Not Quite So Deep a Freeze

This is a long sequence, set about two months later, Parts 22 - 26 of “Tami the Strong”. As you can shortly tell, written in 2000.

        Damn these April blizzards.

        The two friends contemplated the gusty whiteness from behind the protection of the glass doors of the dorm foyer.  Outside were updrafts and downdrafts and crossdrafts of white powder, above soft white dunes a foot high, the stiff driving wind so forceful that the powder hit the glass doors with a sound like little stones and the wind howled through the cracks between the doors, shaking them.  It was hard to make out any shapes through the whiteness, just the very faint brownish shadow of the next dorm, Rankin Hall, less than a hundred feet away.

        The two friends were also roommates, Jen McIntyre and Tami Smithers, and they had heard that in this north country April blizzards were to be expected.  Today they were about to traverse the several hundred feet to Rossland Hall, which unfortunately meant heading right into the wind.

        Jen was dressed (starting from the inside) in a black lace 32B bra and modest black panties; the second layer was a white “Ziggy Marley” T-shirt, black capri pants, and white cotton socks; the third layer was a lavender “Lick Bush in 2000” sweatshirt, black jeans, and heavy black wool socks; the fourth and outermost layer was a black cap, black ear muffs, a white scarf wrapped three times around her cute African-American face so that all that showed were her eyes and the bridge of her nose, a heavy gray ski parka, brown insulated fake fur-lined mittens that were twice the size of her hands, red snow pants, and huge cold-weather hiking boots.  And, finally, a small backpack.

        Tami was dressed in a little black pouch wrapped around one ankle with velcro.

        Though they were roughly the same height and weight, Jen looked about twice as big a Tami due to the presence of clothes.  The clothed girl looked at this return to winter with wonder, her naked friend with dread.  Spring had been in the air, and now this.

        Of course they had different strategies with getting through the snow, well-practiced by now.  To this end Tami bent down, legs well apart, giving anyone who would have happened by a clear view of her brown-skinned anus, and took off the ankle pouch and stuffed it into her friend’s backpack, leaving herself totally without a stitch of covering.  For most students a blizzard was something to be trudged through in heavy clothing, but for the naked girl survival dictated that she dash through it as fast as possible.  It was well understood that while running, the pouch might get dislodged, and in a heavy snow might get lost.  So when Tami put her pouch in Jen’s backpack it went unspoken as a matter of course.

        Tami said, “Let’s go,” and opened the door.  She shot out as her bundled up friend hung back in the doorway for a moment and then began her first laborious steps.  Meanwhile, the naked girl was sprinting into the face of the blizzard, feeling the bite of the grains of snow as they knifed into her, stinging her face and breasts and midriff, accumulating in her pubic hair.  She only momentarily looked down at her quickly-numbing bare feet cutting through the snow, white powder sticking to her toes.  Her attention was focused straight forward through squinting eyes, which she had to protect from the grainy assault with one hand and then the other, trying to locate campus landmarks as she approached them, running where she knew the paths must be.  The loud rush of wind and pelting grains was almost deafening as it hit one ear and then the other.

        It would have been traumatic and probably fatal for the average person.  But Naked Tami, toughened by five months of exposure to the freezing cold, had learned how to run naked through things like this sandstorm of ice particles.  Rossland Hall was about four hundred feet away, counting the various turns one had to make from path to path.  She knew it would take about three minutes to run there in these conditions, and knew also that three minutes’ exposure would not hurt her.  This knowledge, along with a certain amount of acquired resistance to the cold, gave her the strength to continue and complete her journey, even though she felt the cold right to her bones just as much as anyone else would.  The travails this naked teenager had been through had made her hardy, tough, strong.

        Strong as to the cold, that is.  Not strong as to assaults on her modesty, which were never-ending in this life of enforced nakedness.  She tried to concentrate on knifing through the blizzard, but could not put out of her mind thoughts of the upcoming shame.  She and Jen were going to one of the meeting rooms in the Rossland Hall basement, typically used by support groups.  .  .  As she turned the corner from one path to the other, glancing down at her feet, which were covered with white powder down to her red, flushed toes, her mind replayed the circumstances that led to this new ordeal.

        It had been a week earlier when she got one of those intercampus envelopes she had learned to dread.  This one was from Dr. Vanessa Congi, asking Tami to come to her office.  Dr. Congi, who back in December had unwittingly and cheerfully led Tami through what was (at the time) the most shaming experience of the naked girl’s young life, namely, serving as a live model for a sexual health workshop held in the lounge of her own dorm.

        Dr. Congi sat Tami down on the same couch she had been on before that workshop, when she agreed to what she thought would be a simple workshop on breast self-exaMs. The professor began, in her warm and earnest way, by referring to that workshop.  “Tami, let me thank you again for helping us out with that sexual health training.  The response was fantastic and the students got a lot more out of it because you were there to illustrate your sexual anatomy.”

        Tami nodded and blushed, remembering that shaming and endless workshop, dreading what Dr. Congi was going to propose next.

        The professor continued, “We hope to repeat the workshop every semester in the dorms,” which made Tami cringe.  “Of course so as to fit into your schedule.  I’ve also seen that agreement you signed, and have heard about how sexually responsive you are, from the research at the CHalfont Institute.  You, Tami, are a very lucky woman!”

        Tami continued to listen, a polite smile frozen on her face, hiding a bottomless well of shame and dread.

        “Many women find it impossible to reach orgasm at all, let alone experience multiple orgasms regularly like you do.  It is for the benefit of preorgasmic women particularly, and for women in general, that we’ve set up a workshop on reaching orgasm.  I was so glad when the Dean told me you had agreed to demonstrate for us.”

        Tami’s throat felt dry and she coughed.  She hadn’t agreed to any such thing.  The Dean had set her up, just as Wanda had set her up for that sexual health workshop.  And now she was in a fine fix.  She reflexively crossed her legs, and in Dr. Congi’s small office the effect was that Tami’s big toe touched Dr. Congi’s dress.  “I’m sorry,” Tami said with a small, quiet voice, moving her foot.  Inside she was quivering.  She couldn’t very well tell Dr. Congi that she hadn’t in fact agreed .  .  .  That would get back to the Dean.  And then she would have to explain why she didn’t want to participate.  “It couldn’t be because of -- modesty, could it?”  She could hear the Dean’s insinuating question -- and could also hear him then lower the boom and expel her.  She looked down at her hand and thought once again of the Dean holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart and saying, “You are this close to being expelled.”  She was hanging by a thread.  There was no room for any hint of modesty, none.

        And this agreement she had signed .  .  .  it was getting to be a boogeyman.  What did it say, anyway?  When she signed it, in the dining hall back in December, she was on the verge of orgasm, shaking and almost out of her mind with extreme sexual tension, in no condition to understand the document suddenly placed in front of her.  The words were a blur then, and she certainly couldn’t remember them now.  She wondered how much she had agreed to, how far others felt they could go with her .  .  .  Where was that damned agreement, anyway?  Henry Ross said he’d give her a copy -- twice -- and she still hadn’t gotten it.

        Tami got her throughts under control and listened as the professor continued.  “Now the best way to demonstrate the stages of the orgasmic process is to have an orgasm in the way you typically do,” Dr. Congi said.  The naked girl, cringing on the little couch, blushed again.  To hear the professor talk so matter-of-factly about such a thing!  This had to be the ultimate horror.  During that other workshop Tami had almost come from the the various manipulations of her genitals, and it had taken every ounce of willpower to keep from going over the brink.  Now the professor was asking her to deliberately have an out-and-out orgasm while people watched.  “Tell me, Tami, how often do you have an orgasm?”

