This story was inspired by (and borrows its central character from) 
Joe Doe's "Searching Sara."  It occurs soon after Joe's story, but 
some time before my story, "The University Health Crisis."  Most of 
Part 1 is largely a re-write of "Searching Sara," setting the stage 
for the rest, which is my own.  (In Part 4, alert readers may also 
spot a character from my story, "Karma.")





  

                          SARA'S DIARY

                               by

                           C. Lakewood

	 
 
 

Part 1

    Monday, June 7th, 8 AM 


    Dear Diary,

    It seems strange, beginning this record so late in the year, 
    but recent events have compelled me to do so.  

    I've always been what is generally known as a "good girl" 
    -- not quite a certified Goody-Two-Shoes prude, but near 
    enough...vanilla upbringing, A-student, Phi Beta Kappa, grad 
    school, no drugs, no pre-marital sex, no extra-marital sex, 
    bland and conventional marriage to an academic 16 years
    older than me....  Then, when he was named president of the 
    university, I really became "Caesar's wife." 

    Maybe all this was just setting me up for what started to 
    unravel the 13th of last month, when Donald and I had dinner 
    with the Sheriff, and he told us of his plans to raid the 
    main girl's dorm that Sunday evening.  I found it all rather 
    exciting, increasingly so, the more I thought about it.    
   
    And I thought about it a lot, both during and after a three 
    hour after-dinner conversation with the Sheriff concerning 
    his techniques and procedures.

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

    Home alone the following day -- Friday -- I occupied much of it 
    masturbating -- though, from lack of experience, I didn't do a 
    very good job of it.

    I spent all of Saturday and most of Sunday lounging about, 
    daydreaming, and drooling into my panties.  Late in the 
    afternoon, after finishing tea, I was restless.  Donald was 
    in his study, fiddling with his fishing gear, so I took a walk. 
    It turned out to be a long, leisurely walk, all the way across 
    campus, and eventually I found myself outside the primary 
    women's dorm, Radclyffe Hall.  It was relatively new (and said 
    to be exquisitely designed and decorated), so I decided to go 
    in and take a look at the interior.

    Strolling through the first and second floors took some time, 
    but I was particularly entranced by the murals along the third 
    floor corridors, and I was still admiring them when a commotion 
    signaled the beginning of the Sheriff's raid.

    When the Sheriff confronted me and asked why I was there, I 
    lied to him, claiming that perhaps I'd forgotten about the 
    timing of the raid.  

    (In point of fact, I might lie to others -- or even to myself 
    -- but I will never lie to you, dearest diary.  I will confess 
    to you every shortcoming and perverted desire I have, though I 
    shudder to think of anyone reading what I write here.)

    The Sheriff offered to let me leave, but I WANTED to stay and 
    be subjected to the humiliating ordeal, though of course I 
    couldn't admit that.  Instead, I answered back with a starchy 
    legalistic argument, something to the effect that... 

    "I'm a female, and I'm here in the dorm.  So the warrant 
    applies to me, too.  Rules are rules, and they should be 
    enforced fairly...or not at all.  And fairness demands that 
    I should be s-stri-ipped...and s-searched...just like all the 
    other women here." 

    I was sweating and breathing heavily.  In fact, I was so 
    aroused that I could barely get the words out.

    The Sheriff looked at me a moment, as if he could see right 
    into the darkest depths of my psyche, then smiled thinly, 
    glanced at one of the frat boys, and uttered the chilling 
    words, "Joe, go upstairs and ask Dirk Williams to come down 
    here and handle this woman's search."

    I was horrified.  Dirk Williams had lived across the street 
    from me some years ago...and I had baby-sat him for two years 
    when I was in high school and all four years in college...until 
    he was about eleven.  I think he had a crush on me.  The very 
    idea of Dirk being present was arousing, but utterly 
    humiliating.

    I gasped.  "B-but you can't let HIM...s-search me.  Please!  
    You just CA-AN'T!  You can't let him s-see me...see me bare 
    na-naked...." 

