Part 2 of this story was developed from cc's "My ENF Fantasy" -- 
with his blessing.  Alert readers will notice that that portion 
centers about one of cc's favorite plot devices.




                          KARMA

                            by

                       C. Lakewood




Part 1  Road Trip

    The Hon. Cassandra Sheridan leaned back in her executive desk 
chair and, through slitted eyes, regarded her young PA tidying up 
after the end-of-session conference.  Cherie Roth was young, trim, 
and toned -- and her buttocks wobbled just enough under her modest 
mini-skirt to hint at how they would look naked and sweating, 
being worked over with a dog whip.  She was bright and ambitious 
and inclined to be rather arrogant toward underlings, but that 
made the fantasy that much sweeter.  A morsel such as Cherie was 
one of the perks of being a state senator, Cassandra thought, 
wistfully, and not being able to utilize her the way she should 
be was one of drawbacks.  God! the senator reminisced, what a 
wonderful time she'd had last year on that "fact-finding" visit 
to Thailand, away from prying reporters and paparazzi....

    She involuntarily licked her lips as she remembered those 
tight teenaged bottoms and the precise, parallel red stripes 
she'd decorated them with.  She wriggled in her fancy chair; 
the crotch of her panties was growing damp, as it always did 
when she thought of that trip.  And going around doing 
commonplace things with her cunt drooling into her panties 
always made her feel delicious -- as long as nobody discovered 
it, of course.  (After all, she mustn't tarnish her image as 
straitlaced but compassionate, an image that had served her well. 
It was ironic that, because of it, she had sponsored the bill 
to severely restrict the right of local authorities to employ 
corporal punishment.)

    Well, she was about to go away for the summer recess.  It 
would be only an RV trip into the Southwest, but she was 
thinking that she might well "get lucky" out in Nevada.  

    "Okay, Cherie, that's good enough.  Lock up the confidential 
papers, and let the cleaning crew deal with the rest.  You can 
leave anytime.  Have a good vacation, and I'll see you in two 
months." 

    "Thank you, Senator.  Bye."  Cherie closed the safe, twirled 
the dial, and exited, gratefully.

    As her office door was closing behind Cherie, Cassandra was 
already at her second (and secret) safe.  Keeping her driver's 
license, a couple of keys, and a thick wad of cash, she stashed 
her wallet, jewelry, Louis Vuitton purse, Patek Philippe watch, 
prop Kawasaki rimless glasses, and designer cell phone.  She 
closed the safe and left her office with an air of expectation.

    She took a cab to where she'd parked her nondescript RV and 
efficiently went about modifying her appearance in order to foil 
the snoopers who were always lurking about.  

    First, she dyed her light brown hair auburn and re-styled it.  
She hoped and expected to get naked during the trip -- perhaps 
often -- and so contemplated dying her sparse pubic hair, too, 
which was now an unlikely contrast.  But, faced with the work 
involved and the uncertainty of the resulting color, in the end 
she just sighed and shaved it off.  

    She was fairly happy with the look of her body (that she 
worked so hard to maintain), though she did wish her breasts 
were bigger, her abs tighter, and her butt smaller.    

    She dressed in a t-shirt, mini-skirt, and sandals (instead of 
her usual power suit and heels) and finished off with minimal 
makeup and a lighter-than-usual shade of lipstick.  
 
    In the end, she was well-pleased.  Even close scrutiny was 
unlikely to recognize this casual tourist for the up-and-coming 
politician she'd been half an hour earlier.  She also looked a 
few years younger -- early 30s perhaps. 

    Before getting under way, she spread a towel on the driver's 
seat (a wise precaution, as it turned out).

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

    She'd been on the road for little more than three hours -- and 
had still not reached the state line -- when she turned off the 
interstate and, a few minutes later, pulled into the "Robert LeRoy 
Parker Memorial Camp Ground."  There was plenty of daylight left, 
and she had originally planned to get a great deal farther on, but 
her fantasies had been interfering with her driving, her crotch was 
a swamp, and she just had to find a place to park (at length) so 
that she could masturbate.

    The area itself was full of woodsy charm and practically 
deserted, but she thought most of the other campers she did 
see might have been named "Cletus" and "Brandine" or "Clampett."  
In addition, the office building was a shack, staffed by a hick 
airhead wearing the name-tag "Brittanee," who turned out to be 
barely computer semi-literate.  

