“an honest business”?

Conference room C.

She opened the door, steeling herself to once again stand naked before sitting questioners.  But now there was only the older man, dressed in a tuxedo.  He exuded power and sophistication and money.  He had everything that Tami didn’t.  The naked teenager looked at him up and down to his shiny black shoes and felt so weak and vulnerable in her total nudity.  She had the urge to cower and cover herself.  But then she straightened her shoulders again.  Princess Tami.

Instead of the stern expression from before, now he had a kind smile which reminded her a little of Brian Cook’s.  “Welcome, Miss Smithers.  “My name is Taft McNamee.”  He offered his arm.  “Come with me, my dear.”

The naked teenager was having none of it.  She wanted to smack him but knew that she was still dependent on his good will.  So she nodded with a stone face and said, “O.K., let’s go.”  He seemed unsurprised by her reaction.

He led her out to the hallway and up some stairs.  They arrived at an elegant marble foyer.  Tami felt the cool marble under her bare feet and heard the sounds of Mr.  McNamee’s shoes as they walked across to a marble staircase with a red carpet.  Sounds of people coming from above.  Tami felt like asking for clothes.  They ascended the stairs.

Big doors opened and Tami’s eyes widened with surprise.  “Lords and ladies, this is Miss Tami Smithers.”  She blushed all over -- she was facing maybe thirty men and women, all exquisitely dressed, the men in tuxedoes, the women in long gowns.  It was a big sunny room with a skylight.  The far wall was just one big window, silhouetted by serving trays and caterers.

Tami’s first urge was to cover herself with her hands and run.  But she knew how to handle public nudity by now.  She stuffed the shame into the back of her mind.  Seeing everyone waiting for her, she walked into the middle of the circular space they created and stood there silently, expressionless, concentrating on keeping her hands relaxed at her sides as people clustered from every direction, admiring her magnificent tanned nakedness.

“My you are a fine specimen.”

“Your training has been rigorous.  Look at the definition in her gluteal muscles, Hal.”

“Such firm breasts.  See, they don’t need a bra if they’re worked hard enough.  I think naked ponies should be back in style.”

Tami let people look at her, and let them press their well-informed fingers into her firm muscles here and there.  Then she turned to her host and whispered, “Mr.  McNamee, sir, can I talk to you?”

They were in the foyer.  “I am NOT a pony!  You know that!  Let me out of this place!  And give me some clothes!” The naked teenager was furious and stamped her bare foot on the marble floor.  That he could see her bare breasts shaking with her rage made her madder still.

“Yes, I’m convinced there was a mistake, but Miss Smithers, you are not out of the woods yet.”  He had a tight smile.  “I’m not the only power here.  We want to take a statement from you.  In the meantime you are still officially a naked pony.  I suggest you continue to play that role.  I’ve arranged things to be easy until the, uh, process is completed.  Or do you want that tail in you again?”

Tami winced as she remembered the pain of being knocked around inside.  She stood up to the older man, fists at her side.  “You are mean.  What you did to me was bad and you should be arrested.  And the other people too.”

“I had to do it to test you, dear.”  He unfolded a paper from his pocket.  It was the note to her father that had almost been faxed.  “If you want you can destroy -- “

He was in mid-word when the naked girl grabbed the paper and ripped it up, her breasts jiggling, and threw it onto the floor.  Then she stamped on the pieces, a ridiculous gesture in bare feet.  A couple of those pieces stuck between her toes, unnoticed, as she said, “You were going to be mean to my dad, too.  How could you do such a thing?”

“Much is at stake.  We run a far-flung and lucrative business.  As you can see for yourself.”  He turned his hand as if showing her the luxurious foyer for the first time.  “Millions of dollars go in and out of here every month.”

“This is a bad business.  Those poor women .  .  .”

“They all agreed to it, dear.”

She looked him in the eye.  “Really?”

“Do you want to see a sample contract?” Mr.  McNamee unfolded another piece of paper from his envelope.

Tami grabbed it and started reading with intense curiosity.  It was only a single page.  The gist of it was: I agree to submit to the wishes of my masters for five years from the date of this agreement.  I understand that I will be physically well cared for.  I understand that servitude will involve heavy physical labor and bodily intrusions but no permanent injury or disfigurement.  I also understand that I may be transported across state and international boundaries.  Upon acceptance of this agreement a sum of $500,000 will be placed in an account with, etc.  etc.

What caught her attention was the words “Star Spangled Banner”.  “I understand that if at any time I want to revoke this agreement, I will hum ‘The Star Spangled Banner’.  Upon such humming the following steps will be taken: a statement under oath, etc., etc.”

