This is a continuation of Joe Doe's story, the first two sentences 
of which raised questions that were never answered -- or, indeed, 
even alluded to afterward.  Joe may have intended to write more 
and then forgot, or perhaps he did write something and then lost 
it.  At any rate, here is my take on Part 2.  I hope it compares 
well with Joe's Part 1 (which I rate quite highly). 





                           SUCKER BET

                               by

                          C. Lakewood



Part 2

I managed to clean myself up and appear more or less normal by the 
time Frank, my husband, got home from work that evening.  But I 
was distant, and Frank seemed not to mind.  

I attended the next committee meeting with mixed feelings.  My mood 
became even more ambivalent when, as the first order of business, 
the chairman announced that several members of the committee had 
considered my "impassioned philippic" (I suspect that phrase was 
Mr. Wallace's) at the previous meeting and realized that evidence 
of exploitation of the strippers might provide a basis for a 
preliminary injunction against the club.  Someone was needed to 
go "undercover" (as it were) to collect that evidence. 

Of course, I was nominated.

And, of course, I refused...and left in a huff.

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

This time, I called upon a bottle of wine to help me calm down.  
Actually, I was half-way through a second bottle when Frank got 
home, and I was anything but quiet.  I complained loudly and at 
length to him, and he gradually wormed the whole story out of 
me...more than just a recital of what had happened at the meeting, 
however, because I stupidly opened up to him what had always been 
my secret fantasy world.  I told him, for example, how the notion 
of dancing naked for a crowd of people was so arousing -- 
especially if the people knew me and were now discovering what a 
shameless slut I really was underneath my prim exterior....

In vino veritas.

By the time I was through spilling my guts, Frank was reclining 
comfortably, a cold beer in his hand and a shrewd, lustful look 
on his face.  He seemed in much better spirits than he had in 
some time.  

(It had been a bumpy ride lately.  Last year, he had been promoted 
to vice president, and we went on a spree, but the bubble burst 
two months later, when the division he was then in charge of was 
abolished.  He was given the choice between 1) a severance package 
or 2) a transfer to Mumbai to manage a big call center there.  He 
had to take the latter, since a clause in his contract would then 
apply, and the company would have to buy our house -- for the 
current market price or for what we paid for it, whichever was 
higher.  (They could have offered to transfer him anywhere -- 
India, Chechniya, Burkina Faso, Detroit, Point Barrow, anywhere 
at all, it didn't matter -- and we would have had to take it.  We 
just couldn't afford an epic loss on the house.)     

Frank thought I ought to accept the committee's nomination.  At 
first, he argued that I had a moral responsibility to those poor, 
exploited women.  I agreed in part, but still hesitated.

Throughout our relationship, he had always been more laid back 
than me...and demonstrated that trait once again.  "Geez, Jul'," 
he said, grinning.  "Besides your duty, if it'd also be such a 
turn-on, why not just go ahead and enter Tuesday's show?  Whatever 
happens, the movers are coming in next day, and we'll be gone that 
Saturday."

"But...people would SEE me....  They'd KNOW....  It could be 
a friend or neighbor...or our yard men...or the pool boy...or 
one of your golfing buddies...or (oh, god!) a member of that 
committee." 

Frank made a face.  "That WOULD be humiliating, but only -- well, 
mainly -- if you did it voluntarily.  But what if you were, say, 
COMPELLED to do it...?"

We talked on for some time.  And more alcohol was consumed, by both 
of us.  Part of what was said was more or less reasonable, and much 
was utter nonsense.  (At one point, for example, Frank asked me if 
I thought I could dance to strippers' music.  And I replied that, 
at Girl Scout camp, many years ago, I'd learned double-toe-heel 
Indian dances....)  In the end, we finally decided to leave the 
decision up to chance.  As it happened, there was a football game 
that Saturday between his alma mater (Ohio State) and mine (Miami 
of Ohio).  If OSU won, I'd have to enter the contest....

It was a sucker bet; OSU won going away.  So I was committed.

But entering that contest simply because I'd lost a stupid bet 
and wanted to be a "good sport" seemed a pretty thin excuse in 
the light of day.  And doing my duty for the committee wasn't 
much better.  So I devised what I thought was a more plausible 
scenario...in case I ever had to explain myself. 

