a tough interview

  With only slightly jerky steps Tami approached the Dean’s office.  She was being rubbed and stimulated in every possible secret place, but she thought she would probably be able to contain the inner fire for the time being.  She knew her face to be a little flushed and her breathing a little ragged, but it wasn’t like the Dean would be making her run in place or anything like that.  She could stand perfectly still during this meeting, whatever it was about.

       Still, she felt very uneasy as she walked in to Gwendolyn King’s reception area, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible, a teenage girl in a ridiculously tiny bikini, the strange protruding cuplets covering her nipples and nothing else, standing in front of this elegantly dressed, haughty secretary.  Feeling the plush carpet beneath her made Tami aware also of the bareness of her feet, and how insolent she was walking into these well-appointed surroundings barefoot in such skimpy clothing.

       “Ah yes, Miss Smithers,” Ms. King said, with the air of having expected her.  She made “Smithers” sound like an alias.  Tami wondered, Does this lady know about what’s inside this outfit? .  .  .  “The Dean will meet you in the Conference Room,” Ms. King said.  “Third door to the left, dear.”

       Something was up.  Why wasn’t she meeting the Dean in his office?  Tami walked down the hall with a feeling of deja vu.  Then as she approached the conference room she suddenly remembered this place.  This was where that scholarship interview was, last summer.  It seemed like a hundred years ago. As she approached the open doorway she saw the eerily familiar sight -- a medium sized room, polished wood floor, cushioned chairs around the sides, and a long table behind which sat eight people -- the same exact people who had been there last July, plus one extra (very unwelcome) one.

       On that day last July Tami, accompanied by her father, had walked in crisply but nervously, feeling the sweat in her sensible white bra, her white linen shirt, her red dressy pants, the clicking of her shiny pumps echoing loudly on the wood floor.  Today Tami, alone, padded into the room silently on toughened bare feet, covered only by her skimpy bikini, bristles and knobs and dildos rubbing her secretly in every sensitive place as she walked to front and center, secretly and sadly and crushingly aware of her reduced circumstances, her far different appearance now.  There was no chair this time.  Tami stood as if at attention and waited for the Dean, sitting in the middle, to speak.

       “Good afternoon, Miss Smithers, I hope you don’t mind the unscheduled surroundings,” the Dean said.  Tami struggled to hold down the arousal and her shame at standing like this in front of these elegantly dressed personages.  She looked down at her skimpy outfit and her feet.  At least this bikini could have been a brighter color, nicer material.  And I could at least have worn some clear toenail polish .  .  .  She knew these were ridiculous thoughts, but she couldn’t help thinking them, worried about her appearance like the normal teenage girl she still was deep down.

       Tami looked up and, shaking herself free of these musings, noticed nevertheless that the Dean seemed a little ill at ease.  Running his words over in her mind, she realized it was quite unlike the vaguely threatening tone she had heard on the telephone.

       “This meeting was, uh, unfortunately and unavoidably called in a hurry. For that I apologize.  You might recognize and remember the people from your scholarship interview, which was held” -- the Dean nervously put on his glasses to read something in front of him, jabbing himself in the eyebrow as he did so -- “on, uh, July 17, 2000”.  He took off his glasses again and introduced the others.  “Starting from your left, here is Mrs. Millicent Lowell, whom you have met since” -- Tami recognized the old lady who had visited her while she was sweaty and smelly, trudging on the treadmills -- “and Mr. George Comstock” -- a little reptilian man in a three-piece suit, creepily smiling at her with what looked like little sharp teeth -- “Mr. Anthony Noyes” -- she remembered this big bear of a man all right, another in the three-piece suit crowd, giving her a skeptical but oddly respectful nod -- “and the college corporation counsel, Mr. Henry Ross, who of course is not on the committee but is here to observe.” And leer.  Tami could barely stand to look at Ross, creep of creeps, and elected to give him a cool, distant look.