Tami’s eyes turned red with deep hurt and she stifled a laugh at the same time.  Fate had played a joke on her.  She remembered Jackson Dyle’s reference to the Star Spangled Banner.  All she had to do was hum that song and she would have been free of him, and with clothing too.  Or she could have hummed it here and been on her way out, again with clothes.  Yet it seemed so stupid, so childish, hence the laugh.

Part of her wanted to thank Mr.  McNamee for showing her this contract.  She understood so much more now.  But he didn’t deserve her thanks.  She gave the contract back to him and said, “Those women don’t look happy.”

The older man shrugged.  “What is in their heads, only they know.  But they sign the contract and after five years they are well off.  It’s an honest business.”

“I don’t think it’s right.”  Tami tried to think of why.  “I think you’re taking advantage of them.”

“Dear, half a million dollars.”

Tami realized again that she had been having this entire conversation naked.  She resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands.  But she did say, “Can’t I have clothes now?”

“No.”  Mr.  McNamee seemed impatient.  “Let’s go back, shall we?”

Tami forced herself to once again walk naked into the elegant gathering, and figured it would be a good idea to be a little friendly.  She wouldn’t smile, but nodded and engaged in polite conversation.

“How long have you been naked, dear?”

“Almost a year.”

“The constant exposure to sun and air give your skin a lovely glow.”  “Thank you.”  Again Tami wanted to scream with frustration.  And these people were really starting to make her sick.  She looked out the big window at the plantation, the ponies in the distance pulling buggies and picking vegetables.  And here were these rich, idle people, so insufferable.  A horrid thought came to her.  Were these the buyers for the “auction”?  And were they examining the merchandise?  Was she going to be “on sale”?  Mr.  McNamee said she wasn’t out of the woods yet --

It was then, in the jumble of these rushing and unpleasant thoughts, that she saw a familiar face, standing back near the buffet table, in her lawyer’s professional suit, sipping a diet soda.  Mrs.  Wickland!

The naked girl’s reaction was complicated.  Relief, quickly followed by suspicion.  When the constant attention to the naked pony had died down a bit Tami went over to the table next to the lawyer.  She accepted a ginger ale from the ogling bartender and looked at her.

“Hello,” the lawyer said back, smoothing the front of her jacket.

Tami was guarded.  “Hello, Mrs.  Wickland.”

“Sarah.  And I keep telling you, I’m not a ‘Mrs.’  I’ve come to help you.”

“Oh.”  Tami noticed the lawyer’s glance at her nipples and almost drew her arm up to cover her breasts.  Then remembered that this lady had connections to the college and Tami had to get back to her “unintentional nudist” pose.  It seemed so long ago.  Uh - oh -- ever since Tami had been stuck here she’d been asking for clothes.  Did Mrs.  Wickland know this?

“Let’s go out to the terrace, Tami,” Sarah Wickland said.  Tami followed her out.  It was sunny and the polished terrazzo was warm under Tami’s feet.  They looked out to the fields.

“A remarkable place you wandered into,” Sarah Wickland said.  “The college has been looking for you, you know.”

Tami wanted to say, “I know,” but decided that the less Mrs.  Wickland knew, the better.

“I have certain .  .  .  connections.  These people brought me here as a neutral party to take a statement from you.”

“About what?”  Tami walked up to the railing and looked out, idly twisting her big toe against the terrazzo.  This way Mrs.  Wickland could see her backside but not her breasts or pussy.

“Just to account for who you are and how you got here and how you were mistaken for a pony.  They don’t want to set a precedent for other girls to get out.  They want to establish that this was an exceptional situation.”

“I thought these women were here voluntarily,” Tami said resentfully, feeling the sun on her butt, looking at the captive women toiling below.

“Well, yes.  But in this case someone made off with five hundred thousand dollars.”

This Amaryl Summers, Tami mused.  Probably spent it all buying clothes.

Tami turned to face Sarah.  “Can’t I just sign this statement and go?”

“No, it has to be under oath, at deposition.”

“At what?”

“I’ll ask questions and you answer them.  A stenographer takes it all down.”  At seeing the naked girl’s eyes flash, the lawyer said, “Don’t worry, dear, I won’t ask anything having to do with your religion or your relationship to Campbell - Frank College.  I know you don’t trust me on that subject so I’ll stay away from it.  And after the deposition when you get released, they’ll give you a bundle of clothes, which I’m sure you’ll throw right in the trash.”  A quizzical smile.  “Of course, I’ll be gone by then.”

