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"Not true, Milton. You do have one thing that I'd prize greatly.... Your loyalty."

  "Is there something you want me to sign? Or, do I have to cut my hand over a candle in some kind of ritual, or pledge my fidelity publicly?" asked Boss.

  "No, nothing like that. Loyalty has to be earned, and I intend to put in the necessary time and work to nurture its development. The only thing you need to do is keep an open mind. Don't let my crassness keep you from reaching your full potential as the newest inductee in the New World Order...."

  "Are you asking me to join?"

  "No, I'm telling you. You are joining the Order. There's no real choice in the matter. Unless, you want to be just another one of the herd, who gets slaughtered or enslaved in the upcoming apocalypse."

  The Duke of Winterfield became very sullen and seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else as he said, "The time is drawing near when we'll unleash the manmade disaster that will decimate the world's population from billions back down to practically zero. The delivery system hasn't been finalized yet, but in all likelihood, we'll release an untreatable pathogen after immunizing the membership and our handpicked slaves. The useless eaters' demise will be both terrifying and agonizing.

  We should have already unleashed hell upon the masses, but something is holding us back. Even I am not completely sure why we haven't pulled the trigger already. But I do know that the time is drawing near. There's a feeling of inevitability in the air. Soon, we'll rise up as gods in a newly cleansed world...."

  The Duke came back to his senses and focused on Boss. "You are now one of us. You are one of my pod."

  "Pod?"

  "Right, you don't know any of this. I'm a prime member of the New World Order. As a prime, I'm responsible for members on the level below me. You are one of my pod members, along with over a hundred others.

  If there were time, I believe that you or one of your family members would rise to prime level and develop your own pod. Alas, there is not enough time left to be promoted to a higher level. But, at least, you won't die a painful death with blood gushing from your eyeballs or become a slave in chains. That's something to rejoice about, I suppose."

  "May I ask how many prime members there are and is there a level above prime?" asked Boss.

  "Ha," laughed the Duke. "See? That's why I wanted you for my pod. You have drive and ambition. And, no, you may not ask that.

  Members of the New World Order are, in general, a bunch of over-privileged motherfuckers. Most are only allowed membership because of an act of valor preformed by one of their ancestors to advance the Order. If I had my way, I'd wipe out half the bastards as a warning to the other half. They've become cowardly and lazy. And I'm beginning to hate them, as a whole.

  It's lucky for you, though. The New World Order hasn’t admitted a new member from the business community in over seventy years. You and your family of genius sociopaths are going to put the fear of Lucifer into the other pod members....

  How can we start a New World when our members are acting like the Euro trash of the old world? Some of the male members of my pod are yachting around the world, sleeping with anything that breathes. Not one of my pod members has done anything to improve their minds in years.... But all that's going to change when they get a load of you."

  "Thank, you, Duke Winterfield."

  "You don't even know the best part, Milton. We're putting your family in as individual members. If you, personally, were going in as a pod member then your immediate family would be saved by extension, under your membership. But subsequent generations would have to fight for your spot.

  Lets say this stink hole world lasts another twenty years. It's not going to, but lets say that it does. Emerald would fill your membership position if you were to die, leaving Diamond and Ruby's spouses and children to fend for themselves. As a pod member, Emerald could spare them an agonizing death or slavery by having them shot in the head.... Gruesome stuff, huh?"

  "Very gruesome," agreed Boss.

  "By granting individual pod membership to each member of your immediate family, you have two generation's worth of protection. Other pod members would literally kill for that."

  "Good to know that I'll be the most popular girl at the prom," Boss said under his breath.

  "Ha ha," laughed the Duke, who had heard every word. "Just the opposite of that. But there'll be plenty of time to sort things out when you attend our mandatory meeting a few months from now at my castle on the outskirts of Shropshire."

  The Duke of Winterfield looked at the tacky neon signs, which permeated the club and realized the strippers were all hiding in their shared dressing room. "You just can't hire honest girls to take their clothes off, anymore. They all dream of being big stars, but none of them want to put in the necessary work.