        To discuss such things!  “Uh .  .  .  every day.”  She hated to say it, but Dr. Congi was fixing her friendly eyes on hers and Tami just could not lie.

        “Hmm .  .  .  And what is your method of reaching orgasm?  Do you use your fingers?  A vibrator?”

        “No.  My .  .  .  my roommate l - licks me,” Tami said, averting her gaze, looking at her bare toes, not being able to look right into the professor’s eyes while saying such a thing.

        Dr. Congi seemed to draw back for a moment as if surprised.  She knitted her brow.  “Well, maybe that will be O.K., we can do that,” she said out loud but to herself.  “Tami, do you think your roommate will mind if she comes along and brings you to orgasm in your usual manner at the workshop?”

        Tami quickly saw a way out.  “Well, I don’t know .  .  .”  It would be risky, but she could report back to Dr. Congi that Jen had refused.  Maybe the professor would give up the whole idea then.

        Dr. Congi said, “This will stay confidential, Tami, but what is your roommate’s name?”

        “J - Jen.  Jen McIntyre.”

        “Oh, I know Jen!”  Dr. Congi said, straightening up and smiling as Tami’s heart sank.  “I’ll ask her myself.  I see her all the time in the gym.  She’s on the gymnastics team.”  Once again, Tami was trapped.

        The rest of the scenario played out with the inevitability of doom.  It was hardly the next day when Tami walked into her dorm room and Jen, sitting at her desk, looked up and said -- with Mandy sitting right there, no less!  -- “So Tami, Congi told me about the little demonstration we’ll be giving next week.”

        Mandy, who had been sulking and keeping to herself the past few weeks, looked up from her lower bunk, where she was sitting cross-legged and studying.  “What are you talking about?”

        As Tami froze, powerless to do or say anything, Jen said cheerfully and with a cocked eyebrow, “I’m going to lick Tami and make her come for a workshop on orgasmic dysfunction.”

        Mandy uncrossed her legs and showed a trace of her evil gleeful side, so much hidden recently.  “Oh really?  When and where?”  Whereupon Jen told her.  Then the two roommates looked lustfully at the standing nude before them, all up and down, and Tami once again had to suppress the intense urge to cross her legs and cover her breasts.  Or turn and run to a world where circumstances did not conspire against her and she could go through life wearing clothes, like the normal teenage girl she was deep down.

        Tami went over the whole affair in her mind.  It was a fait accompli.  There didn’t seem to be any point where she could have derailed this train to humiliation.  She was going to be licked to orgasm by Jen in front of Dr. Congi, Mandy and God knows who else and there was nothing she could have done about it.

        A quick biting blast of freezing grains of snow hit against her anal sphincter and Tami was jolted into to the here and now.  She turned from one path onto another on the home stretch to Rossland Hall.  She tried to will herself so that her mind would be as numb as her body was getting.  I’ll pretend I’m somewhere else, she told herself as the faint shadow of the tall administration building got clearer and clearer and she slipped on the ice that covered the courtyard before quickly getting up again.  If I can pretend I’m somewhere else maybe it won’t be so bad.

        The naked girl burst through the doors and after a few thudding slippery steps on the polished floor she came to a stop.  She looked around.  There was no one in the lobby.  Jen would be here in a couple of minutes.  At least Mandy hadn’t gone with them.  Maybe she wouldn’t be there.  Tami decided to wait and hide, and she was walking to the vending machine room when Dr. Congi came through the door from the basement.

        “Tami, hi!  Are you O.K.?”  She laughed as she looked her naked student up and down.  Tami’s hair was blasted through with white flecks of snow.  Her whole body seemed red and tight from the cold, the nipples sticking out, and as she looked down she saw that her body was not white and gray, a sign of hypothermia, but vibrant and alive.  In fact now that she was inside she felt hot.  The most striking sight was her lush bush of pubic hair, thickly caked with white wet snow that was beginning to melt in little rivers down each thigh.

        Tami looked up.  “Jen will be here in a bit,” she said.

        Dr. Congi said, “Come on down, we’re all ready.  We won’t need Jen for a few minutes.”

        With a sigh the naked girl followed the professor down the hard rubber steps to the basement meeting room.  As she entered she saw a small folding table set up with a chair next to it, and a blackboard over which some posters were hung, those same old posters depicting female sexual anatomy that she remembered from the December workshop.  There were about thirty women sitting around the table in folding chairs.  A rather bigger gathering than she expected.

        But that was not the worst thing about it.

        Tami followed Dr. Congi and hopped up to sit on the table, her bare feet dangling down, knees exactly ten inches apart, a chunk of snow falling from her pubic hair.  She wiggled her toes as she felt the tingling return to them.  She carefully kept her gaze to the floor because she just could not bear to look.  The women ranged from older middle age to freshmen.  But in the front row was Wanda.  Wandabitch, her old R.A., in her usual stylish coat and wearing a beret.  Where had she been all this time?  And Heather, that snobby clothes horse from downstairs.

        And .  .  .  Lorinda, with a couple of her equally doofy, jerky bio major friends.

        Tami was not looking at their faces but knew that they were barely able to hide their sadistic glee.  The professor began talking and Tami knew she was about to descend into a new Hell of humiliation.

        As Tami sat on the table, afraid to look up, afraid to move except for the periodic wiggling of her toes as the feeling returned to them, she listened to the professor as she gushed about her glorious nudity.  “We are in the presence of a remarkable woman, Tami Smithers,” she said.  Tami wasn’t facing her but could imagine that Dr. Congi was looking down and smiling at her.  “Of course she’s too modest to acknowledge it, but Tami is an inspiration to anyone who aspires to strength and bravery in a patriarchal world.  She is a religious nudist, who doesn’t own a scrap of clothing, not even any coverings for her bed, and as you can see, not even the weather can stop her.”

        During this discourse, embarrassing for Tami but not for the reasons Dr. Congi supposed, Tami kept her gaze down, not wanting to face her audience, in particular not wanting to face Wanda, Heather, and Lorinda and her friends in the front row.  Her eyes darted furtively at the footwear of the people in the front row.  Heather, Wanda, Lorinda .  .  .

        My boots!

        Tami’s eyes opened wide as she saw, below Wanda’s magenta jeans, the furry black boots Tami had gotten at Christmas during her senior year in high school.  God, they had been great boots, so warm and snuggly .  .  .  Tami tried to recall the feeling, and discovered to her chagrin that it was almost impossible.  She tried to catch it, but like a butterly in a meadow the memory was a faint wisp that eluded her.  She was beginning to forget what clothes even felt like.  She closed her eyes in desolation and flexed her toes.  Her bare toes, her bare feet, walking through the snow and through mud, getting muddy, mud squishing through her toes, everyone looking .  .  .  God, she hated being barefoot.  She wanted to feel soft socks and warm toes snuggling against the inside of those boots .  .  .  She wanted to scream and knock Wanda down and grab those boots, shouting, “Give me back my boots!!”

        She knew from long experience that it did no good to torture herself with longing.  She was going to go through the next four years naked and that was it.  At least until summer.  Thirty-five days.  Longing gave way to anger as she sensed that Wanda knew she was looking at the boots.  She saw Wanda’s feet turning and pointing as if she were modeling the boots on a runway.  The naked girl wondered what had been done with the rest of her clothes when Wanda had taken them away, way back in September.  Did she distribute them to her friends?  Heather certainly wouldn’t wear anything but her own clothes, but Wanda had other friends .  .  .  Tami pictured herself seeing her old clothes on girls passing by on campus.  There go my gloves .  .  .  there goes my red fluffy sweater .  .  .  my pretty white heels .  .  my plaid skirt .  .  .  while she herself could do nothing but walk past in her wretched nakedness, unable to complain.  Tami cursed her former R.A.  in her mind and wished all kinds of horrible tortures on her.  She pictured Wanda tied naked to some horses and dragged face down through the mud.  Yeah!  Sitting naked on the little table, facing her attentive audience, Tami allowed herself a little evil smile.

