Joe had already posted a shorter version, but a reader wrote in, 
urging him to "finish" the story.  (A familiar complaint.)  As 
a result, Joe re-wrote and substantially expanded the story.  
Although that reader still might not have been fully satisfied, 
he should have been.  It's a jolly good story.





 
                  A DRIVE FOR HUMILATION
                       (Version 2)

                           by

                        Joe Doe 


ATTORNEY ASHLEY UNWISELY GOADS HER CHAUFFEUR INTO DRIVING HER 
TO THE SEEDY RED LIGHT DISTRICT OF A DEPRESSED FOREIGN COUNTRY. 



"Where did you want me to take you, miss?" the chauffeur asked, 
submissively.

"Just drive around for a while," Ashley replied.  "I'm returning 
to the States on Monday, and I've barely had a chance to see the 
place."

She opened up a large bottle of champagne in the back of the limo 
and continued to celebrate.  She was pleased that she won her case, 
but she was also a little disappointed that the victory party was 
over.  She was dressed in her cute little black cocktail dress, and 
now there was nowhere to go.

There were consolations, of course.  Her bonus for winning the 
legal battle was obscene.  The country was a tropical paradise, 
and the company-owned estate that she was living at was luxurious 
to the point of absurdity. 

But, helping a large multinational corporation crush a legitimate 
strike at the pineapple factory was not fun, and she had been 
working 25 hours a day.  Now that the task was done, she would be 
returning to the USA on Monday morning. 

Ashley felt guilty about her role in stopping the strike, but 
reminded herself that the system was more important than any 
individual trial.  She had desperately tried to get out of the 
case, but, as a partner in her firm, she did have certain 
responsibilities.  Her guilt fueled her desire to have yet 
another glass of champagne.

As she looked out the window, her mind drifted back to a 
conversation she'd had in the office.  When she had told her 
secretary that she was staying at the company mansion on the 
coast, the secretary laughed and warned her, "American women 
who live in that house should be careful!"

When Ashley asked her what she meant, the secretary explained 
that, about twenty years ago, there had been a small revolution 
on the island.  The American executive who lived in the mansion 
had managed to escape, but his wife was not so fortunate. 

The rebels had taken the poor woman to the red light district and 
forced her to dance in a strip club.

When Ashley pressed the secretary for more details, the latter just 
smiled coyly and told her to "Ask Winston....  Your loyal driver 
worked for Mrs. Waters, and he watched the whole show."

Ashley was stunned.  Her British driver was sexless and servile, 
and the thought of him even going to a strip club was absurd.  But 
the story had sparked her imagination, and she decided to ask him 
about it.

But Winston demurred, insisting that it wasn't "a proper topic" to 
discuss with "a well-bred young lady."  Ashley, however, insisted 
that "you are my employee, and you will discuss what you are 
ordered to discuss." 

Ashley usually wasn't that curt with people, but she was starting 
to feel the effects of the champagne.  She knew that, when she got 
drunk, she got belligerent and said things she later regretted.  
But a little power game with her driver might be fun....

So Winston reluctantly told the story.  "Mrs. Waters had been 
quoted in the papers as saying that unemployed workers should 
take their wives and daughters to the red light district, since 
the U.S. military was probably going to come to 'restore order' 
soon, and the brothels would need to be fully staffed to 
'entertain the troops'!"

"It was a stupid and outrageous quote, and quite honestly I doubt 
she ever said it," Winston said.  "But, when the Marxists seized 
control, they came to the mansion and dragged her out.  They 
brought her down to the clubs, and made her dance until she 
earned $500 American dollars in tips."

"Were you harmed by the rebels, when you tried to defend her?" 
Ashley asked suspiciously.

"I was viewed as one of her oppressed employees, so the Marxists 
welcomed me with open arms," he explained.  "She was arrested by 
200 heavily armed soldiers, so it would have been absurd to do 
anything but cooperate.  I did my best to help her raise the $500 
by giving her all of the singles I had."

"So you actually threw money on the stage while that poor woman 
stripped for you?" Ashley asked in disbelief.

"Well, not exactly, miss," he explained casually.  "Traditionally 
a dancer seeking remuneration squats and rotates her hips in front 
of the gentlemen holding the bill.  The man then deposits the tip 
in her nether regions."

