A COMPLETE DEMONSTRATION

                             by

                          Joe Doe


A SCHOOL PRINCIPAL VOLUNTEERS TO HELP HER HUSBAND BY WORKING AT THE 
POLICE CONVENTION TRADE SHOW.  SHE FINDS HERSELF STRAPPED DOWN OVER 
A BENCH AS A "DEMONSTRATION MODEL" FOR A COMPANY THAT SELLS STRIP 
SEARCH PRODUCTS.  JUST WHEN SHE THINKS IT COULDN'T GET ANY WORSE, 
ONE OF HER DELINQUENT SENIORS ARRIVES AND DECIDES THAT HE WANTS A 
"COMPLETE" DEMONSTRATION.

 

Jeff was bored and restless as he walked through the exhibition 
hall.  The police convention was almost the last place he wanted 
to be, but at least the exhibition hall was better than having 
to listen to a lot of boring speeches.  And anything was better 
than school.  At 18, Jeff was at a turning point in his life.  
He had been the star of the football team, but his academic and 
disciplinary problems made college impossible.  His father 
wanted him to join him in law enforcement, but Jeff knew that 
he should probably be sitting in a jail and not running one.  
But, if working for his dad part time as a "deputy" allowed him 
to get out of school, it was worth it, even if he had to wear 
the dorky police uniform.

The exhibition hall didn't open for another hour, but, with his 
badge and gun, Jeff looked totally at home as he walked up and 
down the aisles.  Most of the booths sold boring junk like 
fingerprinting computers and radar guns, but, every now and 
then, Jeff saw something that sparked his interest.  One of 
the handcuff companies had decided to "spice up" its exhibition 
with a line of scantily clad prisoners wearing handcuffs.  The 
half-naked women didn't look too happy about being there, but 
Jeff enjoyed watching them blush their way through their 
"community service."

At the end of the row was a booth with a huge marquee, "STRIPCO: 
For ALL Your Strip Search and Inmate Processing Needs!"  But it 
wasn't the sign that sparked Jeff's interest.  In the center of 
the booth was a small black bench, with a luscious redhead 
strapped over it in a humiliating "bottoms up" position.  The 
woman tried desperately to turn her face away as Jeff walked 
towards her, but, when he got closer, he realized why she was 
so desperately trying to avoid eye contact.

The woman strapped over the bench was the principal at his school, 
Mrs. Debbie Johnson!

He couldn't believe it.  If he had a nemesis in his life, it was 
Mrs. Johnson.  Every time he failed a test, or participated in a 
prank, it was Mrs. Johnson who tried to have him expelled, or who 
tried to press criminal charges.  Of course his dad was the local 
sheriff, and he was a football hero, so she always failed.  But 
that never stopped her from trying.

Jeff was an affable young man, and he usually had no trouble 
wrapping both students and teachers around his finger -- 
certainly he hadn't made it to his senior year based by studying.  
But Debbie Johnson was different.  She was prissy and aloof, and 
made a point of keeping a cool professional distance in her 
dealings with Jeff.  Although she was attractive, she always 
wore her long red hair in a tight bun, and she dressed in frumpy 
charcoal or navy blue suits.  Jeff joked with his friends that 
Debbie was more of a man than most of the guys on the team.

But she didn't look like a man now.  The proud principal was 
wearing just a wispy pair of lacy white panties and a 
midriff-baring t-shirt.  She was strapped in a kneeling 
position, so her cute panty-clad butt faced the people 
walking past the booth.  Her long red hair cascaded down 
around her shoulders.  She wasn't wearing a bra, and her 
breasts jiggled provocatively underneath her as she twisted 
around to look at the clearly startled Jeff.

He was amazed.  Who would have thought that Debbie Johnson, 
his battleaxe school principal, was a HOT BABE? 

"Um...what are you doing here?" she asked, trying to maintain 
some measure of professional decorum.  "Shouldn't you be in 
school, YOUNG MAN?"  She tried to sound stern, but, in her 
present situation, it came off as ridiculous, and her voice 
cracked fearfully at the end of the sentence.

"I'm here as part of cooperative education, Mrs. Johnson," 
Jeff explained, helpfully.  He smiled down at her.  "I think 
the real question is, what are YOU doing here?  Shouldn't YOU 
be in school, YOUNG LADY?" 

He was smiling broadly, but she wasn't.  She had lorded it over 
him for a long time, and this sudden reversal of fortunes made 
her very uncomfortable.  Still, Jeff might be her ticket out of 
this mess, so she dutifully explained what happened.

