Thursday, November 10, 2016

Story: Doeville Halloween Ghost Train

By T. H. Enerdly

Part 1

Barry Knight, editor of the "Daily Granite," hung up the phone. 
He had been asked for some help by a friend.  Barry pondered 
the request for several minutes before asking his secretary 
to fetch Claire, a cub reporter for the newspaper and ideal 
for the assignment Barry had in mind.

After a few minutes, Claire stuck her head into Barry's office 
and said, "What's up, chief?"

"Great Kaiser's ghost, don't call me chief, girl."

"Don't call me girl, chief."

"Too much sass by far," thought Barry.  "She'll be more respectful 
when she returns from her next assignment."

"Have a seat, gir..., Claire."

After Claire sat down, Barry continued, "Have you ever heard the 
legend of the Doeville Halloween ghost train?"

"I've heard of it, but I can't say that I know much about it."

Barry launched into the story.  "Ten years ago, on Halloween, the 
Doeville Cannonball derailed just outside of Doeville, killing 
everyone on board.  That much is known for certain.  The rest of 
the story is hazier.  Every Halloween since, just before midnight, 
the good people of Doeville claim to hear an eerie whistle in the 
distance, followed by the sounds of a horrific crash, the 
screeching and crumpling of metal, the screams and cries of the 
passengers, the moans of the dying.  But, the next morning, there's 
nary any trace of a crash to be found.  This has given rise to a 
legend that the train was cursed somehow, a curse that condemns the 
souls of the passengers killed in the crash to recapitulate the 
accident every Halloween for all eternity."

Claire said, "That's an interesting story...I guess.  But so what?"

"Well, there are lot of unanswered questions about the ghost train. 
For example, who or what or how did the train become cursed?  Even 
more interestingly, there are reports that a nude woman was somehow 
the cause of the crash.  But no one outside of Doeville seems to 
know the details."

The part about the nude woman piqued Claire's curiosity.

Barry concluded, "So I want you to go to Doeville to see if you can 
find anyone who can give you the complete story.  The who, what, 
why, and so forth, the standard newspaper stuff.  Also, see if you 
can hear the crash...or should that be 'hear if you can see the 
crash?'  Hmmm...well, anyhow...since tomorrow's Halloween, you're 
going to have to catch the Doeville Cannonball before it leaves 
Granite City.  You don't have much time, so you better get 

After Claire scurried out of the office, Barry called his friend 
back and said, "It's done.  Her name is Claire K. Kent."


En Route to Doeville

Claire slipped into a reverie as she listened to the clickety-clack 
of the wheels on the tracks.  Reveries were when some of her best 
ideas popped into her head.  And one popped in just then unbidden. 
Actually it was a question rather than an idea: why was Barry 
Knight sending her to Doeville on Halloween?  Anything she wrote 
about the ghost train wouldn't be ready until the day after 
Halloween, too late to be a Halloween story for the "Daily 
Granite."  The story couldn't be used until Halloween next year.  
Why the big rush to get her off to Doeville now?  She's got a 
whole year to get the story.

Claire was about to ponder these questions when she happened to 
glance out the window just as the Cannonball passed by the women's 
prison farm outside Doeville.  This is where Terri London, the 
award-winning journalist, was incarcerated for a broken 
tail-light.  Claire admired Terri and wanted to follow in her 
footsteps...although not the footsteps leading to jail.  She 
adored Terri's memoir, "All the Nudes That's Fit to Print," 
and she even carried a copy in her purse for inspiration.

Whenever Claire read Terri's memoir, she experienced a flurry of 
conflicting emotions.  For example, she found the description of 
Terri's humiliating strip-search exquisitely erotic and almost 
-- make that ALMOST -- wished she could have taken Terri's place.  
But she wasn't about to smash the tail-light on her car and drive 
into Doeville so she would be strip-searched any more than she 
would parade through the streets of Granite City nude so that she 
would be arrested for indecent exposure.  She was a respected, 
professional journalist, and that's how it was going to stay.  Her 
fantasies were just that, fantasies.  Nevertheless, she would enjoy 
manually stimulating herself in her hotel room tonight as she 
"researched" Terri's memoir.


Arriving in Doeville

The Cannonball pulled into Doeville station after sunset.  Claire 
grabbed her bag and stepped off the train onto the platform along 
with the other passengers.  She now had a practical problem: she 
had arranged her trip so quickly that she hadn't had time to 
reserve a hotel room.  Where was she going to stay?

Just then the stationmaster approached and asked her, "May I help 
you, miss?"

Claire didn't like being called "miss," but nonetheless did 
appreciate the stationmaster's assistance.  She said, "I'm 
looking for a hotel.  Do you have a recommendation?"

The stationmaster responded by lifting his arm, pointing across 
the street, and proclaiming, "Doeville's finest hostelry."

She thanked him, and he scurried off somewhere.  She eyeballed the 
hotel.  It was an old Victorian mansion that looked more like a 
B&B than a hotel.  But it would have to do; she was too tired to 
look for another place.

Claire crossed the street and inspected the sign next to the
front door of the hotel:


  Tom and Kitty Kat, Proprietors

Maybe it was a former brothel instead of a mansion.  But it didn't 
matter; she was exhausted.  She entered the lobby and looked about. 
There were several leather arm chairs scattered about.  A man was 
seated in one, reading the "Daily Granite."  Of course, Claire's 
heart swelled with pride whenever she saw someone reading HER 

She continued looking about until she spotted the front desk, 
behind which was a woman, presumably Kitty, talking on the 
phone.  When she hung up the phone, Claire approached the desk.

The woman smiled and said, "Hello, I'm Kitty Kat, and you must be 
Claire Kent."

"How does she know who I am?" wondered Claire.

"Actually people call me Clairk.  That's short for Claire K., as 
in Claire K. Kent.  And, if you don't mind my asking, how is it 
you know my name?"

