The Unintentional Nudist X: Coming to the End
The beautiful 19-year-old stretched lazily and put her book down on her lap. She closed her eyes in the late afternoon sun, which was streaming through the window of her little apartment, and slowly turned this way and that in her rocking chair, gratefully feeling the shifting and rubbing of blessed, warm, caressing clothing on her entire body. She looked down and smiled, a gentle, happy, almost exhausted smile, the smile of someone who had been through Hell and now finally had received her passage to Heaven.
She gazed down at her clothing like a princess surveying her lands. A thick brown cotton turtleneck sweater, fluffy and pretty, with long sleeves. She felt it hug her arms and cradle her neck as it came up almost to her chin. She felt the slight roughness of the linen T-shirt underneath, and with an additional little twist felt the slight pinch of her cover-all, sensible, white bra. It was hard to find really sturdy, coverup bras in her size, 34C, but she found it in the old lady’s section of a local store, and now it held those private possessions of hers, her breasts, those breasts that were now permanently hidden from the view of the world, from the view of friends like Jen and foes like Wanda and creeps like Henry Ross. No more staring at Tami’s tits as a public pastime! Tami chuckled under her breath. No, from now on my breasts belong just to me . . .
She looked down to take inventory of her fabric assets, as if she had to keep reminding herself that they were real. God knows she had fantasized about it often enough, now the fantasies were realized. Jeans. Cool jeans, too. But no fashionable pre-ripped knees. Her knees would not be exposed. In fact she didn’t even own any shorts. After that first quick dash through Tommy’s before getting on the bus, she had gone to the little local mall every week, and all she had bought were long pants. Not even any skirts, because they afforded fleeing views of her legs. Tami Smithers had a Victorian Era sense of modesty -- which she realized she probably had had all along -- and could not bear exposing even part of a knee through a rip. Under the jeans, she felt the nice long, maternity-style panties, that went right up to the navel and halfway down her thighs.
She sighed pleasantly as she contemplated perhaps her most prized acquisitions, the big hiking boots and the thick wool socks on her feet. She lazily turned her feet this way and that as she looked down past her straightened legs, enjoying the view of these big clodhoppers from several angles. They were so warm! And the thick wool socks. She wiggled her toes, snug and warm and cozy . . . And then she turned to look back at her closet, which was by now full of clothes, two big racks and a floor crammed with all types of shoes. Except sandals, of course. She had spent so much money on clothes she had hardly saved up anything, but that was O.K.
She looked outside at the street. A nice quiet town. Some people had gotten to know her. With the almost telepathic sensitivity she had developed over the past year to others’ thoughts and feelings, she knew that people thought she overdressed. She was covered up like this on moderately warm days like today, and even on the few hot days so far, though up here in the North Country those hot days were pretty few and far between. But she didn’t care. Remembering what she had been through, she now hoarded warmth into her body, drank up the sun, at times like now was almost drugged with it. She could never get enough warmth, or put on enough clothes, or get enough of the sun warming the clothes and feeling that warmth through them.
The people she worked for her nice too. Ned and Ethel, real characters, grandparents types who had hired her from the college to help them with their accounting business. She couldn’t believe how old-fashioned they were. They still used a big hand-cranked adding machine which Ned’s father had used, and which according to him was bought in 1948. Their office was small and musty with the old-fashioned smell of paper and ink. In the corner was a big manual typewriter that Ethel still used for typing out letters with a steady click-clack from her gnarled, practiced fingers. She would insert a thin sheet of carbon with each one. They would send Tami out to the local stationery to get refills for the carbon. The stationery store looked almost as out-of-date as the accounting office, and probably was the only one in New England that still had carbon paper.
There was a computer in their office which they were beginning to learn how to use, partly with Tami’s help, and the computer looked really out of place. They had bought it on her advice a couple of weeks ago. She was knowledgeable about such things and in the local mall she had gotten one that fit their needs without a lot of unnecessary and expensive features. Ned and Ethel really liked her, they liked her hard work and her modesty and her politeness, which came easy to her because every minute of every day she was grateful to be in her present situation.
People in town thought her a little odd, maybe they thought she was some kind of religious person. She smiled at the irony. No more “religion” for me! . . . She found herself making little mental observations at what she saw around town and realized that she was turning into a real prude. The girls in town, for example, maybe it was the harsh winters up here, but when summer came they overdid it and really got into skimpy clothing. Halters, little hip-hugger shorts, flip-flops . . . Tami thought such attire was indecent. Or maybe these innocent girls, who had seen so little hardship in their life, were wasting what she considered a great privilege, the right to be private and covered and not have the world know your most intimate places. Tami thought of the last few months, these local girls taking off their heavy clothing as the snows receded, and realized what a mirror image process this had been of her own life, where she had gone naked through the winter and was now clothed. Momentarily wincing as she remembered those intruding dildos at Chalfont, she bent over and hugged her legs tightly together, hands around her knees, clenching her buttocks. . . She would still have flashbacks like this for a while . . .
In a moment it was over and she straightened up. Ahhh. Back in private and in clothes again. Back in warmth, happiness, her own little world which no one could invade. She stretched lazily again, and again she turned slowly in her chair, feeling fabric scrape and rub here and there . . .
She looked at the phone on the desk. A rotary phone, an old extra one from the office that Ethel gave her. She had spoken to her parents about an hour ago and they were disappointed she wasn’t home this summer, but glad that she was obviously happy and doing well. They were quite surprised at her new employers’ acceptance of her . . . uh . . . lifestyle. “You mean that’s really not a problem with them?” her father asked incredulously. Of course he did not know. Nobody knew.
Not even Rod. Calling from Boston every other night, doing well in his research project for a college down there, curious like his father was as to her summer life. She was shrewd; she never gave him her phone number at work, just for her apartment. Having him call at work would be a bad idea. He might say, cheerfully thinking it was no big deal by now, “Can I speak to the naked lady?” or something like that, and then Ethel might say, “What naked lady?”, and Rod would know.
What would she do when the summer was over? That thought had been nagging at her more and more. It was already mid-June. But she was woozy from the warmth and the sun and didn’t want to think too hard right now . . .
The thought of Rod gave her just a little twinge in her pussy. In her new clothed life her sexual desires had almost shut down. She hadn’t diddled herself in two weeks. Maybe twice so far all summer. Her pussy needed a rest, that’s what she told herself. I’ve had enough orgasms for ten women’s lifetimes, I need some time off. Someday I’ll get it going again. She knew it was because by now she associated orgasms with nudity and now that one was gone the other went with it. But her desires these days were for clothes and covering. She had bought gloves and an overcoat and even a scarf, remembering what Ethel had said about the nights when August comes around, and a nice knit winter cap too. She wanted to wear them outside but knew that would be ridiculous while it was warm.
So she occasionally would take these things out and put them on in her room, all bundled up in the middle of the summer, overcoat and hat and gloves, like Jen would be before they would make one of their mad dashes through a blizzard back at the college. She carefully repositioned the little mirror over her dresser so that she could move back and get a full-length view, then she would stand like she was modeling these clothes for a winter catalog. She looked at her face, almost hidden between the scarf and the hat, and a couple of times she was so overcome with relief and joy that tears came to her eyes and she hugged herself. . . Thank you, God . . . Oh God, never again . . . never, never, never, never again . . .
Now she found herself saying “never never never” in front of the window, sitting in the rocking chair, and laughed at herself. Maybe it was unavoidable after what she had been through, but she knew she was now a ridiculous fanatic about clothes. Like someone who didn’t have enough food as a kid and overeats as an adult. She had learned about that kind of behavior in psychology class. Overcompensation. But what Tami Smithers really wanted to be was normal again. Maybe this initial clothes-hogging will settle down and in future years she will veer back toward being like everyone else again. Maybe even wear shorts or -- gasp! -- get into a bathing suit (though a modest one-piece one) to go to the beach.
But for now, she told herself as she brought her legs up and curled up in the rocking chair, clumsily shifting to make room for her big hiking boots, she was glad to be dressed, clothed, warm, covered, protected, encased . . . She thought of Rod and pictured herself leaning against him, looking down at her with his adorable eyes behind those nerdy glasses, and that sexy black shaved head . . . Her arm actually went up toward the top of the chair as she pictured herself reaching up to caress his cheek . . .
She thought of Rod and pictured herself leaning against him, looking down at her with his adorable eyes behind those nerdy glasses, and that sexy black shaved head . . . Her arm actually went up toward the top of the chair as she pictured herself reaching up to caress his cheek . . .
