I developed this story from cc's "Beach Cop's Predicament" -- 
with his blessing.




                   MY RISE TO THE BOTTOM

                            by

                        C. Lakewood




    My name is Jeane Barry, and I was once a "bright young thing."  
But I'm in my mid-30s now and a lot less naive than I used to be.  
Ten years ago I never envisioned things unfolding for me the way 
they have.  I'd put together a fine record in school and got in 
on the dot-com boom in the spring of 1999, while it was still the 
place to be.  I was fresh out of grad school with a shiny new MBA, 
and life was good.  Sure, I had amassed humongous student loans, 
but money was rolling in, I had a little red MG, an up-scale condo, 
designer clothes, and plenty of generous males sniffing about.  
They were mostly guys I worked with and tended to come in two 
varieties -- marketing meat and computer geeks -- both of which 
were easy enough to handle if you knew how.  And I did. 
     
    Unfortunately, I guess I didn't really understand the weasels 
at the top, who ran the company...and who kept talking about 
"building market share" and about "making sacrifices to grow the 
company" -- right up to the time they took the money and ran.  

    From the spring of 2000 until the fall of 2002, I kept 
believing...then hoping...then praying that things would 
stabilize, and we'd return to the go-go good times.  But 
the dominoes just kept falling....  

    When the dust finally cleared, I had lost my money, my car, 
my house, most of my possessions, and all of my prospects.  I 
did finally land a job as a "security officer" (one step up from 
rent-a-cop) on a semi-private beach.  I'm supposed to make sure 
that only Approved Visitors swam there...and follow dress and 
conduct codes when they do.

    By virtue of my education, IQ, and administrative skills, I 
rose to a supervisory position (BFD!).  It was a dead-end, but at 
least I could impose some discipline on the shiftless scum that 
the owners hired to police their beach.  And I admit that I 
enjoyed cracking the whip over those louts, most of whom seemed 
capable of speaking only Ebonics or Spanglish.  And the most 
useless of them all were "The Bruthas": HOO-lio Cruz (a sort of 
latin Leo Gorcey) and Tee-Rex Jones (who was big, but a lot 
stupider than his name-sake). 
  
		******************************

    I was making the rounds one sizzling summer day, when I was 
astonished to see a large, noisy crowd of interlopers (most 
brandishing cameras) gathered near one end of the beach.  Hurrying 
over (and getting my shoes full of sand in the process), I found 
that the crowd was ogling a gaggle of naked bimbos prancing 
around...on MY beach!  I temporarily ignored the crowd and 
shouldered my way over to a scruffy, overweight, Guido-looking 
guy who seemed to be in charge.

    When I confronted him, he merely beckoned a toady, who produced 
written permission from the beach-owners to use the beach for a day 
to take a lot of location shots to be incorporated into several 
"movies" (read "porno flicks").

    Lesbian porno flicks at that...with naked, jiggling tits, 
sweaty skin, bubble butts, and plump, hairless cunts....  Oh, 
god!  I cast an eye over the scene.  (I intended it to be baleful 
and disapproving, but...well....) 

    Those gumbas had the audacity to smirk at my frustration...and 
then, amazingly self-absorbed, to ask me to disperse the crowd 
(which apparently was edging into the picture and messing up the 
sound as well).

    Fuck 'em!  I was not so infuriated that I didn't notice that 
the agreement with the beach-owners made the production company 
responsible for security during the filming.  So I just snorted 
that, unless they could show me some rider authorizing me to 
perform crowd control for them...I had better things to do.

    I left in a huge huff.  I was livid, and my mood was not 
improved by the realization that my response had been so 
totally lame. 

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

    By the time I'd completed my sweep and returned to the 
clapboard shack we called "the station," I had calmed down 
some, but not much.  I was still trembling with rage -- and 
dripping with sweat.  I decided that the best way to cool off 
(literally and figuratively) was to indulge in a private swim.

    Accordingly, I changed into my swimsuit, stowed my uniform 
in a locker, pinned the key to my shoulder-strap, and, taking a 
circuitous route, made my way to my favorite spot -- a secluded 
area surrounded on the landward side by a tangle of rocks.  It 
was a place where I could always be alone and at peace.

    On my private scrap of beach, I could think more clearly, and 
I gradually became aware that my agitation maybe wasn't all simple 
rage, but....  Well, all those girls cavorting around...naked...in 
public...so shamelessly...doing all sorts of lesbian stuff....  