        It was only a second since the professor stopped talking and Tami heard her shuffling around behind her, probably arranging the posters.  The room felt warm and Tami’s body started to flush as full feeling returned.  She absently flicked off a few remaining chunks of melted snow from her pubic hair, causing someone to giggle.  Tami blushed a deep crimson as the professor said, “Well, that’s not a sight any of you are likely to see again .  .  .  I know there’s a lot of curiosity about Tami’s lifestyle, so before we get going on our demonstration perhaps some of you have questions, Tami I hope you don’t mind.”

        Of course Tami minded very much, but she couldn’t say so.  A woman in the back, about 40 years old, raised her hand.  “Miss Smithers, don’t you have to put up with a lot of abuse from going around naked all the time?”

        Indeed Tami did, in ways that this woman could never know.  But the naked girl, aware of Wanda’s close scrutiny, aware also that there were probably other spies in this crowd as well, straightened up, her semi-erect nipples sticking out, and said in a little voice, “No, not very much, really.”

        A pretty, young black girl with very short hair and big hoop earrings, sitting behind Heather, said, “Don’t you have any panties?  What do you do when you have your period?”

        Tami said evenly, “I put a tampon in.  That stops it.”

        Another older woman said, “You don’t wear anything at all?  Not even when it’s snowing out?”

        “No.”

        “Why not?”

        Tami swallowed and said, “Because I don’t want to.”  Every fiber of her being was screaming the opposite.  Her stomach bunched up with the strain of keeping it in .  .  .  How much more of this could she take?  Would she go crazy?

        The older woman in the back said, “How long have you been naked?”

        Tami said, “Since September.”

        “What did you do with your clothes?”

        It was as if on cue.  Lorinda stood up and said, “She gave them to her friends,” and she took off her heavy coat to reveal a red fluffy sweater.  TAMI’s red fluffy sweater.  Lorinda looked at the naked girl and said, “Thanks Tami!  It’s fluffy and snuggly and VERY warm!”  She shimmied to and fro.  Tami was barely able to hide the mixture of misery and anger and hurt which clouded her pretty face as she saw this immature tormenter of hers deliver such a crushing blow.  What more was there to say?  Lorinda and Wanda and the Dean held all the cards.  All Tami could do was take whatever they dished out and try to tough it out.  .  .

        Then Wanda said, “Tami, don’t you ever get cold?  It’s an arctic blizzard out there!”

        So Wandabitch, her evil former R.A., was twisting the knife.  Intense anger and shame kept Tami from looking her nemesis in the eye as she said, “I .  .  .  I get used to it.”

        Perhaps, even though they weren’t looking for it, some in the crowd might have picked up on the naked girl’s anguish and shame.  But just then everyone’s attention was distracted by a fat woman in the back, around 35 or so, who said, “Well honey, if I had a body like yours, I’d go naked too!”  Everyone laughed, and even Tami felt a little smile coming on.

        Dr. Congi hugged Tami’s bare shoulders and said, “Well, I think we know a whole lot about Tami’s religion, maybe now we can start.”  With the professor’s warm embrace Tami felt a little better.  Misguided though the professor was, Tami trusted her and knew that, though much humiliation lay ahead, it was not intentional when Dr. Congi was in charge.

        The professor had the posters the way she wanted them now and said, “Tami, if you could spread your legs and show us some of the parts of the external female anatomy, I think that would be a good place to start.”

        Well, this at least I should have expected, Tami told herself.  Her stone face hiding her shame, she brought her knees up to each side of her head and crouched a bit as she angled her legs open, her feet sliding as far apart as she could make them go as her pointed-out toes clasped each end of the little table.  If she was going to show her genitals to the whole room, this was the most covered position she could think of.  Her legs kind of shrouded and framed her pussy, and even better, her breasts were covered by her arms as they crossed in front and held her knees.

        Of course it was inevitable that this pose was not good enough.  The professor went around to stand behind the last row of women, and said, “Tami, if you could spread your legs so we could see better .  .  .  I’m sorry we don’t have the gyno table here.”  She looked around at her audience and then a solution occurred to her.  She looked over to Tami and said, “Why don’t you lay on your back and stick your legs out.  Maybe a couple of people could serve as, like, stirrups.  You, Heather, and you, Betsy .  .  .  Grab one foot and stand up to the side.”

        Tami felt like a saint about to be martyred, impaled on a battering ram.  The two torturers, Heather and Betsy (who was one of Lorinda’s geeky friends) stood up and each grabbed one bare foot.  They stretched Tami’s legs apart while Tami eased her bare back onto the cold hard surface of the table, which wiggled slightly with the shifting weight.  The naked girl looked up with a small measure of gratefulness at the ceiling.  At least she wouldn’t be facing the crowd.  She closed her eyes and prayed to God for strength as Heather and Betsy, knowing that the naked girl was a flexible gymnast, pushed her legs apart and then even more apart and then even more, pushing her bare feet up and out, up and out, until Tami’s crotch was well forward of her legs, sticking out almost over the edge of the table, her pussy lips gently parting and sticking right in people’s faces.  Her thin, toned, straight legs formed a wide, backward-leaning “V”.

        The harsh overhead light allowed the female audience to see every crease and fold in her pinkness, the shadow of every pubic hair stood out in sharp contrast to the clear, lightly tanned skin underneath.

        “Tami, if you could show us your labia majora, your outer vaginal lips, and spread them a bit for us,” the professor said in her earnest way, standing to one side.

        Tami, aware again of Wanda and God knows what other spies were present, clenched her teeth from the strain of keeping her face expressionless.  She felt like she was executing a routine on the parallel bars.  Every little motion had to be perfect.  The slightest sign of modesty or trying to cover up would be fatal.

        In the basement of Rossland Hall, in front of an audience as part of a demonstration, Tami Smithers, the girl who was always naked, reached down and gently spread her outer lips, allowing everyone in the room to see the pinkness inside.  Dr. Congi said, “Why doesn’t everyone get out of their seats and gather around for a closer view.  We’ve been talking about the female anatomy and now is the chance to see it.”

        Without thinking, Tami arched her head up to look down, and immediately regretted it.  There was a sea of faces crowding close in from every angle.  People had gotten up out of their chairs to get the closest possible view.  The older women who had been in back were standing up, craning their necks.  And in front, kneeling down right in front of Tami’s crotch, not two feet away, were Wanda and Lorinda and Lorinda’s bio major friends, staring with eyes wide, a mixture of curiosity and delight and viciousness on their beaming faces.  Wanda quickly looked up to Tami and her eyes shone with sadistic delight as they made eye contact.

        Tami couldn’t stand it.  It was as if Wanda’s gaze was piercing into her soul.  She put her head back down and, her fingers still holding her pussy wide, looked up at the ceiling.  Please God, get me through this .  .  .  She felt her feet being manipulated and realized that Betsy and Heather were playing with them.  Betsy had put her fingers through Tami’s toes and was spreading them.  Heather was holding Tami’s foot with one hand and with the other was tracing lines on her sole.  At first Tami thought Heather was trying to tickle her, but then realized Heather was simply noticing how tough and hard Tami’s soles had gotten from months of walking over rough surfaces.  The naked girl remembered being splayed out on the gynecologist’s table in the dorm and realized that this was far worse.  At that time her legs were in cold metal stirrups and her pussy was spread by a metal speculum.  But having her legs manually spread by the members of her audience and opening her pussy lips herself made the exposure this time that much more intimate.

