"The Rock Of Shame."

“Come on! At least give me my clothes back!”

“Heh, heh, heh. No.”

Ki stands in the parking lot outside the Peach Pit, looking incredibly annoyed. The morning sun shines down on her nude sweaty body, making her hips and breasts gleam. Cars honk as they drive by.

She wears an iron collar, iron shackles at her wrists and ankles, and a sort of harness of black leather straps wrapped around her torso. Long chains attach each of these to a large chunk of granite that sits on the asphalt behind her. The words ROCK OF SHAME have been spray-painted on the granite’s side.

“See, the way Homer did it in The Simpsons wouldn’t work in real life,” says Roxy, smoking a cigarette. It’s been a long morning for Ki in the Peach Pit, cleaning and polishing every surface until it shone while Roxy filmed her and uploaded the footage to the bar’s instagram account. Three or four regulars, including a dirty blonde biker called Gretchen and a tough-looking tattooed Latina who goes by The Viper, are hanging out with her. “Not a good idea to attach that much weight to someone’s neck.”

“You’re really getting kink ideas from The Simpsons now?”

“Why not? Anyway, Gretchen and I rigged up this cool harness thing. Way more anchor points. You’re the first girl to test it out.”

“Heh, heh, heh,” says Gretchen, holding a video camera. Ki shivers. She takes an experimental step forward. It’s hard going, but she’s able to drag the rock along, although not very fast.

“Won’t I get arrested?” she says.

“The law doesn’t tangle with the Peach Pit any more. Not after what happened to Sheriff Brown and Deputy Ruiz. Anyway, the college kids are always pranking each other. The townies are used to it.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to go?”

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. I left the key to your shackles in the fountain in Waxford Square, I think. Or was it under the Pynchplum Oak on campus? Or, hmm, maybe it’s up on Makeout Hill? Or the Epsilon Nu Phi sorority house? I’m sure you’ll find it.”

“Aargh!” Ki yanks at her shackles, trying to get her hands positioned in front of her generous curves. The chains that bind her aren’t long enough. Gretchen sniggers as the furious punk girl takes a hesitant step forward, dragging the Rock of Shame across the asphalt with a grinding, clanking sound. The road is open before her, the first step in what’s bound to be a very long journey home.