


 
                     SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT 

                             by 

                          Joe Doe


A FEMALE ATTORNEY FANTASIZES ABOUT A SCENE IN A MOVIE WHERE A 
LAWYER IS STRIPPED BY A VENGEFUL MOB IN THE DEEP SOUTH.  BUT 
CAN REALITY EVER BE AS GOOD AS HER FANTASY?


The waitress rolled her eyes as the beautiful attorney placed her 
order.  "Sorry, Princess," she said, sarcastically.  "We don't 
serve BOTTLED water.  We don't got no tofu, neither!"

"A glass of iced tea, then," Ashley replied, politely.  "And a 
small lemon wedge would be nice." 

The waitress snorted, shook her head, and walked away.  City girls! 

Although the young lawyer had been hanging around the small 
southern town for almost a week, the town still seemed strange to 
her, and she to it.  But the material she was researching thrilled 
Ashley so much that she didn't care.

She had recently seen a movie about an emotionally charged trial 
in the Deep South.  The movie was mediocre, but there was one 
scene in it that had fascinated her and had precipitated her 
journey here.

In the scene, a liberal female lawyer is dragged out into the 
forest by a vigilante mob.  The enraged rednecks tie the young 
woman to a tree and then rip off her shirt.  The young attorney 
looks back over her shoulder nervously as one man menacingly 
brandishes a whip…

The rest of the scene was baffling.  The mob inexplicably decided 
to "punish" the lawyer by leaving her out in the woods with a torn 
shirt, alone to face the ravages of the mosquitoes. 

Yes, that's right: mosquitoes!

Hollywood! 

But in Ashley's mind the scene went much farther.  The lusty mob 
didn't just strip off her shirt.  In her version of the screenplay, 
the leader of the mob took his time, slowly stripping Ashley of 
each item of clothing, savoring her mounting embarrassment as her 
pride and dignity were slowly stripped away, too...

In her fantasy, Ashley was forced to plead her case in front of a 
"jury" of eager rednecks.  Her hands were tied together, and the 
coarse rope was thrown over the branch of a large old southern 
magnolia. 

She dangled helplessly from the tree as the "prosecutor" slowly 
approached.

The prosecutor leisurely tore Ashley's expensive silk blouse bit 
by bit, gradually revealing more of her bare back and shoulders 
to the crowd.  Then he methodically tossed the expensive rags into 
the huge bonfire that blazed menacingly in the isolated grove.

And then he took off Ashley's shoes and socks. 

The rope was taut, and she had been forced to stand on her toes. 
But, when they removed her shoes and socks, her toes barely brushed 
the ground.  She swung helplessly from the tree, powerless to 
defend herself.

The prosecutor took his time, letting her savor the sensation 
of being stripped slowly, garment by garment, in front of the 
enthusiastic crowd. 

After all, she wasn't there merely to be stripped.

Ashley was there to be taught a lesson!

Her shoes and socks snapped and crackled as they burned in the 
blaze.

The prosecutor put his cold fingers on the delicate material 
between the cups of Ashley's lacy white brassiere, and, for a 
moment, she thought he was going to tear it off. 

But then he slowly, teasingly, ran his hands down her bare 
stomach and let his hand rest on her belt. 

She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he put both arms 
around her and carefully unbuckled her belt.  He pulled the belt 
past each belt loop with agonizing slowness, using her closeness 
as an opportunity to savor the sweet smell of her perfume.

The successful Chicago attorney had purchased the belt at Water 
Tower Place, and it was one of her favorite accessories. 

But now it was just fuel for the fire. 

She tried to squirm away when he undid the snap on the front of 
her pants, but the strong mob leader easily regained control.  He 
pulled down the zipper of her pants with cruel slowness, taunting 
her with his absolute authority. 

He then whisked her pants down quickly, effortlessly skinning 
her of her pride.  He wadded the expensive slacks into a ball 
and casually lobbed them into the blaze, as if the stylish 
slacks weren't even worth a stroll to the fire.

