TEASING TERRI

                              by

                           Joe Doe


            A CONTINUATION OF "ONE QUESTION TOO MANY" 



Terri cringed as she heard the school bell ring in the distance.  

She imagined the horny 18-year-old boys from the varsity football 
team bounding out of the school and running towards the jail.

But why did that image frighten her so much?  After all, she was 
a respected, Pulitzer Prize journalist.  She had the damning 
evidence, she had called the interview, and she was in charge.  
If anyone should be scared, it was the Sheriff, not Terri.

And there was certainly no reason for her to be terrified of a 
bunch of snot-nosed high school boys.

Regaining her composure, she walked into the office in a brisk, 
self-assured manner.  She was greeted by a hayseed deputy with a 
cowlick.

"May I help you?" the deputy said.

"My name is Terri London, and I'm a reporter here to interview the 
Sheriff," she said, professionally. 

The deputy smiled.

"What's so funny?" Terri thought.  She glared icily at the deputy.  
"You can see my credentials, if you want."

"Naw, Sheriff don't care about no fancy credentials," the deputy 
drawled.  "Jus' follow me."

He led Terri across the office.  She was slightly nervous, but she 
always was a bit anxious before a big story.  Now that the action 
had started, she was certain that her reporting instincts would let 
her ace this story, just like all the rest. 

She smiled.  Another Pulitzer Prize would be a nice decoration for 
her corner office.

But her smile quickly faded as she found herself standing directly 
in front of the menacing medical exam table.  As she nervously 
inspected the shiny steel stirrups, she once again felt her poise 
and self-confidence draining away. 

She turned away from the table and looked toward the large picture 
window that faced the street. 

Just as she had feared, the table was perfectly positioned to 
offer anyone looking through the window a spectacular view of 
the prisoner's pelvic exam. 

She also noticed that curtain rings were already hanging from the 
curtain rod, which would make hanging a curtain even easier. 

Terri fumed silently at the injustice of women being forced to 
strip butt-naked in the window when it would take no more than 
two minutes to put up a curtain. 

She knew that every single woman who had ever stood where she 
was now standing had doubtless thought the same thing. 

Why couldn't the Sheriff allow these poor women to keep a tiny 
shred of their dignity?  Terri knew that such casual cruelty had 
to be deliberate, and it made her furious....

The deputy's voice quickly brought her back to reality.  "Sheriff 
don't like no unregistered women runnin' around loose.  Gimme your 
wrist."

A confused Terri held out her hand, and the hick deputy snapped a 
small metal bracelet on her wrist.  It was a similar to a hospital 
bracelet, except it locked on, like a handcuff.  Terri shuddered 
when the band CLICKED shut.

She examined the bracelet closely.  The small steel ring fit her 
snugly, and she noticed that there was a bar-code printed on the 
bracelet, along with an engraving: 

		LONDON, TERRI
		5875-4844-8789

"Is that my visitor number?" Terri asked, nervously.

"You could call it that, I guess," the deputy said, with a small 
chuckle.

"You use bar-codes?" she asked.

"With the number of hot babes going through here, it's easier just 
to number 'em," the deputy said, casually.  "We use the same 
system to keep track of pigs and cows at the prison farm."

She stared unhappily at the dehumanizing bar-code locked on her 
wrist.  It certainly made her FEEL like livestock.

The deputy's tone suddenly became official.  "I'll need to 
confiscate your jewelry, tape recorder, pen, glasses, and other 
personal items, miss," he droned.  "I can't let you go into the 
Sheriff's office with anythin' that could be used as a weapon."

"But I won't be able to read the questions without my glasses," she 
protested.  "And how am I supposed to take notes without a pen or 
a tape recorder?"

"The Sheriff wants you to turn in everythin' but your papers," the 
deputy replied.  "He wants to take a look at those.  If you don't 
like it, you can take it up with him when you see him."

She clasped the leather folder containing her papers tighter.  It 
contained her questions and every scrap of information she had 
collected during the course of her investigation, including all 
the interviews with the women who had been brave enough to step 
forward. 

"That sure is pretty perfume you have on," the deputy drawled. 

Despite the situation, Terri smiled at the compliment.  "It's a 
special fragrance I had custom blended," she replied proudly.  
"It costs me $200 an ounce." 

Terri cringed as she realized how inappropriate her last remark 
was.  It was pretty stupid to brag about your expensive perfume 
to a hillbilly deputy in a department known for its mistreatment 
of successful career women.

But the deputy didn't seem to notice.  "All the women smell sweet, 
but different, comin' in," he said with a chuckle.  "But they all 
smell the same goin' out." 

"What do you mean?" Terri asked, innocently.  "What do the women 
smell like?"

"Delousin' fluid," he said.  "They stink pretty bad, let me tell 
you."

He formed his hand into an imaginary gun and pointed his finger 
directly at Terri.  Then he pivoted it from her breasts down to 
her crotch, as if he were spraying her with the delousing fluid, 
hissing "SSSSSSS" as he went.  When he got to Terri's crotch, he 
paused and moved "the nozzle" around in circles, as if he were 
giving her private parts an extra strong dose.

He laughed as Terri flushed and instinctively covered her crotch 
with her hands. "All right, Miss $200-an-ounce," he said, laughing. 
"Let's start handin' it over." 

Terri's hands were trembling as she passed him her purse.  She knew 
that when this little ritual was done, she would have no ID, no 
money, and no car keys. 

The deputy was going to strip poor Terri of everything but the 
clothes on her back. 

She took off her expensive earrings and gave them to the deputy, 
who barely looked at them before dropping them into her purse.  
The way he took each expensive, tastefully chosen accessory away 
from her in such a casual, routine manner made the experience all 
the more humiliating for her. 

"He does this to women all the time," Terri said to herself.  
"Stripping successful career women is nothing special.  To 
him I'm just another little bimbo, here to be processed." 

She looked sadly at the bar-code on her wrist.  A few minutes ago, 
she had been a successful, self-assured journalist with a national 
reputation. 

