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poles apart

The old man in his bathrobe and slippers, and the barefoot teenage girl strapped into her ridiculously tiny bikini, huge dildos buzzing silently inside her pussy and rectum, tight scratchy bristly cuplets buzzing silently over her nipples, stood facing each other for a moment as if at an impasse. The teenager didn’t know what to say; as she fought the furious titillations that imprisoned her, her bare thighs quivered slightly, her concave tummy moved in and out with each ragged shallow breath.

Bzz -- zzz -- zzz --

“I’m sorry for being sorry,” Brian Cook caught himself amiably. “I forgot about your little regimen, and I forgot that you would have no shame about it.”

“It’s -- O.K.,” Tami gasped.

Mr. Cook took a sip of coffee and looked down at the teenager’s leather-bound crotch, not with lust but with curiosity. “Science is amazing. I’ve been told about this contraption.” He shook his head. Then he looked at her face again. “I’ve got something for you.”

He turned and walked and the teenager, automatically respectful of her elders, followed. They went toward the front room -- the “sun room”, Mrs. Terry called it -- then turned left down a little hallway, toward the exit to the garage. When they came to a side window Mr. Cook drew back the curtain and said, “Look.”

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

Tami, trying to smother the slow rising tide of arousal, managed to bend forward with only one or two little gasps. Outside, parked on the driveway, was a brand-new tiny subcompact car, a cute little red Japanese model with some forms and brochures on the dashboard.

“That, my dear, is for you,” Brian said with a smile.


“A rental. It’s on me.” As he let the curtain fall back, Brian sipped and explained. “I know you’re a dedicated nudist, dear, and I respect you for it, and I don’t want you to think I’m condescending, you are very mature for someone your age. But I’m worried about you making your way back to Rhode Island in your . . . in your lifestyle choice. You’ve been around friends until now, but going across the country alone is not something that a naked young woman should do without her own means of transportation.”

Tami looked again at the car through the translucent curtain. “B - but . . . I’m not t - twenty-one.”

“That’s O.K., you can drive, that’s all you need. Mr. McMasters told me you helped drive his old Cadillac across the country, and even were handy in fixing it. I assume then that you have your license with you.”

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

Tami nodded, still looking at the car. “B - but I’m n - not on business. It’s just . . .personal.”

Brian couldn’t help but chuckle at the teenager’s naivete. “Dear, you don’t have to be on a business trip to rent a car.”

“W - what if something happens?”

“You mean an accident? Don’t worry, I bought insurance on it. It was only a few dollars.”

Seeing Tami’s continued interest, Brian drew back the curtain again so that the quivering girl could have another unobstructed view. “It’s yours for two weeks. You can spend all that time getting back to Providence if you want. Stop by some other places. I hear you’ve made some friends on the way. Well, you can look them up again on the way back. Or go a totally different route. I recommend the Grand Canyon. See, I also bought you a U.S. road map so you can plan your trip.”

Tami looked harder. Yes, there was a big new Rand McNally road atlas on the front seat, the kind her father had. Brian continued, “You can even turn the car in in another city and continue to Providence some other way. Zippy Car Rental, it’s a national chain. There’s just one favor I’d ask.”

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

Tami shook her head in wonder. This old man was so kind to her. Maybe it was the flush of happiness that made her crest so quickly. She crumpled forward a bit, resting one hand on the sill, and shut her eyes, her toes curling against the carpet. “Ohhhh . . . ohh -- ohh --” Brian pretended not to look as she went over that waterfall and then her body, led by her pelvis, began jerking forward.

The teenage girl was determined not to be so impolite as to let an orgasm interrupt the old man’s discussion. She laboriously straightened up and looked up at Brian with wet, tortured eyes. Gasping through the last few spasms, she said, “What -- is -- it -- ohhhh . . .”

Brian paused, allowing the tempest to spend itself, before saying, “My friends are having an exhibition in my gallery tonight and wanted to know if you could pose as a, well, a model. I have a gallery near here, you know.”

Taking deep breaths as some measure of calm and clearheadedness returned, Tami remembered the gallery very well -- that nice, elegant place where she and Kelly and Nina and Helen had escaped to after the big scene at the club. She had felt so experienced and familiar clowning around and posing on those little pedestals -- true, her experience had been the humiliating poses dictated by Professor Brignon, but she discovered it kind of comfortable to pose in front of friends in this nice old man’s gallery, far away from the grubby abusive manipulations of Ross and Professor Brignon.

“I’ve done posing before,” she said helpfully.

“You would be the centerpiece of a multimedia collage of sorts. It’s sort of a B and D theme, but nothing too straining for someone like you. It starts at seven o’clock. George will pick you up at six. He’s running the exhibition.”

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

Tami experienced a tiny jerk, a thrill from the vibrating knob on her clit. What did “B and D” mean? Well, it couldn’t be as bad as Chalfont or Professor Brignon or the Dixon Mill or any of those other degrading ordeals.

“Of -- course I’ll do it.”