  What is it with American strip clubs, Milton? Do you Americans like being teased without completion? What is the point, man? If you want to throw away piles of money without having any sex, then just get married."

  "I am married," said Boss.

  "I know you are. And I also know your 'lovely' wife doesn't have an ass.... Lets go up to the main stage," said the Duke as he grabbed a new crystal glass filled with ages-old wine, replacing the one he had impulsively thrown to the floor.

  Boss followed in the Duke's footsteps. Inside he was dreading what was coming next. The Duke had no respect for anyone, especially women. But whatever may come his way; Boss knew the best course of action was to parrot the Duke's actions.

  The old man, sprightly for his age, jumped up on the main stage without breaking stride. For Boss the act was physically impossible without a running start, and even then?

  With a yell that reverberated throughout the club, the Duke screamed, "Get your overfed, junkie assess out here, right now!"

  Within five seconds, the trembling strippers began shuffling their feet stuffed into towering high heels through the main stage's, back curtain. They formed a line of sadness that stretched the full length of the main stage.

  "Face the mirror and start shaking your moneymakers!" yelled the Duke. "And cut that damn caterwauling you call music up a notch or two." The music was turned up exactly two notches making it a little louder, and the girls started wigging their butts to the beat of the latest pop song burning up the charts.

  "The trick with picking out a great bum for a lap dance is to weed out the weakest butts until you're left with the best butt," said the Duke as he marched along the stage. "Girls, if I slap you on your ass in the next minute or two, then you may retire to the dressing room... for now."

  Making sure he spoke loud enough for Boss to hear his every word, the Duke said, "On precursory inspection, you can see that we can rule out many of these women from the start."

  Any lady with a small, dimpled, or cellulite-ridden butt was swiped on the rear end. Each spank bore the full strength of the old man.

  After each girl was swatted, she would either cry or scream, rubbing her butt all the way back to the dressing room. Boss was thinking that it was totally unnecessary to abuse the women for no reason, but then the Duke answered his question without him asking.

  "We wouldn't want the losers to think they got away with something. I want them on their best behavior later if we want some oral gratification."

  "Oh, great," thought Boss as he watched the Duke systematically swatting hineys. "All these years of being faithful to Esmerelda, and I'm going to cheat because of crazy, old fool." Regardless of what society said was and wasn't sex, oral sex was still cheating according to Boss's conscious.

  The thought of having to explain to his wife, exactly how he contacted an STD, entered his mind. His mind racing for a solution figured that a strip club probably had a condom machine in the men's restroom by the sink. It helped perpetuate the fantasy in customers' minds that having sex with the dancers was a real possibility. It wasn't.

  And even if the condom machine had a prophylactic to dispense, there was no guarantee that he still wouldn't catch something.
Condoms broke. Add human teeth into the equation, and they're even more likely to break. Say the condom stayed intact. These lovely ladies selling the illusion of sex probably had more viruses coursing through their bloodstreams than the CDC had in cold storage. The Human Papillomavirus (HPV), among others, was small enough to escape through the microscopic tares in an intact latex condom.

  "What a fun conversation that'll be," thought Boss sarcastically. "Esmerelda, I'm sorry about you having to get your uterus removed. That blowjob from the stripper... my bad."

  Drawing Boss away from his own thoughts, the Duke said loudly, "Are you paying attention, Milton?"

  "Ah... yes, sir," lied Boss poorly.

  "Then what did I just say?"

  "Ah, something... about... butts?"

  "Pay attention. As I was saying, a perfectly shaped rump can look deceivingly appealing but feel appallingly squishy. The trick is to really grab a couple of big ol’ handfuls of booty and give 'em a squeeze."

  The girl being accosted by the Duke squealed at the man's pawing. "See? This ass is shapely but feels like melting ice cream." With a swat across her backside, she was gone.

  "The other problem you come across from time to time is a perfectly shaped booty that's harder than a diamond. This bird is obviously a workout junkie. Women should not have six-pack abs."