"My husband, Tim, is a state trooper, and he was supposed to work 
a trade show booth, but he got sick."  Her words came quickly.  
"Tim called around for hours to find a replacement to substitute 
for him, but he couldn't.  So I called in sick so that I could 
take his place in the booth.  Anyway, when I got here they'd 
already found a couple of troopers to sit in for him, so they 
didn't need me.  One of the troopers suggested that I go backstage 
to see if they needed any help, and I ended up getting locked in a 
room with a bunch of female prisoners.  I tried to explain the 
mistake, but no one would listen."
 
She was plaintive now.  "The next thing I knew they'd stripped me 
down, strapped me to this bench, and wheeled me out here." 

"Just in time too, teacher!" Jeff said, brightly.  "The exhibition 
hall is going to open in just a few minutes!"

She shuddered.  "Jeff, you have to call my husband, or tell the 
troopers what happened.  No one knows I'm here!  Help me get out 
of these restraints."  Her fingers worked desperately at her 
bonds, but it was clear that she was going nowhere.

He smiled. "I'd sure like to, Mrs. Johnson, especially seeing as 
how you've always been so nice to me," he said, sarcastically.  
"But you told me that I shouldn't allow my friendships to get in 
the way of my studies.  Today I'm here to evaluate police products 
for my dad.  I need to get on with my research now."

He paused and ran his fingers up the exposed part of the bench 
between her spread legs.  "For example, that bench you're strapped 
to sure does look interesting."  He read the attached card aloud:

    WITH THE X-2000 STRIP SEARCH BENCH, YOUR SUSPECTS WILL BE 
    HELPLESS TO RESIST CAVITY SEARCHES, SUPPOSITORIES, AND ALL
    SORTS OF CORPORAL PUNISHMENT.  WITH ITS PATENTED "BUTT FIRST"
    DESIGN, THE X-2000 MAKES ALL THOSE HARD-TO-REACH PLACES...
    COMPLETELY REACHABLE!

He laughed at the stupidity of the ad.  Who wrote this stuff?

"Well, since I'm here to evaluate this bench, I guess I should see 
if it is as good for cavity searches as they claim."  He teasingly 
ran his fingers over the wispy silk of her panties.  "Of course, 
you can't perform a cavity search if the criminal is wearing 
these." 

He began toying with the waistband of her panties, playfully 
pulling the elastic away from her skin to expose the top of her 
bottom crack, and then releasing it so that the elastic SNAPPED 
back loudly against her skin. 

"How dare you touch me!"  She was indignant.  "I demand that you 
release me, RIGHT NOW!" 

"Oh, don't make a fuss, teach," he said.  "You'll just draw a 
crowd."  

She immediately stopped squirming and lowered her voice.

"That's better," he said, soothingly.  "I think you're in enough 
trouble already, young lady, without making it worse by being 
insolent."  He began ticking off her offenses: "Skipping 
school...lying about being sick...sneaking around back stage...."  
She flinched; Jeff had adopted her tone and mannerisms, and he 
was mocking her by playing principal.

"For starters, if you want me to help you, I expect to be treated 
with respect," he said, adopting a tone of mock seriousness.  "I 
think from now on you should call me Officer Wallace...or just 
'sir' -- as in 'Yes, sir' or 'No, sir' or 'Right away, sir.'"

Debbie said nothing at first, fuming at the impudent student.  He 
would pay for this!  But, as he teasingly ran his finger inside 
the waistband of her panties, continuing to snap it, she soon 
realized she had no choice.  Jeff's unspoken message was clear: 
either she played along, or her scanty underpants were coming DOWN!

"Yes, sir, Officer Wallace," she said, as meekly as she could.  
"Whatever you say, Officer Wallace."

He laughed.  "That's MUCH better.  And, from now on, I think I'll 
just call you Debbie.  That's okay with you, isn't it, Debbie?"

She said nothing, so he ran his finger down her bottom and then 
worked it between her splayed thighs.  She let out a little gasp 
as he started to rub her panty-covered pussy with his finger. 

He let out a gasp too.  She was wet.  The stuck-up, haughty little 
princess was DRIPPING WET!

"Yes, sir, Officer Wallace," she called out, desperate to evade 
his probing finger.  "Please call me 'Debbie,' sir." 

"That's a good girl, Debbie," he replied with a chuckle.  "That's 
a good little perp!"

Jeff hooked his two thumbs into the waistband of the silky panties 
and adopted a sad, regretful tone.  "Still, if we're going to 
search you, I'm afraid these are going to have to come ALL THE 
WAY DOWN, Missy!" 

A tear rolled down her cheek as he slid her panties down into 
a clump around her knees.  But the worst part was that his 
humiliating taunts had made her hot as a pistol, and she knew 
that her student could see her shameful wetness now.  She was 
totally exposed. 

"So, you're a natural redhead after all?"  He tugged on a few of 
the delicate, damp hairs between her legs.

"Please, Jeff...don't touch me...not THERE!"  

