As she looked up she saw that she was in a large, immaculate dining room. There was a big table made out of very nice wood with place mats. The furnishing was sparse but Tami could tell that this man had money; everything seemed expensive, she remembered from Brian Cook’s place the sense of aristocratic restraint, of someone who knew he was wealthy and did not have to show it off. The only remotely ostentatious thing was a glass sculpture on the table, but that looked like one of this man’s own creations.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I imagine you could use a shower,” he said, motioning to a stairway with a finely lacquered banister. “There’s a bathroom upstairs. Use the extra toothbrush. Meanwhile we’ll find some things for you.”
The bathroom was big and tiled and had an old-style bathtub with feet, upon which a shower head and curtains had been set up. Tami turned on the water and, feeling the steam rise up into her face, thanked God not only for finally ending her ordeal of nudity but also for this shower. She made it hotter than she normally liked, but this was the first real shower she had had since Brian Cook’s place, and she took it nice and slow, luxuriating in the steam and cleansing wetness. There was a nice big bottle of shampoo and, she didn’t mean to be a bad guest, but she must have used half of it, working gobs of it into her hair, rinsing it three times. And the soap and the scrub brush. Though she had bathed often in that forest pond and was not really dirty, it had been so long since she had hot water and soap and a brush and shampoo. She cleaned and scrubbed every bit of herself, finally opening up her legs to get at her pussy and butthole. When she was finished she was clean and pink all over.
And then there was the towel, big and fluffy and white. It felt so good to have something to dry herself off with. She looked around for the extra toothbrush and, in the medicine cabinet, found not only a new toothbrush in its store case, but a new comb. She sighed with delight as she combed her hair, and she worked through those knots and split ends again and again, finally getting the comb to go clear through her dark red hair. She noticed that her gray hair problem hadn’t gotten any worse during her weeks out in nature. The gray hairs were still there, but at least there weren’t any more of them. Whatever her other concerns, her stress level had gone down since the end of those horrible Chalfont experiments.
Wrapped in the big white fluffy towel, she sat on the toilet seat and idly continued to comb her hair, looking down at her feet, once again a normal teenage girl. What a relief. . . She hugged the big towel around her, biting her lip. It had been so long . . . now she remembered what it felt like to have something covering her. Fabric against her long-denied skin, something to hide her from the stares of a harsh world. With this recognition, and the knowledge that she would momentarily have full covering, be fully clothed after almost a year, her whole previous life as a clothed person was coming back to her. This is how it feels!!
When she descended the stairs a few minutes later, her entire persona had changed, her sensibilities had returned to those of a normal girl with a normal sense of modesty. As she considered her bare shoulders and her bare legs and feet, and approached the dining room table at which the man sat with two cups of coffee and toast, she blushed at how uncovered she was here in this strange house, with nothing but a towel around her and him knowing she had nothing underneath.
“Have some,” the man said. Tami did the thing with the milk and sugar, and grabbed some toast. Though she was not starving, having eaten well in the wilderness, seeing civilized food again made her very hungry and she tried not to bolt down the toast and gulp down the coffee.
The man looked at the girl with an air of amusement, it seemed, and looking up at him, Tami wanted something to cover her bare shoulders. “My name is Jackson Dyle,” he said, extending a hand.
“Tami Smithers,” Tami said, shaking his hand, trying to speak through a mouthful of toast. She sipped the coffee and, even though he couldn’t see under the table, she folded her legs up under her so that the towel covered her knees and her bare legs and bare feet. In a final assertion of her new sense of modesty, she crossed her hands over to cover her bare shoulders.
“Is that T - A - M - M - Y?” Mr. Dyle said.
“No, T - A - M - I,” Tami said.
Jackson Dyle smiled and looked up the stairs, as if waiting for his friend to come down with a set of clothes.
“So what did you say your situation was?” Jackson Dyle said.
Tami, glancing upward at the stairs for the set of clothes that would momentarily arrive, said, “I was left without my clothes by this sorority I was trying to join. It was a prank.”
“That’s terrible. From what college?”
Tami thought quickly. “Smith College,” she said off the top of her head.
“Smith College is in Massachusetts,” Jackson Dyle said.
Trying to put an end to this question, Tami cleared her throat and said, “There’s another one, a small -- small place not too far from here.”
Jackson Dyle leaned forward, sipping his coffee, and said, “My dear, there is no such college nearby or anywhere in this state. I should know, I’m a college instructor.” He spoke not as if accusing Tami of lying but as if somehow just playing along with something.