Now Ashley dangled before the men in just her lacy bra and panties.  
Her flimsy lingerie felt soft and supple, and to her it seemed 
incongruous to be wearing such delicate frillies in the middle of 
the rough and uncharted woods.

She knew that it was a paradox that would soon be corrected.

But first the prosecutor grasped her by the scruff of the neck 
and roughly turned her around to face the men. 

The surrounding woods were pitch black, but the blazing bonfire 
was more than enough to light up the small grove.  Ashley could 
clearly see that there were about fifty men gathered there. 

She flinched when she saw the hunger burning in their eyes. 

She had enjoyed strutting around the impoverished southern town 
in her expensive, fashionable clothes, secretly delighting in the 
envious glances of the women and the flirtatious attentions of 
their men. 

But now her sophisticated clothes were ashes, and she was forced 
to prance around wearing nothing but her frilly unmentionables, 
in front of the same men she had teased so unmercifully.

The men said nothing, but stared at her with undisguised lust.  It 
would have been easier for her if they had hooted, or made lewd 
comments, or said SOMETHING.

But they were absolutely silent as they impassively watched the 
half-naked woman squirm and wiggle helplessly in her bonds.  The 
silence gave the entire event the aura of a legal proceeding, of 
justice logically and slowly working its way to an inexorable 
conclusion.

Like many successful attorneys, Ashley was somewhat contemptuous 
of the law.  She knew that, in many cases, justice depended less 
on right and wrong, and more on who had the money to pay her 
outrageous fees.  To her, the law had become something of a 
pretzel, and she enjoyed using her intellect to bend and twist 
it for her own purposes.

But now it was she who was twisting slowly in the wind.

The prosecutor easily spun her around so she faced the tree 
again.  She hung there for several seconds, waiting for the 
final, humiliating step that she knew was coming.

Couldn't they at least let her keep her UNDERWEAR?  Couldn't they 
let her keep a SCRAP of her dignity?

She looked over her shoulder, wondering what they were waiting for. 

She almost fainted when she saw the leader of the mob walking 
towards her with a huge hunting knife. 

She closed her eyes tightly, expecting the worst.

The prosecutor gently stroked her hair, as if trying to calm her 
fears.  Ashley shuddered when she felt the cool blade slide under 
her dainty bra strap and slice through the material. 

A couple of other quick cuts...and the expensive, delicate bra lay 
on the ground in a useless heap.

Ashley was now topless, and her nipples hardened in the chilly 
night air.  She was facing the tree, and the men couldn't see her
breasts.  But she could feel their eyes burning into her naked 
back.

The prosecutor ran his hands over the back of her delicate, lacy 
panties, as if to remind the blushing barrister that there was 
still one final humiliation ahead.

She flinched as the sharp blade gently slid between the delicate 
fabric of her panties and her milky white thigh.  The prosecutor 
was careful and deliberate, making sure that the cold steel didn't 
even nick her tender skin.

But then he roughly twisted the knife, and the blade sliced right 
through the delicate, unresisting fabric. 

Ashley looked down helplessly as her last shred of dignity slowly 
slid down her legs.  She tried to trap the garment with her thighs, 
in a desperate attempt to stop its slow, humiliating descent.

But a sharp, stinging slap on her already partially bare bottom 
reminded the rebellious little girl that disobedience would be 
punished.

So she obediently spread her thighs, and her shredded underpants 
resumed their slow, teasing trip down her long, beautiful legs. 

Her tangled panties were soon dangling uselessly from one of her 
bare feet.  But another sharp slap on her bare fanny caused her to 
swing slightly, and the beautiful, lacy garment slipped off her 
foot and landed in the dirt.

The prosecutor picked up the panties and examined them closely.  
Ashley saw a twinkle in his eye when he noticed how wet they were.

For a brief moment, the blushing Ashley made eye contact with her 
tormenter.

Ashley blushed even more hotly when she saw that he was smiling. 

The rednecks passed the delicate panties around.  The judges 
chuckled softly as they examined the evidence of her arousal, 
and Ashley's face burned with shame and humiliation. 

The court was very amused.

