Ashley, we haven't heard from you in a long time, but, even so, we 
remember you fondly.  This one's for you. 





                      AN EASIER WAY

                           by 

                        Joe Doe



ATTORNEY ASHLEY MARSH SUGGESTS AN EASIER WAY OF GETTING THROUGH 
PRISON SECURITY.

   


Part 1

It had started as a joke, actually.  State law mandated a weekly 
legal review of all prisoner petitions.  Crack attorney Ashley 
Marsh, eager to establish her pro-bono bona fides in order to 
cement her impending judgeship, visited the prison each Wednesday 
to complete the chore.  

Wednesday morning was also when the prison processed new arrivals.  
The arrival procedure itself didn't take long –- on a typical day 
the girls were searched, showered, deloused, and dressed for their 
work assignments in less than thirty minutes.  But, afterwards, 
the matrons had to complete the paperwork on each girl, a tedious 
process that took hours.

The matrons always processed the new arrivals before they put 
Ashley through security.  Of course Ashley's "processing" was 
much less invasive than the prisoners'.  As an outside attorney, 
her bag was searched, she walked through a metal detector, and 
she was occasionally wanded.  

No big deal, really.  Most people would have let it go.  But Ashley 
was an important person, and she didn't like to wait.

She was usually processed by Lisa Mann, the prison's head matron. 
Lisa and Ashley quickly became friends, or at least as friendly 
as Ashley could be with a lowly civil servant like Lisa.   

On the days she worked, Lisa expedited Ashley's search process and 
tried to speed things along as much as possible.  But Ashley still 
found herself processed AFTER the prisoners, which invariably 
burned through several hours of her morning.  Sometimes the wait 
was so bad that she was actually ready for lunch before she was 
ready for work.

Ashley could have showed up later in the day, of course.  But she 
found herself becoming strangely fascinated as she sat in the hall 
on a bench just outside the cell where the new arrivals waited for 
their turn to be processed.  Most were callous and indifferent; a 
few were nervous.  

Watching them, Ashley always felt nervous.

One day, as she sat on the bench watching the new arrivals walk by, 
a matron she didn't know came through the door.  "Off your ass," 
she barked at Ashley.  "Line up with the rest of them."

Ashley was not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner, and 
the matron's voice was so harsh that it took Ashley a moment to 
realize to whom she was talking.  When she did, she simply 
continued to sit, her mouth agape.  

Fortunately, before the guard picked her up by the scruff of her 
neck, Lisa arrived and, with a laugh, explained the mistake.  
Ashley sat there dumbfounded, too petrified to speak, too stunned 
to move, and too excited for words.

Later that day, Lisa and Ashley had a chance to talk.  "It's too 
bad we can't process you like an inmate," Lisa chuckled while 
giving Ashley's bag a rudimentary once-over.  "You would have 
been at work three hours ago."

Ashley's heart raced.  It was an offhand remark, a joke actually, 
but over the next seven days the incident in the hallway and 
Lisa's comment preyed on Ashley's mind.  

The endless time spent waiting for Lisa was more than annoying.  
On some days, it made it almost impossible for her to do her job.

Of course, the previous attorney had had the papers sent to 
her office, but Ashley had insisted that "on-site" visits were 
necessary, in case she needed to meet with one of the inmates.  
Of course, there was way more to it.  Throughout her entire life, 
she had always been "the good girl" -– the best student, the best 
cheerleader, the best attorney....  She had volunteered for the 
rather undesirable job at the prison BECAUSE it was high profile 
pro bono.  But there was something else.  The idea of being thrown 
in with the "bad girls" thrilled her to the core.  

From her private office on the prison's fourth floor, Ashley often 
watched as the female prisoners were shackled together in their 
skimpy uniforms to toil in the fields of the prison farm.  The work 
was hot, humiliating, and degrading.  

And, to Ashley at least, unbelievably exciting.

She had both envied and despised the "wild girls" in school, and 
she took a certain smug satisfaction in watching the hapless 
inmates hop around in their shackles.  Moreover, the fact that 
one or two of the guards always seemed to be holding a punishment 
strap was not lost on her.

The prisoners' complaints were almost always the same -– a 
lecherous guard had targeted the woman for bare-bottom corporal 
punishment or other forms of abuse in order to extract sex.

The files contained photos, and, on more than one occasion, she 
had a guard bring one of the hot little numbers up to her office.  

There was a chair in the office, but she kept it tucked away, 
facing the wall.  They were convicts, after all, and they weren't 
supposed to get comfortable.  Ashley liked to keep them standing 
for their interrogations and enjoyed leaning back in her reclining 
desk chair as she extracted every degrading detail of their 
humiliating complaints.

Besides, if the little bimbos sat down, Ashley wouldn't be able to 
see their leg irons.

The cases were all the same, and that's how she handled them.  
After a humiliating interrogation ("What did his semen taste 
like?")  She would place a disciplinary letter in the officer's 
file.

The letters meant little; the warden never bothered to look at 
them.  But the officer would be sent a copy.  It would include 
the name and prisoner number of the little bimbo who had ratted. 

It never failed.  File one complaint letter -– and the girl would 
never complain again.  

Yes, the cases were all the same:

    Mandy, Demi – A pretty little cheerleader type stupid enough to 
    sign her lying husband's tax return.

    Waltson, Joan – A lovely soccer mom who had taken the rap when 
    the police found marijuana in her son's bedroom.

    Patters, Cindy – The manager of a local jewelry store had 
    unsuccessfully asked her out on a date.  When her check 
    bounced because of a screw-up with her direct deposit, the 
    vengeful manager decided to teach her a lesson.

Ashley smiled.  It was gratifying to see the state of Illinois 
spending her tax dollars to give these flagrant criminals the 
justice they deserved.

Good girls gone bad....

Ashley had sometimes fantasized about what it would be like to be 
a prisoner, to be stripped of everything, to be put in a chain 
gang, to be at the mercy of the guards.  If she were a prisoner, 
she would be  a "good girl" no more.  Stripped of her power and 
authority, her bad girl fantasy would come to life.

Perhaps Lisa's joke was the ticket to making a tiny part of her 
fantasy come true.  If only....

		******************************

The following week, Ashley was ready.

"I was thinking about what you said last week," Ashley said as Lisa 
once again apologized for her latest 11:45 AM appearance.  "Why 
don't you process me with rest of the women?"

