naked girl fixes a flat tire on the highway

        Tami looked lazily out the window.  The tree-covered hills were still and hot in the midday sun.  Looking ahead, she noticed a police car had stopped someone.  She eased her bare foot off the gas so that she was going 55.  McMasters was right; there was a speed trap here.

        A lazy, hot, dusty day.  There hadn’t been much rain lately.  She licked her lips.  Only coffee and a doughnut for breakfast, she was getting hungry.

        The moron in front of her in the BMW, seeing the police car, suddenly slowed from 75 to 45, and as Tami veered into the left lane to avoid him she heard something metallic shift in the trunk.  She thought of all that equipment back there, the dildos, the steel shafts, the wide flat box that McMasters had cobbled together to take the place of the stage in Lab 6, designed to hold the little motor which pistoned the shafts.  And then there were the retainer panties and bristle bra, waiting back there in their little white plastic box, once again a part of her life.

        That damned computer chip .  .  .  McMasters had told her that she would continue with her daily “sessions” of five orgasms each on a strict schedule, twice a day now to take account of her increased sexual capacity, so that her metabolic reactions (or some such b.s.) could be recorded on the chip in the panties.  And e-mailed from his laptop to the computer at Chalfont, where Henry Ross could probably access them and jerk off to the numbers.  .  .The naked girl clenched her butt cheeks, as if to expel the dildo that would be shoved way up there twice a day, then released them with a sigh.  Got to keep patient.  She would have to decide very carefully when she would quit this traveling sex show.  In the meantime, she would just have to go along with whatever was asked of her as if she really was a religious nudist who did not believe in any display of personal modesty.

        The Cadillac rounded a curve and started up a long hill.  Tami had to keep the pedal floored.  This engine had a lot of power but no pickup.  A big, glorious car in disrepair.  Tami couldn’t help noting the contrast between the refitted lab at Chalfont, where no expense had been spared, and McMasters’s lonely, shoestring operation.  Obviously this marketing trip was his own deal, not the college’s.

        She got onto a long uphill straightaway and then the car started to fall away to the left.  The rough rumbling from behind could only mean one thing.  Tami slowed down and pulled over onto the gravelly shoulder, which fortunately was pretty wide.  As she came to a stop McMasters looked up from his map and said, “What’s wrong?”

        “Flat tire, I think.  Left rear.”   Tami straightened up in her seat, feeling her bare back unstick from the vinyl.  Cars were passing quickly from behind, and the eastbound side of the interstate was a ways away.  She was glad that her bare breasts were not visible to them.  She said, “Flat tire”, to Wanda as her nemesis roused herself in the back seat.  Wanda put on her sneakers and got out to stand around in back as McMasters popped the trunk.  This was one of the older models where the spare tire was fitted into a bulge in the center of the trunk.  Tami thought she could get away with staying nice and hidden in the car, not getting out.  As the car was jacked up a hundred pounds or so of extra weight wouldn’t matter.

        As the minutes dragged by Tami drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.  What was taking him so long?  She didn’t want a curious patrolman stopping by.  Finally she heard McMasters’s sheepish voice.  “Tami, can you give us a hand?”

        Fearing the worst, she scooted over and emerged from the car on the passenger’s side, then, keeping her head low, crept along the rough gravel.  She saw that there were no cars coming, then darted over to the roadward side.  Her bare shoulders drooped and she covered her eyes in exasperation.

        It was one of those old-style cylinder jacks, undoubtedly bought from a junkyard, and the klutz had put it under the quarterpanel, not under the jack point.  It was a wonder the chrome wasn’t bent.  “Where’s the lug wrench?” the naked girl said.