It was indeed Rod, turning as she touched his face and looking down at his girlfriend. Tami woke up, groggily, as they gently kissed.
She looked out into the sunlight and lurched slightly. “Oh . . . “ She looked out across the campus, squinting into the sun, felt the rough concrete of the bench scraping against her bare butt cheek, the concrete of the wall against her bare shoulder, and remembered where she was. And that she was totally naked, here in the middle of campus. Only a momentary motion to cross her arms in front of her breasts and pussy, but it was quickly checked; after long months of public nudity the automatic motions to cover herself had been almost entirely suppressed.
“Oh Rod,” Tami said, stretching her arms and bringing her bare feet up to sit cross-legged, cradling his fingers in her hands. “I had a nice dream. “
“Was I in it?” he asked.
“Mmmm. . . yes. “
“Well you were making some sexy moves just now, Babe,” Rod said as Tami blushed, partly remembering her dream and how she had been turning to and fro. The rough fabric of her jeans, she now knew, was just this concrete against her bare skin. And everyone in view must have seen her twisting and turning, like a lazy, horny cat. “I bet I know what it was about,” he added.
Tami was still too sleepy to really feel embarrassed. And she was in her last days of nudity. Today the number in her head was 29. Twenty-nine days to clothes, to the day when finals ended and she would be on that bus and in clothes and on her way to Ned and Ethel’s! In a way Tami didn’t feel naked any more. She was clothed with expectation, with anticipation of the very near future, with the knowledge that her ordeal was about to be at an end. For now she could actually enjoy what could be enjoyed. She was coming to the end of the most remarkable, devastating, horrible experience of her young life. More than any teenaged girl should ever have to endure. Every few moments she thanked God. Finally. Coming to the end . . .
She looked around, to Jen on her left, to Mandy on the other side of Jen, and out to campus. It was the first really warm day, finally. The four friends were sitting on one of the set-in concrete benches along the outside wall of the Student Union, along the busiest pathway on campus and looking out to the academic buildings on one side and the dorms on the other.
What a relief for everyone, to be finally in the warm sun. Students (and some professors) were sitting on benches here and there eating lunch or chatting. Out on the field nearby about five guys were playing catch with a frisbee. Two girls joined them. The pace was languid, relaxed. Even the people going to classes walked slowly, loosely, as if it would be perfectly O.K. if they got to their class five minutes late.
Shorts, tank tops, sandals . . . after what was a cold spring even by North Country standards, everyone could finally break out their warm weather clothes. Some girls were working on their tans, lying on blankets with their shorts rolled up, their T-shirts hitched up to just short of their breasts. And presiding over this sunny domain was the one most relieved by the onset of warm weather, the most beautiful girl on campus, Tami Smithers, Naked Tami, Princess Tami the Nude, in her glorious, golden, all-over tan.
The Princess looked around at her domain, sleepy and happy. It was like in her dream; she was drugged by the sun, and felt it on her skin, hoarding it, taking in all the warmth she could from it, after being cold for so long. She cleared her throat as she got a little more awake and looked up at her boyfriend, who was taking in the view as well. A girl went by in a pair of very short shorts. “Enjoying looking at the babes?” Tami asked teasingly.
“When I have you??” he asked incredulously. “I must be nuts,” even though actually he had been looking at the girl in the shorts. Suddenly he suddenly got up. “It is hard to look at you so close, Babe. Let me get some distance.” He backtracked about ten feet, adjusting his nerdy glasses, and then looked at her with a lustful smile. “Yes . . . that’s a girl I’d like to get to know! Naked and fine!”
Tami smiled as she straightened her back to show her breasts to best advantage, not shy at all when it came to putting on a show for her boyfriend. Her semi-erect, brown, large nipples, big and hard and tough from exposure to the wind and rain and cold, stood out in the warm gentle sunshine. This did not escape the attention of Jen and Mandy, who were looking at her sideways. Jen was dressed in a red leotard top without any bra; her little nipples could be easily seen through the thin, stretched fabric. She had on a short skirt, and her bare legs and bare feet, brown but not yet brown enough, were stretched out onto the sidewalk, her delicate leather sandals kicked off to one side. Mandy was still pretty covered up, in long nylon pants, Army boots, and a T-shirt, dark sunglasses hiding her expression, her pale complexion set off with black lipstick and even more ghostly in this bright sun. But despite their different appearances the two girls looked at Tami with the same amount of lust.
Tami didn’t notice; she was beaming in the light of Rod’s regard and loved being brazen for his benefit. When he returned to his seat Tami hopped up and went to where he had been standing. She put her hands on her hips in a saucy pose, jutting her pelvis to one side, rotating it slightly. “Hey lover!” she said as Rod became almost weak with lust.
The naked girl was feeling evil. She wanted to drive Rod absolutely crazy. Unmindful of the fact that she was in the middle of campus, stared at by everyone, even the people who had stopped throwing the frisbee to look, Tami opened her legs and stretched her arms straight up in a languid pose as if yawning, her breasts riding high up on her chest, then turned around and stuck her butt out, inching her bare feet outwards on the rough concrete until her legs were well apart, then sticking her head down so that she smiled at her lover upside down from between her legs, her pussy and butthole on full view.
In full view of Rod but, of course, also of Jen and Tami. Jen groaned with frustration. “Tam, stop torturing me!” she finally said.
Tami giggled and scampered back to her seat, breasts bouncing, bare feet soft whispers on the concrete path. She curled up next to Rod’s side, in heaven.
Jen couldn’t resist rubbing the side of Tami’s bare butt. “Rod, can I have her for the afternoon? I just gots to, needs to. . .”
Tami looked at Rod’s hard-on, clearly visible through his loose jeans, which he wore over untied sneakers with no socks. She thought of rubbing it but thought again. Rod would be embarrassed if he actually started spurting now, and he looked like a couple of rubs would do it. Instead she said, “Well Master, someone wants to borrow your white slave girl.” Tami couldn’t deny that her butthole tickled, imagining the feel of Jen’s tongue in there, and she twisted her butt slightly as if to scratch that little itch. She was turned on by the idea of being licked by Jen, but liked the idea of hopping on Rod’s dick better.
Rod’s glasses were almost steaming up. “Actually this afternoon I wanted you to myself.”
“Hmmph!” Jen said playfully. She turned to Mandy. “I just have to face it. Tami likes dick more than she likes pussy.”
“Why don’t we all three get onto her?” Mandy said, finally betraying some expression with a little smile.
“Whoa,” Rod said. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“Yo!” someone yelled. It was one of the guys playing frisbee. Rod and Tami and Jen looked and saw it was George -- rather, Stuka -- the tall, good-looking leader of the Kenya Kings, that gang of bongo-hitters which played for the Black Formal.
Rod decided to humor his friend and call him by his adopted name. “Yo, Stuka!” he said, not too loud.
Stuka waved for them to join. Jen wasn’t in the mood, thinking horny thoughts about Tami. Rod couldn’t get up because his hard dick would be poking through his jeans for everyone to see.
But Naked Tami got up on an impulse and ran over to the field. “Woooo!!” one of the guys screamed, and the naked girl, breasts bouncing, prancing over the lush grass, caught the frisbee thrown at her and with a quick left-handed flip shot it to Stuka. As the frisbee made the rounds it was clear that the two girls were happy to see Tami, who they liked a lot, and as for the guys, they were so overcome with watching the naked girl’s every movement that it was hard to concentrate when the frisbee came to them.
It was as if the naked girl was a wood nymph who had decided to join the mortals, and being supernatural, everything was easy for her. A couple of the guys were barefoot and they ran unsteadily, always looking to see where they were stepping, but Tami with her tough feet scampered here and there as if she were wearing track shoes. She was aware of the effect she was having on the guys and made sure every time she threw she aimed right at a guy’s crotch, something which everyone realized after a while with a laugh. “Hey Tami!” one of the guys finally said. “Are you trying to slice our dicks off??”
As a final filip Tami, waiting for a long throw to come to her, did a slow cartwheel, her legs parting and her upturned pussy lips opening to the sun, before returning to upright and catching it. An audible wave of lust passed over the guys. “Oh man!” one of them said. Winding up like a pitcher, she unleased a zippy slider right at the guy’s crotch and waved goodbye and trotted back to the bench with Rod and her friends.
When she settled in next to Rod he whispered to her, “Babe, are you trying to make me come??”
Tami intertwined her fingers with his. “Want to go to my room and take care of that?”
After a moment Rod said, “No, I’ll save it for later. But have mercy on me for now, O. K. ?”