"What?" Lisa said.

"It makes a lot of sense," Ashley opined.  "I need to be checked 
for contraband, and so do they.  I know there was a scandal a few 
years back when an outside vendor sneaked in contraband.  But, if 
you ran me through the entire process you'd eliminate -- no, you'd 
obliterate -- that risk.  It would be better for me, too, since I'd 
be beyond suspicion.  The state wouldn't be paying me just to sit 
around, and I could do my job better.  It's a win-win.  It would be 
much more efficient for the guards; the marginal cost of processing 
one more inmate would be much less than the time you spend each 
week with me.  In fact, it's really the only logical solution."

Lisa smiled.  Ashley had a talent for argument (and 
oversimplification.  Did she fully comprehend what 
she was asking?

"Do you understand that the REASON you'd be above suspicion is that 
you'd be searched...fully?" Lisa asked.

"I understand.  I wouldn't expect any special treatment.  In fact, 
a-a full search is what I want."  Her voice was barely a whisper.
 
Lisa suddenly realized Ashley's motivation.  Lisa knew a prison 
groupie when she saw one.  Golden girl wanted to go slumming, 
did she?  This could be interesting.

Lisa could tell that Ashley was uncomfortable, and she enjoyed 
the feeling of power.  She decided to turn the screws.  "You 
wouldn't be getting any special treatment.  Intake is a serious 
business, Ashley, and we don't have time to play games.  If we 
don't search the girls everywhere -- and I do mean everywhere, 
inside and out -- people can die."

At the phrase "inside and out," Ashley felt a little tingle.

"If you agree to this, you'll be treated like any other con," Lisa 
said.  "You've seen the exam table, haven't you?"

Ashley nodded.  Indeed she had.  On each visit, after the new 
arrivals had been processed, Lisa would search Ashley's bag 
and march her past the exam table.  At the thought of the table 
and the unspeakable shame it caused every woman who was forced 
to mount it, Ashley's pulse quickened.

"Do you know why the stirrups are in place?" 

"That's where the girls put their bare feet," Ashley murmured.

"Yes, that's right.  That's where the girls put their bare feet, so 
we can take our time and examine them for as long as we like.  And, 
if you agree to go through with this, that's where you're going to 
put your bare feet, too."  

Ashley's heart was racing.  Her mouth was dry.  She couldn't speak. 
Lisa fought the urge to smile.  "You know, Ashley, I think you'd 
better start calling me 'Miss Jacob.'  We have a pretty strict 
discipline policy around here."

Ashley's eyes widened and her mouth actually dropped open.  Lisa 
smiled inwardly; Ashley had the same look as all the other new 
fish.

Ashley's review that week was slipshod and perfunctory.  She 
alternated her time between looking out her window at the chain 
gangs below and "taking care of business" in the private washroom 
adjacent to her office.

For her, the week couldn't go by quickly enough.

		******************************

Ashley rose to her feet as her name was called.  She glanced at her 
watch.  8AM -– right on time.

There were only three other women with her that day, a light load.  
However, the guards' efficiency was no less brisk.  

At ten seconds past 8, Ashley was led into the room.

Five seconds later, she was standing in front of a table containing 
a small crate with her name and number.

"STRIP!" the matron barked.

Ashley didn't recognize the female guards.  In truth she didn't 
pay much attention to any of the guards other than her friend, 
Lisa.  She wondered if any of them recognized her or knew who 
she was.  The looks on their faces certainly gave no sign.

She was already in the shower when Lisa walked into the room, 
clipboard in hand.  Ashley smiled at her friend, but Lisa 
didn't smile back.  Indeed, she didn't even look at her.

"I asked the nurse to give vaccinations this morning," Lisa said.  
"So you'll need to get someone else for the pussy probes."

"I'll do it" a butch-like guard replied, a bit too eagerly for 
Ashley's comfort.  

"Whatever," Lisa said and strode from the room.

Ashley had been surprised by her friend strolling through, 
surprised by her lack of recognition, and surprised by her 
vulgar use of the term "pussy probes," a phrase made all 
the more shocking by the fact that one of the pussies that 
was going to be probed was her own.  

She blushed as the matron who had eagerly volunteered to probe 
her defenseless pussy wandered over to the shower to check out 
the merchandise.  Her blush deepened as the tubby woman licked 
her lips and ogled Ashley's naked form.

The shower was quick, more like a rinse than a bath.  Ashley didn't 
care to linger, for the industrial-strength delousing soap burned 
her eyes and offended her nostrils.

After 30 seconds with a coarse, gray terry cloth towel that had 
been washed a thousand times too often, Ashley found herself in 
yet another line.  The other two girls were casually defiant in 
their nakedness, but Ashley used her hands to try to preserve 
her modesty.

The next step was the visual exam.  Ashley watched as the first 
girl spread her arms, shook out her hair, and opened her mouth.  
The butch guard checked her hair, under her breasts, under her 
arms, inside her ears and mouth.  The girl was bent over, legs 
spread, so that the gloved guard could do a visual search of 
her asshole and pussy.  

The guard quickly donned a fresh glove as the first girl went on 
into the exam room and the second girl moved into position.  

Ashley watched as the guard directed the second girl through her 
little dance.  Arms up, hair shake, dental check, ears, under the 
arms, under the breasts.  Spread your legs.  Now bend over.

"Yeah, you, Miss Modesty," the guard barked.  "I said, 'NEXT!'"

Ashley shook herself out of her trance and raced into position.  
Was it her imagination, or did the guard take a little extra 
time running her fingers through her hair?  Was that extra 
little brush against her nipples accidental or on purpose?

Ashley felt naked, humiliated, exposed.  But it only got worse 
from there.  "Next room," the matron ordered.

Ashley entered the exam room.  On all of her previous visits to 
that room she had been fully dressed, and her high heels made a 
noisy CLIP-CLOP as she hurried past the dreaded exam table to 
the safety of the next room.

Now she stood before the table, barefoot, naked, and shivering, 
feeling like a butterfly looking at an empty display case in a 
museum.

The order came.  "Up on the table, legs apart.  Scoot all the way 
down." 

Ashley turned.  Her friend, Lisa, was standing six feet away.  

Lisa offered no hint of recognition.  Although she was clearly 
there to "supervise" Ashley's humiliation, she was also enjoying 
a toasted bagel and chatting with another guard about the sale at 
the mall. 