But now Terri London was just number 5875-4844-8789. 

"I'll need that comb thing you got in your hair, and any pins, 
too," the deputy said.

She reluctantly complied.  She had beautiful hair, but she always 
kept it up in a bun when she conducted an interview.  She knew 
that a severe hairstyle added to her intimidating, professional 
appearance.  For the same reason, she had decided to use her 
reading glasses instead of her contact lenses.  Removing her 
glasses and letting her hair down gave her a softer, sexier look, 
which was not the appearance she wanted when she cross-examined 
the Sheriff.

She shook her head, and her beautiful hair cascaded loosely around 
her shoulders.  

The deputy approved.  "That's much better.  Now take off your shoes," 
he said, nonchalantly.

She was surprised, and it took her several seconds to respond.  
Taking her purse and jewelry was one thing, but now he was 
actually asking her to remove an article of clothing.

It was almost as if her strip-search had already begun.

"Why on earth do you need my shoes?" she asked, defensively.

"Like I said, I need to confiscate anythin' that can be used as 
a weapon," the bored deputy explained. 

Terri was a visitor, not a prisoner, and the last thing she wanted 
to do was to take off her high heels and hand them over to the 
idiot deputy. 

It was bad enough that she had to turn over her money and ID, but 
now her shoes, too? 

She stared back at the deputy blankly, waiting for him to tell her 
that she could keep her shoes.  Instead, he crossed his arms and 
began impatiently tapping his foot. 

The message was clear.  He didn't have all day to wait for her. 

After all, she was just another number to be processed.

Terri took off one shoe and then the other, almost falling down as 
she tried to get the second one off, and the deputy let out a 
hearty guffaw. 

Chivalry was obviously not high on the Sheriff's list of 
qualifications for deputies.

"I'll bet you these shoes cost more than I make in three months," 
the deputy said, whistling when he saw the label. 

"Yeah, and that's the just the right one," she said with a smile.

The deputy stopped smiling, and looked back at her coldly.  Clearly 
her little witticism had been misinterpreted, and the deputy thought 
that she was laughing at him and not along with him.

She felt uncomfortable standing in front of the deputy without 
her shoes.  They had added to her height, and, without them, the 
hayseed deputy towered over her.  Also, it felt awkward to stand 
on the cold tile floor in just her nylons.

"My feet are cold," she complained.  "Are you sure I can't have my 
shoes?"

"Afraid not, darlin'," the deputy replied.  "But cheer up, it could 
be worse," he said, brightly.  "Those metal stirrups are even 
colder than the floor, and you won't have any socks on when you 
put your feet in 'em."

Terri turned and looked at the table.  She reached out tentatively 
towards one of the ominous steel stirrups, almost as if she 
expected it to bite her.  When she touched it, the metal gave her 
a little electrical shock.  She jumped back, and the deputy laughed. 

She ran her finger over the stirrup.  The deputy was right; it was 
freezing. 

"I'm a world-famous journalist," Terri kept repeating to herself.  
"The Sheriff wouldn't really make me put my feet into those 
horrible stirrups...would he?"

Her reverie was broken by the deputy's voice.  "Boy, you sure are 
pretty when you blush," he drawled. "Why, you're just about the 
prettiest girl I've processed this week.  Had one a couple months 
ago that was a fashion model, though, and she was even hotter'n 
you...but not much."

"I'm not here to be PROCESSED!" Terri said, angrily.  "I'm a 
reporter -- with a Pulitzer Prize! -- and I'm here to conduct an 
interview.  I'm doing an important investigation.  I'm not just 
some little airhead you can run through your degrading PROCEDURE.  
I've wasted enough of my valuable time out here, Barney," she 
added.  "I want my shoes, and I want to see the Sheriff.  NOW!" 

Terri was genuinely angry.  She could tell that the deputy was 
dragging this out, toying with her like a cat with a mouse.  Taking 
away her purse and her jewelry, standing her in front of the exam 
table, taunting her with the delousing fluid and the stirrups...it 
was all designed to demean and humiliate the young professional 
woman. 

Well, she wasn't about to be stripped of her dignity without a 
fight.

But there was also a method to Terri's madness.  Every second she 
stood there was a second closer to the arrival of the football 
team.  And, although she was sure that she had nothing to fear, 
she knew that she wanted to be somewhere else when the drooling 
teenagers gathered around the picture window she was now brazenly 
standing in.

The deputy said nothing, but stared back at her with undisguised 
hatred.  He picked up the black plastic carton with her name on 
the side and held it up in the air, a few feet away from her.  
Then he dropped it at on the floor at his feet, where it landed 
with a clatter. 

The black carton!  Terri felt her pulse quicken when she saw the 
deputy pick it up, and she half-expected him to order her to put 
every stitch of her clothing into the humiliating black box.  But 
all he did was to deliberately rearrange the carton with his foot 
so that she could see the writing on the side:

		LONDON, TERRI
		5875-4844-8789

She was furious that they had plastered her name on the side of 
a carton and then left it on the table.  It was like they were 
advertising her worst nightmare in the front window of the jail, 
for everyone to enjoy.

The deputy smiled as she peered down into the empty black carton.  
He let her stare for a few seconds and imagine the possibilities.

Then he casually picked up one of her expensive shoes and dropped 
it unceremoniously into the box, letting it fall several feet to 
the floor as if were worthless junk.  Then he did the same thing 
with her other shoe. 

"Don't drop my purse, please," Terri pleaded.  "My cell phone and 
tape recorder are very expensive.  And I don't want you to break 
my glasses."

Terri winced as the deputy maliciously dropped her purse a good 
four feet to the floor.  It landed in the black carton with an 
enormous CRUNCH!

He picked up the carton, winked at her, and left to get the 
Sheriff. 

She shifted nervously from foot to foot on the cold floor.  She 
hated this town, she hated the Sheriff, and she hated the fact 
that she'd been left standing in front of the degrading exam table. 

But, most of all, she hated the growing dampness between her legs.

