Tami gives them hell (despite --)

It was an exhibition hall which somehow sprouted up out here in the Gobi desert, perhaps as the centerpiece of a planned city which never got built.  Some limousines parked around, and a helicopter pad.  It was not that large inside, about the size of a high school gym, with five rows of stands around the periphery and a wraparound balcony.  It was well-lit, big windows above bringing in the bright though bleak surroundings, a chilly and windy landscape even in summer.

Sir Gregory Bateson, age 74, tweedy three-piece suit, red tie, Union Jack pin, pocket square, well-shined wingtips.  A throwback to the Foreign Service of the 1970’s, he had come with a bowler and umbrella, which he had surrendered at the door, along with his cell phone.

Horace Donaldson, age 59, attached to the American Consulate.  The Consul decided, wisely, not to tell the Ambassador or the other political higher-ups about the “arrangement”.  All tasks were passed off to the British, whom the Chinese trusted more anyway.  Still they decided that the delegation should include an American.  Consulate staff had grown so fond of Tami during her short stay there that the task was delegated to Mr. Donaldson, who had been on vacation during that time and could be more objective.  He wore a pinstriped Armani suit.

Sir David Sutcliffe, age 62, assisting Sir Gregory.  His choice in suits was a little brighter than his superior’s, light gray, blue tie, wingtips that were new and pinched a little.  Flashes of green socks could be seen as he walked.

Peggy Park, age 29, a native of Korea but a graduate of Stanford University.  Sir David’s intern, nervous on her first “sensitive” assignment.  Ms. Park wore a business jacket with a ruffled collar, A-line skirt cut below the knee, nylons and heels.

Roger McConway, age 44, Ms. Park’s supervisor in the PRC unit, in a business suit of course.

Lady Louise Fanshaw, age 66, a senior Sinologist, in a floor-length skirt and business jacket over a silk blouse and flats.

Vladimir Zinowsky, age 55, another Sinologist, in a rather old-fashioned rounded collar shirt under a double-breasted suit with rather oversized pants.  His good shoes were being repaired, so he was wearing black sneakers.

Under the above described clothing, they all of course had on a full set of undergarments.

Around the hall there were the echoes of shoes shuffling and low voices.  But the place was not empty.  The seventy or so visitors, obviously men of wealth and power, sat on the sides, or milled around the stations at the far end.  Areas for weight-lifting, yoga, gymnastics, what looked like a low desk with a laptop, all up on three-foot risers for better display . . . but mostly the guests clustered at the near end, after the entry where there was a long coatrack meant to accommodate perhaps fifty guests.  There was a partition which blocked any direct view from the entrance.  Going around it . . .

The seven-member delegation looked up at the suspended, nude form of Tami Smithers, wrists and ankles cuffed with ropes that stretched her out into a very wide “X”.  She was surrounded by inquisitive businessmen -- and a few women -- who were drinking in her complete and utter nudity with a quiet but hungry lust, it was not just a rumor, it was true, their reward for bringing in millions in foreign money, and an inducement to bring in more.  Allowed an hour in here, they circled around in the best (or worst) Guanxi tradition, carrying the drinks they had gotten from the bar, or maybe the little plates from the buffet, admiring the American girl’s tight little butt, the lightly muscled shoulders, the exquisitely long legs, the toned tummy, the well-displayed pubic bush, the pretty bare feet, the perfectly firm breasts, and not the least the beautiful face with bright green eyes and the dark red hair just touching her bare shoulders.

There were a handful of women in red overalls here and there, acting as staff.

To accommodate the heavily suited guests, the air conditioning was turned up, and the cold air stiffened the nipples on Tami’s firm, jutting breasts.  Around the nipples, there were goose pimples on the tanned, weather-toughened areolae.  The nipples poked out searchingly as if on an eternal quest for covering and warmth.

“Miss Smithers,” Sir Gregory said, looking up at her face, with as steady a voice as he could manage.  They had been told to expect something like this but they still were unsettled, and truth be told awestruck at this luxurious and complete elucidation of one of the world’s most beautiful bodies.