Brian seemed about to say something and then hesitated. He fished some keys out of his bathrobe pocket. “I won’t take so quick an answer. Here, go down and sit behind the wheel and think about it. Then come up and tell me. I’ll be in my studio.”

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

Tami’s hand quivered and she almost dropped the keys. “Ohhh -- O.K.,” she said.

She made her way down the concrete stairs and then felt the warm, sun-drenched asphalt of the driveway under her bare feet. The sun’s sheen off the new car was so bright as to be almost blinding. As she made her last step she was overcome with orgasm number three. She reached forward to break her fall, bracing against the hot roof which almost burned her hands as she leaned there, cresting, spasming, face down, her toes spreading on the asphalt as if to better anchor her.

When this latest crisis was over she took a breath and got in, planting her bare butt into the driver’s seat. Fortunately the vinyl was not black; it was white and did not burn. She looked at the spanking new interior, the 373 miles on the odometer, and decided that she was lucky indeed. She looked through the brochure. Yes, it was true; though this thing was scheduled to be turned in at Providence she could also turn it in at any Zippy location, 87 locations in the 50 states. There was a national map with 87 dots on it.

This solved so many problems at once. No waiting around in bus stations. No walking to find an ATM; she could just drive up to one. And then drive to a deserted-looking place and dash into any store that had clothes -- and feel the long-denied feeling of blessed covering again. Then drive to one of those 87 dots, turn the car in, and start with the rest of her plan: find a motel, look for ads, call Terri in Vermont to fax her her resume, get a job, start a new clothed life, send a letter withdrawing honorably from Campbell - Frank, go back to another school in a year or two. Hooray!!

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

Another jolt deep in her rectum and her whole life as a naked person started flashing before her. So here it all ends. As she staggered up the stairs, her feet slapping on the concrete, another explosion occurred within her and she had to pause, leaning on the railing. Then it was over and she breathed in and started up again. If only I could have been naked here, in this place, among these folks, without these horrible things in me, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But trudging naked through that snow, tortured by machines, those art classes, the Dixon Mill, Chalfont, humiliated and exposed in so many cruel ways -- and now it will be over. Her life of nudity will ease out of existence, ending so comfortably, in this sunny estate and then in the privacy and comfort of a new rented car. At least the final hours of her ordeal would be pleasant.

She tried to stem another tide as she made it up to the second floor and to the doorway of Brian’s studio. The old man was sitting on a high stool in front of a tall rough cylinder of marble, gently marking it here and there with a grease pencil. He looked up. “Well?”

“Thank you s - so very much, Mr. C - cook. I’ll b - be ready at ssssix.”

Brian nodded and then paused. He looked down. “I like to make sculptures of naked women, as I’m sure you have seen. I always ask permission from the subject first. But I decided not to do any sculptures of you. I hope you’re not insulted.”

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

Tami bit her lip but a gasp forced itself out awkwardly through her nose as a snort. She could not control the moans that interspersed her words. “OH! Th - thank y - you. Ohhh! . . . I ap - p - p - preciate it. OH!” She looked down momentarily as her eyes crossed. But she was good at controlling this orgasm, looking up to face Brian with pretty green eyes determined to make eye contact, though set off with tortured, twitching eyebrows, among her jumbled thoughts the fleeting idea that this old man understood her and they were speaking in code just now. The following spasms were voiceless, accompanied only by sharp, heavy pants.

Brian politely continued to look the teenager in the eye until the spasms were over. Then he said, “I hope you enjoyed your time around here, where there is other nudity besides just you.”

Tami, recovering, exhaled. But then realized that she was not going down to a plateau but about to be driven right away into another explosion. “Th - this -- is -- n - not -- n - nnnude. . . ohhh . . .”

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --


“N - no.” Tami took furious deep breaths as if to make sure her sentence would be completed before the next cresting. “H - here. . .n - naked is . . .ohhh . . eeeasy. . . F - for me. . . ohh! . . It’s -- h - hard . . .” -- she crested -- “OHH! . . . OH! . . . OH! . . .”

The old man and the suffering teenager continued to maintain eye contact as she spasmed and moaned yet another time.

Brian looked down in contemplation. “Indeed.”

Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --

For Tami there was no relief in sight. As soon as this latest orgasm was spent, another orgasm approached. With great effort she stood up straight, shoulders back, her whole body quivering. “M - mister C - c - cook,” she managed to gasp out.


Her pretty green tortured eyes danced crazily but managed to focus on the old man. “I - I w - want to th - thank you . . .f - for y - your . . .chhhkkkk!” A choking sound was all that could issue from her throat as her body bent forward with a lurch, but with a superhuman effort she kept her head up. “F - for your . . . hospit - tali - ality these p - past f - few . . . d - days . . .OHH!” Her eyes popped open at Brian as another orgasm hit her with the first hammerlike spasm to her gut, then another, then another.

Maybe it was an old man’s failing, who no longer had to be a tough lawyer and keep his feelings hidden. But there was a wetness in his eyes, a lump in his throat, which the suffering distracted teenager was not able to detect. In a soft voice he said, “You’re welcome, my dear child.”

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