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

Early Tuesday evening, my car ran out of gas just down the street 
from "The Meat Rack."  The battery on my cell phone was dead.  I 
sighed.  It was getting dark, the neighborhood was unsavory, and 
I was dressed rather provocatively -- a short, red, wraparound 
dress, black heels, stockings, garter-belt, and thong.  All the 
nearby factories and shops were closed.  In fact, the only spot 
in the vicinity still open was that damn club.  I entered the 
place nervously.  I needed to use the pay phone to summon help, 
but I didn't have any change.     

Simon something, the club manager -- an odious guido who resembled 
Jabba the Hutt -- recognized me from my previous investigative 
visit.  It was obvious that I needed help this time.  I swallowed 
my pride and explained the situation, then asked him for the loan 
of a couple of quarters.  

He looked me up and down, slowly, and shook his head.  A crooked 
smile creased his greasy features.  "We don' hand out loans, but 
ya could EARN the money," he said.  "T'day IS Toosday, ya know...."  

I had no choice, anyone could see that.  I was in a pickle, and I'd 
just have to dance...naked...up on the stage...and be gawked at by 
a roomful of drooling perverts.  It would obviously outrage my 
sense of decency, but it would be the only way.

He led me to his office, in the back of the club.  The office was 
relatively clean -- probably because it was relatively new -- but 
was also garish and tacky.  The floor was covered with vulgarly 
patterned linoleum.  The gaudy, metallic-colored walls were 
hung with centerfolds and photos of dancers and pornstars.  The 
atmosphere reeked.  
  
He sat down at a utilitarian metal desk, cleared his throat, picked 
up a ball-point, and squared a sheet of paper on the blotter in 
front of him.  "Application," he said.  I looked around for a place 
to sit, but found none. 

"Name?" he asked.

"J-julia."

"FULL name."

"Um...Julia Marks."

"Age?"

"32."

"Heh!  Tha's 8 or 10 years older'n the other girls t'night.  Course, 
if ya compete, an' ya do well enough, ya'll win at leas' the 4 bits 
ya need.  Social Security Nummer?" 

I was too nervous to remember it.  I just numbly showed him my card.

"Hair?"

"Strawberry blonde." 

"Does the rug match the drapes?"

I knew what he meant, but....

"No, huh?  Tha's okay.  Shavin's better anyways."

(SHAVING?  They were going to shave off my pubic hair?)

"Eyes?"

"G-green."

"Measurements?"

"5'6½"...um...140 lbs...."

He looked up, impatiently.

"Um...35C-26-36."

"Okay," he said.  "Now strip; 35C-26-36 sounds good enough, but 
I gotta SEE it."  I stripped, and he looked me over, thoroughly, 
making noncommittal noises.  He even made me bend over and spread 
my ass, so he could inspect my bottom-hole.  He spent a long time 
at that, but finally nodded, let me up, and resumed his questions.

"Address?"

"131 Far Hills."

"Married?"

"Yes."

"Hubby approve?"

"Y-yes...."

"Any STDs?

"Of course not!"

He dropped his pen and scowled.  "Don' get high-hat wit' me, missy.  
Ya wan' a favor from me.  So ack like it." 

The loathsome pig had some gall to speak to me that way.  It was 
so demeaning...and so thrilling.  The throbbing in my pussy almost 
prevented my speaking.  "I-I'm sorry...s-sir.  No, no STDs, sir." 

"Tha's no' enough.  Ya stuck up bitch, too good for this place, 
eh?  Yer fulla shit....  So go get ridda some of it.  In the 
john there," he pointed with his thumb.  "There's some 
disposable enemas.  Use one an' clean yerself out....  Go!"

I went.

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

When I returned, shaking with humiliation, but my bowels empty, 
he swiveled his chair 90 degrees to the right and told me to bend 
over in front of him so he could inspect me again.  "Looks sweet, 
but a little dry.  Ya need some lube?" he sneered.  "Well, ya got 
two minutes t'get my cock as wet as ya want...witcher mouth.  
Unnerstand?" 

I'd never sucked anybody but my husband...and him only rarely.  
And, my ass....  But, yes, I understood.  Completely.

I knelt in front of him, unzipped his pants, and gingerly exposed 
his drooling prick.  It stank -- musty and long unwashed -- and 
tasted vile.  But I tried to shut down the higher portions of my 
brain and just deal with it on an animal level.  I fought down a 
gag reflex when I put it in my mouth.  (My MOUTH!)  I obeyed his 
orders, slurping and crooning over it.  Oddly, the longer I 
simulated passion, the more I could feel actual passion growing 
within me. 
   