    Of course, I considered myself 110% straight, but the memory 
was beginning to turn me on.  I've got a nice body, I think -- 
maybe an inch taller than average and a couple of pounds lighter 
and very well toned.  But I've always been rather shy about showing 
it off.  And just the thought of having to be out there naked -- 
omigod! completely naked -- in front of strangers like those 
"actresses"...and having to do what they were doing....  I blushed 
hotly and squirmed on the sand.

    I looked about me.  It was private, but not private enough.  
I took off my swimsuit and put it aside.  Then I swam out to 
neck-deep water.  The water was cool and pleasant, but I needed 
a different kind of relief...and so I began "touching" myself.

    I don't know how long I was there, fingering my...my "hot 
cunt" as I supposed they'd say in a porno movie, but it must 
have been some time.  Doing it in public was turning me on 
and putting me off, and it was a little awkward having to 
divide my attention between my masturbatory fantasies and the 
need to keep from drifting too far out.  Besides, it was sort 
of fun to prolong the tease....   

    So I still hadn't cum yet when approaching crowd noise 
interrupted me.  What the f-?  I swam back to shore...and 
discovered that MY FUCKING SWIMSUIT IS GONE!

    AND THE CROWD NOISE IS GETTING CLOSER!

    I cautiously peeked around the edge of a big rock...and gaped 
at the sight of the crowd being herded in my direction and away 
from the film company...by a uniformed policewoman....

    A woman in MY uniform!

    I hunkered down, angry but still horny.  Then it dawned on 
me that I couldn't remain crouching there much longer, lest I 
be over-run by the gawkers, so I scrambled to my feet, sprinted 
back to the water, and began swimming toward the far end of the 
beach.  It was more open there, but I really didn't have much 
choice.  I figured that the "Bruthas" would be off somewhere 
smoking something weird, and, if I were lucky, I could slip out 
of the water, circle around, and get to the station un-noticed.  
There, I could wrap myself in a curtain or something.  

    Of course, I wasn't lucky.   The girl who'd stolen my uniform 
intercepted me in "no man's land," too far along to retreat to the 
water.

    Initially, I tried bluster.  "That's MY uniform!  Hand it over, 
right now, or you're in so much trouble."

    She just smirked at that.  "I heard you say that we're 
responsible for our own security.  But I also saw how you 
looked at all us naked girls...heh, heh.  So I kept my eye 
on you.  And then I 'found' this uniform and volunteered to 
control the crowd -- for a nice bonus, of course.  And here 
I am.  But, you know, since I'm doing YOUR job, it's only 
right that you do MINE.  And you're dressed for it."

    "The hell with that!  I'm no cheap bimbo...."

    She shrugged and held up my brass whistle.  "How 'bout if I 
blow this, huh?  People'll come running from all over...and what 
are you gonna tell 'em?" 

    "No, no!  Wait!"

    "Okay.  So now you listen to me...and stop with the hypocrisy.  
I saw you practically drooling over the girls.  Well, you're gonna 
get to know a lot of 'em...'up close and personal.'  Come on!"

    She seized my left ear and started pulling me along, back down 
the beach toward the cameras.  

    "Please!  This isn't right!  I-I just can't let anyone see me 
like this!  If I'm recognized, I'll lose my job!  The other cops 
hate me...."      

    "Shit!  Is that all?  Well, we can fix that....  But only if 
you do EXACTLY what I tell you."  

    As crappy as this job could be, I just couldn't lose it.  And, 
even if I weren't fired, Julio and Tee-Rex would make this place a 
living hell for me if they found me like this.  I felt weird, too, 
dazed, sort of feverish....  I was never at my best in a crisis, 
where I had to improvise....  

    I surrendered.  "ANYTHING!"

    "Then let's get to it," she said. 

    She hustled me over to a table where several girls were getting 
their makeup re-touched and handed me over to a burly faggot.  
"Shave her," she told him, and he took a noisy, vibrating electric 
clipper to my crotch while she had a hushed conversation with a 
skinny goth girl off to one side.  After the clipper had removed 
most of my pubic hair, the fairy lathered me up and used a straight 
razor on me.  Though I'm ashamed to admit it, the whole process WAS 
a turn-on.  (Was I a pervert?  Or was I being corrupted by these 
porno people?)