"I don't mind at all.  News really travels fast in this town."

"I'll say," thought Claire.

"I hear tell that you're here to do a story on the ghost train.  
Is that right?"

"Um...yes...," said Claire, wondering who gave Kitty all this 

"Then you'll probably want to talk to Orville Bachenreder."


"Why, he's the town historian, sweetie.  His specialty is the 
history of the ghost train.  He loves to talk about it.  Yak,
yak, yak, if you know what I mean.  Plus he knows all the juicy 
details about the train."

"If he knows the juicy details, he's the guy I want to see," 
thought Claire.  "The juicier, the better."

"If you like, you can stop by the front desk after breakfast, and 
I'll give you directions to Orville's place.  You can pop on over 
there then."

"I'd appreciate that, Kitty," said Claire.

When Kitty finished registering Claire, Kitty turned to the man in 
the chair and shouted, "Get up off your fat ass, Tom, and escort 
Clairk to her room."

Putting down his paper, Tom grabbed Claire's bag, and led her to 
her room, where he started fumbling around in his pockets for the 
key.  Claire noticed a sign next to the door that read, "The Terri 
London Suite."

"Tom, the sign says that this is the Terri London Suite.  What's 
that all about?"

"Well...this is the last place she stayed before she was sent to 
the prison farm.  So many women have asked to stay in this room, 
what with Miss London being famous and all, that we decided to call 
it the "Terri London Suite."  It's our biggest money maker.  And 
it's reserved almost every night."

"I guess I lucked out tonight," said Claire.

"Uh...I suppose you could say that."

Tom finally found the key and let Claire into her room.  Handing 
her the key, he said, "If you need anything, just call."

Claire thought that staying in the Terri London Suite was better 
than staying in the Lincoln Bedroom.  Where else could you 
masturbate in the SAME bed that Terri had slept in the night 
before her infamous rendezvous with the Sheriff.  Tonight, in 
her fantasies, Claire would experience what Terri experienced, 
but without actually going to jail.  Doing it in Terri's bed 
would just heighten the experience.  "OMG," she thought.  The very 
idea of appearing naked in public...naked and helpless...was SUCH 
a turn-on.

After a quick shower, Claire hopped into bed with her copy of 
Terri's memoir.  Claire was sure she could feel Terri's mojo 
rubbing off on her, mojo that would help her become an 
award-winning journalist.  Luxuriating in the feel of the 
mojo, Claire began reading the chapter in the memoir entitled 
"One Question Too Many," the chapter that described the beginning 
of Terri's Doeville saga.  From the moment she started reading to 
the moment she fell asleep, Claire used her right hand the way 
nature intended right hands to be used.


Interviewing Orville Bachenreder

Orville Bachenreder's house was exactly where Kitty Kat said it 
would be.  It bore a remarkable resemblance to the Bates house 
in the movie "Psycho," except that it was even creepier.  It was 
exactly the kind of place that Claire didn't like to enter, 
especially on Halloween.  But she didn't have much choice, so 
she screwed her courage to the sticking-place (as they say) and 
approached the front door.  She wondered why, at times like this, 
some odd thought always popped into her head.  The odd thought 
du jour was the realization that no one could screw HER to the
sticking-place; her pussy was too juicy.

She knocked.  A maid answered the door and demurely lowered her 
gaze to the ground.

Claire examined the maid.  She was wearing a traditional 
conservative maid's uniform, probably tailored.  It was 
made of a black material that appeared to be a premium 
grade of cotton.  The collar was white with lace trim and 
was buttoned snugly around her neck.  The sleeves were 
full-length with white, lace-trimmed cuffs.  A tasteful 
apron, with lace trim of course, was tied around her waist.
However, there was one incongruous element in her outfit:
the skirt was cut incredibly short, so short in fact that
anyone could see that she wasn't wearing any panties and
that her pussy was shaved.

Keeping her gaze averted, the maid said, "Fifi at your service. 
You must be Miss Kent.  Professor Bachenreder is expecting you. 
Please enter."

Claire stepped through the doorway.  Fifi motioned for Claire 
to follow and started down the hall.  Claire now had a view of 
Fifi's behind, one that sported a series of thin red welts across 
its ass cheeks.

Fifi escorted Claire into Professor Bachenreder's study, curtsied, 
and stood at attention, awaiting orders.  The professor was seated 
behind his desk.  He looked like a stereotype: he wore a tweed 
jacket with leather patches on the elbows and was smoking a pipe. 
When he saw Claire enter, he rose and extended his hand toward 

"You must be Clairk.  You can call me Orville.  Kitty said you 
would be dropping by."

After they shook hands, Orville said, "Please have a seat," and 
motioned to a wing-back chair facing his desk.  She made herself 

"Would you like some tea...or perhaps coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

"Fifi, fetch Miss Kent some coffee...tea for me."

Fifi curtsied, said, "At your service, sir," and left the

Claire said, "You maid looks like she's been whipped...."

"Caned actually," interrupted the professor.

"Isn't that against the law?"

"Not really.  She's on work release from the prison farm.  She 
works here days and spends her nights at the prison.  As her 
overseer, I have the right to discipline her as I see fit."

Claire said, "What did she do to deserve those weals?"

"You have to understand that Fifi -- that's not her real name, 
incidentally –- is a trust fund baby.  As a result, she thinks 
she has a God-given right to special treatment.  She needs to
be reminded, from time to time, that as long as she's a prisoner, 
she doesn't have any rights; she's just another pervert convicted 
of indecent exposure.  I can assure you that she's better off 
being disciplined by me than by the guards at the prison farm. 
And she's much better off than those prisoners who work as ladies 
of the night at the truck stop."

Fifi returned with the tea and coffee. After she finished serving 
Claire and the professor, she curtsied and awaited further orders.