Ashley cringed at the vivid mental image.  "That must have been 
horrible for her, having to dance that way in front of someone 
who worked for her."

"It was," Winston agreed.  "I have never seen a woman so 
embarrassed, either before or since, and her face was the 
most lovely shade of crimson the entire night.  At the same
time, I must say, most of the money deposited into her...uh, 
shall we say 'piggy bank?'...ended up being quite wet and 
soggy, if you follow my drift."

"That's a horrible story," Ashley said.  "But it's also 
strangely...stimulating."  She sipped her champagne.

"I understand your point of view exactly, miss," Winston agreed.  

Ashley blushed and looked at her shoes.  Just hearing the story 
was making her damp.  She couldn't even imagine living it. 

"It must have been very hard to raise that much money from one 
dollar tips!"

"Nearly impossible," Winston agreed.  "Mrs. Waters actually 
satisfied most of her debt by performing orally, on her knees, 
in the alley behind the club.  A humbling experience, to be 
sure, but, at $5 a head (so to speak), far more lucrative than 
having one's private parts fondled for 10 minutes to earn a 
single wet dollar bill!"

Ashley squirmed in her seat.  She wasn't sure if it was the 
champagne or the conversation, but she was starting to feel 
lightheaded.

"The American troops arrived the next day, and Mrs. Waters was 
liberated," Winston went on.  "Needless to say, her husband quickly 
requested a transfer, and she returned to the States a few days 
later.  Apparently, she'd had enough of our tropical hospitality."

There was a long pause, and then Ashley cleared her throat. 

"I want you to take me to the red light district, Winston.  I want 
you to show me where they made her dance."

"You're treading on very thin ice, miss, if I may be so bold," he 
replied.

"You may not be so bold!" she shot back.  "You're my driver...so 
drive."  She had been very nice to Winston over the last few 
months, and she considered him a friend.  But the champagne made 
her bitchy.

"I don't think that is a very good idea, miss," he said, firmly. 

"I didn't ask your opinion, Winston."

"A few years ago two young American college students decided to go 
slumming and visit one of the strip clubs," he said.  "They enjoyed 
heckling the strippers and flirting with the men, until they were 
robbed in the restroom.  Since they couldn't pay their bar tab, the 
manager forced them to enter the amateur night contest and dance 
for the locals.  They won the contest, but the experience wiped 
the smug, self-satisfied smiles off of their pretty American 
faces."

Ashley, who had been smiling, immediately frowned, realizing the 
story was directed at her.  "That's an absurd tale, Winston.  The 
idea that a couple of coeds could beat professional strippers at 
amateur night...really!" she huffed.

"Oh, they danced poorly, and their performance lacked the 
professionalism of the competition," he concurred.  "But 
the lowlife scum at the clubs enjoyed watching the untouchable 
American women degrade themselves.  Their humiliation and 
debasement is what made the performance so memorable."

"I still want to go to the red light district, and, as my driver, 
it's your job to follow orders, not question them!" Ashley insisted.

"I don't think it's a good idea, miss," he said again.  "I'm 
thinking of your own safety."

"That's why the British don't run the world anymore, Winston," she 
said, her speech slightly slurred from the champagne.  "None of you 
have any balls.  Americans are the resourceful ones, who dare to be 
great.  You're English, and you're just here to do as you're told."

"Of course, miss.  How stupid of me to think otherwise."

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out.  He 
said nothing, but opened the back door of the limo and grabbed 
Ashley's purse.  She cried out, but was too drunk to resist much. 

He then picked up her foot, slipped off her shoe, and took out the 
spare $200 in cash that she always carried with her for emergencies.
Then he slammed the door and locked her purse and "mad money" in 
the limo's trunk.

Then he started up the car again.

"What was that all about?" Ashley asked, indignantly.

"Don't use that tone of voice with me, Missy," he replied, sharply. 
"YOU wanted to go to the clubs.  YOU'RE the one who thinks you're 
so smart.  I'm just trying to keep you from getting robbed."

"But why did you take the money in my shoe?" she wailed.  "I don't 
have ANY money, or ANY identification.  I feel absolutely NAKED 
back here."

"You're not naked, miss," Winston replied.  "At least...not yet." 

His reply sent a small tingle down her back. 

Maybe tonight wouldn't be so boring after all.

"If the rebels came and ordered you to take me to a club, Winston, 
which club would you pick?"