    As the girl fiddled interminably with her PC, Cassandra 
slumped lower and lower in her chair, unmindful of how much 
the hem of her mini-skirt was riding up.  She was normally 
hypocritically modest in public, but her mind was occupied 
just then with attempting to conceal her irritation toward 
Brittanee and with trying to keep a lid on her growing need 
to masturbate.  But, unused to being thwarted, she was 
practically beside herself with repressed rage by the time 
the girl finally accessed the proper form.

    "First name?" Brittanee asked.  

    "Cherie," Cassandra lied smoothly (though she couldn't have 
explained even to herself why she was using her PA's name rather 
than some entirely fictitious alias).

    Click-click-click-click-click-click.  Click.

    "Middle?"

    "En-em-eye."

    Brittanee looked up, incredulous.  "Your middle name is 
'Enema'?"

    Cassandra had to remind herself to maintain a cool demeanor, 
as she did when faced with nosy reporters or dimwitted colleagues. 
"No.  Not 'Enema.'  N...M...I....  No...Middle...Initial."

    Brittanee blinked and then, several seconds later, nodded.  

    Click.

    "Last?"

    "Roth."

    Click-click-click-click.  Click.

    "License...."

    "Look," Cassandra interrupted.  "I'm sooo tired.  I'll pay you 
in advance, in cash, right now -- and even include a tip if we can 
let the rest of that go until later.  What do you say?"

    "'Tip' turned out to be the magic word.

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

    Minutes later, Cassandra had found her assigned space near the 
edge of the woods, parked, and retreated to the depths of her RV.  
There she stripped naked, started an appropriate fantasy rolling 
in her head, and got to work.  She used only the lightest, 
will-o-the-wisp touch, however, for, as much as she had 
anticipated this, she didn't want to cum too quickly.... 

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

    She was well into the fantasy, playing both the "D" and the 
"s," when a distraction gradually intruded...which turned out to 
be a raucous car horn...right outside.  She was trying to ignore 
it, when it stopped -- and was replaced, a moment later, by an 
insistent pounding on the side of the RV.  

    Scowling, Cassandra huddled into a robe a opened the door a 
crack.  She discovered a skinny yokel with a homemade haircut, 
jug ears, a scraggly moustache, and a severe overbite. 

    "That there's ahr spot ya'll's parkin' in, lady," he drawled.  

    "Let me dress," Cassandra said, aloud.  (To herself, she said, 
"FUCK-ING RIDGERUNNERS!" and gave thanks that her district was in 
the urbanized northeastern part of the state, where there were 
few of the hillbillies who were so common hereabouts.)

    She threw on her clothes and pocketed some some money (in case 
a further "tip" became necessary).  As an afterthought, she hid her
driver's license and the rest of her cash in the secret compartment 
under the front seat.

    Then, wearing a disdainful expression, she stalked off to 
straighten out a few people.

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

Part 2  Ups and Downs

    It took a while to sort out Brit-ta-nee and the hillbilly 
interlopers, and, throughout, Cassandra was boiling inside.  
But she managed to maintain an icy exterior, even though she 
showed little restraint in ladling out venom onto everyone in 
sight. 

    Afterward, still keyed up, she took a walk in the woods to 
unwind.  It was pleasant there; she was surrounded by a variety 
of natural fragrances and even heard the occasional chattering 
of a bird.  But it was also a hot day, even in the shade, for 
there was not much breeze in among the trees.  So, while she 
was cooling off mentally, she was heating up physically.  And, 
by the time she spied the clearing with its fair-sized pond, she 
was really beginning to sweat.  It was so tranquil...deserted.  
All the damn hillbillies seemed miles away....

    She briefly considered going back to the RV and fetching a 
towel and swimsuit, but decided that would be too much bother 
-- she was a state senator, after all.  Feeling invincible, she 
daringly stripped off her clothes, piled them neatly under a 
gnarled dogwood, and waded out into the lake, with no more than 
a token glance about.  She lowered herself neck-deep into the 
sun-dappled water and sighed contentedly as the last of her 
tension drained away.

    She sighed again -- with more than contentment this time -- and 
let her fingers spider-walk down across her erect nipples...and 
then farther down...to forage between her legs.... 

    Hairless and underwater, her cunt felt so different.  It was 
like she was fondling -- and being fondled by -- someone else 
entirely.  It was delicious, and she prolonged it until her 
long-delayed orgasm at last overwhelmed her.

    And then she did it again.

    And again. 

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

    Pleasantly fatigued, she paddled about for a bit, then moved 
up onto the far bank, stretched out in a patch of fragrant 
clover...and dozed off.

