“I guess that’s okay,” Drury relented, not bothering
to look back at the anklet.

A cold shiver went through Stanton’s body. She took
her leg off the chair and pulled her shirt over her
head. The dark hair that hung in her face obscured her
vision, and Stanton was glad that she didn’t have to
see Drury’s reaction. She stood still.

“What’s your name again, missy?”

“Shelby Taylor,” Stanton answered. Who the hell came
up with that name?, Stanton wondered. But she was
relieved to concentrate on her figurative cover rather
than her uncovered figure.

“And where’r you from, Shelby?”

“Springfield,” Stanton answered.

“Well, Shelby, I don’t know what they teach you in
Springfield, but when I say ‘Strip’, I mean it down to
the bone. Now keep on goin’.”

Stanton quickly unhooked her bra and rolled her
panties off her legs. The skin itched where the
underwire of her bra had pressed against the soft
flesh of her breasts, but she didn’t want to draw any
more attention to herself by scratching them. The
irritation simply added to her discomfort. “Sit down.”
Drury said tonelessly.

Thankful that the seat was wooden and not metal,
Stanton sat down. It was still cold, however, and heat
seemed to rush out of her body through her back and
backside. Drury watched as Stanton’s nipples hardened
in a purely involuntary response. Drury approached the
chair and took Stanton’s head in her hands.

Carefully the CO ran her heavy hands through Stanton’s
long dark hair. She pulled out a hairpin and continued
the search, looking down at the brunette’s bare
shoulders, her breasts, and the nipples that stood out
proudly. Drury wanted to stop for a moment and feel
the hard curve of her shoulders, and the soft curve of
her breasts.

“Stand up,” Drury ordered. “Grab the table.”

Clenching her teeth with anger, Stanton followed the
CO’s instructions.

She bent slightly at the waist and rested her weight
against the edge of the table. Staring at a chip in
the paint on the wall, Stanton braced herself for the
body cavity search. Momentarily, she was jarred from
her quiet resolve by the snap of latex gloves being
put on behind her. Wrapped in latex, Drury’s plump
fingers looked like small sausages.

She squeezed a dollop of lubricating jelly on to her
right hand and smeared it around her fingers. She took
a moment to admire the smooth firm haunches in front
of her, the muscular back and the furrow that reached
to her waist and ended at the tailbone, flanked on
either side by a little dimple. Drury could just see a
tuft of dark hair at the juncture between her legs.

“Spread ’em,” Drury ordered unceremoniously. Stanton
moved her feet apart as far as she could and held her
breath. She felt the cool, slippery gloved hand
between her legs, spreading, stretching, poking.
Despite the lube, some of Stanton’s pubic hairs were
caught in the glove. She winced once, slightly.