Suddenly she felt a stinging slap across her backside. 

"Prisoners should speak when they are spoken to!"  It was the 
voice of the StripCo salesman, who had just returned to the 
booth to make final preparations for the show.

"It's okay," Jeff said, coming to Debbie's defense.  "I used to 
know her before she was a prisoner."

"That doesn't mean she gets any special privileges now," the 
salesman said, looking down at Debbie coldly.

"No, it certainly doesn't, especially not in her case!"  Jeff was 
quick to agree.

He told the salesman who his father was, and the man brightened 
immediately, because he knew that Jeff's dad had a reputation for 
running a department that thrived on strip-searching pretty young 
female suspects.  He could practically smell the sale.  (Or maybe 
that smell was just Debbie....)

The salesman quickly offered him a FULL demonstration of his 
product line, even though the show didn't officially open for 
a few more minutes.  Jeff eagerly agreed.

The salesman started by flipping a switch to "demonstrate" the 
bench that Debbie was strapped to.  The black bench suddenly 
sprang to life, and she felt her bottom being thrust into the 
air and her legs being spread even wider than before.  This new 
position left every inch of her dripping pussy (and even her 
tight little sphincter) fully available for whatever Jeff and 
the salesman had in mind.

What they had in mind quickly became clear as the salesman began 
to hawk the wonders of StripCo's new ULTRA-SHEER gloves.  "You 
don't want to go sticking your hand up some little floozy's pussy 
without some protection." he explained, regarding her with 
contempt.  "But, at the same time, the ULTRA-SHEER fits like a 
second skin, and it allows you to fully FEEL every sensation of 
the search area.  It's almost like a condom for your hand!"

Debbie felt her stomach muscles tighten as she heard Jeff put on 
the glove with a playfully loud SNAP!  There was a mirror in front 
of her face, and, over her shoulder, she could see him wiggling 
his fingers playfully as he smiled down at her. 

She had originally thought the mirror was there so that she could 
see behind her without twisting her neck.  But, as she looked at 
Jeff and the salesman, they in turn were carefully gauging her 
reaction to Jeff's finger wiggling, and the truth dawned on her.  
"The bastards want to be able to see the look on my face when 
they do it to me." 

Jeff was methodical and deliberate, beginning by running his 
fingers slowly up and down the lips of her sex, stopping 
occasionally to tease her exposed love button.  Then he began 
to work his fingers slowly in and out, in and out.  He proceeded 
with agonizing slowness, pulling his fingers out only when she 
was just seconds away from orgasm.  She gasped for air; he just 
couldn't leave her like this!  But that is exactly what he did, 
simply moving on to the next part of her search.

"Now you didn't really need any lubricant for that steaming wet 
twat of hers...you could practically hold a clam bake in there!"  
The salesman laughed at his own wit.  "But, if you slip on a fresh 
glove, I'll show you how our new WONDER LUBE gel can grease up her 
tight little poop chute so that you can give her a really good poke 
up there, too!"

Jeff quickly pulled off the glove and tossed it into the large 
wastebasket right by Debbie's face.  She heard another SNAP and 
looked up to see him smearing the greasy goop on his finger, 
almost as if he were lubricating his cock for sex.  She tried 
to tighten her sphincter to save herself from the humiliating 
intrusion, but he wouldn't be denied.  He spent several minutes 
methodically finger-fucking her bottom, while he casually chatted 
with the salesman about his father's "business."  He occasionally 
ran his thumb teasingly over Debbie's clit, but, once again, he 
pulled his tormenting fingers away just moments before she would 
have been able to orgasm. 

"And I thought it was frustrating when Jeff was my STUDENT!"  She 
cursed him silently as she tried desperately to bring herself to 
orgasm.  But the bench held her tightly in place, and she could do 
nothing but squirm in agony as pleasure was once again denied her.

"Now, now, Debbie," Jeff said in a patronizing voice.  "Part of 
being an adult is learning how to defer these urges of yours, 
young lady."  He laughed, once again delighted at being able to 
turn one of her tried and true lectures against her.

Although the search was over, the sales pitch was not, and the 
slimy salesman quickly began pitching his next item.  "With the 
Electro-Cam, you can take digital mug shots without wasting film, 
and store them in our unique computer filing system!"  He smiled, 
glancing at the wet and exposed Debbie.  "We ordinarily use this 
for mug shots, officer, but perhaps you'd like to take some 
pictures of yourself and the young lady here?"

"If I did, could you send the pictures in .jpg format to my e-mail 
account?"   

"With our amazing new system, forwarding pictures to other law 
enforcement agencies through e-mail is just a click away,"  the 
salesman happily replied.  Debbie winced.  Jeff smiled and picked 
up the camera.