But there was just so much that could happen in two minutes.  I did 
the best I could, but, when he called time, I had to relinquish his 
dripping cock, bend over his desk, and spread my ass-cheeks for 
him.  He dipped his wiener-thick fingers in my swampy cunt, scooped 
up some juice, and transferred the slimy moisture to my asshole.  
I was grateful for that.  

He was kinder than I'd expected, easing into me rather than just 
ramming it home.  And he fucked me in-and-out, in-and-out, slowly, 
making the whole process of losing my anal virginity not unpleasant 
for me.  I was very tight, however, and he was thicker than he'd 
seemed when I was sucking him.  My asshole felt like it was 
stretched to its limit, and my bowels were stuffed with cock....

He went in bareback, of course, and I could feel it as he spurted 
salvos of cum into me.  I tried to hide it, but I had an orgasm 
myself at the same moment.  
   
		******************************

My "apology" was apparently to his satisfaction,and he motioned me 
to get to my feet, and then shoved a piece of paper at me.  "Good.  
But ya gotta sign the stannerd waiver agreement, too."

Shaken, but grateful that the application process was over -- and 
that I'd passed -- I signed.

Next he summoned a statuesque mulatta -- attractive, if you like 
the type (brawny, bitchy, and butch) -- in a short, ratty robe.  
"New amachur for t'night, Carmen," he said.  "Git 'er shaved an' 
squared away...."  He glanced at the clock.  "Time's short."

Not giving me any time to dress, Carmen led me down a narrow 
hallway and into a small dressing room.  I guessed it was hers.  
She laid out shaving things, and then left me for a few minutes.  
I regarded myself in the dressing table mirror and wished again 
that I still looked like I had in college.  But I concluded -- 
again -- that, while my tits could have been firmer and I did 
have an incipient pot belly, the rest was pretty much okay -- 
legs and ass well-toned -- and no flab or cellulite.  

At length, Carmen returned with a bowl of hot water.  As she was 
shaving me bare, front and rear, she spent a lot of time fingering 
my pussy, teasing my clit, and working the burning shave cream deep 
within me.  Though I found her repellent, I couldn't help being 
aroused by the whole process.  

When she had finished at last, she leered at me and said, "Next 
time, YOU shave ME, Sugar."  She told me that each amateur had 
to dance for five minutes, and the winners were chosen at the 
end, by audience response.  She also warned me to throw the 
things I took off toward the back of the stage; anything landing 
too close to the crowd would likely be gone for good.  Then she 
told me to get dressed and watched me closely as I did so.   

Despite her formidable appearance I guessed that Carmen might not 
be quite the bitch I'd initially thought.   
   
		******************************

I was going to be the first amateur dancer that night and was 
waiting just off-stage while the MC babbled to the crowd.  I 
didn't hear much of what he said, except for the final part: 
"Aaand...now, a shy gal who's real eager to show off for you 
tonight...Juicy Julia!

The music I'd requested -- "Let's Get Physical! -- started up, and, 
in a sort of daze, I half-danced, half-staggered onto the stage.  

I knew I had five minutes to fill, and I had intended to take it 
easy, but I found it difficult to do my dance in heels, so I kicked 
them off.  There were noises of discontent from the audience, so I 
figured I'd better give them something.  (After all, I did want to 
do well enough to win that 50¢.)  So I ripped off my wraparound 
dress and threw it, like my shoes, back toward the rear of the 
stage, as Carmen had advised.

My bare breasts...my tits...were a big hit.  My dark nipples were 
rigid. 

I pranced around some, shaking my tits, hearing the cheers and 
whistles, relishing my power.  Then I detached my left stocking 
from the garter-belt, slowly rolled it down and off, and tossed it 
away.  A moment later, I began on the other one.  I had it rolled 
down almost to my ankle, when I looked out at the audience.

The spotlight had pretty much blinded me at first, but my eyes 
had adapted.  The house-lights were dimmed only about half-way, 
and I could easily make out individuals in the crowd.  I saw 
Frank, sitting up front and looking very pleased.  Near him sat 
(gasp!) our two Filipino yardmen, grinning.  Next to Frank was 
(oh, god!) Mr. Wallace, Mrs. Snoup, and several other members of 
the committee.  I recognized others, scattered about -- the 
ham-fisted mechanic who kept screwing up my BMW, two moronic 
bag-boys from the market I usually patronized, the lazy mailman, 
a couple of cranky, elderly neighbors who never got rid of their 
dandelions no matter how many times I reported them.... 