In the end, justice was done, and her bra and panties met the same 
fate as the rest of her expensive, stylish clothes.

Her soft, frilly lingerie didn't take long to burn...even the soggy 
panties. 

Ashley knew that every man in the grove was now staring at her 
totally bare bottom.  She looked up at her bound wrists and 
wiggled her fingers helplessly, desperate to find some way to 
cover herself.

The rope held fast, and she quickly realized that her struggles 
were just causing her bare bottom cheeks to wiggle provocatively 
as she danced helplessly in her bonds. 

There was nothing for her to do but swing slowly back and forth 
while the men ogled her naked charms.

Ashley looked over at the roaring fire that had so mercilessly 
consumed all of her elegant clothing.  She would have given 
anything for just a small scrap of fabric to cover herself with. 

But she knew that any requests for mercy would be denied.

The prosecutor once again grasped her by the back of the neck, as 
if to warn her that she was about to face the final, humiliating 
unveiling.  He stood that way for several seconds, letting the 
suspense build, meanwhile reaching around her body and gently 
tweaking her nipples, to ensure that they would be fully erect 
for the crowd.

Then he spun her around, so that the proud young attorney could 
face her accusers bare and exposed.

Ashley closed her eyes, unable to look at the men who were now 
perusing every inch of her nakedness.  But she could hear a few 
soft whistles and murmurs of approval about the "hot Yankee bitch." 

She was eloquent and persuasive.  Manipulating juries had always 
been easy for her.  But she shivered now as she felt the men 
probing her with their eyes.

She knew she would never look at a jury the same way again.

The prosecutor rested his finger on the tip of Ashley's nose and 
slowly, teasingly traced a line down over her chin and then between 
her breasts.  She watched helplessly as the finger inched down her 
body, over her navel and on towards her crotch.

The teasing finger stopped just above her pubic hair.  She was 
breathing hard now, and she prayed that the examination was over. 

But then the finger almost imperceptibly started moving again, 
and, with aching slowness, it wormed its way through her downy 
fleece. 

Ashley tried to clench her thighs tightly together, but the 
persistent, probing finger could not be denied. 

She blushed crimson as she felt the incessant finger gradually 
find its way inside her hot, wet, pussy. 

The prosecutor took his time, and probed her thoroughly. 

When he'd finished at last, he turned to the crowd and held up his 
hand.  His finger, wet with Ashley's juices, glistened in the light 
from the fire. 

Ashley's ears burned with the knowing murmurs and mocking laughter 
of the crowd.

The verdict was in. 

She was guilty as charged.

In her fantasy, Ashley decided to skip the bullwhipping. 

She may have been masochistic, but she wasn't stupid.

Instead, the "court" decided that the liberal lady lawyer should 
present her "oral arguments" while kneeling in the dirt, with her 
hands tied behind her back. 

She therefore had to plead her case on her knees, and the cruel men 
took obvious delight in making the proud young attorney "swallow 
her pride." 

Again and again.

Most of the younger men just stared down at Ashley with undisguised 
lust.  But a few of the older jurors chatted amongst themselves as 
she subjugated herself before them, and their casual barbershop 
banter was even more humiliating for her than the crude comments 
of the younger men.  They talked about Ashley as if she were a 
naughty puppy being taught a regrettable but necessary lesson: 

"Well, I'm glad we're finally putting that smart mouth of hers to 
good use."

"Yeah, you're right.  A few of the boys wanted to just run her out 
of town.  But I said, 'she won't learn nothing that way.'"

"This really is for her own good."

"Somebody's got to teach these snotty city girls their place."

"Well, she sure don't seem so uppity now, that's for damn sure."

"Swirl that hot little tongue right around the tip, young lady.  
City girls are always in a rush, but here in the South we like to 
take our time."

Of course, a few of the justices insisted on examining the evidence 
in more detail.  One of the men dragged a cheap mattress into the 
field, and Ashley was forced to kneel on it, face down, legs 
spread, with her bare bottom high in the air.