        “Now, Tami, if you could show us your labia minora, your inner lips, and spread them if possible.”

        Tami tried to get into the clinical spirit of things.  Her brow furrowed as her shoulders hunched down so that her arms could extend down further.  Her wrists bent as her fingers felt around for her little, delicate inner lips.  Finally with the thumb and forefinger of each hand she delicately pulled each pink lip apart.  She winced as she realized that her dark, pink hole was open to everyone’s gaze and she felt the breaths of people on her most sensitive inner membranes.  The breaths of Wanda and Lorinda!  Then she felt a little gentle breeze down there and realized that one of them was deliberately blowing into her hole in an effort to further shame her.  Probably Wanda.  With the professor now in the back of the room, Wanda could do this without being noticed.  Oh God .  .  .

        “Now Tami, please show us your clitoris.  Open the little hood.  This might be hard to see, people.”

        Tami pointed her index fingers up and pulled back the little pink hood at the top of her pussy in an attempt to expose her most sensitive body part.  She wondered if it was out of the hood, but dared not look down to check.

        “Hmmm .  .  .”  Tami could picture the professor’s wrinkled brow.  “Right now it’s flaccid and hard to see.  As we mentioned, during sexual arousal it gets erect, little a little penis.  Maybe we’ll be able to see it then .  .  .  Tami, if you could rub it a little, maybe it will get a little bigger so we can see it .  .  .”

        Tami shut her eyes.  She tried very hard to think of Rod, of that romantic evening in Jeremiah’s cabin .  .  .  But she could not summon any feelings of horniness at all.  She rubbed her clit, hoping this clinical stimulation would make her love button a little bit hard so that the professor would be satisfied.  She felt Heather’s hand once again rubbing her sole, and on the other foot Betsy’s fingers once again spreading her toes wide and flexing them, felt another little whoosh of blown air from Wanda .  .  .

        She turned with a start at the sound of heavy boots clomping in and Jen’s jovial voice saying, “Hey Tam, wait for me!”

        Tami gratefully withdrew her hands from her pussy and exhaled, resting her hands on her tummy.  Though it meant the humiliation of public orgasm was imminent, Jen’s warm presence was welcome.  It would be even worse if Tami had to reach orgasm by diddling herself.  But when Jen licked her there was always a warm connection between them.  And Jen’s head would be in the way.  Maybe, the naked girl hoped, the bubble of intimacy could act as a covering.  Denied clothing for months, spread and exposed over and over, the naked girl was reduced to looking for covering in such desperately hopeful, pathetic imaginings.

        “Here is Jen, Tami’s partner,” the professor said as Jen took her gloves off, stomped the last of the snow off her boots, and hung her overcoat on the doorknob.  “How’s it look outside?”

        “The snow’s dying down a bit, I think,” she said, taking her hat off.  She quickly looked at the crowd and motioned a pleased and surprised “hi” at the black girl in the hoop earrings.

        “The usual way for Tami to reach orgasm is from oral sex from Jen, so we invited Jen along,” Dr. Congi said.  “Jen and Tami can answer a few questions about their sex life, if you want.”  As Tami sat up, she made room for Jen and the two girls, one naked, the other heavily clothed, sat side by side on the little table facing their female audience, who sat either on the chairs or on the floor around them, like disciples listening to a feminist, free sex gospel.  Tami found herself reaching for Jen’s hand and they held hands like the lovers they were.  Tami found herself clutching onto her roommate’s hand tightly, as if for support.

        After a moment’s hesitation the older woman in the back said, “How often do you, uh, do Tami?”  There was a chuckle.  “Well I didn’t know how else to put it!”  she added.

        Jen said, “Every day.  Sometimes twice a day.”  She smiled and glanced warmly at Tami.  Tami gave a little smile back.  This was torture, but sweet torture in a way.

        “Tami, do you ‘do’ her too?”  the woman asked.

        Tami hesitated, then said, “Sometimes.”  With Jen here she had to be truthful.

        Heather was acting as if she didn’t know Tami.  “How often do you come?”

        Tami blushed with shame and an underlying anger.  This torture was not sweet.  She tried to stall.  “You mean every .  .  .  time?”

        “No, let’s say, how many times a week?”

        Tami took a deep breath.  She felt in a daze as she went right ahead and told the truth again.  “A - about twenty-five or thirty times, I think.”

        There were a few gasps.  Someone in the back said, “Girl, you are lucky!”  There was some laughter.  Though flooded with shame, in the back of her mind Tami felt a twinge of poignancy.  She had figured out that some of these women were here because they had never been able to reach orgasm at all.  Ever.  For them this discussion must be torture in a way too.  Tami wished she could trade twenty of her weekly orgasms to those women for some clothes.  Hell, trade all of them .  .  .  That would mean more clothes .  .  .

        Jen looked at Tami with studied surprise, and said, “Wow, Rod must really do you!!”

        “Is that your boyfriend?”  someone asked.

        “Yes,” Tami said, with a faint smile, wishing she were alone with Rod under the covers in his apartment.  She sighed.

        Abruptly, Wanda said, “Tami, do you take it up the ass?”

        Tami was shocked, and some of the others were too.  She glanced over at the professor, who said, “Kind of bluntly put, but that’s how a lot of people refer to anal sex.”  She looked at Tami as if expecting an answer.

        Tami looked in Wanda’s direction but couldn’t look up at her face.  It felt like with that question Wanda was shoving a fake dick up her butt and Tami felt her cheeks involuntarily clench.  In a little voice she said, “Yes.”  She clutched Jen’s hand a little harder.

        The girl with the hooped earrings said with a warm smile, “You two look like you’re really in love.”

        Jen and Tami looked at each other.  Tami felt her nipples flush and stick out.  She smiled as Jen hugged her with one arm.

        At a sign from the professor, Jen sat up and faced Tami.  Then she kissed her gently on the lips and whispered in her ear, “Turn around.”

        Tami gulped, feeling herself suddenly plunged into an abyss of shame.  Jen was going to lick her butthole in front of everyone.  It was the way Jen usually started, these days.  But did she have to now?

        These protestations had to be made silently, of course.  With a frozen look on her face the naked girl turned around and positioned herself with her butt facing everyone, her knees on the edge of the table so that her feet stuck out.  She felt Jen’s breath on her sensitive sphincter and knew that everyone had a clear view of her butthole and was watching intently.

        Then she felt Jen’s warm, wet, soft tongue noodling into her butthole.  She heard a few gasps from the crowd, and then the professor saying, “Well this is unexpected .  .  .  but we know now that Tami is well in touch with, uh, the sexuality of her anus and rectum, something that most women never explore.”

        Tami, facing away from the crowd, looked dully up at the posters on the blackboard.  So the professor was going to provide a running commentary.  As she felt Jen’s tongue squirming through her anal ring and into her rectum, piercing into her guts, she put her head down and buried it in her hands.  She almost cried, uttering low moans of utter shame which everyone took for moans of passion.  “Ohhhhh .  .  .  ohhhh god .  .  .  ohhhhh .  .  .  ”

        She jerked at bit as Jen’s finger found and rubbed her clit.  In spite of herself she felt her body begin to flush with desire and her breathing got heavy and ragged.  She heard the professor’s words and knew that they would not distract her arousal.  Jen was so good at stimulating her by now that Tami would respond no matter what was going on around them.  “You see Jen now manipulating Tami’s clitoris and Tami showing signs of arousal.”