    When she awoke, it was obviously late afternoon; the sun was 
sinking.  Wasting no time, she swam back toward the twisted 
dogwood and scrambled up the low bank to where she'd left her 
things....

    GONE!

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

    There followed a few minutes of panic, in which Cassandra 
scurried about, searching places her clothes couldn't possibly 
be: under small stones, behind saplings....

    She finally collapsed in a muck-sweat, panting, crouched with 
her arms wrapped around her, her eyes tightly shut (as if that 
would conceal her).

    At length, she managed to overcome her hysteria enough to get 
herself moving back toward the camp area and the safety of her RV.  
But the woods, which had been so welcoming earlier, had now turned 
menacing, sinister, oppressive.  The trail seemed lined with whippy 
branches that flogged her legs and bottom as she passed.  The 
leaf-mold littering the ground made footing treacherous.  And there 
were frequent and inexplicable noises....

    Most of all, she was terrified by the risk of being caught out 
here naked and becoming tomorrow's headline. 

    The closer she got to the main camp area, the more people were 
about, and the more she had to take cover.  She wound up worming 
her way tortuously through the tall weeds, the warm foliage 
tickling her belly, butt, nipples, and cunt.  (And she seemed to 
be leaving behind a trail of pussy-juice that even a coon-hound 
with Alzheimer's could have followed with ease.)

    But she eventually did make it back to where she'd parked her 
RV....

    And it, too, was GONE.

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

Part 3  The Arm (and Fingers) of the Law

    After another timeout for a panic-attack, Cassandra succeeded 
in pulling herself together yet again.  As she crouched in the tall 
grass, her breathing slowly returned to normal, and the violent 
trembling became no more than an occasional twitch.  She gradually 
realized that she had to move -- and soon -- and that helped.  She 
planned her route over to the office hut where she'd checked in, 
waited until the area was clear, and then made her move.  She 
darted from the brush where she'd hidden...across to a spectacular 
rhododendron...then to a spot behind a dumpster...then next to a 
parked car....

    Then, finally, to the rear of the office shack.

    (As she peeped through an open window, she had the obvious 
passing thought, "Fucking hillbillies!  Too lazy to install air 
conditioning....")

    Brittanee was gone, and, in her place there was an older woman 
-- mid-40s, maybe -- rather beefy, with short, salt-and-pepper 
hair.  She was playing solitaire on the computer. 

    Cassandra rapped on the clapboard siding.  "Sssst!" she hissed, 
in a stage whisper.  "Ma'am...miss...whatever...."

    Startled, the woman looked up.  "Who might you be?"

    "My name's...um...um...Cherie...Cherie Roth.  Please...please 
let me in.  I'm all alone and have no clothes, no ID, no money, no 
RV...nothing.  Everything I had is GONE!  STOLEN!" 

    "Stolen?  From here?"

    "Yes!  I checked in this afternoon...."

    The woman turned back to her keyboard.  "Roth, you say?"  She 
shook her head.  "Nobody of that name is registered.  What's the 
license number on your RV?"

    "How should I know THAT?  There was a dimwitted girl here -- 
Brittanee -- she'd remember me.  Ask her."

    The woman reached for a phone.  "I will.  In the meantime, you 
get yourself in here, where I can keep an eye on you."

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

    Cassandra, having scurried willy-nilly into the office, was 
standing breathless and pigeon-toed in front the woman.  "But 
why can't I have something -- anything -- to wear?" she whined.

    "Because I don't trust you, and I suspect that you're probably 
more manageable when you're naked.  Now, stand up straight, and 
keep your arms at your sides.  Your phoney 'modesty' is really 
irritating."

    "You have no right...."

    "I have more rights than you can imagine, missy.  I'm an 
auxiliary deputy, so you just mind your manners." 

    Just then, the office screen door banged open, and Brittanee 
came bounding in, giggling, "Aunt Thelma, you ack-chally caught 
a flasher?"    
  
    Cassandra squealed, sank into a crouch, and tried to cover 
herself with her hands.

    "Okay.  That does it," Thelma growled.  She stepped over to 
Cassandra and jerked her to her feet. 

    Cassandra lost her head.  Catching Thelma off-balance, she 
managed to deck the heavier woman and then made a break for the 
door.

    But Brittanee had not lettered repeatedly in high school for 
nothing.  She easily checked Cassandra into the wall and kept her 
pinned there until Thelma had recovered and cuffed Cassandra's 
wrists behind her back.

    "Now, then," Thelma said, taking her seat behind the desk.  
"You ever see this one before, Brittanee?"