"That's difficult to say, miss," he said, thoughtfully.  "You're 
obviously a well-educated, sophisticated young American executive.  
My first instinct might be to take you to one of the clubs that 
cater to a clientele of American executives.  You wouldn't be 
fondled in those clubs.  You'd dance topless, of course, but be 
allowed to keep your knickers on." 

"That doesn't sound so bad," she agreed.

"As I said, that would be my FIRST instinct," he said, correcting 
himself.  "But, after reflecting on your general attitude towards 
the workers on this island, I think a different tack would be in 
order.  If I had my druthers now, I would probably take you to the 
seediest club I could find, preferably one by the factory.  That 
way you would be forced to dance for the men whose strike you 
crushed.

"I don't know if you'll ever have any feelings for the working 
man," he continued.  "But I can guarantee you that the working 
men would get a good feel for you. 

"And, of course, since you Americans are such brilliant 
entrepreneurs, I would arrange a side business in the alley 
with the club manager," he added.  "Your performance on the 
stage would be so degrading, and so humbling, that you would 
need a nice salty cocktail to wash down your humble pie."

Ashley said nothing, but started to laugh. 

"I fail to see the humor, miss," he said, angrily.  "I found 
your outburst quite insulting." 

"I just thought about poor Mrs. Waters in the alley," Ashley 
replied, still laughing.  "You may have tipped her on stage, 
but I would bet you the entire $500 that you didn't get a blow 
job in the alley."

"And why is that, miss?" 

"You're British!" she replied, reeling with laughter.  "Everyone 
knows that there isn't a man in England who has a PENIS!"

Overcome with champagne, Ashley laughed herself into a drunken 
stupor, finally passing out in the back of the limo, while her 
driver fumed in the front seat.

		******************************

She awoke when Winston half lifted her out of the car and stood 
her up against it.

"We're here, miss!" he said, cheerfully.

"Where?" Ashley said, still groggy from sleep and champagne.

"At the club.  You lost the bet, and now you're going to pay me 
the $500 you owe me."

"What bet?" Ashley said, wiping her eyes and trying desperately 
to focus.

"Mrs. Waters' mouth was soft and warm, and her tongue was like 
velvet," he said, relishing the memory.  "She tried to finish 
me quickly, but I yanked on her hair to make sure that she did 
it nice and slow...nice and smooth.  When the moment finally came, 
I ordered her not to swallow right away.  I made her swish my 
discharge around in her mouth, savoring it like fine wine.  I 
wanted her to get a good taste, and enjoy the full, rich flavor.  
I knew it was going to be a memorable evening for me, and I wanted 
it to be memorable for her, as well.... 

"And I think it was," he said, reflectively.  "I saw her only a few 
times after that, but, whenever she saw me, she would lick her lips, 
as if there were something unpleasant in her mouth."  He chuckled.  
"And then she would blush and look away. 

"I made sure that she was looking me right in the eye when I filled 
her mouth, but I don't think she ever looked me in the eye again.  

"Of course, YOU are a lawyer, and you use your mouth as part of 
your profession.  I expect that your tongue-work will be even 
more skillful."

"If you want $500, Winston, my money is in the trunk," Ashley said, 
nervously.

"I lost the key," he replied, dismissively.  "No, you're going 
to have to EARN your money tonight, just like the workers you 
exploit."

He spun her around so that she could see where she was.  They were 
standing in front of a club called "PUSSY GALORE," which advertised 
"100% NUDE" and "TOTALLY BARE" strippers.

But it was the sign shouting "AMATEUR NIGHT!" that made her blood 
run cold.

He left her leaning up against the car and walked back to the 
driver's side.  "I wouldn't stand around the street all night, 
if I were you," he told her.  "I'm going to park the car in a 
garage a few blocks away; it's better not to leave a limo on 
the street in this neighborhood.

"Speaking of which, I would suggest you get your pretty American 
backside into the club in a hurry.  Some pimp may think you're a 
renegade and put you to work."

"But there's a twenty-five cent cover charge," she said, pointing 
to the large sign in front of the club.  "I'm penniless.  How do 
I get in?"

"You'll think of something," he said, cheerfully.  "After all, you 
Americans are SO resourceful."

Stunned, she looked on helplessly as her limousine pulled away and 
rounded the corner.  She looked up and down the street and noticed 
a number of the prostitutes eyeing her suspiciously.  She knew she 
had to get inside in a hurry.