“Sex, sex, sex,” Mandy said, who had overheard this. “All we are thinking about it sex. It’s disgusting. What would Joshua Campbell think?”
Mandy was pointing to the front of the Student Union and the statute of Joshua Campbell, the college founder, a pompous and stern figure in a beard with a Bible in his hand. The statute had recently been repaired and restored, to the disappointment of all. During the repairs, on a freezing damp windy day, Tami had stood on the empty socle in exactly the same pose, only with “Our Bodies Ourselves” instead of a Bible, while Jen and Terri and a couple of others posing in front, chatting as students do. It was a pose for Jeffrey Dillon’s exhibit, and Tami remembered that moment now, shivering slightly as she remembered the biting, icy wind stinging her nipples and the freezing, rough broken concrete digging into her numb bare feet.
Tami looked up at the sun with closed eyes, wanting to gather more warmth into her. It just wasn’t enough. She wanted it to be hot, hotter, ninety degrees. She giggled under her breath as she imagined the sun could warm her up better if she spread her legs and opened her pussy lips and let the rays go right inside her. That would freak people out if she did that right now. Or if she turned around and spread her cheeks and let the sun into her butthole. . .
“Hi Tam,” Jeffrey Dillon said.
Tami looked up. “Speak of the Devil,” she said, even though nobody knew why she said this.
Jeffrey had his camera hanging from his neck, as he often did. He had on a plaid short-sleeved shirt that looked like it could have been stolen from Rod’s closet, longish short pants, and black sneakers. In this warm weather he had left behind his trademark long “Doctor Who” coat, but his fashion sense was still Jeffrey. Tami noticed this: each of her friends had a distinctive style of dressing, though her own “style” was breasts, pussy, skin. Her style of clothes was to have no clothes at all.
“Good to see you, Tam,” he said.
Looking at Jeffrey’s knobby knees and pale, pasty white legs, Rod said dryly, “I don’t know how long I can control myself looking at your legs, Jeff.”
Jeffrey smiled and said, “Tam, I got the Shalimar prize. “
“My exhibition got the Shalimar prize. It’s given to the best exhibit each year. This means some of the pictures will go to the Hirschhorn Gallery in New York, probably in October. They’ll be in a big exhibition from students from art schools all over.”
Jen smiled and clapped. “Congratulations, Jeffrey! I’ll be there!”
“Probably a bunch of art critics too,” Mandy said. “This sounds like a big break.”
As for Tami, whose naked body had been the subject of most of Jeffrey’s pictures, the good feeling and confidence of a minute ago were gone in a split second. She cringed. She hadn’t been to any big city art galleries, but she imagined her nude pictures being looked at by big crowds in New York City. Maybe there would be an art review and her picture would end up in a newspaper. She realized the thing she dreaded most was to become famous while in her present state, the famous Totally Permanently Naked Tami Smithers. When she graduated and put on clothes, three years from now, people would still come up to her with naked pictures maybe, and say, “Didn’t you used to be naked all the time?” . . .
Then there was the mention of October. She hadn’t really thought about the fall semester, except when she was pre-registering for classes a couple of weeks ago. Her thoughts had been all directed to the summer, and clothes. Would Jeffrey ask her to go to the New York exhibit?
She thought quickly. “I’m very proud of you, Jeff. Sorry I can’t be there. “
“I don’t want to distract from things. If I show up, everyone will be looking at this . . . naked girl. I want people to look at your work instead.” She cleared her throat, glad she thought of this excuse, hoping Jeffrey wouldn’t be offended.
“Oh, well, that’s thoughtful of you.” He shrugged. “Shame, I owe it all to you.”
“No you Jeffrey, all I did was stand around.” And freeze, she thought. “You did all the work.”
“Well maybe you can come by when no one’s around.”
Tami thought for a moment. “O.K.”
Just then Tami’s eye was caught by Lorinda and a couple of her friends coming along the path. The naked girl closed her eyes after she caught a glimpse of Lorinda sticking her index finger up and out. As the geeky girls went by, she heard them chant, “Three! . . . Four! . . . Five! . . . “ Fortunately they passed and were gone in a few seconds.
“What was that about?” Jeffrey said.
Jen smiled. “That girl had her finger up Tami’s butt when I was making Tami come at that workshop last week.”
“WHAT?” Jeffrey said.
“I put her finger into Tami’s butthole so she could feel the contractions during orgasm. All in the name of education, you know. “
Jeffrey remembered Tami coming in the dining hall while being licked by Jen under the table, right in front of Henry Ross. “Tam, you got the world by the tail. Having orgasms right in front of people!” he gushed. Quite a victory for someone with no modesty. If he only knew. . .
“Those girls are so immature, though,” Mandy said.
“Yeah I know,” Jen said. “But Tami doesn’t mind. Those girls may not admit it but I bet they were really affected by what they saw. Some of those older women there, I bet they never had an orgasm in their lives, they had tears in their eyes. I think some of them learned something. “ Jen put her hand to her ear. “I can hear them coming now. “
Jeffrey looked down at the naked girl. “Are you remembering that now?”
Tami had shut her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning forward. Nobody saw it but she was clenching her butt cheeks together. Remembering that horribly shaming experience -- being brought to orgasm in front of that bunch of women, with that vicious Lorinda’s finger right up into her rectum! Akkk!! Tami’s eyebrows were furrowed in pain at the memory, though to Jeffrey and the others they imagined it was just a girl remembering what a powerful, long-lasting orgasm it was. Since then, Lorinda and her friends had been sticking their fingers up and chanting numbers whenever they saw her, torturing her more than they knew.
Tami opened her eyes, which were a little wet, and responded to Jeffrey. “Yes. . . “
Rod stopped looking down at his girlfriend and glanced out over the campus. “The average boyfriend doesn’t have to deal with his girlfriend being talking about like this.”
“Well what did you expect, Rod?” Jen said. “You knew what you were getting into when you first hit Tami up in the dorm lounge. This girl is always naked. You knew this wasn’t your average ho!”
Tami leaned over into Rod’s side, and Rod put her arm around her.
Tami wished the conversation would go on to some other topic but Jen had more to say. “I’m surprised that girl still has a finger left. Tami’s sphincter really grabs you when she comes. What muscle tone!” She grabbed her finger into the fist of the other hand and wiggled as if trying to pull it out, which caused Mandy to giggle.
Jeffrey laughed too. “Tami Smithers and the Sphincter of Doom!”, he said, causing even Rod to smile. Tami smiled weakly to be polite.
Jen kept pulling at her finger. “It REALLY grabs you. I bet you could lift a twenty-pound weight with your butthole muscles, Tam. You should do a demonstration sometime. Have you ever felt it, Rod?”
Rod waited a second, then said, “Not with my finger. “
“Wooo!” everyone said. Except Tami. Tami did manage a real smile and hugged Rod all the tighter, and though she didn’t mean to, she incited another “wooo!” when she squirmed on her butt, thinking of Rod’s big glorious dick spearing deep into her rectum. She bitterly wished that her sex life with Rod, at least, could be a secret. She had so few things she could hide from others. God, couldn’t this one thing be mine alone?
Twenty-nine days, twenty-nine days, twenty-nine days to clothes . . .
She sensed a shadow over her and opened her eyes and saw the big dark gentle presence of Brad.
“Hey Pres!” Jen said.
“Hail to the Chief,” Rod said.
Brad, to everyone’s surprise, had run for Student Government president. Why not? his girlfriend Mayree asked him one day. The only other person running was a secretive business major who looked like he had plans for world domination. So Brad picked a running mate, his friend Tyrone, who used to run with Jamal Washington and the rest of his bad crowd but who seemed to be straightening out, and lo and behold, after the elections were held two weeks ago, Campbell - Frank College had its first black S. G. president. And the quietest. Brad had given about three speeches and they were all less than a minute.
Brad shook hands with Jen and Jeffrey and Rod and Mandy, saying, “Politician, you know.”
“So what’s the situation with you-know-who?” Jen said.
“Bad. “ “You-know-who” was Tyrone, who had been busted for drugs a couple of weeks after the election while home in Bridgeport for the weekend. It was embarrassing for Brad, causing some people to whisper, That’s what’s bound to happen with an all-black ticket, though everyone knew that Brad was not in Tyrone’s crowd. “He’s back home on probation. Had to withdraw from the college.”
“Bummer,” Mandy said.
“So, I need a new vice president. The student constitution says I can appoint one. “ Brad was looking suspiciously directly at Tami. “Someone with nothing to hide.”
Rod smiled broadly. “Ready for a promotion from Recording Secretary, Babe?”
