SEARCH SEARCH  

                             by 

                          Joe Doe


AN UNDERCOVER JOURNALIST HOPES HER ERRATIC DRIVING WILL HELP 
UNCOVER THE TRUTH ABOUT POLICE STRIP SEARCHES.  BUT A SIMPLE 
MISTAKE CAUSES HER TO FIND MORE THAN SHE WAS LOOKING FOR.   



Paula made another rolling stop, and then deliberately turned 
without using her turn signal.  She was an excellent driver, but 
tonight she drove like a woman TRYING to get arrested. 

She was. 

Paula was a beautiful investigative TV journalist who had just 
transferred to the big city.  Her first "undercover" assignment 
was a juicy one.   

The news director had discovered that the local police department 
had been strip-searching local women on trumped up charges.  
Paula's assignment was simple: get arrested and get strip-searched! 

In fact, her producers were following her in an unmarked news van, 
and, before the search could actually take place, they would rescue 
her.   

After all, she didn't want to take her quest for realism too far. 

Paula was looking forward to busting the corrupt cops.  She knew 
that male suspects were NEVER searched, even when there was 
evidence of drug use.  The routine strip-searches seemed to be 
limited to attractive young women who had been arrested for trivial 
misdemeanors. 

Her producers had picked her route carefully.  This precinct had 
a notorious reputation for searching women on the slightest 
provocation.  One woman had even been "accidentally" strip-searched 
when she had dropped by the station house to give them a check for 
the Police Benevolence Fund! 

An attractive female cyclist was searched when it was discovered 
that she hadn't registered for a bicycle license.  

Another woman was strip-searched because her dog didn't have his 
tags.  

A jogger was searched for a "curfew violation" when she couldn't 
produce any ID.  The officers all agreed that she was "definitely 
over 18," but they argued lamely that she MIGHT be under 21, so it 
was "technically" a curfew violation.  The 34-year-old tax attorney 
certainly blushed like a teenager when she was ordered to strip.... 

Typically the women were stopped for minor traffic offenses, and 
then taken down to the station house.  They were fingerprinted, 
booked, and subjected to the most degrading searches imaginable. 

Paula had deliberately left her purse in her desk at work.  Her 
producers were supposed to pick it up and bring it with them in 
the van.  When the police stopped her, she would claim that she 
had forgotten her purse. 

Of course, that meant that the luscious, vulnerable young woman 
was driving without a license.  A detailed investigation would 
be required.... 

Many precints were involved, but this was the worst.  One woman 
had told Paula that the desk sergeant told her that she was a 
"fabulous babe," and that he was looking forward to watching her 
do her "squats." 

The woman expressed shock at the idea that she was going to be 
strip-searched for eating a bagel on a city bus, and that a 
smirking male police officer and the vengeful bus driver would 
be allowed to watch the search.   

The cop just laughed and told her that if "we put you in exam room 
#1, all of the guys will get to watch through the one-way mirror.  
Some days, we don't do anything but sit there, eat doughnuts, and 
watch the pussy parade!" 

The horrified woman stared at him in disbelief, but she remembered 
his words when she was led into exam room #1 for her search.  The 
large one-way mirror and the sound of laughter from the next room 
left the naked, humiliated woman with few doubts about the desk 
sergeant's story. 

An hour before, she had been a smiling young executive enjoying her 
breakfast on the bus.  But now she was just another unlucky 
contestant in today's "pussy parade." 

Paula changed lanes again without bothering to signal, and 
increased her speed to ten miles over the speed limit.  Traffic 
was sparse, which made it easier for her to make dangerous 
maneuvers.  It also made her erratic driving more conspicuous. 

But the police were nowhere to be found.  "What does a woman have 
to do get arrested in this town?" Paula chuckled to herself. 

She started to review the research in her mind as she drove 
aimlessly around in circles.  Searches at the precinct were 
usually conducted by Bertha, a fat, mean lesbian who clearly 
enjoyed humiliating the proud young women who were tossed to 
her like so much fresh meat.  Bertha relished making the women 
bend and squat and bow and beg in front of the large picture 
window.  Her searches were THOROUGH, and she always probed 
every little nook and cranny....  

There was no one in the intersection, so Paula just decided to 
run the red light.  Much to her dismay, no one seemed to care.   

Paula hated the police, but she also felt somewhat contemptuous of 
their sniveling female victims.  Many of these victims said that, 
after their ordeal, they felt terrorized and helpless whenever they 
saw a police car.  The cowed women found themselves obediently 
submitting to ALL authority figures, and passively obeying any man 
in uniform.   