    The Sheriff smirked.  "Oh, he'll do a lot more than merely 
    SEE you naked, Sara," he said.  "He'll be in total charge of 
    your search.  He'll be the one ordering you to do Jumping Jacks 
    to loosen any contraband, ordering you to squat and spread your 
    butt-cheeks, ordering you to kneel alongside the other naked 
    girls, with your bare bottom up in the air.  In short, you'll 
    be completely under his control...."

    Oh, god!  "Completely...under...his...control!"  I almost peed 
    myself.  I remembered, years ago, when I had punished his bare 
    bottom with a switch when I caught him peeping at me in the 
    bathroom. 
 
    I was weak-kneed as the Sheriff led me into the third floor 
    lounge, which they had set aside for the actual searches.  The 
    scene was overwhelming: a long row of naked, kneeling girls 
    and, behind them, a group of frat boys snapping on their latex 
    exam gloves.  One boy with a fraternity paddle stalked up and 
    down the line, making sure that each of the girls kept her legs 
    spread and her butt in the air.  I felt my bottom involuntarily 
    clench as the boy tapped the paddle against his palm.  I had 
    always been conventional and fairly modest, and I found all this 
    most intimidating...and exciting.   

    Just then, as if on cue, Dirk Williams arrived...and I almost 
    panicked.  I realized at that moment that my shyness was not so 
    much modesty, but more a matter of social respectability.  Up 
    to now, apparently nobody but the Sheriff was aware who I was, 
    and I knew he could be discreet when it suited him.  But Dirk's 
    being here completely altered the situation.       

    "We're ready to get started, Sheriff," the boy with the paddle 
    said. 

    "I think we might have one more here," the Sheriff announced 
    and gestured toward me. 
 
    For a moment, Dirk looked confused, but then he grinned.  

    "Have you been a naughty girl, Sara?" he asked.  "You'd better 
    start behaving yourself, because, if you're naughty HERE, I'll 
    have to punish you."  I shivered.

    (And I'll always remember his words and patronizing tone.)

    "Pay attention, now, Sara," the Sheriff warned.  "If you don't 
    want to be spanked, you'll be nice and obedient...."

    "Please...not Dirk," I murmured to the Sheriff. 

    "He's 19 years old, and I've deputized him for tonight," he 
    replied.  "So you will address him as 'Officer Williams,' and, 
    when he gives you an order, you will obey him." 

    Then he leaned close and whispered to me, "You COULD walk out 
    of here right now.  If you stay, though, I must remind you that 
    you'll be completely under his control...wiggling around on his 
    greasy fingers." 


    I looked up at the door ambivalently.  Part of me was desperate 
    to go, but another part longed to stay.  Then I glanced at Dirk, 
    standing there with his hands on his hips, a self-confident 
    smirk on his face....

    And a large lump in his jeans.   

    I just felt compelled to say, "I-I'm s-sorry, Officer 
    Williams...s-sir.  I'll be g-good.  I promise."  And I 
    began unbuttoning my blouse.  As I stripped, Dirk -- Officer 
    Williams -- and the Sheriff remained silent, but the whistles 
    and lewd comments from the leering frat boy deputies left me 
    trembling and blushing all over.  

    When I was naked, it was Officer Williams's turn to whisper 
    in my ear.  "I don't think any of the other guys knows who 
    you are, Sara.  If you want to keep it that way, you better 
    be a good girl."

    "I w-wi-ill be good...a good girl, s-sir...."

    "Then...assume the position."

    I obeyed.

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

    I did indeed spend much of the next hour wiggling on Officer 
    Williams's long, thick fingers.  While the Sheriff watched 
    approvingly, I was thoroughly and repeatedly probed in my 
    "cunt" and "asshole."  (These were not words that I had 
    customarily used, but Officer Williams insisted that I do so 
    from then on.)  He was especially amused that I was already 
    so aroused and wet that he didn't have to use any artificial 
    lubricant when he did my "cunt."  (And, later, when he plumbed 
    my "asshole," he mainly lubed it with "cunt-juice.")

    Every time I flinched or complained, he slapped my ass -- hard 
    -- once or twice.  From time to time, he would call over 
    several of his friends to observe how loose and sloppy my 
    c-cunt was...or how stiff my nipples were...or how twitchy my 
    asshole was....