“Good afternoon,” Tami said, listlessly.  She closed her eyes and in a smaller voice, she said, “Please don’t look.”  Then she cleared her throat and looked down at them.  “I have been waiting for you all month.”

“Yes, sorry, but what you ask was . . . well we have had difficulties.”

“They made a promise to me.”

“Yes, but -- ”          

Tami perked up, as if suddenly given a shot of adrenaline.  “And those clothes and shoes!  They could have at least let me put them on, and wear them, even if only for a few minutes.”

“Sorry, Miss Smithers . . . but that would have violated the terms of the arrangement.  Also I know you were told that ANST would be officially abrogated, but it was not yet, as you Americans might put it, a ‘done deal.”

They looked up at her face and it appeared for a moment that she was on the verge of tears.  Sir David said, “I know it must be frustrating.  You have three more weeks here.  You must be counting the days.”

“I don’t count days any more,” Tami Smithers said, cryptically.

“They will miss you when you’re gone, I’m sure,” Mr. Donaldson said.

“They have a girl lined up to replace me.  Her name is Zhen-Zhen.”

The elegantly dressed delegation and the stretched out nude girl regarded each other for a moment.  Tami wiggled her fingers and toes, as if part of a wild hope to rip the cuffs off, jump down to the floor, grab something from the coatrack to put on, and run out of here.

“Can you please at least get that fan turned off?”

They looked down to the side.  A large fan was quietly but efficiently blowing upwards at Tami’s crotch.  “It’s bad enough they keep this place like a refrigerator, but . . .”

“What is the purpose of that fan?  It seems unnecessary,” Lady Fanshaw said.

Tami shook her head in disgust.  “They like the effect it has on my . . . lower hair.”  To Tami’s chagrin this prompted them to examine her crotch, which due to her suspended state was a little above their eye level.  The pubic hair of Tami Smithers, as was well known, was lush and abundant, having grown free and unencumbered in the open air for so long.  The fan ruffled it in a way that was oddly and admittedly enchanting.

“I’m sorry, Miss Smithers,” Sir Gregory said.  “They made us promise not to do anything to help you.”

Tami exhaled, exasperated at the impotence of her clothed visitors.  Meanwhile the delegation took stock of her predicament.  They could hardly imagine a posture that could leave every inch of her more completely exposed and more helplessly on display.  The ropes on the ankle cuffs went down to pulleys far to the right and left, then up to the balcony, where on each side they were coiled into a windlass which also operated the ropes coming up from her wrists.  Her legs were pulled apart more widely than her arms, allowing her pink pubic lips to emerge into view, slightly separated.  They looked at her bare, outstretched feet, and saw red white and blue painted on the widely spaced toenails, obviously not her idea.  Her fingernails too.  Noticing their gaze, she said, “They also wanted to dye my hair red white and blue, but I said no way to that.”

Sir David said, “Remember, Miss Smithers, shortly before you leave this place, your college will get the directive that you be allowed footwear, and clothing.”

“Can’t they be given the directive now?  Zhhh!!”  She shuddered as with a turn of the fan a whiff of chilly air curled up into her vagina.  Goose pimples rose on her butt, much to the enjoyment of a Colombian gentleman who was transfixed by her tightly conditioned glutes.

“No, only at the proper time.  Those are the terms.  Though the paperwork is all ready.”

“Yes I know, I wrote it myself!”  She sighed in exasperation.  “I wish I could access it.  I can’t get to anything here.  Just the official news, and the email relay to my classes.”

“I understand,” Sir Gregory said.  “Of course the Chinese are very good at restricting internet access.”

“As if I didn’t know that.”  The naked girl looked down sternly from her stretched out perch.  She shivered; they could see the goose pimples on her breasts and her thighs and they all felt miserable, fully clothed and free to walk about on their well-shod feet.

Now she stared down at Sir Gregory with the iron determination they knew this girl was capable of.  “Well -- ?”