    "Well, she WAS in here earlier...twice," the girl conceded.  
"The first time, she wanted to rent a space, but wouldn't give 
me the plate number of the RV that she SAID she had and wouldn't 
show me no ID....  The second time was a little later.  She'd 
gotten into a fight with a nice family and was real snotty to 
them, to me, and to ever'body."

    Cassandra was speechless. 

    "Okay, that's enough...for now," Thelma concluded.  "I have to 
inform you, Jane Doe aka Cherie Roth, that you are under arrest."

    "No!" Cassandra gasped.  "What're you charging me with?"        

    "Public nudity and assaulting a police officer will do for 
starters...."  Thelma looked smug.  "Brittanee, hon, you look 
through the first aid box and see if you can't find some sort 
of lubricant and rubber gloves.  Meantime, I'll advise the 
prisoner of her rights, then I'll phone the Sheriff, and 
THEN...I'll show you how to do a big-time cavity search...."

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

    Cassandra was miserable.  Thelma had carefully demonstrated her 
technique for cavity searches and had then allowed Brittanee to 
practice, over and over.  Both were much amused to discover that 
their prisoner was so aroused by their treatment that her cunt was 
overflowing.  Even so, they used plenty of lube -- and not normal 
stuff, either, but some sort of ointment that made her itch 
abominably...which in turn caused her to writhe and wriggle and 
rub her thighs together....  And then the two bitches would punish 
her legs and bottom with switches until she managed to come to 
"attention" again for a minute or two.

    And they laughed at her -- AT HER!  And commented that her 
breasts were rather too small...and her waist rather too 
thick...and her rump rather too broad....  All the while, she 
was blushing and sweating and begging for mercy. 

    "It's simply not fair," she thought.  "I've often played an 's' 
-- but only in fantasies...just for fun.  In real life, I'm a 'D.'  
Oh, god! -- how my cunt and asshole itch.  Those damn bitches!  
I'm a SENATOR!  I should be the one in control, tormenting those 
two yokels.  But I WILL be.  As soon as I get back to the 
capital, things'll be SO different....

    "But, first, how am I going to get out of this mess?  This 
morning, I was powerful -- but now I have NOTHING...except my 
wits.  Maybe this Sheriff'll turn out to be a discreet and 
reasonable man, someone I can confide in, and who will see the 
advantage of having a friend in the Senate....  He and I could 
sip sherry and talk about law and order, both philosophically 
and practically.  I'd lay on the charm with a trowel...and mix 
in promises of appropriate pork...and then, voila!"

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

    Eventually, the Sheriff arrived and personally took charge.  
Cassandra considered that encouraging...at first.  But he looked 
a lot like Victor McLaglen and seemed to have two personalities.  
Toward her, he was crisp, intelligent, and articulate, but, with 
Thelma and Brittanee, he was the personification of the red-neck 
good ol' boy.

    There was obviously more to him than met the eye, and Cassandra 
wondered if that would turn out to her advantage.  But she wasn't 
at all pleased when he made her stand, naked and cuffed, out in 
front of the office, where she was gawked at by hillbillies, while 
he gossiped and drank coffee with Thelma and Brittanee.   

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

    En route to town, in the back of the Sheriff's car, Cassandra 
mulled over when she should reveal her true identity...and what 
exactly she should say when she did confess.  Even though, in the 
car, she could speak with him one-on-one, she preferred to do it 
face-to-face, rather than talking to the back of his head.  So she 
decided to wait until they were inside the Sheriff's office....

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

    That office, as it turned out, was virtually a porno cliché.  
She'd read about fictional jails arranged along these lines, but 
never dreamed that one might actually exist -- complete with a 
couple of drooling deputies, a prominently placed exam table, a 
large shower stall (curtainless of course), delousing equipment, 
a camera for mug shots...and comfy chairs for privileged spectators.

    She gritted her teeth as the deputies stared at her and grinned 
and licked their lips shamelessly.  But the Sheriff eventually 
sent both men out on separate errands, and her chance had come.     

    "Um...Sheriff?  My-my name's not really 'Cherie Roth'...," she 
began.

    "Oh, I know who you are, Senator.  I was in the gallery during 
the debate on your recent corporal punishment bill.  You were very 
eloquent then, and now it's law....  At least, it WILL be law when 
it officially takes effect in...let's see...57 days.  'Til then, 
the old rules apply, and I'd be more than happy to make you 
intimately familiar with them."  He lit a crooked black cigar.  
"But...I'm willing to give you a choice: you can answer the various 
charges -- assaulting a police officer, gross public indecency, and 
all the rest of it -- under your real name, with full press and TV 
coverage...OR...'Cherie Roth' can quietly plead guilty and accept 
an indeterminate sentence (which probably will work out to be...57 
days).  What do you say?" 