    Or -- oh, god! -- how VERY sensitive my clit was.

    At first, I resisted cumming, because I didn't want to do it 
    in front of...well, everyone.  But eventually it all became too 
    much for me, and I stopped fighting my body's natural impulses.  
    From that point on, Officer Williams seemed to be able to make 
    me cum, violently and repeatedly, with only a casual caress.  
    In the end, everybody in that room -- the Sheriff, the frat 
    boys, and even the girls -- was watching me cum. 

    But, finally, it was over, and I was declared "clean."  After 
    composing myself (to a degree), I was allowed to dress...more 
    or less.  (Someone had stolen my bra and panties.)  Somehow, I 
    managed to make it home.  

    As I slid gratefully into my bed, however, I knew that the 
    story was not over yet. 

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

    That was three weeks ago.  Since then, I've managed to meet the 
    Sheriff several times at university events.  On those occasions,
    I always ask him leading questions, such as what it would be 
    like to spend a night -- or several -- in his jail; if the 
    women prisoners are strip-searched on a regular basis; if he 
    and his deputies watch them shower and then delouse them 
    afterward; if they are kept naked...handcuffed...helpless.  
    His answers, though circumspect, gave me fuel for my 
    fantasies....

    (During those three weeks, I was spending a lot of time lying 
    in bed on a water-proof plastic sheet, naked, gagged with my 
    own soiled panties, masturbating relentlessly, fantasizing that 
    some harsh and cunning master with a badge was pulling my 
    strings, choreographing me, making me stop just before I 
    orgasmed, and waiting until I'd cooled off a bit before 
    ordering me to begin again, stopping and starting, denying me 
    the release that I so desperately needed, until I was virtually 
    lying in a pool of my own juices.)

    We held the spring Commencement ceremonies Saturday, the day 
    before yesterday; Donald left early yesterday with two of his 
    oldest friends on a long fishing excursion; and I got a phone 
    call from the Sheriff that evening instructing me to report 
    to his office at 10 AM today, as a "routine follow-up." 

    I have no idea, dearest diary, what he intends, but I must 
    close now, for I don't want to be late.

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

Part 2


    Tuesday, June 8th, 8:25 AM

    Dear Diary,

    I walked downtown to the Sheriff's office yesterday morning 
    (as proper for a penitent), arriving at 9:50.  I was dismayed 
    to find Doug Barker -- aka "Deputy Doug" -- on duty.  I had 
    often referred to him as "Deputy Dog," but somehow that didn't 
    seem so funny now.  (I hoped he hadn't heard my joke.) 
     
    I stood nervously in front of his desk, feeling a bit like a 
    schoolgirl reporting to the principal's office, and the deputy 
    sat, grinning at me, for a long moment.  At last he spoke, "And 
    yer here about 214.10, I suppose, ma'am?"

    "Wha-what?"  I was confused and off-balance.

    "Local Ordinance 214.10: 'A suspect is guilty of misdemeanor 
    vagrancy if unable show possession at least $200 cash when 
    required to do so by legally constituted authority.'"  
 
    "Well...of course I-I don't have that much IN CASH with me...."

    "Then yer in violation."

    "But I have four credit cards!  A debit card!  An ATM card!" 

    "Cards don't matter none, Sara.  Law specifies cash.  So I 
    guess ya'll just have to have a little meetin' with the 
    Sheriff."  He smirked and handed me a pen and a clipboard 
    with a form headed "PERSONAL SEARCH CONSENT WAIVER."  

    "Sign at the bottom, and we'll get ya started."

    I did as he ordered, then followed him over to a table in the 
    far corner.  On the table was a black plastic box, like a small 
    milk crate. 

    "Now then, Sara, ya just put yer purse and jewelry into this 
    here box."  He slipped the waiver form into a bracket on the 
    side of the crate.  He waited until I'd complied, then said, 
    "Pick up yer box and follow me."

    I followed him down a short corridor, to a door marked 
    "PROCESSING." 

    He opened the door, and I stepped inside.  “Just wait here 
    'til the Sheriff's ready for ya."  He paused and grinned at 
    me.  "See you later, Sara....  Woof!  Woof!"  The door clicked 
    behind him.  

