



                     POETIC JUSTICE 

                           by

                      Joe Whatever



Annie smiled as she watched Heather dance for the table, her 
nipples hardening in the breeze.  Even with the harem veil 
covering her mouth, Annie could see the humiliation in her 
former rival's face.

Not that her ridiculous harem costume covered much else.  Her 
breasts were bare, and they bobbled proactively as she danced 
lasciviously to the exotic Middle Eastern music.  

The translucent harem pants made it clear that Heather was, 
indeed, a natural blonde.  When the sheik asked Joe if Heather 
would "pleasure him," Annie nodded her consent.  Why not?

Heather had once been Joe’s girlfriend, but she was no longer a 
threat to Annie.  Heather was now just a pretty little slave, 
locked away safe and sound in the mighty sheik's harem.

Boo-hoo!

Annie smiled at the poetic justice.  Joe and Heather had dated 
for three years, but Heather had refused to sleep with him.

Now she would be forced to perform like a 2 bit whore for the 
man she had once teased to a frazzle.

Annie reckoned that, if Heather satisfied Joe’s vulgar male 
desires, it would relieve the pressure on her.  Annie had 
dated Joe for 6 months, and she enjoyed using the promise of 
sex to tie her hapless boyfriend in knots.

She had no intention of ever sleeping with him.  Like dogs, men 
responded best when kept on short leashes.

In fact, she didn't even like him very much.  He was rich, and 
his job at the oil company allowed him to ferry her to exotic 
locations.  But, to Annie, he was just another feckless male to 
use and abuse. 

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

Joe was jovial and relaxed the next morning, and Annie knew that 
the once proud Heather had performed her duties well.  But, when 
Annie produced Heather's pleading note about the "frame" that had 
landed her in the harem, Joe tensed.

"You can't show the sheik that note!" Joe exclaimed.

"She wants me to help her escape," Annie shot back.  "It's against 
the law, isn't it?  She is, after all, a SLAVE."

"She'll get the whip!" Joe objected.

"Really?" Annie said, barely able to conceal her excitement.  "Do 
tell."

As she watched her feckless boyfriend pack her steamer trunks, 
she made him describe the humiliating details of the bare 
bottom whippings the slave girls received.

Joe weakly demanded that she destroy the note, but she just 
flirted with him until he agreed to "let her handle it."

Annie smiled.  JUSTICE would be served.

The thought of her rival stretched over the whipping bench caused 
Annie to tingle with delight.  Before giving the incriminating 
note to the sheik, she scribbled a farewell note to her former 
rival:

	ROSES ARE RED,
	AND SO IS YOUR FANNY
	THEY'LL WHIP YOUR ASS GOOD.
	LOVE, YOUR FRIEND, ANNIE

"Ah, poetic justice," she giggled.

She was stunned when the dogs at the airport found the bag of 
white powder in her carry-on luggage.

As the police led Annie off to the slave market, Joe chuckled 
as he reflected on just how poetic justice could be.



Edited by C. Lakewood