Tentatively approaching the hulking bouncer, she explained that she 
needed to use the phone to call for help.  He stared back at her 
impassively. 

She told the bouncer the story of her crazed driver and asked him 
if she could borrow a few dollars for cab fare. 

From the way the man stared back at her, Ashley wasn't sure that 
he spoke English.  But, when she said the words "Amateur Night," 
the man smiled and ushered her into the club.  After a quick 
conversation with what she assumed was the club's manager, the 
man led her to a small table in front of the postage stamp stage. 

Although the stripper on stage was just lowering her panties, 
Ashley could feel every eye in the seedy club on herself, 
appraising her as she walked to her place.

She sat down at the table and nervously ordered some champagne.  It 
was only after the waitress left that Ashley remembered the story 
of the two Americans who had been forced to enter the Amateur Night 
contest to pay their bar tab....

She looked around the foul, dilapidated club.  It was packed with 
lechers, all undressing her with their eyes.  Why did they have to 
give her a table right in front?

It was then that she noticed that they had seated her directly next 
to the steps leading up to the stage.

She swallowed hard as she nervously examined the shiny brass pole 
in the center of the stage...and flinched as imagined herself 
twirling around the pole and prancing back and forth for the 
twisted amusement of those men.

She was relieved when she noticed Winston in the back of the club, 
pointing her out and talking to the manager.  But then the manager 
led Winston out a back door next to the bar.

He was showing Winston the alley behind the club!

Ashley looked around and was disappointed to see that none of the 
patrons looked particularly prosperous.  $500 was a lot of money 
in an impoverished country. 

She was even more chagrined to recognize several of the men from 
the factory.  And, what was worse, they recognized her.

They glared at her with undisguised hatred.  They knew she had 
crushed their dreams of a better life, and now she was parading 
herself in front of them in her slinky black cocktail dress.  
She knew that they would be only too happy to teach her a lesson 
in manners....

It would be bad enough to strip for strangers.  But Ashley would 
have to endure the added humiliation of stripping in front of men 
who knew her lofty position.  She shuddered as imagined their 
satisfied smiles as she slowly shed her pride and dignity, one 
garment at a time. 

She looked up at the naked stripper on the stage, who was 
desperately trying to coax a dollar out of a smarmy, 
unshaven man holding a tightly rolled bill in one hand. 

To her dismay, Ashley noticed that all of the men were holding 
local currency, which was worth about a 1/10 of what American 
money was. 

If Winston really did want her to earn $500 in American money, plus 
her cover charge and bar tab, she would be dancing on that stage 
forever. 

Ashley realized now why Mrs. Waters had agreed to work in the 
alley.  The thought of kneeling in the grime to service the 
grubby men with her mouth was disgusting beyond words, but it 
was the only way Ashley would ever earn her freedom.

She knew it was going to be a very long night.

Ashley looked at the grinning men.  Most of them were still staring 
at her.  Then she glanced nervously at the small steps leading up 
to the degrading stage. 

She swallowed hard.  Now she knew how a condemned prisoner felt 
looking at the steps leading up to the scaffold.

She was so distracted that she didn't notice Winston until he was 
sitting next to her and whispering in her ear: "In the end, the 
most important thing to a woman is her pride.  Don't you agree, 
Ashley?  It is the most precious of coins, without which, her 
purse is truly empty."

Ashley shuddered.  She had toyed with Winston all night, and now 
it was HIS turn.

Winston smiled and waved an American dollar bill in the air.  The 
stripper obediently scampered over like an eager puppy and obeyed 
Winston's command to "crawl like a bitch in heat."  Ashley grimaced 
as the woman submissively got down on all fours like a dog, with 
her legs spread, and slowly gyrated her bare bottom in circles in 
front of the grinning chauffeur.

But Winston barely noticed her.  Instead, he was smirking at 
Ashley.  "It's fun to put these frisky little bitches through 
their paces, isn't it?  Watching them squirm and wiggle, ordering 
them to rub themselves...watching them blush beet red as they are 
forced to make themselves all nice and juicy right in front of all 
these horny men....  It's quite amusing, isn't it?"

He smiled.  From the terrified look in Ashley's eyes, he could 
tell that she was imaging what it would feel like when the time 
came for HER to perform her "doggie tricks" in front of him.  
She was anticipating each and every moment of her upcoming 
degradation, to Winston's utter delight.

