Posing a challenge, Joe Doe sketched several possible plots.  
I developed the following story from the one he called "Harsh 
Judgment." 





             QUIS CUSTODIET IPSOS CUSTODES?

                           by

                       C. Lakewood



    There were eight of them, all traveling together in a custom 
van, en route home from a judicial conference in Memphis.  It was 
rather a distinguished group: Judge Milton Hardcastle and his wife, 
Victoria (a much younger woman, reputed to be descended from 
Hawaiian royalty), 50-ish Judge Roy Snyder and his wife, Constance 
(herself a part-time judge), deceptively youthful Judge Harry Stone 
and his wife, Christine (a former defense attorney), and two 
unmarried judges (crusty Henry Hawthorn and lovely Ashley Marsh).

    Hardcastle, the eldest of the group, suggested they stop by 
a certain women's prison he'd heard of...to have a glimpse at 
(ahem!) "Southern Justice."  Regionally biased, intellectually 
intrigued, secretly titillated -- or all three -- the others agreed.

    So they turned off the Interstate and drove for a while, along 
impeccably smooth, clean roads, through fairly flat, rather 
uninteresting country.  Then, to the right, they glimpsed the 
tangled mangrove swamp that surrounded the prison.  

    "This whole area was once a fen," Hardcastle noted.  "They 
drained it all long ago, but, when they built the prison, they 
let that part revert.  A natural wall.  Impenetrable, except for 
one road up ahead."  

    They came presently to a pristine road running off to the right 
and turned up it, pausing briefly to show ID at the gate and then 
continuing on between the stout guard towers and past the yellow 
and black sign that warned: 

		AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY 
		VISITORS WILL BE SEARCHED

    With the oppressive swamp looming on both sides, the heat and 
humidity immediately increased and began taxing the van's A/C.  
Then, at length, the swamp suddenly opened up, and they saw a 
broad compound ahead, the perimeter outlined merely by a series 
of large, white-washed stones.  A sign marked 

			VISITORS -->

pointed to the right.  In that direction lay a big colonial-style 
building, white with royal blue trim, surrounded by a lush green 
lawn, shade trees, and impressive flower beds.

    In contrast, the other end of the compound was a sun-baked, 
graveled area containing several grim cinder-block buildings.  
A gang of young women in crop-tops and low-rise short-shorts 
was raking the gravel or caring for half a dozen horses. 

    Part of Ashley -- the ardent feminist part -- was naturally 
appalled by what she saw, but there was another side to her 
psyche...and other feelings....  

    The warden and the local Sheriff greeted the group and led 
their guests into the depths of the big headquarters building, 
where they were made comfortable in a room that, somewhat 
incongruously, resembled a posh club -- walnut paneling, marble 
top tables, leather recliners, drinks, Cuban cigars.... 

    Warden Brooke, a small round man in a cliché white suit -- 
balding, beady-eyed, and jowly, described the workings of the 
place, while the bulky Sheriff sipped his bourbon-and-branch 
quietly.

    Brooke pointed with pride at the string of LCD TVs circling 
the room.  "We get every NFL game, most major league games, and 
a lot of college football...and with the CCTV cameras all around, 
we can monitor the prisoners anywhere."

    Ashley favored him with a brilliant smile.  "Can we then watch 
a prisoner being processed?"

    The warden's face fell.  "Unforch'nately, ma'am, there are no 
new arrivals due today.  I'm terribly sorry."

    Ashley sighed.  "How disappointing.  It would have been so 
fascinating...and instructive, of course.  Isn't there anything 
you can do?  Run one of your prisoners through again, perhaps?"  

    "Well...," the warden hesitated, then turned to confer quietly 
with the Sheriff.  When he turned back to the group again, he wore 
an enigmatic expression.  "With the system we have here, there are 
some things we just can't do -- like double-processing an inmate.  
But...what we COULD do....  Well, we been planning to hold a-a 
'demonstration' of sorts.  See, there's a bunch of local high 
school seniors with good-sized juvie records, that're headed for 
real trouble...soon...'less they change their ways.  So we're 
having one of those 'Scared Straight' sessions.  Show 'em what 
life in prison's like.  We even hired a woman to play a new 
con...gonna process her and ever'thin'.  Now, we COULD get those 
kids in here this afternoon, and you all would be more'n welcome 
to observe 'em...."

