


        
                        NUMBER 10,000

                             by 

                          Joe Doe 


THE LAST TIME IS THE BEST TIME, AS A RETIRING PRISON GUARD GETS 
TO DEMONSTRATE HIS SKILLS TO THE BLUSHING FEMALE WARDEN.


 
Warden Rachel Moran strode into the exam room just as Otis was 
boxing up the last of his possessions.  It was hard for her to 
identify with retirement, since she was only 28, but she could 
nonetheless empathize with the look of sadness in the old guard's 
eyes.
 
"I just wanted to stop by and thank you for all of the fine work 
you've done over the years, Otis," she said, sincerely.  "You've 
served me and my predecessors well."  She paused and put her hand 
on his shoulder.  "I want you to know that, if there is ever 
anything I can do to help you, just let me know.  I am always 
there for you, my friend."
 
She looked around the examination room that had been Otis' home 
for almost forty years.  "A lot of women have passed through these 
doors, Otis," she said, wistfully.  "I can't even imagine what it 
must have been like for you to strip, shower, and delouse all of 
those blushing young ladies."  She chuckled.  "I would think that 
even the cavity searches must have gotten old after a while!" 

"It never got old for me," Otis said, sadly.  "Each woman was 
unique, and each reacted to my glove a bit differently.  Some 
were timid, some tried to act brave, but couldn't quite muster 
it.  Most just tried to look away and pretend they were somewhere 
else while I slowly worked my fingers up inside of them!  But I'll 
remember each and every one of them!" he said, fondly. 
 
He pointed at the cameras in the ceiling.  "Of course, since they 
introduced the film cameras in the sixties, I've gotten every one 
of them on film or tape."  He smiled.  "I'm sure the other fellas 
in the retirement home will get a kick out of watching all of those 
little honeys do their squats!"
 
"How many women have you searched over the years?" Rachel asked, 
nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot.  There was 
something about the way Otis leered at her when he talked about 
"the squats" that was making her uncomfortable....
 
"9,999," Otis replied, proudly.  "Just one more and I would have 
gotten a $100,000 grant from 'The Golden Glove' foundation.  That 
money would've really come in handy in my retirement," he said, 
with remorse.  "After all these years, I can honestly say that's 
it's my only regret."
 
"I'm really sorry about that, Otis," Rachel said.  "But the state 
decides how many new convicts we get, and the law mandated your 
retirement date.  If there was any way I could have gotten you 
another prisoner to process, I would have."
 
Otis paused and considered the situation.  "Well, actually, warden, 
I'm glad you brought that up.  I was thinking about the problem 
last night, and the rules don't actually say that the woman has 
to be a PRISONER, per se." 
 
Otis took out a large carton from the corner and placed it between 
himself and the warden.  She immediately recognized it as the sort 
of carton that was used to hold the clothes of female inmates who 
were admitted for processing.  Without even being conscious of it, 
Rachel found herself slowly backing away from the portentously 
empty carton.
 
"I could search ANY female and win the money," Otis said.  "She 
wouldn't have to be a criminal.  She could be a lawyer, or a 
doctor...."  He paused and smiled.  "She could even be a prison 
warden...."
 
Rachel immediately felt a cold chill run down her spine.  That 
dirty old man wanted to strip search HER!  He was actually 
suggesting that she be stripped butt naked like some...some 
CRIMINAL!  How outrageous!  How humiliating.
 
How exciting.
 
Rachel swallowed and considered the situation.  She had been 
fascinated by strip-searches for years, and always made a point 
of "supervising" the procedure whenever possible.  She had always 
wondered what it would be like...to strip off her clothes, piece 
by piece, garment by garment, under watchful male eyes.  It would 
be so humiliating...so deliciously dirty. 
 
But now that the chance to realize her fantasy had presented 
itself, she was having second thoughts. 
 
Rachel had always dismissed her strip-search fantasies as absurd.  
After all, she wasn't like the other women who blushed and 
squirmed, wiggled and twisted under Otis' leering gaze.  She 
wasn't some little slut to be paraded through her paces.  She 
was different than those women.
 
Wasn't she?
 
"How far...I mean…how much would I have to...take off...in order 
for you to get your money?" she stammered. 
 
"You'd have to strip to the skin, warden," he said, with a chuckle. 
"I'd have strip you, and shower you, and delouse you.  I wouldn't 
ENJOY it, of course, no more than you would," he said, slyly.  
"But, in order to qualify, I would have to run you through the 
whole process.  Right up to the part where I put you in your 
cute little uniform and take your mug shot!"
 
