Naked Day: Wrong Place; Wrong Time

[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.

" ... Please ...!!!" I beg. "This is not an act!!! ... I really have been kidnapped ...!!!"

The audience roars in amusement.

*******

The actual "act" does not take long, though for me, it seems as an eternity.

They start with my shoes. In turn, one man holds me immobile, the other man lifts each of my legs, and my footwear is removed. They are thrown into the audience, which responds with immense delight.

To my astonishment and wonder, their hands reach under my skirt, and their fingers grab the waste band of my pantyhose. The skirt rides up my bare legs, giving the audience a preview of my exposed legs. The pantyhose are pulled down my bare legs and off my feet. They are also tossed to the crowd, which again bellows its gladness.

I am suddenly overcome with embarrassment, as I realize the inference of their depraved actions. Since my clothes are being pitched to the throng, when this degradation is over, I will have no means but my own hands for any concealment.

"Now things really count, bitch!" one man gleefully whispers in my ear. I ineffectually continue to thrash about and try to escape, but the men are far too strong. I futilely cry out to the leering gathering, who gleefully ignore me.

One man holds me; the other stands in front of me. He puts his fingers between the buttons of my blouse, and rips it open. The buttons go flying across the stage. The second man rips my blouse down my upper body and off of me, and I am grabbed once more.

My only covering from my waist up is my bra. I am well aware the audience can easily see my breasts heave from my struggling and exertion.

The man behind me holds my arms fast, despite my desperate effort. The second man kneels in front of me, unfastens the button of my skirt, undoes the zipper, and pulls my skirt down and off.

I have now only my underwear, bra and panties, for covering. Panic fills me, as I know what little covering I have will not be to be for long.

"Please ...!" I beg hopelessly, "... No! ... Please ... No ...!"

The crowd erupts in laughter. One person yells out, "Strip the slut!" The crowd takes it as a chant, and it becomes a depraved hymn, a wanton mantra. "STRIP THE SLUT!!!" they repeat. "STRIP THE SLUT!!!"

The man in front of me raises, and reaches his hands, inserts his fingers in the cups of my bra. He yanks strongly. The garment leaves my body.

I now have nothing on but a small piece of material at my hips. My breasts are bare, my nipples exposed and hard from effort and cooler air.

I am mortified. The crowd is ecstatic. They roar their delight.

The man glances at my panties, my last covering.

I am humiliated. My shame is palpable. I feel totally disgraced and utterly debased. Yet I know there is more dishonor to come.

"Please ...! Not those ... too ...!" I plead, knowing it is pointless. "Please ...!!! Please ...!!!"

The crowd is completely overjoyed at my complete humiliation. "STRIP THE SLUT!!!" they continue. "STRIP THE SLUT!!!"

The man not holding me immobile smiles wickedly. He kneels. His fingers find the waistband of my panties.

"PLEASE ...!" I implore. "NO ...! NO ...!"

Of course it does no good. He yanks down. The audience cheers.

I am now completely naked, thoroughly bare. Even my most private area between my legs is on total display. My bareness is not only physical; my lack of protection is emotional as well.

The men refuse to let that be the last humiliation.

They pull my naked body to the very front edge of the stage, where I am within a few feet of the throng, so the crowd can see me entirely, from the top of my head to my feet, and all in-between. I certainly hear many rude comments about the attractiveness of my uncovered figure, my beasts, my nipples, and my vaginal area.

They then force me to turn, so I am exposed from the rear as well, and the crowd hoots and hollers approval of my ass. It is so shaming.

But they won't let my humiliation end there either.

They turn me around so I face the audience again, full frontal. Each grabs one of my arms and then one of my legs, and forces me to lie back on their arms. They then lift me off the ground, and spread my legs wide open, so even the lips of my vagina are visible to all, and they display me to all watching. The spectators are thrilled.

They finally put me down, and let me go, as they know I am utterly defeated. I am overpowered and conquered, naked and exposed. I don't even try to cover myself with my hands; I know it will not be allowed. All I can do is stand there, my head hung in shame and ignominy. I can only let them ogle, gaze at my nudity.

*******

They finally let me leave the stage. It is further humiliating to know I have nothing to cover myself. I have no idea what will happen next. I only know whatever it is, it will happen with me naked.

"Why me," I ask.

One of the men shrugs. "Wrong place, wrong time, bad shit, woman!" he opines. "Happy 'Naked Day'"

*******

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.