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 LEGAL DISCLAIMER

   All characters, places and events in this story are fictitious.  Any
similarity to real people either living or dead is purely coincidental.  It
is also important to be aware it is not the author's intention to promote
or condone any activities that would be considered illegal in many parts of
the world.  It should further be noted it is not the author's intention to
provide factual information related to any `alternative sexual lifestyle'
nor educational resources for safe sexual practices.

   The story is intended to entertain open-minded adults and you are
encouraged to read this story with your partner.  No guarantees or
warranties are offered if this story fails to meet your expectations.  All
comments and other feedback is welcome and should be addressed to
slave802120@gmail.com with the subject header `Eastlake'.

   COPYRIGHT NOTICE

   All words and images used to illustrate this story are (C)2005 Ingrid
Hawthorne.  They may be downloaded for private viewing but may not be
reproduced or redistributed in any form without the expressed written
permission of the Copyright owner.

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   Case #802120 - Part 8 - 15 Minutes of Fame

   ==================================================

   About half the crowd of photographers and onlookers dispersed after the
judge stepped down off the wooden dais.  Of those who remained, three or
four were wearing the Girls Gone Wild uniform I'd seen earlier in the
morning.  They were chatting and laughing amongst themselves and
occasionally pointed or looked up at me.  One of the officers from the
Public Slave Office casually approached them men and joined their
conversation.  I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I guessed it was
about me.

   The other officer from the Public Slave Office stood off to one side
flipping a coin from one hand to the other and occasionally glancing at his
watch.  Lone photographers continued to move around below me snapping
pictures.  None appeared to be wearing any press badges and I could only
assume these were perverted court groupies.

   A small television crew positioned themselves on the ground right in
front of me.  The reporter stood with his back to me and was speaking to
his cameraman in what sounded like German.  The cameraman lifted the camera
off his shoulder for a second and seemed to be waving his hand for the
reporter to move a little to one side, which he did.  The young boy with
headphones on fiddled with the controls of his recording device and tested
the microphone he held.

   The reporter turned to me and said in the clearest English, "Look
straight into the camera please." When he turned back to face the camera
himself he went straight back to speaking German -- very fast and
unintelligible to me.  His short report was peppered with my name, which I
recognized even through his accented version of it, and 'sklavin', which I
guessed was German for "slave".

   While all this was going on I glanced over to see my boss Nelson
speaking with a reporter.  He stood with his hands on his hips with his
chest puffed out and looked like he was boasting about something.

   The German television guy finished his report and called over to one of
the Public Slave Officers.  He waved some sort of press card to the officer
and asked if he might be allowed to be filmed standing on the dais with me.
The officer didn't hesitate in allowing it.  The German guy immediately
disappeared around to the side steps and clomped up them with heavy
footsteps.  A cameraman followed the German television guy as did a sound
recordist who remained intently focused on his machine.

   The German presenter moved around to stand in front of the stocks beside
my head on one side while the camera zoomed in from the other.  I felt sure
it wasn't a coincidence that the angle he was filming from would have made
it appear as if my trapped head was at his crotch level.  Again he spoke
some kind of monologue about me, frequently saying 'Ingrid' in that
guttural, Germanic way and 'sklavin'.  At one point he grabbed the hair at
the back of my head and turned my face toward his crotch.  I didn't
understand what he said, but he laughed after saying it and then released
me.

   They stopped filming and then moved to stand behind me.  I couldn't see
what was going on, but I felt the palms of a pair of hands crudely spread
my ass cheeks.  They were held spread like that while the presenter gave
yet another monologue.  I could only imagine the bizarre view they filmed
and the sort of network that would even show the footage.

   "Two minutes, people!" one of the uniformed officers called to everybody
in the car park.  He resumed flipped a coin from hand to hand.

   Most of the remaining people took that as their cue to leave, except for
the Germans, who continued filming behind me, and Nelson and his reporter
friend.  They ambled over to the officer and spoke briefly with him.  He
stopped flipping his coin and appeared to be listening.  The reporter
handed him something -- money, probably, judging by the surreptitious way
in which was handed and accepted -- and the officer looked at his watch and
then nodded.  Whatever the deal was, they were both now headed my way.

   The German presenter suddenly started pressing my ass cheeks together
and then spreading them.  He was doing it in an erratic and highly
embarrassing fashion while he spoke, and then I realized he had made my ass
into some kind of freakish sock-puppet that was being made to look like it
was speaking his words.  He was still doing it when Nelson approached, but
stopped when my boss climbed the stairs behind me.

   The Germans disappeared down the stairs and left me alone with Nelson.
The reporter with Nelson joined him and fiddled briefly with a small
cassette recorder.  The two of them stood in front of me - the tape
recorder held down close to my mouth.

   "I know what happened to you last night, Ingrid," Nelson said.

