There had been some reports of prostitutes setting up shop at our local ski resorts. Now, personally, I really have no problem with a woman selling her services, but the law is the law, and it’s my job to enforce it.

It was a cold Friday night in late February when Deputy Jefferson and I set up a little sting. It was pretty simple. He was in plain clothes and would approach some women sitting at the bar, eventually offering them money for sex. When an offer was accepted, he would give me the signal, and I would move in and make the arrest.

It worked out well as we collared four women, two brunettes and two blondes, in our first night. We loaded them into the police van and headed back to the station.

Back at the station, we herded them into the front office. We handcuffed them to a bench, and Deputy Jefferson drew the short straw and did the paperwork, while I would get the privilege of processing them before putting them in the holding cell. Honestly, we were probably just going to hold them for a few hours and then let them go, with a simple warning, as we really didn’t want to waste the courts’ time and money with them.

My father, I mean, the sheriff, came out and said he was a little bored, so his eyes lit up when he spotted the women. He quickly uncuffed the two brunettes and led them into his office. I could only wonder if they knew what they were in for.

I smiled, noticing that he left me the two blondes. What a guy! Although I strip-searched the first blonde. She wasn’t anything special. In fact, I think she liked it more than I did. She even told me she could and would suck the socks off of me as I put her in the holding cell, but I had more work to do.

I led the second blonde into the processing room. She was professing her innocence, but I wasn’t really listening; instead, I just couldn’t get over how much she looked like Danni Ash. If you don’t know who Danni is, think blonde, huge breasts.

“Please, sir, this is a case of mistaken identity. Really, I was just having a cocktail,” she cried.

I have to say, I really liked the way she said, “cocktail.”

“Please, Miss, tell it to the judge,” I just love saying that.

After she pleaded her case some more, she probably got tired of staring at my blank expression, so she finally moved on.

“What is this room for? I thought you had bars on your cells?” She mumbled.

“Well, this is the room that we search suspects in before we put them into the holding cell, which your right has bars and everything,” I said a little wisely.

“Hey, don’t treat me like I’m a dummy because I have blonde hair,” she hissed.

“My bad,” I said with a little laugh, thinking she should have said big boobs.

“Plus, you already searched me before you put me in the van,” she said, quickly flashing me a dirty look.

“That was just a quick pat down,” I managed before being cut off.

“It wasn’t that quick,” she barked.

“This one is more thorough; we have to search for contraband,” I managed, and I knew she was right.

“Really, sounds like you just want to put your hands on me again,” she hissed.

Shouldn’t have been more correct. I enjoyed her womanly curves the first time, but I yearned for more. I stepped back to examine her outfit. She was dressed in a nice button-down, fuzzy pink sweater with a couple of the buttons undone, which gave the viewer a nice dose of cleavage. She also had nice lower curves that she showed off with a sexy black skirt. Her long legs were covered with some white lacy stockings. Her sexy outfit was rounded off with a pair of black, ankle-high, spiked boots.

“Enjoying yourself,” she hissed, probably growing tired of me mentally stripping off her clothes. I also grew tired, or just a little impatient; either way, I decided it was time to start the real one.

“You can start by unbuttoning that sweater,” I said as calmly as I could.

“What?” She cried, as she threw her hands up in front of her chest. “Oh, right, you just want to see my boobs.”

“Not really. I just want to make sure you’re not hiding anything in there,” I said, as my nose grew, or maybe it wasn’t my nose.

“Couldn’t you tell when you frisked me earlier?” She moaned. “You certainly spent enough time there.”

“There was a great deal to search,” I shot back.

“Funny, like I haven’t heard jokes about the size of my boobs before,” she said, and then she surprised me by slowly unbuttoning her blouse, as I thought she was going to put up more of a fight, and she didn’t even ask for a female deputy.

“OK, hold the sweater open when you’re done,” I managed.

She slowly complied. “Oh, this is a nice pose,” she said wisely.

