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