    Every one of the Eight thought that was a wonderful idea.

    "But," the warden continued, "the woman we hired is out of 
town.  Won't be back for days."  He scratched his chin.  "What 
we could do...under the circumstances and purely for demonstration 
purposes only...is process one of you ladies."

    This received mixed reactions among the Eight, until the 
Sheriff interrupted with, "Of course, bein' true gennlemen, 
we'd exempt the MARRIED ladies...."

    At that, all eyes turned toward Ashley.  Hawthorn chortled 
and said, "I so move."

    It looked as though the vote would be 7-1, until Judge Snyder, 
with a furrowed brow, shifted uneasily in his massive La-Z-Boy and 
said, "Well, as...um...attractive as that idea may seem, I have to 
wonder if the illusion could actually work -- if Ashley, obviously 
well-bred, well-educated, sophisticated, and urbane, could ever 
blend in with a group of common criminals, of the sort you're 
likely to get around here."  He looked at the warden and the 
Sheriff.  "No offense."

    The Sheriff shrugged.  "None taken.  I believe in callin' a 
spade a spade...as it were."

    Christine Stone spoke up, in the "Aw-gee-whiz" tone of voice 
that had once won her such popularity with juries, "But, Roy, 
you're thinking of Ashley as she is in court...or at posh social 
functions...or even right now: judicial robes or designer dresses 
or casual preppiness.  If she were put into...well, 'appropriate' 
clothing...."

    Hardcastle scowled.  "Clothes make the woman?  Maybe so, but 
still....  Could she really pull off the masquerade?  How good an 
actress are you, Ashley?"  

    Ashley was conflicted.  She was pleased by the idea that her 
innate classiness would shine through any disguise, but offended 
at the notion that she might not have the wit to do a convincing 
impersonation.  And, then, too, her soggy panties were whispering 
to her.  She squirmed.  "Well, I...um...I HAVE had some experience 
on stage in college....  I even played Eliza in 'Pygmalion'...and 
got very good reviews."

    Constance Snyder peered at her (almost as if she had a 
lorgnette) and purred, "So you're confident and willing...even 
EAGER to do it?"

    Ashley paled.  "'Eager'?  Well, I...."

    "Splendid!  Then it's settled," Constance beamed.

    "But she needs a change of clothes," Victoria Hardcastle noted.

    Warden Brooke looked ecstatic.  "No problem.  I can borrow some 
stuff from storage.  But, first things first...."  He sat down at 
a PC and pecked at it until the printer came to life and spit out 
a document.  He put the paper in front of Ashley.  "Just a li'l 
waiver for you to sign.  We had it made up for the other gal."

    "But...," Ashley began.  She regarded the document uncertainly. 
It was broad, but not really ominous.  She glanced at the faces of 
her colleagues, sighed, and signed it.

    "Very good," the warden said, as he folded the waiver and 
pocketed it.  "Now, if you'll excuse me a moment, I'll fetch 
some suitable clothes."

    Constance intercepted him on his way to the door, and they 
spoke briefly before he continued on his way, grinning.

    Everyone seemed wrapped in his or her own thoughts until, at 
length, the warden returned, carrying a big, well-filled trash 
bag.  "I wasn't real sure of her sizes," he shrugged, "so I got 
a variety...plus the 'extras' you wanted."  

    "Oh, I'm sure they'll be just fine, Warden Brooke," Constance 
burbled, taking the bag.  "Very well, ladies -- and Ashley -- let 
us withdraw to the women's lounge and work some magic."  (None of 
the other ladies objected as Constance parlayed her age, status, 
and "take-no-prisoners" personality into a leadership position.)

    So, as they might have done a century or two earlier, the women 
left the men to their liquor, cigars, and manly talk...and went off 
to pursue their own agenda.