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

    It was cool in the room, and I began to shiver some, from a 
    combination of the temperature and nerves.  I wondered if 
    what was going to happen to me would be as demeaning (and as 
    thrilling!) as what Dirk -- Officer Williams, that is -- put 
    me through that Sunday....  Oh, god!  I could feel myself 
    getting wet just remembering.

    I pretty much kept my eyes downcast, but I couldn't help 
    sneaking peeks at the large exam table that dominated one 
    side of the room.  The chromed stirrups were already attached, 
    set at an obscenely wide angle.  Considering the possibilities, 
    I was getting progressively wetter.

    Opposite the table was a big mahogany desk, a handsome, 
    obviously custom-made leather chair, and an ominous razor 
    strap hanging on the wall behind it.
 
    I didn't dare sit down, and my legs were wobbly by the time 
    the Sheriff finally entered...followed closely by D- Officer 
    Williams.  My cunt lurched...and, I must admit, it was a happy 
    lurch.  The realization made me blush, hotly.

    The Sheriff settled himself behind the desk and went through 
    the elaborate ritual of preparing and lighting a cigar -- the 
    box was labeled "Montecristo."  After a couple of puffs, he 
    took a deep pull on the cigar, and, as he let the smoke drift 
    from his mouth, he leaned back, regarded me for a moment, and 
    then announced, "That Sunday, in the girls' dorm, Dirk Williams 
    gave you absolutely the most stringent cavity search I've seen 
    in my thirty years as an officer of the law."  He beamed.  "As 
    a result, I've appointed him a sort of intern-deputy, and he'll 
    be putting you through your paces again today.  That suit you?"

    "Y-yes, sir," I murmured.

    "Then you ought to express your gratitude."

    "I'm sorry, sir.  Thank you s-so much for letting Officer 
    Williams p-put me through my p-p-pa-aces, Sheriff, sir."

    The Sheriff nodded to Officer Williams, who stood by, smirking. 

    "Okay, Sara, strip, starting with your shoes," the young man 
    said.  "Put each piece of clothing neatly into your crate and 
    don't touch it again until the Sheriff or one of his deputies 
    gives you permission."

    The weather was warm, and I was dressed very simply.  I kicked 
    off my sandals and put them into the crate.  I slowly unbuttoned 
    my sleeveless dress -- not so much out of modesty, but rather 
    out of a desire to build the tension...which was not, I must 
    admit, progressing very well.  Oh, I was embarrassed and 
    excited, but also rather disappointed.  The experience, though 
    certainly thrilling, was just not as intense as before.  
    Initially, I thought the reason was that it lacked the novelty 
    of that first time...the leap into the unknown...and that was 
    true, but there was surely more to it....

    Meanwhile, I had removed my dress, folded it neatly, and placed 
    it in my crate.  I reached back and unclasped my bra, pausing 
    almost coquettishly before disposing of it.

    Officer Williams cleared his throat.  "Are your panties wet, 
    Sara?"

    "Y-yes, sir."

    "Then take 'em off and hand 'em over.  We need to put 'em into 
    a protective plastic baggie so the rest of your stuff won't get 
    stained with your juices."

    I obeyed, trembling.  I was now naked.  

    After bagging my wet panties, Officer Williams looked at me 
    reprovingly.  "And what do say, Sara?"

    I knew he expected me to...express my gratitude...again.  
    "Th-thank you, sir," I said meekly.

    The Sheriff caressed his cigar.  "All that pubic hair's just 
    a plain nuisance," he drawled.  "Sara, you go fetch Deputy  
    Doug...and ask him to bring his shaving equipment." 

    "Ou-out front?  Naked?"

    "Tsk, tsk.  As long as you're a 'person of interest,' here, 
    Sara, if you do something wrong -- question an order, refuse 
    to obey...or just be slow about obeying -- you just may get 
    a taste of that strap hanging on the wall.  That's termed 
    'administrative punishment.'  Now go get the deputy."