Orville pointed to Fifi's shaved pussy and said, "Tell Claire about 
your shaven pudenda, Fifi."

Fifi began blushing furiously.  That, together with her demure 
downward gaze, made it seem as if she was trying to sink into 
the earth.  She gave him a piteous look.

"Fifi, do I need to have you fetch the cane?"

Fifi surrendered to the inevitable and said, "Well, it's like this, 
Miss Kent.  At my trial, the prosecutor 'presented his evidence' 
by forcing me to strip so that I was as naked as when I was 
arrested.  He then asked the jury, 'Does this look like indecent 
exposure to you?'  While I was stripping for the jury, the judge 
ogled my private parts and made a snide remark about my pubic hair. 
As you can imagine, it's hard to convince a jury that you're 
innocent of indecent exposure when you're standing in front of 
them naked as a jay bird.  The jury returned a guilty verdict 
after less than five minutes' deliberation.  At my sentencing, 
I received six months at the prison farm.  Judge Peepers then 
added another two months to my sentence due to 'aggravating 
circumstances.'  He called the extra two months a 'hairy pussy 
tax' for having the effrontery to appear in his court with an 
unshaven pussy.  When I asked him what was wrong with pubic hair 
-- after all, it's completely natural -- he added another two 
months for impudence.  When all was said and done, I ended up 
with a year and a half sentence.  But the judge said I could get 
six months off for 'good behavior' if I keep my pussy shaved.  As 
you and everybody else can see, my pussy is shaved."

Claire had pubic hair and wondered if she should shave it when she 
got back to the Kat House, just in case.

"Position, Fifi," ordered Orville.

"Very well, Sir," Fifi said, curtsied, and faced the wall with her 
arms crossed behind her back.

Claire noticed that Fifi was now staring at a small shelf upon 
which there was a statuette, a sculpture that could pass for an 
Oscar, except that the former had bigger tits than the latter.  
This bit of interior decoration had escaped Claire's attention 
when she had entered the study.

Claire was about to ask Orville about the statuette when he said, 
"I understand you're doing a story on the ghost train."

Claire was relieved that the discussion about Fifi was over.  She 
couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be in Fifi's 
place, to be constantly humiliated, to expose herself to all and 
sundry, to be whipped for the smallest transgression.  She was 
afraid that she might have to ask Orville to use his bathroom so 
that she could relieve her "tensions."  Above all, she hoped that 
the professor hadn't noticed her condition.

But now it was time to get down to work.  She pulled a pen and pad 
from her purse.

"Yes.  What can you tell me about it?"

"Well, sit back and listen."  Orville cleared his throat.  "The 
story begins on a Halloween exactly ten years ago.  As you may or 
may not know, the Doeville Cannonball arrives in Doeville after 
sunset in late October. On that fateful Halloween, the weather 
was unseasonably warm, and local legend Tess Tosterone was 
moonbathing au naturel on a grassy knoll overlooking the 
railroad tracks."

"Excuse me, Orville.  What is...moonbathing?"

"Moonbathing is similar to sunbathing except it's done by the 
light of the Moon."

"What's the point of moonbathing?  You can't get a tan from the 

"I have no idea.  The habits of women are beyond the ken of us 
mere mortal males.  But I've sometimes supposed that it gives 
women the opportunity to lie around nude without being seen by 
Peeping Toms.  On the other hand, at other times I have supposed 
that the point of lying around nude was just the opposite: to 
give Peeping Toms the opportunity to peep.  You women are a 
source of constant confusion to us men.  I have no idea what 
Tess thought she was up to."

Claire frowned as she scribbled this information on her notepad.

Orville resumed his story.  "Where was I?  Oh, yes....  Tess was 
moonbathing near the point where the tracks begin their final 
curve into town.  Unbeknownst to Tess, her genitalia were aimed 
straight down the tracks toward the approaching Cannonball.  As 
the train got closer, the engine's headlight began to illuminate 
Tess's pudenda.  At about this time, the engineer blew the train's 
whistle to signal his approach into town.  The sound startled Tess, 
who bolted upright into a sitting position.  The engineer suddenly 
saw Tess in all her glory -- the deer-in-headlights expression on 
her not unattractive face, the ample mammary glands that graced her 
chest, and, last but not least, the raven curls that adorned her 
intimate parts, framed by her outstretched legs.  The whole 
enchilada as it were."

Tess noticed that Orville was waxing poetic as he recounted the 

Orville went on.  "The sight of Tess in a state of full dishabille 
apparently distracted the engineer at the very moment the train 
swung into the curve.  Disoriented, he accelerated instead of 
decelerated, with catastrophic results.  The speed of the 
Cannonball soon exceeded the maximum safe speed through the 
curve, and it jumped the tracks.  Everyone on board was killed 
in the ensuing crash."

Claire stopped scribbling, looked up, and said, "How in the world 
do you know that Tess was involved?  All the witnesses were killed, 
and I'm sure Tess didn't stick around to give a statement."

"You're right. But...and this is an important BUT, the Doeville 
Cannonball is equipped with a black box recorder similar to the 
ones on airplanes.  It records location, speed, and so on and so 
forth, all the data that accident investigators need.  More 
importantly, the front of the engine is equipped with a 
forward-looking, high-definition video camera.  The last 10 
minutes of camera footage is stored in the black box, which was 
recovered intact from the crash.  The accident investigators 
played back the video footage, and, lo and behold, there's -- 
please excuse the expression -- there's a beaver shot of Tess 
Tosterone.  Couple the video with the fact that the engineer's 
body was recovered with his right hand gripping his manhood, 
and there's no question that Tess distracted the engineer."

"Good grief," thought Claire.  "A whole trainload of people died 
because of a horny engineer."

"What happened to Tess?"