Ashley looked to her, but Lisa didn't bother to look back.  Why 
should she?  Ashley might have been just another con.

Ashley scampered up onto the table, legs spread, with her bottom 
nearly hanging off the end.  It was a position designed to leave 
her completely, totally exposed.  Listening to Lisa and her friend 
swap tips on the best parking places at the shopping center only 
magnified her humiliation.

She raised her head in time to see the butch matron don another 
glove and scoop a glob of jelly onto her fat little fingers.

Most of the processing had been fast, fast, fast.  But Ashley was 
pretty, and the matron took her time.  

Internal examinations had never been a favorite of Ashley's, and 
the fact that her examination was being performed by a woman more 
macho than most of the guys she dated didn't help matters one bit.  

As she tried to think of a way out of her current predicament, she 
was blessed with a sudden brainstorm.  Maybe she didn't have to 
think of a way out.

She looked over her shoulder.  Lisa was still chatting with the 
other guard, but she had finished her bagel.

Yes, she had finished her bagel, but she was still there.  No doubt 
she was waiting there so at the last crucial moment she could wave 
Ashley through, give her a pass, explain the circumstances:

"This is Ashley Marsh, attorney at law, the youngest partner at her 
firm.  She graduated summa cum laude and received a perfect score 
on her Illinois bar exam.  She is an esteemed and respected member 
of the legal community.  You can't seriously expect a fine and 
upstanding citizen like her to drop her pants and spread her legs 
for a "pussy probe."

Well, maybe Lisa would phrase it in a slightly less grand way.  
After all, she was a prison guard, not a lawyer.  That didn't 
matter, of course.  At this point, at this moment, Lisa was the 
most important person in the world.  Lisa was the only person 
who could save her.

Ashley's heart raced as the guard held up her greasy, gloved hand.  
It wouldn't be long now before those fingers were inside her.

Ashley again looked to her friend, but she was still chit-chatting 
about shoes.  Didn't she see what was happening?  

Ashley knew she had to make her move.

"Please!  You don't have to search me.  This isn't necessary.  I 
don't have any contraband.  I swear I don't.  You don't have to 
do this.  Ask Lis- ask Miss Jacob."

The guard paused and turned to Miss Jacob for direction.  For a 
moment, every eye in the room was on Lisa.  

Lisa paused and then reached her decision.  "The shoe selection is 
larger along State Street, but the shoes at Water Tower place are 
much nicer."

As the tubby matron ran her fat fingers down the lips of Ashley's 
exposed cunt, Ashley suddenly regretted every 'fat girl' joke 
she'd ever made.  She had indeed picked on the chubby girls in 
high school.  Remember?  All the pretty girls did it.

The look on the porky matron's face made it clear that SHE 
remembered.  Ashley's search would take a long, long time.


IN PART 2 OF OUR SAGA, A THOROUGH DELOUSING GIVES ASHLEY NEW 
SYMPATHY FOR UNWANTED INSECTS.   

		******************************

Part 2

Ashley's cavity search was slow, methodical, and thorough.  It was 
clear the fat matron was enjoying her work, and, in her attention 
to detail, she reminded Ashley more of a home inspector than a 
correctional officer.  

By the time the matron had finished, every hair, curve, and slick 
spot in Ashley Marsh's pussy had been felt, fingered, and examined.

At the matron's command Ashley flipped over onto her knees and 
spread her cheeks.  The rectal search was no less thorough, and 
Ashley thought the matron would have stuck her fingers up into 
her throat if she could have gotten them to reach that far. 

The end of the long, lingering cavity search was accompanied by 
a sharp SLAP! across Ashley's bare bottom.  "Clean," the matron 
observed.  "All yours, Stevie."

Ashley was relieved when it was over.  Lisa didn't bother to look 
at her as Stevie ushered Ashley into a side room.

The female guard in the antechamber was wearing a gas mask, and was 
holding something that appeared to be a hose with silver spray 
nozzle.  Ashley knew she had seen one like it before, but where?  
The hose was attached to an institutional green tank that had 
more HazMat labels than the state of New Jersey.

Then she recognized the nozzle.  A few years before, she had 
seen some ants in her apartment.  The landlord had sent in an 
exterminator.  Ashley had watched, from a safe distance of 
course, as the man sprayed the linings of her cabinets and 
the crevices between her floorboards.

The silver nozzle the exterminator had used was identical to the 
one the matron held in her hand.  

There were two girls ahead of Ashley, which allowed her to preview 
the next indignity in detail.

Left foot, left leg, right foot, right leg.  Pussy, stomach, lift 
your breasts.  Shake out your hair.  Now turn around.  Repeat.

The matron ordered the prisoner to place her hands flat on the 
floor and spread her legs.  The prisoner winced as the matron 
sent an especially zesty gust up between her legs.

NEXT!

The process was repeated.  

Then it was Ashley's turn.  

She stood, with her legs spread and her arms outstretched, as the 
matron pointed the nozzle at her feet.  Ashley looked around -– 
her only comfort was that Lisa wasn't there to watch.  

Why should she watch?  Ashley was just another filthy little whore 
who needed to be deloused.  Besides, the bagels were in the other 
room.

The bagels were warm, the cream cheese smooth and yummy. 

The chemical spray was icy cold -– until it began to burn.

Ashley obeyed the matron's humiliating command to "lift 'em up by 
the nipples."  

When she had watched the hateful ants scatter and die, Ashley had 
felt vindicated.  But it was different now, now that she was the 
one being sprayed.

She wheezed and coughed as the noxious spray whizzed through her 
hair and up her nostrils.  She suddenly felt a surge of sympathy 
for bugs under siege. 

When ordered, Ashley bent over, placed her hands on the floor, 
and spread her legs wide.  As the guard adjusted the nozzle 
pressure to increase the force of the blast, Ashley remembered 
her exterminator's voice chortling that "cracks and crevices 
are the key.  You have to get the spray up into all the nooks 
and crannies."

Ashley gritted her teeth.  The high pressure gush ensured that the 
burning spray found every crack and crevice, every nook and cranny. 

By the time Ashley entered the last area, the other girls were 
already dressing, and she had to hurry to catch up.  Fortunately, 
there wasn't much to wear -– white socks, sneakers, white panties, 
tight denim shorts, and a t-shirt that bore the name of the prison.  

By 8:24, Ashley was ready for the chain gang!  