“A few preliminaries,” Mr. Donaldson said.  “You’re an American citizen and our first task is to ascertain that you are safe.  We have been given a very general list as to what, uh, what they are doing to you on a daily basis.  Are you here all the time?”

Tami reluctantly gave her report.  “Yes, 24/7, except for mornings when I do cleanup and go outside to dump the trash.”

“Cleanup?  Dump the trash??”

“Yes . . . These folks are getting their money’s worth out of me.”

“You’re not always on . . . display like this.”

“Well, this is like, part of my typical working day.  After I take out the trash, I eat breakfast.  I have to admit, the food here is really excellent. . .  Then I go down to the far end, where I . . . poop in front of everybody, then I get an enema, shower, and the festivities begin.”

Sir Gregory looked around.  “Is it always this -- well attended?”

“Yes, usually,  More so in the mornings.  It’s amazing how many old guys are fascinated with watching a girl poop.  It still freaks me out.”

“No one can touch you though?”

“Certainly not!  I made that clear from the get-go.”

“How about keeping up with your classes?”

“I’m free after six, so there’s plenty of time.  It’s the summer semester anyway.  It’s hard to study with people staring at me, but I got used to it.  Also, some of the workers here, I tutor in English.  They’re really nice.”  Implication: as opposed to the rich creeps who come in to gawk.

Mr. Donaldson looked around at the balcony, the folding chairs, and peeked back around Tami’s bare butt to see the various stages, the shower, the toilet, and a canopy about eight feet up with rows of folding chairs around it.  “Do these people get allowed in . . . after dinner too?”

“Yes, and even overnight.  They dribble in even at three o’clock in the morning.  It was hard to sleep on that clear plastic thing at first, with people looking up at me, and down at me, but I suppose I can get used to anything.  At least the whole place is a ‘quiet zone’ then and they turn the lights down.”

Sir Gregory cleared his throat and said the well-rehearsed words.  “It was understood that your presence here for the benefit of unnamed guests would carry a component of intimate exposure.”

“You mean the sex things they do to me?”  The hurt in her pretty green eyes was as sharp as her words.  She glanced up at her wrist, and the rope extending from it way up to the balcony.  She tugged on it as if testing if escape was possible.  Her breasts jiggled slightly.  The two Russian guys to the side smiled at this.

“Um . . . yes.  I hope you are not being . . . physically . . . discomfited.”

“Well . . .” Tami looked up briefly, as if making a mental list.  “They’re not very subtle or gentle around here.”  As if that needed to be said.  “The dildos they use are too big, very uncomfortable.  They never heat the enemas enough.  And the nipple clamps are too tight.”

The stretched-out nude looked down at Lady Fanshaw and noticed her aghast reaction to the mention of nipple clamps.  “They do a -- ” Tami, unfamiliar with the vocabulary, searched for the word.  “Sadomasochistic -- thing -- every Thursday.”

“They are not injuring you, I hope!” said Sir Gregory, opening his jacket to tug down at his vest, as if getting ready for a fight, powerless as he was.

“No . . . it’s just uncomfortable.  I’ll live.”  Then she looked down and said sharply, “It’s not like Mr. Sen-tai and his -- twisty -- ”  She didn’t have to finish the thought.  They studied Tami’s nipples, cringing at the thought of what they once endured, grateful that they were so resilient, as resilient as Tami herself.  “And,” she added, her words dripping with insinuation, “I am happy to report that my -- rectum -- has not had any hot sauce in it recently.”

Donaldson refused to accept the implication that her sufferings had been her government’s fault.  In his gruff voice, said to the rest of the delegation, “Miss Smithers is in a way used to -- what you see here.  She had been subjected to situations like this for a long, long time.  It had been a fact of her life at her college as a research subject, to the point where she had become used to that fact.  That’s what made the arrangement . . . conscionable.”  They knew that of course.  This naked girl had been through more extreme things than this.  They had read the accounts of the cruel, endless experiments at Chalfont, the wintry semesters walking barefoot through Vermont snow.  And then this remarkable girl had made her way across her entire home country in the nude, while thinking the police were hunting for her, with no clothes, no shelter, no money, walking barefooted over mountains and deserts and swimming across rivers, equipped with nothing except her bare body and her wits.