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

    Some time later, they returned, leading a breathtakingly 
metamorphosed Ashley Marsh.  Her hair was now tousled and 
showed some brassy highlights.  Dull cranberry lipstick and 
dark shadows under her eyes gave her a hard, trashy look.  
She wore a tacky pink tank top (without a bra), a purple 
wrap-around skirt that had been made for a much smaller woman 
(and failed to wrap all the way around), and a pair of mismatched 
flip-flops.  There were approving comments from the men.

    "And don't let her try to tell you she doesn't LOOOOVE this," 
Victoria Hardcastle chortled.  "Her pussy's been drooling non-stop."

    Constance Snyder cleared her throat.  "Yes...but only nice 
girls have 'pussies'; whores and sluts and other bad girls have 
'cunts.'"

    "Oh, you're absolutely right, Constance," Victoria nodded.  
She turned to Ashley and purred, "You ARE a bad girl, aren't 
you, Ash?"

    Ashley shivered.  "Y-yes, ma'am."

    "Yes.  You kept leaking into one set of panties after another 
until we just gave up and let you go without any....  And we shaved 
your...um...cunt, too.  Bald.  Didn't we?"

    "Yes, ma'am...."  

    The warden coughed and then gestured toward his PC.  "I was 
just typing up a rap sheet for her," he said.  "For 'Offenses' 
what do you think?  Something like...oh, shoplifting?"

    "Pffffft!" Constance snorted.  "You might just as well add 
littering and overdue library books...."  The warden shrugged 
and turned back to his keyboard.  "No -- don't put THAT in," 
Constance added hastily.  "She should have something meaty on 
her record, but not necessarily violent...."  She glanced at 
Ashley.  "Prostitution would be appropriate, I think."

    And so it was written.

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

    Afterward, they all had to wait while the audience was rounded 
up and passed the time by watching Ashley perform a protracted 
series of "Squats," "Jumping Jacks," and "Side Straddle Hops."  

    Eventually, the phone rang -- a message for the warden.  "The 
young punks are here," he announced.  "The Sheriff'll take our 
volunteer over to 'Processing' and meet the group there.  He'll 
also remain as an official observer and extra security."

    Finally allowed to stop her work-out, Ashley was gasping 
and drenched in sweat.  Her hair was limp and her top quite 
translucent.  She was definitely "in character" now.  The 
Sheriff led her, unresisting, from the room, while the warden 
busied himself freshening everyone's drink and ringing for the 
buffet to be served.

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

    While everyone sampled the choice buffet, Warden Brooke fiddled 
with the controls of two of the large monitors.  By the time the 
guests were comfortable again, a mixed group had appeared on both 
sets -- 4 boys, 2 girls, and a pair of uniformed matrons.  

    "The skinny, rat-faced matron's named Maureen Silva -- Moe," 
the warden noted.  "She's half Mick and half Porch-monkey...."

    "Porch-monkey?" Hawthorn belched.

    "Oh, sorry...local slang," the warden shrugged.  "Portuguese.  
Clever, relentless.  And the beefy black gal is Awtum Brown.  Not 
real bright, maybe, but she follows orders and makes sure the cons 
do, too."  He paused, then winked, adding, "Both those matrons are 
(ahem) 'tom-boys,' if you know what I mean."

    The six legal eagles knew immediately what he meant, and 
Victoria Hardcastle wasn't long in figuring it out.  Moreover, 
they all anticipated that the coming demonstration was indeed 
likely to be, as Ashley herself had predicted, "fascinating...and 
instructive."

    As Ashley and the Sheriff entered the scene, Christine Stone 
exclaimed, "The picture's brilliant!"

    The warden beamed.  "High def...top of the line!"

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

    During the matrons' preliminary remarks, the seven occupied 
themselves primarily with the refreshments, but their attention 
returned to the monitors the instant Ashley was ordered to strip.  

    "God!" Constance sighed as Ashley's nakedness came into view, 
ogled by the six 18-year-olds.  "I wish I had a tape of this."