"The official accident report concluded that the crash was due to 
operator error; the engineer didn't properly brake the train as it 
entered the curve.  However, our local prosecutor felt that Tess 
was indirectly a cause of the crash and should consequently be 
prosecuted.  The only charge he could find to bring against her 
was indecent exposure.  He got a warrant, and she was promptly 
arrested.  At her arraignment, she pleaded not guilty.  This 
irritated Judge Peepers to no end.  He said that she was obviously 
guilty because there was a film showing her indecently exposing 
herself to the engineer.  Her trial would just waste taxpayer 
money.  Of course, he said of all this in private."

Orville took a sip of his tea and then continued.  "At her trial, 
the jury returned a verdict of guilty.  During sentencing, Judge 
Peepers threw the book at her; he gave her the maximum sentence of 
six months plus an extra two months as a 'hairy-pussy tax,' just 
like the tax Fifi paid.  Isn't that right, Fifi?"

Without breaking position, Fifi said, "Yes, Professor."

"The hairy-pussy tax is the judge's most famous contribution to 
American jurisprudence.  Tess Tosterone was the first person to 
pay the tax."

It didn't sound like much of a contribution to Claire.

"Tess was outraged by the hairy-pussy tax and accused the judge of 
having incestuous relations with his mother.  The judge accused 
Tess of having similarities to a female canine.  The upshot was 
that Tess was sentenced to a full year at the women's prison farm 
outside of town.  To everyone's surprise, her time behind bars 
seems to have done her a world of good.  She ended up becoming 
a guard at the prison and is now a respected member of the 
corrections community.  In fact, last month she was promoted 
to sergeant."

Claire thought that Judge Peepers sounded like exactly the kind of 
person she didn't want to meet.

Orville suddenly became energized.  "Claire, I have an idea and a 
proposition to make."

"I'm all ears, Orville."

"I couldn't help noticing that you found Fifi's current predicament 

"Damn, he noticed," Claire said to herself.

"So perhaps you might like to do a companion piece on the 
experiences of work-release prisoners, using Fifi as your 

Claire was intrigued with Orville's suggestion.  "That's 
an interesting idea, Orville.  You said you also had a 
proposition, which is...?"

"Well, it occurred to me that you would gain considerable insight 
into Fifi's experiences if you dressed up as a maid, and we 
continued the remainder of the interview as a master dictating 
a story to his maid.  You would of course be free to request 
'clarification' of my dictation to ensure that you got all the 
information you need for your newspaper article.  And you would 
wear a considerably more modest uniform than Fifi's."

The Professor's proposition put Claire on the horns of a dilemma. 
She would dearly love to role-play the part of a maid, one of her 
recurring fantasies, but her interviewing approach depended upon 
exploiting her sexuality. When interviewing a man (and she did 
like to interview men), she would wear a skirted business suit.  
The skirt was short, but not so short as to be scandalous.  She 
would seat herself opposite her interviewee, cross her legs (à la 
Sharon Stone in "Basic Instinct"), and begin the interview.  The 
sight of her almost-visible honey pot would prove so distracting 
to her subjects that they would reveal information that would not 
be forthcoming in less steamy circumstances.  Orville's roving 
eyes told Claire that he was not insensitive to her charms and 
thus susceptible to slipping up.  To don a maid's uniform would 
be to throw away her most powerful weapon.

Nonetheless, Claire was tempted.  She ignored her voice of caution: 
beware, men are not without their wiles.


Part 2

Concluding Orville's Interview

"To be a maid or not to be a maid.  That is the question," 
Claire thought.  After pondering Orville's offer for a few 
moments, she threw all caution to the wind and said, "OK, 
Orville, I'll give it a try."

"Excellent.  Just slip into that uniform on the table over there."

She thought it odd that Orville just happened to have a maid's 
uniform in his study.  "Is there someplace I can change, Orville?"

"Modesty is a vice unbecoming a maid.  You can change here," he 
replied.  "Also, henceforth you shall address me as 'Sir' or 
'Professor Bachenreder.'  Maids must show proper deference and 
respect toward their betters."

Her immediate response was one of outrage.  She wasn't convinced 
that he was her "better."  But she didn't have all the information 
she needed from him, and, if she crossed him now, she might never 
get it.  So she swallowed her pride and began disrobing.  After 
doffing her suit jacket and skirt, she picked up the maid's 

"Stop," he said.  "The lingerie you are sporting is much too 
fine for a maid.  On the table you'll find some Walmart underwear 
that Fifi found on sale.  Wear it instead."

Claire prided herself on her refined taste in undergarments and 
felt that he was pushing things a bit too far.  Walmart was 
definitely not a brand she admired.  But it wouldn't be the first 
time that she had stripped nude for a professor.  At least this 
time, she wouldn't have to spread her legs.  So she grudgingly 
complied with his order.

Orville clearly enjoyed the sight of Claire's discomfort.

After donning the Walmart panties, she put on the uniform and 
the accompanying apron.  It was basically the same as Fifi's, 
except that the skirt was cut to a decent length.  She then 
grabbed her pen and pad and sat down again.  

Orville snorted.  "How dare you disrespect me like that?  You WILL 
remain standing in my presence.  Do you understand?  Now get up."

She realized that she had made a faux pas.  "Sorry, sir."

He rose and walked around his desk until he was next to her.  
He grabbed her and bent her over the desk, then gave her six 
light smacks on her fanny.  Crouching and whispering into her 
ear, he said, "If you were my real maid, you wouldn't have 
gotten six love taps, you'd have gotten six zingers from a cane.  
Now get up."

He returned to his chair.  "Now where were we?"

After Claire regained her composure, she stood at attention and 
respectfully said, "Sir, I believe...."

Orville interrupted.  "Always refer to yourself in the third 

"Sir, Claire believes that you were about to speak about the ghost 

Even though she had volunteered for it, Claire found it humiliating 
to be standing at attention in a maid's uniform in front of him, 
referring to herself in the third person.  But, at the same time, 
she found it thrilling to be submitting to a self-assured, 
distinguished-looking, domineering male.