Tami thought about it, glad that they weren’t talking about her butthole any more. She was flattered and again surprised by her popularity and what people thought of her abilities, like when she was asked to be Recording Secretary for Student Assembly meetings. “I’m only a freshman,” she said.
“In September you’ll be a sophomore,” Jen said. “Face it, Tami, you’re a natural. Everyone likes you, and all you have to do is learn how to handle those jerks in the Student Assembly.”
It was the Vice President’s job to run the assembly meetings. Tami had been embarrassed at having to sit in the front of the room, facing everyone, as she took notes of the meetings. Maybe Vice President wouldn’t be so bad. She would at least get to stand behind that big lectern. All anyone would be able to see would be her breasts, maybe.
Feeling like she was jumping off a cliff, Tami said, “O.K., I’ll do it.”
Clapping from all around. In a moment of boldness, Tami untangled her crossed legs and got up and bowed to everyone, then turned to shake Brad’s hand.
In her line of sight looking past Brad, Tami saw two middle-aged men in suits coming along the path. It was the Dean. And Henry Ross.
As always, when she saw these two well-dressed college officials, Tami suddenly felt doubly naked. At first she had the urge to jump and hide behind Brad. A split second later, the urge to cover herself, to cross one arm over her breasts, cover her pussy with her other hand. It was just a tiny flinch, quickly suppressed, but she knew they saw it. Time to compensate. Quick. Tami Smithers steeled herself yet again, tried to ignore the cringing shame in the pit of her stomach, and turned to face these two as they approached, shoulders back, breasts out, even inching her bare feet apart on the rough concrete path to convince them that she had no desire to cover any part of herself.
Fortunately the Dean wasn’t coming out to talk to her (which was always bad news); he and Ross were just passing by. Or so it seemed. “Good morning, all,” the Dean said in his mellifluous, avuncular, welcome-to-college-orientation-week voice. People nodded. “Good morning, Mr. Burns,” he said to Brad, “congratulations again.”
“The S.G. now has a naked Vice President,” Jen said, a little impertinently, never one to miss an opportunity to shake the Dean up a little.
Aware of the approval of her friends behind her, Tami felt emboldened. She pushed her shame into the back of her mind as she realized that these two men were suppressing an urge as well, the urge to look her up and down. She was a naked girl with power. At least for the moment. Sensing the Dean’s particular desire to look down at her brown, sun-kissed nipples, she stepped her naked, tanned self forward, and put her hand on her hip. Even as part of her couldn’t believe she was being so brazen, she said,”I’m going to be the new student government V.P.”
The Dean seemed a little discomfited but quickly recovered. “Good for you,” he said. “I hope you do well.” He seemed to want to change the subject.
Ross looked out into the distance. Mandy followed his eyes, then put on her sunglasses and looked blankly out across the campus.
“Finally, a real spring day,” the Dean said, looking generally around. “I hope everyone’s getting a good tan.”
“Especially me,” Tami said saucily, extending her arms out. She realized the Dean misstepped with that last remark and she was really in control now. Flaunting her body in front of these two old guys as they watched helplessly. Ha. You can look, and you know you can’t touch! Part of her wished she could take Rod down onto the pavement and fuck him right in from of them!
“I think I might take my clothes off like Tami, it’s so warm” Jen said from her seat, still feeling the urge to be subversive.
The Dean smiled. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be allowed. Unless you want to declare it your religion, like Miss Smithers, and get Constitutional protection.” He glanced briefly at Henry Ross, who brought his gaze back to the conversation to nod.
Tami quickly thought, No, Jen, No! But then realized that Jen was just joking. She remembered Jen walking in naked to sit next to her at the Black Formal, only to chicken out and get back into her clothes a minute later. Then Tami reflected on the irony. Nobody else was allowed to be naked. But for her it was mandatory.
While this subtle interplay was going on, across the campus, peering from the shade around the corner of one of the more remote academic buildings, a man in shirtsleeves crouched with his face hidden behind a big camera with a zoom lens, aimed right at this naked girl standing around in public in the middle of campus. Nobody noticed him except Henry Ross. And Mandy.
At an imperceptible prompt from Ross, the Dean started to move on. “Good-bye all,” he said. Brad and Tami and Mandy and Rod and Jen and Jeffrey watched as the two men continued on the path and walked into the parking lot at the far end and out of sight.
“Typical bureaucrats,” Jen said.
“Well I have to deal with them now,” Brad said.
“Oh my God,” Mandy said, looking the other way.
“Wooo!” Jen said. “Hot stuff!”
It was Marisol, walking toward them. She was wearing shorts and leather sandals, but what caught everyone’s attention were her huge breasts, just about out in the open on this warm day. She had her new sexy bra on, and over it had put on a T-shirt, stretched out of all recognition across her bust, cut off below to show a surprisingly flat tummy. Over her T-shirt she had put on a light white sweater, unbuttoned, in a vain attempt to de-emphasize her breasts, but it hung loosely about six inches in front of her tummy and shorts. Her outfit only seemed to emphasize the fact that she was top-heavy.
“Hola, amigos,” she said. A guy somewhere whistled at her and she gave him the finger behind her back, like it was all in a day’s work.
“Nice job, really hides your boobs,” Jen said.
“I didn’t notice,” said Tami dryly, glad that some other girl was being leered at for once.
“You gotta see this, come with me,” Marisol said.
It was a little cluster of people, out on the other side of the Student Union. As Marisol led her friends to the scene they heard Rebecca’s voice, fervent and excited. Craning their necks to see, they could tell that their Christian friend was talking to a girl they knew, but that others had been drawn in and were listening, seemingly unable to leave.
“God is what YOU think is important. It doesn’t have to be Jesus, or Wicca, or Buddha, or anything else. Think about depth. God is depth. If you know that God is depth, a depth in the center of your life, then you know a lot about God. You can’t say to yourself, Life Is Shallow. Life has no meaning. If you really could say that, you would be an atheist. Otherwise, you’re not. “ Rebecca, in her usual flannel shirt but in shorts and with sneakers instead of her usual hiking boots, her bright, intelligent eyes dancing behind her wire-rimmed glasses under her long, unstyled hair, took notice that she was actually speaking to a crowd and looked around to other people besides the girl she had originally been talking to.
Off to one side, leaning against the concrete wall, puffing a cigarette, not part of the little crowd but listening intently, appraisingly, was none other than Wethby Campbell, wearing his usual grungy clothes even in this heat, his pasty skin all the more sickly looking in the bright sunshine.
Rebecca seemed to be on a roll as she continued. “And whatever this depth is, think about it in terms of whatever it is in your life that you really care about. What are the things you accept, without any reservation? Those things are a window into the depth that is in you and me and everyone else.” Her eyes caught a glimpse of Tami’s bare skin and her eyes darted for a second to Tami’s face. “My friend Tami, for instance. For her, to be naked is something she takes without any reservation, even though it is inconvenient and hard at times. What do YOU take seriously with all your heart? That’s the question for YOU to ask yourself. And it’s not easy.”
Tami and her friends had quickly gotten as absorbed in this little speech as everyone else. Rebecca suddenly seemed to realize that she was speechifying and cut herself off. “Well, I’m done, I finished,” she said with a half-embarrassed smile. “See you later,” she said to the girl. To everyone else, she said, “Speech over, I got carried away. You can go now.”
People drifted away until it was just Rebecca, Wethby, Marisol and Tami and her friends.
“That was some fine preaching,” Wethby said. “I don’t know what religion, but it sounded good. I know you were just talking to Sheila, but you were just gripping, and I had to stop and listen.”
Bashfully, Rebecca said, “It’s just some warmed-over Tillich. . .I’m hungry. Anyone want to go to the snack bar with me?”
She seemed to want to change the subject, but her friends wouldn’t let go of what they had just seen and heard. “Tillich?” Tami said, her face tilting inquisitively, her nipples, as expressive as her face, turning slightly with the rest of her bare torso.
“He was a German theologian from the 1920’s,” Rebecca said, embarrassed to be exhibiting such erudition. “But my little speech was inspired by you, Tam.”
While Tami silently dealt with conflicting emotions, Jen expressed her wonderment. “You really have gotten a gift of being an interesting speaker. I can’t stand hearing people talk about religion, usually, but I was, um . . . engrossed. “
Rebecca just smiled. Mandy broke the awkward silence by saying, “Gotta go to class. See you all.”
Tami remembered she had a class to go to as well, and in a moment she and Mandy were walking into Pilgrim Hall. As they made it up the stairs, Tami’s bare feet slapping on the hard plastic, Mandy said, “Looks like Rebecca would be a good minister. What’s her major?”