    Shivering, "Cherie Roth" just hung her head and thought again 
of Thailand.

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

Part 4  The Prelims

    A quarter of a hour later, one deputy (Clevon, the more 
inbred-looking one) returned, with a bucket of fried chicken 
(extra crispy), a tub of cole slaw, a dozen doughnuts, and 
two quarts of malt liquor.  Sheriff and deputy proceeded to 
chow down, while the prisoner "Cherie Roth" stood, up on the 
balls of her feet, with her legs spread and her hands on her 
head, watching them eat and listening to her stomach rumble.  

    At last, the Sheriff lit a cigar, leaned back in his big 
desk chair, and told Clevon to begin processing the "fish."

    Clevon carried the last doughnut over to the PC, sat down, 
and flexed his fingers like a concert pianist.  He called up 
a booking form and glanced at a slip of paper beside the 
keyboard.  "First name 'Cherry' an' last name 'Roth'?"

    "Yes...sir," she answered.  "Except that my first name is 
pronounced 'Sheh-ree.'"

    "Haw!  No way.  It'd be spelled different, then.  'Sides, 
that there's too snooty.  Ah likes 'Cherry' lots better -- a 
good name fer a whore or a stripper.  Now, movin' on....  
This note don't give no middle name."

    "En-em...um....  No middle initial."

    "Age?"

    "Thirty-s...um...thirty-three."

    The Sheriff winked and blew a smoke ring.  (He knew how old the 
senator really was.)

    "Add-ress?"

    "Well, my RV was stolen...."

    "Maybe.  Whut's yer perm'nent add-ress?"

    "Oh...um...575 13th Street, Capital City."  (She congratulated 
herself on making a fake street address out of the first five 
digits of her phone number; she would surely remember that, if 
necessary.)

    "Marital status?"

    "Single."  

    "DEE-scription....  Hair, auburn...."  He squinted at her.  
"Right now, that is.  Whut's the REAL color, Cherry?"  

    "L-light brown, sir."  (The deputy wasn't as dense as she'd 
first thought.)

    "Eyes?"

    "Hazel."

    "Hokay.  Now git yerse'f up on that there scale."

    Happy to break position, she hurried to obey.

    Clevon fiddled with the weights and then announced, "130."  He 
measured her with a tape ("34-26-36"), and consulted the height 
chart on the wall ("5-7").  He circled back to the PC to enter 
the information, then picked up a digital camera, drawled, "Mug 
shots, sweetheart," and began snapping photos, both facial and 
full length, from a variety of angles.

    After that, he took her fingerprints. 

    Back at the PC, he looked up at the Sheriff.  "Whut're we 
chargin' her with?"

    "Assaulting a police officer, gross public indecency, lewd and 
lascivious conduct, and -- since she doesn't appear to be carrying 
$200 cash -- misdemeanor vagrancy," the Sheriff said.  "You can 
look up the codes and fill 'em in later." 

    The deputy chuckled.  "Oh, Ah knows 'misdemeanor vagrancy' is 
214.10 -- done filled that one in often enuf."
     
    The Sheriff, having finished his cigar, got up and ordered 
"Cherry" back into position.  Then, standing casually off to one 
side, he began snapping his well-oiled strap nonchalantly, with 
seemingly effortless flicks of his wrist.  She trembled, and sweat 
trickled down her vulnerable butt-crack.  With each flick, the 
end of the strap came closer and closer, until it was giving her 
quivering bottom teasing kisses.

    "We got some others coming in bye and bye," he said.  "So we'll 
postpone the rest of the standard processing....  But, to pass the 
time, Clevon, if you've got any questions -- personal questions -- 
for the prisoner, why you just go ahead and interrogate her."

    The deputy nodded.  "Y'all got no beaver, girl," he said, 
grinning.  "That there means yer lousy...or y'all's a whore...or 
-- prob'ly -- both.  Well, we shore know how to treat whores 
around here...an' Ah got me some speshul stuff fer yer lice...."

    "I don't have...," she began.

    "Nah, nah," he cut her off.  "Good girls is seen an' not 
heard...'less they bin ast a question.  An' y'all wants to 
be a GOOD little girl, right?"  

    SNAP! urged the strap. 

    "Yes!" 

    "Yes, whut, Cherry?" 