He continued with his tale.  "The ghost train is some sort of 
apparition that haunts the site of the crash."

"Prof. Bachenreder, has anyone actually seen the ghost train?"


"Why not, sir?"

"Have you ever HEARD the ghost train?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"The sounds of the ghost train are horrific, spine tingling, 
terrifying, and capable of voiding one's bowels.  No one has 
had the courage to take a look.  Not one person in Doeville 
has ever seen the ghost train."

Claire asked, "That includes you, too, Professor?"

"Claire, that bit of impertinence would have cost you twelve 
slices of the cane were you actually my maid."

"Sir, please forgive Claire; she didn't mean to offend."

Claire creamed her panties when she tried to imagine what it would 
be like to actually receive twelve strokes of the cane from him.

"I've never seen it.  I think that prudence in the face of 
metaphysical phenomena is a wise course of action."

"Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me," thought Claire.  "But I'd 
better not tell him that."

"Prof. Bachenreder, how exactly did the crash give rise to the 
ghost train?"

"No one knows for sure.  There are all sorts of cockamamie 
theories.  For example, there are those who believe that it 
is satanic to cause an accident by 'shooting a beaver.'  And, 
of course, the victims of a satanic accident are cursed.  I 
think this is one of the more ridiculous explanations I've 
heard for the ghost train."

"It does seem a bit far-fetched, sir.  Has anyone tried to 
exorcize the ghost train, or whatever it is you do to uncurse 

"No one has attempted to lift the curse, but there are theories 
on how to do it."

"And if I might be so bold as to ask, Prof. Bachenreder, these 
theories are...?"

"Third person, girl.  Before he died, Dr. Canard had a theory on 
how to break the curse.  It involved the principles of homeopathic 
medicine somehow or another.  I'm afraid that I never really 
understood what he was proposing.  You might want to talk to Judge 
Peepers.  He was a close friend of Dr. Canard and may have a better 
understanding of how he proposed to break the curse."

Claire didn't want to to interview Judge Peepers if she could help 
it, but it looked like getting the whole story would necessitate a 
visit to his chambers.

She flipped through her notes and said, "Sir, I think I've...or 
rather Claire thinks she's got everything she needs...wait, where 
exactly was Tess when she 'shot the beaver'?"

"Follow the street in front of my house out of town.  It eventually 
turns into a trail through the woods.  Follow the trail to the 
railroad tracks, and there it is."

"Thank you for your help, professor.  May Claire be dismissed?"

"I'll dismiss you in a moment.  But first lift your skirt."

"Please, sir.  Is that necessary?"

"Yes, it is.  Now lift your skirt, or do I actually have to apply 
my cane to the seat of your pants?"

Claire creamed her pants again and reluctantly lifted the skirt of 
her uniform.

Orville smiled when he saw the condition of her panties.  "I see 
that you've gained insight into the life of a work release maid.  
I'm sure that I can help you even further.  You're dismissed.  
Fifi, help Claire change into to her street clothes."

The professor scooped some papers off his desk and left his study.

Claire wondered what he meant by "helping" her.


Interviewing Judge Peepers

The bailiff escorted Claire into Judge Peepers' chambers.  The 
judge was in his robes and seated behind his desk (and Claire 
was back in her business suit).

"Please have a seat, Miss Kent."

As Claire sat down, she said, "You may call me Clairk, Your Honor."

Claire wondered what judges did in their chambers.  Given Judge 
Peepers' reputation, she wouldn't be surprised if he jerked off.

"How can I help you, little"

Claire recounted what Orville had told her about Dr. Canard and 
asked, "What can you tell me about Dr. Canard's theory for 
lifting the curse of the ghost train?"

"Donald was a wonderful friend, and I still miss him, bless his 
soul.  He was a homeopathic physician.  He told me that homeopathy 
was based on the principle of 'similia similibus curentur.'  (He 
knew that, as a judge, I liked fancy Latin phrases.)  Basically, 
it means that like cures like."

"Excuse me, Your Honor, what does this have to do with lifting the 

"Well, I'm getting to that.  In more concrete terms, 'similia 
similibus curentur' means that something that causes the symptoms 
of a disease in healthy people will cure that disease in sick 
people.  Donald reasoned by way of analogy that the act that 
cursed the victims of the Doeville Cannonball accident is the 
same act that will lift the curse from the accursed."

"So if I correctly understand what you are saying, Dr. Canard 
believed that the victims of the crash were cursed because Tess 
Tosterone shot her beaver at the Doeville Cannonball.  But if 
she or someone else shoots her beaver at the ghost train, then 
the curse will be lifted, and the victims of the crash will be 
returned to their eternal reward."


"Has anybody tried it?"

"  There are a couple of problems.  First and most 
importantly, all the women in town seem to be shaved, if you 
know what I mean.  For some reason, the ladies around here 
don't like to sport a bush."

"I wonder why that is," Clare thought sarcastically.

"Second, the sounds of the ghost train are thought scary, and the 
local women would be afraid to try shooting their beavers, assuming 
they had beavers.  But Donald assured me that they would have 
nothing to fear from the sounds.  Besides, I don't think they're 
all that scary.  But, being beaverless, I can't try to lift the 
curse myself.  It probably won't be lifted until some courageous 
female outsider steps up.  By the way, Orville Bachenreder tells 
me that you have one of the needed qualifications.  Are you afraid 
of scary sounds?"

Claire was not pleased to learn that her reputation had preceded 
her.  Orville Bachenreder was a blabbermouth, a kiss-and-tell 
kind of person.  She decided to change the subject.