Tami thought for a second. “Biology. Minor in divinity.” Or at least that’s what this college called its philosophy program, a vestige of the days when it was mostly in the business of turning out preachers, though those old Bible-thumpers were quite unlike Rebecca.
As they were collecting their books in the room, Mandy said, “You really had the Dean and Ross in the palm of your hand. Those guys were practically sweating, afraid they would get hard-ons, trying not to look at your tits. Or that sweet pussy.” Mandy looked down at Tami’s pubic bush and exhaled in sweet frustration. Sensing Tami’s self-consciousness, she said, “Remember, you can’t hide yourself, even one little bit, or I’ll have to interrupt the Dean in the middle of his jerking off and tell on you.”
Tami, still feeling brazen, thought of giving Mandy a better view, extending one leg out by putting one foot up on her desk so that her pussy could be wide open to her roommate, but decided it would be torturing her. The naked girl still didn’t quite like the idea of Mandy licking her. It seemed unfair to deny this to Mandy while Tami’s other roommate, Jen, was so brazen with her tongue, but Tami didn’t want to get pressured into anything she didn’t want to do. That much had been established, at least among her friends.
The naked girl then smiled, remembering strutting around in front of the Dean and Henry Ross, blushing and surprised at herself. “So did they have hard-ons?”
“I was looking, but I couldn’t tell. Those guys wear a lot of loose clothes. Hard to cruise crotches with guys in suits,” she said, strangely with an air of experience.
Tami was about to go out the door when Mandy said, “Tam. “ It was the first time she had called Tami by that shortened name.
“You know . . . you’ve got the Dean very worried. They don’t want you to become a news story, Campbell - Frank College, Home of the Naked Student. The Powers That Be who run the college would flip. Maybe they’re already starting to flip.”
“I don’t want it to be a news story either,” Tami said, after deciding that she could safely say that without betraying any evidence of modesty. She had an odd feeling. Why was Mandy going on like this?
Mandy herself was having a hard time picking the right words. She felt like saying, “You are being watched. Guys are taking pictures,” but that would be too scary. She thought of the little magazine blurb she had found in “Maxim” or one of those other bikini magazines, the clipping of which she still kept in her desk. A little color picture of a naked girl shoveling snow -- Tami, of course -- red, flushed skin glistening in the winter sun. The terse caption: “Another day in the life of a certain coed who, we’re told, is always naked. Obviously immune to the cold as well. We’re sworn to secrecy as to where this college is. We can say it’s in New England, though!”
Finally Mandy said, “Well who needs that kind of trouble? You’ve got your little arrangement here, and it’s suiting you fine. You hate being naked -- don’t worry, I won’t ask you to admit it -- but being naked is working to your advantage in a dozen different ways. It’s best to keep the status quo.” Mandy adjusted her sunglasses, which she had kept on the whole time. “Good idea, to tell Jeffrey that you couldn’t go to New York,” she said, which Tami quickly figured out meant “New York City”.
“I think you’re doing fine. Let’s go,” Mandy said, and she and a slightly puzzled Tami Smithers closed the door behind them and went to class.
They parted halfway to the math building, and Tami’s uncertainty turned into dread as she caught a glimpse of a plaid jacket and knew that it was Mr. McMasters, making a rare appearance on the regular campus as he went into what she guessed was the business department building. Her sunny afternoon of confidence suddenly turned into a pit of dread and shame as she was reminded: Tomorrow -- her first appointment with the new setup in Lab 6.
A pleasant spring day. Sunlight and gentle breezes wafting in through the college library through the cracks of slightly opened windows, stirring up the musty smell of old books, pushing the musty air out, sucking the spring air in. Most of the students seemed to be outside.
But if one looked in through the window on the second (mezzanine) floor, getting a long side view of the string of carrels, one could see that they were not all empty. Almost at the end, hard up against the stacks, a pair of bare legs and feet extended down, toes curled up and bouncing nervously against the cold tile floor, the soft clicking of toenails reflecting the mental activity of their owner.
This was Tami Smithers, who was the campus nudist, though not by design. The 18-year-old freshman math major was scribbling furiously in her diary. Thinking, also, about getting another, because she had only a few pages left in this one. Long ago, in November, she had written the first words: “This diary is my secret place. This diary is my clothes. “ Then, in the loopy but intense handwriting of an intelligent but naive teenage girl, she had recorded her day-to-day experiences, her observations, fears, joys, and (frequently) her humiliations. That is, until the humiliations became too intense and traumatic and too painful to write down. After that her form of venting was to go to the shower, or wake up in the middle of the night, and pray, fervently, asking God to please give her some clothes.
Now all that was over. Her prayers had been answered. She had a job lined up for the summer in another town where no one would know her. She had gone over her plans for that day about a hundred times so far. She would quickly buy some clothes in the middle of the night and then get on the bus to that town. She had checked the schedule carefully. Every night there was a bus that left at 1:30 a. m. May 23. The day after the last final exam. 28 days away. 28 days to clothes! Several times a day she would stop what she was doing and look down and close her eyes and whisper, “Thank you, God.”
Perhaps she was becoming religious, after a lifetime of being pretty much indifferent. But she felt she knew there was a God, a God who had rescued her. And the knowledge that her ordeal of forced public nudity was coming to an end had a cathartic effect. Since she had gotten the good news, the words poured out of her head into the diary like a torrent. Every little detail of the past few months, every horrible experience, every confrontation with authority figures who forced her to stay naked, came tumbling out. It felt good to write it down. She had never been to a therapist, but it would have been the same feeling.
Getting it out, writing it down, and then -- ? She was thinking that the first week of summer, in a solemn ceremony, when she was wearing a shirt and pants and socks and hiking boots, she would go out into the woods or near a stream and build a fire, then throw the diary in. Symbolically putting the whole experience behind her. She looked forward to the relief she would feel as she saw the pages going up in flames.
She was finishing her last sentence now, having brought her diary almost up to date. She looked up at the clock and her thoughts turned to her next appointment. Her weekly appointment at the Chalfont Institute, the first time she was to be . . . mounted on that apparatus. She closed her eyes. She musn’t get ahead of herself. There were four weeks of humiliation to come. She prayed: Please, God, get me through today. Hopefully it won’t be too bad.
She tried not to think about what lay before her, the horrible equipment she had been shown. She got her bookbag together and strode out of the library, trying to give herself an air of confidence, even as the sight of a beautiful, naked girl walking across campus drew its usual sea of leering glances and the occasional wolf whistle from some guy in the distance.
. . . .
Tami Smithers tried to numb her mind as she walked into Chalfont, ignoring the close inspection of her breasts and bare butt as she passed by the usual gaggle of white-coated nerdy students milling around the entrance. They all knew her weekly schedule and tried to be around to see her come in. The naked girl adjusted her bookbag strap and walked in, noticing that even the sunny day and fresh spring air did little to change the musty, creepy atmosphere inside. To insulate herself mentally she thought of nice old Ned and Ethel and their accounting office, with her all in snuggly clothes, working the adding machine. . .
The waiting room to Lab 6 was empty. Tami paused. Good-bye Ned and Ethel. Hello, Science. Bracing herself like a swimmer about to dive into freezing water. Then she pushed through the door into the lab itself.
It was very bright. And very cold. Tami immediately felt the cold air upon her breasts and felt her nipples get rock hard. The arctic blast was coming from an air conditioner set into a wall. As she felt goosebumps rising on her butt and on her arms, she remembered McMasters telling her that the lab would be kept cold to offset her increased metabolism.
The cold was evident also from the clothing being worn -- by everyone, of course, except her. She stood with her bookbag on her shoulder, feet a little apart, and suddenly all her mental insulation was stripped away so that her mind was as nude as her body. Taking in the view, she was scared, mortified, and couldn’t breathe. Standing at the console was McMasters. Sitting next to him was Mr. Zipkin, his assistant from that earlier meeting. And behind them, sitting in the movie-theater style seats, were several men and a couple of women, all professional-looking, all looking at her with what looked like detached scientific curiosity. Everyone was wearing sweaters over their suits. It really was cold in here. That, and her nervousness, made her start to shiver but she suppressed the urge and tried to relax her “shiver muscles”, something she had often done before.
And . . .Rolling out from behind a desk in his wheelchair was Homer Winant, from the grounds crew! He was dressed in his usual mechanic’s outfit, with a parka thrown on top. He nodded to Tami in his courtly way, not seeming to realize how out of place he looked here.
