



                      CROSSING THE LINE 

                             by 

                          Joe Doe


   WILL THE BEAUTIFUL, BORED HEIRESS ACTUALLY CROSS THE LINE? 


Part 1: THE WAX MUSEUM 

Melody was bored.  Too much money, too much free time, and one too 
many trips to Europe had conspired to rob her of the ability to 
feel anything but ennui.  Even Rome, Paris, and now London had lost 
it's allure, and the beautiful but spoiled heiress wandered down 
the quaint streets in a listless daze. 

Melody wasn't sure why the wax museum had caught her eye.  Perhaps 
it was because she hadn't noticed it before although she had been 
down this street dozens of times.  Perhaps it was because the 
"Chamber of Horrors!" sign was so garish and gaudy.  Or perhaps 
it was because she was too bored to look away, and the cheesy 
tourist trap suggested a campy, tacky distraction. 

The old woman behind the counter certainly seemed friendly enough, 
even if the prices did seem absurdly high.  "£10 pounds is a bit 
pricey for a wax museum, isn't it?"   

"This is an adult attraction, dear, and we charge adult prices," 
the old woman replied, sweetly.  "Besides, by the look of that 
handbag you are carrying, money isn't really a problem for you.  
Am I right, sweetie?" 

"That's hardly the point," Melody replied, icily.  "You are 
overpriced...sweetie.  This isn't tacky and boring, is it?" 
Melody asked, trying to peer past the slightly open door and 
into the attraction beyond.  "I'll demand my money back if it's 
boring and lame!" 

"No peeking!" the old woman chuckled.  "I do love American girls!  
I just love their spitfire and sass!  "Did you know that 'The 
Taming of the Shrew' was my favorite play"? 

"How nice for you," Melody mumbled, not even trying to disguise her 
lack of interest. 

"You see, that's what I mean!" the old woman gushed.  "That 
insolent tone...that hard edge...that unbreakable spirit.  
But underneath, I bet there's something very different.  
'Unbreakable' spirits are the best kind, don't you think?  
They're so much fun to break! 

"You simply have to go in!" the old woman said, her voice brimming 
with excitement.  "A lot of the figures are young American women 
just like you!  Actually, we have them from all over the world, 
representing all sorts of periods and times.  But American girls 
are my favorite.  I just love their vinegar! 

"Could you step back a bit dear?" the old woman said, thoughtfully. 
"I need to get a good look at you." 

Melody wasn't sure why she complied, but she dutifully stepped a 
few feet away from the glass booth so that the old woman could see 
her better. 

"A little farther back, dear," the old woman patronized. "I need 
to see you from tip to toe." 

Melody felt herself go slightly flush as the old woman's leisurely 
traveled the distance from her Gucci shoes to her diamond earrings. 

"Ah...very nice indeed," the old woman said, appreciatively.  "Long 
legs...a slender waist...perky, apple-shaped breasts.  Very nice!  
Tell me, dear, are you a natural blonde?" 

"Um...yes," Melody was surprised to hear herself say. 

"That will be perfect," the old woman cackled.  "You know that 
girls who were...how should I put this...blonde all over?  Anyway, 
blondes were VERY popular in certain parts of the world at various 
times in history." 

Melody's nervous blush seemed only to make the old woman bolder.  
"Now turn around...slowly," she commanded.  "I need to see your 
backside, too!"   

Melody felt slightly dazed.  Why was she doing this?  She didn't 
TAKE orders...she gave them!  She couldn't believe that she was 
still even standing here.    

But soon she found herself turning.... 

The old woman smiled appreciatively as Melody, who had terrorized 
shop clerks in London, New York, Paris, Tokyo, Rome, and Milan 
obediently twirled in an awkward little circle. 

"Oh, and such a tight little fanny!" the old woman enthused.  "Tell 
me dear...when was the last time you were spanked?" 

Melody gasped, too shocked to speak.  Her bottom cheeks clenched 
together tightly at the implicit threat, and the old woman laughed 
merrily. 

"I'm sorry, sweetie," the old woman chuckled.  "This is the Chamber 
of Horrors, but I didn't mean to frighten you...prematurely.  It's 
just that if I had a smart-mouthed American granddaughter, I 
wouldn't hesitate to turn her over my knee and tan her cute little 
bum.  And I wouldn't let her skirt and panties get in the way, 
either!" 

"You mean you'd...take down...my panties?" Melody stammered. 

"Of course I would," the old woman replied, cheerfully, as if 
discussing an old family recipe.  "A bare fanny-tanning is the 
best medicine when a young lady gets too big for her britches.  
I imagine you would find it quite embarrassing...particularly 
since I wouldn't be overly concerned about who was watching.  
But I guarantee it wouldn't be boring!" she added, wryly. 

"I think I should be going," Melody murmured. 

"So soon?" the old woman asked, rhetorically.  "You simply can't 
leave before you see the show.  Besides, you're just the kind of 
girl they're looking...I mean, this is just the kind of show you're 
looking for.  It's anything but tacky.  And I can guarantee it 
won't be boring. 

"As a matter of fact, I'll make a deal," the old woman whispered.  
"I'll let you sneak in free.  If you find the show...interesting, 
then you'll pay.  If you think it's boring and tacky, then I'll 
give YOU £10, for wasting your valuable, precious time on a dotty 
old lady."   

The old woman handed Melody a ticket and smiled.  "You can stay as 
long as you like, and leave whenever you like, as long as you don't 
cross any of the lines on the floor."   

Melody hesitated.  The old woman seemed harmless.  But the way the 
old biddy casually ordered her about definitely gave her the creeps.

On the other hand, taking the old woman's money after touring the 
museum for free would be sweet revenge.  Despite her wealth, Melody 
couldn't resist a bargain. 

Besides, it might be kind of fun to take the old biddy's money.  
That would teach her.  Spanking indeed! 