    "I can do better than that," the warden said, smugly.  "It's 
all being recorded...two cameras.  And we'll have it edited and 
put onto a DVD before you folks leave.  You'll all get a copy and 
can watch it in high def whenever you like."

    "But, 'quis custodiet ipsos custodes'?" Roy Snyder murmured.

    "Huh?"  The warden looked over.  "Custodians?"

    "A Latin tag," Snyder said.  "Who shall watch the watchers?"  
He grimaced and squirmed.  "Though, of course, from the later 
17th Century, 'will' rather than 'shall' would be the preferred 
translation...."

    Constance cleared her throat and gave him a look.  "Now, Roy," 
she gritted.

    Having learned the hard way over the years, he shut up.  

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

    Stripping was quick for Ashley, but far from easy.  All she had 
to do was kick off her sandals, pull the tank top over her head, 
and drop her skirt.  But she was shivering and blushing furiously, 
as she glanced nervously at the faces of the smirking, leering 
teenagers.  She failed to find even a modicum of sympathy or 
compassion there; all she saw was arrogance and lust.

    It was so awful...so demeaning....

    And so arousing.

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

    Moe stepped close and slapped Ashley's bottom -- hard -- 
impelling her toward the big open shower stall.  "Get in there 
an' scrub down, girlie!  An' you do a GOOD job...or else...." 
   
    Ashley yelped and hopped into the stall.  Moe twisted the 
single knob and Ashley cowered back, away from the resulting 
blast of cold water. 

    Moe smirked and shook her head.  "Get used to it, Princess.  
Hot water's for good girls.  It's cold water for the likes of 
you.  Now get busy...'less you want us to help...."

    Ashley picked up the bar of coarse soap and nervously began 
to lather herself.  ("Freudian?" she wondered when she realized 
that she had begun with her crotch.)  She looked up at her 
audience -- the butch matrons, the burly Sheriff with the big 
lump in his pants, the smarmy teens -- all practically drooling.  
It was especially degrading that she, a WASP judge, had to 
perform for the edification of this trash, all of them so far 
below her in socio-economic status.  But that was also what 
made this so...poignant.  All the same, she was glad that they 
were strangers and would never see her again....  Then she 
glanced at the two winking red lights and shuddered with the 
reminder that the crypto-fascist Hardcastle, the sophomoric 
Stone, the pedantic Snyder, their twisted bitch wives, and 
Henry Hawthorn (Oh, god!  Henry Hawthorn!) were also watching 
-- and would remember....     

    Ashley winced, but still obeyed the matron's series of 
humiliating commands:  

    "Wash yer feet!  An' between the toes!

    "Snap it up!

    "Titties now!  Yer nipples're standing at attention.  Sweet.  
But scrub 'em some more.... Heh, heh.  You wanna make 'em nice 
for yer new cell-mates, don'cha?

    "Now wash yer butt!  Scrub good between your cheeks, Princess. 
Get that asshole all fresh and clean; we're gonna hafta stick our 
fingers up there, you know...."

    At length, Moe turned off the water and signalled her partner.  
The black matron began spraying Ashley with delousing fluid from 
a big green canister.  She doused Ashley liberally all over, but 
paid particular attention to her crotch and ass-crack.  

    Moe nodded.  "Okay, Princess, come out here.  Stand on this 
grate an' drip-dry.  Feet apart -- no, farther -- an' hands on 
head," she growled. 

    The audience -- both those in attendance and those watching on 
television -- enjoyed the sight of Ashley tensing and flexing her 
buttocks and squirming her thighs in a vain attempt to ease the 
unbearable itch tormenting her.

    Moe winked at the teens.  "That delousing fluid itches like a 
sonnabitch," she laughed.  "The stink'll go 'way long before the 
itch does."  
 
    After waiting a bit longer, she snapped on latex exam gloves 
and announced, "And now...The Search.  We don't want you bringin' 
any contraband into our li'l community...."

