A sequel to "Waiting with Holly" 





                     A HOLLYDAY SURPRISE

                             by 

                            Arty 
                
               


    HOLLY PARTICIPATES IN THE VOLUNTARY STRIP-SEARCH PROGRAM



Holly drove into the police station car park.  "Good," she thought. 
"There's a free space."  She shook herself.  "Of course there's a 
free space -- it's Christmas Eve.  No one wants to visit the 
police now!  Except me, of course."  She blushed. 

She thought back to the first time she had been brought here.  
Natalie had set her up, she realised later.  Holly thought about 
that.  "I'm still not sure if I should thank her or spank her!" 
she laughed.  "Probably both!" 

"Now stop talking to yourself and get a move on, or you'll be 
late!"  She noticed another car parked nearby.  It looked vaguely 
familiar, but she couldn't place it.  Not wanting to be late, she 
shook herself, gathered up her car keys, purse, and a zippered 
folder, and got out of the car.  She locked the car and started 
toward the police station. 

Damn!  The form!  What had she done with the form? 

Sighing with relief, she remembered that she had put it in her 
folder.  That reminded her.  Opening the folder, she removed a 
plastic identity bracelet, and, suppressing a shudder, she placed 
it on her left wrist and snapped it closed.  The bracelet was 
removable only with a special tool.  She twisted it round her 
wrist; apart from a barcode it was plain.  But this innocuous bit 
of plastic meant that she would now be considered an escaped 
prisoner if she tried to leave the police station!  

She took out the form and closed the folder.  On the front of it, 
in gold lettering, was the wording, 

		V.S.S.P. 
		Holly Wood 

VSSP!  It didn't seem much, but Holly felt ashamed each time saw 
those initials..."Voluntary Strip-Search Program."  "Voluntary," 
that was the worst part.  The flimsy self-justification of 
coercion had been removed the instant she had ticked that 
innocuous box on the form she'd received after her third trip 
to see the Sheriff. 

Her thoughts drifted back to the first time.  Ashley had described 
in detail had happened to the unknown woman.  At first she had 
felt horrified.  There followed a realisation that it didn't 
matter how she felt about it; it was going to happen anyway.  
Finally there was the shame, as she became aware that her 
redicament was turning her on.  When Ashley had told her about 
the 'panty-bags,' she knew she was going to need one for HER  
panties. 

And it had happened pretty much as Ashley had said. 

Holly's face flamed red as she remembered the first time that she 
had cum.  She couldn't believe how turned on she had been, as she 
stood, handcuffed, watching Ashley squirming and cumming on the 
Sheriff's fingers.  Then, suddenly, it had been her turn.  The 
Sheriff had still used the vibrator on her, even though by now 
it was obvious that she was as wet as she had ever been! 

She flushed dark crimson as she relived that first orgasm and 
then the next two, as the Sheriff performed his cavity searches.  
She had even had a small one as she and Ashley had washed each 
other in the shower, under the the Sheriff's ever-watchful eye.  
She guessed that Ashley had had one, too, if the shuddering and 
soft moans were anything to go by. 

The humiliating walk to the interview room had followed, carrying 
her clothes in the crate and not being allowed even to touch them.  
The "administrative strapping" had been painful at first, but 
later, as the sting had faded,Holly couldn't believe how horny 
she had felt.  Luckily her husband had returned before she could 
relieve her frustration herself. and her explanation for his 
near-rape in the hall just inside the front door had seemed lame 
to her own ears, but he had seemed to accept it.  Then, each time 
she relived her strip-search, the love-making with her husband 
had been so intense and fulfilling that, when the time came to 
report to the Sheriff for the second time, she purposely had been 
a couple of dollars short of the required $200. 

She remembered the speculative look that the Sheriff had given 
her as he counted the money in her purse.  Without Ashley present, 
the experience had been less intense. but weirdly satisfying, 
nevertheless.  Her husband was once again the beneficiary of a 
very intense quickie that day. 

After the third time, when the Sheriff had counted her cash and 
found that she was $50 short, he had smiled broadly and promised 
her the "search of her life."  And it had not been an idle 
promise.  She had lost count of her orgasms after four or five, 
and the various "infractions" that required the Sheriff to use 
the strap were contrived, but that had not lessened the impact.  
The final strokes just by themselves had almost made her cum, too! 

The next week the waiver had arrived as it had the previous two 
weeks; only this time a covering letter had invited her to opt 
for the Voluntary Strip-Search Program.  The rules were simple.  
She would present herself twice a month and would "suffer" the 
indignities of a full strip-search, but without the requirement 
of being arrested or having the fiction of a misdemeanour hanging 
over her.  The VSSP gave her the option of adding to the basic 
strip-search various optional "extras"; however, once an extra had 
been chosen, this was assumed for all subsequent searches. 