   I was unsure of what he meant, exactly, but I let him speak.

   "After you were arrested," he added.

   "You do?" I asked.  I twisted my head around as far as I could to try
and look up at his face.

   "Yes, but we don't have much time.  This is Marty -- a reporter with The
National Confessor.  He wants to run you story, but he needs to hear it in
your own words."

   I knew The National Confessor.  It was a trashy weekly magazine that
reported all the usual gossip and scandals.  I never read it, but I knew
its reputation, and it wasn't good.  I briefly thought about it.

   "Ingrid, I know what you're thinking, but you have to do this.  Did you
see any other reporters here wanting to help you?  Did you?"

   "No," I mumbled.

   "No.  All they wanted to see was your naked ass up here being
humiliated. Now, quickly, we don't have much time.  Tell Marty what they
did to you!"

   "Um, well, I went to this bar with --"

   "Ingrid, I've already told him that part.  Tell him what happened after
you were arrested.  Tell him about the bribes that were mentioned in
court."

   "They told me ...  (I had to think for a moment of exactly what the
arresting officers had said) ...  they told me I wouldn't be charged if I
--"

   "If you -- what --, Ingrid?"

   "If I confessed and let them punish me."

   "You did that?"

   "Well, um, yes.  I did."

   "And how did they punish you?"

   "One of them spanked me --"

   "Were you naked?"

   "Yes."

   "Go on, you stripped naked and --"

   "Over his knee.  He made me lie over his knee and then spanked me."

   "While the other one filmed you."

   "Yes.  How did you know that?"

   "It doesn't matter, Ingrid.  Hurry up.  What else is on that tape?"

   "It's extremely embarrassing.  I was filmed sitting on the penis of --"

   "Cock, Ingrid.  You can say cock, OK?"

   "Cock," I said.  It's a word I had never said out loud and it
embarrassed me just to say it.  "He made me sit on his cock --"

   "He fucked you, in other words?"

   I couldn't think of any other way to say it, so I agreed with Nelson.

   "Yes, he fucked me on his lap.  And then the other officer made me --"

   "What?  What did he make you do?"

   "He forced me to ...  suck his cock."

   "You sucked one cock while the other fucked you?"

   "Yes," I shivered when I made the admission.

   "This is dynamite, Ingrid.  Keep going."

   "Well, the officer's cock in my mouth, it...  You know?"

   "He came in your mouth?"

   "Yes."

   "Say it, Ingrid.  We need to get this on tape."

   "The officer ejaculated in my mouth."

   "And what about the other officer?"

   "He did too."

   "He came in your pussy?"

   "No, in my mouth.  It was disgusting --"

   "He fucked your mouth with his cock that had just fucked your cunt?"

   I recoiled at the blunt way Nelson said it.

   "Yes.  He threw me off his lap and forced me onto my knees and then made
me suck his cock.  He was very mad at me."

   "He was?  Why?"

   "Well ...  do I have to say?"

   "Ingrid, there are rumors already going around that you orgasmed more
than once.  Did you?"

   The thought that people might be saying this alarmed me.

   "It alright, Ingrid.  You can tell the truth.  They must have forced you
to cum, right?"

   "Yes!  That's it.  They forced me to orgasm.  It wasn't my fault."

   "Good!  Is that it?" Marty asked.

   "Oh no!  There's much more.  After they took me out to the foyer, I had
to suck another cock!  My husband even saw it!"

   "He did?" Nelson asked.

   "Yes.  He came in and saw me on my knees sucking another officer."

   "And you -- what?  You stopped when your husband came in?"

   "No, they wouldn't let me.  My husband was shocked and he --"

   "We haven't got time for all the details, Ingrid.  This third cock; did
it cum in your mouth too?"

   "Yes, sort of ...  It took a really long time before it did, though."

   "Great!  Anything else?" Nelson asked.

   "The booking sergeant..."

   "What?  What about the booking sergeant?"

   "He --"

   "OK guys; time's up.  I've gotta get this slut back to the Tank," the
bribed officer said.

   "OK officer," Nelson called out to him and then returned his attention
to me.  "We're going to use this tape to get you out of this mess, Ingrid.
But you've got to promise me you won't tell anybody about it.  Promise?"

   "Yes.  I promise.  But how can you help?  What are you going to do?"

   "I'm going to write a feature for The National Confessor and I'll use
this tape as a bargaining tool to get my hands on the video," Marty said.
"The video will prove that you were forced to confess!"

   The reporter sounded very confident, but I had a million doubts.  Still,
at this stage, it was the only hope I had.

   The uniformed officer ambled up to the dais and told Nelson and Marty
they had to go.  They hurried off the Dais and headed quickly for the car
park exit.  The second officer joined the first up on the dais and
together, they released me from the stocks and escorted me back down into
the basement car park of the courthouse.