    She began by running her fingers through Ashley's damp, tangled 
hair.  "Hair, ears, nose, mouth...then underneath the titties," Moe 
commented.  "These half-smart whores try to hide things all over."  

    The audience's attention wandered a bit during the more mundane 
parts, but returned when Moe ordered Ashley to lift her tits by the 
nipples "an' give 'em a good shake."    

    After putting Ashley through the "squat-and-cough" routine, 
Moe lubed her slender middle finger and held it up.  "Okay," 
she growled.  "Get back in position; it's time to check yer oil.  
Get in the same position as before."  She slid her greasy finger 
between Ashley's cunt-lips and caressed the swollen G-spot, teasing 
Ashley's throbbing clit along the way. 

    (The audience -- both halves -- was breathing heavily.) 

    "Very wet," the matron said.  "Yes?"

    Ashley looked mortified.  "Yes, matron ma'am, I...I'm v-very 
wet."

    "VERY wet...and not just from the shower and delousing, eh?  
Wet AN' shaved.  A puta, yes?"

    "Y-yes, ma-ma'am...."

    She paused, to let Ashley anticipate it, and then she added 
another finger and began masturbating her...with practiced skill.  
Ashley was obviously trying her best to keep from cumming -- and 
succeeded for a while.  Then Moe grinned wolfishly and remarked, 
"You should know, girlie, that what the book calls 'masturbatory 
orgasms' are abso-LOOT-ly forbidden.  You have one now, and you 
get paddled...on the bare...in public...."

    At this, Ashley lost control and, red-faced and helpless, 
started cumming in waves.

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

    The teenagers sat mesmerized by Ashley's protracted, serial 
orgasm.  Meanwhile, the Sheriff, looking thoughtful, beckoned 
the two matrons over for a brief conference, at the conclusion 
of which Awtum Brown left the room.

    Moe spent the next few minutes goosing Ashley vigorously and 
carrying on a candid, running commentary about Ashley's physical 
charms.  Then the black matron returned -- with a handful of 
plastic flyswatters.  

    Winding up the anal cavity search, Moe pulled her fingers out 
of Ashley's asshole, stripped off her latex gloves, and grinned 
as her partner passed out the flyswatters to the drooling teens.  
She ordered Ashley to get down on all fours and then addressed the 
audience.  "Norm'ly," she announced, licking her lips, "we'd use 
a big ol' wooden paddle on Princess here for violating prison 
rules against masturbation -- but the Sheriff here has made a cute 
suggestion....  You all can spank her with those swatters, an'...oh 
yeah...you might like to know that, in school, she was quite a 
brown-nose, a teacher's pet....  Tsk, tsk."

    The teens looked especially interested in that last bit of news 
(which guaranteed that none of them would show any mercy) and 
quickly lined up in pairs behind Ashley's cringing bottom....

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

    Warden Brooke seemed quite pleased with the way the processing 
demo had gone.  "Soon's that spankin's done with, the Sheriff'll 
take Miss Ashley across the compound to the supply shed, where 
she'll be issued a uniform, and then they'll come back here...."

    Just then the phone rang.  The warden answered it, and almost 
immediately, his grin disappeared.  The conversation was hushed 
and brief.  

    "Well, folks," he began as he hung up the phone.  "That was 
my...unh...computer guy, and I just learned something else about 
our new system....  Seems we can't delete Ashley's record 'til 
Thursday.  Er...she'll have to follow her assignments -- work 
detail, cell, and so on for the next three days.  If she's absent 
AT ALL, the system will think she's an escapee and broadcast an 
APB on her.  All hell'll bust loose...."

    "Well, nobody wants THAT, especially not Ashley," Constance 
said.  I suppose we will just have to make the best of it.  Can 
you put the seven of us up for the three days, Warden?"

    He brightened.  "Oh, sure!  We got some real nice guest 
bungalows, real nice.  There's also a golf course, a big ol' 
swimmin' pool, TV of course, ever' kind of liquor, and the 
chef does five-star meals...."

    "Then," Constance observed primly, "all's well that ends well." 
To which they all agreed.