Her reverie had taken her as far as the rear-door of the police 
station.  She glanced at her watch.  Good she wasn't late; it 
didn't do to be late.  She waved the wrist with the bracelet over 
the card reader, and the buzz of an electronic door lock told her 
to enter.  One of the perks of the VSSP was being able to by-pass 
the front desk! 

Once inside, she walked to the table containing a row of milk 
crates.  With expertise born of long practise, she slipped the 
folder into a pocket designed for the purpose.  She dropped her 
watch, all her jewellery, and her purse into the crate and headed 
for the only other door. 

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Wood, you're in good time today!" 

Holly nodded at the deputy, not trusting herself to speak.  She 
placed the form on the desk and signed it.  The deputy took it 
from her and put in a slot designed for it on the outside of the 
crate. 

"You know the way.  Enjoy yourself!" 

This was the worst part: the sinking feeling in the stomach, the 
certain knowledge of the shame and humiliation that she would soon 
be suffering.  And she had volunteered for it!  She hated it, but 
even now, like a Pavlov's dog, she could feel herself getting 
aroused. 

She thought about the letter again and its hints and tips on making 
the strip-search "a more fulfilling experience."  And she wondered 
again how many other women were part of the program? 

Her first time in the VSSP had been almost as intense as her very 
first search.  The shame of realising that she was undergoing this 
experience of her own free will had added to her humiliation.  She 
had noticed the curtains of the Search Room mirror were open.  When 
she had asked the Sheriff about this, he had told her that all 
VSSP sessions were available for "public" viewing (for a fee, of 
course).  He had said that he had to defray the costs of the 
program somehow: the fancy folder with the record book recording 
the details of each visit and the DVDs that were supplied so that 
she always had a visual record, too.  All of this cost money. 

From then on she had wondered exactly who had seen her sessions.... 
Did the speculative looks from her male co-workers mean that they 
knew what she looked like naked and cumming?  Did the lull in the 
conversation at the water cooler as she passed mean that they were 
discussing they way she cried out as the strap snapped home across 
her ass?  Was that smile from the security guard in reception an 
indication that he knew the way she tossed her head as she 
orgasmed? 

As with all things, familiarity had reduced the piquancy of the 
experience, and so, over the course of the next four or five 
visits, Holly had ticked more of the optional extras.  The Sheriff 
did his best, of course.  The last session had been very intense. 

As she stood on the yellow line with her hands cuffed behind her 
head, the Sheriff had circled her and recited his parody of the 
Miranda Warning.  "You have lost the right to wear clothing.  You 
have lost the right to cover yourself.  You have lost the right to 
prevent yourself from cumming...."  As he spoke, she had been 
aware of the wetness spreading slowly down her thighs.  She had 
looked at herself in the mirror, and the thought that unknown men 
could see how aroused she was becoming made her moan in shame. 

She had cum almost as soon as the vibrator had touched her.  Taking 
a small whip from the selection that hung by the examination table, 
the Sheriff had pronounced that she was a brazen slut and that six 
strokes to her pussy ought to calm her down.  However, the gentle 
strokes, as intended, inflamed her further, and, on the sixth and 
final stroke, she had exploded in an orgasm as strong as any she 
had ever had before. 

At this point, Holly had been helpless to prevent an almost 
continual series of cums as the Sheriff used his skilled fingers 
to manipulate and ravage her pussy and ass. 

The naked walk through the station to the interview room had been 
to a chorus of clapping and whistling almost unheard of since the 
VSSP had been initiated.  Her legs had been dripping with the 
juices that the Sheriff had managed to coax from her, and her musk 
had permeated the corridors through which she walked. 

Even though that had been two weeks ago, she still blushed 
furiously and moaned at the memory of the final humiliation 
heaped on her before she had been allowed to dress. 

"Gee, you can't wear these, they're dripping!"  The Sheriff 
squeezed the panties in the plastic bag.  "But, if you don't wear 
anything, your skirt'll get soaked!"  Grinning evilly, he reached 
into his pocket and withdrew a tampon.  "This'll stop you from 
leaking."  Holly had gasped in horror -– even with all the 
liberties that she had allowed this man to take with her body, 
this seemed...just worse somehow.  But, like a robot, she had 
taken the small cylinder from the Sheriff, and, groaning with 
embarrassment and shame, she had inserted the tampon before 
starting to dress. 

Last week she had ticked the final unchecked box on the form.  
Suddenly she remembered whose car she had seen in the car park.  
With a small smile of triumph she opened the door to the Search 
Room.  "Hi, Nat!  Fancy meeting you here!"

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

Send comments or story suggestions to: artyeleven@yahoo.co.uk



Edited by C. Lakewood