    Oh, how I dreaded having to go out front -- I didn't know who 
    all might be there -- and ask a favor of that lecherous 
    deputy....  (But I also realized that the disappointment I 
    had been feeling had instantly dissipated.)

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

    With my humiliation AND my arousal rapidly spiraling upward, 
    I peeked into the front office.  Finding the deputy alone, I 
    marched boldly up to his desk, forced myself to stand at 
    attention, and blushingly made my request.

    "Please, D-deputy, sir, the Sheriff would like you to...to 
    come to 'Processing' w-with your sh-shaving equipment."

    He eyed me up and down, an amused expression on his face.  
    "Oh?  So who's gonna get shaved?"

    "I am, sir."

    "That so?  Whereabouts?"

    "My-my pubic hair, sir."

    "Pee-youbik hair?  Whut's that?"

    The bastard. felt myself turning even redder as I said, "The 
    hair around my...my cunt...and asshole...sir." 

    "O-kay.  Well, I can see yer cunt hair.  Turn around, bend 
    over, and spread yer ass, so I can check out yer asshole."

    I quickly decided that the sooner I did it, the sooner I could 
    return to the comparative privacy of the Sheriff's office...so 
    I obeyed, even though it felt like my entire body was blushing. 
    And my blush increased the longer he just sat there, leering at 
    me.  He was so crude....  

    It was unbelievably thrilling.   

    Then I heard the front door open and a new voice, "'Scuse me, 
    Depaty.  Y'all wanta shine?"

    ("Oh, crap!" I thought.  "Who's this?")  

    I started to straighten up, but immediately realized that, even 
    humiliating as it was, the bent-over position hid more of me 
    than standing erect would.

    It then dawned on me that it must be the old black shoeshine 
    man who hung around the courthouse, barber shop, diner, and, 
    I guess, the Sheriff's office.  At that moment, he came around 
    the desk and spotted me.  "Whoa!  I's sorry if I be disturbin' 
    yah, Depaty sir."

    "No, no.  This here's jus' a vagarant wantin' a favor...but 
    she's forgettin' her manners.  Stand up straight, girl, an' 
    say howdy t' Mr. Fish."

    Not wanting to get into more trouble, I obeyed, but trembled 
    uncontrollably under the old man's lecherous gaze.  "H-hello, 
    Mr. Fi-ish...s-sir," I murmured.  

    "Tell him what ya want."

    "I...I want...to get m-my cu-unt and asshole sh-sh-shaved, Mr. 
    Fish."

    The scrawny, grey-haired man licked his lips.  "That sounds 
    real int'restin'...."

    "Wanta watch?" the deputy smirked.

    "Sho' do!" 

    "Okay then.  Sara, ya run an' 'pologize to the Sheriff an' 
    tell him I'll be in soon's old 'King' here gives me a shine."

    I turned and gratefully started to return to the inner office, 
    when the deputy called out.  "Hold it, girl!  Whut 'zackly did 
    I tell ya to do?"

    I thought quickly.  "Unh...run?  I'm so sorry, sir...." 

    "So...tell the Sheriff yer gittin' uppity.  Now scat!"

    "Yes, sir.  Thank you," I said as I broke into a run.

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

    The Sheriff didn't seem to mind the delay much, but he still 
    made me pay for it.  While they casually inspected my clothes 
    for contraband, they had me doing calisthenics.  And, after 
    countless Jumping-Jacks, Squat-Thrusts, Flutter-Kicks, and a 
    couple more exercises I didn't know by name (alternating with 
    Running-in-Place), by the time the deputy and Mr. Fish 
    strolled in, I was soaked in sweat and near exhaustion.

    So I really didn't mind when I was ordered to lie down on the 
    exam table, put my feet in the stirrups, and prepare to be 
    shaved. 

    "I got me a new formula," the deputy announced.  "Extra-heavy 
    on the menthol an' wintergreen.  Any little bit that runs 
    into her cunt or asshole -- an', trust me, more 'n a little 
    bit WILL -- she'll feel it for HOURS."

    (Oh, god!  He was sooo right!)
  
    "You'll note, gentlemen," the Sheriff said between puffs on his 
    cigar, "that sweating intensifies her cunt-odor.  I can smell 
    that she's 'in heat' clear across the room.  We'll have to 
    fumigate the place to get rid of her stink."