She looked out the window again.  To her surprise, she saw that 
a couple of men had stopped in the street and were now standing 
in front of the window looking in.  But it was the several old 
men sitting in front of the two pedestrians that left her confused.

Terri had noticed a nearby retirement home on her way to the 
Sheriff's office that morning.  Apparently a few of the elderly 
men had brought lawn chairs over and were now sitting expectantly 
in front of the large window, almost like they were waiting for a 
show to begin.  They all smiled when Terri looked at them, and 
she was momentarily nonplussed. 

What were they looking at?  And why were they all chuckling?

She felt a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as 
she realized the answer.... 

They were looking at her.

All at once, she felt a strong desire to leave, and she reached 
for her purse. 

But then she remembered that her purse, shoes, money, car keys, 
and ID were all in the black carton that the deputy had carried 
off. 

The normally unflappable Terri suddenly had a panic attack, and 
she contemplated making a run for it. 

But how was she going to get out of town with no money and no car 
keys? 

Her only ID was the shiny steel bracelet prominently displayed on 
her wrist. 

Somehow she knew that, in this town, the steel prison bracelet was 
a fashion accessory that was going to do her more harm than good. 

She looked out again at the smiling, laughing old men. 

Should she just make a run for it?  How far could she get in 
stocking feet?  And did she really expect those horny old men 
ogling her from the window to just sit there quietly while she 
strolled around town all day?

Terri imagined how silly she would look, running from store to 
store frantically trying to find a pay phone, begging strangers 
for spare change while trying to hide her prison bracelet. 

She knew she would look ridiculous.

That morning, she had killed time wandering around town.  A few 
doors down from the Sheriff's office, a small dress store was 
holding a sidewalk sale.

Terri had thumbed indifferently through the cheap dresses, and 
she was openly contemptuous of what she loudly referred to as 
the "shoddy merchandise."  The two female store clerks obviously 
resented Terri's haughty attitude and, moreover, were clearly 
envious of her elegant clothes and stylish appearance.

She knew that the clerks would be very amused to see her running 
around in her stocking feet with a prison bracelet locked onto 
her wrist.

Then she had an even more terrifying thought.

Did the steel bracelet she was wearing have a tracking device?

Her confused and panicked thoughts were interrupted by a booming 
voice. 

"LONDON, TERRI!" the masculine voice barked out. "5875, 4844, 8789.  
Next!"

She turned to see the tubby Sheriff standing in the doorway of his 
office.  "Hurry up, London!" the fat man said, sharply.  "I've got 
a schedule to keep."

Terri quick-marched into the Sheriff's large office and obeyed his 
gruff command to close the door behind her.  It was an elegant and 
luxurious office, more suited to a powerful business executive than 
to a hick Sheriff. 

"At least the carpet is warmer that the tile," Terri thought, as 
she nervously looked down at her feet nestled in the lush pile.  

But she was anything but comfortable as she stood awkwardly in 
front of the Sheriff's imposing desk.  The fat middle-aged Sheriff 
had a toothpick in his mouth and casually picked his teeth clean 
as he undressed Terri with his eyes.  He finally leaned back in 
his large reclining executive chair and spoke. 

"You're even prettier than your picture, little girl," he said, 
with a tight smile.

"May I go get a chair, please, Sheriff?" Terri asked, politely. 

"It won't kill you to stand," the Sheriff replied, dismissively.  
"The young LADIES that I have through this establishment don't do 
much sitting," he explained.  "They stand a lot, and occasionally 
I order them to squat....  Sometimes I make them bend over and 
touch their toes." 

The Sheriff pointed his toothpick at the door and the examination 
table just beyond.  "And, of course, when they're up on the table, 
they lie back and spread their long, pretty legs...nice and wide." 

The Sheriff smiled as Terri blushed, pausing to let her consider 
herself as the central figure in the mental picture he had just 
painted.  From the look on her face, he could tell that she was 
wondering what it would feel like when the order came to spread 
HER legs.

Terri ignored the issue of the chair in favor of more pressing 
matters.  "Could I have my shoes, tape recorder, and pen 
back...please?" she said, plaintively.  "I can't even read 
my questions without my glasses."

The Sheriff stood up and took hold of the expensive leather binder 
she was carrying.  She tried to resist, but he had a good grip and 
easily pulled it out of her sweaty grasp.  Then he sat back down 
behind his desk.

"That material is confidential, Sheriff," she protested.  "I 
brought all of my research materials, just like I promised."

"Well, confidentiality IS important," he agreed.  "For example, 
you're ABSOLUTELY sure that nobody knows you're here today, eh?"

"I didn't tell anyone," she said, nervously.  "I gave you my word 
I wouldn't."

The Sheriff snorted.  "You Ivy League college girls always 
make such a big show of giving your word," he sneered.  "Well, 
okay...let's play it YOUR way.  Do you give me your WORD that 
this folder has ALL of your interview notes, and that there are 
no other copies?" 

"That was the deal, Sheriff," she said.  "I said I'd bring the 
folder and come in secret, if you would give me the interview.  
But I really must insist that I keep the folder.  The women spoke 
to me in confidence.  Some of them are afraid of retaliation."

The Sheriff laughed.  

"These women need to have their identities protected, and the 
First Amendment must be preserved," Terri said, concluding with 
a flourish.

It was a rousing plea for journalistic independence, but the 
Sheriff didn't seem impressed. 

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a large brown 
leather razor strap and set it on the desk in front of Terri.  
"What these young ladies NEED is a good fanny tanning right on 
their bare backsides!" he said.  He ran his hand lovingly over 
the strap.  "I've been polishing up 'Old Betsy' all week, getting 
her nice and soft...nice and supple.  Old Betsy here is going to 
hug every curve of their tight little fannies."

The Sheriff picked up the folder and started paging through it.  
"I don't like the women in this county CRYING to outsiders," he 
said, sharply.  "When I find out who helped you with your little 
exposé, I'll make sure they have something to cry about."