        Jen withdrew her tongue and slowly inserted her index finger into Tami’s butthole.  Tami knew the signal.  She turned over, rotating on Jen’s finger, and eased down onto her back as Jen spread her thighs apart with her forearms and descended with her tongue flat onto her pussy lips.

        Tami had her arms over her face but the professor said, “Tami, if you could move your arms so we can see the changes in your face and skin during arousal.”  Tami exhaled with a ragged breath and put her arms to her side, then extended them out to clutch the sides of the table.  This was just going to get worse and worse and there was nothing she could do about it.  She felt about to cry and her face contorted as if about to sob.  She heard the professor’s voice, now nearer, say, “Note that during arousal a woman’s face looks like she’s in agony.  This is true of Tami, especially.  Jen has told me that when aroused and after orgasm she sometimes even cries from pleasure, with tears coming down her face.  My guess is it will look like crying from pain.  Let’s see .  .  .”

        The naked girl found this unbearable.  Jen began attacking her clit and Tami moaned again, this time from pleasure.  Without thinking she opened her eyes --

        Lorinda was standing next to the table, leaning over, peering directly into Tami’s face!  And next to her was Wanda.  And some others.  In fact it seemed like everyone was standing around the two lovers, crowding around the table, looking at Jen’s technique, at Tami’s toes as they flexed and writhed to reflect the naked girl’s arousal, at her hardened nipples which Jen now and then pulled and rubbed with a free hand, but especially at her face .  .  .  Oh God, not my face .  .  .  She longed to cover her face with her arms again, and the strain of resisting the urge made her knuckles white as they gripped the sides of the table.  .  .  And Wanda and Lorinda and Betsy and Heather and some others, Lorinda’s friends, were looking into Tami’s face with wide-eyed curiosity and sadistic fascination.

        Tami once again moaned in shame.  “Ohhhh .  .  .  ohhhh .  .  . ” Her eyes, bugged out and full of tears, looked up at the ceiling with fright and anguish as her face was contorted in agony.  This could not help but draw the concerned comment of one of the older women.  “She really looks like something’s wrong.  This is not easy to look at.”

        “I know,” the professor said.  “This is how women are, one of the unfathomable mysteries of life.”  The professor could not hear the silent, frantic, desperate prayers of the naked girl as she peered past Lorinda’s and Wanda’s faces at the ceiling to her God, a God who really had abandoned her .  .  .

        Tami’s legs suddenly shook with a frisson of intense pleasure.  Her eyes shut and her teeth clenched and she breathed in and out with a strangled voice.  “Zhhhh!  Zhhhh!”  Jen knew this to be a sign that the end was near and she pushed her head into Tami’s crotch, attacking her clit with a strong, rapidly flicking tongue.  Dr. Congi said, “It looks like Tami’s on the plateau phase, about to go into orgasm.  See how her whole body is getting flushed.  Her breathing is getting more excited too.”

        The professor reached between Lorinda and Wanda and moved her finger in a little arc over Tami’s head, saying, “See how sweat is beginning to form over her brow.  .  .  No doubt you can tell the smell of Tami’s sexual secretions, which are quite strong.  Her pupils will also start to dilate.”  The professor, aware that she was speaking through a thick fog of arousal, raised her voice a little and said, “Tami, if you could keep your eyes open if possible.”

        Tami’s tear-filled, anguished eyes opened.  Her eyebrows and cheek muscles twitched and squeezed in an irregular, half-mad dance of pleasure and shame.  Deep in her brain she knew that the sooner this was over the better.  She pulled her arms in and grabbed Jen’s head, pushing it even harder into her pussy.  Jen’s finger, in Tami’s butthole, started thrusting in and out.

        “Wow!” Lorinda said.

        “This is amazing!” one of the older women said.

        “This is beautiful!” the girl with the hooped earrings said worshipfully.

        Everyone crowded in closer for the grand finale.

        “Tami’s about to reach orgasm,” the professor said.  “See how her whole body is starting to stiffen.  Then we’ll see the actual contractions.  To the typical woman it feels like you’re about to go over a waterfall.”

        “OHHHH!!  OHHHH!!”  Tami tried desperately to pretend that this was happening to someone else.  But she couldn’t.  She was right here and now.  Her nerves were rubbed raw.  She was baring her soul right into Lorinda’s face, and into Wanda’s face, and Heather’s, and .  .  .

        With a loud shout Tami’s pelvis shot up, causing Jen to almost raise up off her feet.  Everyone looked closely as they saw Tami’s teeth clench, then saw her eyes squeeze shut, then force themselves open wide again.  Then they could not help but stand back a little as a hoarse, low voice, quite unlike Tami’s, like the voice of a spirit that was possessing her, shouted, “OH .  .  .  MY .  .  .  GOD!!”

        For a second Tami’s body was rigid and straight and everyone stood tense and silent.  The only motion, which no one could see, was Jen’s tongue frantically flicking Tami’s clit.  Then the naked girl’s body flexed down and then heaved upward, then down, then up again, then down .  .  .  Spasm after spasm erupted like a geyser.  The violence of the contractions caused everyone to step back from the table.

        The naked girl’s mind was in a voiceless, bright void, full of sparks and explosions.  When she became aware of her surroundings again her body was jerking erratically.  She caught her breath as the last jerks died down.  She heard the professor say, “As you can see, Tami did have a bit of a sex flush, not so clear because of her tan.  With some pale, white women it’s very noticeable.  See how she’s catching her breath, and the wave of sweat all over her body.  It’s even on her feet.

        “And now she starts to cry.”

        Tami sobbed as her last contraction spent itself.  She was bawling like a little girl who had banged her finger.  Tears streamed from her eyes and rolled down to her ears.

        “That was incredible,” someone said.

        “I counted twelve contractions,” Lorinda said with girlish enthusiasm.  “Is that a lot?”

        “That’s more than normal, yes,” the professor said.  “But obviously Tami is unusually responsive.”

        To her horror the naked girl felt her body stiffen a bit again.  Jen was beginning to lick her clit again with slow, long strokes.  No.  Please don’t.  Not any more.  Not again.  .  .

        “We -- ”  The professor stopped herself.  “I -- I was going to talk about the refractory period, but it looks like Jen has caught Tami on the other side of the plateau phase and is going to bring her to another orgasm.  Let’s watch.”  Lorinda and Wanda and the rest of them, having stood back out of the way from Tami’s violent spasms, drew closer around the table again.  Tami erupted in a low, desolate moan as she felt her body being dragged up once more into arousal.  “Uhhhhh .  .  .  uhhhhh .  .  .” 

        The professor said, “I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, Jen told me that Tami is usually multi-orgasmic.  Most women have the capacity.  In fact some say that once turned on, women are sexually insatiable, stopping only because they’re exhausted.”

        Jen’s tongue once again began a strong, sharp attack on the naked girl’s clit.  The professor continued giving the play-by-play.  “This time shouldn’t take as long, because Tami never dropped from the plateau phase.”

        Everyone could see the steady, stepwise progression of Tami’s arousal as Jen went doggedly after her, burrowing into her crotch.  Tami looked up at the ceiling, now with a dull, defeated look, and grunted rhythmically.  “Huh .  .  .  uh .  .  .  uh .  .  .  uh .  .  .”

        “The range of vocalizations that women go through on the way to orgasm is really remarkable,” one of the older women said.

        The girl with the hooped earrings said, “There’s no words, but it’s so easy to understand that they’re expressions of joy.”

        “Very primal.  Primitive,” the first woman said.