Lisa smiled as she watched the guards lead Ashley out of the room.  
Her legs and tummy were bare, and her nipples poked through the 
front of her skimpy t-shirt.  Her stylishly coiffed hair was wet 
and matted.

Lisa had thought Ashley was taller.  Oh yes, no high heels.  

But what struck Lisa most was Ashley's demeanor.  The cocky lawyer 
of the week before was gone.  She looked stunned, dazed.  They had 
taken her elegant wire rimmed glasses, and the chemical still 
burned in her eyes.  

She was so blinded, in fact, that she hadn't even noticed that 
it was Lisa who was standing at the end of the hallway.  "I got 
this one," Lisa said, grabbing her by the arm.

Ashley said nothing as her friend buzzed her through the security 
door and led her down the hallway.  Lisa's grip was tight, and, 
for a moment, Ashley resisted.  "Come on, girl," Lisa barked.  
"I have a schedule to keep."

Ashley's jaw dropped as Lisa led her through a door marked 
"Segregation," into an actual prison cell block, and to a 
cell that contained her computer, her papers, and her filing 
cabinet.

"I d-don't...I don't understand," Ashley stammered.

"I can't let you wander around upstairs dressed like that," Lisa 
said.  "I could leave you in your office, but then you'd need an 
escort to use the bathroom or get food.  The cell is better –- 
they'll feed you with the other girls, and, if you need to use 
the john, the toilet is right there."  

Ashley blushed as Lisa pointed to the toilet bolted to the wall.  

"Oh, look -- 8:30 right on the dot," Lisa said, noting the time on 
her watch.  "I guess you can't bitch anymore about not getting to 
work on time."

Lisa whistled to the guard at the end of the cell block, and the 
door to Ashley's cell slid open.  She put her hand on Ashley's 
back and roughly pushed her into the cell.

Ashley turned and grabbed the bars, but the cell door had already 
closed.  

"Get to work, girl," Lisa said coldly.  Ashley watched through 
the bars as her friend disappeared, and then she listened to 
the click-clack of Lisa's steps fading away down the hallway.  

Was it really 8:30?  It had seemed to Ashley that the humiliating 
processing had taken FOREVER.  

She glanced at her watch, but her wrist was bare.  

Her gold Patek Philipe watch was sitting in a property box in some 
store room.  Ashley didn't know where; it was none of her business.

Her cell had a tiny window, and, by grabbing the bars, she could 
hoist herself up and peek outside.

Ironically, her cell seemed to be directly below her old office -– 
way below.  Indeed, she could see the ground was almost level with 
her nose.  

She watched for a moment as the guards shackled the girls, 
including the two that she had been processed with, to the 
chain gang.  But her arms soon tired, and she dropped back 
to the floor.

She sat at the plain folding card table that was now her desk 
and began to work.

The work day went quickly.  Ashley wasn't strong enough to hang on 
the bars very long, and there was no place to masturbate.  So she 
quickly worked through last week's backlog and this week's case 
log as well.

The light wasn't particularly good, and the very public toilet took 
a little getting used to.  Fortunately there were only a few cells 
in segregation that were occupied, and the matron took no interest 
in Ashley's bathroom habits.

With no coffee breaks or snack breaks, her productivity improved.  
She found herself taking more time with the files.  She would look 
at the pictures and try to understand the girl's stories.

She knew that abuse complaints would anger the warden.  But it was 
also clear that a number of the girls here didn't belong behind 
bars.

She had a friend on the clemency board who was always on the 
lookout for "packing peanuts" -– genuinely innocent people 
who could be used to insulate the more politically motivated 
pardons.  Perhaps Ashley could give her a call....

Ashley ate lunch in the cafeteria with the other prisoners at noon. 
At least she thought it was noon.  She was still getting used to 
the idea that prisoners did not have to worry about the passing of 
minutes....

Lisa didn't speak to her, but Ashley could tell that she was 
looking out for her, to make sure that she didn't integrate 
TOO closely into the general population.

Ashley finished her final case a few minutes after lunch, and 
ordinarily she would have left when she was done.  

However, the bars on her cell had other ideas.

The first hint of her friend's arrival was when the cell door slid 
open.  A few seconds later, Lisa appeared.

"Let's go," she barked.  

Ashley winced as Lisa's vise-like grip tightened on her arm.  
"Come on, girl.  I said, 'Let's go.'  Got lead in your ass?"

Lisa led her down a number of hallways, and she found herself 
blushing as two male guards in their twenties ogled her through 
a checkpoint.  

Yes, in her skimpy shorts and form-fitting t-shirt, she was a yummy 
piece of jailhouse eye-candy.

After a guard buzzed her through, one of the guards waved them to 
one side.  "Hang on a second," he said.  "I want to check her."  

Lisa released her arm, and let the other guard move Ashley into 
position.

"All right, lift up your arms, sweet cheeks," the young guard 
ordered.  "You know the drill."

She looked to Lisa.  But Lisa was asking the other guard for the 
cheapest places to park on State Street during Field Days.

Ashley gritted her teeth and raised her arms.  The grinning guard 
greedily groped her braless breasts before running his hands down 
over her flat abs.

He kneeled next, running his hands up one bare leg and then the 
other.  Perhaps she had something under her skin?

She looked over to Lisa, who was still chatting happily with the 
second guard.  Her "friend" had practically broken her arm in 
hurrying her down the hall.  But now she seemed to have all the 
time in the world.

The pointless search "climaxed" with a pointed groping of Ashley's 
crotch and ass through her tight denim shorts.

A hard slap on the ass signaled that the search was over.  Lisa 
once again grabbed her by the arm.

"Have a good night, Lisa," the grinning guard said.  

"You too, Elroy."  

Ashley winced.  The grip had tightened, and the march resumed.

Finally, they entered a small room.  The carton containing Ashley's 
things sat on the counter.

"You can change into your civies here," Lisa said crisply.  "You 
have five minutes."

The door closed, and the lock CLICKED and BUZZED behind her.  

Ashley quickly pulled the t-shirt over her head.  Her Victoria's 
Secret matching pink bra and panty set, on top of the rest of her 
stuff, had never looked so good.

A few minutes later, the door on the other side of the room buzzed 
open.  Lisa, now also dressed in her civilian clothes, entered.  
She had a big smile on her face, and, to Ashley, it seemed as if 
she had undergone a personality transplant.