       “To your right, starting at the end, we have Brian Ratigan, from the Foundation Committee” -- a middle-aged man with a red face and bad toupee, someone Tami thought she recognized from somewhere, leering at her as if she was the first attractive young woman in a bikini he had ever seen -- “and the Reverend Stipend” -- God, how Tami hated remembering the glare of hellfire condemnation this fundamentalist had given her, looking at her naked and sweating on the treadmill!  -- “and sitting next to me, our professor emeritus, Jan Latimer” -- a kindly little old man, artistic looking with a beret, whom she had dealt with since, though not in a way she liked to remember.  Nice though he was, she had been mortally embarrassed to pose for his sculpture out on the campus quad, stretched out over everyone, Jen and her other friends looking up right into her private parts.  Now, finally, thankfully, those parts were covered, though at what a price!

       Tami blinked away this catalog of shame and through the veil of unwanted stimulation focused back on the Dean and his strange nervousness.  “The members of the committee have some questions for you, Miss Smithers,” he continued.  “I apologize again for surprising you like this, but these people are, uh, curious about .  .  .  well, I’ll let them ask the questions.  Let me assure you, Miss Smithers, that your scholarship is not in question.  You are not being tested.  Nothing that you can say here can jeopardize what you have rightly, uh, earned.”

       Tami felt slightly reassured, but only slightly.  What exactly was going on here?  She licked her lips as she looked at the elegant clothing these people were wearing.  Such fine shoes, suits, dresses .  .  .  15 days was too long to wait.  She wanted clothing now, right now, this minute .  .  .

       Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

       Oh Christ!  Tami couldn’t believe it.  No, please God, not now!  not here!!  She gasped and lurched forward a little, her eyes staring down, opened wide.  Then she recovered somewhat and looked up toward the ceiling as her innards vibrated with the silent buzzing.  Please God, not now, please -- ohhh --

       “Miss Smithers,” Mr. Noyes began, “is it true that you have totally given up wearing clothes for the rest of your life?”

       “Y - yes,” Tami answered, suppressing a quiver in her legs.  Her toes scrunched nervously against the wood floor.  She cleared her throat, trying to keep a steady gaze on the big man.  With a shock of recognition and deep hatred she saw out of the corner of her eye that Ross had his hand inside his jacket.  She knew he was looking right at her, as if to emphasize that he was turning the knob on a hidden remote control.

       “Well what plans have you for the summer then?  Are you going to find a job somewhere .  .  .  being naked?” Noyes asked forcefully.  He made it sound like Tami was going to find work as a stripper.  Ugh!  But more importantly, Tami sensed a red flag.  Putting aside her hatred of Ross and her increasing arousal for a moment, she realized she couldn’t give any clue that might lead them to Ned and Ethel and her accounting job.  Never mind what the Dean had said.  She was walking her bare feet through a minefield right now and had to not betray anything.  Even while being driven to orgasm!

       “I’d like for you all to note that the Career Development Center has no record of Miss Smithers using the summer job board,” the Dean said.  In her quivering mind Tami felt a little breath of relief.  The Dean had checked up on her everywhere, including the job board -- and he didn’t know about her job!  So far so good.

       Fighting the rising tide of arousal, Tami thought quickly and said what she had been telling friends.  “I d - don’t know yet about this s - summer. P - probab - b - bly” (that word was so hard to pronounce now!) “w - with my Dad at his store.” She added, “L - like last summerrr.” Sensing they might call her father to check this out, she concluded, “H - he doesn’t know yet.  “ She tried a weak smile, though her mouth muscles refused to fully cooperate.

       Thankfully, her answer seemed to satisfy Noyes.  Mr. Ratigan, in a loud voice, asked, “Miss Smithers, I trust you’ve been benefiting from the education afforded to you here.  I see you have certain .  .  .  distractions.”

       Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

       “Y - yes, very much.  I mean .  .  .  I’ve benefited very much.  .  .  From the education .  .  .  Ohhh! .  .  “ Tami was sorry she let the moan out, but by now she was simply incapable of holding it in.  She felt her face getting hot.  She gritted her teeth.  Crisis time was approaching.  She was trying to resign herself to the fact that she would be having an orgasm right in front of these people, right in front of her scholarship committee, but the idea was just too horrifying.  Yet it was approaching . . .  She had to make it look like she didn’t mind this at all, that she had no feelings of modesty whatsoever .  .  .  only 15 more days .  .  .