“Hey, I was thinking the same thing,” I said, as I admired her huge breasts, encased in a baby blue bra that seemed like it was ready to burst.

“OK, now I’ll take the sweater,” I said.

She took it off and handed it to me. “You know all men are pigs,” she moaned as I hung her sweater on the clothes hook, which hung from the cement wall.

“Really, I’m glad you pointed that out to me. I thought it was only us cops,” I said rather wisely, while she just stuck her tongue out at me quickly.

“The skirt next,” was my next order.

From the surprised look on her face, I figured she thought her bra would be next, but I had to say they had a real erotic look, stuffed in their sexy holding place, as she slid her skirt down. She revealed her matching, baby blue panties and garter belt, which was holding up her white stockings, to my eyes. After a quick look, I quickly hung the skirt up.

“See, I’m clean,” she said, probably hoping the search was over.

“Please take off the stockings and garter belt,” I said, as there was no chance of that.

“Oh, yeah, like I’m hiding an ak-57 in my socks,” she mumbled as she leaned forward and rolled her left sock down.

“47,” I said with a smirk.

“What?” she said, looking up at me with her glowing green eyes.

“AK-47,” I said with a sly smile on my face, enjoying the frisky banter.

“Whatever, you know I’m not hiding anything,” she said as she started rolling down her right sock. I was just amazed that her bra was able to withstand the pressure being applied to it, as her breasts jiggled lewdly, fighting for their freedom.

“I know nothing, nothing!” I said in my best Sergeant Schultz impression.

I don’t know if it was my bad impression or the fact that she was handing over her garter belt and stockings, but she flashed me the dirtiest of looks. I simply hung up her stuff, while she stood defiantly with her hands on her hips. She was now in the (what the fuck you want next) pose. I stood in front of her, taking one last look at her, in her delicates.

“Lose the bra,” I barked. Women always love that line, although I did leave out the (bitch) tag at the end of the sentence. I thought that might be a little too much.

“Why, you little pervert,” she snorted, as she somehow reached around her back and unhooked her bra’s latch. If I live to a hundred, I will never figure out how they do that. She slid the straps off her shoulders, but kept the material pressed against her chest.

“Well,” I hissed.

“I just wanted to hear you beg a little,” she purred.

“Are they worth begging for?” I purred back.

“You tell me,” she said as she handed me her bra, which I hung up before taking a peek. When I did, I must admit they were pretty spectacular. Her breasts were full and they hung low, but not obscenely so. She had fair skin, with just the hint of light blue veins visible. Her large pink nipples and areola topped off a completely erotic set of breasts that any woman, with a strong back, would be proud of.

“You can put your eyes back in your head,” she hissed as she was standing with her hands on her hips again, as if almost daring me.

“The panties, please,” I managed, taking the bait.

“Oh, but of course,” she said wisely, as she rolled her panties down, her breasts swaying with every movement.

“Enjoy the show,” she hissed as she handed them to me as well.

“Just doing my job, Ma’am,” I said in my best cop voice, and that’s my second favorite thing to say.

“Right, nice excuse. What’s next? You got it all,” she hissed, as she used her hands to cover her privates.

“Well, we have to take a few pictures for our records,” I said, taking the Polaroid out of the table’s drawer.

“What?” She cried. “Why do you have to do that?”

“We do that for all our prostitutes,” I said with a smile.

“But I’m,”

“I know, you’re innocent,” I interrupted her.

“Well, yeah, but what I was going to say was, but I’m naked,” she sputtered.

“Yes, you are,” I said proudly. “We document the face with the body because it’s easy to change your face, but a little harder to change the body.”

“You can’t be serious; you want me to pose naked for you, like a Playboy Bunny,” she hissed.

“Look, I’m not a Playboy photographer. I only have this little Polaroid camera, just a few standard shots that stay in your file,” I hissed, enjoying seeing her finally squirm, before I clicked off the first picture.

“Hey, I wasn’t ready!” She cried out.

“OK, we will start with a headshot,” I said, the camera to my eyes. “Are you ready now?”