“Good afternoon, Miss Smithers,” McMasters said. “Please leave your bookbag in the waiting room. It will be safe there, don’t worry.”
With an air of unreality, as if this were just an unpleasant dream, Tami turned around. When she re-entered the lab she stood in front of these people, dearly wishing she could run and hide or at least use her hands to cover herself, feeling even more naked without her bookbag. But in the freezing air she bravely stood upright, hands at her sides, legs a moderate distance apart.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is our subject, Miss Tami Smithers,” McMasters said by way of introduction. “In a moment she will mount the apparatus. Our thanks, again, to Mr. Winant, for his help with the design.” After a second’s thought, Tami realized that Winant wasn’t so out of place after all. She thought of the times she was trudging on those treadmills at the Dixon Mill, shamed and sweating, when Winant would come in to watch her in silence. She knew now that he hadn’t been just leering at her sweaty curves and laboring muscles. He had been studying the angle of hips and her legs, how they bent forward and splayed open, judging the proper angle for her to be stationed and impaled on the ghastly orgasm machine -- the “apparatus”.
Tami looked sideways edgily. The bottomless chair was there, the posts with the cuffs for her wrists and ankles. The shafts for the dildos were not there yet; there were just two large holes in the base of the stage. She saw that the shafts and dildos were lying on the console. McMasters picked them up, resuming what had been a lecture in progress. He said, “We have already discussed these, and will be inserting them in a moment. . . For now, Miss Smithers, if you could station yourself on the chair.”
It was hard for the goose-bumped, naked girl to keep from shaking, as if she were stepping up to a gallows. She went to the front of the stage where there was a partition in the console and walked up and stepped onto it. With her second foot the hop wasn’t quite high enough and she tripped forward, causing her to splay her legs out in full view of the audience behind her. Fortunately her hands broke her fall. Swallowing and trying to regain her composure she turned and faced her audience, spreading her legs way, way apart and lowering her thighs onto the supports of the bottomless chair. Mr. Zipkin got up and cuffed her ankles and wrists on each side, taking time to make sure they were secure.
When he got back down to the console Tami found herself on an upraised stage facing these inquisitive adults, tied and spread out, feeling the cold air inside her pussy and knowing her lower lips were open, knowing that in the bright lights every little detail of her privates was fully visible. It was almost like a blow to her when Zipkin flicked on the spotlights, which were set below her as well as up on the ceiling, behind as well as in front. She could actually feel a little heat from the lights on the sensitive skin of her pussy lips and her butthole. She averted her eyes, looking down at a point on the stage in front of her, wishing the audience was darkened like in a real theater so that she wouldn’t able to see their faces. But the room was so well lit that she was aware of everyone. She swallowed again, nerves taut, trying not to show any trace of modesty or shame or any of the mortification she was feeling. It was obvious, certain, that the Dean’s spies would be here of all places, looking for any little trace, any telltale motion with her eyes or anything else that she had any feelings of modesty whatsoever.
She heard a door open somewhere in front of her and glanced upward for a split second. Henry Ross, wearing a sweater under his usual business suit, had just entered, and sat in one of the front seats. McMasters did not introduce him to the others. Tami dared not look at him but sensed his vigilant gaze. She loathed this creepy man and hated the idea that she was so brightly lit and spread out right in his face.
During another quick upward eye-flick Tami saw her own face, on a monitor in the wall in front. Her own face, on T. V. She noted the stonelike expression as it showed on the screen and was glad that she wasn’t showing any fear or discomfort. Then she noticed a little red light on the camera front and center, pointed right at her from four feet away. Lights, camera, action.
“You can see the camera is on, from the console monitors,” McMasters told his audience. “Let’s check if the audial equipment is on. “ He walked up to Tami and adjusted the little microphone which hung about two feet above her face. “Miss Smithers, if you could count to five, in a regular voice.”
Tami inhaled and knew she had no choice but to obey. Not wanting her voice to crack, she cleared her throat. Still resolutely looking down, not wanting to look at the microphone, she said in a tiny voice, “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five.” She blushed as she thought that she just as well could be counting the spasms when she came, like Lorinda walking past her with index finger upraised.
Mr. Zipkin whispered something to McMasters, whereupon McMasters said, “Miss Smithers, probably during orgasm your, uh, vocalizations would be louder. We want to get the levels right. Please count again in a stronger voice.”
Tami tried not to cry. He said “orgasm” so casually. And he was really rubbing this in. Why don’t I just fake an orgasm while I’m at it? But again, in a louder voice, “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five.” Try not to think of Lorinda . . .
“Very good,” McMasters said, looking down at the audio dials in front of Mr. Zipkin. He then spoke to the audience. “If there are no questions, I’d like to start with the insertions as soon as our other assistant arrives.”
There was an uneasy silence. The onlookers, or at least most of them, seemed uncertain as to what they were about to witness. One woman, sitting in back, raised her hand and said, “I just want to say, Miss, that you are really very brave and, uh, open in agreeing to demonstrate the limits of female orgasmic response like this. It’s hard to believe that a young woman could volunteer so freely.”
“Yes, Miss Smithers is an amazingly uninhibited young adult,” Mr. McMasters said. “But indeed, yes she did freely agree to this research, in fact enthusiastically so. She fervently believes that to receive sexual pleasure is a great gift, and she wants others to learn about it so that they can experience it as well. Right?” he said pleasantly, looking at Tami.
Tami felt the obligation to look up and saw Ross looking at her with his raised eyebrow. Further up she saw the woman in the back row. She seemed kind. If only she knew!! Tami wanted to scream out her shame, shout, “Help me!! Untie me!! Please!! Get me some clothes!! Take me away from here!!” But she knew she could not.
She also realized that McMasters was laying it on thick. She had said none of those things he had attributed to her. “Enthusiastic?” And what was this about the “limits of female orgasmic response”? But seeing Ross’s eyebrow, she knew what her rejoinder had to be and knew she had to make it sound convincing. “Yes, that’s true,” she said with a little smile, and nobody could detect the deep hurt in her pretty eyes as she said it. Then she cleared her throat and slowly looked down again.
Just then the door opened and Brendo, that geeky Chalfont student who had been assisting with Dr. Harridance’s experiments, came in wearing a lab coat made more bulky by the sweatshirt he had added underneath. “Hi, Tami,” he said affably as he sat down next to Mr. Zipkin and fiddled with some things on the console. Tami, hating every second, hoping it was O.K. not to make eye contact with this clammy-handed dweeb, returned the nod.
McMasters said, “Well, before the full dildos are inserted, we will ‘open up’ Miss Smithers with smaller objects. Brendo will do the honors, he helped with the last set of experiments and he has much experience in working with Miss Smithers’s vagina and rectum.”
Tami saw Brendo get up with a couple of smaller dildos. She could see that the tips had been lubricated with clear gel of some kind. In the cold air she imagined her openings would be constricted and small. She prayed that the insertions would not hurt, and braced herself for the feel of Brendo’s clammy hands, even colder than usual now, feeling up her most private, secret places. Tami closed her eyes and prayed. At least Brendo knew her openings well and knew how to put things in without hurting her . . .
“Brendo will work on Miss Smithers’s rectal passage first,” McMasters announced. “If you want, you can come around to the rear to see as he points out some features of that orifice. Go ahead, there’s plenty of room behind the stage.” Her eyes still closed, Tami heard the shuffling of men getting up and a general motion around the console and then behind her. . .
Tami waited for the inevitable, then it came. The cold, wet feel of the dildo against her anus. She exhaled and met Brendo’s gentle push with a push of her own as if she were trying to shit, so that her muscles would more easily accept the intrusion. Much as she hated to admit it, the two of them had become very practiced at this little dance from all the times he had inserted that anal monitor thing during those other experiments. They were a team.
“Miss Smithers has exception rectal tone,” McMasters said, crouching down behind Brendo and pointing. The men crowded around, bent over a little, though because the stage was set so high up, they didn’t have to bend down much. The two little spotlights trained onto the girl’s anal area allowed them to see in minute detail as Brendo pushed the small white dildo through the ring of brown skin. The dildo was less than an inch wide and only five inches long, but to the cold, scared, naked girl, it felt huge.
McMasters continued his little lecture on that universally discussed topic, The Anus of Tami Smithers. “The rectal tone probably accounts for Miss Smithers’s unusually strong sexual response. A major component of orgasm is the contraction of the anal muscles, and if the muscles are strong and well toned, the contractions will be more extensive and numerous.”