She kept track of how many men enjoyed her treasures by counting 
the cheerfully colored condoms that each man playfully tossed in 
front of her when they finished using her.

The number of orgasms she had was harder to track....

Ashley was startled out of her daydream and back to reality when, 
at long last, the waitress returned with her iced tea. 

"Sorry we don't have any lemon wedges, honey," the waitress said, 
sarcastically.  "But I called a friend in California, and he's 
gonna jump on a plane and fly one over."

Ashley scowled at the waitress.  The town wasn't very friendly to 
strangers, especially well-dressed female lawyers from the big 
city.  And, when she told people that she was an attorney doing 
research on mob violence in the South, their cool reserve froze 
over into a block of ice. 

At least until she boldly put her fantasy down on paper and mailed 
it to the town's mayor. 

Ashley explained that she was an attorney writing a novel about a 
liberal lady lawyer in the South.  The mayor seemed skeptical on 
the surface, but her erotic fantasy did intrigue him, and he 
agreed to meet her in the diner.

Ashley was surprised when he came in.  He was tall and attractive, 
with dark, piercing eyes that seemed to look right through her.  He 
was carrying a small brown burlap bag, which he set down on the 
table. 

The waitress hustled over and gushed as she took the mayor's order. 
Ashley smiled, confident in the knowledge that the level of service 
at her table was about to dramatically improve.

When the waitress left, Ashley once again explained her desire to 
meet with the local mob leaders.

"There's only one problem, Ashley," the mayor replied, laughing.  
"There are no 'mob leaders' in this town.  The Feds helped us lock 
up those yahoos years ago, none too soon for my tastes.  You're 
correct that the town is conservative, and that it doesn't like 
liberals, busybodies, or outsiders.  But we're decent folks.  
Idiots with torches are NOT tolerated!"

Ashley was disappointed, but decided to press on, probing for more 
information.  Was her story more accurate than the movie?  Did he 
like her story?  What would he change?

"Your story was way better than that stupid movie," the mayor 
replied.  "One thing is for darn sure: if a mob of good ol' boys 
ever did get a hot-looking big city lawyer like you out in the 
boonies, they wouldn't just strip off her shirt." 

Ashley blushed at the compliment, embarrassed by the mental image 
that the mayor was painting.

"Of course, the movie was more accurate than your story in some 
ways.  In the old days, mobs did like to hand out a good whuppin'.  
But a whip would damn near kill you, so it wasn't used often.  
First time offenders usually got a taste of the birch."

The mayor reached into his bag and pulled out a bundle of short 
branches he had lashed together.  "These are quick to make, and I 
figured you'd never seen one, being from the city.  It won't leave 
any permanent marks or do any serious damage.  But, let me tell 
you, it does sting."

It looked bad enough to Ashley, and it would certainly sting a lot 
more than mosquitoes. 

She picked the up the birch and weighed it in her hand, trying to 
imagine what it would feel like when it WHISTLED though the air....

She winced at the thought.  "I wish I were wearing thicker pants," 
she said, jokingly. 

"This is the country, miss, not the city," the mayor reminded her. 
"Out here, naughty girls are always birched bare...TOTALLY bare!"  
He gave Ashley a patronizing wink. "That way, you make sure they 
learn their lesson."

She felt a tingling sensation in her backside as she involuntarily 
clenched her bottom cheeks tightly together. 

She dismissed the notion.  After all, she was a successful and 
intelligent young woman.  The idea that she would have to lower 
her underpants for a painful and shameful spanking was completely 
absurd.

But the lawyer in Ashley immediately countered with another 
argument.

"If that's true," she wondered, "why is my hand trembling?"

The waitress returned with the food, and Ashley quickly put the 
humiliating birch back on the table.

The waitress smiled when she saw the birch and gave Ashley a 
knowing glance.  Ashley said nothing, but glared back at the 
waitress, infuriated by the woman's presumption.

"Anything else, sir?" the waitress asked the mayor.

"No thanks," he said.  "We're fine."

"Are you sure?" the waitress persisted, turning to Ashley with a 
wicked smile.  "If you want, I can bring out a hickory stump for 
her to kneel over."

