punished, sir...." He looked over at me grimly, and then nodded, as if making a regrettable but inescapable decision. "Hook her up," he said. Rachel lay on the floor of the blacksmith shop, with her bare foot over the anvil, as Rufus fitted her slender ankle with the heavy cuff. "Make it nice and tight," Miss Wallace directed. "We don't want the little vixen to get away." "Don't yuh worry yo'sef 'bout 'dat, ma'am," he replied. "Ain't no bitch never slipped a leash that Rufus made." Rufus fitted the cuff and patted Rachel's leg. "Hold still, now," he ordered. "Ah don' wants to burn yuh." My panicked wife froze like a statue as Rufus expertly inserted the red hot rivet and quickly hammered it flat, locking the humiliating cuff. Before the heat could transfer through the thick iron, he dunked her foot into a handy bucket of water. "Easy as pie," he chuckled. Rachel stared at her chained ankle in disbelief. "Will it chafe?" she asked. "Yup," Rufus said cheerfully as he positioned her other ankle over the anvil. "Don' worry none. Yo'll callous up right quick. Hold still now." Another hot rivet, more hammering, and another dunking, and Rachel's other ankle was secured. He held up the chain that ran between the two ankle cuffs. "She be real easy to hook up to anything, now that we got these cuffs on her. Heck, you can chain her up just like a bicycle." "I hope you've got enough chain there. She'll need to be able to spread her legs...wide," Carla said. "Ah sure did, ma'am," Rufus said merrily. "Heck, Ah might jus' mosey home early, an' pay this little cupcake a visit ma-sef." Rufus spun my wife around like a rag doll and slipped the wrist cuff on, even as he positioned her hand over the anvil. "Hold still now," he said as he slid the next hot rivet into place. Bang! Splash! Left hand. Bang! Splash! Right hand. The group chatted about this and that as Carla used the wrist chain to lead the newly-minted prisoner off to her work assignment. That afternoon on the porch, the warden entertained his guests with cucumber sandwiches and tea as they watched the girls toil in the sun. The cons all looked the same, but, with the binoculars, it was easy to spot the cute little blonde on the end, particularly when the guards flipped up her skirt and tanned her bare fanny with the leather strap. Who exactly was that new girl? Did it matter? After all, what happens in Mexico...stays in Mexico. Edited by C. Lakewood