"So, how did your day go?" Lisa said brightly.  

"Good.  I got a lot of work done.  In fact, I'm totally caught up, 
and I finished way early."

"Really?" Lisa said.  "You're usually way behind.  Maybe this WAS 
an easier way."

The two of them chatted casually as they walked down the hall 
together, with neither mentioning Ashley's treatment that day.  
Ashley was relieved; her old friend was back.  

"So I'll see you for racquetball on Saturday," Lisa said.  

"Sounds good," Ashley nodded.  "I think I'll cream you.  I got a 
lot of upper body exercise hanging on the bars."

"I'll see if I can't get you some additional legal work," Lisa 
said.  "After all, if we're going to be doing this every week, 
we'll need to keep you busy."

Ashley watched, mouth agape, as her friend nonchalantly strolled 
to her car.

Ashley was stunned.  Had Lisa really said, "every week"?

Ashley drove home much more slowly than usual.  She knew she needed 
to be careful, since her mind was elsewhere, and only one hand was 
on the wheel.  


IN PART THREE, ASHLEY IS SEARCHED IN FRONT OF AN UNWANTED MALE 
VISITOR, AND LISA'S SICK DAY LANDS ASHLEY ON THE CHAIN GANG.  

		******************************

Part 3

Ashley spent most of the week anticipating her next visit to the 
prison.  Her first strip search had been degrading, humiliating, 
and shocking.

It had also been the most exciting and daring thing the "good girl" 
had ever done.   

She wondered about Lisa's offhand remark about "doing this every 
week."  It was clear that Lisa had allowed her friend to experience 
the full humiliation of "processing" in order to teach her a lesson.

It was a lesson Ashley had learned, but was she really going to 
receive it every week?

At one point during their racquetball game, Ashley asked Lisa 
about her just standing by while the grinning teenage guard had 
groped her.  But she got only a noncommital response.  ("Sorry, 
I have a rule: Never talk about the job off the job.")

Ashley beat Lisa handily.  As they were leaving, Lisa violated her 
own rule and casually remarked.  "You're right about your biceps.  
I'll try and get you some more legal work.  We don't want you 
tunneling out."

Tunneling out?  Apparently Lisa's prohibition didn't extend to 
jokes at Ashley's expense.  The cheerful quip about Ashley's 
predicament only added more fuel to Ashley's fire.  Lisa's 
amusement infuriated her, but she also knew that somehow it was 
strangely appropriate.  Outside the jail they were friends, and 
they laughed and joked.  Behind bars, however, Ashley was just 
another con, and the more shameful and unjust the treatment, the 
better. 

The dichotomy made perfect sense.  While imprisoned, Ashley found 
her treatment to be degrading and horrifying.  But, in the privacy 
of her bedroom, her vibrator shifted into overdrive. 

		****************************** 

Wednesday finally arrived.  Would Lisa really go through with it?

Ashley noticed that Billy, the young guard at the gate, was 
confused.  "You're not on the visitors' list, Miss Marsh," 
he said sheepishly.  "I'm not sure if I can let you in...."

"Look on the other list," Ashley said.

He looked befuddled, but dutifully picked up the clipboard marked 
"Admissions."  When he found Ashley's name at the top of the form, 
it was her turn to be embarrassed.

The guard escorted her to her holding cell to wait with the other 
inmates.  Was it Ashley's imagination, or was there something 
different, something less respectful in the young guard's tone 
now that she was there not as a guest but as an inmate?  

Ashley had noticed him checking her out on previous visits, but 
she had paid it no mind.  Men checked her out all the time, and, 
like most men, this lowly little rent-a-cop didn't stand a chance 
of drawing her interest.

The boyish guard left her with the other new arrivals.  The second 
processing was much like the first, with some notable differences.  
The internal examination was performed by the nurse, who was much 
more professional than the tomboyish guard had been.  But, although 
the nurse was quite clinical about the whole thing, she also used 
the stirrups, and once again Ashley was completely, shamefully 
exposed.

She was on the table, with her legs spread and her feet in the air, 
watching the nurse lube up her gloved fingers, when the door opened
and Billy appeared.  "Laverne, can I talk to you about switching on 
Saturday?"

The two chatted about shift changes, and who owed whom, and what 
their plans were.  The nurse was quicker and gentler than the 
matron had been.  And Ashley barely noticed the fingers, so 
distracted was she by Billy's arrival.  He had clearly timed 
his intrusion to catch Ashley with her feet in mid-air and was 
even now staring directly at her pussy.

Even after Laverne agreed to switch, Billy lingered, making small 
talk as a flimsy excuse to hang around and watch as Ashley was 
deloused.  

Yes, Billy was quite the little peeper.  In other circumstances, 
Ashley would have knocked his block off.  

But these were not other circumstances.  She was a prisoner, and 
Billy was a guard.  The other matrons seemed to like him, so he 
was allowed the indulgence of enjoying Ashley's search.  

That week's paperwork was much like that of the previous one.  Lisa 
largely ignored Ashley, although she did come to escort her to and 
from her cell.  This time Ashley had extra work -– Lisa had also 
left the paperwork from several lawsuits the prison was involved 
in.  It was interesting work, and Ashley kept busy right up to her 
release.

By the third trip, she was smarter still.  She had had her hair cut 
very, very short, telling her friends that it was "short and sassy" 
for the summer.  

The real reason, of course, was that it made for a quicker search, 
a faster shower, and a less messy delousing.  

Similarly, Ashley had trimmed her pubic hair until only a thin 
"landing strip" remained.  Neater to search, shower, and delouse.  

She arrived at the prison dressed in running shorts and a 
Northwestern University t-shirt.  It no longer made sense to 
dress in hose, heels, and a crisp business suit, since she 
knew that within minutes of her arrival she would be stripped 
naked and forced into the humiliating chain gang outfit.

Over the next few weeks, the routine truly became routine.  Ashley 
found herself enjoying the humiliation aspect of her searches more 
and, indeed, often had to surreptiously wipe herself with her 
panties before she put them in the box, so that her arousal 
wouldn't be too apparent.  Nonetheless, on a few occasions she 
heard the guards lewdly chuckle that she was one who "didn't need 
any lube."

The visits from the male guards became more frequent as well.  She 
knew that the guards already had free run of the showers, but since 
she was never in the actual prisoners' shower room itself, guards 
who wanted to see her naked needed to make an excuse to enter the 
processing area. 

