Trabbian Justice Ch. 14

Britney McManus woke up that morning in her crappy trailer in a trailer park on the other side of town feeling even worse than Allison. It was all her no-good boyfriend Billy's fault. She had sat in the bar waiting for him to show, but he hadn't. She had been sure he was with Debbie, that slut. So she had drowned her sorrows with a few beers and a couple of gin and tonics. She had known she shouldn't drive, but how the fuck was she supposed to get home? Well, when the cop stopped her, she knew she wouldn't be going home that night.

Her Legal Aid attorney was useless. She barely gave her two minutes before court. 12 lashes take it or leave it. What choice did she have? She couldn't afford a real lawyer, not trying to survive on what she made waiting tables at the diner. And now she had to take two days off of work at the diner to be caned and to recover, like she could afford to lose the pay.

Shit! Now she had to find that letter from the Department of Corrections and hustle her butt over to the other side of town by 9 AM sharp or she was looking at even more lashes. Since her license was suspended for the DWI, and she couldn't risk driving without it, because if a cop stopped her she was pretty sure they would shred her ass even worse, she had to take the bus which dropped her off a 10 minute walk from the building where they were going to cane her.

'Jesus, my life sucks,' Britney thought. So, it was about two minutes to 9 when she arrived in front of the door, out of breath from hurrying so as not to be late. Standing out there was a girl who looked like she was a student at the local fancy-pants school, Dorsbury College, almost certainly from a rich family. She looked really scared and embarrassed. She barely glanced at Britney, looking down at her feet.

It wasn't long before the door swung open. There were two dykey-looking guards standing there calling their names. It turned out the college girl was called Allison Sturgis and she was getting 8 strokes for buying booze with a fake ID. 'She must have had a better lawyer than me,' Britney thought.

Anyway after checking us in, the two dykes marched them to a room with a sign that said "Offender's Changing Room." Once inside, the older guard yelled "Strip. Everything off and in a locker. Let's go."

"What?" I asked. Meanwhile college girl Allison was in tears, but was unbuttoning her shirt.

The younger guard got right in my face, "You heard her McManus. Now we can get 4 or 5 male guards in here to tear your clothes off and paw you all over and you'll get some extra strokes with the cane. Or you can get naked now, your choice."

This was bullshit, but what could I do? I bent down and took my shoes and socks off and placed them on the bottom of the locker. Jesus, they could heat the floor a bit, you'd think. Then I pulled my sweat shirt off and the T shirt and then the bra.

The younger guard pointed at the butterfly tattoo on my left boob and the snake on the right one. "Nice tats, McManus," she said, laughing.

'Well, fuck you,' I thought. I felt like saying that too, but figured that wouldn't be smart. I unbuttoned my pants and slid them down. "Yeah, I got tats on my ankles too, OK bitch?" I muttered under my breath. I don't think she heard me over the sniveling coming from college girl, who was now buck naked, covering her pussy with one hand, and her boobs, which were bigger than mine, with the other. I slid my panties down and joined the club. I didn't bother covering myself-what was the point? I was pretty sure they were going to make us put our hands by our sides pretty soon anyway.

"Stand on the line!" the older guard ordered, pointing to some tape on the floor. OK, whatever. Allison stood next to me. "Hands by your sides!" Boy, I called that one.

The younger guard stood in front of Allison and ran her hands inside her mouth and ears and all through her hair. College girl had pretty much stopped bawling and just stood there looking miserable. The guard lifted Allison's left arm up and felt in the armpit, then in between the fingers. Same with the right. She felt under each boob and then between the legs. It must be a fun job if you're a dyke, like these guards. Then, she lifted each foot and felt in between the toes.

Then, she moved over in front of me. What fun. She got her jollies feeling me all over. See if I care. Meanwhile, the older guard had put a medical glove on her right hand and stood by the table with a big grin on her face. "McManus, over here," she barked. I knew what was coming and that it wouldn't be much fun for me, though it probably would be for her. I went over. "Bend over the table," she ordered. I bent over the table, tits pressed against the metal top. I felt two fingers going into my snatch unceremoniously, rooting around, probing deep inside me.

"Finding anything?" I asked. No comment from the dyke guard. Finally, the fingers came out. But I was pretty sure it wasn't over yet. And I was right. There was the farting sound of the lube being squeezed out, then the cold greasy feeling of it inside my crack, on my asshole. Then, the finger going inside, feeling it stretching the muscles, the pressure against the walls of my rectum. Finally, the relief as it came out.

"OK, stand up, you're clean," the guard told me. I stood up. College girl was looking like she was going to be sick, knowing she was next. "OK, Sturgis," the guard ordered, "Your turn." College girl looked like she was going to start crying again. Instead, she spoke up.

"Do I have to? I don't have anything inside me, I swear."

"This isn't optional, Sturgis," the older guard told her. "No exemptions for rich college students. Now get your ass over the table on the double or I'll add extra strokes." Allison complied. It seemed only fair to me. The guard went through the same none-too-gentle probing with her and then we were both good to go. So they marched us both buck naked down a hallway to a door marked "Clinic."