"Are you sure?" she asked with her sweetest smile.  "I really 
should pay you SOMETHING...." 

"We'll settle up later," the old woman said.  

As Melody opened the large, castle-like door and entered the 
attraction, the old woman smiled.  "Besides," she whispered 
to no one in particular, "there are many ways a lovely young 
woman like you can be made to pay."

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

Melody gasped as she walked into the grand entrance hall.  The 
ballroom style lobby was complete with exquisite glass chandeliers, 
large oil paintings of various battles, and a beautiful red carpet. 

At first she thought it was some sort of optical illusion.   The 
opulent entrance Hall seemed to be bigger than entire building.... 

At the end of the hall was posted a large scroll with directions 
written in elaborate Gothic Script: 

	Welcome to Searchem's House of Wax! 

	You are about to encounter exquisite works of art 
	displayed in historical settings so real you will 
	think that you are there.  Whenever possible our 
	attractions use genuine antiques, so please stay 
	behind the clearly marked floor lines AT ALL TIMES. 

	Thank you once again, and enjoy! 

Melody hurried past the sign and into the first room, too excited 
to worry about directions.  If this was the lobby, she couldn't 
wait to see the attraction. 

She was not disappointed.  She was stunned to find herself in the 
interior of a large room constructed entirely of the finest white 
Italian marble.  The two-story ceiling was supported by large white 
columns reminiscent of ancient Rome. 

Not only was the room large and richly decorated with period 
detail, it was also crowded.  Most wax museums had only a few 
figures in each display.  But to her surprise, she was surrounded 
by dozens of incredibly realistic sculptures. 

Melody turned to her right, to view the first diorama.  In front of 
the scene was a large scroll.  

	THE ROMANS TRANSFORMED FEMALE SLAVERY INTO A BUSINESS 
	AND AN ART FORM.  BUT THE SLAVE SUPPLY WAS NOT LIMITED 
	TO PETTY CRIMINALS AND THE FEMALE POPULATIONS OF CONQUERED 
	COUNTRIES.  JOIN US TODAY AS THE WIVES AND DAUGHTERS OF 
	SENATORS SUSPECTED OF PLOTTING AGAINST THE EMPEROR ARE 
	STRIPPED OF THEIR ROMAN CITIZENSHIP AS THEIR "WELCOME" 
	TO THE INFAMOUS "HOUSE OF MARCUS." 

The first group of figures was standing in a large marble room that 
appeared to be an entrance to the main building, judging from the 
street scene visible through the doorway.   

There were about 20 women standing near the doorway under the 
watchful guard of several Roman centurions.  The women were of 
various heights and ages, the youngest being about 18 or 19 and 
the oldest in her early 40s.  Although the women represented a 
large variety of physical characteristics, all of them were 
beautiful, and all were adorned in expensive jewelry and richly 
colored, ankle-length togas of purple, gold, and royal blue. 

But their wealth would not save them from the horrors that awaited 
them.  All of the nervous women were chained together in a coffle 
to await their turn in front of the main registration desk. 

Only one woman in the room was not chained.  She was the woman 
standing immediately in front of the corpulent smiling man who 
was seated behind the beautifully carved stone table.  The 
smiling man was pointing at the woman and whispering something 
to the scribe, who was busily writing down his words. 

There was certainly a great deal to write.  The lithe beauty who 
was standing with her hands by her side in front of the entrance 
desk was absolutely stark naked. 

The meaning of the scene was clear.  Obviously the woman HAD been 
clothed; next to her was a box containing several robes.  Melody 
suspected that the beautiful yellow garment on the very top had 
been hers.   

But apparently the first step of the "welcoming" process was to 
strip these proud free women not only of their citizenship, but 
of their clothing, as well. 

ALL of their clothing.... 

Melody put her toes on the black line on the floor and leaned in to 
get a closer look.  

The beautiful young woman was extremely realistic, down to the tiny 
hairs on her slender arms.  The woman was staring defiantly ahead 
and over the heads of the men who had stripped her, but her shame 
and humiliation were apparent in her luminescent brown eyes.    

Stephanie could imagine the beautiful young woman strolling through 
the markets of Rome like a queen.  She imagined her dining and 
gossiping with her friends, or relaxing in the bath while her 
slaves carefully washed her dainty feet.   

A few hours before she had been the wife of one of the cities most 
respected citizens.   

But now she was nothing more than a lovely bauble, a helpless 
pleasure toy.   

Melody squinted.  To her the figures didn't look like wax at all.  
They reminded her of those incredibly life-like "life sculptures" 
that had become so popular in the trendier museums.  The skin 
texture was so realistic she was sure that it must be some sort 
of silicon. 

The figurines looked more human than most of the people Melody 
passed on the street. 

Perhaps it was the poses.  The look of defiance and agony on the 
naked woman's face was exquisite, but the other figures were 
equally precise.  Each of the 20 chained women was staring at 
the naked woman, except for one, who was looking nervously at 
the hulking centurion immediately to her left.   

But there was something unique about the expression or pose of each 
woman that immediately conveyed her personality. 

Some of the women looked on in sympathy; a few had flaring, angry 
eyes.  But most of them appeared to be nervous and frightened; one 
was wringing her hands, another one (who didn't appear to be to 
bright) was nervously chewing on her lip.   

One obviously wealthy woman was toying absent-mindedly with the 
lovely ring on her finger.  Judging from the jewelry in the large 
box on the floor and the state of the woman in front of the desk, 
she wouldn't be wearing her ring for much longer. 

The male figures, from the leering centurions to the fat man 
running the registration "procedure" were no less detailed.  
Melody felt that she knew the man behind the front desk 
immediately: he was the sort of soullessly indifferent bureaucrat 
that would be perfectly at home in the Department of Motor 
Vehicles.  Although he was smiling at the naked woman's 
humiliation, it was obvious from the large pile of papers 
on his desk and the indifferent way that he was pointing to 
her naked body that she was just one of many.    