Otis walked over to the shower and playfully picked up the 
long-handled bath brush that he used to scrub down prisoners.  
"Scrub-a-dub-dub", he said, playfully pointing the brush at 
Rachel and moving it in slow circles.
 
Rachel flinched as she pictured herself standing in the shower with 
her legs spread wide and her arms up over her head.  Otis would 
have the hose in one hand, and the coarse-bristled brush in the 
other. 
 
He used the brush for the initial scrub down, but he always 
finished off by running his soapy fingers over the "delicate" 
areas.
 
Rachel shuddered.  No part of her would go untouched.

She had watched the grinning Otis scrub down countless naked, 
blushing women over the years, but she had never fully understood 
the look of shame and helplessness in their eyes until this moment. 
The thought of a successful career woman such as herself standing 
there buck naked while that dirty old man washed her down like she 
was a dog was so humiliating that it was almost unbelievable.
 
She swallowed hard.  She wondered how many of the women who had 
stood where she was standing right now had thought the same thing? 
 
Probably 9,999.... 
 
She looked over at the open gang shower and the ominous delousing 
nozzle next to it.  She nervously clutched her jacket more tightly 
closed, desperate to offer herself a bit more protection. 
 
The chemicals burned and stank, but, like her predecessors, Rachel 
had ignored the inmates' complaints.  She knew that most of the 
women didn't need to be deloused, but she thought there was 
something amusing about letting Otis put "his bitches" through 
their "flea dip" as he laughingly called it. 
 
Rachel frowned.  She was one of "his bitches" now.
 
"Couldn't I just...strip down to my underwear, Otis?" she pleaded.
 
"I think you'd better start calling me 'Sir,' Rachel," Otis said, 
sternly.  "Now, ordinarily, I don't discuss the terms of a 
strip-search with a prisoner, but I'm going to make an exception 
in your case.  I don't want you to feel that you lost your undies 
through your own stupidity, or because you were too weak and 
ineffectual to properly negotiate."
 
Rachel ground her teeth at the insult to her management abilities, 
but she knew that she was in no position to quibble.  Not when 
there was so much at stake....
 
"So you want to stop at your underwear, do you?" he asked, 
chuckling. "Tell me about your underwear, Rachel," he said, 
with a leer.
 
"What do you want to know, sir?" she said, nervously staring at 
the floor.
 
"What color is your bra?" he asked.  "What color are your panties?"
 
"They're both pink, s-sir," Rachel said, softly.
 
"Are they a matching set?" Otis snickered.
 
"Yes, sir, they do match," she said, still looking down.  
 
"Oh, isn't that special?" he said, in a patronizing voice.  "Rachel 
put on her prettiest pink panties just for me!  Tell me: are they 
all frilly and lacy, with fancy edges and delicate, dainty trim?" 
he teased.
 
"Yes, sir," she said, meekly.
 
"Well, I'm sure they're lovely, Rachel."  He shook his head sadly.  
"But they're going to have to come off."  He reached up and undid 
one of Rachel's elegant diamond earrings as he continued.  "You're 
going to have to slide your lovely, delicate pink panties down 
those beautiful white legs of yours and give them to me, Rachel, 
so I can put them in the box along with the rest of your things."
 
"We can't let a little jailbird like you run around the prison with 
such pretty unmentionables, can we?" he teased.  "But don't worry, 
sugar buns.  The state will issue you a nice sensible pair of plain 
white cotton underpants for you to wear.  They're not as delicate 
and comfortable as the soft squirrel-covers you're used to, of 
course.  But I'm going to enjoy watching you wiggle into them, 
just the same!"
 
He took off her other earring and dropped it in the ominous black 
box, laughing as Rachel's hands immediately flew up to cover her 
"bare" ears. 
 
Each woman was unique, but the warden was too prissy for words.  
This was going to be good!
 
He moved behind her and gently eased her out of her expensive 
charcoal jacket.  "Your dainty little underpants would have to 
go into the box, Rachel, and so would all the rest of your clothes. 
I would have to strip you naked as a jaybird, Rachel, just like the 
all the rest." 
 
Otis smiled and nodded at the exam table in the corner.  "And, of 
course, you'd be the 10,000th little honey to slip her dainty 
little feet into the stirrups!  What do you say, Rachel?  It is 
quite an honor to mount up in the saddle for my last round up, 
isn't it, cowgirl?"
 
Rachel shook her head no, instinctively crossing her hands in front 
of her crotch to protect herself.
 
