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Eileen McGillicuddy

Eileen McGillicuddy, special assistant to the Harbin, China American Consulate, sat patiently in the third row. She was dressed in her full formal diplomatic “uniform”, pinstriped blazer and skirt, ruffled white blouse, nylons, low heels, hair done up in a bun. Her cell phone had been checked at the entrance so she had nothing to do but watch and wait. That she was the only female spectator did not faze her in the least. Nor the fact that the “show” she was watching was utterly outside her previous experience, part of a world alien to her. But she was a professional, and she had been briefed, so she knew what to expect.

The other 47 visitors were also dressed in formal business attire, though they were all men, there for far different reasons. Also fully clothed were the seven red-clad matrons buzzing about. The youngest person in the hall, however, had the benefit of no clothes whatsoever.

Ms. McGillicuddy watched as the nude girl was gradually lowered from above. Her bent elbows had been brought behind her back until they met, her arms from elbows down to wrists tied together with a multicoiled knot -- painful if not impossible for most people, but not for this flexible young gymnast. At the linked elbows was a hook to the overhead rope, which went up to a pulley in the ceiling and then over to a winch on the balcony operated by a matron.

This was the summer’s last “S&M Thursday”, the day of the week when Miss Tami Smithers was tied up in various inventive ways, sometimes evocative of causing pain but not really causing pain, and certainly not injury to the priceless naked body.

Spotlights created shadows on her nipples, illuminated every pubic hair. Protruding from the stage was a monstrous three-foot dildo, seemingly too thick to find purchase in the thin body. But Tami’s lower orifices had developed a remarkable capacity and, toned through vigorous exertions, closed up like every other woman’s when not used. Yesterday as part of her “show” Tami had emptied a small bottle of skin lotion into her vagina, then lifted her pelvis to launch the contents a distance of thirty feet. The men cheered, imagining what wonders such a girl could perform on a penis. Two squirts even overshot the stage, hitting a couple of Argentinian businessmen seated at the far end who could only laugh and clap despite the damage to their suits. It prompted a rare smile from the nude young woman herself.

Ms. McGillicuddy was one of those who did not think Miss Tami Smithers had that hard a life. The naked girl, whether voluntarily or not, was long used to such public demonstrations. And her nudity, again whether voluntary or not, was an advantage, in fact even envied. Miss Smithers had proven, over and over, that she simply did not need clothes. It might have been been uncomfortable to walk naked through the snow, but it was only for a few minutes at a time and was not harmful. If anything, she was proving the health benefits of exposure to the elements. Since she took off her clothes, that first week at college, she had never gotten sick, not once. She was strong and healthy. She had an ever-growing network of supportive friends. And by now she surely had lost any sense of shame as to being naked in a world of clothed people.

Some of the photos in the dossier stuck in Ms. McGillicuddy’s mind. Miss Smithers walking along a campus path, talking to her friend Jen McIntyre, on a hot day, everyone else sweating in the clothes society required them to wear. The naked Miss Smithers was more comfortable than anyone. Another photo showed Miss Smithers jumping around in the surf with her bikinied friends. Ms. McGillicuddy had never swum nude and imagined it must feel wonderful. Then there was Miss Smithers in a Vermont winter standing next to her friends on the campus quad, drinking coffee, they in their winter coats and boots, she quite casually chatting with them, in no hurry to get back inside, her body flushed with the cold, her bare feet quite at home on the packed snow.

And then the photo taken of Tami two months ago with the interns on the roof of the consulate, happy young people, in front of the distinctive Harbin skyline, with the Dragon Tower, the tallest tower in China, recognizable to any Chinese. Carefully cropped so that it looked like Tami was wearing a strapless dress. They had immediately decided it was the proper attachment, along with the Embassy seal, to the message finally emailed this morning under Miss Smithers’s name to Campbell-Frank College in the State of Vermont.

Ms. McGillicuddy watched as a matron spread Tami’s pink, spotlit lower lips as they prepared to make contact with the well-lubricated shaft. Miss Smithers was fitted with a ball gag, like a golf ball with holes in it so that her breathing would not be impeded. She couldn’t see what was happening below, so just stared ahead, wincing as the rounded tip entered her, spreading her lips further, and she was lowered further onto it. Few penises were that thick but through careful breathing the girl expertly took it inside. Three inches, four inches, five inches . . .

Before full capacity was reached her widely separated feet came in contact with the two waiting blocks of ice. Soon her bare soles were flat against them. She could have hopped off the shaft at that point, but further penetration was in store. The matron went around to the back and turned a big, old-fashioned-looking crank which pushed the shaft further into the naked girl. Marked gradations allowed the spectators to imagine calculating the extent of “involvement”. That the girl’s capacity had been reached, that the shaft had passed her cervix and settled into the fornix, was evidenced by her heels leaving the ice. Soon she was on her tip toes, toes that probably were getting numb. The rope had gone slack and was now unhooked. The hook followed the rope as it receded upward.

The hall was silent except for the shuffling of expensive shoes as men circled around the nude, taking in every aspect of the beautiful pierced form, her labored breathing (perhaps put on for show), the eyes that dully faced out to nowhere, or perhaps to a place far away.

They had guaranteed Ms. McGillicuddy thirty seconds of “alone time”. The matron led the men away. The little stage was high enough so that her eyes were about the same level as the girl’s.


The nude Tami Smithers, her arms tied behind her back, her spread bare toes teetering precariously on blocks of ice, a thick shaft pushing deep up into her interior, made eye contact with the immaculately dressed representative of her country’s Department of State.

“Ms. Smithers, I am here to inform you that your statement, with the Embassy seal, was emailed this morning to Campbell-Frank College in South Lowell, Vermont.” She was not authorized to say more, but did venture: “We as always respect your convictions and your right to change them.”

The bit about changing convictions was old news to Tami Smithers which she greeted with a rolling of the eyes. Gagged as she was she was unable to say thank you, or anything else. Eileen McGillicuddy said, “Good day,” turned and left, her high heels clicking on the floor. Once more men gathered around.


(Tami’s complicated machinations appear to have succeeded. She thinks her college is being authoritatively instructed, by the United States Government, to allow her to put on clothes when she returns from her “exchange student” year in China. But . . . ! Read the rest of “Five Mailgirls” for the twist.)


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