He stopped when he got to a page of interest.  "So Justice Janice 
Fields is one of your little informants, huh?" he said.  "Doesn't 
surprise me none.  Fields went whining all the way up to the 
Governor the last time.  She sure seemed surprised that I had 
more clout than she did."

"Justice Fields didn't do anything wrong," Terri protested.  "She 
never should have been incarcerated."

The Sheriff ignored Terri's protest and continued to thumb through 
the file.  "Well, now that her fancy court is in summer recess, 
she's going to be speaking at the women's college a couple of days 
from now.  Since that is in my jurisdiction, I'll have my deputies 
pick her up again." 

The Sheriff smiled cruelly.  "Justice Janice won't be so blabby 
after I put her back to work at the truck stop for a few months."

"I already spoke with the warden at Newberry Prison about bringing 
Justice Fields up to his prison for a visit," he continued.  "She 
put half those guys behind bars, either as a prosecutor or a judge.  
The warden says that if we sell that sweet little ass of hers for 
half a pack of smokes, every convict in the place will take justice 
into their own hands."

Terri's jaw literally dropped.  She couldn't believe what she was 
hearing.  Janice Fields was a State Supreme Court Justice!

"Don't worry...I'll be sure to tell her that it was your little 
interview that landed her back in the pokey," the Sheriff said, 
waving Terri's binder in the air.  "That way she won't be so 
chatty the next time some busybody comes down here to nose 
around in my business."

The Sheriff dismissively dropped the leather folder onto the desk, 
as if Terri's carefully organized notes merely confirmed the 
obvious.

"I already know that it was that goody-goody lawyer Ashley 
Johnson who arranged for you to interview all those women out 
at the prison farm.  Your good friend Ashley is now dancing at 
that little bar down by the interstate four nights a week, naked 
as a jaybird." 

Ashley was a brilliant and articulate young attorney, and Terri 
considered her a kindred spirit.  She became enraged as she 
envisioned the beautiful, blushing barrister reluctantly dancing 
a humiliating strip tease in front of an eager crowd of cheering, 
whistling rednecks. 

"You have no right to do that to Ashley," Terri shot back.  "I'm 
a professional journalist, and I had every right to talk to those 
inmates."

"It's nice to see you're so concerned about little Ashley," the 
Sheriff said, mockingly.  "Too bad you aren't working in the club 
with her.  I'd have you two do a little lesbo thing right up on 
stage.  The farmers would pay a bundle to see that."

"I'm not a lesbian, and neither is Ashley." 

"All you feminists are lesbians.  Of course, you say you're 
not, but 'Old Betsy' changes your tune quick enough."  He again 
caressed the polished strap and smiled.  "In thirty years, I 
never met a girl who wouldn't rather GIVE a licking then TAKE 
a licking." 

Terri fumed as the Sheriff leaned back in his chair and guffawed 
at his own vulgar joke. 

To Terri the Sheriff was a pig who represented everything that 
was wrong with men.  She was going to love sending the arrogant 
chauvinist to prison.

She couldn't believe just how angry she was. 

She squeezed her thighs together.  She also couldn't believe how 
excited she was.

Her plan was in ruins.  Her glasses, her tape recorder, her gold 
Cross pen, and her perfectly scripted questions had been taken 
away.  The deputy had casually stripped her of all of her usual 
props and had left Terri standing in front of the Sheriff's desk 
like a naughty girl in the principal's office.

What was worse, Terri was the one who was losing her composure, 
and the Sheriff was laughing and joking at HER expense.

She decided to try to regain control.  "If you bring in a chair 
and give me my glasses, we can start going through my questions, 
Sheriff," she said, with as much aplomb as she could muster.

The Sheriff said nothing, but leaned back in his chair and scowled 
as he skimmed through her questions.  Finally he smiled.

"So you'd like me to put a curtain in the front window?" he said, 
with a little twinkle in his eye.  "You're not shy, now, are you, 
London?"  He laughed cruelly as she blushed.

"I wouldn't want to...expose myself...on that horrible table," she 
said, once again losing her composure.  "Not-not in front of all 
those men." 

The Sheriff reached into his credenza and pulled out a clear 
plastic bag with a neatly folded curtain inside.  "It's funny that 
you should mention the curtain, London," he said, as if amazed at 
the coincidence.  "I bought this curtain for the front window a 
few years ago, but I never got around to putting it up."

He smiled, impishly.  "You know how men are with these little 
chores around the house." 

Terri bit her tongue.  Saving hundreds of beautiful young 
professional women the shame and humiliation of stripping 
butt-naked in front of every horny man in town was hardly 
"a little chore around the house," but she decided not to 
debate the point.

"The problem is, I told the warden that I would be out at the 
prison farm this afternoon.  Now that I have their names, some 
of the women who finked to you have a date with 'Old Betsy,'" 
he said with a laugh, patting the razor strap. 

"I don't have time to hang the curtain AND answer all of your 
VITAL, IMPORTANT, PROBING questions, MISS London," he said, 
his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

"So what do you think I should do?  Hang up the curtain and save 
all of your feminist friends?  Or answer all of your silly little 
questions?"

Terri had worked hard on the story, and the interview with the 
Sheriff was the final step.  He, however, had used the interview 
as bait to get her to reveal her sources, and now he was going to 
use the curtain as an excuse to weasel out of the interview.

She thought about how naked and exposed she felt standing in front 
of the table with her clothes on...and about the way the dirty old 
men had leered at her.  She could only imagine the mortification 
of being stripped naked with their probing eyes studying her every 
move.

What choice did she have? 

"I think you should hang the curtain, sir," she said, quietly, her 
voice tinged with defeat.

The Sheriff took several pages of Terri's carefully prepared notes 
and crumpled them up like unimportant scrap paper.  "If that's 
what you want, Terri, that's what I'll do," he said, with false 
affability, tossing her meticulous work indifferently into the 
wastebasket beside his desk.

"But, before I do, I have one question for you, Terri," he said, 
with a sly smile.

She shuddered as she saw him reach behind his desk and take out 
the ominous black crate containing her shoes and purse.  He set 
it down on the desk in front of her, smiling at her discomfort. 