  The Duke felt the lady's hard hiney and said, "This is going to hurt me more than you." He spanked the girl so hard that she lifted slightly off of the ground. The impact sounded like a gun was being fired in the room. Bouncing up and down from her stinging bottom, the girl exited the stage. Bouncing up and down from his stinging hand the Duke cursed, "Shit, fuck!"

  After personally feeling every bottom on the stage, the Duke had only three strippers remaining. The women were still shaking their bottoms back and forth to the beats coming out of the sound system. "Come up on stage, Milton. I want you to feel these rumps."

  Boss walked over to the steps at the rear of the stage and began his trek to the booty kingdom. He really didn't want to be there at that moment in space and time, but what choice did he have? Boss stood beside the old man within reaching distance of the closest dancer.

  Boss had just stretched out his arm and was about to feel the closest rear end when the Duke stopped him. "Whoa there, Captain Boner," joked the Duke of Winterfield. "Nah, I'm just screwing with you, grab away."

  Reluctantly, Boss felt the first lady's backside, and he had to admit to himself that it did indeed feel great. The next one felt equally nice, and the third one was a whole lot of woman. As he gently felt the massive buttocks of the last woman, he wondered why she was left onstage with the two other hotter women.

  "Well, which one do you want?" asked the Duke.

  "I would say... one of these two," said Boss as he pointed at the first two women.

  "Why not the big woman on the end?"

  "Her behind is bigger than my entire lower body," exclaimed Boss.

  "Ha ha," laughed the Duke. "Are you saying you're not man enough for her?"

  "OK," replied Boss, hoping the Duke wouldn't make him prove his manliness on that particular lady.

  "Yes, that is a lot of ass for an amateur to handle. I'll tell you what, I'll take a crack at this awesome crack," said the Duke as he pulled the extremely well endowed stripper hard against his groin.

  "And you take... her." said the Duke, pulling the first girl in line by her arm, closer to Boss. "Do me a favor and give the loser a firm spank, goodbye," ordered the Duke as he wrapped his arms around both of the chosen ladies.

  Knowing it was futile to resist the old man's demands, Boss gave the rejected stripper a firm slap on her backside. She was about to begin the journey back her sister strippers behind the curtain when the Duke yelled, "Stop!"

  "What?" asked Boss. "I gave her a solid swat, just like you said to."

  "Awe, come now, Milton. You know how I almost broke my hand on that firm stripper's ass. If you don't spank that girl's ass, just like I did the last one. Then I'll pull your pants down and make everyone of the girls backstage give you a spanking that would make a masochist cry."

  There was no levity in the Duke's voice, and Boss knew that he was not a man to be toyed with. So, Boss whispered, "I'm sorry" to the shaking girl before him. He brought his arm back as far as his shoulder would allow and swung at her butt with all his might. The impact seemed to be on par with the Duke's earlier spank, as it lifted the poor girl out of her gaudy, high heels.

  The stripper screamed as if she'd been branded by a red-hot iron and ran barefoot backstage. Boss looked at his hand that had temporarily lost all its sensation. But as the blood flow returned, it felt as if he might have broken something inside of it.

  "That's my lad!" shouted the Duke. He then screamed a rebel yell, and said, "Let's get some ass grinding, hell yeah!"

  Chapter 19

  They retired to a curtained off portion of the club, called the Champagne Room. Within it was huge, overstuffed, fabric couches. The Duke sat on a couch in the middle of the room with his chosen victim and instructed Boss to take his girl to the couch opposite him. It was, as if, the Duke wanted to enjoy watching Boss get a lap dance, more than he wanted to get one himself.

  By instinct each lady sat on her customer's lap and began rubbing her ass back and forth against her guy's crotch. Boss was not used to the sensation of an ass with meat on it. The stripper's booty seemed to devour his love puppet. And despite his moral outrage at the whole situation, Boss was enjoying himself. He closed his eyes and savored the moment.

  "What are you doing?" asked the Duke.

  "Getting a lap dance. Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing?" asked Boss as the girl on top of him stopped moving.

