A prominent attorney and wife of a judge runs afoul of the sheriff

by JD Wright

Katie Everson had been warned. It was 10.00 pm. The blue lights flashed behind her and she fumbled in her purse for the usual things he’d ask for. It was uncanny, she thought. How could he know she’d been drinking? She waited.

“Mrs. Everson.”

“Sheriff. Do you not have a life? You seem to pop up at the most inopportune times, day and night,” she said, handing him her licenses, insurance cards and car title.

The sheriff took the items, checked them, and handed them back. Then he produced a breathalyzer.

“You know the drill,” he said dryly.

She took the device, took a deep breath, and blew. She saw the reading, .09, over the legal limit.

“Shit!” she mumbled to herself.

“Court case in Corbin?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You win?”

“Yes.”

“Celebrate after?”

“You know I did. You trying to entrap me?”

“What did I tell you the last time?” he asked.

She looked down. “That there would be no more warnings.”

“Evidently didn’t sink in!” he shouted.

She jumped.

“I let you off the last time and the time before that. It seems to be my weakness to give people breaks they don’t deserve. This is a small town. I’m just trying to keep people safe and not ruin their lives if I can avoid it.”

“You do, sheriff. You do! And you’ve been more than generous to me and others. I hear the other stories. None of us don’t deserve your consideration,” she said weakly.

“You never told the judge about the other warnings, did you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, looking down. “He said you should’ve arrested me. You know how my husband feels about DUIs. Even if it’s his wife.”

“Yup. At .09, that’s a threat to other people on the road, and to yourself. You want the death of some innocent on your conscience?”

“No, no, I don’t. Am I going to jail?” she asked, tears welling up.

“No,” he said. “We’ll try something different. But the next time, it’s jail! Do you hear me?” he shouted again.

“Yes. Yes sir,” she said, the words tumbling out.

“Leave the car here. I’m taking you home. I’ll let the judge, your husband, deal with this.  A couple of deputies will get your car home.”

“Oh god no!” she said. “Please, please don’t do that. He’ll hit the roof!”

He smirked. “You’re a big time, tough, lawyer. Surely you can plead your case?”

They drove the five miles to her house in silence.

“I expect you to tell him everything. I’d like to hear back from him as to what he suggests. Otherwise, I’ll have to arrest you for DUI.”

She got out of the car without a word.

By the next morning, the sheriff had an email from Mrs Everson asking to meet. They met at a small, out of the way, local restaurant around 1.30.

She stirred her coffee, looking down.

“So, what did you and the judge settle last night?” he asked, breaking the silence.

She blushed crimson at his question. “We didn’t settle anything. My eighty-year-old father lives with us and overheard the conversation. And being a man that doesn’t mince words, he stormed in and said to my husband I needed a belt taken to my ass!”

The sheriff choked on his coffee, and chuckled. “Do tell.”

She bowed her head. “Yes. When me and my brother were younger, he didn’t hesitate to lay into us, if needed.”

The sheriff smirked.

“Needless to say, there was a big row and a lot of shouting. And, needless to say, I lost the argument.” She timidly reached in her briefcase and produced some papers and slid them toward the sheriff. “My husband, and mostly my father, suggested, no insisted, you take care of this. There seems to be an obscure law in this state that allows some level of corporal punishment to be applied in special cases, but doesn’t become part of the public record. These are the waivers, for your records and legal protection,” she said timidly.

The sheriff glanced down at the papers and then back up at her. “Are you serious? They’re expecting me to execute this?”

“It’s what my father wants to happen. My father lectured me like a child. He said I had humiliated myself and embarrassed my husband and taken advantage of our standing in the community. And I was damn lucky this may be all that would happen to me. My husband refused to do it. But seemed to take great pleasure in knowing I would have to present myself to a familiar face. Do I have to spell it out? I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. I can’t believe this is happening.”

The sheriff looked deeper in the papers. “Everything about this is awkward. I’m not sure how to carry this out and keep it confidential. If I take you to the jail office, I’ll have to authorize one of the female deputies to carry it out. I can’t swear her, or anybody else to secrecy.”

“They’re aware of that,” she said. “They suggest you do it personally.”

The sheriff’s head shot up from the papers. “No, no, no, you can’t be serious. That can’t be legal,” he said, pouring back over the papers.

She reached for the papers and sifted until she found one particular clause indicating the one who could administer the punishment. It read:

Male or female, without any witnesses.

“I don’t like being put in this position,” he grumped.

“I brought it on myself. Let’s just get it done so we can move on, okay?” she said.

“And you’re okay with this? I’m friends with your husband, and I have respect for you.”

“No. No, I’m not okay with it. But I don’t have a choice.”

The sheriff gathered up the papers and clipped them together and looked out the window, thinking.