"Some of my 'guests' have complained that I've wrinkled their 
expensive clothes when I put them in the carton," he explained, 
professionally.  "Do you think I should get a bigger carton, 
Terri, or is it merely a matter of careful packing?  I usually 
just drop the clothes on top of the shoes and purse."

"I think the carton is big enough to hold everything," Terri said, 
nervously.  "You just need to pack it more carefully, Sheriff.  
Put the clothes on the bottom, and put the shoes and purse on 
the top."

"Oh, I see," he said, enthusiastically, as if she had just 
discovered the cure for cancer.  "That might work." 

He paused, as if considering the problem from every angle.  "Do 
you think I could put that expensive designer jacket you're 
wearing into the crate without wrinkling it, Terri?" 

She felt a chill.  She knew where the game was heading, and she 
didn't like it one bit.  But she had no idea how to stop it.

"I suppose so, Sheriff," she said, meekly.

He leaned back in his chair and smiled.  "Why don't you show me 
how you would put it in the carton, Terri?" 

She stood motionless for several seconds before slowly reaching 
up to unbutton her jacket.  Almost as if she were in a dream, 
Terri carefully folded her expensive wool jacket and laid it on 
the bottom of the carton, and then put her shoes and purse on top.

"Do you really think you could get the rest of your clothes in 
that carton, Terri?" the Sheriff asked, playfully.  "You'd have 
to fold them carefully, you know.  They COULD be in that crate 
for a LONG time....  What else are you wearing, Terri?  Tell me 
how you would pack the rest."

"Well, I'm wearing this white silk blouse, obviously," she 
replied, nervously.  "I would probably fold it up just like 
the jacket." 

"Go on," he said, relishing Terri's unease.  It was going to be 
fun listening to the haughty, arrogant reporter verbally strip 
herself.

"Then I'd take off my skirt," Terri continued, running her hand 
down the front of her stylish charcoal gray skirt. "It's pretty 
short, so I wouldn't have to fold it much."

"Keep going, Terri.  If you were a prisoner here, we wouldn't 
stop with just your blouse and skirt.  You would have to put 
ALL of your clothes in the box." 

"Well...I'm wearing a white slip."  Her voice was trembling.  
"But it isn't very big," she said, rubbing her abdomen.

She indicated the tops of her thighs.  "And then there are my 
garters and stockings, but I could just fold those up, I guess."

"What else?" the Sheriff prompted, pressing her to continue.

She paused and looked down at the rug, feeling very small.  "That 
would leave nothing but...my bra and panties, sir." 

She looked up, hopefully.  "W-would I be able to keep them?" she 
asked, desperately.

"I'm afraid not," the Sheriff said, gently.  "Undies go into the 
box, too."

"Oh, dear!" Terri exclaimed.  "Well, I'm wearing a matched bra 
and panty set, very delicate and lacy, so I don't think they 
would take up much room." 

"What color are they?" the Sheriff said, as if that affected their 
placement in the box.

"Pink, sir," Terri said, blushing yet again. 

The Sheriff smiled at the mental image of proud and sophisticated 
Terri London prancing around in front of that huge picture window 
in nothing but her flimsy pink lingerie. 

He ran his finger playfully along the rim of the carton.  At last 
he spoke.  "You know, Terri, I was surprised that you had the guts 
to show up here today.  Most women would never have had the nerve 
to strut in here the way you did."

Terri said nothing, but continued to stare at the floor. Her face 
was flushed, and her breathing heavy.

"The reason that I mention it is that I occasionally run into 
women who WANT to be strip-searched.  Just the thought of being 
forced to strip down naked in front of a man in uniform gets 
them all HOT AND BOTHERED."

He chuckled softly.  "Can you imagine such a thing, Terri?" 

Terri said nothing, but continued to stare at the floor. 

"Sometimes I have to put the woman's underpants in a plastic bag, 
to prevent her juices from staining the rest of her clothes," the 
Sheriff went on. "Do you think that's a good idea, Terri?"

"Yes, sir," Terri mumbled.  She was staring at her feet, and the 
Sheriff could barely hear her.  The cocky woman who had thundered 
about the First Amendment was long gone.

"Will I need a plastic bag for YOUR underpants, Terri?" 

She didn't say anything, but swallowed hard.  The Sheriff let the 
silence linger, enjoying the suspense as Terri nervously shifted 
her weight from foot to foot.  After a long pause, Terri finally 
answered.

"Yes, sir," she said, submissively, her voice barely audible.

The Sheriff smiled in triumph.  He had Terri right where he 
wanted her.

He leaned back in his chair, as if beginning a lecture on a 
subject he loved to discuss.  "When I have to bag a girl's 
underpants, Terri, I always leave the woman's carton in the 
front window.  People who walk by can look at the woman's name, 
and see her clothes...kind of like a trophy case.

"I always put the clear plastic bag with the panties on the top 
of the carton, where everyone can see it.  When the woman is 
REALLY wet, I squeeze the panties after I seal the bag, and the 
little drops of moisture stick to the inside of the bag." 

Terri instinctively squeezed her thighs tightly together.  Her 
panties were drenched. 

"Since the bag is sealed, the droplets don't evaporate."  He 
assumed a scientific pose.  "Some people just love to stand 
at the window, and look at the woman's name, and make jokes 
about her wet panties and the little beads of moisture all 
over the inside of the bag.

"It's just one of the little things we like to do around here, 
to make the search more fun for everyone," he said, cheerfully.

Terri couldn't believe what she was hearing.  She had been 
humiliated when they had left the EMPTY carton with her name 
on it in the front window.  Now the Sheriff was threatening 
to put her sopping wet panties on display for everyone to 
laugh at.

She knew that the two store clerks would love to see her elegant 
power suit stripped off her and carefully packed away, safe and 
secure!  She imagined them both standing at the window, gloating 
over her downfall.

The Sheriff let the blushing journalist contemplate the image for 
several minutes while he paged through her notes and jotted down 
the names of the women who had been stupid enough to talk to her.  
Occasionally he would see a name, smile, and give "Old Betsy" a 
loving caress.