Still, this scene was hard to look at.

Tami stared down at her fellow American.  “I’ve never been in front of an international audience, though.  Are you sure none of this is being videoed?”

Sir Gregory said, “The Chinese are far too astute to allow something like that to happen.  This entire facility, like all Guanxi, is sub rosa.”

The officials had to move to the side so that a small clutch of dark-skinned gentlemen, having viewed the nude from the rear, could see Tami from the front.  Their heads bobbed in front of the ruffling pubic hair as they took turns to inspect.  Their low voices had a French accent.  Possibly from Ivory Coast.  Tami looked over dully at the line of coats hung up right in front of her as if to torture her, and then gazed up through the big window at the bright windy plain.  Now the Africans withdrew and took their seats to the side, evidently waiting for an upcoming “demonstration”.

The appearance of one of the red-clad matrons up on the balcony drew their attention.  She walked over to the windlass, and nodded to her partner on the other side.  In coordination they cranked the windlasses.  It took increasing effort as the ratchets clicked once, twice, and then finally a third time.  The ropes creaked in their pulleys as they tautened and then vibrated, as if the whole apparatus, including the girl’s body, were a huge musical instrument being tuned up.

Tami Smithers was now further stretched.  She gasped as her arms and legs were straightened to the limits of their elasticity.  Her breasts jutted out further, the cold-stiffened nipples seeming to poke out like guns with which to destroy her enemies.  Her labored breathing only emphasized the deepened concavity of her tummy, heaving in and out under her clearly defined ribs.  Below, at their eye level, her pubic lips further separated as the doors to her dark feminine cave peeled apart.

The stretching, reminiscent of the legendary Rack of medieval times, concerned even Donaldson.  “Miss Smithers -- that must hurt -- ”

“Not -- really,” she said between exhales.

“I don’t see the purpose of this,” Sir Gregory said, as if he was about to lodge a protest.  Though it was doubtful he had permission to do so.

“It’s -- to make my -- ” Tami hesitated at saying the word and closed her eyes.  “My -- orgasms -- stronger.  If my muscles are all stretched out -- ”

Those who had read the Chalfont papers vaguely remembered a mention to this effect.

“A few are -- so strong -- they -- knock me out,” she said resignedly.  Despite her distress she noticed their consternation.  “Don’t -- worry.  I set limits.”

Peggy Park spoke even though it was not really her place.  “Limits?”

“Yes . . . At -- first they -- went too far.  They almost killed me.  F - finally I said -- no more than thirty -- ” Tami closed her eyes again -- “orgasms in one day.  And no more than ten in one -- session -- uhhh -- ”

Miss Park looked down.  Her Asian eyes widened.  Thirty orgasms in one day!!  She had never had even one.  The product of a strict family of bureaucrats in Seoul, she had broken out of her upbringing only a few years ago and tried masturbating in bed, under the covers, pulling down her pajama bottoms and then her panties, manipulating the soft lower lips with fumbling fingers.  She had come close a few times but never could “go over the top”.  She knew that whatever an orgasm was, it had to feel really, really good.

And this naked girl, the forever naked Tami Smithers, had thirty of them!  Every day!  Some of them so powerful that she fainted!  Peggy felt consumed with envy and then chastised herself.  Did she really want to be like Tami, forbidden to ever wear clothes, stretched out with every little bit of her exposed for the leering eyes of creepy rich men?

The delegation stood there silently, at a loss for words, unable to stop looking at the ruffling pubic hair, the concave tummy, the pointed breasts, then over at the widely-spread bare feet with the red white and blue painted toenails.