“Sheriff, can I make a suggestion? I’m going back to Corbin tomorrow. Late at night there’s never any traffic. I won’t be coming back until about ten. There’s a big dairy farm on the left. You could wait for me there, then pull me over, like a regular traffic stop. There’s a couple of side lanes we can pull into for some privacy. You can carry it out then and there, if you want.”

The sheriff looked at her. “I don’t want to do this.”

“No,” she said. “You have to. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it may be a good thing. When my father spanked me for smoking weed, I never smoked it again. When he spanked me and my brother for joy-riding, without a license, we never did that again. He always made us pull down our pants or lift my skirt if that’s what I was wearing. It was horribly embarrassing! But it worked. And I’ll be utterly embarrassed with you.”

“Alright, alright,” the sheriff said. “Tomorrow night at ten. I’ll pull you over, blue lights and all. But nobody’s pulling anything down or lifting anything up! Wear pants or something.”

Then the sheriff took the papers and left.

Katie tried to stay focused all day in court at Corbin, but her mind drifted. By late afternoon, court was over and she drove to her law firm’s satellite office in Corbin to work a few hours while she waited. Her palms were sweaty and she drank a gallon of water for her dry throat. The night dragged on. Finally, it reached 9.45. She packed up and left. As expected, she was the only person on the highway. She came in sight of the dairy and, just as planned, the sheriff pulled out behind her, and then came the blue lights. At the first dead-end lane they pulled in, first her, then the sheriff. His patrol car would be between her and the highway now.

She waited in the car, not sure what to do next.

Soon the sheriff appeared, and opened her door. “Go in between the cars,” he said.

Nervous and flustered, Katie got out of the car awkwardly and carelessly gave the sheriff a look up her skirt. She blushed and pushed her skirt between her legs.

‘Why the hell did I wear a skirt on this of all days,’ she thought.

Self-conscious and anxious, her sensibilities were on edge. She could feel her bottom wiggling as she walked, and was quite sure the sheriff noticed. ‘Men are men,’ she thought. ‘Funny the things you think about under stress.’

“I’m not going to use a belt. I don’t want to risk injuring you unintentionally. I’ll use this ping-pong paddle I found, okay?” he said.

She nodded, albeit amused at his choice of instrument. “How do you want me?” she asked feebly.

“How did your dad present you and your brother?”

“Different ways. Sometimes bend over and grab our ankles. Other times, lay across something.”

“Then I’ll let you decide,” the sheriff said.

Katie studied a moment. She walked to front of the car and bent over and felt her skirt tighten across her bottom, painfully aware he would notice. The thought ripped through her like hot coals.

“Okay, I’ll give you twenty hard licks in succession.” The sheriff walked around and gently touched the paddle to her bottom.

She flinched and gasped. ‘Oh god!’ she whispered to herself.

And then it began. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! The blows came quick and even. Katie cried out and wiggled and squirmed, trying to lessen the burning trapped under her tight skirt. She could feel the bounce and quiver of her rear with each blow and felt mortified. Old memories flooded back. But this was worse than anything her father had given her.

And then it was over.

“We’re finished, Katie,” he announced softly.

Katie shot up, grabbing her bottom. “Oh god, my ass is on fire!” she screamed. Her heels flew off and she stamped the ground with her stockinged feet and sobbed and rubbed her behind aggressively. She frantically grabbed the hem of her skirt and hiked it up and peeled down panty hose and panties. She sighed softly. The cool night air was a welcome relief to her bare behind.

Then she remembered she wasn’t alone. She glanced at him, horrified and embarrassed. The sheriff’s professionalism evaporated for a few brief seconds. All he could do was stare awkwardly. He was reminded what a lovely, strong woman she was. But in this moment, he felt sorry for her.

She sobbed all the more, knowing he was watching. But she didn’t care. She felt a peculiar sensation, a detachment. A witch’s brew of humiliation and, excitement. Her mind was a fog of emotions.

The sheriff went back to his car, leaving her alone. He regretted it had come to this. Perhaps he’ll never have to stop her again. But it’s not something he’d forget. There were too many images and thoughts he’d be left with.

After a while, she appeared. Her skirt was back in place and she walked with the confidence and composure that was naturally hers. The Katie Everson he knew was back in full form.

“It’s getting cold,” she said, as if they had simply been out for a walk.

“Yes, it is. There’s a little café down the road that stays open all night. Interested in some coffee?”

“That would be nice,” she said.

She saw the ping-pong paddle laying in the front seat.

“Can I have that?” she asked.

“Memento?” he asked.

“Something like that. I’m going to hang it in my office as a reminder, and conversation piece.”

The sheriff’s eyes flashed. “Really? You want to have a conversation about this?” he asked.

“No. When people see it and ask if I play ping-pong, I’ll just smile, and say no.”

The End

© JD Wright 2020