As she stood there watching her sources being prepared for 
"correction," Terri started to wonder about some of the 
things the Sheriff had said.

How did Ashley end up in prison, when Terri had specifically 
warned her to stay out of the county?

She also wondered about Justice Janice Fields.  Terri remembered 
how flushed the Justice had become as she meticulously recounted 
each humiliating step in her lightning transformation from 
respected jurist to truck stop hooker.  The Sheriff had forced her 
to turn kinky tricks at ridiculously meager prices, but the judge 
still seemed strangely proud of her "popularity," and even bragged 
that she had been released only because the new judicial term had 
started.

And now Justice Fields was blatantly returning to the Sheriff's 
jurisdiction for a public speaking engagement, only a few days 
into the long, lazy summer recess. 

Terri was confused.  Ashley and Justice Fields were both 
thoughtful and intelligent attorneys.  How could they make 
such stupid mistakes?

When the Sheriff finished, he callously dumped Terri's expensive 
leather folder and careful research into the wastebasket next to 
his desk.

"You know, Terri, the only thing I REALLY wanted from this meeting 
was the names of the informants, and I have them now.  I suppose I 
COULD hold you, but that isn't really necessary." 

He smiled benevolently at her.  "Why don't you just take your junk 
and go home?"

She looked up with surprise.  She couldn't believe what she had 
just heard.

"I'm free to go?" she asked, still dazed at the thought.

"That's right," he said, brightly.  "You can walk out of here 
right now." 

She seemed confused, like an accident survivor surprised to be 
alive.  "I don't understand.  I thought you were going to arrest 
me!  I thought you were going to-to...process me."  Terri held up 
her wrist and pointed to the small band with the demeaning bar-code.

The Sheriff smiled and took a small key out of his shirt pocket.  
"Give me your wrist, Terri, and I'll unlock that silly bracelet.  
We'll forget this whole nasty incident ever happened."

But she didn't give him her manacled wrist.  Instead, she put it 
behind her back and continued her argument.  "But I was going to 
have you thrown into JAIL."

"That's not going to happen, Terri, and we both know it," the 
Sheriff said, condescendingly.  "Why don't you just toddle out 
of here and let me get back to work?  You've wasted too much 
of my time already."

He got up and helped Terri put her expensive jacket back on.

She was dumbfounded.  All along she had assumed that the Sheriff 
wanted to search her.  Why else had he insisted on her conducting 
the interview in person?  Why had he insisted that she tell no 
one that she was coming to meet him?

Then, like a lightning bolt, the truth hit her.  "He won't do it 
because he knows that I WANT it," she said to herself. 

She looked at the Sheriff with undisguised hatred.  Verbally 
stripping her naked and putting her through that degrading 
exam wasn't cruel enough.... 

He was going to force her to BEG for her strip-search.

She would have to use all of her intelligence, cunning, and wit 
to convince the man she hated most in the world that she needed 
to be arrested and probed.

"I have a burned out tail-light, Sheriff," she said, reverting to 
her original plan.  "I've been driving around town with it burned 
out all day."

"You can get it fixed tomorrow," he said, agreeably.

"I won't, though," she quickly replied.  "I'll probably just keep 
driving around your town and eventually have a TERRIBLE accident.  
A broken tail-light is a SERIOUS offense," she pleaded.

Terri couldn't believe that he was making her do this.  It was 
SO HUMILIATING!

"If I don't see the tail-light, it isn't a crime," he said, 
nonchalantly.

She decided to sweeten the pot.  "Justice Fields said that, when 
she was on the prison farm, you drove around in her little sports 
car.  I remember that clearly, because she said it really steamed 
her to have you driving past the prison farm in her Porsche while 
she stood out in the fields picking cotton."

"So what?" the Sheriff said, as if the story were even too 
unimportant to earn a yawn.

"I have a yellow Corvette convertible," Terri explained.  "If 
you locked me up in one of the cells, you could drive it around 
for the rest of the day, until you released me."

There was a pause, the Sheriff obviously intrigued by the idea.  
But then came a knock on the office door, and the idiot deputy 
entered.  He pointedly ignored Terri and spoke directly to the 
Sheriff.

"I guess the word got out that Miss London is pretty hot stuff, 
Sheriff," the deputy said.  "The football team wants to know if 
she'll be available for a little 'private party' after the game."

Terri shuddered.  The football team was here.

The Sheriff grinned.  "Tell them I'll talk to them about it in a 
few minutes." 

The deputy left, and the Sheriff turned to Terri.  "How about it, 
Terri?  All of the boys on the team are 18 or 19, and their sap is 
a-rising.  If you decide to stay, I guarantee that you'll get to 
know each and every one of them."

Terri scurried to the office door and peeked out.  She couldn't 
believe what she saw.  The area in front of the window was jammed 
with men.  They were arranged carefully, to get the maximum number 
of eyes in front of the window.  Some of the smaller football 
players were even sitting Indian style in front of the old men 
in the lawn chairs. 

Some of the men were dressed in business suits, others wore 
uniforms or work clothes.  To Terri, it looked like every adult 
male in town was standing in front of that damn window.

But it was the young, searching eyes of the football players that 
chilled her the most.  The idea of having to strip butt-naked in 
front of a bunch of smirking, giggling TEENAGERS was almost too 
humiliating to contemplate....

"Well, at least you're going to put the curtain up," she said, 
her voice cracking.

"I WAS going to put the curtain up," the Sheriff said.  "But, if 
I have to process you, I won't have time." 

"But there must be 100 men out there!" Terri wailed.

"I'm sorry, Terri.  I warned you that if I wasted time with you, 
I wouldn't have time for the curtain."  The Sheriff was now using 
his best "I-told-you-so" voice.

He waited while Terri examined the window in abject terror.  The 
beautiful journalist bit her lip as she looked at the men staring 
hungrily through the window.  Her knees were shaky, and she had 
to brace her hands on the doorjamb to keep from falling.