        Jen might have agreed with these stuffy Women’s Studies assessments at other times, but right now she was obviously focused on her task.  Tami was about to crest again.  Just then, her head glued to Tami’s crotch, Jen waved one hand frantically behind her, beckoning.  She reached out blindly and grabbed the hand of the amazed Lorinda and drew it under her head toward Tami’s butthole.

        “Oh, I was told Jen would do this,” the professor said quickly, realizing time was short.  “Orgasmic contractions occur in several places, but most notably in the anal sphincter.  Jen wants someone else to feel them.”  Seeing Lorinda’s hesitation, the professor, still speaking in quick tones, said, “Don’t worry, Lorinda, you can clean your finger off later.  This really is a privilege.”

        In a tiny corner of her dulled, half-crazed mind the naked girl felt Jen’s gentle finger withdraw from her rectum and felt another, cold, rougher finger push into her butt and knew it to be Lorinda’s.  This caused a moan of shame which mixed in with the other moans.  Tami’s teeth clenched and there was another strangled scream.

        Lorinda felt Tami’s anal ring grab her index finger and her arm was pulled up with Tami’s pelvis as it tensed and arched again.  The geeky bio major set aside her adolescent leering for a moment and was overcome with wonder.  As the naked girl’s body subsided and then powerfully spasmed upward, Lorinda felt the first iron clench and was amazed.  “Wow!”  she said.  “She’s squeezing my finger to death!”  At the second spasm she said, “Another one!”  Then, as Jen’s head moved to make room for her finger, as Jen was focused on flicking Tami’s clit right ahead of each contraction so as to strengthen and extend them, Lorinda started counting.  “Three!  .  .  .  Four!  .  .  .  Five!”

        Some of the other women found themselves joining in with the counting.  They were cheering Tami on as if watching a football player crossing the yardlines towards a touchdown.  “Six!  Seven!”  Some of the other women laughed at this childlike, spontaneous enthusiasm.  The professor smiled.

        Tami came back to consciousness as she heard the chorus shout, “Ten!”  And then the last, ragged contraction.  “Eleven!”  Then she heard cheering.

        Jen didn’t stop.

        Someone giggled.  “Here she goes again!”  Someone else said, “Go Tami!”  The naked girl’s eyes looked up and back, the green irises almost disappearing under her eyelids.  Her dulled mind knew that her dignity had been fully surrendered.  Her face was beet red and shiny with sweat, contorted in a rictus of extreme agony.  Jen reached out again and Lorinda’s finger was replaced by Heather’s.  In a hoarse, dull voice, Tami tried to pray.  “Ohhhh .  .  .  God .  .  .  please .  .  .  oh .  .  .  God .  .  .”  Soon as if from far away she could hear the cheering begin again.  “One!  .  .  .  Two!  .  .  .  Three!  .  .  .

        “Eight!  .  .  .  Nine!  .  .  .”

        .  .  .

        In the respectful, worshipful silence of a room drenched with the smell of Tami’s sweat and pussy, Jen had pulled the exhausted girl up and was now hugging her as the clothed girl stood up at the edge of the table.  The professor kept silent too, allowing the two lovers their moment of tenderness without distraction.  The professor’s eyes were a little moist.  As she looked around she could see tears in the eyes of more than a few of the group, particularly the older women.

        “I’ve got nothing more to say,” Dr. Congi finally admitted.  “This was a special moment.  Tami is totally in touch with her sexuality and so is Jen.  These are two lucky young lovers and we can all learn a lot from them.”

        That was the end of the workshop.  As the professor began putting away her posters and other things, at first people did not know what to do.  Even Wanda and Lorinda and Heather and Betsy and Lorinda’s other geeky friends seemed at a loss.  Jen and Tami stayed in their embrace but Jen started to look around a bit.  For the first time she noticed Wanda and whispered into her naked friend’s ear, “Look who’s here, Wandabitch,” as if Tami didn’t already know.

        One of the older women came up with a broad smile.  “I want to congratulate both of you, that was beautiful.”  Jen broke the embrace and accepted her thanks.  In a moment Jen was chatting with women as they came up.  She was enjoying being such a feminist role model.  As for Tami, she was too exhausted and wrung out to feel any further embarrassment.  She felt the humid air of her arousal in the room and had a vague idea of having big, hanging breasts with huge nipples, and fat, thick, prominent pussy lips on view for everyone like a cow at state fair, maybe the winner of first prize, but still an animal on display.  She looked up with tired eyes and nodded in acknowledgement when she was addressed or thanked.  They were almost forming lines waiting to silently hug her and Jen.  Tami only said one word, when a woman -- was she talking to Tami or to someone else -- said, “five orgasms.”  Tami uttered weakly, “Five .  .  .  ?”

        The girl with the hooped earrings came up and immediately drew a big, tight hug from Jen.  “So good to see you,” they both said at the same time, then they giggled.  They kissed on the lips, one of those ostentatious, undergraduate, see-how-proud-we-are-to-be-lesbians kisses.  Tami’s face finally showed a sign of awareness, though not much, when Jen said, “Tam, this is my former significant other, Leisha, gone on to better things.  She’s at Cornell now.”  Then Jen shot a quick glance around with a stretched-out mock grimace, hoping that the professor, or any of the older women who looked like they might be on the faculty, hadn’t heard.  But it looked like the coast had been clear.

        Tami offered a limp handshake and then watched as Jen and Leisha chatted and chatted, gradually migrating to the other side of the room, leaving her to sit naked and limp, sweat drying on her body.  Lorinda and Betsy came up, and then Heather, offering their thanks for the demonstration with poisoned courtesy, and Tami tried to ignore them, being forced finally to say, “You’re welcome.”

        People gradually left, including the professor with her posters.  At one point even Jen left with Leisha, looking back over her shoulder to say, “Bye Tam, Leisha and I have got some catching up to do, see you later.”  It was maybe two minutes later that Tami’s slowed-down mind realized that Jen still had her ankle pouch and her key.  She sighed as she realized she had no way to get back into the dorm.  She thought of what Wethby said and found herself muttering under her breath, though not without affection, “Flibbertigibbet.  .  .”

        Tami looked up and realized that everyone had left, with one exception.  Wanda, bundled up in her overcoat and gloves and beret, smiling viciously and saying, “You were incredible, naked one.”

        Tami looked up with a low glare, like a wrongly imprisoned inmate looking up at a guard.  “Go away.”

        “Really?  I still have a key to Pilgrim Hall, you know.  I’ll walk you back.”

        Tami limply got off the table and onto her feet, facing her tormenter with stooped shoulders.  “Let’s go.”

        “Not so fast.  We have some things to talk about.”  Wanda went over and closed the door and stood in front of it.  “I guess you figured out that I set this up.”

        Actually Tami had suspected the Dean, but it was clear by now that this definitely had the mark of Wanda stamped on it.  “Like before,” she said wearily, referring to that December workshop in her dorm.

        “Yes.  Pretty good, won’t you say?  I’ve got you in the palm of my hand.”  Wanda held out her palm and with the index finger of the other hand pointed into it.  “I can diddle your clit,” she said, wiggling her finger, “or poke you in the butthole,” she said, stabbing her finger into her palm so as to make the naked girl wince and her butt cheeks clench.

        Tami shook her head slowly.  “What have I ever done to you?  Why do you do this?”

        “You mean aside from the fact that I’m a sadist?”

        Tami looked up at her, once again becoming fully conscious of her surroundings, which meant that she began to feel the urge to cover her breasts with her hands and cross her legs and had to resist it.

