Introduction:
The party had been wild, you seventeen.
When it was busted you and three of your girlfriends ended up together, giggling drunk, sharing a cold cell. Finally they’d had to switch off the lights to shut you up.
You were rudely woken at dawn – cold, hungover and aching from the rough concrete floor – by the heavy cell door clanging open. The officer selected one of your two friends, sharing the relative comfort of the narrow bed head to toe, and took her away, locking the door behind him.
You were still groggy, sick in your stomach, when she was brought back threequarters of an hour later stark naked, tangle of skimpy party clothes clutched to her chest, sandals hanging from her fingers. Her cheeks were red and . She droped her clothes to the floor as the door slammed closed, covered her face and started to sob.
“My god! What did they do to you?” one of your friends asked, stupidly.
“What do you fucking think they did to me?” she yells “two dirty old fucking cops gave me ten strokes of the cane, that’s what they did to me – and you’re all getting the same, plus 20 hours community service”.
“But I’ll tell you what, the caning’s not the worste bit, the worst bit’s stripping in front of those smirking dirty old fuckers, being strapped down legs apart so they can get a good look between your legs and being made to walk back here through the station, in front of dozens of people, like this –
naked”. The tears have dried up with her sudden anger and she starts to dress, leaving her panties off.
As she finished dressing the door swung open again, and it was your turn. You were lead from the cell by two officers, one you guessed to be in his early thirties the other mid forties. They said nothing as they lead you to the superintendents cluttered office and handed him your rap sheet.
He gave it only a cursory glance, not bothering to acknowledge your presence, “same as the others?”, “yes Sir”, “OK” he signed the bottom of the form with a flourish and handed it back to the older officer – “the same for her; 10 strokes and 20 hours – take her downstairs”.
Before you could object you were led from his office, a firm grip on your forearm. They pushed you in front of them down the corridor, through the station. You could feel them looking you up and down appreciatively, finally the younger sniggered “you know what … I think I’m going to enjoy this one even more than her friend – don’t you just love these naughty little tenagers and their little strip shows?” to you know, “can’t wait to see your little tits and tight pussy girl”.
Your your cheeks flushed in embarrassed trepidation of the upcoming act of punishment and humiliation.
Finally they lead you down a clanking metal stairwell to the basement where a woman officer stood waiting in front of another heavy iron cell door.
Inside thie cell was even more depressing than the one you shared with your girlfriends, just a few square metres of windowless dirty whitewashed concrete, a single low watt bulb hanging, hot, on a length of cable, from the ceiling and a cheap steel legged formica table bolted to the floor square in the middle of the floor. Four pairs of handcuffs hung, two from corners of the tabletop and two around oposing legs, ready to restrain you.
The female officer locked the cell door and stood, barring the exit, arms crossed, indifferent and bored. She’d been witness dozens of times before and doesn’t care – she’s a token legal requirement when a female offender is to be naked with male officers.
Turning to face you, both grinning, the older of the officers pointed at your chest; “it’s time – strip”.
When you didn’t move he started again, more slowly “take off your clothes, your jewellery; absolutely everything and leave it on the floor. Offenders are to be completely naked when they receive punishment”.
With no choice, and not wanting to subject yourself to an assisted strip you started to undress. It didn’t take long, your thin party clothes little impedemant to imminent nudity, your sandals, tee-shirt, then shorts joined one another in an untidy pile on the floor between you and the police officers. Then, with your cheeks flushed hot, your skimpy black bra and panties topped the pile and you were naked.
“Jewellery” the younger officer reminds you – and your earrings, necklace and watch fell in turn on top of your bunched up panties.
They made short work of strapping you down. Bending you roughly to double up over the tables edge and clamping your wrists out in front of you at opposing corners of the table. Then crouched at your feet to enjoy your utter humiliation as they slowly pulled your legs wide and cuffed your ankles to the table legs.
“Cute pussy”. You didn’t know which of them whispered it to you as they stood again.
The ten strokes were applied quickly and mercilessly. You writhed in agony with each seering stroke and tried in vain to hold back the tears and screams. By the fourth stroke you were no longer able to and began to struggle ineffectually against your bonds, trying somehow to escape the next blow, howling your agony into the soundproofed room. Tears ran over your hot cheeks and fell to the tabletop in front of you.
It was over as quickly as it started, you don’t remember being released or having your bundle of clothes thrust into your hands. You do remember the humiliation of the long walk through the station back to the cell and your girlfriends, policemen those being interviewed looking up from their desks to smirk at the naked young woman as she’s lead between them.