       Then Mr. Comstock, in his slithery way, pushed Tami right into the topic she least wanted to talk about.

       “Miss Smithers,” he said, practically hissing the S’s, “I notice that you have consented to a slight, uh, modification of your religion for the sake of science.  I understand that this device you are wearing is designed, to, uh, stimulate your, uh, responses.”

       Bzzz --- zzzz --- zzzz -- The nearly naked, suffering girl was in a thick trance of arousal and, though the man’s words bounced around in a recess of her mind, she did not really understand them.

       “Miss Smithers?” Comstock said, as if unaware of what the girl was experiencing.  “Is this true?”

       Tami gulped and looked up, then down again.  She just couldn’t look this creep in the eye!  “Y - y - yesss,” she said, the word ending in a ragged exhale.  She was intensely aware that these people must know exactly what was happening.  The vibrating was silent, but the effect on her was certainly visible.

       Suddenly her whole body jerked with a thrill of pleasure.  “Ohhh .  .  . “ Tami said, moaning as she exhaled.  She didn’t want the moan to escape but it was too late.

       Speaking in a slightly louder voice, recognizing that it was necessary to do so, Comstock said, “Can you describe what it is about this, uh, outfit that stimulates you?  Be specific and itemize, please.”

       Tami felt the wave about to crest, and with a grunt held it down.  “Uh! W - what?”

       “Please describe the features of your outfit, Miss Smithers,” Comstock said.  Though Tami could not notice it, Mrs. Lowell and Mr. Latimer seemed a little irritated by Comstock’s insistence.  Meanwhile, Ross reached into his jacket and turned the knob further.  The buzzing increased.

       BZZZ -- ZZZ -- ZZZ --

       Deep in the shell of her mind Tami knew that she had no choice but to recite the list.  “Th - th - there’s b - bristles th - that .  .  .  ssstim .  .  .  stimulate my .  .  .  n - nipples .  .  .  Ohhh!  God!” Tami bent over, then with a forced lurch straightened herself out again.  This was the end, now.  She had forced the wave down twice but knew she couldn’t again.  She felt about to go over the waterfall and was going to have to complete her answer while suffering through an orgasm.

       BZZZ -- ZZZ -- ZZZ --

       Her eyes went out of focus, staring dully at her questioners as the first spasms began.  “Oh!  G - god!” Her pelvis heaved forward as she spoke, or tried to.  “A dil - do .  .  .  oh! .  .  .  in my .  .  .  oh! oh!  God!” She spasmed and spasmed, barely able to keep standing, spitting out the grunts and words as she tried to keep her head up.  “Ohhh .  .  . my v - vagina .  .  .  ohhh!” The spasms began to die down as she began to catch her breath.  “Oooo .  .  .  and .  .  .  another dildo .  .  .  oh . . .  in my .  .  . ”  Her face burned red, especially, at having to say this.  “In my .  .  .  b - butt .  .  . ”

       The Reverend was astonished.  “Child, you mean to say as you are speaking to us now there is .  .  .  something .  .  .  in your rectum??”

        Tami, standing straight again in the aftermath of orgasm, face flushed, sweating all over, said, “Y - yes, sir.”  She closed her eyes, realizing the magnitude of shame she had just experienced, which shamed her all over again just thinking about it.

       Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

       Mr. Ratigan, leering like a teenage boy in a dream where he gets to speak to a real live naked lady, said, “And this is O.K. with you?  You aren’t ashamed?”

       Shaking her head slowly, eyes downcast, Tami said, “No.”

       Mr. Noyes pounded home the point.  “And going to class today, like that, was O.K. with you?”

       Tami had signed the agreement, she had declared that modesty was alien to her beliefs, she couldn’t give lie to it now.  Not so close to the finish line.  She looked up at the big man.  Remembering his confrontation with her when she was standing shivering outside her house during Christmas break, she willed herself to look at him with determination.  “This is O.K. I don’t believe in modesty.”  Once again, very hard for this innocent, modest girl to say.

       Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

       With a quick chill running through her legs Tami realized the feeling of another orgasm beginning its career deep within her.

       “Miss Smithers, this, uh, device, didn’t affect your schoolwork today?” Comstock asked.

       Her face still burned red from knowledge of the shame of what she had been through.  To those at the table who didn’t know any better it looked like a post-orgasmic flush.  The nearly naked girl took a deep breath and answered, “N - no.”

       “Well let’s see,” Noyes said, holding some notes in front of him.  “Your advanced calculus teacher, Professor Hinton, said you answered one question in class today, and that correctly.  Do you remember what the class today was about?”

       Shutting her eyes, realizing the next orgasm was arriving far too soon, Tami said, “Th - third level integrals.  Ohhh .  .  . ”

       “And your class in anthropology, what was being discussed?”

       “Tchk.  .  .  Khh .  .  .  “ Tami tried to smother her arousal, a hopeless effort, but one she did automatically.  To freely give in to orgasm was unthinkable.  As a result her attempts at uttering each syllable sounded like someone choking.  “Khh -- Crete.  Ssss .  .  .  civilizzzation of Crete.  Ancient .  .  .  c - crete.  .  .  “ She half-remembered a weird dream of flunking a test because she couldn’t answer questions while in the throes of orgasm.  .  .

       Several heads at the table nodded to themselves, impressed.  Then the Dean spoke up.  “Miss Smithers, that counter on the, uh, lower part of the apparatus, it says ‘20’.  What does that mean?”

       “OH!” Tami doubled over, then clumsily spread her legs, her bare feet slapping on the wood floor, using her inner muscles in a vain attempt to expel the horrible vibrating intruders in her pussy and ass.  Her legs and whole body quivered like a leaf shaking in the wind.  She breathed through clenched teeth.  “Zhhh .  .  .  zhhh .  .  . ”  She caught her breath and, unable to look up, said, “It means .  .  .  I’ve .  .  .  c - c - come .  . .  twenty .  .  .

       “TIMES!!” she shouted, shooting bolt upright, startling most of her questioners, her eyes bugged out in fear, fright, and the crisis of impending orgasm.  Her damp hair shot back.  Her entire body glistened with sweat.  “Ohhh .  .  .”  She was determined to look her questioners in the eye.  She felt like this was the final test -- after this, she will have earned the right to wear clothes again and end this life of exquisite, horrible torture.

       The suffering teenager looked at each of the people in turn, her eyebrows dancing crazily.  First Noyes, then Comstock, then Mrs. Lowell -- the naked girl’s head shook and her breath was ragged -- her eyes narrowed somewhat as she felt herself going over the waterfall again -- in a flash of fevered insight, she looked the Dean right in the eye, and seeing his nervous expression knew that she was the stronger and braver of the two of them --

       Inside his jacket, Henry Ross’s hand pressed a recently activated button which turned on a feature of the retainer that had not been used thus far, a little knob which now began to protrude from the inner shaft of the vaginal dildo to press against and rub against the girl’s G-spot --

       “OH!  JESUS!!” the girl shouted hoarsely, her head jutting forward, her eyes an explosion of amazement.  Her body jerked forward again, then again, and as the spasms continued her feet slapped on the wood floor and she did a strange, frantic dance, turning this way and that as the convulsions overtook her.

       It so happened she had been looking directly at Reverend Stipend as she shouted his Lord’s name at the moment of orgasm.  The Reverend, apoplectic with rage, slammed his hands on the table and stormed out of the room, the sound of his shoes thudding loudly across the floor as the girl jiggled and lurched, the number over her clit changing to “21”.

       When the spasms were over and Tami looked up, catching her breath and feeling another wave of sweat drenching her hair and running down into her eyes, she saw that most of the committee had left.  Only Noyes, the Dean and Ross remained.  Blessedly, she felt the buzzing decrease, though it still kept on.