And they always did.

Ashley noticed most of the guards who came to watch her were ones 
who had worked with her in a legal capacity.  These guards were 
free to ogle any of the women in the prison, but they made a 
beeline for Ashley.  She quickly concluded that her professional 
abilities were a draw.  These men knew that she was both bright 
and innocent of any crime, which made it all the more pleasurable 
for them to watch as she was ordered to climb into the stirrups or 
lift her bare feet for her delousing.

Within her first three months, Ashley had sent close to two dozen 
"packing peanuts" to the parole board.  Innocent women who 
complained of abuse did not have their complaints heard, but 
Ashley solved their problems by getting their freedom restored.  
It was a win-win-win.  The governor welcomed the political cover, 
and the warden was happy for the 24 empty bunks that eased the 
burden of overcrowding.

Ashley soon absorbed almost all of the prison's legal work, which 
pleased both her firm and the authorities.  She even noticed that 
her memos to the warden were being read, which resulted in her 
greatest triumph.

One frequent visitor to the prison was Tucker Watson, lawyer 
to notorious Chicago crime boss R.J. Giornaliero.  Indeed, 
Tucker actually had the audacity to enter the processing area 
while Ashley was being processed.  

Ashley and Tucker had crossed swords when she had worked at the 
D.A.'s office, and now she fumed as the fully dressed mob lawyer 
watched the matrons put her through her paces.  "That's the 
sweetest piece of legal pussy in Chicago," Tucker chortled.  
"No wonder she was able to fuck her way to the top of her firm."

That afternoon Ashley wrote a letter to the warden suggesting that 
Tucker be searched on the way OUT of the prison.  Indeed, she 
maintained that routine exit searches were as important as routine 
entrance searches.  The proposal was implemented, and, to their 
surprise, the guards discovered that his satchel was filled with 
detailed instructions for future hits, bribes, and other schemes.  

Tucker was arrested.  The ACLU had a field day, but Ashley argued 
successfully before the Illinois Supreme Court that lawyer/client 
privilege did not apply to conversations held in the furtherance 
of a crime.  She and the prison won, and Tucker was sent to jail.  

She toyed with the idea of showing up to watch as he was processed 
into prison, but decided that justice was its own reward.

Of course, sometimes things didn't always go according to plan.  On 
one particular Wednesday, Lisa called in with the flu.  Ashley was 
stunned when the guards led her outside and lined her up with the 
other prisoners.  

She complained, but the Indian matron's English wasn't very good, 
and her temper was even worse.  Ashley soon found herself bent 
over the hood of a truck, pants and underpants at half mast.

The stout Indian guard used her strap to teach the sassy new 
prisoner a lesson in obedience.  

After ten strokes and countless promises to obey, a humiliated 
Ashley was allowed to pull up her pants and resume her place on 
the chain gang.  Several other guards watched with obvious 
amusement as she re-pantsed herself.  She knew that they, unlike 
the Indian, realized who she was.  However, none of them seemed 
to be particularly upset to see her on the chain gang.  Ashley 
considered asking them for help, but quickly concluded that, since 
they wouldn't intercede to prevent her bare-bottom strapping, she 
doubted that they would intercede to help her get out of work.

As they shackled her slender ankles, she looked over to the cell 
bars that formed the tiny window of her new office.  The view was 
different from this side.  

As she was led into the  fields, she caught a glimpse of her old 
office window on the fourth floor.  It didn't seem like so long 
ago that she had stood in that office, watching as the comely 
prisoners were led out to work.

There was a tug on her chain.  She turned and hobbled forward into 
the fields with her fellow inmates.

The work was hot, dirty, and hard.  There was little water and no 
rest.  Lunch was a thin porridge that the girls ate standing up.  

For Ashley, the low point occurred after lunch, when her coffle was 
dragged out of the field for the entertainment of a visiting tour 
group.  She stared at her manacled ankles as the tour guide and his 
dozen or so guests discussed the countless virtues of the program.

"Long overdue."

"Hard work is exactly what they need."

"They look pretty stupid.  This is probably the only sort of work 
they're fit for."

"Yeah.  It frees up the Mexicans for important jobs."

"I'm just glad they're contributing, instead of sucking up money 
from decent, hardworking taxpayers."

"Look at how they're dressed.  Little sluts have it coming, if you 
ask me."

"Geez, do they stink!"

"They look like randy, rutting, piglets."

"Look at the one with short hair on the end.  I can see her 
nipples."  

Ashley recognized several members of the tour group.  Indeed, she 
had taken the same tour herself a few months before.  The pattern 
of the hypocrisy was familiar to her -– men who feigned moral 
virtue while ogling her chained legs and bouncing, braless breasts. 
And cruel harridans who took sadistic delight in seeing a rival 
beauty humbled.  

And finally, Ashley thought, one or two women who stood transfixed 
by the spectacle (like she had), wondering what captivity might be 
like.

Although Ashley recognized several of the program participants, she 
knew they didn't recognize her.  Ashley Marsh, Attorney at Law, the 
fastest rising star of the Chicago legal community -– on a chain 
gang?  The concept was just too absurd.

Even when the Indian guard spun Ashley around to shuck her pants 
and underpants down to her ankles to demonstrate the effectiveness 
of a bare-bottom strapping, Ashley knew they didn't make the 
connection.

After all, what connection could the smiling, self-confident, 
impeccably groomed attorney who had dazzled juries throughout 
the state have with the hot little piece of jailhouse pussy 
who was now standing at the end of a field, with her pussy and 
freshly spanked ass on public display?  

"Bet she won't get uppity again."

"If I were in charge, they'd whip her everyday...properly."

"Maybe they should open up a whorehouse here.  Then they could 
really make some profits."

After a satisfactory period of name calling, the tour group turned 
to leave.  One young woman, a pretty young blonde in her late 
twenties, lingered.

The woman introduced herself to the chief guard (who was mounted 
on horseback).  "My name is Dr. Brittany Evans.  I was wondering 
if I could come to the prison a couple of times a month for some 
pro bono work."

"We have a nurse who comes in twice a week, and the local hospital 
has a prison ward.  We usually take the girls there," the guard 
replied.  

"I'd prefer something on-site, where I could work with the girls.  
I'm a very good doctor; I was on the cover of 'Chicago Magazine' 
last year."  