He snapped his fingers, flipped his hand over so that his palm was 
facing upward, and curtly ordered the poor young woman on the stage 
to "jerk off."

The stripper quickly complied, playfully rolling over so that she 
was lying on her back with her legs splayed widely.  She lifted her 
bottom off the stage and once again began gyrating her exposed sex 
directly in front of the leering customers while she awkwardly 
masturbated herself with her fingers. 

"During the break we took Mrs. Waters backstage, and one of her 
lesbian co-workers gave her a quick, but rather jarring enema," 
Winston told the horrified attorney.  "After all, I couldn't let 
her get my money dirty!" he chuckled.  "We also shaved her tight 
little snatch, which she didn't like much at all!"  He finished 
with a menacing little laugh. 

He stared directly and disconcertingly at her.  "If I may be so 
bold, Miss Ashley, have you ever dared to go BARE?" 

"No," she whispered.

He smirked.  "Well, there is always a first time for everything." 

Ashley winced and covered her crotch as he teasingly made a little 
"snip-snip" motion with his fingers. 

"Maybe...we could go to one of the more...upscale clubs.  Please, 
Winston...I-I'm begging you!"

"What happened to the sassy little American executive who was in my 
car a few minutes ago?" he sneered.  "No, one of those posh clubs 
is totally out of the question, young lady.  The men who go to 
those clubs hardly ever lay a finger on the girls.  An American 
girl could get all snooty and haughty, dancing in a place like 
that." 

He ran his hand over the stripper's bare, wet crotch.  "Here a man 
can FEEL a young lady's humiliation.  A little touching can make 
all the difference, don't you agree?"

Ashley nodded numbly.  Oh, god!

At last the grinning chauffeur, satisfied that the stripper had 
disgraced herself sufficiently to earn her meager tip, slowly 
stuffed the dollar bill into her wet sex.  Not surprisingly, he 
took his time, and got "a good feel for the merchandise" in the 
process, all the while staring at the horrified barrister.

The manager trotted up the stairs to the stage, quickly ushering 
the panting girl off to painfully pitiful applause.

"We have a celebrity in our audience tonight," the manager said, 
his voice dripping with sarcasm.  "This is the young American 
attorney who helped to break the strike many of you gentlemen 
were participating in."

There were boos from the audience, as the men now glared at Ashley 
with undisguised anger.

"Now, gentlemen, please," the manager continued unctuously.  "Our 
lovely young American guest has a problem.  She has lost her purse, 
and she has no money to pay for the expensive champagne she is 
guzzling, and no money to pay the cover charge that each of YOU 
had to pay." 

There were more boos from the audience.

"May I pass the hat and ask you to give generously to solve the 
problems of this pampered, self-absorbed, spoiled executive?" the 
manager sneered.

"Make her dance for it!" a voice in the back of the room yelled.

"I lost my job because of her!" another voice shouted angrily.  
"Strip the American bitch NAKED!"

"Naked?" the manager said with a false sense of shock.  "Surely you 
would let a refined, well-educated, professional woman maintain 
a shred of dignity?  Can't we at least permit her to keep her 
expensive, silky panties on while she dances for our amusement?"

"Make her dance bare-assed!" the voice shouted back. 

"Strip her butt-naked!" another voice agreed.

"Make her earn her money like the other girls!" another voice 
shouted.  "On her back, with her ass wiggling in the air!"

The crowd began to chant as one:

"STRIP HER NA-KED!  STRIP HER NA-KED!  STRIP HER NA-KED!  STRIP 
HER NA-KED!"

Ashley looked over at Winston.  The noise was deafening, so she 
had to plead with her eyes for him to save her.

He nodded and reached into his pocket for his wallet. 

Ashley felt her heart skip a beat.  She was saved!  Winston was 
going to pay off the manager and rescue her. 

But then she saw Winston remove several one dollar bills from his 
wallet and then put the wallet back into his pants.  He slowly, 
teasingly rolled up one of the bills into a tight cylinder, and 
held it up to Ashley's horrified gaze.

She hated the thought of Winston touching her, especially after the 
things she had said.  But his American money was worth ten times 
what the other men were offering.  Given the large stack of dollar 
bills he had, she knew that she would be spending a large portion 
of the evening rolling around the stage in front of him like a 
playful puppy, catering to his perverted commands.