        “Well, it so happens that I have only two semesters left and it would be nice to spend them in some other place than this stuck up holy roller syrup-sucking wilderness,” Wanda said, obviously having built up contempt for these surroundings for some time.  “And it so happens that I have a friend who, though she’s not a hardcore nudist like you, she’s in the habit of wearing very little clothing.  Being out of that Pilgrim Hall 24-hour day care center, I’ve helped guide her, uh, career, which she’s been very successful at.  She’s gotten, shall we say, an engagement overseas and I’ve put in for the foreign exchange student program and it would be very fine to be there with her next year.”  Wanda slid her beret over to the side at a jaunty angle.  “How do I look?  Oo la la.  Parles vous francais?”

        “What?”  Tami was totally lost.

        “Well, the powers that be have made me an offer.  If I can get you to admit the truth on tape, that this whole religion thing is a hoax, before the end of the semester, I’m accepted into the program and off I go.”  Wanda pranced over to in front of the blackboard.  “There’s other people working on getting you to cave in, too.  I know about your, uh, exercise program at the mill.  And your scientific work with the Chalfont Institute.”  She opened her coat to show a microcassette recorded clipped to an inside pocket.  “And I’m wearing a wire.  They’ve got to have your confession on tape.  Some legal mumbo jumbo reason.  But that won’t be a problem.  With what I’ve got planned I think you’ll crack.”

        Tami looked at the floor and said, “I don’t think you can do worse than what just happened.”

        “You’re wrong.  VERY wrong,” Wanda said sharply.  “Today was bad, and a work of art even for me, I’ll grant you that.  You came five times right in the faces of Lorinda and all those geeky bio majors who have barely gotten their periods yet.  It’s not like your top-secret big O’s at Chalfont.  This thing today, they’ll blab it all over the school like fourth graders.  Which they probably were until last year.  You’ll never hear the end of it .  .  .But things can get worse.  Remember, things can ALWAYS get worse.”

        Wanda stood back and looked the naked girl up and down with a vicious smile.  “Where’s your ankle pouch?  I bet Jen had it, I know the little system you two have for snowstorms.  And I bet she spaced out and forgot to give it back to you.”  The naked girl withered under the gaze of this powerful, knowledgeable, evil bitch.  “I like the effect of you being totally naked.  That pouch covers up too much.  What if we took it away and made you keep your I.D.  card and keys and stuff in a hollow metal cylinder?  Which you would keep up your butt.  You get fucked in the ass enough by Rod, and by Jen’s finger, you must be nice and loose by now.  So whenever you have to get your key or use your I.D.  to get in somewhere or get money, you’d have to squat and shit out the cylinder in front of everyone.  That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”  Once again Tami found herself clenching her butt cheeks together.

        “It’s not just me, Tami girl.  I’ve got friends in the administration, on the faculty, everywhere.  And some of them have even sicker minds than I do.  I like that cute brown skin around your butthole.  Congratulations, you always keep it squeaky clean.  Think of how many people have seen it by now.  It’s almost as recognizable as your face.  I’ve got it!”  she said, pointing her finger up, as if she had just thought of this idea.  “We’ll have a new I.D.  picture taken of you, only it won’t be your face.  We’ll have you spread your hard little butt cheeks for the camera and before you know it your butthole will be on your I.D.  card.  Think of what your card will look like.  Tami Smithers, date of birth, I.D.  number, then a picture of a brown butthole.  What if you’re on line for a campus movie or the dining hall and they check your I.D.  and then want to see some, uh, verification that it’s really you?  You’d have to bend over and show them!  ‘Oh yes, I recognize that butthole, you’re Tami Smithers, all right!’”

        Tami felt about to cry.  This was too much.

        “Had enough?”  Wanda said, opening her coat to reveal the microcassette again.  “No?  What about a Tami-cam?  We can mount a camera on your desk to be pointed at your bed at all times.  Someone in the psychology department can think of some plausible scientific pretext.  Research on sleep, for example.  You’ll be on camera as you toss and turn, stark naked, realizing that you’re on T.V., not only for the computer or whatever research associate they have watching you, but maybe accidentally on purpose you get put on the internet.  You’ll have no place left to hide.  Exposed to the world, you can’t get away, not even while trying to sleep in your own dorm room.  Maybe they’ll move you to the dorm lounge so the camera doesn’t interfere with your roommates.  Why should you care?  Modesty is against your religion, remember?”

        Tami looked at Wanda with increasing panic and horror.  “No, you’re lying,” she said.  “This is all a load of crap.”

        “Hardly.  Remember, it’s not just me, it’s lots of other people.  And some of them will have wires on too.”  Wanda opened her coat once again.  “Confess?  .  .  .  No?  .  .  .  Well then .  .  .  how about, piping subliminal messages into your room while you sleep?  ‘You must be modest, you must be modest .  .  .’ While you sleep your sense of modesty will be strengthened to Victorian era prudishness.  You’ll be turned into the type of girl who doesn’t like anyone to see your bare feet, let alone any other part of you.  And then you’ll wake up and find yourself stark naked in front of your roommates, no bedclothes, no towels .  .  .  and then have to walk to classes naked!  You’ll go nuts!  You’ll go stealing clothes off people.  Then everyone’ll know -- ha ha, you were lying about being a nudist” -- Wanda then affected a deep voice like the Dean’s -- “Miss Smithers, you are expelled, go back to waitressing tables like all the other Swamp Yankees!”

        Tami couldn’t quite believe all this, but enough had happened to her over the past few months to think that anything was possible.  Wanda was right about one thing, namely, things could always get worse.  Just when Tami thought she had reached the ultimate in exposure and shame, something was done to her that was even more extreme.

        Tami realized Wanda was being successful in trying to scare her.  She took a deep breath and tried to bluff it.  And strongly.  “Go to hell!”  she said quietly.  Then she thought of something.  “I’ll just drag you down with me.  You’re the one who started it all.  You’re the one who was into streaking.”

        “What do you mean?  I never streaked in my life.  I merely convinced a stupid freshman that it was the thing to do.”

        Tami’s face burned with anger.  This was so unfair!  “But you’re the one who made me do it.  You’re just as guilty as me.”

        “So you tell this story to the Dean.  I’ll just deny it.  They’re not going to expel me when it’s one person’s word against another’s.  I know the system by now.  Remember, though, you’re the one they found naked.  No question about that.  They got you red-handed.”  Wanda looked down at Tami’s bare attributes.  “And red-titted.  And red-clitted.”  She giggled.  “I’m starting to sound like Lorinda.”

        The sadistic former R.A.  walked right up to the suffering naked girl.  “Send me to France, darling.  I know you’re not exactly in the mood to do me a favor, but look at your choices.  Getting expelled from this place will be rough.  But at least you won’t lose your mind.”  She looked straight into Tami’s eyes with dead seriousness.

        Tami knew she had developed reserves of strength through her long ordeal of public nudity.  She called on them now.  “Get me to my dorm,” she said evenly.

        Wanda exhaled.  “O.K., time to walk barefoot and naked through the snow again.”  She opened the door and Tami followed her out, staggering a bit, still a little unsteady on her feet after five orgasms from Jen’s skilled tongue.

        Jen had been right.  The blizzard had been dying out and now all was still and white.  Mountains and valleys of soft whiteness surrounded the two girls as they emerged from the front entrance of Rossland Hall.  Classes had been cancelled and offices had been closed.  The campus looked deserted.