"Um...I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Your Honor.  But 
first, I need to ask you about Tess Tosterone.  I understand that 
you presided over her trial.  Do you know if it would be possible 
to arrange an interview with Miss Tosterone?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you there.  I haven't had much 
contact with her since I sent her to jail.  But I know that 
Sheriff Searchem interacts with her in her capacity as a 
prison guard.  You might check with him."

"Do you know where the Sheriff is at this time of day?"

"He's probably at the station right now.  If you want to talk to 
him, I suggest that you hustle over there straightaway before he 
goes home after work."

Claire rose from her seat.  "Thank you for all your help, Your 
Honor.  I'd better get moving."

"You're welcome, Miss Kent.  Remember, the residents of Doeville 
would be eternally grateful if you could lift the curse."


Interviewing Sheriff Searchem

The deputy escorted Claire into the copy room, where Sheriff 
Searchem was waiting for a job to finish on the printer.  
Claire looked around.  Even though it was called the "copy 
room," it was obviously a multi-purpose room.  Besides the 
expected copiers, printers, paper cutters, staplers, paper 
clips, scissors, and so forth, there was a set-up for taking 
mug shots, a water cooler, and a computer.  One wall was 
completely covered with mug shots.  Claire wandered over to 
examine them.  Each photo was a shot of an attractive nude 
woman standing at attention in front of the camera.

"We call those full-frontal mug shots."

Claire jumped when the Sheriff slid in behind her and made his 

He said, "Sorry ma'am; I didn't mean to startle you.  You must be 
Miss Kent.  As I was saying, these are full-frontal mug shots.  
You'd be surprised how many women we arrest for indecent exposure. 
We've discovered that it's best to take full-frontal shots in these 
cases.  That's because it does the best job of documenting the 
state of the arrestee when arrested, and Judge Peepers insists on 
good documentation, especially if it's pictures of naked women."

Claire suddenly interrupted the Sheriff, saying, "Sheriff, is that 
Kitty Kat in that photo?"

"It sure is."

"You mean she was arrested for indecent exposure?"


Looking around at the photos, Claire spotted one of Fifi.  She 
pointed at it and asked, "Who's that?"

"That's Frederica von Hohenberger, one of the richest women in 
Granite City -- though you'd never guess it to see her now.  
She's currently Prof. Bachenreder's maid."

Claire made a mental note to look up Frederica von Hohenberger.  
She would be a good subject for a poor-little-rich-girl story, 
just as Orville had suggested.

She also noticed a blank spot in the wall of photos.  "Every inch 
of this wall is covered with mug shots except for that spot there. 
Why is that?"

"Well, we needed to make room for the mug shot of our next 
indecent exposure perp."

"Are you expecting to arrest anybody anytime soon?"

"Well, it IS Halloween.  Someone is always arrested for indecent 
exposure on Halloween."

Claire decided it was time to get down to business.  "Judge Peepers 
said you might be able to arrange an interview for me with Tess 

"No problemo.  I'll probably see her in night court tonight.  Will 
you be in town the next few days?"

"I should be in town at least through tomorrow."

"I'm sure I can set something up."

"Thank you, Sheriff.  I'd best be getting back to the Kat House.  
It's getting late."

"Nice meeting you, ma'am."

The Sheriff picked up whatever it was he had been printing and 
began studying it.

Claire was about to leave the copy room when she noticed a black 
plastic carton on a table, a carton just like the one Terri London 
described in her memoirs, a carton into which she dropped her 
clothes just before she was strip-searched.  Terri's carton had 
a tag attached to it, a tag with her name and an arrest number.  
The carton in front of Claire had a blank tag on it.  She breathed 
a sigh of relief and headed back to the Kat House.

After Claire had left the station, the Sheriff affixed a printed 
label to the tag on the carton, a label Claire might have found 
of interest.


Lifting the Curse

On the way back to the Kat House, Claire bought a couple of items 
at the Doeville General Store.  As she strolled by the train 
station, she noticed that the Doeville Cannonball had just arrived 
with the commuters returning home from work in Granite City.  This 
was the last train of the day. 

Back at the Kat House, she knew she had a big decision to make -- 
should she try to break the curse?  If she did, she would have a 
major scoop she could report in the "Daily Granite."  She could 
see the headline now:


It would make her name professionally, and maybe, just maybe, 
Barry would stop calling her "girl."

Judge Peepers had described what it would take to lift the curse: 
a woman who had pubic hair and the ability to ignore the scary 
sounds of the ghost train.  Claire satisfied the first criterion, 
and she was certain that she had the gumption to satisfy the 
second.  The only danger she could see was that she might be 
arrested for indecent exposure à la Tess Tosterone.  But both 
Orville and the judge had assured her that no one in town had the 
guts to try to actually try to see the ghost train.  Plus, she was 
sure that a ghost train didn't have a black box, which meant there 
wouldn't be any movies of her nude.  The chances of being arrested 
seemed to be almost non-existent.

After agonizing over the decision for what seemed an eternity, 
she decided that she would be the one to do lift the curse.

About 11:00 pm, she slipped out of her room for the grassy knoll 
where Tess Tosterone had cursed the victims of that terrible 
accident ten years before.  Carrying the items she had bought at 
the general store -- a beach towel and a flashlight -- she walked 
along the street past Orville Bachenreder's house to the woods at 
the end of the street.  Switching on the flashlight, she entered 
upon the path through the woods.  After about half a mile, the 
woods gave way to a clearing, the infamous grassy knoll.  Almost 
everything in sight was shrouded in shadows from the tall trees 
that surrounded the hillock, but she could clearly see the train 
tracks glistening in moonlight.  This was the spot.

She spread out the beach towel and stripped down to her birthday 
suit.  She felt comfortable in the unseasonably warm October 
night.  She lay down on the towel to moonbathe, just like Tess 
ten years earlier.  After switching off her flashlight, she 
adjusted her position to make sure her pussy was aimed directly 
down the tracks toward Granite City.  Then she waited.  
And...waited...and waited...and waited....