She said nothing, but got up from the table and slowly walked up 
the steps to the stage.  The music started immediately, although 
the cheers from the crowd nearly drowned it out.

She tried not to look at Winston as he grinned up at her like the 
cat who had just swallowed the canary.

And she knew that she would never be able to look him in the eye 
again.

She had felt slightly drunk from the champagne, but standing on 
the stage had a strangely sobering effect.  She bowed down as 
gracefully as she could and reached for her champagne glass, which 
was still sitting on the table next to Winston. 

It was a cheap and tasteless champagne, but anything that could 
deaden her senses to the horrible reality of what was happening 
to her would be a welcome relief…

But, as she reached for the glass, Winston SLAPPED! her hand, as 
if she were a naughty child reaching for a forbidden toy.

"You're a worker, young lady, not a guest," he said, curtly.  
"WORKERS aren't allowed to sip champagne, or drive around in 
limos, or live in mansions.  Workers EARN what they get."

He took a sip of her drink and then teasingly ran his hand down 
the long neck of the champagne bottle.  "The next drink you get, 
my spoiled American princess, will be coming from an entirely 
different type of dispenser.  It'll be long and thick, but you 
will need to suck and lick on it a long time to get your small 
dose of liquid refreshment.  And I'm afraid that the thick, 
creamy load may be a tad more salty and bitter than your dainty 
little mouth is used to."

He shook his head.  "I won't be able to fill your little tummy, 
of course, but there will be dozens of men lined up behind me to 
take my place.  As long as you keep your delicate pink tongue busy, 
there will be plenty of joy juice for you to guzzle down."

He stopped caressing the bottle and snapped his fingers towards 
center stage.  "But I think I've wasted enough of my precious time 
chatting with the entertainment.  After all, you're here to dance, 
not chatter.  These men paid good money to see you perform, and 
it's your job to entertain them." 

He smiled at his sweating employer and playfully tapped his finger 
against her shoe.  "Don't you think it's time for you to start 
shaking and jiggling, like a good little bimbo?"

"But Winston I...." 

"Didn't you hear me?" he said, cutting her off sharply.  "Dance for 
me, you shameless little slut!"

Ashley spastically started to shift her weight and move her 
arms around as the crowd egged her on.  Despite her shame and 
humiliation at her predicament, she had never felt so excited....

"That's it, you little strumpet!" Winston chortled.  "Move those 
arms up and down, and make your little hooters bounce and shake.  
Remember, there are WORKING men in this crowd tonight, and they 
expect good value for their money, you lazy tramp."

Ashley looked down at the leering men who were intently watching 
her every move.  She wasn't a professional dancer, but none of 
the men seemed to care.  They didn't want a dance recital, and 
even her prospective nudity was almost incidental.  They wanted 
to see the proud and sassy American lawyer who had crushed their 
strike shamed and humiliated. 

She realized that the more embarrassed she was, the more the crowd 
would enjoy it.  And, therefore, the audience was going to have a 
very enjoyable evening....

She moved in a circle in front of Winston, but found that it was 
awkward to dance on such a small stage with her high heels on.  
She reached down and carefully slid out of her expensive shoes.  
She left them on the edge of the stage.

She watched in dismay as Winston took her shoes off the stage and 
placed them on the floor by his feet.  "I'll polish them and put 
them away, miss," he said, cruelly mimicking the servile tones of 
their previous relationship.  "After all, you won't need expensive, 
Gucci shoes in your new profession."

The crowd applauded as the shoes left the stage, appreciative of 
the fact that the pretty young American's first article of clothing 
had been seized.

"Don't stop now, gringa!" one man shouted.  "Let's see some skin!"

Ashley took off her pearls and diamonds and tossed them to her 
smiling chauffeur, who casually pocketed the expensive jewelry 
as if it was of no great importance.

Swallowing hard, she reached behind her to unzip her dress.

"Keep dancing, baby!" a drunk in the back shouted.  "We want to see 
you shake it while you strip!"

"Your first audience request," Winston chuckled.  "Audiences in 
this club can be quite demanding.  If I were you, I'd start 
wiggling your cute little buns, so they have something to watch 
while you pull down your zipper!"