Tami returned a gaze that she tried to make unreadable.  Then she thought about this deposition thing and sighed.  It sounded like something they do in a law office.  With everyone dressed up nice and her, still naked.

Now her thoughts returned to what was bothering her.  “This is a bad place.”

Sarah Wickland paused, then said, “Yes, Tami.  It is.”

Tami looked at her with some surprise.  “Then why don’t you do something about it?  Sue them or something!”  After all, that’s what lawyers do.

“It’s not as easy as that.  There’s really nothing I can do.”

Tami looked out at the ponies below and said, “You’re a lawyer.  You’re -- rich.  You have connections.  Can’t you do something about it? What can I do to help you?”

Sarah said, “These women consented to be pony girls.  They signed the contract.”

Tami decided it was O.K.  to cross her arms.  “So when do we do this deposition thing?”

“This afternoon.  .  .  I suppose we should go back in now.”

Anyone could tell when the naked girl came back in that she was pissed off.  An unusual expression for a pony.  Yet the guests were too wrapped up in the advantages of naked ponies, they chatted and looked and touched.  Finally the naked girl had had enough.  Not seeing Sarah shaking her head in warning, Tami Smithers said, “Listen, listen!”

Her mind was on automatic.  She got up on a chair.  “This is a bad place.  It’s not right to tie women up and use them as horses.  And make them sleep on straw in a stable!”  She tried not to think of all the eyes staring right at her pussy, up at her breasts, her nipples erect as always, her breasts jiggling with each motion of her hands.  “This was always a slave place, and it’s still a slave place.  It’s a plantation!”  She looked at the scene outside the window.  “I just can’t stand looking at those poor women out there.  My boyfriend’s ancestors had to work out there like that.  Maybe in this exact plantation!  And you rich people .  .  . I know they signed a contract, but you are taking advantage of them!  I think they needed the money, or had no other place to go!”

Tami put her hands down.  She remembered something Rebecca said once.  “Speak truth to power.”  Well, she certainly had done that.  But she also felt like she had cooked her own goose.  She gulped, knowing herself totally on display, standing on a chair, her bare feet squirming against the fine leather.

“So what do you want us to do about it, dear?” It was a woman in a red gown, perhaps 40 years old.  It was hard to tell if she was taking Tami seriously or thinking this was part of a staged game.

The idea just popped into Tami’s head.  “Let them talk to each other.  That way they won’t be so scared.”

A man said, “Impossible, that would destroy the discipline.  They’d never get any tasks done if they were jabbering with each other all the time.”

Another man said, “You know how those ponies are.  Lazy by nature.  You have to keep on ‘em all the time.”

Tami said, “Well how about just an hour a day.  Give them a space where they can get together and talk -- and with no cameras or hidden microphones either.”

It was at that point that Mr.  McNamee came over to Tami and took her arm.  “Come down, dear.  .  .  You must excuse her, this girl is not a full pony yet.  She’s on a trial run, she hasn’t yet made up her mind about the contract.”

He seemed to be squeezing the life out of her arm as he took her out to the foyer.  “My dear, what are you DOING?”

Thinking she was in worse trouble now, Tami uttered a false apology.  “I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Tami looked up at him, remembering the ordeal of the fax, remembering the pains in her gut.  Her anger gave her renewed courage.  “You can’t keep me here.  You KNOW I never signed the contract.”

“No, but things can be made very uncomfortable for you until the processing is finished.  Remember, it’s not all up to me.”

Tami went back to the party.  And went back to engaging in polite small talk, and let people turn her body to and fro and admire her muscle tone.  Oddly nobody mentioned her little outburst.

She was taken away before the food was served.  It had filled her nostrils and she was hungry.  But now she had a feeling she was to be punished.

Which was true.  She was taken to the front hall of the stable, where keepers and ponies were always going through, and tied to a strange device, a big wooden “X” on top of a table.  Evidently this was used to punish ponies by humiliating them.  It certainly had this effect on the modest girl, who had never agreed to be a pony, who desperately wanted clothes yet was forced to be naked.  She shut her eyes and tried to fight back tears as she heard the scraping and stomping of boots and knew herself being stared at as an example.

She felt the warm summer breeze against her nipples, ruffling her pubic hair, and remembered how she had learned to enjoy the feelings of nature against her bare skin.  But now all she wanted was a sheet to cover herself with.  Or even just the degrading leathers and boots of the typical pony.  She was all bare breasts and pussy hair, a public exhibit, nothing more.  And she still had that necklace with the name tag -- “Naked.”