No, they arrive at the station.

Mackenzie huddled over as much as she could the rest of the way to the station. The time between the officer cutting the engine, getting out of the car, and opening her door seemed like no time at all. The handsome cop leaned over yet again, this time to unbuckle her, and again goosebumps rippled across her skin.

This time, instead of focusing on his smell, she was hyper-aware of her own. Did he notice? How could he not? Would he sneak a peek downward? Her face burned, her eyes closed tight. She could only control what she saw, nothing more.

Finally, he leaned away, gripping her by the upper arm. The other, older cop grabbed her by the other arm, a bit more roughly than his partner. She was marched toward the door, and couldn't even hunch over to hide herself a bit. She was **** to bare her entire nude body, head to toe.

"Do we have clothes for her?" The handsome cop asked. She looked at him pleadingly, and realized it was the most concern anyone had shown for her since he'd asked if he should take the duct tape off her mouth.

"Yeah, they've got outfits in processing. Once we book her we'll get her dressed," the other cop said. "Didn't seem like she was in much of a hurry to get dressed at the airport, she'll be fine."

A new wave of humiliated panic washed over her, and Mackenzie was again surprised at her capacity for shame. She was going to be **** to show herself to whoever happened to be at the police station at this time of night. How could nobody think it was important for her to get dressed as soon as possible? She felt like public property. She was public property, essentially. They could bring her wherever they wanted. Without clothes, she was at their mercy.

The door swung open. Stark fluorescent lighting hit her. What seemed like a million eyes turned towards her. She felt like she was at the end of a tunnel. Or, more accurately, under a microscope. The cops at her sides began walking, and she was dragged forward, in a daze.

A few officers made comments, or jabs, but they were lost in a much louder cacophony of voices from the end of the room. Behind a wall of bars, there were five or six men, all shouting at her like she was a performer on a stage. Right, she thought, she'd seen this sort of thing on TV. That was the drunk tank.

Her heart rate spiked. Was that where she was going?

"Woah!" she heard a cop say as they passed his desk. "Where'd you pick that up?"

"Streaker at the airport," the older cop said with a laugh. They stopped walking, and Mackenzie had to stare forward for several minutes as the officers shot the shit with each other. She breathed harder and harder, then made the mistake of looking downward again. No, no, no!

Her situation was even worse than it had been in the car. She kept both feet firmly planted on the ground, afraid that if she tried crossing her legs she would stumble and fall. There was nothing, nothing she could do to hide her pussy, or the state it was in. For all intents and purposes, she was a performer for the men currently staring at her. In that moment, the sight of her pussy belonged to them as much as it had to the good-looking cop who'd seen her in the rear view mirror.

She stopped. The handsome cop was still standing next to her. She looked up, and he was already looking at her, his expression unreadable. She tried to plead with her eyes, hoping her message would come across. Help me, help me, give me clothes, please. I don't want this. This is all a big misunderstanding.

"Alright, well, we better take care of the belle of the ball," the older cop said, almost regretfully. "Isaac, why don't you start the paperwork? I'll get her some clothes, or a blanket, or something."

"Sure thing," he said. Isaac, Mackenzie thought, and shifted her weight. She liked that name.

The officer left, and she and Isaac were left alone.