The Senator's wife, once the toast of Rome, was now just another 
slave to be processed. 

The figure of the scribe was even more subtle.  He was wearing a 
much shorter tunic, and the collar around his neck suggested 
slavery.  Although outwardly he was listening to the voice of 
the registration clerk, Melody could see that out of the corner 
of his eye he was leering at a lovely, auburn-haired girl who was 
awkwardly fidgeting just a few feet away from him. 

It was obvious from the woman's slightly gaping mouth and flushed, 
embarrassed look that she recognized the slave.   Perhaps she 
knew him from some previous trip to the House of Marcus; perhaps 
she had once been his owner.  It was obvious that there was a story 
behind their relationship, and it was obvious that the clerk took 
exquisite delight in her humiliating descent. 

Melody tried to imagine the woman's shame and horror as she slowly 
stripped herself naked in front of her former slave's dancing, 
mischievous eyes.   

When she had been a patrician, the slave would have been flogged 
for even looking at her in a suggestive way.  But now he would be 
free to visually explore her every secret as she slowly stripped 
herself naked for his amusement...and his professional assessment. 

Melody imagined the proud but humiliated woman standing naked in 
front of her former slave as the slightly bored clerk worked 
through his check list. 

	What was your former name, when you were a free person?  

	Age?

	Ah...natural red hair.  Excellent!

	Do you know how to weave, or paint, or sew, or sculpt?

	Do you have any experience cooking or cleaning?

	Do you play an instrument?  Can you dance or sing?

	Are you a virgin?  Don't waste our time by lying.  We WILL 
	check.

	Do you have any special sexual skills?  Fellatio, perhaps? 

In the end, the blushing young virgin would be forced to admit that 
she had no special skills, sexual or otherwise.  As the spoiled and 
pampered daughter of a senator, she had never bothered to acquire 
any skills that could be of use to anyone.  Why should she? 

Which meant that now she was good for one thing, and one thing 
only. 

Melody felt a strange empathy for the lovely young red head in the 
beautiful gown.  Perhaps it was because like the girl, she had 
never bothered to acquire any useful skills or real knowledge.  
Like the lovely young women in the coffle, Melody had always 
assumed that others would wait on her. 

If she were ever sent to the House of Marcus, she would be good for 
only one thing as well. 

The thought gave her a delightful tingle.  The highly erotic scene 
had awakened her submissive streak, and she felt herself becoming 
increasingly excited as she imagined the young woman's fate. 

With no skills, the young woman would be forced to stand there, 
stark naked, as the clerk dictated a detailed assessment of her 
nude form.  Was her stomach flat?   Were her hips too wide?  Would 
her nipples look perky in the cool air of the showing room?  Would 
she move provocatively on the action block? 

The unskilled and luckless aristocrat would be assessed like a farm 
animal.  Doubtlessly the smiling slave would relish noting down 
each detail of her dehumanizing assessment.  It would be his 
skilled pen that would record the official loss of her citizenship, 
and her "reclassification" as a piece of pretty, salable live stock.

Melody was curious to see what was written on the form.  Was it in 
Latin?  Would it be a long form with countless humiliating details, 
or a brief summary of key features? 

She leaned in so far that she momentarily lost her balance.  Time 
seemed to stand still as her left foot crossed over the line, just 
inches from the floor. 

Her heart skipped a beat.  Was it her imagination, or had several 
of the figures, including the smiling fat man at the desk turned 
to watch her? 

The sudden movement of the figures and the strange tingling 
sensation she now felt in her foot did little to restore her 
balance. 

After several horrifying and awkward seconds of teetering, she 
managed to shift her weight backwards.  She breathed a sign of 
relief as her elegant Gucci shoe returned safely to the correct 
side of her boundary. 

Melody righted herself and took a step back before re-examining the 
scene.  All was as before. 

How silly of her!  She had almost fallen over simply to avoid 
crossing a silly black line on the floor of some cheesy wax museum. 

Brimming with defiance, she raised her foot in the air again and 
slowly inched it closer to the black line.  Just one more step 
would do it.... 

But, once again, her expensive shoe stopped just short of the 
floor. 

Despite the almost hypnotic nature of the scene, Melody moved on, 
anxious to see what would happen next.
 
		******************************


Part 2: MELODY ENCOUNTERS A FASCINATING SERIES OF SCENES 

The wax museum was set up to show a cross section of the Roman 
House of Marcus, almost as if the outer wall of the slave auction 
house had been removed.   

Melody was able to move into the next "room" by simply walking to 
her left past the marble wall that separated the two scenes. 

The room next to the "reception area" appeared to be some sort of 
smithy.  Oddly enough, the walls were still marble, but there was 
straw on the floor, and a large and impressive array of irons and 
other tools on the wall. 

But, when Melody saw the figures in the center of the room, she 
realized that the place was not designed for shoeing horses.  
Although it seemed like a barn, this room was intended for 
restraining a different type of animal.... 

In the center of the room was a beautiful young woman leaning over 
an anvil.  Her slender neck was sideways across the anvil.  She was 
already collared, but the collar's hinge was held together by a 
wire that reminded Melody of the twist-ties that close garbage bags.   

Except for the demeaning collar, the woman was entirely naked.  
From the blush in her cheek and the humiliation in her beautiful 
eyes, Melody could tell that she found her humbling position, 
bottom up over the anvil, to be both shocking and degrading.  

The woman was kneeling in straw, and, on a rack directly in front 
of her, were rows of branding irons of various shapes and sizes.  
They looked unused, and Melody suspected they were mostly for show.   

The anvil, straw, iron, and the room in general were all clearly 
designed to reinforce the slave's animal-like status.    

"I wonder why she doesn't just take that horrible collar off?" 
Melody wondered.  "That little metal tie couldn't hold my 
grandmother." 