Ashley squinted as she tried to remember the blonde from the cover 
shoot, "Chicago's Top Female Professionals."  Ashley had been the 
lawyer on the end.

The woman looked over at Ashley, who was still waiting for 
permission to pull up her pants and go back to work.  Ashley 
instantly recognized the look in the woman's eye, a mix of 
curiosity, sympathy, smug superiority, and unbridled lust.  

Like Ashley, it was clear that the pretty little good girl was 
fascinated by life behind bars. 

The guard smiled and took her card.  "We do have a free office on 
the fourth floor.  I'll give your card to the warden.  Now don't 
dawdle, little Missy.  I can see over yonder that your tour group's 
walking toward the bus.  If you miss it, I might have to shuck you 
out of those fancy clothes and shackle you up with the other girls."

The guard chuckled as the panicked doctor turned and ran through 
the fields.  It was hard to run in high heels.

"That's it, take your time.  Have you been deloused yet?"

The guard burst into laughter as the petite doctor kicked off her 
shoes and ran through the fields at top speed.

He winked at Ashley.  The message was clear: professional women 
made wonderful little jailbirds.

The guard barked out an order to the Indian matron.  Ashley pulled 
up her pants, hopped into the fields, and resumed work.

Lisa called the prison at five to remind them to release Ashley 
from her cell.  A few quick phone calls sorted out the problem.  
Apparently Lisa's voicemail about Ashley had been lost or 
misunderstood by a secretary.

By the time they fetched Ashley out of the  field, her back was 
aching, her skin was sunburned, her fingers were bleeding, and 
her ankles were badly chafed from the humiliating shackles.

But now, at least, she knew what the chain gang was like.


IN PART 4, SHE LEARNS THAT GETTING INTO PRISON IS WAY EASIER THAN 
GETTING OUT.  

		******************************

Part 4

Over the next few weeks, Ashley used her relationship with the 
warden to improve life for the girls on the chain gang.  Shifts 
were shortened from 8 hours to 4, allowing the girls to eat in 
the cafeteria.  More water was provided.  Ashley paid to have 
sunscreen and salve for the girls' ankles given out at the 
beginning of the shifts.

The prison strap remained.  The warden felt that it was essential 
to "proper discipline."  And, yes, regrettably the strap was most 
effective when administered on bare skin.

Ashley felt satisfied that she had helped where she could.  To the 
warden's delight, she began to review the prison's procurement 
contracts.  The cost savings she realized netted the warden and 
a number of the guards big juicy raises.

Not that it affected her daily life much.  She was still processed 
on her way into the prison, and the guards still treated her like 
any other inmate.  Indeed, refusing to acknowledge that she was in 
any way different seemed to be a point of professional pride 
amongst the staff.

A few times Ashley would run into a guard or secretary at the 
courthouse.  They were always polite and deferential, addressing 
her as "Miss Marsh" and asking her how she was.  Of course, when 
they met the next day at the prison the same guard who fetched her 
coffee would now refer to her as a "con" as he shoved her roughly 
into her cell.

In one instance, Ashley ran into Evelyn, the warden's secretary.  
Evelyn complimented Ashley on her pearls, and, in an effort to be 
nice, Ashley asked Evelyn about her perfume, adding that, "It 
smells wonderful, a lovely, clean smell.  And it's not overpriced 
like so many are."  

Evelyn was offended.  Ashley's attempt at a compliment was 
interpreted as a catty dig from an overpriced attorney.

The next morning, Evelyn was there bright and early to watch Ashley 
being processed in.  Evelyn stood, arms folded, grinning from ear 
to ear as Ashley stripped naked and rinsed herself in the showers.  

She even followed Ashley into the tiny examination room to see her 
take her weekly ride in the stirrups.

As the freshly deloused Ashley was led to her cell, Evelyn leaned 
forward and whispered in her ear, "Such a fresh, clean smell...and 
not overpriced, either."

She chuckled merrily as Ashley was led away.

The prison was a small, self-contained world.  And, when the two 
met in the parking lot a few weeks later, Evelyn was once again 
as sweet as pie.  

Prison is routine, routine, and more routine.  Occasionally, 
however, the routine changes.

Shifts were reorganized, and Lisa's schedule changed.  Although she 
was still there to supervise Ashley's admissions and her lunch hour 
in the cafeteria, she was no longer available to let Ashley out.

Since Ashley was now for all intents and purposes another cog in 
the prison bureaucracy, the tiny change soon led her into another 
humiliating predicament.

On Wednesday night, Rose, a rather portly black matron, led her 
out of her cell and back towards the changing room, where Ashley 
was surprised to see Officer J.D. None waiting for her, sitting 
casually next to the carton containing her street clothes.  The 
contents of Ashley's purse had been dumped out onto the table, 
and Officer None was testing the elastic in her panties.

Ashley knew None well.  His reputation for flagrant and unnecessary 
searches was legendary.  Ashley had filed a number of complaints 
against him, but to no avail.  

Lisa had told her that None had begged the warden to allow him 
to work at least ONE Wednesday morning, so that he could 
"accidentally" walk in on Ashley's processing.  The warden had 
found None's desperation amusing, but had told the guards that, 
as far as None was concerned, Wednesday mornings were out of 
bounds.  

But this was Wednesday afternoon.  None's shift had started at 3PM.

Ordinarily, Ashley never made eye contact with any of the guards.  
But surprise got the better of her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"What are you doing here, SIR," he said with a tight smile.

Ashley immediately dropped her eyes to the floor. "Yes, sir," she 
said meekly.  "I'm sorry, sir."

"That's a good girl," he patronized.  "What I'm doing is very 
simple, Ashley.  A little while ago you wrote a memo to the 
warden suggesting that smarty pants lawyers be searched on 
their way OUT as well as their way in.  Do you remember that?"

Ashley nodded.  The search policy had enabled the warden to catch a 
mob lawyer who was committing crimes at his bosses' behest.  It had 
been one of Ashley's proudest moments as a lawyer.

"It occurred to me that -– in order to be fair -– we should really 
search you on your way out," Officer None said judiciously.

"But Lisa never...."

He cut Ashley short.  "Lisa isn't here to protect you, Ashley.  
I'm in charge.  The policy -– a policy you wrote, I might add 
-– says 'strip search.'  And that's exactly what you're gonna 
get."