Tami wished for a moment that she was one of those women who never had an orgasm. Why did she have to be so responsive? Why did she have to come so much during Dr. Harridance’s research? She took conscious breaths in and out as the dildo slowly invaded her gut. Her ankles shifted in their cuffs and her toes squirmed uneasily. A chill went through her nipples, hard and stiff in the cold air.
“Brendo, how is the insertion?” McMasters said, noticing that his assistant had all but one inch of the dildo in and was holding it in place with one finger.
“Very smooth,” Brendo said. To give his audience a better view he shifted around, changed fingers, and put his clammy, cold hand on Tami’s hard little butt cheek to stretch it open to the side.
“Perhaps one of you would like to hold this dildo in for a moment, to notice the strong rectal tone,” McMasters said. Detecting a little hesitancy, he said, “Go ahead.”
One of the men, an older, distinguished looking man in a trimmed gray beard, crouched forward to put his finger onto the dildo as Brendo withdrew. Tami felt the man’s breath on her butt cheeks. She kept her gaze glued to the floor, praying silently, wishing she could die. Then she felt the dildo being gently pushed in and out in little motions. With each little motion in, she felt pressure such that her eyes would bug out a little. And she knew this was just the beginning.
“I can feel a strong push outward,” the man said, curious and impressed. “You see what I mean,” McMasters said.
Then, to Tami’s horror, the man absently took his finger off the dildo and she felt it glide out of her butt and drop to the floor with a metallic clank. It felt to her exactly like she was taking a shit, right in front of these men.
“Whoops,” Brendo said. “The rectal muscles tend to expel what is inside,” McMasters explained. “That is why when the anal probe was inserted in Miss Smithers during the earlier research, it was flanged so that it could not be spontaneously expelled.”
Tami almost cried with shame. This was a new extreme in embarrassment. She closed her eyes as Brendo went around to the console for a tissue and then returned to pick up the dildo and wipe the floor. She was glad she couldn’t see the dildo; she fervently hoped there were no shit stains on it. Fortunately she had gone to the bathroom just before the appointment and she was pretty sure her bowels were empty.
“Well, we can’t re-insert it now,” McMasters mused. “Though we keep the lab very clean, it must have collected some dust from the floor. I think it’s done its job though. Time to insert the full dildo.”
As the naked girl kept her eyes closed, praying, Mr. Zipkin came around with the long piston rod, at the end of which was the big white dildo that had been shown to Tami the week before in Lab 5. As he put the rod through the hole in the stage and screwed it into the hidden cam below, McMasters said, “I’ve already explained about the lubrication system, let’s see if it works.” Brendo, back at the console, flicked a lever and the men could see gel beginning to emerge from the myriad little holes. “Excellent. Let’s go.”
As the rod slowly pushed up, Mr. Zipkin guided it until it was touching Tami’s butthole. “All right, Miss Smithers, push down, please,” McMasters said.
Tami pushed her rectal muscles and felt the huge dildo slowly open up the ring of her butthole. She could keenly feel every one of the little holes, like little ridges, as they passed through her most sensitive skin, her most sensitive muscle. She began to breathe deeply, almost hyperventilating, as her sphincter was painfully stretched open, wide, wide, wider. This thing was huge. They had assured her it was not much larger than the average penis, but this thing had to be bigger than Rod’s dick. And it was cold and didn’t have any give to it. Rod’s dick was warm flesh and blood, but this was hard, unyielding metal. She opened her eyes and though they were downcast, the people still sitting in front of her could see her eyes open wide in amazement and fear as her insides were slowly filled up.
“Very good,” McMasters said. “Let’s piston it in slowly.” He gave a signal to Brendo, who continued to work the console. The dildo continued in and when it had gone in about four inches, it was withdrawn an inch, then went in an inch and a half, withdrawn an inch . . . In half inch increments the huge, pinhole-covered metal cylinder was carefully inserted.
It was fortunate that McMasters and his assistants, whatever their motivations, really did take care that the teenage girl not be injured. The experience was traumatic enough as it was. To deal with the intrusion Tami took great breaths in and out. The two women in the theater seats, and Henry Ross and Homer Winant and the other men who had stayed in front, watched as her concave tummy moved in and out with her breathing and her wide-open, desperate eyes stared at a fixed point on the floor in front of her. Despite the cold, her naked body was beginning to flush with the exertion. The innocent onlookers assumed that these were simply signs of arousal from an unusually sexually responsive woman.
“Stop,” McMasters said abruptly and the dildo stayed planted about six inches into Tami’s rectum. He reached up to the ceiling and brought down a little camera that was suspended from a retractable stalk, and then demonstrated a feature that he had not told Tami about. “If you could direct your attention to our MRI screen, you can see a live image of Miss Smithers’s pelvic area.”
Tami could not help but look to her side. On a blank white part of the wall was a three-foot-tall image of what looked like an X-ray of a pelvic area. Hers! Yet it didn’t quite look like an X-ray. Tami had never actually seen an MRI, though she had heard of them. She noticed that she could see not only bones but what looked like internal organs. And a lot of tubes that she recognized as intestines. Her insides! She was morbidly fascinated, though this was mixed with shame at the knowledge that now, even her insides were exposed to the full view of others.
McMasters went to the screen and pointed to the outline of Tami’s butt. The naked girl involuntarily clenched her inner muscles as she realized that that solid white thing, sticking halfway up and into the pelvis, was the dildo. But as she did this the image moved and she knew that everyone could see her move her inner muscles. Would Henry Ross consider this clench as a sign of modesty? She bit her lip as she realized she must now control even her inner muscles or attract suspicion. Good thing they couldn’t see inside her mind as well!
“Note that about six inches of the dildo are now inside Miss Smithers’s rectum,” McMasters said. “See how it has come to the end of the normal extension of the rectum for a female of her age and size. Further insertion means negotiating the curve into the sigmoid colon,” he continued, sweeping his finger along the easily-seen tracery of the girl’s large intestine. “Some care must be taken in this, though Miss Smithers has considerable experience with anal intercourse and we really don’t think there is any danger of rupture.”
Tami felt like he was making it sound like she was a perverted slut who liked being fucked up the ass all the time. She also winced at the word “rupture”.
“Nevertheless,” he continued, “we will make a slight adjustment and continue.” Tami inhaled a bit as she felt the shock of Mr. Zipkin’s cold, rough hands grab her firmly on each side of her butt. He twisted her pelvis slightly one way. Then Brendo turned a dial on the console and another inch of the dildo went it. It felt to Tami like her insides had been pushed around to make room for more of the dildo. This was the same kind of feeling she got when Rod pushed his dick in all the way. Her sigmoid colon had been “negotiated”.
“Very good,” McMasters said. “You can see it has entered her sigmoid colon.” Despite her distress the naked girl turned to see the solid white object now up into another part of the ghostly tracery of a tube.
“Now that we are satisfied with an unimpeded insertion, we will proceed,” McMasters said. “Right now, we are at seven inches. Brendo, please increase the insertion to eight inches.”
Tami felt the dildo push even farther in. Her breath was shallow now. She felt like deep breaths were no longer possible. The dildo felt like it was about to emerge from her tonsils and there was no longer any room for her lungs to draw in air.
The dildo lurched in another inch and she grunted.
“We are now at eight inches,” McMasters said. He went up to the stage and pointed to Tami’s pelvis. “Note the slightly tilted pelvis as compared to before. We are now at full insertion.”
As he went back to the console, the naked girl dropped her head down, her hair hiding her face. He looked at the dial and then at Mr. Zipkin, who was still standing behind Tami. “I wonder if we should go to nine inches.”
Tami prayed silently. “Please, no more. I can’t take any more. This thing will tear my poor insides apart. Please, God, no more.” Her lips moved slightly as she mouthed the words to this prayer, fortunately hidden from view by her hanging hair.
McMasters said, “Though eight inches’ insertion is greater than afforded by the average penis, during the experiment Miss Smithers will jerk violently during orgasm. To protect her from injury we have restrained her wrists and ankles. Deeper insertion of the dildos, as the two work together, help as well. The point is to minimize the danger of mal-insertion during a bodily spasm and possible injury. Having one dildo inserted as deeply as possible as the other dildo is about to re-enter helps stabilize the pelvis.” Damn these folks, Tami thought, they have a plausible reason for everything. . .
One of the women in the back raised her hand. “Isn’t nine inches rather, uh, extreme?”
“Actually, no. It is possible, with much practice, to insert objects such as enema tubes much further in. But our goal at this point is to go to the limit of Miss Smithers’s capacity, not try to expand it.” He rubbed his chin and looked at Mr. Zipkin, who shrugged. Finally, McMasters said, “Okay then, let’s go to nine inches.”