But it didn't matter.  They were all here to be entertained...by me. 
     
The stocking dropped from my foot.  In a frenzy, I tore off my 
garter-belt and flung it out into the wildly cheering crowd.  I 
stripped off my thong and twirled it about.  I was naked (NAKED!) 
and obviously sooo horny, prancing around the stage, giving them 
all a good look at the real me.... 

And then, Mr. Wallace (of course, it had to be HIM!) leaned on the 
edge of the stage, pulled out a dollar bill -- dirty and wrinkled 
-- and shook it at me.  Like a marionette, I danced over...and 
squatted down in front of him, my thighs spread as widely as 
possible....  And I gave him a big smile...and licked my lips...all 
the while he was pushing his fingers and the dollar right up my-my 
pussy...m-my cunt....

He flicked my clit with his thumb, and I moaned. 

I don't quite know how I got through the final 3 minutes or so of 
that performance.  I do remember giving Mr. Wallace my panties and 
blowing him a kiss....  But what else must I have done to earn all 
that applause?  In the end, I stumbled, sweating and trembling, off 
the stage and into Carmen's arms.  She pulled some soggy bills from 
my throbbing cunt, thrust them into the pocket of her robe, and led 
me away.

I had one orgasm on stage...and three more back in Carmen's room.

		******************************
  
Eventually, we went out to join the other amateur dancers for the 
judging.  There were four of them -- all considerably younger than 
me.  One was rather dumpy, one pretty average, and the other two 
quite nice -- delicious-looking, in fact -- especially a co-ed who 
was a Eurasian of some sort.

I thought that, with luck, I might win third place (and, at any 
rate, I surely must have earned that 50¢). 

But...the exquisite Eurasian took second place -- and I won the 
Grand Prize!

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

Afterward, Simon the manager told me to come back to his office 
to "settle up."  On the way, Carmen congratulated me and asked 
me how I liked my first night as a stripper.  "First and last," 
I laughed.  "I'm retiring."

"Not yet, Sweetie.  The standard agreement you signed says that the 
winner each week has to dance here at the club -- as a pro -- until 
a new winner's picked."

"But I CAN'T!  In two or three days, I won't have any place to 
stay."  (The movers were coming Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday 
to pack up our stuff for storage, and then we had to vacate.) 

"Well, that's no problem," Carmen said.  I got a room upstairs, and 
you can stay with me."  She grinned and licked her lips.  "But you 
gotta dance, or else get sued.  You're not the first girl to ignore 
the fine print.  And you'd lose in court....  But now you better 
run along and see Simon.  And remember, it's like that kids' game 
-- you do what Simon says.  Go on, just like you are, butt-naked."  
She slapped my ass.  "I'll take care of your clothes."  

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

The door to the office was ajar, and I pushed it open.  "Sir?" I 
said, diffidently.

"Yeah," he said.  "Ya did okay t'night."

"I...understand that I'm obligated to dance here for a week."  

"Norm'ly, yeah.  What the contract sez is: 'until the nex' amachur 
winner is chosen.'  An' I got served wit' this here thing t'night." 
He flourished a folded paper.  "Unjunction.  Stops the Toosday 
night contests.  They ain't gonna be no nex' amachur winner.  
So...we gonna have ya for a lot longer'n a week." 

"But...but...."

"I hear the person mos' respons'ble for gettin' this unjunction was 
a bitch named Julia Marks.  How 'bout that?"  

"I...I...."  

"Oh, ya don' have to worry...much.  If yer a good girl an' work 
hard -- strippin' an' lap dancin' an' hustlin' drinks -- we won' 
keep ya more'n 5-6 weeks...."  He grinned wolfishly.  "Well, maybe 
not MUCH more.  Maybe.  Right now, though, I got me a itch for 
more ass."

He was a lot less considerate this time, and it wasn't long before 
I was promising to dance naked, hot and horny, every night for 
as long as he wanted...and to take it up the ass whenever he 
wanted...if only he'd show me some mercy.  

And, all the while, I was cumming and cumming, partly because of 
what was happening to me at that moment and partly because of 
what I imagined would be happening in the days (and nights) to 
come.