A female surgeon reported that, after her milkman heard of the 
search, he began winking at her and slapping her on the bottom 
whenever she passed.   

A male janitor, who was supposedly studying to be a policeman, 
trapped one female strip-search victim in her corner office and 
forced her to "re-enact" the entire procedure as part of a 
"research project."  

A strict female school principal hired a number of 18-year-old jock 
students to work as uniformed hall monitors.  But, after news of 
her search spread, the hall monitors began strip-searching the 
principal whenever they caught her in the hallways without a pass.  
The monitors soon required the signatures of at least two male 
teachers on her pass, which meant the flustered administrator was 
reduced to holding her crotch and squirming through "potty dances" 
in front of her smirking male employees.  

The "In" and "Out" times on the pass were always ridiculously 
brief, so the principal was forced to scurry around, while 
holding her crotch and trying to dodge the hall monitors.  
During one rigorous "pass inspection," the embarrassed principal 
actually had an "accident" in the hallway in front of the 
delighted hall monitors.  Her malicious secretary gleefully 
dried the obviously stained garments on a clothesline outside 
her office, much to the amusement of all.   

When the principal frantically begged her secretary for some clean 
clothes, for the school board meeting that afternoon, the cruel 
old crone put her pretty boss's hair into pigtails and dressed the 
blushing principal in a scanty spare cheerleader uniform several 
sizes to small for her.  Although the board ultimately rejected 
the principal's proposal to bring paddling back to the school, her 
brief costume inspired them to insist on a demonstration of the 
proposed paddle's effectiveness when applied sans panties....    

In all cases, the humiliated women were too terrified to anything 
but meekly submit to their smiling, leering "superiors."  Paula 
was used to being in control, and she sneered at the women's sense 
of helplessness.  She was certain that the searches had been 
humiliating, but that was no reason to turn into a wimp.  

She thought the silly women were just being whiny.  No matter what 
happened tonight, it would take a lot more than the blue light on 
a police car to frighten HER. 

But there was a darker side to Paula's imagination.  Although 
the thought of the search was humiliating, it was also strangely 
exciting.  She was totally in control of her life, both 
professionally and personally.  But, somehow, that made the 
idea of having to submit to a group of cruel male authority 
figures all the more...stimulating. 

Sometimes she secretly fantasized about what would happen if her 
producers DIDN'T arrive in time.... 

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

She imagined herself, stripped down stark naked and crouching on 
all fours on the degrading examination table.  Her shapely bare 
backside was facing the one-way mirror, which gave the horny men 
on the other side of the glass a perfect and unobstructed view. 

She clenched her thighs together tightly in a desperate attempt to 
maintain what little modesty she had left.  She just couldn't let 
the disgusting men on the other side of the glass see any more. 

Over her shoulder, Bertha playfully SNAPPED the rubber glove onto 
her hand and then teasingly and tauntingly unscrewed the lid to the 
jar of lubricant sitting on the table.  She thrust two fingers into 
the thick goo and pulled them out covered with grease.  She'd soon 
be probing Paula's most delicate, feminine secrets. 

Bertha smiled at the helpless Paula for several seconds, allowing 
the suspense to build to an almost unbearable level.  Finally, she 
uttered the three little words that Paula feared more than any 
words in the entire world:  

"Spread your legs," Bertha said, coldly. 

Paula desperately wanted to disobey the order.  She would have 
given ANYTHING just for the tiny privilege of keeping her thighs 
clenched tightly together.    

She reviewed the unfairness of her predicament.  Why did it have 
to be a CAVITY SEARCH?  Why did it have to be in exam room #1?  
And why, oh why, did she have to spread her legs in front of that 
horrible window, and expose her most intimate private treasures 
for their lewd entertainment? 

But, like the women she detested, Paula meekly obeyed and spread 
her legs.  She flinched as she heard appreciative laughter and 
catcalls through the glass. 

But Bertha still wasn't satisfied with the view and decided to 
spice up the show.  

"Put your forehead on the table, stick your honey buns in the air, 
and spread your legs WIDE!" Bertha barked. 

Paula ground her teeth in helpless frustration.  But she knew she 
had no choice.  As she followed the humiliating command, she knew 
every inch of her femininity was coming into view. 

What was worse, she could feel the cheeks of her backside begin to 
lift and separate.... 