She could hear the faint sounds of a train whistle far in the 
distance.  It couldn't be the Doeville Cannonball; she had seen 
the last train of the day at the railroad station.  It must be 
the ghost train.  Her nipples stiffened.  Then she could hear 
the muffled rumble of train wheels.  After that, an eerie light 
appeared in the distance.  The sounds grew louder.  Her nipples 
seemed to get even stiffer.  She made sure her legs were spread 
as far apart as she could manage, to maximize the effect.  
Happening to glance down, she noticed that the tracks weren't 
the only thing glistening in the moonlight.


The ghost train was getting close.  Suddenly, she was blinded by 
the train's headlight.  Claire wasn't expecting a ghost train to 
have so powerful a headlight.  Then she heard the screech of air 
brakes being applied.  The ghost train seemed to be slowing down. 
The engine swung into the curve as the train continued to slow.  
No longer blinded by the headlight, she could see the outline of 
the ghost train as it lurched to a stop, a STOP...not an accident, 
not a crash.  No crumpling metal, no screams of the injured, no 
moans of the dying.  Just the hiss of the air brakes.  Had she broken 
the curse?  Was she going to get her scoop?  Did "shooting a 
beaver" really work?  Would the souls of the dead passengers 
finally find eternal rest?

Then...the entire hillside was bathed in light.  She could clearly 
see the train.  It looked exactly like a normal passenger train.  
This was not at all what she was expecting.  Then she noticed a 
sign on the side of the engine:

  Doeville Halloween Ghost Train

Since when do ghost trains have explanatory labels?  Wondering what 
was going on, Claire looked to one side.  She saw high-illumination 
lamps mounted on tall poles, like at sports arenas, flooding the 
area with light.  On adjacent hillocks, she saw men staring at her 
through binoculars.  Off in the distance, she could hear a band 
starting to play bump-and-grind music.  When she looked back at 
the train, she could see dozens of men disembarking.  When she 
turned her head to the other side, she saw what appeared to be a 
TV camera crew moving toward her.

It suddenly hit her: she was the victim of a cruel joke.  The 
Doeville Halloween Ghost Train wasn't a metaphysical apparition. 
It was a real train.  She had been snookered into indecently 
exposing herself.

Discretion being the better part of valor, she decided to get the 
hell out of Dodge.  She hopped up and turned around to pick up her 

But, there in front of her, were Sheriff Searchem, holding a pair 
of handcuffs, Orville Bachenreder, holding a statuette just like 
the one in his study, and Barry Knight, holding a wireless 
microphone.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that the 
crew from Eyeball Witness News had arrived and were starting to 
shoot a news story with her as the newsworthy item.

Barry had a sash around his chest that said "GRAND MARSHAL."  He 
spoke into the microphone, "Sound check."

"ScreeEEeeEEeeEEeech...."  The sound of the feedback was like 
fingernails on a blackboard.  After a few "sound checks," an 
engineer somewhere got the feedback under control.

Barry then said, "Gentlemen…and ladies..., welcome to the Tenth 
Annual Doeville Ghost Train Festival."  Screams and shouts of 
approval erupted from all around.  "Las Vegas has its Elvis 
impersonators, but only Doeville has its TESS TOSTERONE 
impersonators."  More shouts of approval from the crowd.  "The 
winner of this year's 'Best Tess Tosterone Impersonator' is 
standing in front of you: Claire K. Kent.  Let's give her a big 
round of applause."  Clap, clap, clap from all around.  "Orville, 
show Miss Kent what she's won."  Orville held up the statuette.  
"There it is folks -- the highly coveted Tessie."  Barry shoved 
the microphone in front of Claire's face and said, "Tell us what 
you think about your well-deserved honor, Claire."

"Huh?" she replied.

Barry jerked the microphone away and said, "That's great, Claire.  
I think Sheriff Searchem has something he wants to say."

"Claire K. Kent, turn around; you're under arrest for indecent 

Orville leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry, Claire, I'll take 
care of your Tessie."

As the Sheriff slapped the cuffs on Claire, a deafening roar of 
approval arose from the crowd.  The Sheriff then scooped up her 
clothes, slapped her on the ass, and said, "Time for your perp 
walk back to town, girl.  Let's get going."

As the Sheriff escorted Claire back to town, she heard Barry tell 
the crowd, "Everybody get on over to the courthouse; she's going 
to be arraigned tonight."


Facing the Music

Sheriff Searchem said, "We can't dawdle, Claire; I've got to get 
you booked as soon as possible.  Judge Peepers is waiting for us 
at the courthouse, and he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

The Sheriff slapped Claire on the ass once again to hurry her 

"By the way, Orville Bachenreder said you'll make him a great maid. 
He said you passed your interview with flying colors."

"What?  He already has a maid."

"You mean Fifi?  She's being released from prison tomorrow.  So he 
needs a new maid.  He's already got the paperwork filled out to 
request that you do your work release as his maid.  He said you 
really looked cute in a maid's uniform and, as a bonus, had an 
uncontrollable libido.  He showed me those soggy panties you 
creamed.  You're obviously one randy babe.  You're exactly what 
he's looking for."

Claire didn't know if it was possible to be more humiliated than 
she was right now.

"There are some interesting stories about Orville.  For example, 
even though he is retired from teaching, rumors have it that he 
still practices the 'pedagogical arts,' as he would say.  In 
particular, he is supposed to be fond of...oral examinations, if 
you know what I mean.  Anything but an 'A' on an 'examination' is 
an 'F,' and an 'F' requires 'stimulation' of the seat of learning."

Claire pondered these appalling tidbits of information as they 
neared the police station.  She didn't like the idea of "oral 
examinations," but at least she would be servicing a MAN.  That 
was a consolation.  She couldn't imagine how horrible it would 
be to have to lick another woman's pussy.