        “I -- I don’t know.”   As McMasters and Wanda stood behind Tami, fortunately hiding her from the view of a car that whizzed by, she realized that this guy had no idea what he was doing and she was going to have to take charge.  She had always liked working on cars; in high school she was the only girl to take the class in auto repair, the future career for many of her male classmates, and had worked on the family car with her father.  But now that she was naked it seemed she was doomed to work on cars in public because the guys around her were all thumbs.  She thought of her ordeal on Christmas Day back home, when she had to get out in the freezing slush in front of all those churchgoers to attach the jumper cables on the old family car because her brother didn’t know how.

        And here was McMasters, who besides jacking the car up on an unstable surface didn’t even know to loosen the lug nuts first.  Tami decided the quickest thing was to just do this whole thing herself.  Shaming, but it would get them out of here faster.  Squatting down, she lowered the jack, an arduous task because it was rusty and the crank stick was hard to turn.  Then she stood up with a sigh and rummaged through the open trunk to find the lug wrench, trying to ignore the boxes there and the knowledge of what they contained.

        As cars whizzed by Tami wordlessly went through her task.  She fitted the tire iron over the first lug and pressed a tough bare foot on it.  To extract that first reluctant squeak she had hold onto the roof and jump up and down on the iron.  To her chagrin McMasters and Wanda retreated to lean on the guard to give her room to work, exposing her bouncing breasts and heaving stomach muscles as one car and then another passed and then stopped short, dangerously backtracking to park in front of them.  Both were driven by men who walked behind the Cadillac to watch in amazement at this naked girl changing a tire on the highway, wondering if this was a kind of stunt.  Was this a nude dancer trying to drum up business for a bar?  They half-expected to be handed a handbill for a free lap dance.  Their hesitant query, “Do you need any help, Miss?”, was answered by a curt, “No.”

        Each of the eight lug nuts was just as tight and rusted.  At least this tire had no hubcap to deal with.  Tami realized that it would be less shaming to face away from traffic as she hopped on the iron, and the watching men were treated to the sight of the flexing muscles of her bare butt cheeks and toned calves.  Finally the lugs were all loose.  She looked around for something to chock the wheel, noticing finally a large rock on the far side of the guard rail fifty feet back.  A couple of passing cars honked and a couple more stopped to park behind the Cadillac as her tough bare feet made their way comfortably but glumly over clumps of asphalt and broken glass to get the rock.  The occupants of the new cars got out and soon there was a circle of about ten men watching every nuance of the naked girl’s motions as she went up to chock the front wheel and then came back to start jacking up the car.  By now the heat and exertions had created a dust-stained sweaty sheen over her perfectly conditioned body, putting into sharp relief the motions of the muscles in her legs, back and shoulders.  Her breasts jiggled tightly as the continued her labors, the large, brown, suntanned nipples poking out.

        Fortunately the watching men and the cars parked behind them all but hid her nakedness from the passing cars and trucks, but having a closer, more intensely observant audience was all the more shaming.  To the side, leaning on the guard rail, McMasters looked at the girl and at the crowd with a neutral expression, but Wanda was hard put to contain her glee at Tami’s plight.

        Bolt upright again, her sweaty, concave tummy heaving with each heavy breath, Tami walked to the trunk and spread her arms to heft the big spare tire.  As she dropped it next to the jack everyone could see the dark streaks of grime the dirty rubber had left on her shoulders, breasts and tummy.  She took off the lug nuts and lurched the flat tire off the car, then positioned the spare.  Putting the flat tire under her to sit on it, she winced as she felt the hot, dirty tire under her butt cheeks, knowing that it would create a round, black area around her butthole.  In fact she could feel that ring of brown skin making contact with the hot rubber.  Ouch .  .  .

        Tami spread her legs for leverage, pointing her toes out, and lifted the spare onto the bolts.  The men sighed with lust at the grunt, the soft, high grunt of a teenaged girl exerting herself, which sounded like a moan of orgasm.  More jiggling breasts and flexing butt muscles as she got the lug nuts on and tightened them.  The naked girl, now sweating so much that her hair was beginning to stick to her forehead, heaved up the flat tire with a great effort and staggered over to the trunk, grimacing as the hot dirty tire rubbed against her chest.  As she dropped the bad tire into place she could see that it was wet with her sweat.  When she turned to face the watchers she was fully aware of her black, greasy hands, and the grease and grit all over her front.  One of her nipples was totally black.  A tractor trailer sped by and blew dust and little grains which stuck to her sweaty nakedness from head to bare toes.