He gestured to Rose.  The matron nodded.  "Take off your shoes and 
put them on the table," she said evenly.

Ashley broke her submissive stance and gave None a hateful stare.  
He looked back at her, in her cute little prison outfit, tummy and 
legs bare, jugs jiggling.  Her hands were fists, and her teeth were 
clenched.

He smiled.  Ashley knew that he was relishing his power over her, 
his prerogative to strip her naked and probe her at will.  Indeed, 
it was her own memo that had given him that right.  

She leaned against the exam table as she removed her worn sneakers 
and handed them to him.  

"Put 'em on the table, girl," he said coldly.

Ashley glared, but placed her shoes on the table.  Rose gave them 
a perfunctory once-over, before issuing the next command.

"Now the socks."  

Ashley took off her socks and laid them on the table.

None smiled when he noticed the healing ulcerations around Ashley's 
ankles.  "Are little Ashley's ankles all chafed from that nasty 
chain gang?" he taunted, in his best coochy-coo voice.  

Rose finished examining Ashley's socks and rolled them into a neat 
little ball.  "Pants," she said flatly.

None smiled broadly as the woman who had complained about him to 
the warden dropped her pants on command.  The pants were tight, 
and it took her a few seconds to wiggle out of them, but he 
didn't care.

Ashley now stood in front of her grinning nemesis wearing nothing 
but a t-shirt and panties.  She felt a tiny chill go through her 
as he looked her up and down.

The prison pants didn't take long to search, since they had no 
pockets.  "Shirt," Rose said next.

Ashley quickly peeled her shirt up and off.  She could tell None 
was enjoying each step of her humiliation, and she was eager to 
get it over with as soon as possible.  

Already Ashley was eyeing her street clothes, which were resting 
comfortably on the table.  In another minute or so....

None shot Rose a look as Ashley covered her breasts.  "Please place 
your hands at your sides," Rose said, her voice more sad than angry.  
Ashley was shocked.  Had she actually said "please"?  

Ashley obeyed.  None let out a little whistle.  "Aren't those two 
cute little apples," he jeered.  "Not much, but then more than a 
handful is a waste.  Maybe the warden can buy you a boob job with 
all that money you're saving us."

Ashley looked over at Rose, who was folding her t-shirt on the 
table.  She could tell from the expression on her face that she 
didn't like this any better than Ashley did.  Rose gave Ashley 
the nod, as if she was too embarrassed to even ask.  Ashley took 
the hint, and quickly pulled down her panties.

She stood, hands at her sides, eyes defiantly fixed in space, as 
None ogled her body.  She grimaced as she noted that he was still 
playing with the lacy panties she had worn to the prison that 
morning.

"Isn't that the cutest little cherry patch you've ever seen?  Just 
a little bit of peach fuzz.  Think it'd tickle my nose?"

"The panties are clean," Rose said.  "You can get dressed now, 
Ashley."

Ashley made a beeline for her clothes, but None pushed her away, 
"accidentally" squeezing one of her breasts in the process.

"Not so fast, little lady," he chided.  "You want these, don't 
you?"  He playfully dangled her panties off the end of his finger.  
"I still think you might be hiding something.  Get on the table, 
on your knees, and spread your legs."

He roughly wiped all of Ashley's things, including her purse, onto 
the floor.  Ashley looked at the table in horror and then over at 
Rose.  

"I think this has gone far enough," Rose said.

"You report to me, Rose, and, if you want to still have a job in 
the morning, you'll obey my orders.  This is a standard part of 
the search procedure, and you know it.  Back me up, or I'll have 
your job."

Ashley looked at Rose with desperate, pleading eyes.  

Rose turned away from Ashley's gaze.  "Kneel on the table and 
spread your legs," Rose said quietly.

"You heard her," None said coldly.  "You were given an order -- 
now jump.  Head facing the door.  Pussy facing me.  He brusquely 
rapped the table twice, as if he were a dog trainer....

And Ashley was a dog.

She didn't like it, but she had been in prison long enough to 
understand the dynamics of power.  He was in charge.  She 
crawled up onto the table, put her head down, and submissively 
stuck her ass in the air.

"Got the strap again, I see," he observed.  "Pretty sloppy job, 
though.  I'm sorry I wasn't there...to lay it on right."  

He leaned over and whispered in Ashley's ear.  "This day's been a 
long time coming.  Even before you came to the prison, I'd see you 
at the courthouse or the lockup in your crisp little business suit. 
I'd wonder what you'd look like naked.  Maybe it's the wait, maybe 
the frustration I've felt trying to make this happen, but you're 
not what I'd thought you'd be....  You're way better.

"I've been driving myself crazy trying to get this to happen, 
trying to think of a way.  You're a clever girl -– but not 
clever enough.  Well, now it's time.  I've been waiting to say 
this ever since the first day I saw you at the courthouse."

His voice dropped into a tiny, almost inaudible whisper.  "All 
right, girl, spread your legs."

Ashley gritted her teeth and spread her legs.  He didn't have to 
tell her to keep her head down; her nose was pressed against the 
table, and her eyes were closed.

He repositioned himself to enjoy the view.  It was good, stunning 
in fact.   But he wanted more.

"You know the drill, sweetheart," he barked.  "SPREAD 'EM."

She pushed her knees apart and raised her fanny as high as it 
would go.

He chuckled and, once again, moved around to whisper in her ear.  
"I had them turn on the video camera before we came in here, 
Ashley.  It's right behind you, pointed right at your ass.  This 
tape's going to be a keeper," he chortled.

He nodded to Rose.  She already had her glove ready.  Her search 
was complete, but mercifully short and professional.

When Rose had finished, None slapped Ashley hard across the ass.  
"That's it, girl," he said.  "You're free to go."  

He dangled Ashley's pink panties over her head.  Still on the 
table, she reached up for them, but he lifted them just out of 
her reach.  

Infuriated, Ashley snatched the panties out of his grasp.
 
"Temper, temper," he chided.  "You don't want me to put you on 
report.  I'd hate to have to spank those pretty little buns."

Ashley scooped her possessions back into her purse and quickly 
donned her street clothes.  As per the procedure, the two guards 
walked her through the final sets of doors and out to the parking 
lot.

"You have a good evening, Miss Marsh," None said, in a mocking 
imitation of the respectful tone he had once used with her.  
I'll see you next week."

Next week?  Oh, god!


THE END?



Edited by C. Lakewood