Melody answered her own question when she noticed the faint flicker 
from a small fire pit in the floor.  The fire was being used to 
heat the tiny bolt that would soon seal the woman's collar. 

The collar was loose now, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.  
Once the hot bolt was slid into the waiting hinge and hammered, 
the beautiful young woman would be collared permanently. 

Melody tensed as she imagined kneeling in the straw, waiting 
helplessly for the tiny metal rivet to heat.  The straw would 
be coarse, and the marble floor beneath would be unforgiving.  
The position, head down and neck drawn, would be awkward and 
uncomfortable. 

The smith clearly could have heated the bolt BEFORE ordering the 
girl to kneel, but what would fun would that be?  Forcing the 
frightened girl to kneel in the straw and watch the bolt heat 
was much more entertaining.... 

Melody knew that if she were in that position she would doubtlessly 
WANT the bolt to finish heating as quickly as possible.  Anything 
would be better than being forced to kneel over that horrible anvil. 

But then again, once the bolt was ready, her disgraceful slave 
collar would be locked in place forever. 

Of course, Melody could always pass the time by staring straight 
ahead at the various decorative brands as the cool breeze tickled 
her shamefully exposed backside.  Might her master choose a letter? 
A flower?  The family crest might be nice.... 

Melody closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  The psychological 
torment of this place was terrible.

The smith was not present; apparently the woman's collaring was not 
important enough to merit his attention until the bolt was ready.  
Until then the humiliated slave was left alone to twist and squirm, 
fidget and wiggle, as she watched her shiny new bolt turn from 
black to red....

The permanent chaining of the women had certain practical benefits, 
of course.  Through the "barn" doorway Melody could see a group of 
about 10 women.  The horrified women had not yet been shackled, and 
they had gathered themselves into a small circular cluster.   

Melody found the arrangement somewhat disappointing; although all 
of the figures seemed to be expertly crafted and detailed, it was 
difficult to see the women who were standing behind the others.  
It was clear they were all beautiful, but the unique and individual 
looks of terror, anxiety, and disgust that had made the previous 
scene so fascinating were at least partially hidden from view. 

The view through the other doorway into the "finishing room" was 
much more satisfying.  These women had already "visited" the 
industrious smith.  Each of the women had bronze shackles around 
her neck, wrists, and ankles.  A chain had been run through a 
loop on the ankle shackles, and it effectively connected the 
women both to each other and to the wall.   

The chain was cheap and flimsy, and it reminded Melody of the kind 
of chain someone might use to "close" off a section of a backyard 
or perhaps restrain a medium-sized dog.   

But although the chain was obviously not expensive, it accomplished 
its job.  Unlike the unshackled women, the coffle was evenly and 
attractively spaced.  The naked women were arranged as neatly as 
merchandise on a shelf.  

All of the shackled women had wet hair, probably from having their 
heads dunked in the bucket in order to cool the hot rivet that was 
used to seal the collar.  The dunking procedure doubtlessly 
emphasized the animalistic nature of the merchandise that was 
being prepared for sale. 

When the pretty girl with her head on the anvil was properly 
shackled, the smith would dunk her head and then fasten her to 
the end of line.  No fuss, no bother.  The beautiful young woman 
would now be just another pretty little slave girl who could be 
hooked to the wall and forgotten until needed. 

Melody read the scroll to the left of the exhibit: 

	THE PRETTY WIVES AND DAUGHTERS OF THE SENATORS ARE 
	QUICKLY AND EASILY SHACKLED.  THE COLLARS MAKE IT 
	EASY TO MOVE AND CONTROL LARGE GROUPS AND WILL 
	ENSURE THE QUICK RETURN OF ANY ESCAPEES. 

Although she knew it was cruel, she smiled as she imagined the 
woman on the anvil, naked and helpless, sprinting down the crowded 
market street.  Even if, by some miracle, the slave found something 
to wear, the collar would make it clear to everyone that she was a 
misplaced piece of property. 

On a certain level, she approved of the collars.  After all, she 
put name-tags on her poodles and a tiny bell on her cat.  Whatever 
their former status, these women were now (in some ways, at least) 
not unlike domesticated animals.   

Melody's pretty smile turned vindictive.  A visit with the smith 
might be a good lesson to some of her own insolent servants!  

Like many privileged people, she held a deeply conservative belief 
in law and order.  She respected money and wealth, and, if that 
meant that the uncouth lower classes were treated like chattel, 
then so be it. 

But, as she smugly considered the merits of Roman social justice, 
she unconsciously adjusted the gold bracelet around her own 
delicate wrist.   

She felt a tiny chill as realized what she was doing and noted the 
feeling of the cold metal against her tender skin.  Although she 
knew it was silly, she quickly slid the bracelet off and into her 
purse before moving forward again.  

The next scene was really a montage meant to represent the training 
of the aristocratic women prior to their sale.  To the right, one 
woman with exquisitely manicured hands scrubbed the hard marble 
floor on her hands and knees.  Behind her a whip-toting master 
pointed out the spots she missed.    

In another scene a woman stood at a loom and took direction from 
another slave, while still another woman kneaded dough. 

But, as Melody's eyes moved across the setting, the training became 
decidedly racier.  An elderly gent with a switch in his hand 
reclined easily in his chair as a pretty slave with long red hair 
knelt before him.  Although the slave's beautiful, fiery locks 
obscured the scene, the look of bliss on the man's face and the 
way the woman's face was buried in his crotch made it clear that 
she was not sewing the hem of his toga. 

The exceedingly faint red stripes across her bare backside 
suggested that her enthusiastic performance was not entirely 
voluntary. 

To the left were two naked slaves on a couch.  The woman on top was 
kissing the other woman's breasts, and both were looking up to a 
whip-wielding master for approval.  The women's obvious discomfort 
and the sly smile on the master's face suggested to Melody that it 
was their first lesbian encounter. 