———
This time, in your mid thirties, you’ve been stopped at a checkpoint returning from a late night at the office. The tax disk on your steady boyfriends car is a month out of date – 40 strokes and 40 days in jail, a well publicised punishment and the end of your career amongst other things.
They’ve left you alone in the squad car whilst they try their luck picking up other offenders to make the trip back to the station worthwhile. You look down at yourself, dreassed in your best office clothes; a short sleeved ivory satin blouse, charcoal grey knee-length pencil skirt, slit up the back, dark pantyhose slicking your long legs and shiny patent heels. Underneath your boyfriends favourite underwear is hidden, skimpy and black.
You realise there’s not a lot you won’t do, or risk to avoid this punishment – quite aside from the remembered pain and humiliation of the beating, now four times as many strokes, there’s the fact that 40 days in jail will loose you your job, your apartment and quite possibly your boyfriend.
After a lonely hour the police officers return to the car with two more offenders, young men. They let one in each side of the car so that you’re sandwiched between them straddling the central column. They’re damp from standing in the insistent drizzle whilst the police took their particulars, neither looks happy or utters a word.
The two officers, a man and a woman, remove their regulation waterproofs and get into the front seats, the man on the drivers side. The car starts and pulls away from the curb slowly.
Five minutes into the journey you realise the officers are dawdling, taking a very long back street route to the station. There might be a chance; you lean forward to the perforated Perspex that separates passengers from drivers, clear your throat, “officers, is there some way we can make this problem go away?”
“Are you offering a bribe to an officer of the law?”. The response appears to preclude any leeway.
The car rolls on through the night. After a few more minutes of silence, still no nearer the station, the woman in the passenger seat turns, opens a small hatch into the rear of the squad car and dangles the keys to your handcuffs between thumb and forefinger; “take your clothes off”.
You have to twist awkwardly in the confined space to turn your back to her and take the proffered keys. You close your eyes head down, your hair hanging over your face, as you fumble to insert the key in the cuffs and turn it. One of the hoops slides open with a sequence of clicks, and you’re free. You rub the circulation back into your wrists after you hand the cuffs and key back through the little hatch, and it is closed.
Knowing they will quickly loose interest if you hesitate you draw forward on the seat and start to undress. You unbutton your satin blouse in the, knowing their eyes will be aclimatised to the gloom by now, and shuck if off your shoulders and down your arms, revealing your pert breasts cupped in your thin black bra. Glancing up you catch the drivers eyes in the rear view mirror and feel the hot expectant gaze of the other passengers. You drop your blouse into the lap of the boy on your right, you don’t want it to get ruined in the footwell.
You edge your buttocks further forward in the seat, until your pantyhose’d knees rest against the Perspex divider between passenger and driver cabins, your elbows underneath you pushed against the other passengers, arching your back to raise your bum from the seat, inadvertently pointing your breasts at the ceiling, you work your skirt around your waist to bring button and zip to the front. As you do you meet the quizzical gaze of one of the boys sitting next to you. He gives you a quick shy smile and nods, suggesting you continue.
You slide back to a sitting position to undo your skirt, put one hand on the seat behind you again to raise your bum so that you can use the other hand to shuck the skirt over your bottom and panties and down to your knees. Sliding back in the seat you bend double to undo the ankle straps of your patent black heals, discard them in the footwell and strip your skirt off, folding it quickly and dropping it on top of your blouse in your neighbors lap, catching his gaze as you do so, he winks.
As you edge the first of your pantyhose down your thigh two handed the squad car rolls through the derelict gates of a dark foboding disused factory on the industrial outskirts of town. Slowly, tires crunching on gravel, making it’s way deeper into the compound as you toss the first bunched up pantyhose into the footwell and start on the second. By the time you’ve removed the second the drivers found a dark secluded corner, an overhanging tree hiding you from the moonlight now that the rain has ceased and night sky cleared, pulled to a stop and killed the lights. The driver turns, with a grin, to join the others watching you strip, you meet his gaze and he smiles and nods for you to continue.
You arch your back forward and reach both hands to the small of your back and the fiddly clasp of your bra, biting your lip as you work it open. The female officer, without looking away from you, reaches to the ceiling, feels around until she finds what she wants and, just as you are pulling your bra off your tits and painfully erect nipples, presses a switch and the central of three small reading lights flicks on over your head, illuminating your sordid little strip show. You can no longer see the officers in the drivers compartment, reflections in the dividing Perspex hiding them from you, but you know they’re still watching intently.
