[The problem with erotic writing is the author is trying in words, to depict an essentially visual event. It is hoped, herein, more important than the words will be the atmosphere. Two parts of this story are left deliberately ambiguous, for the reader. Nowhere is the protagonist described, save she is attractive, so the reader can supply the "dream person" whom most fulfills that reader's flight of imagination. The ending is also indefinite, so the reader can invent what will next occur.]
Naked Day: Wrong Place; Wrong Time
A beautiful and totally naked woman stands abjectly at the end of a stage, unprotected and exposed. Her hands hang ineffectually at her sides. She doesn't even try to cover her nakedness. She is defeated, defenseless, and humiliated. She has been conquered. The vast, hot and bothered crowd jeers and mocks her, their scorn palpable and they insultingly cheer her utter mortification. Each taunt and disrespectful comment makes her helpless circumstance even worse.
*******
It's like a bad pornographic story. To get to my car after work, I pass an alley. I'd done it hundreds of times. I gave it no thought.
I should have. As I pass, hands reach out, grab me, and pull me into the darkness. Before I can scream, or even cry out, a foul-smelling rag is over my mouth. I fight to breathe, but whatever is on the rag is strong, and I quickly slide into unconsciousness
*******
I awake in an unfamiliar room. I've no idea where I am.
I try the door. It's locked.
I call out for help. Though I hear a lot of noise outside the door, no one comes or answers.
There is nothing I can do but wait.
*******
The door finally opens. Two men come in. I shudder. They are gigantic, powerfully built, and brawny.
"Where am I?" I ask. "What do you want?"
They ignore my questions entirely. They look at me with scorn and derision. Each takes hold of one of my arms and pulls me forward, from the room. I try to refuse to go along with them; it is futile. They drag me out.
*******
I am backstage in some sort of "Gentleman's Club." On stage is a naked woman, rather languidly ending a dance routine she has probably done repeatedly. She's clearly bored to tears, but, from the audience reaction, it matters not, as they roar and remark. There is a strong smell of alcohol in the air, and I'd not be surprised if the audience was pretty tipsy.
One of the two men speaks. "Do you see?" he asks.
"I don't understand," I say.
"You will, the other indicates. "Listen."
*******
The jaded performer walks off the platform. An announcer, carrying a microphone, goes on.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," he broadcasts, over the buzz of the crowd, "TODAY IS 'NUDE DAY' AND WE HAVE A SPECIAL TREAT, A UNIQUE SHOW FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT AND ENTERTAINMENT.
"ALL YOU SEE IS AN ACT, NO MATTER HOW REAL IT SEEMS. THE PARTICIPANTS ARE ACTORS, AND PAID WELL TO MAKE THE PERFORMANCE APPEAR AUTHENTIC. SO, NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, JUST SIT BACK, RELAX, AND ENJOY.
"FOR YOUR 'NUDE DAY' PLEASURE AND AMUSEMENT, YOUR GENTLEMAN'S CLUB NOW PRESENTS A SPECIAL PRESENTATION, ENTITLED, 'STRIPPING THE CAPTIVE.'''
The announcer walks off stage.
*******
I stand there in shock and horror at the implications.
"You wouldn't!" I gasp. "You couldn't"
The men smile evilly. "Ah," one says wickedly, "we both can and will."
They propel me onto the stage.
*******
I am thrust onto the platform. The spotlight focuses on my two captors and me. I thrash about and struggle against the men, but they are too strong.
The spectator's response is crushing. They laugh; they clap, they jeer.
"Help me!" I cry out. "Please!!! ... Somebody!!! ... Help me!!!"
The viewers merely applaud and chuckle. Their mirth hurts as a whip.