She wondered if the women had known each other before their 
enslavement.  As family members of the small and clubby Senate 
they were probably friends, or at least acquaintances.  Had they 
dined together?  Shopped together?   Were their spouses allies or 
rivals? 

It didn't matter now.  Friend or enemies, neighbors or strangers, 
it made no difference.  The women's discomfort and humiliation at 
being forced to pleasure someone whom they had known for years 
meant nothing.  All that mattered was that it amused their new 
masters. 

The final scene showed a group of women in what appeared to be a 
class.  Each of the women was kneeling on all fours inside a square 
chalked on the floor.  At the front of the class was another naked 
woman kneeling in the same position inside an identical chalk 
square.  Above her was a gruff man who was using his switch to 
lift the woman's chin into the air. 

Melody was puzzled, but a small scroll explained the scene:  

	Hours of training will teach the haughty ladies of 
	Rome how to display their charms on the block. 

Melody shuddered.  As if being auctioned naked wasn't humiliating 
enough, these women were being trained in how to debase themselves 
in public.  No doubt the large and enthusiastic crowd would be 
delighted to see the wives and daughters of the Senate leaders 
strutting and posing, kneeling and bending, squatting and 
spreading, under the direction of the auctioneer's whip. 

The crouching women's knees were widely separated.  This degrading 
pose would assure that anyone who cared to look would have an 
unobstructed view of the merchandise.   

There were quite a few snobby "friends" of hers that she would 
enjoy seeing naked on the block.  She imagined herself in the 
front row, sipping wine as one of her rivals was poked and 
prodded by the auctioneer's whip for everyone to see.  

She chuckled softly.  Of course they would have to spread their 
legs.  It was simply good marketing. 

What an amusing thought.  Perhaps this "slave" thing wasn't so bad 
after all.  From a purely practical standpoint, one had to admire 
the psychological aspects of the process.  The stripping, 
assessment, and training were obviously designed to shatter 
the women's old identities and prepare them for new lives as 
randy, submissive sluts.   

Their training would culminate in their shameful exposure on the 
block.  Once they were up there, all their pretenses of modesty 
and dignity would be crushed forever.    

The public auction would be the final step.  After all, how could 
any of the women plead for mercy after her friends and neighbors 
had seen her squat naked on the block in front of thousand horny 
men?  Lady of Rome, indeed! 

The auction would make it clear to everyone that their pretensions 
had been an absurd fraud.  The randy little bitches had been 
discovered, and now they were being collared, stripped, and sold.  

Justice demanded it.  And it was precisely what they deserved. 

The women would never be able to look their former acquaintances in 
the eye, let alone beg for their freedom.  Their disgusting display 
on the block would make it clear to everyone that their old lives 
were gone forever.   

In a strange way, it was really for their own good.  It would be 
easier for them to accept their new lives once their old identities 
were publicly destroyed.  And destroyed they would be.  If the 
women were as wet as Melody was right now, their wantonness would 
be on display for all to see.  

Melody felt a tiny chill.  Why had she suddenly compared herself to 
them?  Was she identifying with the naked, collared bitches?  After 
all, she was wealthy and respected.  She might not be the daughter 
of a Senator, but her standing in society.... 

She stopped short as she realized how apt the comparison really 
was, and quickly moved on to the final scene. 

The last diorama was the predictable outcome of what came before, 
albeit from an usual perspective.  The scene depicted a Roman slave 
auction from behind the auction block. 

The massive block was about 15 feet tall and perhaps 20 feet wide.  
Melody wasn't sure of the exact depth, but, assuming that the two 
figures standing atop the block were towards the front center, she 
estimated it was about 15 feet. 

The block itself was, surprisingly, made of stone.  The massive 
piece of granite was monumental.  The enormity of the block and 
craftsmanship of the polished stone conveyed a sense of permanence.   

Melody remembered the sign that said genuine antiques and settings 
were used whenever possible.  The huge stone stage certainly seemed 
authentic, and the smooth stone steps implied centuries of wear. 

Melody scrunched her toes as imagined all the scores of bare female 
feet wearing the steps smooth.  Eleven...twelve...thirteen steps.   
The looks on the faces of the coffle of women awaiting their turn 
behind the block conveyed just how terrifying that tiny trip would 
be. 

Judging from the size of the block, the audience was enormous, and 
Melody had to move back several feet to clearly see the two figures 
on top of the block.  The auctioneer was holding a short whip that 
he was using as a pointer.  The slave girl was standing naked, with 
her legs spread and her left hand behind her head.  

With her right hand, the obviously embarrassed slave girl was 
shielding her crotch. 

Melody quickly scanned the enormous gallery to make sure that she 
was alone.  She swallowed and put one hand behind her head.  Then 
she spread her legs.  Last, she put her right hand directly in 
front of her mound, as if to shield it from the crowd's view. 

How agonizing!  How degrading!  The pose was completely 
humiliating!  And Melody was fully clothed! 

She shuddered as she imagined how much worse it would be up on the 
block with thousands of people watching.  How much worse it would 
be with a smarmy auctioneer to point out your "highlights" to the 
leering crowd. 

And how much worse it would be if she were naked… 

Melody looked back at the figures behind the block tensely awaiting 
their turn.  Although they couldn't see what has happening to their 
sister on the block, doubtlessly they could hear everything. 

Soon they would be next.  Soon they would be on the block.   

No wonder the women were horrified.  

Melody did a double take.  The slave girl at the front of coffle 
had been staring at the stairs.  Indeed, it was her transfixed 
gaze that had caused Melody to wonder how many other women had 
walked those very steps. 

But now the naked slave was staring directly at her. 

Melody knew it was crazy.  Wax figures don't move.  It had to be 
a mistake...a trick of the light. 