She winced as she heard the wolf whistles from the other room. 

"Well, well, well," Bertha sneered.  "It looks like someone's PUSSY 
FUR is a little soggy!" 

Paula's face burned red with humiliation....

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

Paula made an illegal left turn from the right hand lane.  The 
driver she cut off honked his horn, but there was still no 
policeman in sight.   

She knew that the police had strip-searches down to a science.  
They even had a code they used over the police radio, to tell the 
other officers that a particularly luscious piece of tail was 
being hauled in for a search.  The code broke down as 999-XX-Y-Z:   

	999 = Strip-Search

	XX = Rating of the woman on the infamous 1-10 scale

	Y = The room in which the search would be held.  Exam room 		    #1, which had the largest "viewing room" next door, was 
	    prime.  Rooms 2 and 3 were reserved for less luscious 
	    catches.  

	Z = The level of the search.  A "1" was a simple frisk; 
	    "2" was a strip-search; "3" was a full cavity-search. 

So, for example, a 999-7-2-2 meant that a good-looking woman was 
being brought in to room 2 for a strip-search.  She would be 
stripped bare naked, but she would not be cavity-searched. 

It was only when Paula drove past the doughnut shop that she saw 
why she wasn't getting any attention.  She noted to her disgust 
that they were having a 2-for-1 special, and all of the squad cars 
were in the parking lot, while the cops gorged themselves. 

She pulled over onto the shoulder a few hundred yards away from the 
doughnut shop.  It was pointless for her to drive in circles while 
the police pigged out. 

She pulled her file on the story from underneath the passenger 
seat.  She knew that the car seat wasn't a brilliant hiding place, 
but she also knew that these particular cops wouldn't even bother 
to search her car.  She knew that they wanted to probe other 
"secret compartments," and they would rather examine her seat 
than the car seat. 

She had been a little surprised that she hadn't seen a squad car 
all night, but that mystery had been solved.  But the fact that 
she hadn't seen the news van either still confused her.  She knew 
they were supposed to keep a discreet distance, but shouldn't she 
have seen them at least once? 

She picked up the folder and turned on the car's interior light.  
It was only when the light went on that she noticed the Post-it 
note stuck to the top of the folder: 
	
        PAULA, 

        TUESDAY NIGHT STING OPERATION CANCELLED; CAMERA CREW IS 
        COVERING TIC-TAC-TOE CHAMPIONSHIP AT THE RETIREMENT HOME.  
        LET'S DO IT WEDNESDAY.  

        STAN 

Paula looked at the note in horror.  She was driving around the 
most dangerous precinct in town with no backup.  

She swallowed hard as she envisioned her purse and driver's 
license resting comfortably in her desk drawer at the TV station. 

She felt a trickle of sweat start to roll down her back. 

She didn't know what to do.  She needed to get home, but her hands 
were shaking so badly she knew she couldn't drive.  Fortunately 
there was a pay phone on the corner.  She would simply get out 
of the car, walk over to the pay phone, and call one of her 
co-worker friends.  The friend would go to the station, pick up 
her purse, and meet her at her car.    

She quickly stuffed the folder back under the seat.  But, as she 
reached for the car door handle, she saw the flashing blue lights 
in the rear view mirror. 

She felt her heart skip a beat.  She had been bored for most of 
the evening, while smugly searching for a search.  She had been 
the relaxed and confident hunter, contemptuous of both the piggish 
police and their squealing, feckless victims. 

Now she was the prey. 

The cop waddled up to Paula's cute little sports car and tapped on 
the window with his flashlight.  She reluctantly pressed the 
button, and the window rolled down. 

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay, ma'am," the officer said, 
helpfully. 

Paula was breathing hard, but she felt a momentary twinge of 
relief.  They hadn't stopped for a REASON, which meant that 
she might still talk her way out of this, if she could just 
keep her cool. 

After all, she was still an experienced professional woman, and she 
was used to talking herself out of tough situations.  She knew she 
was much smarter than the feeble air heads that the police in this 
town normally victimized. 

She had been on countless undercover assignments, and she knew how 
to play her role.  She was also used to grilling suspects for a 
living, and her sense of control authority had never abandoned her. 

Until tonight. 

"I'm fah..fah...fah...fine, Officer!" she squeaked.  "Am I free to 
go?  Can I du...duh...drive away...now?  PLEASE?" 

"Of course you can go," the policeman replied, slowly.  "Are you 
sure everything is okay?" 