Ashley began to awkwardly wiggle her hips as she tugged down the 
zipper that was holding her dress together.  It was a clumsy, 
graceless process, but audience applauded lustily at the look of 
helpless humiliation in her eyes.

As she slid her dress over her shoulder, Winston leaned back in 
his chair, sipped her champagne, and offered her additional 
encouragement.  "That's right, you little tease, strip that 
slinky little black dress of yours right off!" he taunted.  
"It's way too expensive a dress for a disgusting little whore 
like you." 

As the dress slipped down around her ankles, he continued his 
insulting play-by-play.  "Not quite the same as stripping in 
a fancy bedroom on your posh estate, is it?  You don't have 
an impoverished maid to pick up after you...or a fancy gilded 
mirror to admire yourself in.

"Of course, the crowd admires your perky little titties and your 
tight little ass.  But they'll admire you even more when we strip 
you out of your fancy black underwear and force you to prance 
around in the buff.

"I love your black undies, Ashley.  They suit you perfectly...all 
soft, and lacy, and slutty.  Why did you put on such fancy undies 
tonight?  Were you planning on giving it up to one of those fat 
old executives at the party?  Or were you going to go slumming and 
bend over for a quickie from the busboy?  Certainly you didn't 
guess that you'd be making your debut appearance at the Pussy 
Galore Club tonight....  Or did you?"

Ashley shook her head as she swayed nervously and snapped her 
fingers.  She tried to ignore her almost overwhelming feeling 
of helplessness and shame as she gingerly stepped out of her 
dress.  Once again the crowd cheered lustily as Winston seized 
the garment from the blushing dancer and casually dropped it 
onto her shoes.

"Dance for us, American slut!" one man shouted.  "Shake your 
precious little American titties for us.  Make 'em bounce!"

"Now she knows how our wives and girlfriends feel, when they have 
to dance for the American businessmen!" a drunk at the bar yelled.

"Who's the puta now, legal lady?" another man shouted.  "How does 
it feel to parade around in your underwear, with everyone watching, 
you fancy American bitch?" 

"Your sweet little American ass belongs to us now, and you're not 
going to buy your way out of this one, gringa!" another man yelled. 

She quickly unsnapped her stockings and clumsily rolled them down 
her beautiful legs.  Although she desperately wanted to delay her 
final unveiling, she also knew that it was inevitable.  As she 
listened to the angry, vengeful crowd, she realized that the 
sooner she was off the stage the better.

She remembered with dismay that her on-stage "performance" 
would be followed by a long night working in the alley.  "But 
at least in the alley, those men will be tormenting me one or 
two at a time," she told herself.  "I can't stand being ogled 
and heckled from everywhere at once."

Ashley continued to sway to music as the men jeered her.  She was 
down to her black bra and panties now, and the crowd was anxious 
to see the rest of her....

"Show us your goodies!" one man yelled.

"Why won't you show us your titties?" another man called.  "Are 
they all hard and pointy, you little slut?"

"Her panties are black, and I can still see the stain!" a man in 
the front row said.  "The little whore loves it!  I can't wait to 
mount her!"

"Take off your top!" a drunken lout called out.  "Show us your 
tits!  Or...maybe...they're too SMALL!"

That stung.  Ashley turned her back, but paused before unhooking 
her bra. 

Despite the crowd, she could hear Winston's voice distinctly.  
"What's the matter?  Do you think you're too good to bare your 
breasts in front of bunch of lowly, unskilled foreigners?  I bet 
you made those fancy men you dated in Chicago jump through all 
kinds of hoops to get a paltry goodnight kiss.  Isn't it ironic 
that a bunch of impoverished workers are stripping you buck naked 
for the price of a gumball?"

Ashley knew the men had paid a pittance to see her dance naked: 
mere pocket change by American standards.  But she wouldn't be 
released until she earned the money.  Now it was her turn to 
dance and jiggle, spin and twirl, as she begged for pennies.  
She wasn't just a prostitute.  The educated and articulate 
lawyer was now the cheapest, sleaziest whore imaginable.

She shivered as she reluctantly finished unhooking her bra and slid 
the first strap over her shoulder.  The crowd erupted in cheers as 
she slid off the second strap, and then tossed the bra over her 
shoulder to Winston.

He triumphantly held up the bra like a sporting trophy for the 
cheering throng.  He took a bow and casually dropped the bra on 
top of Ashley's dress, stockings, and shoes.