They knew the stretched-out nude was going to scold them, and now the moment came.  “Well, gentlemen and -- ladies!”  Tami’s voice, stentorian so that it almost did not sound like Tami, broke the silence.  The stretching of her body made it a little hard to breathe but she got the words out.  “Do -- you -- have -- something to sh - show me?”  It amazed Peggy that young Tami, naked and up on display and now under stress, could hold her own with the clothed diplomats.

“Miss Smithers -- ” Sir Gregory began.  He was interrupted by one of the matrons, who approached them and said in uncertain English, “We will begin now show.  Yourselves sit please.”

There were empty seats right behind them.  As they sat down uneasily there was a movement of observers to this end of the hall.  Another matron went around behind Tami and pulled apart the naked girl’s butt cheeks to the close inspection of the men back there, as it happened some venture capitalists from Australia.  Like all the other guests at this facility they were meticulously and expensively dressed, in full-cut suits with florid ties and pocket squares, their shined shoes squeaking against the cold tile floor.  The guests here were coming from, or about to go to, important business meetings and were dressed accordingly.

The delegation couldn’t see it from where they sat, but it was obvious from Tami’s pained expression what unwelcome things were being done to her rear parts.  “Ughh -- why do these matrons -- all have to be -- smokers -- ”  An odd comment; they could detect no cigarette smell, just a hint of coconut, evidence of the afternoon enema.  Her sour accusatory grimace was aimed at Sir Gregory directly as her body jerked as a skilled tongue darted deep into her rectum and then slid rapidly in and out of her anus.  The twist of her face brought out the faded little scar over her eye.  He looked away, down past the twitching toes of her right foot.

They preferred to look elsewhere when the first matron approached Tami from the front, ostentatiously spread the girl’s vaginal lips, and showed off the naked girl’s emerging clitoris to the crowd.  It was engorged with the unwanted arousal that had been achieved behind.  Tami looked up at the ceiling in desolation.  Her clitoris, shining in the overhead metal halide dome lights, was directly at the height of the matron’s mouth.  Now the 48-year-old lesbian of much experience plunged her face into Tami’s crotch and devoured the young woman’s vulva with such ferocity that it elicited a short shriek which echoed through the hall.  Tami’s legs, pulled apart almost to the horizontal now, quivered to the extent they could.  The jolt was transferred through the wrist and ankle cuffs to the taut ropes, which got them vibrating.  The vibrations reciprocated, and like a marionette the nude body jerked in crazy directions.  The two matrons locked arms around the girl’s hips to steady her as they played the girl’s body for the crowd’s amusement.  Tami was no longer cold; her skin flushed with her increased metabolism.

Orgasm was induced quickly, as they knew it always was with Miss Smithers.  The veins in her throat bulged as she tried to keep her jaws shut but her strangled screams resounded in the huge atrium.  Her eyes bugged out at the delegation with powerful accusation.  They all looked down at themselves, the layers of fine clothes which Tami was always prevented from wearing, the shoes that would seem so odd being put on her broad, tanned, toughened bare feet.

It seemed like forever but the orgasm finally spent itself, the first of the session (though it was her seventeenth of the day).  The matrons’ tongues and lips, front and rear, did not stop sucking and chewing and licking and jabbing even for a second.  Tami cried out in agony during the moment of supersensitivity; then her head dropped to her neck as she surrendered to the second cycle of plateau and orgasm.

Peggy could see Sir Gregory look around uneasily.  They would hate to admit it but all five men in the delegation were getting erections to varying degrees and were shifting in their chairs.  It seemed odd to think this but the experience was actually more unbearable for the observers than for the besieged nude girl.  Unfortunately to get up and leave would create “a scene”.  Their instructions were to be as discreet as possible.  As Tami was recovering from her third orgasm they were rescued by the appearance of an equal number of Americans, well fed, overdressed and leery-eyed.  Sir Gregory offered their seats and soon the delegation had escaped to the outer row of stands.  After an awkward silence they began discussing their options, trying not to watch what was being done to Tami forty feet away.

They could think of nothing at the moment.  But they had to return, and quickly.  They were at the naked girl’s mercy.  And she knew it.​