You cup your breasts in your hands and role your nipples between finger and thumb, eyes closed, seeing the reading light red through your upturned eyelids. But the male officer is impatient for the show to go on; “no need to mess about – get your panties off” after a brief pause he adds “slut”, just to make you feel good about what you’re doing.
Knowing what’s required of their “slut” you slide down until your back is flat on the seat, your head bent forward umcomfortably, your bottom hanging out over the footwell and plant your bare feet on the cold Perspex divider, your knees wide and legs doubled back, your half translucent panties pulled taught. Your breasts hang flat against your chest, your still erect nipples pointing slightly outwards. Your neighbors lean in over you and you can see the silloutes of the officers peering at you illuminated from behind by moonlight through the windscreen.
You slip your panties over your buttocks, until the elastic taught around the top of your thighs, their translucent crotch taught between your legs a centimeter above your pussy, hiding it, then you pull the dark triangle of material up to your belly and hold it there for a few seconds, letting them take a good long look at the pink sensitive frills of your pussy and neat little triangle of carefully cropped pubic hair, spreading your knees wider until the muscles of your inner thighs stand rigid, splaying yourself for their viewing pleasure.
Quickly you put your knees together, slide your panties over them and, leaving them hanging from one ankle spread yourself again, stark naked.
The woman instructs you from the dark of the drivers cabin; “play with yourself, get your pussy wet, spread it for them”. You comply, putting two fingers in your mouth, taking them out glistening with saliva and running them down your cleavage, and belly until they’re stroking, caressing and moistening yourself. As you feel yourself release slick fluids you push your fingers deeper and then part them in a victory sign, spreading yourself, exposing your pink insides, tight vagina and your engorged clitoris dangling in the middle. With the other hand you play with your clitoris with increasing urgency, until you’re ready, and plunge two fingers to the hilt deep inside your silky wet hole to frig yourself roughly.
The little hatch flips open between your legs, the blunt black end of the female officers night stick is offered to you; “get it inside you” she instructs, voice hoarse. Retracting your fingers, soden with lubricating fluids you grasp the end of the shaft with one hand, spreading yourself even wider with the other, and slowly run its hard blunt end up and down between your lips to lubricate it. It’s thick and unforgiving, too wide for you to get in easily, it takes both hands to spread yourself wide enough to get the tip through the tight ring of vaginal muscle, you arch backwards and a loud moan escapes you involuntarily as the baton is roughly twisted and thrust up you from the other side of the hatch. She forces three inches of it inside you before beginning to languorously fuck you with it, twisting it slowly in and out. The men are enjoying watching you squirm, abandoned in this rough perversion, your hot breath has steamed up the side windows and the beads of sweat pool on your flushed chest and a trickle down between your breasts.
Finally she withdraws the baton, the hatch closes and you collapse back into the seat panting for breath, mopping the sweat from your brow, allowed to relax for a few seconds.
“Now, I’ve waited long enough”, it’s the female officer. “Get these boys out of their pants, I want to see their cocks – you can leave them cuffed”.
Complying, you turn to the boy on your left, look him in the eye, grin and wink, and brush your folded blouse and skirt from his lap. Daintily you pluck his belt, button and fly apart, fold his jeans open, to where his erect penis is pushing against his boxer shorts trying to escape. Briefly you push the thin cotton apart revealing his head to you alone as your body is twisted in front of him hiding him from the wpc. Then you put your arms around his waste, grip his jeans at the back, and with him raising his buttocks slightly, yank his trousers and briefs roughly down to his thighs, watching amused as his cock springs to rigid attention, freed from the constraining material. A few more shoves and you manage to get his trousers and pants around his ankles.
Sitting back, you hook his nearest knee over your leg, put your lips to his ear and whisper, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “spread, bitch!”.
He obliges, sliding forward on the now sweat slippery seat, jacking his knees further apart, his engorged helmet bouncing against his taught belly. You cup one hand gently around his balls, thumb and forefinger wrapped around the base of his shaft, you jerk him gently, pointing him at where you know the woman to be sitting unseen – “what do you want me to make this bitch do?” you ask. “play rough with him”, comes the answer.
He’s helpless, hands still cuffed behind his back, as you pull, squeeze, roll, slap, lick and nip playfully at his cock and balls, making sure the womans view is unobstructed, you ask him repeatedly, with a playful grin, “do you like it bitch? you want it harder bitch?” when his cock is slick with sweat you bend over it an take it into your mouth, lapping up the salty savoriness of it, pushing it down deep, unable to breath, until you can take no more in and pull back, gagging.