At the station, the Sheriff had Claire booked and turned her over 
to Deputy Dorkly for her "full frontal."  While she was staring 
into the lens of the camera, the Sheriff unceremoniously dumped 
all her clothes into the crate that sported a tag reading "Kent, 
Claire K." along with her arrest number.

After the deputy took her mug shot, the Sheriff printed a copy and 
pinned it to the blank spot on the wall, along with all the other 
mug shots.  He then grabbed Claire and said, "We've got to get over 
to the courthouse."  Another slap on her butt, and off they went. 

The Sheriff said, "I forgot to mention that we got you legal 
counsel.  His name is Bob Styr, Esq.  He does a lot of pro bono 
work, particularly with women who are charged with indecent 
exposure.  He's really bashful, so much so in fact that all the 
ladies in town call him 'Shy.'  We figure that's the reason he 
does the pro bono work.  It's the only way he gets to see nude 
boobs up close and personal."

When they arrived at the courthouse, the Sheriff ushered Claire 
into Judge Peepers' courtroom.  It was much larger than she 
expected and was packed with grinning men...and a few ladies.  
The Sheriff pointed out Tess Tosterone, who was standing off to 
one side.  Tess was strikingly beautiful, but also imposing in 
her no-nonsense prison guard uniform.

Judge Peepers apparently allowed cameras in the courtroom because 
there were continual flashes from all sides as the Sheriff guided 
Claire to the defendant's table at the front of the courtroom.

Removing her handcuffs, he said, "Claire, here's Mr. Shy Styr, 
your attorney.  I'll leave now and let you two do the privilege 

Claire sat down at the defendant's table, nude, next to her lawyer, 
wondering what would happen next.  Shy leaned over and, staring at 
her boobs, said, "You don't have many options, Claire.  If you 
plead not guilty, you're going to end up serving two years at the 
prison farm.  Judge Peepers shows no mercy to women charged with 
indecent exposure who insist on a trial.  And let's face it: you 
can hardly argue that you weren't indecently exposing yourself.  
You're going to be on the morning news tomorrow.  On the other 
hand, if you plead guilty, you'll only get six months.  I recommend 
you plead guilty.  Is that acceptable to you?"

Orville Bachenreder had warned her that pleading not guilty was a 
bad idea, so she abandoned all hope and whispered, "Okay...."

Just then Bailiff Bubba stood up and intoned, "All rise.  The court 
is now in session.  The Honorable Peter Peepers presiding."

Claire stood up with the rest of the court.  The door to Judge 
Peepers' chambers opened.  In walked the judge, who took his 
seat behind the bench.  He looked about the court and said, "Please 
be seated."

Claire sat down and wondered why her chair was so slippery.

"OK, Bubba, what business do we have tonight?"

Bubba replied, "Your Honor, the first item of business is the state 
versus Claire K. Kent on one count of indecent exposure."

"I see that Miss Kent has legal counsel," said the judge.  
"Counselor, how does you client plead?"

"She pleads guilty, Your Honor."

"Bubba, do we have any other business before the court this 

"No, Your Honor."

"In that case, we'll move on to sentencing.  Please rise, Miss 

Claire and Styr stood up.

"Claire K. Kent, the court hereby sentences you to six months' 
incarceration at the Doeville State Prison Farm for Women.  
However, due to aggravating circumstances...."   At this point 
in the sentencing, he was staring directly at her crotch with 
an expression on his face not unlike that of someone sniffing a 
turd.  "I hereby impose a hairy pussy tax of two months, thereby 
increasing your sentence to a total of eight months."

At this point, a storm of conflicting emotions was raging in her 
mind.  She was totally nude in front of a large courtroom filled 
with horny men, a TV crew was filming her sentencing, she was 
actually experiencing what she had for so long fantasized about, 
she had a wet pussy, she was being sentenced by a leering judge, 
her lawyer was staring at her boobs, she was going to be spending 
her work release sucking Orville Bachenreder's cock, she was 
undergoing the most exquisite humiliation she had ever experienced, 
and she couldn't imagine how things could get worse...when she
shuddered into an orgasm.

A light as bright as a thousand suns filled the courtroom.  The 
shutter release of every camera in the room had been pressed at 
the same time.  The spectators shouted their approval.  The judge 
banged his gavel and growled, "Order in the court."  But Claire 
just writhed and wriggled amid innumerable sighs and moans, 
ignoring the judge's gavel.  Many were the woman who would be 
thoroughly, completely, comprehensively, totally, wholly, 
exhaustively, unrelentingly, mercilessly fucked that evening 
to relieve the "tensions" of their menfolk who had witnessed 
the sentencing.

Finally, Claire's orgasm spent itself.  The judge was outraged.  
"That little display is going to cost you an extra two months."

If the judge was hoping to restore order in the courtroom, he had 
said the wrong thing.  Claire launched into another orgasm.

At this point, Tess Tosterone saved Claire's ass, so to speak.  
Unhitching a leather strap hanging from her belt, Tess stepped 
behind Claire and expertly applied six stripes across her bare 
butt-cheeks.  This had the effect of taming Claire's libido, and 
her orgasm quickly subsided.  And she was able to regain her 

The judge said, "Thank you, Miss Tosterone.  Miss Kent, that'll be 
a full year in prison.  Learn to control your urges.  Sheriff, 
please transfer custody of Miss Kent to the Department of 
Corrections before she disgraces herself any further."

Sheriff Searchem stepped behind Claire and re-cuffed her.  He 
whispered in her ear, "I'm going to turn you over to Tess now.  
I promised you that I'd arrange an interview, and I'm a man of 
my word.  By the way, it's said that she's a bull dyke and that 
she just loves to conduct oral interviews, if you know what I 

The End

Edited by C. Lakewood

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