    (And he, too, was right.  Maybe I should start wearing plastic 
    panties to contain my smell.)

    While the deputy was working up a stiff lather, he asked 
    Officer Williams to smear my cunt-juice all around my 
    crotch.  "The way she is," he chuckled, "don't need to use 
    no water -- she's plenty wet enough."  Then he proceeded 
    to brush on the lather.   

    He anchored me in place with two fingers up my cunt, 
    flourished his razor, and began shaving me.  (Donald 
    was so vague and naive about certain things, and I 
    imagined I could "explain" that the shaving was to 
    cure some un-named "feminine problems."  Besides, I 
    think he would probably prefer my cunt to be hairless.)

    But that was in the future.  I had other concerns at present. 
    Red-faced, I had to ask the deputy to pause twice, so that I 
    could cum, noisily, writhing on his fingers.
       
    When he'd finished, my crotch was as smooth as a baby's -- 
    though though the "new formula" continued to torment my cunt, 
    as promised.  While the Sheriff was admiring the deputy's 
    shoes, Mr. Fish was allowed to wipe away the last traces of 
    lather and then to apply some re-growth inhibiting goo.  (The 
    black bastard really took his time, too.)  I humbly thanked 
    him afterward without having to be prompted.

    Then Officer Williams resumed his search.  He put on a pair of 
    special latex gloves from the box next to the table.  These 
    were, for the most part, as thin as regular exam gloves, but 
    the fingers were textured (not unlike dish-washing gloves), so 
    that a cavity search felt like a sandpapering.
  
    Then he went about "lubricating" me.  Considering the swampy 
    condition of my cunt, I didn't think I really needed any 
    extra lube, but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.   

    When he picked up the big vibrator, I realized that he planned 
    to manufacture natural "lubrication."  He stimulated me 
    remorselessly for several minutes before he was satisfied 
    with the amount of "lube."  He then spent an excruciating 
    amount of time satisfying himself that I wasn't trying to 
    smuggle anything.  And he didn't stop...searching...until 
    I had orgasmed multiple times.  (Those damn gloves!)

    (Few things are as humiliating as having an involuntary 
    orgasm forced -- or "forced" -- upon you.)
  
    After that, I had to shower (with the four men watching and 
    making disparaging comments about my physical imperfections).

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

    They didn't let me dry myself after the shower.  Instead, I 
    stood trembling in the center of the room, hands on head, 
    dripping onto the tile floor, as the Sheriff circled me, 
    caressing his supple black strap.

    "Before we proceed to the penalty for misdemeanor-vagrancy, 
    there's something else that needs to be seen to," he said, 
    in a menacing voice.  "My deputy says you're acting uppity." 

    "I...I...."  
 
    SLAP!  The strap landed precisely across the center of my 
    cringing buttocks.

    "Yes, sir!  I'm s-sorry, sir!"

    "Will you show proper respect in future?"  

    SLAP!

    "Oh, yessir!"  

    "And what is the best way is for a girl like you to show 
    respect for your betters?"

    "I...I don't...."

    SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!

    "Please, sir!"

    "A girl like you shows respect by kneeling down and giving her 
    betters 'bad girl blow jobs' -- wet, sloppy ones -- whenever 
    we want...and that includes Mr. Fish.  Right?"

    SLAP!  SLAP! 

    "Oh, yes!  I promise!  All of you!  Whenever you want!  However 
    you want!  Please, sir!"  

    "Very well.  We'll consider that settled.  Now then, will you 
    accept 'administrative punishment' for misdemeanor vagrancy?"  

    "Yes, sir."

    "Then you will sign the proper consent form and receive six 
    strokes of the strap."  

    Oh, god!  Six more on top of the eight I've already gotten.  
    They were awful -- but they did take my mind off my burning 
    cunt and asshole...and I guess I got what I deserved.

    After the strapping, I had to thank each of them for "seeing 
    to" me. 
 