The mayor and the waitress shared a laugh while Ashley fumed 
silently. 

Ashley vowed to make the waitress' tip equally amusing. 

Ashley was pleased when the waitress left.  The conversation 
returned to her story, and they chatted amicably as they ate.  
She explained that the slow, deliberate nature of the striptease 
was a key element of the fantasy.  The mayor replied that it was 
fine with him, if that's the way she "wanted it."

The mayor's seemingly innocent comment thrilled Ashley to the bone.

She asked the mayor again and again if there were any mob leaders 
in the town, or if he knew of any towns where such outrageous 
events might occur. 

He gently explained that her story was from another era and warned 
her that the reality would not be nearly as romantic as she 
imagined. 

Ashley insisted on paying the check, not wanting to miss the 
opportunity to stiff the waitress.  The mayor eventually lost 
the argument and used the restroom while Ashley paid the bill. 

She noticed that the mayor had absentmindedly taken the sack, but 
left the birch on the table.  She reluctantly took the humbling 
tool up to the register with her.

"We don't take American Express, Your Highness," the waitress said, 
contemptuously rejecting Ashley's credit card.  "Do you have any 
CASH in that Gucci purse?"

Ashley carefully counted out the exact change for the bill, as the 
waitress looked back at the table.

Just as she thought, the obviously wealthy young woman hadn't left 
her a tip.

The waitress decided to extract payment in her own way and 
playfully picked up the bundle of switches.

"OOOH!" the waitress mocked.  "Have you been a NAUGHTY little 
girl?"

Ashley felt herself blush as she heard a few of the diners behind 
her chuckle.

The waitress SWISHED the birch through the air, and Ashley's hands 
instinctively flew to cover her backside, as if to protect herself 
from the blow.

The waitress winced in mock sympathy and then burst into laughter. 

Ashley quickly grabbed the birch and scurried out of the 
restaurant, anxious to avoid the knowing smirks and gentle 
laughter of the other diners.

Outside, the mayor shook her hand and thanked her graciously for 
dinner.  Ashley felt a palpable sense of disappointment when he 
turned to leave....

She decided to make her move.  It was now or never.

"I should have known there wasn't anyone in this town man enough 
to help me," she said, sharply.  "From what I've seen, there isn't 
a man in this town that can even get it up!" 

The mayor turned around and looked at Ashley in shocked disbelief.  
What was she up to now?

At last, he spoke.

"You know, I think there are quite a few men in this town who 
might be willing to meet with you at the Forest Preserve to 
discuss your little fantasy." 

Ashley said nothing.  She just stared at her shoes, too thrilled 
and too embarrassed to even look at him.

"With the way you've been strutting around this town, I'm sure 
some of the women will want to come out and watch their fellas 
teach you a lesson, too," he went on, casually.  "I bet you that 
waitress will even cook up some fried chicken and fix lemonade; 
it'll be just like a town picnic."

Ashley shuddered at the thought.  She knew the women in the town 
were jealous of her fashionable clothes, glamorous career, and good 
looks.  The envious women would enjoy watching her stylish clothes 
burning in the fire.

But their smug, knowing smiles would cause Ashley a lot more 
humiliation than she had bargained for.

"I have to go home now, Ashley," the mayor said, kissing her softly 
on the cheek.  "I need to buy some rope and to find my old sheath 
knife." 

He tapped the switches meaningfully against his palm.  "And, of 
course, I'll need to let these soak in some brine for a couple of 
days.  I want them nice and supple, so that they'll hug every tight 
little curve."

Ashley once again involuntarily clenched the cheeks of her bottom, 
and instinctively moved her hands back to protect herself.

The mayor paused as if considering the situation.  "I think you're 
right that a woman shouldn't be stripped TOO quickly, Ashley."  He 
smiled.  "And with me running the show, you'll get it just the way 
you like it...nice and slow."

Ashley wasn't sure if reality could ever be as good as her 
fantasy....

But she knew she was going to find out -- soon! 



Edited by C. Lakewood
 