Getting up, the Sheriff stood behind her and began describing her 
potential degradation.

"Of course you'd need to take a shower, Terri.  And, naturally, 
I would need to delouse you thoroughly, to make sure you were 
clean."

She stiffened at his humiliating insinuation.  She was, after all, 
a beautiful, successful career woman.  She could buy and sell him.  
She didn't need to be deloused like some mangy, stray dog.

But the Sheriff continued, enjoying the way that Terri squirmed 
uncomfortably while he described every detail of the humiliating 
process.  "The shower has no curtain, because I need to make sure 
that you wash yourself thoroughly...everywhere.  You would have to 
face front the entire time, and I would make you to lather up real 
good before you scrubbed yourself down." 

"You would have to use the hard bristle scrub brush and the 
extra-strength disinfectant," he explained.  "It might be a 
little tough on that tender skin of yours, but it WOULD get 
you clean."

"Are you sure I couldn't use a shower curtain, Sheriff?" 

"Absolutely not.  I would need to closely supervise your entire 
shower.  The only time you could even turn around was when you 
scrubbed down your back...and your cute little derriere." 

Terri shivered as she looked at the empty concrete shower stall.  
Like the exam table, the front of the shower stall faced the 
street, which meant that everyone in the window would have a 
perfect and unobstructed view of her humiliating scrub-down.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, it did.

The Sheriff leaned close and whispered in her ear.  "And then 
you would have to mount the exam table, Terri."

The exam table!  She had almost forgotten about that mortifying 
exam table in the window. 

Terri winced as she thought of spreading her pampered thighs in 
front of the eager crowd. 

She looked down at the rug, trying to gather the courage for her 
next question.  The Sheriff let her take her time.  He knew that 
this was difficult for her. 

Besides, he was enjoying watching her squirm like a fish on a hook.

"Would I have to...to put my feet up...?"  Her voice trailed away, 
as if she couldn't even speak the words.  She cleared her throat 
and tried again. 

"Would I have to put my feet into...the s-stirrups?  Please 
don't make me," she whispered, desperately looking for a way 
out.  "Everyone will see...EVERYTHING!" she said, plaintively.

"Yes, I'm afraid they WILL see everything, Terri.  But it serves 
you right.  After all, as you said yourself, a broken tail-light 
is a serious offense." 

She turned back and looked out the office door again.  She looked 
at the window and then at the exam table.  Every time she moved her 
head, the reflection from the stirrups would catch the light at a 
new angle, almost as if those hideous stirrups were winking at her, 
daring her to make the final move. 

She closed her eyes to avoid looking at the stirrups.  She couldn't 
let the sight of them strip away her courage. 

She straightened the front of her stylish jacket and smoothed down 
the front of her short skirt.  Then she made her decision. 

Gently pushing the Sheriff aside, she walked over to the desk and 
grimly picked up the black carton. 

She looked down into the cheap plastic carton at her purse and 
shoes.  The carton was practically empty right now, but she knew 
that it would be full in a few minutes. 

Terri shuddered as she imagined all of her beautiful clothes 
packed neatly away in the ugly black carton...and pictured the 
carton carelessly displayed in the front window.  The carton 
would be left there as if Terri's strip search were just a 
routine trifle scarcely worth cleaning up after.

With the carton, she walked out the door of the Sheriff's office.  
The tile floor was cold, and she shivered as walked across the 
room in her nylons.

But she knew that the unforgiving steel stirrups would be even 
colder.

She positioned herself directly in front of the leering, smirking 
crowd.  There was a slight murmur of approval as she emerged from 
the office, and even a little applause.  But the audience fell into 
a hushed silence as she strode across the room, her face a mask of 
grim determination.

She put the carton down on the small table next to the shower and 
looked over at the exam table.  The steel stirrups seemed to be 
smiling up at her, and she felt her resolve weaken again.

She took her shoes and purse out of the black carton and set them 
aside.  She knew she would have to put them in last....

After she had neatly packed away the rest of her clothes.

She looked at the table.  Her nemesis, the deputy, had thoughtfully 
taken the lid off the jar of lubricant and had removed a single 
disposable rubber glove from the box and left it on the table. 

She blushed and instinctively clenched her thighs together as she 
thought about where the Sheriff was going to put the long, probing 
fingers of the thin rubber glove.

The deputy had also left a coarse scrub brush in the shower.  She 
thought the rough bristles looked more suitable for washing a 
truck than an elegant and well-educated young lady such as 
herself. 

Then she noticed something else.  On the corner of the table was 
a neatly folded pair of denim cutoff shorts, a white t-shirt, a 
pair of athletic socks, and a pair of cheap sneakers.

Wondering what the clothes were for, she walked over to examine 
them more closely.  The midriff-baring t-shirt was very thin and 
brief, like something out of a wet t-shirt contest.  She also 
found a cheap pair of flimsy white panties folded neatly under 
the shorts. 

And she noted unhappily that there was no brassiere.

She then noticed the number printed on the front of the t-shirt:

		#5875-4844-8789

It was her prisoner number; the Sheriff was taking her to the prison 
farm.

She turned to confront the Sheriff.  "You can't send me to the 
prison farm!" she cried.  "Not for a broken tail-light!"

"I wasn't planning on it originally, but you convinced me, Terri.  
A broken tail light is a SERIOUS offense," he said, mocking her 
with her own words.

She flinched as she imagined herself dressed in the cheap denim 
short-shorts and the flimsy t-shirt, picking up garbage by the 
side of the road with the other chained women. 

The revealing uniform would ensure that she would be quite 
indistinguishable from the other little bimbos on the chain 
gang.

She looked down at herself and was relieved to see that she was 
still wearing her expensive, tastefully tailored clothes and not 
some degrading prison outfit. 

But she knew that she wouldn't be wearing her beautiful clothes 
for much longer. 

Terri loved the feel of her soft, finely brushed wool suit and her 
silk blouse and lingerie.  She could scarcely believe that she 
would soon be wearing the coarse denim shorts and cheap polyester 
blend t-shirt and underpants that fate had chosen for her.