"I know it will be difficult for you, of course, seeing as how 
we've been friends for so long," he said.  "It will be hard for 
you to spread your legs and put your feet up into those cold, 
hard stirrups, knowing how it will leave you completely 
vulnerable...completely exposed.  It will be pretty humiliating 
to look up and see me smiling down at you with the cold rubber 
glove on my hand." 
 
"Of course, if I don't miss my guess, I don't think I'll need much 
lubrication in your case.  Am I right about that, Rachel?" he said 
with a knowing smile.  "Has all this talk about strip-searching you 
got you all wet and juicy?" 
 
Rachel, her face crimson with shame, nodded quickly.  The truth is, 
she had never been so excited in her life.
 
"Well, then, we had better get started, young lady," he said, 
sitting down in a chair immediately in front of Rachel.  "After 
all, I've got a schedule to keep, and the warden doesn't like me 
to dawdle!  Why don't you start with that fancy white blouse of 
yours?"
 
Rachel's hands were trembling as she slowly unbuttoned her 
expensive silk blouse.  There was something about the smug 
smile on his face that was deeply humiliating to her, but 
somehow she couldn't resist.
 
Rachel looked up at the cameras that were gleefully recording every 
second of her humiliation for posterity.  The cameras were filming 
her from every angle, and she knew that Otis would use the 
extensive footage to cut together a perfect montage of her 
strip tease. 
 
She imagined the dirty old men in the retirement home watching the 
tape and laughing as she slowly peeled down for their amusement.... 
 
What would the men say about her, she wondered.  Would they like 
her better than the other girls?  Would her tape be special?  Would 
the men realize just how humiliating this ordeal was for her?  In 
the end, would number 10,000 be any different than the 9,999 others 
who had preceded her? 
 
Rachel looked at her expensive silk blouse and immaculately pressed 
worsted wool skirt and assured herself that she WAS different.  
After all, she wasn't a criminal -- she was a former police officer 
with a degree in criminal justice and an Ivy League law degree.  
She was top of her class in school, top of her class at the 
academy, and, at age 28, the youngest warden in state history.  
Anyone who saw her striding down the hall in her crisp designer 
clothes knew that she was a force to be reckoned with. 
 
But when people saw Otis parade her down the hall in her scanty 
uniform to her cell, would they still see her as a force to be 
reckoned with?  Or would the frightened look in her eye identify 
her as a "new chicken," ready to be plucked?
 
Rachel frowned as she looked at the plain plastic carton that now 
held her expensive earrings.  In a few minutes her shoes would 
follow, and then her jacket...her blouse...her skirt....
 
When she was absolutely naked would she really look any different 
from the 9,999 women who had gone before her?  Or would she just 
be one more pretty little bimbo spread out on the exam table like 
a blushing butterfly?
 
Rachel knew she would be a little prettier than some of his 
victims, perhaps, and a lot more humiliated than many.  But, 
in the end, she would be reduced to just one more tape sitting 
on the shelf in Otis' disgusting collection.  She clenched her 
teeth as she remembered Otis bragging about how he was going to 
"rent out the tapes to the other dirty old men, like an X-rated 
Blockbuster!"
 
Number 10,000, no doubt, would turn a tidy little profit for him.
 
He grinned up at Rachel, relishing her look of shame and 
humiliation as she performed her slow strip tease to order.  
Otis could make a pretty woman blush just by looking at her, 
and Rachel was certainly a pretty woman. 

One advantage of age was that he'd learned how to take his time, 
and milk every second of the search.  It would be slow and 
humiliating, and unforgettable for the both of them.
 
Rachel was a powerful, confident woman, but you wouldn't know that 
by looking at her now.  Her mouth was dry; her palms were sweaty; 
her quivering fingers could barely undo the buttons on her 
expensive blouse.  The soft pink fabric of her bra was barely 
visible, and Rachel was already a nervous wreck.
 
He had stripped many powerful women over the years, and he enjoyed 
reducing them to numbers.  Each one may have walked into the prison 
haughty and aloof, but, by the time she walked out -- naked, cold, 
probed, and stinking of disinfectants -- she was just another notch 
on his belt.
 
He watched closely as the beautiful warden submissively placed her 
expensive blouse in the box.  Then she nervously crossed her arms 
in front of her chest in order to hide her wispy bra, and 
obediently waited for his next command.
 
Otis smiled.  He was really going to enjoy processing Number 10,000.



Edited by C. Lakewood

 