    By the time he'd made my crotch totally hairless, the goth girl 
(in rubber apron and gloves) had gone to work on my head.  She 
cropped my trademark red hair and doused it with some chemical that 
turned it black and caused it to frizz wildly.  After re-shaping 
my eyebrows, she began massaging me with some kind of aromatic, 
soothing oil.  Grinning, she rubbed it well in and soon had me weak 
and stinking wet with arousal, my nipples stiff, my cunt-lips 
swollen, and my clit throbbing....  Oh, god!  But, the thing was, 
when I finally got to peek into a mirror, I discovered that she'd 
made my pink skin darker, and, all in all, I looked like some damn 
Mexican bitch!   

    The girl in my uniform -- the goth girl called her "Sharon" -- 
sauntered back over then.  "Nobody's gonna recognize you now, for 
sure," she said.  She nodded and, with a sharp slap to my naked 
bottom, herded me over to the other naked bimbos.

    My first "acting" job was to crouch down and eat out a 
number of hot young women -- younger than me -- as they 
loafed around in canvas beach chairs.  Their cunts were 
dripping...and I guess I did okay...but I didn't really get 
off on it -- I swear.  (Though I couldn't help cumming from 
the sheer humiliation of it all, especially when a girl I was 
servicing stuck her leg between mine and made me hump it like 
a dog.)  The position did let me keep my face hidden deep within 
a succession of young, demanding cunts and away from the eye of 
the camera.

    It was disgusting...but what choice did I have?

    At one point, I was lapping away when I heard familiar voices.  
Julio and Tee-Rex were talking with Sharon, the girl in my uniform, 
and she was saying, "Who knows?  She just said she had 'better 
things to do' and let me use her uniform so I could handle the 
crowd easier...." 

    The Bruthas promised to keep an eye on things.  Just then, the 
girl I was eating clamped her thighs hard around my head, and I 
lost the rest of the conversation.

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

    I spent the rest of the day desperately keeping my face buried 
in crotches or between butt-cheeks...or butt-fucking myself with 
a big, black, warty dildo...or getting soundly spanked while I 
wiggled my bottom lasciviously, as if asking for more....  But I 
was willing to do just about anything in order to keep my face 
from being caught on film.

    Late in the day the light began to fade, and they wrapped.  
The crew started pack up, and the girls dressed, signed out, and 
drifted away.  I was wondering if I could dash for the water and 
escape at last, when Sharon appeared at my side.  

    "M-my clothes?" I murmured.

    "Not yet.  And stop whining; I told you I'd take care of you.  
I've even fixed you up for tonight."  She fastened my hands behind 
me -- with MY OWN GODDAMN HANDCUFFS -- and pointed out a busty, 
worried-looking blonde some yards away, who was the only other 
person on the beach still naked.  "She's shit-out-of-luck, too.  
A real airhead.  Lost her clothes playing strip Three Card Monte.  
Tsk, tsk.  Her name's 'Brandy.'  You two'll be double-dating 
tonight.  Oh, look -- there's your dates now!"   

    (Jesus H. Christ!  Julio and Tee-Rex...in civvies.)

    "But-but-but...."

    "Oh, get a grip.  You look way different, and, anyway, you'll 
be with the big black dude, who's much too dim-witted to recognize 
you.  The other one seems a tad smarter, but he's gonna be pretty 
well preoccupied with Brandy.  Still, I don't imagine you're fluent 
in Spanish, so you'll be 'Dancing Fox,' an Algonquin.  Don't talk 
much, and, when you do talk, keep your voice submissive.  Drape 
yourself on Tee-Rex.  Be...accommodating.  You'll get along fine, 
IF you do what you're told.  The boys'll drop off you and Brandy 
back here before dawn.  Hide out in those rocks, and I'll find 
you."

    (God!  I don't deserve this!)  "Please.  These cuffs...?"

    "They're part of the image.  But Tee-Rex has a key.  Be nice to 
him, and he'll take 'em off...sooner or later...prob'ly.  C'mon, 
Foxy, time to meet your date."  She laughed and slapped me on my 
sore butt.  "Lick your lips, wiggle, look like you're hot for dark 
meat...."

    I did as I was told...as the remnant of the gawkers drew 
closer, cameras flashing.