       She felt a little more lucid.  As she stood upright again, her feet well apart, firmly braced on the cool wood floor, her concave tummy heaving in and out as her lungs filled her body with oxygen, she noticed that the mood had changed.  The Dean looked shaken and pale.  Ross looked very concerned as well, though whether that concern was real or faked was impossible to tell.  And Noyes was sitting there sternly in icy calm.

       The Dean spoke in a small, quiet voice, unusual for him.  “Miss Smithers, thank you, thank you for your time.  “

       Bzz -- zzz -- zzz --

       Tami nodded and then, with calm but slightly jagged steps, walked out. She held her tummy muscles in as she tried to contain her arousal.  The buzzing, quieter though it was now, was still insistent.  After two intense orgasms, she wanted to rest, but the stimulating devices would not let her.

     She got onto the elevator and absently pushed the button to do down.  Halfway down she realized she had pushed “SUB”, for sub-basement, by mistake.  Yet she did nothing about it, looking at the lit button as it took her down, down, down .  .  .  She reflected on that meeting.  Yes, it was terribly shaming.  Yes, she hated Henry Ross for playing her body like a pinball machine while the others watched her come twice.  Yes, she hated being so responsive and having such an apparently endless capacity for multiple orgasms.

       But two things dawned on her.  She had passed that most excruciating test and hadn’t cracked, hadn’t begged for clothing or for this horrid apparatus to be taken off.  And she had got the better of the Dean, somehow. After a little more thinking she figured out that he and Ross had tried to get her to crack, trying to shame her by making her come in front of the committee.  But she hadn’t caved in.  And because she didn’t crack, it had backfired.  The Dean was in trouble now, somehow.  She felt like a prisoner who had been interrogated under torture and refused to squeal.  And now, having shown that she was un-crackable, she was about to be set free.  Finally.

       Bzz -- zzz -- zzz --

       The door opened to the subbasement and Tami decided to step out onto the cold bare concrete.  There was nothing here but cinderblock walls and maintenance equipment.  The cool, damp air and the solitude was a relief to the tired girl.  Quivering, feeling another orgasm coming on, hoping that the buzzing would stop but knowing it was useless to hope, she collapsed into a cross-legged sitting position, her bare butt on the cold concrete, her bare back leaning against the hard cinderblock wall.  Her head bumped against the wall as her face turned up, eyes closed.

       “Ohhh .  .  .  ohhh .  .  .  “ The moans echoed through the empty room. She was alone, thankfully, and could have her next orgasm on her own terms. She breathed in and out, moaning freely, almost praying, communing with God as she crested into a wave of pleasure once again.  “Ohh -- ohh -- ohh -- ” Her hips jerked up rhythmically with the spasms, a little wearily now.  Sitting, she could feel the dildo in her butt sticking right up into her guts, and felt her sphincter grab the hard intruder at regular intervals, grab and release, grab and release .  .  .  She was becoming aware of all the body’s reactions of orgasm.  An orgasm expert, having had so many of them.

       As she relaxed in the afterglow, feeling the buzzing continue, knowing she was destined for yet another climax in a few moments, she thought of her victory over the Dean and Ross, of her newfound inner strength, of the fact that her travails would end soon, she started giggling.  Maybe being forced into orgasm after orgasm all day was finally driving her crazy.  Whatever the reason, she giggled and moaned and caught her breath and giggled some more as she leaned over onto her side, her face gratefully feeling the coolness of the floor, as she was dragged up to yet another crest.

       .  .  .

       The full moon lit up the campus with a pallid glow, strong enough to throw faint shadows.  The air was wet, damp, as was the ground, three hours having passed since the rain ended and the clouds began clearing.  Now, at 3:00 a.m., there was no one outside on this ghostly landscape, except for one stark naked girl, walking across the soccer field from the Chalfont Institute, headed toward the main part of campus. The air was chilly; warm nights in this north country were restricted to June and July, and it was still May.  Goosebumps were raised on her skin, especially on her bare butt and her breasts.  Her nipples were a little sore but stood out in the cold.  Her breath formed little clouds.  Cold water from the sodden grass squished up between her toes.  And to her it  all felt good.