Or....  Was someone playing a joke on her?  Was the woman...real? 

Melody strode forward and put her toes directly on the black line 
on the floor before leaning in for a closer look. 

The beautiful naked slave girl was silent and immobile.  But she 
was definitely looking directly into Melody's eyes. 

"Realistic, aren't they?" a voice behind Melody said. 

Melody had thought she was alone.  She hadn't hear the old woman 
come in, which was strange, given the way that the Melody's heels 
clicked across the marble floor.   

Startled, Melody shift her weight.  Once again, her foot teetered 
over the display for several agonizing seconds before she was 
finally able to return it to safety. 

"You should really be more careful, dear," the old woman said, in 
a condescending voice.  "Clumsiness is no excuse for crossing the 
line." 

"I didn't hear you," Melody replied.  "I thought I was alone." 

"You're never alone here," the old woman chuckled, sweeping her 
hand towards the figures.  "Here you are always surrounded by 
friends." 

"I didn't mean to get so close," Melody said.  "It's just...I 
thought I saw one of the figures move." 

"We get that all the time, dear," the old woman said as she pulled 
on a pair of blue gloves. "In fact, I rearrange the figures 
constantly.  If you come back tomorrow, it will be a whole new 
show." 

The old woman carefully slid a pair of cloth booties over her shoes 
and casually walked over the line into the scene. 

Melody watched enviously as the old woman casually mounted the 
steps to the block.   

Melody stepped back towards the center of the gallery to continue 
the conversation as the old woman reached the top of the block.  
"My, she is a pretty one, isn't she?" the old woman said.  "And 
with that lovely blonde hair she could be your sister.  Yes, this 
one will be worth a fortune!" 

"Of course, I think the buyers really need to get a better look at 
what they are buying," the old woman added, thoughtfully.  "It's 
really a shame to hide those lovely blonde curls." 

Melody watched in horror as the old woman reached down and 
carefully spread the woman's thighs.  Although the spread 
wasn't much, maybe about 4 inches, given the woman's position 
on the block the new pose left her totally exposed. 

Melody's stomach dropped as the hardhearted old woman callously 
moved the slave girl's hands so that her fingers were interlaced 
behind her head. 

Melody felt a pang of sympathy.  The new pose ensured the buyers 
would see everything the woman had been trying so desperately to 
hide. 

"That's better," the old woman chuckled, cruelly.  "Now everyone 
can get a good look at her little golden fleece!" 

"And everything else," Melody muttered.  The old woman's actions 
made no sense, really.  Melody was staring at the figure's back.  
Why "expose" her to buyers who weren't even there? 

Melody walked towards the far left.  She put her toes on the line 
and once again leaned forward and craned her neck around so that 
she could see around to the front of the block. 

She could not believe her eyes.  Behind the block were at least 50 
figures, swarthy and in robes, bidding on the beautiful young 
blonde.  "Why put all those figures where no one can see them?" 
Melody asked herself.  "Why do all that work for nothing?" 

"BE CAREFUL!" 

The old woman's shrill voice caused Melody to lose her balance.  
Time seemed to stop as she felt herself falling over, over, 
over.... 

Over the line....

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


Part 3: MELODY ADVANCES DEEPER INTO THE ENORMOUS WAX MUSEUM 

Melody had put her toes on the line, leaned forward, and craned her 
neck so that she could see around to the front of the block....  
Unbelievable!  There were at least 50 swarthy, robed figures 
bidding on the beautiful young blonde.... 

"BE CAREFUL!" 

The old woman's shrill voice caused Melody to lose her balance.  
Time seemed to stop as she felt herself falling.... 

Over the line.... 

But, at the last possible instant, she instinctively reached out 
for the wall and pushed back, hard.  The lightning-fast manoeuvre 
saved her from falling into the exhibit. 

She landed heavily on her behind.   But at least she was on the 
correct side of the line. 

"What the hell are you yelling at?" Melody thundered as she rubbed 
her bottom.   

"I just wanted you to be careful, dear," the old woman said, 
sweetly.  "And I'd watch that tone of voice, missy.  Disrespectful 
young ladies in this establishment often have good reason to rub 
their sassy bottoms." 

The smiling old woman reached over and carefully adjusted the short 
whip in the auctioneer's hand.  

Remembering the old woman's rant about "turning her over her knee," 
Melody decided to take a different tack. 

"I did have a question," she asked, meekly.  "The sign says these 
figures are wax.  But I just saw you move one." 

The old woman smiled and casually walked down the steps of the 
auction block.  "Yes, all of our figures are wax," she said.  
"As to the technical details, I don't think you should worry 
your pretty little head about them." 

"Could I...touch one of the figures?" Melody asked, politely.  
"Please?" 

"No, I'm sorry, that isn't allowed.  As much as I would like to, 
the management insists that guests stay behind the line at all 
times...or suffer the consequences.  Personally, I'd never dream 
of crossing the line without my little magical booties."   

"After all, if you crossed the line you wouldn't really be a 
customer anymore, would you?  You'd be part of the exhibit.  And 
our management is very strict about those types of distinctions." 

"Who manages this place?" Melody asked. 

"I don't think that's a matter that concerns you, dear...at least, 
not at this time. 

"Of course, you COULD walk over and touch the figures, if you 
really wanted to," the old woman observed.  "There are no sensors 
and no security cameras.  There is nothing to stop you."   

Once again, she smiled sweetly.  "Except, of course, that you're a 
nice girl.  Nice girls don't break their word.  Nice girls don't 
take advantage of situations just because no one can see them.  
Nice girls respect the property of others. 

"You ARE a nice girl, aren't you, Melody?" 

Melody stared at the old woman dumbly.  How did she know her name? 