You turn to the other boy, “ready to show her your cock?” you ask and, without waiting for an answer, yank his trouser open and down around his knees. You get on all fours across the back seat, your legs in the other guys lap, your buttocks in his face as you take the next guy straight into your mouth, bobbing up and down over his cock enthusiastically whilst trying to get into a position where the other man can use his tongue on you, eventually wrapping one leg around the back of his neck and forcing your wet pussy into his face, not caring about his tongue, mastabating yourself on his face, nose and chin.
When you stop and turn and kiss him hard you can taste your sweet secretions all over him. You sit back between them, relaxing a second, a hand on each ramrod cock, teasing slowly as you draw breath.
“Play time’s over – time for you to fuck”, it’s the man, the command in his voice clear.
You swing your legs over one of the boys at random, helping him to shuffle into the middle of the seat, reach between your legs to spread yourself, the other hand on his chest, then lower yourself onto him, you’re so wet he slips in easily. You start to fuck, gyrating yor hips slowly, letting them watch as you slide onto and off him, rubbing your tits in circles on his chest, licking his face.
After a minute the gruff mans voice comes from behind the Perspex shield; “You” he’s talking to the unoccupied boy, “get your hands to the hatch so I can uncuff you”. In order to let him to the hatch you have to slide the boy you’re fucking down flat onto the seat and let him slide into the footwell awkwardly bending over the pair of you. You hear the cuffs slide undone.
“Now, get on top of her”
You stop undulating on the boy beneath you and wait as the next one climbs on top, slips one arm around your neck so that he can hold you down, grips his cock in the other hand and lays it carefully along the sweaty crease of your buttocks. Quickly he raises himself to make room and runs the head of his rock hard member between your buttocks until you can feel it pushing against your puckered arsehole. You try to relax. He pushes harder into you, at the same time pushing you down by the neck, risking the other boy sliding out, you gasp and arch backwards until your sweaty cheek is resting against his as he penetrates your tight sphincter and slowly twists himself into you inch by inch. Once he’s in up to his hilt you both relax a second, you feeling impaled, the two fat cocks stuffing you, only an inch apart inside you.
You are helpless to contribute as they both start to thrust and withdraw, squirming above and below, sandwiching you between them, you close your eyes, bite your lip and moan without control as they simultaneously fuck and sodomise you, sometimes in rhythm, sometimes juxtoposition.
You take it for as long as you can, finally in drooling delirium climb up the boy beneath you to escape and evacuate them, gasping for breath in the sweaty humid confines of the passenger cabin.
You take control again, shove the boys to either side of the cabin and get up onto the seat on elbows and knees, give them your mouth and pussy, let one fuck you whilst you service the other with your mouth, hard and urgently.
You turn around to share your favours fairly.
Finally you feel both of them reaching the point of no return, pull off them and slide into the footwell, head back mouth open, breasts ready for the photo finish you know the watchers want. Grasping both boys around balls and hilt you draw them in over you, let them masturbate themselves urgently, occasionally drawing one or the other of them to you and sucking his head quick and hard.
They cum almost simultaneously, twin hot jets squirting onto your cheeks, lips and into your open mouth, running down your face into your hair and down your neck and cleavage. They squeeze more out onto your tits and then shake the last drops so that they fall randomly all over you. You swallow the viscus salty cum that they ejaculayed into your throat and then take each rapidly deflating member into your mouth and suck it clean before falling back into the seat to clean yourself as best you can – licking around your mouth, rubbing the cum out of your eyelashes on the back of your hands and scraping as much of it as you can from your cheeks.
The boy on your left has already pulled his pants back on, the woman officer dangles the key for the others cuffs through the hatch so that you can free him and he can dress. You lie back naked as they do, strangely pleased with yourself, you never thought you had it in yourself to be that wantonly abandoned and it had been an extremely exciting and satisfying experience, you long ago lost count of how many times you’d orgasmed. You reach into the footwell and slip your blouse over your shoulders, leaving it undone and soaking up some of the rapidly cooling drops of cum, you collect your bra, panties, hose and skirt in your lap and wait.
“You two boys can fuck off now and walk back to your car, we have some unfinished business to see to with the chick”, the door locks click open And they get out without complaining about the two kilometre walk through the unlit streets back to their car. As they walk away you hear one of them say to the other “well that was an unexpected turn of events …” then they are gone into the night.
If you thought that was to be the end of things you’d have put your clothes back on, but you hadn’t. The woman turns to you; “we were only bringing those boys in for a record check anyway, they’d forgotten their ID’s”.
They both get out of the car, her for a cigarette, him to slide into the backseat next to you. She sits on the fender facing away smoking languorously, not wanting to see what her partner does with you.

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