       She gladly took in the fresh air, glad to be fully naked again, glad that she no longer had bristles attacking her nipples and dildos lodged deep inside her pussy and rectum.  Her arousal sated for what seemed like weeks into the future, she was glad to have her head clear.  She stopped once or twice, thanking God the ordeal was over, and knew herself to be happy in a way she hadn’t been in a long time.

       Yes, her mind still felt a bit scrambled after all those orgasms. She had endured orgasm after orgasm in that Rossland Hall sub-basement, going on and on endlessly, an eternal Hell, the buzzing going on and on, then decided out of desperation to stagger to Chalfont, hoping that McMasters would be there to take those things out of her ahead of time.  But no, the exhausted, spasming girl was told by one of the other doctors that McMasters wasn’t there yet, and she had been directed to the faculty lounge to wait it out until the appointed hour.

       She had stumbled and practically dragged herself to the lounge, unsure whether she remembered the directions she had been given, but there it was, a nicely-appointed room with a carpet and soft chairs, deserted at this hour.  She had sat on the floor, head between her knees, looking up at the clock over the door from time to time, but mostly looking down and weeping as another orgasm crested, then another, then another.  .  .  At eight o’clock the buzzing finally stopped and she keeled over, falling asleep immediately.

       At nine o’clock the buzzing started again as she awoke and wailed in anguish, but the whole building was empty by then and nobody heard her.  Holding herself tight in her vibrating little prison, she endured another series of orgasms. By then they had become weak little bunches of quivers, and she stared ahead without emotion, perhaps in shock, perhaps in fatigue, perhaps with the demented look of someone who had been driven insane.  Finally the buzzing stopped and she looked up and saw that it was five minutes to ten.  She weakly got up, holding her head in her hands and noticed the portraits on the wall and, just before she turned out to the hall, noticed the portrait of herself that had been presented at the banquet, Tami the proud and unashamed, the Tami she had wanted to be, mounted in a place of honor over a fine oak credenza.

       She lurched into Lab 6 and saw McMasters and Mr. Zipkin there and flung herself onto the exam table.  She was barely conscious as they removed the bristle bra and, with great care, the retaining panties.  Did she hear Zipkin say “68”?  What did that mean?  The number of orgasms?  No matter, she fell asleep immediately, lying on her side on the table, her butthole, still stretched wide open, fully in view.

       She had awakened at 2:45 a.m., still a little groggy, in a darkened room. In fact as she made her way out to the hall she saw the whole place was dark and nobody was around.  It was creepy, and the weary girl was relieved to feel the cold air filling her lungs as she stepped outside.  Now, in fact, walking across the wet field, she felt a little giddy in her weariness.  She had won a victory over the Dean.  And had only 14 days left to freedom and clothes.  She thought of Ned and Ethel, doubtless fast asleep at this hour.

       Weary though she was, the naked teenager began to skip and then limply run across the grass.  Attempting a cartwheel, she slipped on the wet grass and fell on her butt, feeling the cold textured rubbery wetness under her bare back.  She giggled, looking up at the moon.  She enjoyed these natural sensations, she wished she could be naked only at times like now when there was nobody to see.  Grinning at herself for having this thought, she got on all fours and stuck her butt up at the moon and, using muscles she was just becoming aware of, without using her hands she managed to open her butthole, which had been closed for only a few hours anyway, with the idea that beams of moonlight could go right into her butt.  She shook her head.  I’ve really gone crazy.  But it feels good anyway!

       She stumbled back up to her feet, and looked back at Chalfont, and then up to the darkened height of Rossland Hall, and knew she had defeated them both.  Ha ha.  She was also aware of being very, very hungry.  As she happily, wearily walked back to her dorm, feeling grass and then concrete and then gravel under her bare feet, she thought ahead to the dining hall and how she would be really pigging out in a few hours at breakfast.  Mmmm . .  .  eggs.  .  .  toast .  .  .  juice .  .  .