        Squatting again, she lowered the jack and got up to walk over and throw it into the trunk, then tightened the lug nuts on the spare, her breasts bouncing again as she hopped up and down on the iron with rough curled toes, this time clockwise.  Finally she threw the tire iron into the trunk, leaning onto it as if waiting for a policeman to give her a pat-down, breathing heavily now that her task was done, flat bare feet on the rough gravel, her butt and bare back shiny with sweat as they faced the men, her clean brown butthole fully in view between her tight cheeks, winking at them.

        She turned around and said, “O.K.”   to McMasters.  She made up her mind not to act shamed.  Standing upright, she faced her audience, hands at her sides, legs a little bit apart, as if entirely unconcerned with her nudity, a proud, strong, intelligent naked girl who was naturally dirty after a hard job done well, looking up at the hills with what she hoped was a deadpan gaze.  She wiped the hair off her face with a dirty hand and realized that by now her face was streaked with grime.

        She glanced over to McMasters and Wanda.  This was so unfair.  Here she was, naked and dirty and shamed, having to do all the work.  She desperately wanted to get into the car.  But they were hesitating.  What .  .  .

        Wanda held up her watch, and with a tight little smile, announced, “It’s one o’clock, Tam.”

        Tami shut her eyes and permitted herself a soft, low groan.  Oh no .  .  .please, not here .  .  .

        One o’clock.  .  .  Time for her “session”.  In front of all these gawking men on out on a public highway.  Another devastating assault on her sense of modesty, but of course that sense was supposed to not exist and Tami knew she could not be seen to object.  Her first session, which began at 7 a.m., had been different.  She had put the equipment on at Chalfont just before they got in the car.  It wasn’t so bad to endure those orgasms sitting in the front seat while McMasters drove.  Wanda herself was still half asleep in the back.  But now .  .  .

        “You get it, Tami, you’re closer,” McMasters said.  The sweaty, grease-stained naked girl paused a moment and then, with the fear-tinged resignation of someone being led to the gallows, popped open the trunk again, leaning over the flat tire, still wet with her rubbed-on sweat, and got the plastic white box.  About the size of a shoebox, she mused.  She looked down at her gritty, dirty, rough feet and longed for shoes, but then forced this thought from her mind.

        Her audience of strangers, mostly beer-drinking hunter types, who had been standing around amazed at watching this beautiful naked girl changing a tire, paused in their panting lust and were puzzled.  What was going on?

        Tami thought of putting the equipment on in the front seat, but McMasters was thinking in other terms.  “Why don’t you do this on top of the trunk.  Doing it on the ground might get dust in the works.”

        “Doing it on the ground.  .  .”   Like an animal.  Yet Tami knew that McMasters was right.  And to put the retainer panties on required a hard, flat surface big enough for her to squat on.  She shut the trunk and opened the box, squinting with distaste as she saw the dildos attached to the panties.  These were bigger ones now.  McMasters had explained that he wanted to get deeper contractions for a better readout on her metabolism, or some such mumbo jumbo.  Standing up with these huge things inside her wasn’t so bad, but sitting was very uncomfortable.  During this morning’s session she had felt so totally stuffed that she had to raise her pelvis up and put her feet under her butt cheeks as they drove along.  As if to punish her more he had told her the measurements, numbers which she could not blot from her mind.  “The vaginal dildo is now six and a half inches long, an inch and a half in diameter.  The rectal dildo is now seven inches long, one and three-quarters inches in diameter.”   Not quite as big as the dildos on the piston machine, but still .  .  .