"You're a nice girl, not like the little sluts in this museum," 
the old woman said, her face hardening into a mask of bitterness.  
"Little sluts who steal women's husbands, wreck homes, destroy 
families.  Dirty scamps who suck their way to the top, digging 
their pointy heels into the backs of the more qualified.  Dirty 
sleazes who like to prance around half naked, wrapping men around 
their little fingers!"  

Melody immediately tugged down her t-shirt to cover the tiny fold 
of skin that was peeking out.  Melody wasn't a sleaze, but a little 
skin WAS the fashion… 

"No, you're a nice girl," the old woman said, her face once again 
transforming into the picture of grandmotherly sweetness.  "I can 
trust you to use your best judgment, to do the right thing." 

Melody followed the old woman out of the first gallery and into a 
central rotunda, unaware of the sad female eyes that seemed to 
follow her as she walked out of the room. 

She was surprised to see that the old woman had vanished.  Whatever 
her other qualities, the old biddy certainly was stealthy.  But, 
once again, the amazing architecture distracted Melody. 

The immense, three-story rotunda belonged in the Capitol building 
in Washington, or perhaps even in the Vatican.  Marble steps, 
sealed off by a velvet rope, led up to a beautiful second story 
balcony, and the room was flooded by daylight from the windows 
in the overhead dome. 

The ceiling was decorated with frescos, all of which depicted 
various scenes of female submission.  One scene showed a beautiful 
naked woman in a slave market, another a naked woman being examined 
by robed officials for a "witches mark," another a group of 
scantily-clad women in a chain gang.  

Melody was amazed by the craftsmanship.  But why would someone 
build such an elaborate monument to female subjugation? 

Despite her misgivings, she anxiously moved into the center of 
the room.  The room appeared to be a sort of lobby with doorways 
leading off to the rest of the museum.  To the left or right 
of each of the four doorways was a wax display depicting the 
wing's theme. 

Written around the top of the room were the words, "THE PILLARS OF 
OUR CIVILIZATION."  Melody smiled.  The designers of this room were 
nothing if not modest. 

Melody started at the doorway on her left at the first "Pillar."  
Above the doorway was the gilded golden word 

			EDUCATION 

The scene depicted about thirty women standing in what appeared to 
be a large concrete shower room.  The shower heads were connected 
to concrete poles, but there were no visible shower controls.  Soap 
dispensers with a foul-looking green soap and the pink-and-cream 
color of the naked women's skin tones provided the scene's only 
color.   

The shower room was institutional, unattractive, and crowded, and 
the clearly embarrassed women looked thoroughly miserable.  As 
Melody once again moved in closer and put her toes on the line, 
she noticed that the women were not alone.  Towards the back of 
the shower area was a windowed office.  And inside of the office 
were two men. 

Two men!  Two men were watching these women shower!   

Not only were the two men watching, they were also smiling.  
Indeed, of the fifty or so figures depicted in the massive 
scene, the men seemed to be the only ones who were smiling. 

The first man was older, with a white goatee that made him look 
like a lecherous Colonel Saunders.  The second man was much 
younger, in his early twenties perhaps.  Both men appeared to 
be in conversation. 

The younger man appeared to have something in his hands.  Melody 
once again had to balance herself on tiptoe and lean forward to 
see it. 

Why, oh why, were the most intriguing details always half-hidden 
from view?  

It was almost as if they wanted her to fall over the line. 

Melody leaned precariously forward and strained to see.  The young 
man had something in his hands.... 

She swallowed.  It was a cane.  But not the sort of cane that one 
could lean on.  This cane was thin, and slender, and whippy.  It 
wasn't the sort of cane that an old man could use. 

Melody corrected herself.  It was the sort of cane an old man COULD 
use...on a young girl's backside! 

No wonder the young women in the shower room looked so unhappy. 

Melody looked to the scroll at the side of the diorama for an 
explanation of the extraordinary scene. 

			EDUCATION 

	WOMEN IN THEIR TWENTIES WHO HAVE BEEN CONVICTED OF 
	JAYWALKING, LITTERING, AND ILLEGAL PARKING ARE 
	REFORMED AT A PRIVATE ACADEMY.  SCHOOL UNIFORMS 
	AND CORPORAL PUNISHMENT FORM THE FOUNDATION OF 
	THE HIGHLY DISCIPLINED BOARDING SCHOOL SETTING. 

Corporal punishment!  For jaywalking!   

Melody swallowed.  There could no longer be any doubt of what the 
cane was for.    

Her buttocks tensed as she recalled the old woman's stern warning 
about her behavior.  No doubt the old biddy would be pleased to 
see Melody in uniform, nervously standing outside the headmaster's 
office as she awaited her appointment with the cane. 

The image was a disquieting one, and Melody quickly decided to move 
to the next "pillar of our civilization": 

			JUSTICE 

This diorama was much smaller than the first, but in its own way 
the scene was no less detailed.  It depicted a roadside traffic 
stop. 

There were two cars in the scene, a Vermont police car and a 
beautiful yellow Corvette.  The Corvette was stopped a few yards 
down the road from a sign that said, "WELCOME TO DUFFYVILLE." 

Melody felt a small twinge of pride that the scene depicted was 
native to the USA.  But, local or not, once again she had to 
lean in closer to read the microscopic print on the bottom of 
the sign: 

		Speed Limit 25 MPH 

She could see that the number on the LCD of the radar gun resting 
on the hood of the squad car was 28.   

Three miles per hour?  This woman had been stopped on a well-paved, 
brightly lit, four-lane road because she was going 3 miles per hour 
over the limit? 

Of course, it was clear that the Officer had other motives.  The 
beautiful young woman appeared to be in her early twenties.  She 
was wearing a white t-shirt, sneakers, and blue jeans.     

Her hands were already cuffed behind her back, and the deputy's 
left hand was holding her slender neck against the hood of her 
fancy car.  Her jeans and panties were around her ankles, and the 
deputy's right hand was up between her legs. 