Tami stared at his reflection in the polished table top, wondering why he was testing her so.
“Then there’s the matter of your tan, very exquisite, with no lines,” Jackson Dyle said, with a long lisp through the word “exquisite”. “Obviously you enjoy being nude, you must spend a great deal of time without clothing. Now tell me the truth.”
Tami was flustered now. “I am telling you the truth. I -- I was left a few days ago. I’ve been walking through the woods, trying to find a house. That’s why I -- have my tan.”
“Really? It takes more than a few days to make tan lines totally disappear. For one thing, you’d be sunburnt over your breasts. . . And what have you been living on?”
“Nuts and berries and stuff I’ve found,” Tami said, realizing how unlikely this sounded, then adding, “I -- I took a course in edible plants.”
“Mmm - hmmm,” Jackson Dyle said cynically. “I see your spiel now. May I congratulate you on your entrance. In our years of play, we have never had someone who was so dramatic and inventive. Maybe you’ve noticed our telescope upstairs. Roberts is much into astronomy,” he said, motioning to the military looking man, who was entering with a full set of athletic workout clothes, including sneakers and socks, arrayed on a wooden coat hanger. “Though last night he got distracted by a heavenly body like none we have seen before. I’m glad, it allowed us to set things up.”
“You’ve got this all wrong,” the towel-clad teenager said, wondering why he was messing with her head, though now she was fixated on those wonderful clothes on the hanger and impatiently waiting for him to offer them to her.
As if she had said nothing, Jackson Dyle said perfunctorily, “Tell me, do you know how to hum the ‘Star Spangled Banner’?”
Tami was too fixated on the clothes to notice how odd this question was. “Of course I do . . . Can I have those clothes now?”
“And how old are you?”
“Very good. Pray tell, how did you hear of us? We usually work only through the college.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Tami said. She was starting to get a little pissed off at this screwing around. “Can I have some clothes to put on, please!”
Jackson Dyle shrugged. “O.K., if that’s how you want to play it.” He got up from the table. “At this point, you may start calling me ‘Master Jack’. Now, I must ask you to remove that towel.”
Tami said nervously, “So I can put on those?”, looking at what was on the hanger in Roberts’s hand.
Jackson Dyle said, “Of course not, you silly fool.” He assumed a lower, more stentorian tone of voice, without a lisp. “You will have to earn the right to wear clothes! Roberts, please.”
Roberts put down the hanger and started around to Tami’s side of the table. Clutching the towel to her chest, the shocked and terrified teenager got up and made for the door. Roberts went after her. There was a quick slapping of bare feet and clomping of military boots. The boots were faster. He grabbed the towel as it flew away from the girl’s now exposed butt. Tami struggled to hold on to it while pressing the towel against her breasts. There was a brief tug back and forth. Finally with a mighty jerk Roberts ripped the fluffy covering from the teenage girl. She spun to the floor and cowered on her knees in anguish. “Noooooo!!”
The two men watched as the naked teenager crossed her arms over her breasts and quaked. “W - why are you doing this to me?? P - please -- let me have the towel!” Then, in a pleading tone, “Please? Just the towel? I’ve wanted it so long!!”
One second of seeing the stony faces of the men was enough. Tami had to get the hell away from these weirdos. She sprang to her feet and ran for the door. Roberts grabbed her hand just as she reached the doorway.
“HELP!! HELP!!” she yelled. As Roberts dragged her in, Jackson Dyle said, “It’s no use, there’s no one around for miles.” It was hard for Roberts to handle the wildly struggling girl, but after a few seconds he had pushed her bare bottom back into the chair. The two men looked down at her. Roberts leaned back to lock the door.
The naked teenager, legs pressed together, leaned forward into her crossed arms. “P - please let me go.” She was shaking and tearful.
She sensed Jackson Dyle and Roberts looking at each other. In a moment Dyle was back with a cell phone. “If you don’t like it, then call the police. Just dial 911. My name is Jackson Dyle, the address here is 9548 Bowditch Road, Farmington, Arkansas. Just tell them we won’t give you any clothes, and charge us with false imprisonment and harassment.”
Tami looked at the phone and froze. Once again, she thought of that fax in the post office, that headline she saw in the newspaper box. The “Nude Girl Alert”. Seconds went by.
Seeing her failure to respond, Dyle concluded, “Just so we’re clear.” Tami squirmed as he put his hand on her bare shoulder. “This, my dear, promises to be a lot of fun.”