    SNAP! 

    "Yes, s-sir!  I promise!"

    "Promise?  Promise eezackly WHUT?"

    "I promise to be g-good...a good little girl, sir."

    "An' allus obey yer betters?"

    "I'll obey m-my bet-betters, sir."

    "That there's a real sexy mouth.  Ah'll just bet y'all is real 
good with it.  Right?"  

    "Oh, god!" she thought, hesitating. 

    SNAP!  SNAP!  SNAP!  

    "YES, SIR!  Whatever you say!" 

    "Y'all wanna use it on us?" 

    SNAP! 

    "Yes, sir!"

    "An' moan and wiggle an' show ever'body how much you LOOOVE it?"

    SNAP! 

    "Yes, sir!" 

    "An' swaller ever' last drop?" 

    "Yes, sir!  I'll swallow ALL of it!"

    "An' lick yer lips afterwards an' beg fer more?"

    "Yes, sir!"  ("Oh, god!" she thought.  "The idea's actually 
making me horny.")  "Please, sir, I'll do it however you want, 
whenever you want...."

    "Like my ol' pappy used to say, 'They's no time like the 
present.'"

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

Part 5  Thelma Redux  

    Some time later, as both the Sheriff and the deputy were 
enjoying cigars -- and their prisoner was back in position 
and desperately wanting to finger herself -- they heard a 
throbbing car pull up outside the station.

    The Sheriff straightened in his chair.  "Sounds like Pete," 
he observed.  "Now we can get back to official business."

    The office door opened, and the other deputy -- a big, swarthy, 
hook-nosed man -- entered.

    "Hey, Meat."  Clevon nodded to the man.  

    Cassandra/Cherie/Cherry blinked.  ("Meat?" she wondered, 
vaguely.)

    "Hey," Pete answered.  "Thelma'll be right along.  We miss 
much?"

    "Jus' the pree-lims....  Hey, Thelma...lookin' good." 

    The woman from the camp ground entered, now dressed in a crisp 
blue uniform.  She smiled at the men and leered at the prisoner.  
Cherry cringed mentally.  She felt much more vulnerable with that 
woman present.

    As if reading his prisoner's mind, the Sheriff lit a fresh 
cigar and gestured to Thelma.  "Cherry -- the prisoner -- needs 
a shower.  See to it, will you?"

    "My pleasure, Sheriff." 

    Thelma strutted over and delivered a stinging slap to Cherry's 
already tenderized bottom, herding her towards the curtainless 
shower stall.  "In there an' scrub down, fish!  And do a good 
job...a THOROUGH job...or else somebody'll have to help you...." 
    
    "Yes, ma'am!"  Cherry scampered into the stall.  Thelma turned 
the only tap, and Cherry squealed as the spray of icy water hit her.

    Thelma chuckled.  "Better get used to cold water; hot water's 
for good girls."  She tossed her a cake of coarse soap.  "Now get 
busy....  Start with your hairless cunt."

    Cherry obediently began rubbing the soap against her crotch, 
though the soap didn't lather very well.  "How dare that bitch 
refer to my 'CUNT'!" she seethed.  Shivering, she looked around 
the room, at the lecherous yokels who would be her "betters" for 
the next 57 days -- the butch bitch Thelma, the treacherous 
Sheriff, and the cretinous deputies.  (At least that pervert 
Brittanee, wasn't around.)  She promised herself that, when she 
got back to the senate, they'd all pay...and pay...and pay....

    Thelma interrupted her thoughts of revenge with more orders.  
"Do your titties now!  Your nipples look like they're not as 
stiff as they were earlier.  Scruba-dub-dub, 'til you've got 
'em stiff and proud.    

    "Now your butt!  Get in there good...deep between your cheeks.  
Make sure you get your asshole REALLY clean...'cause we WILL be 
sticking our fingers up there later....  Soap up two fingers real 
good and then goose yourself...hard....  Yeah, in and out, in and 
out.  Good practice for you...."

    After watching her prisoner finger-fuck her own asshole for 
several minutes, Thelma turned the shower off.  "Stay in there 
for your delousing, fish," she ordered.

    Clevon leaped to his feet.  "Lemme do that, Thel," he 
volunteered.

    "Well, I guess you ARE the expert...."

    Clevon had already hauled over the large green canister.  "Turn 
around, Cherry....  Bend over an' spread yer butt-cheeks.  Cooties 
like t'hide where the sun don't shine."  He sprayed her asshole for 
a couple of minutes, then had her stand up and face front so he 
could work on her cunt.  