    I was then assigned to scrub the cell block floor.  It took 
    some time because each of my "betters" came by, one-by-one, 
    to check on my work and to get his blow-job.  (Mr. Fish, who 
    stopped by TWICE, had a surprisingly large cock for so slight 
    a man.  It tasted musty and exotic...and delicious.  I 
    swallowed down his thick cum and thanked him quite sincerely 
    for allowing me the privilege.)
   
    After I finished my work, I was permitted to dress (except for 
    my panties, which were forfeit) and leave, after being warned 
    that I must return next Monday and show that I'm not a vagrant 
    by having at least $200 cash on my person. 

    (I knew that, however much money I'd have, it would be far 
    short of the required amount.) 

    Walking home without panties made me very nervous.  I couldn't 
    shake the impression that people I passed in the street knew 
    how depraved I was....  The insides of my thighs were moist; I 
    hoped it was merely sweat.  When I got home, I stripped naked, 
    verified that, although very wet, my cunt wasn't actually 
    dripping, and then cut a half dozen switches and spanked 
    myself until all the switches were broken and useless.    

		****************************** 
  
Part 3


    Tuesday, June 15th, 7:35 AM

    Dear Diary,

    Yesterday was not nearly so tiring as what I went through 
    the previous Monday.  I arrived at the Sheriff's office 
    with $2.00 cash in my purse, and what ensued was pretty 
    much the same as before.  The humiliation, though, had not 
    paled by repetition and was every bit as intense -- and 
    satisfying -- as it had been the week before.  And, as 
    before, dear diary, I shall probably spend much of the 
    coming week naked and masturbating and re-playing my 
    degradation in my head.

    One of my chores this week was to oil the Sheriff's strap.  
    I couldn't keep from trembling as I pampered the evil thing.

    Though faded, the marks from last week's orgy with the switches 
    still showed and were commented upon by my betters (Mr. Fish in 
    particular).  On the way back home, I stopped off at a dollar 
    store and bought a plastic fly swatter.  It really stings, but 
    doesn't leave much of a mark. 

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

Part 4


    Monday, June 21st, 5:45 PM
    
    Dear Diary,

    Instead of waiting until tomorrow morning, I am so aroused 
    (and humiliated) that I had to report immediately.

    The Sheriff had phoned me Saturday evening that I should 
    expect to spend the night in jail, and I was particularly 
    excited about what might lie in store.  (I had NO idea!)  

    When I got to the office about my usual time, to my surprise, 
    another woman was just putting her purse into a brown crate.  
    "Hey, Sara.  Meet Cassandra...who likes to be called 'Cherry.'
    She's also (heh, heh) a vagrant."

    "Cherry" had light brown hair and was clearly 5 or 6 years 
    older than me, a couple of inches taller, and a few pounds 
    heavier...but generally built along similar lines. 

    As we proceeded back to "Processing," I initially wondered why 
    this stranger was here.  As we undressed, I sneaked glances at 
    her, and I saw that her nipples were erect, her clitoris 
    prominent, and her pubic hair already removed (perhaps 
    permanently?), I became rather jealous of having to share 
    what had been my unique experience with another female.   
    
    But then, as I saw more and more of Cherry's naked body, I 
    became...well...intrigued.  I mean, never in my life have 
    I ever had a lesbian affair.  That would be too sordid even 
    for me.  As corrupt as I am, I don't think I could solicit 
    one -- BUT, if I were ORDERED to do it by, as they say, 
    "legally constituted authority," then I'd have no choice; 
    I'd just have to obey....  Wouldn't I?

    I stopped peeking at her and started openly scrutinizing -- 
    and found that she was doing the same to me.  The Sheriff 
    had an amused look on his face, but I didn't care.  I found 
    my mouth watering.  Her cunt-lips looked...inviting.  

    As they were searching her, I paid rapt attention.  I could 
    guess that I must look very similar.  When it was my time on 
    the table, it was her turn to study me, and she had a hungry 
    look on her face. 