Ashley's arms were still covering her breasts as she turned to face 
the lustful throng.  But their obscene comments soon made it clear 
that modesty was not an option.

"Show us your boobies, you stuck up American bitch!"

"Shake your creamy white honkers, gringa!"

"Show us how a rich American lady jiggles her tits!" another man 
called out merrily.  "Do they bounce like a poor woman's?"

Ashley bit her lip, closed her eyes, and put her hands down.  Her 
small breasts quivered like Jello as she obeyed the crowd's command 
to leap up and down and "shake 'em good!"

She reached for the waistband of her panties.  Just a few seconds 
more, and it would all be over. 

An unthinkable night of degradation awaited her in the alley, but 
at least she would be off this damn stage.

But Winston decided to prolong her experience.  At his command, 
she turned, and squatted, and began to slowly rotate her hips. 

She didn't want to do it, of course, but the sight of the $20 bill 
in his hand convinced her to play along with his twisted game.  
Twenty dollars U.S.!  She'd have to swallow dozens of times in the 
alley to earn that kind of money.

"I phoned the strike leader called Juan Macias while you were 
asleep in the limo," Winston said calmly as Ashley wiggled her 
bottom.  "When I told him that you were dancing tonight, he was 
anxious to see you."

Ashley went white as she imagined Juan, the union leader she had 
out-negotiated, out-muscled, and out-foxed calmly sitting by the 
edge of the stage as she danced naked for his pleasure.

"Juan asked me if you had much experience with anal sex, and I had 
to admit that I didn't know," Winston said as he teasingly ran his 
finger down the back seam of Ashley's black panties.  "But I'm 
guessing Juan may be your first." 

He smiled coldly.  "Am I right, Ashley?"

"Please, Winston...don't," she pleaded.  "I'm a nice girl.  I've 
never...done anything like that.  Don't let him...do me that way!  
Not HIM!"

"Juan said that with the way you destroyed the union and cheated 
the workers, it's only right that you should take it up the arse," 
Winston replied, calmly.  "You are so good at doing it to poor 
people, you should really experience it yourself." 

He laughed.  "And I must say I'm looking forward to seeing the look 
on your face when Juan drives his point home.  He is going to enjoy 
teaching you what REAL economic power means, my capitalist friend," 
Winston said.  "Only this time, you are going to be on the receiving 
end.  And, when your lesson is over, I think you'll agree with me 
that it's better to give than to receive."

He playfully pulled the waistband of Ashley's panties away from her 
bottom and allowed it to SNAP! back.  She jumped a little as the 
elastic hit the top of her exposed fanny crack, and he chuckled.  
"I'm sure it will be doubly exciting for Juan when I tell him that 
he's popping your cherry," Winston chortled.  "He will enjoy 
showing you who's boss!" 

"Who IS the boss, Ashley?" he taunted, running his finger up and 
down the seam of her black underpants. 

"You are, sir," Ashley muttered.

"Louder, slut!" he said, slapping her bottom hard.  "So everyone 
can hear!"

"YOU are the boss, SIR!" Ashley called out, as the audience whistled 
and chuckled in appreciation. 

Ashley blanched as she saw Juan Macias enter the club and make his 
way to Winston's table, shaking hands with the cheering rabble as 
he proceeded to the front.  Ashley stood up as the union leader 
sat down.  Juan gave Ashley a mirthless, toothless, cruel smile 
as she stood trembling before him wearing nothing but her silky 
black underpants.

Winston put away the $20 and held up a single, rolled dollar bill.  
"Don't think showing us your hot, wet little honey pot will get you 
off the stage, my American doxy.  You won't get out of work that 
easily, you lazy slut.  You'll still have to roll and scamper, beg 
and twist, bend and spread for the spare change that I and the 
other working men of this town are good enough to offer." 

Juan smiled as Winston handed him a roll of dollars.

Ashley grimaced and inserted her fingers in the waistband of her 
silky black panties.  She knew one thing for certain -- her night 
of humiliation was just beginning....
 
__________________________

Editor's Note: For those who care, the above epithet, "legal lady," 
alone should be sufficient.  But, in addition, in a "Response to 
Various Authors and Critics" (9 Jan 2003), Joe clearly implied that 
this "Ashley" was intended to be Ashley Marsh. 


Edited by C. Lakewood