Most of the pictures that he took were just of Debbie, but he 
snapped on a new glove so that he could get a couple of what he 
jokingly referred to as "action shots."  These consisted of Jeff 
smiling broadly at the camera while he probed Debbie's wet twat 
and tight bottom hole.  But, whether or not he was in a picture, 
he always made sure that each one showed her blushing face.    

"That is the nice thing about our system," the salesman gushed.  
"Since there is no film involved, you can take as many pictures 
as you want!" 

Jeff eagerly tested the salesman's claim, snapping picture after 
picture.  "I'm going to have to buy a crate of blank CDs for all 
these pictures," he teased, as Debbie squirmed helplessly over 
the bench.

When Jeff had finished with the camera, the salesman held up the 
last demonstration product of the day.  It was a large wooden 
paddle, designed to "reform recalcitrant prisoners," the salesman 
proclaimed loftily.

"I'd rather spank her myself," Jeff replied, taking the paddle and 
tapping it against his palm as if to test it.  It was much heavier 
than the one she had used on him in school a few weeks ago, and the 
holes would mean less air resistance.  She had taught him enough 
about paddles for him to know this one would make quite an 
impression.  He tapped the paddle against her bare backside. 

"How many spanks does a naughty little girl get when she plays 
hooky from school, Debbie?"  He used his most patronizing voice.

"Three, Officer Wallace," she replied meekly.

"Let's make it six.  After all, it is for your own good!" 

Debbie winced as he turned her own words against her once again. 
 
The paddling was slow, with Jeff taking the time to scold Debbie 
for her "naughtiness" and to extract promises for "complete 
obedience" from the sobbing woman. 
            
"After all, this is hurting me more than it hurts you," " he said, 
unconvincingly, with a large grin on his face.

As he finished up, the doors of the trade show burst open, and an 
eager crowd of law enforcement officials quickly filled the hall.  
He looked down at the blushing woman and smiled mischievously. 

"Can you examine her hooters when she's strapped over the bench 
that way?"   

"Thanks for reminding me, officer," the salesman replied.  "I had 
almost forgotten."  He reached over and skinned Debbie's t-shirt 
up to the top of her shoulders, exposing her breasts.  She tried 
to resist this final humiliation, but, strapped down as she was, 
there was little she could do. 

"This cow is ready for milking!"  Jeff laughed, reaching down to 
pull on one of Debbie's large nipples.  "MOO!  MOO!  MOO!  MOO!"  
He chuckled as he rhythmically "milked" her tits.  

The salesman laughed.  "Yes, she's 'udderly' exposed, all right!" 

By now a large line had formed in front of the booth.  "What are 
they lining up for?" Debbie wondered.  She tried not to think 
about it and found herself staring unhappily at the shamefully 
wet gloves in the wastebasket by her head.  Why did they need 
such a big trashcan for such tiny gloves?  It was only then that 
she turned her head and noticed that the salesman had brought back 
box after box of gloves and lubricant, enough to search an army 
of women....

Or one woman by an army of men. 

Suddenly the long line of people made sense, and Debbie felt her 
throat go dry.  Obviously the salesman was expecting a busy day 
at the booth. 

The salesman was still desperate to make a sale, and, when Jeff 
asked if he could come back later, the man offered him 10 VIP 
passes that would allow him and his "fellow law enforcement 
officers" to go right to the front of the line, with no waiting.  
Jeff accepted the passes with a smile, and then he winked at the 
blushing Debbie.  She didn't know what he was up to, but she knew 
it didn't bode well for her.

The salesman waved the first customer forward and urged him to 
"snap on a glove."  It would take the salesman a few minutes to 
get the video equipment attached to the large monitors over the 
booth, but the audio still worked, and he switched on his 
microphone so that he could provide exciting "play-by-play" 
commentary as the first eager volunteer probed Debbie's genitals.

Jeff walked happily back to the squad car.  When he had come into 
the hall today, he had been a young boy without any real sense of 
purpose.  But, as he strode confidently out of the hall, he was a 
man with a mission. 

He wanted to be a police officer, just like his dad. 

But most of all, he wanted to get back to school.  Anyone over 18 
would be allowed on the floor of the show just by paying the $5 
admission fee.  Debbie Johnson had made a lot of enemies over the 
years, and he knew that there were a lot of seniors -- and a lot 
of teachers, too -- who would pay handsomely for those VIP passes.  
And he could also sell those digital pictures!  Crime might not pay 
for the criminals, or for little truants like Debbie, but it was 
going to pay very well for this particular member of the law 
enforcement community.

He smiled.  StripCo might be a cheesy company, but he was confident 
that each of the 10 lucky VIP pass-holders would want a COMPLETE 
demonstration of its products.



Edited by C. Lakewood