The look of distress on the young woman's face made it obvious 
exactly where the deputy's probing fingers were. 

Although the woman was horrified and humiliated, the grinning 
deputy was clearly enjoying his work enormously.    

Melody leaned in to read his name tag.  It said, "DUFFY." 

The woman was young, attractive, wealthy, and with her hands cuffed 
behind her back, totally helpless.  Melody smiled.  Deputy Duffy 
had hit the jackpot. 

Melody read the scroll to the right of the scene: 

	DEPUTY DUFFY PERFORMS A PRELIMINARY ROADSIDE SEARCH TO 
	COMPLEMENT THE MORE DETAILED EXAMS THAT WILL BE DONE AT 
	THE JAIL AND THEN FINALLY AT THE PRISON FARM.  DUFFY 
	NEEDS A FRESH TUBE OF LUBRICANT EACH DAY TO HANDLE THE 
	PARADE OF NOISY CAR STEREOS, UNDER-INFLATED TIRES, AND 
	IMPROPERLY POSITIONED SIDE MIRRORS THAT PASS INTO HIS 
	JURISDICTION. 

Melody smiled.  She would have to remember to keep the windows 
closed and the radio turned down if she ever drove into Vermont! 

She moved to the next door and the next pillar: 

			SECURITY 

The large diorama showed a group of women in front of a large, 
ivy-covered wall.  They were surrounded by grinning male soldiers 
holding machine guns.   

The women immediately in front of the wall were in various stages 
of undress.  They were clearly embarrassed by being made to strip 
in public, especially since the young, gun-toting soldiers were 
doing nothing to camouflage their delight. 

The women to their left were waiting in line to toss their clothes 
and purses into what appeared to be a large garbage dumpster.  
Beyond the dumpster, another group of soldiers was "helping" the 
now naked and penniless women into the back of a large military 
transport truck. 

The truck was crowded, and the naked women were pressed tightly 
together.  Judging from the number of women still on the ground, 
the women would be packed in like sardines by the time the entire 
load was ready for transport.

But transport to wear?  What on earth did uniformed soldiers 
stripping women have to do with security? 

Melody looked at the scroll for clues: 

	WHEN NEW TERRITORY IS SECURED, THE FEMALE INTELLIGENTSIA 
	MUST BE ROUNDED UP, STRIPPED, AND SENT TO RE-EDUCATION 
	CAMPS.  PRETTY FEMALE SCIENTISTS, WRITERS, AND ACADEMICS 
	ARE ALWAYS SHOCKED TO LEARN THAT THEY ARE THE SPOILS OF 
	WAR. 

Melody winced.  Of all the scenes this was the most brutal.  The 
soldiers were heavily armed.  One grinning buffoon was pouring a 
can of gasoline into the dumpster containing the woman's purses 
and clothes.  The meaning was clear.  The women's identities meant 
nothing.  Their country had been defeated, and they were booty. 

Melody moved onto the final Pillar of Civilization: 

			MEDICINE 

The scene depicted was small, almost intimate.  In it a blushing, 
butt-naked young woman attempted to shield her privates as she 
stood in front of a man in a white lab coat.  She was watching 
in horror as the grinning young doctor (or whatever he was!) 
lovingly adjusted the steel stirrups on the medical exam table 
into the proper position. 

Melody didn't even bother to read the scroll; the banner above the 
woman's head said it all.  "FREE FLU SHOTS TODAY!" 

Free indeed!  Apparently the "free" shot had cost the unfortunate 
young woman her clothes.  And judging from the position of the 
stirrups, it was about to cost her much more. 

Melody moved back into the center of the Rotunda as she struggled 
to decide on which of the four pillars of our civilization to 
explore first: 

EDUCATION 

JUSTICE 

SECURITY 

MEDICINE 

"It's a difficult decision, isn't it?" 

Melody whirled around to find the old woman was standing directly 
behind her.  

Where on earth did she come from? 

The old woman gave Melody a knowing smile.  "I always tell young 
women such as you that they should ask themselves a question before 
deciding which wing to explore first.  If they were going to 
experience one of these scenarios themselves, which one would 
they pick?"  

Melody stared thoughtfully into space as she pondered her decision. 

"That's right, dear," the old woman said, slyly.  "Don't hurry.  
This could be the most important decision of your life." 


THE END? 

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

ALTHOUGH IN THE PAST I HAVE ALWAYS COMPLETED MY STORIES BEFORE 
SENDING THEM IN, THE EXCRUCIATINGLY GLACIAL PACE OF THIS PARTICULAR 
TALE AND THE IMMOBILE HALLOWEEN DEADLINE FORCED ME TO PUBLISH 
BEFORE I PERISHED. 

TO DATE THIS IS ALL THAT I HAVE WRITTEN.  IF OTHER WRITERS WOULD 
LIKE TO TAKE MELODY INTO ANY OR ALL OF THE GALLERIES, THEY ARE 
WELCOME TO DO SO.  HOWEVER, I WOULD REQUEST THAT YOU DO NOT TAKE 
HER ACROSS "THE LINE."   

SHE CAN GO UP TO THE LINE.  SHE CAN LEAN OVER THE LINE.  SHE CAN 
EVEN JUMP OVER THE LINE -- PROVIDED THAT A SUDDEN GUST OF WIND 
BLOWS HER BACK.  BUT, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD HER FOOT 
TOUCH DOWN ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LINE.   

OF COURSE, I KNOW THAT YOU KNOW WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN WHEN SHE 
DOES CROSS THE LINE; SUBTLETY IS NOT THIS STORY'S HALLMARK.  BUT, 
FOR NOW AT LEAST, I'D LIKE TO AVOID ENDING MELODY'S SEEMINGLY 
ENDLESS ADVENTURE...PREMATURELY. 

UNTIL THEN...HAPPY HALLOWEEN!




Edited by C. Lakewood