  "You're doing it all wrong. Watch me," commanded the Duke. The old man grabbed one of his victim's breasts in one hand and with his other explored her most private of regions. All the while, he was thrusting at her backside like a dog in mid coitus.

  "This is how to do it," yelled the Duke. "Wooo! Tonight we're in South America, USA. They do it down there like this for a hundred dollar bill. The women in Brazil know how to treat a man, not tease him like American strippers. Fuck yeah!"

  Boss reached around the stripper on his lap and started to grab her breasts when she jumped up and said, "Oh, hell no! You ain't touching me like that. You can kiss my ass!"

  "Is there a problem?" asked the Duke who'd temporarily stopped assaulting the lady on his lap.

  "No, sir, Duke Winterfield," said Boss. "I can handle it."

  "See that you do," responded the Duke, who was watching closely what course of action, Boss would take.

  "Sit your ass back down on my lap," Boss ordered the girl, under his breath.

  "I ain't doin' shit!" screamed the dancer standing with her arms crossed.

  "Sit back down so we can talk... please," Boss said through clenched teeth.

  "Well, OK, but no kinky shit like the old bastard's doin'," said the stripper as she settled back down on Boss's lap.

  "Look, what’s your name?" asked Boss.

  "My real name's Destiny, but my stripper name is Cinnamon."

  "OK, Destiny, do you know who that old guy over there is?"

  "I don't give a shit if he's the fuckin' king of France. You ain't touching my biscuit."

  "That man is the Duke of Winterfield. He has at least ten armed men surrounding us. If he says the word, they'll come in here and skin you alive and then force you to do what your friend over there is doing, before you die."

  "Shit, what the hell is wrong with you, sayin' somethin' like that? You fucked in the head?"

  "No, I'm dead serious. The Duke might be a little off his rocker, and he looks at you like a piece of rotten meat.... Please, just go along with me on this, and I'll try to be as gentle as I can."

  "My baby daddy gonna kill both you motherfuckers. He gonna make you wish you never borned."

  "Fine, if that's the way it's gotta be, then so be it. But unless you want t
o die tonight, then I suggest you get with the program and quit acting like such a spoiled bitch."

  Destiny starting grinding her ass into Boss's groin, and he began exploring all parts of her body with his hands. "You're in big trouble, nerd," Destiny whispered to Boss.

  "Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

  Destiny started thrusting her hinny downwards and backwards, faster and with more power behind it. Boss was getting over stimulated, and the inevitable was about to occur.

  "Will you slow down?" asked Boss as he tried to control his breathing.

  "Why should I do that, nerd? The faster you blow; the faster I can get away from your ass."

  "True," said Boss taking in a deep breath. "But if I blow, you might have to finish off the Duke. (slow exhale) Do you want to take your friend's place over here?"

  Destiny had been so focused on the job at hand that she hadn't been paying any attention to her coworker. Destiny looked over at the couch across from her and saw that the old man was shaking the big stripper like an overstuffed rag doll. The large lady was covered in her own tears and snot.

  "You know what, honey?... We're gonna slow things down."

  "Brilliant," replied Boss between focused breaths. "I wish I'd have thought of that."

  Thirty minutes later, after an inhumanly energetic exhibition, the Duke shoved the large, sobbing, mentally broken stripper off of his lap. Destiny saw that the old man was finished and said, "OK, honey, lets do this thang!"

  Putting her booty into overdrive, Destiny had Boss seeing stars within a minute. Then she got up and helped her broken, sister stripper back to the dressing room.

  Boss stood up too fast and had to sit back down for the blood to return to his big head. While sitting there, Boss checked on his hand and no bones seemed to be broken. He also checked to make sure his testicles were still outside of his body, and then he made an embarrassing discovery. His light gray slacks looked as if he'd urinated in them.

  The Duke was standing nearby, having a chat with his private secretary, when he saw Boss's predicament. "Ha," laughed the Duke. "Don't you know better than to wear light colored slacks to a strip club?"