        Tami marched bolt upright aside her heavily bundled tormentor, her flat tummy expanding and contracting as she took in the cold air, trying to ignore the intense cold of the snow on her bare feet and calves.  Wanda, trudging along in her clothes, was jovial.  “Ah, what a beautiful sight, your freezing bare feet stomping through the snow.  Too bad this is probably the last snow of the year.”  Wanda stopped for a moment and Tami had no choice but to stop also.  “These boots of yours are real warm.  My toes feel all nice and snuggly.”  Again, she pointed and turned her feet as if displaying the boots on a fashion runway.  “Of course you know that, Tami.  Or do you even remember?  Do you remember what it feels like to be warm and bundled up?  It was so long ago .  .  .  Think about how you feel now, Tami.  Think about feeling like this through the next three winters.  Do you, uh, have anything to say to me?”  she concluded, pointing to where the microcassette lay under her coat.

        She looked at Tami with a smile, as the naked girl got colder and colder.  “Come on, let’s go,” Tami finally said.

        “Why?  I’m enjoying the view and the fresh winter air.”  In the quiet of the freshly fallen snow Wanda’s voice was loud and clear and doubly piercing.

        Tami closed her eyes and tried to stop from shivering.  She could get through the snow as long as she kept moving.  But standing still was a sure way to hypothermia.  “Wanda, plase,” she finally begged.

        “O.K.,” Wanda said.  The two girls continued.  They looked around as they passed various buildings.  Snow lay heavily on bushes and trees, on window sills.  It seemed like everyone was inside.  There were hardly any footprints anywhere.  Tami was expecting to see Jen’s and Leisha’s, but the path to Pilgrim Hall was virgin.  God knows where they went to.  Fortunately it wasn’t all that cold.  Tami, whose bare skin had developed a fine sense of winter temperatures by now, could tell that the snow was already starting to melt.

        Her feet and hands and butt were numb by the time they finally got to the front door of the dorm.  Tami stood naked and helpless, ankle-deep in the snow, as Wanda fumbled with her coat pocket and finally produced a key chain.  “I’ll let you in and then I’ve got to go.  Many plans to attend to.  Involving you, of course.  I’ve only got a few weeks.”

        Tami felt about to scream as Wanda’s gloved fingers picked through her keys with agonizing slowness.  Finally she got to what Tami recognized as a dorm key.  “Here it is.  Is this it?  Yes, I think it is,” Wanda said, as Tami exhaled with frustration.

        “Wanda, I’m getting seriously cold,” Tami said.

        “No you’re not, it’s probably hardly below freezing.  Balmy weather for you.”  Wanda drew the key to within an inch of the keyhole but then stopped.  “Wait a second,” she said.  She looked at Tami up and down.  “How do I know you’re really Tami Smithers?  I can’t let just anyone in to the dorm, you know.  Security reasons.”

        Tami’s patience snapped at last.  “Wanda, open the fucking door!”  Such language was not usual from Tami, but she was getting desperate for some warmth.

        Wanda arched one eyebrow.  “There’s one way to tell if you’re really Tami Smithers.  Let me see that ring of brown skin.”

        “Fuck you!”

        Wanda held the key up.  “No brown skin, no entry.  Spread ‘em nice and wide so I get a good view.”

        Tami felt like she was about to cry, though her tear ducts were dry after that workshop.  She quickly and desperately turned around and bent over and spread her legs and with her half-frozen hands, spread her butt cheeks.  She felt the cold winter air on her sensitive sphincter skin.

        “Wider, I can’t see,” Wanda said.

        “Fuck,” Tami said, as she stretched her cheeks apart farther.  Then --

        “EEEE!!!”  The naked girl felt a sloppy, wet snowball being pushed and rubbed against her butthole.  She pitched forward and closed her buttocks, then opened them again as she desperately scraped bits of snow out.  Her head hit the snow as she fell forward to her knees, snow in her hair, snow stuck to the soles of her bare feet as they kicked upward from her knees.

        The naked girl was possessed.  She turned and picked up her clothed tormentor and with the strength of an athlete, with the strength gained from hours at the treadmills, she threw Wanda five feet into the air so that she landed on her back.  Then Tami turned and sat on Wanda’s chest and undid her jeans and turned around again and pulled them down and then pulled her panties down, revealing pale white skin and a sparse bush of black pubic hair.  Finally Tami gathered snow with her bare hands and shoved a big snowball into Wanda’s crotch as Wanda squealed in agony and shock from the cold.

        Tami grabbed the key chain and opened the door as Wanda began helplessly trying to get up and brush the snow away from her most private area.  The naked girl shot into the dorm and before she closed the door, she flung the key chain as far as she could.  It disappeared into a mountain of snow about fifty feet away.  Wanda, still trying to get up, didn’t see where it went.

        Tami ran with numb feet up the stairs and went straight to the bathroom in her wing.  She sat huddled under the shower, praying thankfully, as the water brought her skin back to life.  She sat and took deep breaths as her senses returned, reveling in the fact that she was hidden.  Nobody could see her nakedness here.  She crouched in the corner of the shower stall under the lukewarm jets, arms across her chest, legs together, trying to recapture some of the modesty that was so scarce in her life.

        Minutes went by and she felt better and more clear-headed.  She giggled, thinking of what she had done to Wanda.  Then she stopped herself and thought about the threats Wanda had made.  Were they for real?  Maybe they were just idle fantasies designed to scare her.

        Tami got up and turned the shower off, hoping her room wasn’t locked.  Maybe Mandy was in.  The naked girl, water streaming from her soaked hair, dripping from her pointy nipples, streaming off her bare feet, walked out of the bathroom and down the hall, straight and proud, skin flushed and warm, totally unself-conscious about her nudity here in her dorm wing where her friends were, once again a proud nude princess, though one looking for a towel.

        It turned out Mandy was indeed in.  The wet naked girl opened the door and found herself facing not only Mandy, who was sitting at her desk, but also Muffy, the new R.A., sitting on the window sill.  Both had serious expressions on their faces.

        “Hi,” Tami said as she grabbed a couple of little towels from the top of her dresser and began drying herself off.  She did a thorough job, arching her back, turning around, spreading her legs, not caring if they were watching.  When she was done she said, “What’s up?”

        “We saw that stunt Wanda pulled on you through the window,” Muffy said, putting aside her preppy cheerfulness for once.

        “She is a mean bitch, but you know that.”  Mandy was also in an unusual mood, not snotty and not sullen, just dead-on serious.  “You got her good.  Good for you.”

        Muffy said, “I know you don’t wear clothes and don’t believe in modesty, but even you don’t have to put up with abuse like that.”  She got up and started out.  “I’m glad you can fight back.  If anyone tries to abuse you or harass you, come to me.”  Almost as an afterthought, she turned to give Tami a quick hug and then left.

        Tami looked at the doorway where Muffy had just left.  Then she turned to Mandy.  “I didn’t see you at that workshop.”

        Mandy exhaled and looked out the window.  “It’s because I knew Wanda would be there.  She is one sick chick.  She gives sadists a bad name.”  She looked up at Tami’s nakedness and gave a little smile.  “So how many times did Jen make you come?”

        Tami stood up straight and proud in her nudity.  She had a little smile of her own.  This was an odd feeling.  “Five times.”  She didn’t feel ashamed at all.  But felt a little bad for Mandy, who seemed so lonely and left out.

        “Wow.”  Mandy shook her head and looked out the window again.  “Five orgasms.  Another day in the life of Tami.”

        Tami didn’t want to be impolite but she really was tired.  “If you don’t mind, Mandy, I’m going to nap.  I’m exhausted.”

        “I’m not surprised,” her roommate said.  She got up to leave.

        “No, you don’t have to go,” Tami said.

        “I’ve got stuff to do anyway,” Mandy said, though Tami got the sense she was lying.

        After she left, the naked girl cranked up the radiator as high as it would go, and fell onto her bare bed, arms and legs splayed out.  Within seconds she was sound asleep with the loud snore of a strong-bodied woman who had been through heavy exertions.