    Afterwards, prior to our shower, they bound each of us (our 
    wrists to our elbows)...and, of course, we would be showering 
    together (ostensibly to save water).  The shower stall would 
    be cramped, and I wondered what it would feel like to rub up 
    against another woman's wet, soapy body.  Would I -- would we 
    -- get so aroused that we orgasmed?  Would it be obvious?  
    With our hands cuffed like that, how in fact would we soap up?  
    Especially our crotches?  Would we have to hump each other 
    like dogs masturbating?  As it turned out, the answer to all 
    these questions was "YES!"     

    They kept us bound for the administrative punishment phase, but 
    freed us for our work assignment -- cleaning the trash out of 
    a store room and hours of moving heavy cartons from the loading 
    dock into the now-empty room.  We spent our "rest periods" 
    giving blow jobs to our betters. 

    Tired and sweaty, we were fed (baloney, beans, and corn bread), 
    bound again, and then put into a cell.  There was only one 
    bunk, and it wasn't long before we had begun exploring each 
    other's bodies with our mouths.  The interior of the cell was 
    brightly lit, and I initially assumed that was so we could be 
    spied on by whomever.  But, when I spotted the red video camera 
    light, I knew it was worse than that.  (Worse?  I will confess 
    to you, dear diary, that I cum just thinking about the 
    existence of a tape that shows what all Cherry and I did to 
    each other that night...and wondering who might be watching 
    it....    

    At any rate, neither of us got much sleep that night. 

    In the morning, an itchy suppository was inserted up our 
    assholes, then we were butt-plugged, put on either end of 
    a double-headed dildo, and left alone for a couple of hours 
    ("alone," that is, except for the video camera!).  

    About mid-morning, we were allowed to dress, and I walked home 
    -- with the butt-plug in place.  (I wondered if anyone I passed 
    could tell.)

    I already miss Cherry sooo much.  I hope we get to see each 
    other again, soon.  My cunt is lonely.  

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

Part 5


    Tuesday, June 29th, 8:10 AM   

    Dear Diary,

    I must admit (at least to you, dear diary) that I was 
    disappointed that Cherry -- or at least some other female 
    "vagrant" -- was not there to share my humiliation and 
    chores and...well...the togetherness that came afterward.  
    I fantasized about Cherry whenever I masturbated...and I 
    did that a lot....  

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

Part 6

    Tuesday, July 6th, 8:50 AM

    Dear Diary, 

    I was alone again yesterday.  Parts of the experience had close 
    to the same impact as in the beginning, but much did not.  Was 
    it that the novelty was wearing off, that I needed to be "seen 
    to" in ever more outrageous ways, that I desperately wanted to 
    share the experience with someone else (preferably Cherry), or 
    perhaps some permutation or combination of these factors.  Then 
    too, Donald is due back from his fishing trip on Sunday, so my 
    "free" time will not be so free henceforth.

    After I had finished dressing and was about to leave the 
    station, the Sheriff told me that he was coming to our 
    house for dinner next week and that, after today, my Monday 
    sessions at the station were indefinitely suspended.  He 
    gave me a DVD entitled "The Best of Sara" as a memento.  
    Is this the end of the adventure?   

    I spanked myself with the fly swatter unmercifully, all day.

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

Part 7

    Friday, July 16th, 11:15 PM

    Dear Diary,

    The Sheriff came to dinner tonight; we ate some of Donald's 
    fish.  I found myself rather tongue-tied in the Sheriff's 
    presence, much to his private amusement.  While Donald was 
    fetching the wine, leaving us alone for a few minutes, the 
    Sheriff made me give him my panties.  So I spent the evening 
    naked under my skirt and teetering just on the edge of orgasm.  
    I've been ordered not to wear panties until further notice.

    For the time being, I must visit the station at noon every 
    Monday, strip, ask the deputy to shave me (if I need it), 
    give him and Mr. Fish a "bad girl" blow job, and then 
    masturbate while they sneer at me. 

    It isn't like it used to be, but it'll have to do...for the 
    present.   

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

Part 8

    Thursday, September 13th, 2:45 PM   

    Dear Diary,

    I read today in the "Doeville University Daily Forum" an 
    announcement that the Bulgarian girls' national gymnastics 
    team will begin its tour of the USA with a visit to our 
    campus next month.  A picture of a toothsome gymnast 
    accompanied the item.  

    Food for thought....



     