"It would be, if you'd stop shining that flashlight in my eyes," 
Paula replied in frustration.  "Can I just go?" 

She knew from the change in expression on the cop's face that her 
snotty answer had been a big mistake.  The officer did stop shining 
the light in her eyes, and instead he moved the beam of light to 
her breasts. 

Paula normally dressed conservatively, but she had chosen her 
outfit to attract the worst sort of male attention.  She was 
wearing a halter top with no bra.  The thin material just covered 
her breasts, and left her flat tummy totally bare, much to the 
officer's obvious delight.  The cop examined the front of her top 
closely, since the combination of her flop sweat and the chilly 
night air caused the garment to cling to her breasts in a most 
intriguing way.... 

She swallowed hard as the flashlight slowly moved down past her 
belly button to examine her excruciatingly short denim skirt in 
detail.  The policeman stopped and moved back a few inches, and 
then directed the light directly between her legs.   

She tried to pull down her skirt, but the officer curtly ordered 
her to keep her hands on the wheel.  She felt a chill.  She knew 
that the horny police officer was using the flashlight to look up 
her skirt and examine the soaking wet crotch of her lacy white 
panties! 

When that part of the inspection was complete, the light went on to 
dance down her legs with agonizing slowness, only stopping when it 
got to the tops of her expensive brown suede cowboy boots. 

Then the grinning police officer brought the light up and shined it 
back into Paula's squinting eyes. 

"May I see your license and registration, Miss?" he said, coldly. 

She paused.  There had to be a way out of this.  "I...uh...left it 
at work, I think, sir!" she stammered.  "If you can just let me 
make a phone call, my friend can bring it here, or meet us at the 
station....” 

The police officer wasn't biting.  He scowled and opened Paula's 
car door.  "Please step out of the car, Miss." 

Paula gingerly climbed out of the tiny sports car.  She tried not 
to expose any more of her white panties to the cop's probing 
flashlight, but it was a losing battle. 

"May I call my friend, please, officer?" Paula pleaded.  "The phone 
is RIGHT THERE!" 

"You can call your friend from the station, after we finish 
processing you, Miss," the officer replied, with a cruel smile. 

Paula obeyed the policeman's order to "assume the position" with 
her hands on the roof of her car and her legs spread.   

It was so unfair!  If they would just let her use the damn phone, 
her friend could meet her at the station with the license, and 
none of this would be necessary.  If only the cops hadn't stopped 
her just before the phone call.  Why couldn't Stan have TOLD her 
about the change in plans?  Was watching a bunch of old codgers 
play tic-tac-toe more important than rescuing her from the most 
degrading and shameful moment of her life?  It was almost like 
fate was conspiring against her. 

The officer brusquely kicked Paula's legs apart and began to 
slowly, methodically frisk her.  He was truly a man who loved his 
work, and he paid special attention to her jiggling breasts and 
the damp crotch of her delicate white panties. 

She winced and stared unhappily at the pay phone only a few feet 
away.  It was her ticket out of this mess, and her last, desperate 
lifeline to the outside world.  The phone was so close that she 
could almost touch it. 

She knew that a simple phone call could prove that she was an 
accomplished professional woman, not some flighty floozy who 
had vacuously left her purse at the office.   

But, as she helplessly felt the policeman fondle her, she began to 
doubt herself.  Her trashy outfit had robbed her of professional 
identity, and, as she looked at her reflection, she realized that 
she was no different from the other bodacious babes she had sneered 
at only a few minutes before. 

"If I'm so bright," she wondered, "how come I didn't notice the 
note from Stan until it was too late?"   

When she looked deep into the policeman's smiling eyes, she 
realized the terrible truth. 

She was, in fact, nothing but a helpless, stupid little bimbo! 

After the cop tired of molesting her, he cuffed her hands tightly 
behind her back and threw her into the back of his squad car. 

"Dispatch, this is Squad 69 with a 999-10-1-3," he crowed into the 
radio.  "Tell Bertha to get ready, and ask all available officers 
to report back to the station with their doughnuts.  I think we'll 
have a chance to test out the new video camera in Room #1 tonight." 

"Roger that, Squad 69," the dispatcher squawked.  "Hurry back!" 

The squad car pulled away from the curb, and Paula stared 
helplessly at the pay phone as it slowly receded into the 
distance.  Like the rest of her plan, the phone was totally 
useless.  

She had been searching for a search. 

And now she had found one. 



Edited by C. Lakewood