    Her crotch and ass-crack were already burning and itching from 
the soap, but the potent delousing fluid made her hop up and down 
and whimper, "Please...oh, god, please...."

    "Ah thinks she LIKES it," Clevon chortled.  He finished by 
dousing Cherry liberally all over, from head to toe.

    The excess fluid disappeared down the shower's floor drain, but 
the acrid odor lingered.  Nose wrinkling, Thelma flipped a wall 
switch, and a ceiling exhaust fan whirred into action, vacuuming 
away the fumes and the humidity.

    After Cherry had drip-dried sufficiently, she was ordered out 
of the stall and into the center of the room.

    "Position," Thelma growled.  Cherry spread her feet widely 
apart and put her hands on her head.  There she stood, trembling 
under the effects of the delousing fluid.

    "Pee-ooo!  That stuff really stinks, girl," Clevon laughed.  

    "Burns and itches, too, they say," the Sheriff added.  "Well, 
the smell will soon pretty much disappear, and the burning will 
go away, but I'm afraid the itch will stay with you a very long 
time.  Not much you can do about that...but I'll give you a 
couple minutes to try...as long as you don't break position."   

    Cherry's betters all enjoyed the sight of her wriggling and 
squirming in a fruitless attempt to quell the savage itch that 
was centered in her loins.

    After a bit, Thelma snapped on latex exam gloves.  She said to 
the Sheriff, "We searched her pretty thoroughly this afternoon, 
Brittanee and me, and I'm willing to stipulate that she's got no 
contraband hidden in her hair, ears, nose, or mouth.  It won't 
hurt none to double-check the other places, though."

    "Carry on," the Sheriff replied.

    "Okay..., 'Cherry,' Thelma said.  "Lift your titties by the 
nipples and shake 'em.  That's enough.  Hands on head, now.  
Squat down and frog-march around the room.  Stop.  Cough three 
times and hop up and down in place.  Okay.  Frog-march some more."

    She waited until Cherry was sweating heavily and gasping for 
breath and then had her halt and resume the "position."

    "Almost time to go exploring, but you should know that there's 
a budget crunch on, and we're trying to save money in various ways. 
You're gonna have to provide your own lubrication for the cavity 
search....  So go ahead."  Cherry regarded her blankly.  Thelma 
raised an eyebrow.  "Start 'peeling the peach,' as we sometimes 
say in these parts...or 'driving Miss Daisy,' or 'spanking the 
clam'...."  Cherry continued to look befuddled.  Thelma grimaced.  
"God!  Are you thick!  FIN-GER-FUCK-YOUR-CUNT!  And use your left 
hand." 

    The light went on at last, and Cherry obeyed -- none too 
happily.  Her left hand moved awkwardly to her crotch, and, 
staring at the floor, she began playing with her clit and 
cunt-lips. 

    "Look up," Thelma ordered.  "Let your betters see your face 
as you work.  And don't you dare cum without my permission.  
This is for economy, not for your satisfaction."

    They kept her at it for almost ten minutes, stopping and 
starting, commenting on her technique and her appearance, 
warning her not to cum....

    Thelma finally halted her and told her to bend over, then reach 
back and spread her butt-cheeks.  "And, like before, look at your 
betters."  She waggled her gloved fingers.  "Ready?  Here we come."

    She slid two fingers deeply into Cherry's cunt (teasing the 
aroused clit in passing) and zeroed in on the swollen G-spot.

    "Uuunnh...," Cherry moaned.
 
    "You LIKE this," Thelma sneered and added another finger.  
"Don't you?  Tell the truth."

    Cherry murmured, "Yes, ma'am, I...I li-ike it."

    And she DID like it.  But, at the same time, she hated it.  The 
prospect of cumming for the amusement of these twisted hicks was 
beyond humiliating.  Revenge fantasies swirled through her brain, 
at odds with her mounting arousal, as Thelma's skilled fingers 
played her throbbing cunt and twitching asshole like a virtual 
concert master.

    "Oh...GOD!  Oh, ma-ma'am....  Please...." 

    "'Please?'  'Please' what?

    "Please don't make me cum...not here, not in front of them...."

    Thelma leaned close and hissed into Cherry's ear.  "Get this 
straight, you pervert trash, while you're in custody, no matter 
how long that'll be, WE will control your orgasms.  You'll cum 
whenever and however we want...and you won't cum when we don't 
want you to.  It doesn't matter what you want; you have no say 
one way or the other.  Now, cum for the boys!"  

