Nope. You're taken to the station and ordered to strip.

You’re on your knees at the Police Officer’s feet with the bulge in his pants just inches from your horrified face. Just the simple pull of his zipper would put you right back in the same situation you’d just escaped from.

“N-n-no, please,” you whisper as your stare at his crotch.

“Too late, honey,” he barks with a laugh, “time to show you what happens when you don’t want to play ball.” He yanks you roughly to your feet and shoves you into the back of the Cruiser.

The next several minutes are a blur as your retreat inward. Have you really fallen so far so fast? Yesterday you’d never even seen a man’s cock before. Now you’ve not only seen one but you’ve touched and tasted it as well. You managed to get away just to end up with a Cop who wants to do the same thing. And now, now you’ve been arrested because you didn’t want to touch his organ and because he doesn’t seem to approve of women who work in an office. And let’s not forget that the man who **** your mouth knows your secret and wants you before anybody else can claim you as a ****. You must be dreaming; how else could fate prove so cruel.

Distantly you’re aware that you’ve arrived at the station but it remains a sort of chaotic blur that your mind refuses to focus on until finally a voice cuts through the din.

“Strip,” the voice commands with authority.

“Huh?” You look around, confused. You’ve never been in jail but you’ve seen enough TV to know that they don’t just give you those ugly orange uniforms as soon as you reach the station. You’ve got to be, like, processed. “You… you want me to strip?” you ask as you turn to the same Cop who arrested you. He holds open a simple mesh sack, obviously waiting for you to remove your closes and deposit them inside.

“Are we going to have a problem here? Because I can have three guys in here in seconds to strip you by ****,” he sneers.

“No!” you squeak in surprise and panic. Would they really strip you naked? Is that allowed? “I— I was just wondering why I need to take off all my clothes is all.”

“Evidence,” the Cop replies quickly with an impatient roll of his eyes. “You’re a fucking hooker and the ejaculate on those clothes is more than enough evidence for a conviction.”

The words ring in your ears and you feel as if you’ve been slugs in the gut. A hooker. A hooker?! You look down at your clothes: dirty, disheveled, and spattered with a man’s seed. Oh God. You ARE a hooker! You fight back a sob as you nod your head at the impatient Officer. “Yes, sir,” you gasp weakly.

With shaking fingers you reach up and awkwardly remove your blouse. You hadn’t grabbed your bra back from the **** before he’d driven off so there is nothing left to hide your young but impressive bosom from his leering eyes. You take a deep breath, as you gaze miserably down at your own naked chest. Your pink nipples point proudly at the officer as if enjoying your humiliation as much as he is. You ball the shirt up in your hand and drop it into the sack.

A sudden whistle of appreciation from behind you whips your head around. An immense one-way mirror dominates the wall behind you; the whistle came from just beyond. With another yelp of horror your arms shoot up to cover what little of your chest that they can. People are watching?!

“Strip,” the Cop commands again, the irritation increasing in his tone, “or else.”