She shuddered at the thought of being paraded out the front door 
with her hands cuffed behind her back, her dainty ankles in irons, 
dressed in the scanty prison uniform. 

It was unseasonably chilly, and she knew that her erect nipples 
would be clearly visible through her thin, tight t-shirt.  But, 
with her hands cuffed behind her back, there would be no way for 
her to maintain even a shred of modesty.

She imagined the way she would blush and squirm while all the 
horny men whistled and hooted at her. 

Terri knew that the leg chains the Sheriff used were ridiculously 
short; her normal graceful gate would be replaced by a humiliating, 
awkward shuffle.  She remembered that the Sheriff had left his car 
parked at the end of the street in front of the doughnut shop. 

This meant that she would be forced to stumble past the two female 
store clerks she had snubbed earlier.  She knew the women would be 
delighted to see her stripped of her fashionable clothes and 
expensive jewelry.  The thought of their smug smiles when they saw 
her in her scanty prison uniform and handcuffs was almost too much 
for her to bear.

In her mind, she imagined their catty jibes:

"Well, look who's here."

"It looks like someone's smart mouth got her into trouble."

"She doesn't look so sassy now."

"I love her new makeover!"

"What a little tramp -- she's not even wearing a bra."

"Any woman who dresses like that SHOULD be locked up."

"I love your new ankle bracelets, dearie."

"Have a good time on the prison farm!  Don't do anything we 
wouldn't do!"

Terri would be grateful when the Sheriff eventually put his hand 
on her head and guided her into the back seat of the patrol car.  
The drive to begin her new life on the prison farm would be a 
relief.

She looked down at the shorts and the shoes on the table.  She was 
surprised that the deputy had not only guessed her waist correctly, 
but he had also been right on her shoe size.

Then she had a sobering thought. 

"Why shouldn't he be able to fit me?" Terri said to herself.  
"What's special about me?  That deputy strips young professional 
women like me out of our fancy clothes and puts us into these 
disgusting uniforms all the time.  I'm no different from any of 
the other women he's processed this week." 

It was a humbling realization.  Terri had always been special: 
honors in college, a meteoric career rise, and then her Pulitzer 
Prize.  But all that was about to disappear.  There would be 
nothing special about the frightened-looking convict in the sleazy 
prison uniform that the Sheriff would march out to his squad car.

Inmate #5875-4844-8789 would be just another item on the Sheriff's 
record.

She looked at the table again. 

At least there was no plastic bag.

Terri hated the thought of her delicate pink panties being brazenly 
displayed in the front window.  She imagined the men and women on 
the sidewalk joking about her, and the dirty old men making vulgar 
remarks at her expense.

The casual display of her most intimate apparel left her feeling 
helpless and humiliated, but she knew no one would care.  When 
they saw her shamefully wet underpants, everyone would conclude 
that she had gotten exactly what she deserved.

She looked back at the Sheriff, who was smiling at her, his arms 
folded, as if he were daring her to make the next move. 

But she wasn't going to back out now.

Terri looked down at the carton.  In a final act of defiance, she 
turned it so that all of the men in the window could see the 
shameful, humiliating label that she so despised:

		LONDON, TERRI
		5875-4844-8789

She then turned and faced the picture window. 

Terri looked out at the grinning men with some confusion.  She had 
expected her attitude would earn her their admiration, or at least 
their grudging respect.  But her audience just seemed to be amused, 
instead.

Suddenly she realized that the men viewed her defiance as just 
one more thing to strip off her.  Her attitude would be casually 
tossed into the carton with the rest of her possessions. 

After all, what would a jailhouse bimbo need with pride, or 
confidence, or dignity?

Terri felt her determination drain out of her.  She tried 
desperately to avoid making eye contact, but, everywhere she 
looked, a pair of smiling male eyes looked back at her. 

The Sheriff stood a few feet behind her and off to the side, 
carefully positioning himself so that she could see him, but he 
wouldn't block the view from the window.  He absent-mindedly 
played with the key to Terri's bracelet, teasing her with the 
tantalizing possibility that he might still let her go.

She looked at the Sheriff with pleading eyes.  Although she had 
walked into the lion's den, she suddenly didn't feel very brave. 

She knew that the Sheriff was still toying with her, still 
dangling her freedom just out of reach.  She knew he could 
unlock the bracelet and escort her to her car...and her 
worst nightmare would be over.

Or, with a single command, he could kick off the most mortifying, 
humiliating experience she could possibly imagine.

The Sheriff toyed with the key to the bracelet and stared 
thoughtfully at Terri as he weighed her fate.  She tried to 
guess what he was going to do, but his face was a mask of 
indifferent judicial contemplation.

At last he smiled indulgently at her.  "It's about time we got 
you out of that suit, isn't it?" he asked. 

As soon as she started unbuttoning her jacket, the old men who 
had been slumped in the lawn chairs immediately perked up and 
sat straight.  Terri looked at them grimly.

The show had begun.

She swallowed and carefully took off her expensive charcoal 
jacket, trying to ignore the murmur of approval that was 
running through the crowd gathered in front of the window. 

She meticulously folded her expensive jacket and placed it in the 
black carton.

Turning back to face the window, with trembling fingers she began 
to slowly undo the dainty buttons on her silk blouse.  It was 
difficult, since she was literally quivering with fear...and 
excitement. 

Terri often gave a rather aloof and professional "career day" 
lecture to high school seniors, and she was always amused at 
how shy the male students were when they awkwardly stammered 
for her autograph.

But the grinning teenagers in the window didn't seem nervous now.  
Their amused, appraising stares made her feel more vulnerable 
and exposed than she had ever felt in her life. 

The Sheriff said nothing, but walked over to the black carton 
and dropped something inside.  Then he returned to his previous 
position. 

She looked anxiously into the carton to see what he had put there.  

It was a small, clear plastic bag. 

She flinched, but finished unbuttoning her blouse.  She knew that 
there was no turning back now. 



Edited by C. Lakewood