    Immediately, as if she were programmed, Cherry surrendered to 
Thelma's relentless fingers and helplessly began cumming over and 
over and over....
  
		******************************

Part 6  Work Release

    After a night in a cell (during which she discovered why the 
big deputy was nicknamed "Pete the Meat"), Cherry was given some 
cold, leftover chicken for breakfast and then was issued a pair 
of cheap flip-flops and a t-shirt emblazoned, "Robert LeRoy Parker 
Memorial Camp Ground."  (Though tight across the chest, the shirt 
was long enough -- JUST long enough -- to cover her hairless cunt 
with about an inch to spare.)

    She was then reminded that she'd have to earn enough money to 
eventually pay for some clothes and a bus ticket back to Capital 
City.  Therefore, instead of just being allowed to loll around 
her cell, she was enrolled in the work release program; she'd 
pick up trash and do other menial jobs at the camp ground during 
the day, dance at the JayBird bar in the evening, and sleep (and 
service the law) in her cell at night.

    She spent much of her sentence in a welter of rage and 
self-pity, but she did find ways of coping.  The nights were 
not entirely unpleasant, for example, even though she had to 
shower in cold water and be deloused (renewing her crotch-itch) 
every night before the "conjugal visits" began.  She quickly 
discovered that, if she were cooperative and obedient, the men 
could be appreciative.  She found stripping demeaning -- and 
lap-dancing worse -- until she learned a sort of dissociative, 
"out-of-body" technique, in which she was able to observe the 
performance as if she were just another member of the audience.  
Towards the end, she was even imagining that the rest of the 
audience was made up of teenaged Thai girls, who insisted she 
do all sorts of wonderfully obscene things....

    The days out at the camp ground were the worst.  Every 
time she tried drifting off into fantasy-land, something 
would always drag her back to sordid reality.  The t-shirt 
didn't cover much, and teenaged yokels -- both boys and girls 
-- followed her around for hours, ogling her.  Worst of all, 
though, Brittanee was constantly supervising, correcting, 
belittling, and prompting her with a switch.  Her frequent 
breaks were spent satisfying Thelma or Brittanee.  (And she 
was rather surprised to find that Thelma's cunt tasted sweeter 
than Brittanee's.)

    But the day of her release did come at last.  After one 
final delousing, she was presented with an almost diaphanous 
mini-skirt, a bus ticket home, and $17.87 (her earnings, after 
deduction of various expenses).  She was allowed to keep the 
now rather frayed and faded t-shirt and worn flip-flops.

    There was one final indignity, however.  The bus was 
"somehow" over-booked, and she had to stand up the entire 
trip back to Capital City.  That was tiring, but otherwise 
didn't matter much.  She was preoccupied with looking 
forward a few hours to the time she was safe again in her 
own apartment and could give her cunt the attention it was 
crying out for.  She was so preoccupied, in fact, that she 
was largely oblivious to the looks -- lustful (male and some
female) or disapproving (most of the female) -- she received 
during the whole of the trip.

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

Part 7  Some Ten Months Later....

    There was a brisk knock on his office door, and the Sheriff 
looked up from his PC as Clevon entered, grinning.

    "We got us a visitor, Sheriff -- Cherry Roth."

    The Sheriff seemed more smug than surprised as she followed the 
deputy into the office.  She was in the same outfit that she'd been 
wearing the last time he'd seen her.

    "Um...Sheriff, sir....  I find that I have a broken tail-light.  
Since I'm not carrying any cash...none at all...I was hoping you 
could direct me to an ATM or to a mechanic who'd take a credit 
card."  

    "A defective car AND no cash?  Well, I'm afraid that you'll 
have to ask Clevon to 'process' your request.  And be polite."

    "Yes, sir, Sheriff."  She nodded.  Her voice was meek, but 
there was an undertone of excitement in it.

    After the two of them exited, the Sheriff leaned back in his 
big chair.  His expression was thoughtful.  At length, he turned 
again to his PC, called up his e-mail program, and began typing. 


	From:    Sheriff@CaneCty.gov 
	To:      Cherie_Roth@statemail.gov
	Subject: Identity Theft
	Date:    1 July 2009

	Dear Ms. Roth:

	I have in custody a woman -- late 30s, 5'7", dyed hair, 
	hazel eyes -- who claims to be Miss Cherie (no middle 
	initial) Roth of Capital City.  

	Please phone my office at your earliest convenience so 
	that we can discuss the possibility of your visiting 
	here to confront this woman.  Together, we could also 
	determine what additional penalties might be imposed 
	on her....