Tami felt her eyes getting wet behind her mussed up, hanging, slightly damp hair. Why did she even bother to pray? Things always went against her. Good thing her big prayer, that she be given clothes, would be answered in a few weeks. At least she had that much to comfort her.
The penetration of nine inches through Tami Smithers’s rectum and into her sigmoid colon was achieved, by which time the naked girl felt like a sample butterfly impaled on a pin.
“We will give her a moment to get acclimated to this insertion, then proceed. Brendo, get out the little dildo to open up Miss Smithers from the front . . . ”
The men behind Tami took one last look at the dildo planted deeply in her butt, then moved around to the front and sat down in the theater seats. All eyes now focused on Tami’s pussy, the lips open between her widely-spread legs, her ankles splayed out and cuffed to the posts way out to each side. Brendo knelt in front of her with another little dildo, covered with gel.
“To make room for the frontal insertion we will withdraw most of the rectal dildo,” McMasters said. Mr. Zipkin, taking Brendo’s place behind the console, turned the dial and the dildo in Tami’s rear started to withdraw. Once again, she felt like she was taking a shit as it slipped out of her. But not all the way! Mr. Zipkin had left an inch inside, keeping her anal ring stretched. It felt to Tami as if she was about to expel a big turd but couldn’t quite do it. This was a very uncomfortable feeling. She found herself trying to push the thing out, but there was no fighting the sturdy metal rod that kept it in place.
As Brendo adjusted the little front spotlights on the floor, McMasters went up to the girl’s side and pointed with his finger. “Note, of course, a typical, well-developed female vulva. As Brendo spreads the labia, note the engorged and well-developed clitoris. I’ll adjust the camera so everyone can see this on the monitor.” He then hopped back off the stage.
Actually everyone could see Tami’s pussy lips, in sharp relief in the harsh light, just fine. The only thing that adusting the camera did was afford Tami herself the view of her stretched-open pussy on the big TV monitor that was facing her. She glanced at it quickly and that was enough. It only served to remind her of her shame. She went back to looking at a spot on the floor just to one side of Brendo’s greasy black hair. She suppressed the urge to squirm as his clammy hands parted her inner pussy lips and the little dildo was slowly inserted. Behind, her anal muscles still fought with the nearly-expelled rear dildo.
At least this new insertion wasn’t so bad as with the dildo in her butt. Having something in her pussy was more natural. And being able to see what was going on put her mind at ease somewhat. Still, feeling the dildo go almost all the way in, then feeling Brendo accidentally rub her clit and then gently thrust the dildo in and out, forced Tami into a state of arousal that she did not welcome.
Of course, McMasters was quick to point this out. “Note the flush of arousal on Miss Smithers’s face, responding quite naturally to the stimulation.” Then, as if to increase the dramatic effect, he held up a large box. “Now, the specially designed stimulator dildo for the vagina.” With the slowness of a magician poking around in his hat for a rabbit, McMasters put his hand in the box and rummaged. He went up to the stage and then, suddenly, pulled it out right in Tami’s face so that she could not help flinching. Brightly lit under the spolights, this Godzilla dildo looked even bigger than it actually was, glowing light brown, with the collapsible white ridges along the top, which reminded her of Godzilla’s back and looked as big as the teeth of a shark.
Tami was sure that McMasters was presenting it this way to shock her. As for the audience, having individually examined his invention beforehand and hearing his exhaustive explanation of its features, they took this presentation as a matter of course. Slowly, as if performing a sacred rite, McMasters fitted it onto the metal rod that Mr. Zipkin gave him and screwed the assembly into the hidden cam under the floor of the stage. Brendo took the little dildo out of the girl’s pussy and got out of the way. As Mr. Zipkin turned the dial, Godzilla, now glistening with the gel from the tiny holes, inched closer to the naked teenager’s little spread pussy, looking far too large for it.
“Ohhhh . . . ” She could not help moaning, as the Godzilla dildo spread open her lower lips and nudged inside and the ridges rubbed her clit with hard slow flicks as they disappeared into her one by one. She swallowed and looked up at the wall, at a point somewhere over Henry Ross’s head, as if praying to God to deliver her from this ordeal. “Ohhh . . . ” Her eyes were opened wide and some drops of sweat appeared on her forehead. Her pussy lips were stretched wide, wide, wider . . .Dimly she was aware of Henry Ross’s sadistic leer and she tried to look higher up, away from his gaze.
“Note the obvious signs of arousal,” McMasters said. “Because there is no sphincter to negotiate, we can insert this dildo pretty much all at once. This dildo, by the way, might appear much larger than the average penis, but that is only an illusion caused by the design. It is actually only slightly larger than average. Miss Smithers is sexually experienced and it should be no problem for her to accommodate it.”
He looked down at the dial that Mr. Zipkin was adjusting. “We are now at five inches. A couple of inches more.” He looked up and everyone watched closely as Tami continued to moan. Then as the flicks continued she emitted a much harsher, lower moan. “Uhhhh . . .” In an attempt to stifle the moan, she clenched her teeth, which resulted only in changing her vocalization into an unearthly gasp, almost a choking sound. “Kchh . . . zhh. . . kcchh . . . ” Her eyes widened and the strain of holding in her voice caused veins to stand out on her neck. The audience could easily see all of this in the bright spotlights.
“Apparently Miss Smithers is now sensing the ridges on her G-spot inside,” McMasters said. “Maybe we can refocus the camera,” he said, moving over, “so that it’s on her face to detect the signs of this more intense arousal.” Out of the corner of her eye Tami could see the big image of her contorted face on the TV screen. She shut her eyes to block it out.
“Let’s proceed further. I see we are now at six inches.”
As a few more ridges disappeared into the naked girl, McMasters continued to lecture dispassionately. “Unlike with the rectal dildo, this dildo can only go in so far. At some point it will meet the fornix, or the end of the vagina. Again, through much practice the vagina can be expanded, but that is not our goal here. We will simply make contact with the fornix and push a bit more, achieving the maximum possible stability. Mr. Zipkin, where are we at now?”
“Seven point three inches,” his assistant said, studying the dial.
“Note again the MRI screen,” he said, turning and pointing to the screen. “You can see here the fornix, it looks like we’re almost there. “ Fortunately in her state of mind Tami did not think to look. “The piston rod is equipped with a pressure sensor which causes it to stop automatically when it encounters a certain amount of resistance, consistent with a moderate stretching of the vagina. In other words,” he repeated, “we will meet the fornix, then push a little more, and that will be it.”
“Eight point one inches,” Mr. Zipkin reported. The naked girl’s brow furrowed as if in excruciating agony. Actually it was the assault of excruciating shame, and the strain of holding in the expression of her mounting arousal. And the stress of having this huge thing plowing so deeply into her. She felt totally stuffed as the back of her pussy was stretched, and it made the rear dildo’s stretching of her anal ring more acute and uncomfortable.
The hum of the machinery beneath the rod stopped. “We’ve reached the limit,” Mr. Zipkin said. “Nine point two inches.”
“Very good,” McMasters said. “Now, we begin.” He gave a little signal and Mr. Zipkin pushed a button. From under the stage came a weird soft whirring sound, a little like a blender. The Godzilla dildo started to withdraw and the rear dildo slowly began pushing back in.
It was slow, rhythmic, laborious. Taking into account the large size of the dildos and the concern about avoiding injury, it could hardly have been otherwise. The audience was transfixed and silent now, even McMasters and Henry Ross had looks of awe on their faces. Sawing in, sawing out, the dildos pushed the naked girl’s bound body forward, then back, as much as allowed by the cuffs holding her wrists and ankles in place. Some people glanced from time to time at the MRI image on the wall, each big, thick white cylinder plunging more than halfway into the slender pelvis, then withdrawing to make room for the other one.
The naked girl breathed in and then exhaled with each thrust as if the wind were being knocked out of her. Her breathy grunts were in rhythm with the thrusts. “Huh! . . . Huh! . . . Huh! . . .” Her eyes, looking up at the ceiling, alternated between being squeezed shut and staring bug-eyed in a gripping combination of surprise, fear, desperation, and what looked like agony. Of course the audience knew that she was in no physical pain, and she wasn’t. They looked down at her shaking legs, and at her wildly flexing toes, and the sweat that was beginning to pour down her face, and then her concave, laboring tummy . . . A couple of them could swear they could see slight bulges appearing as the head of each dildo pushed to its greatest penetration and then withdrew.
Tami’s tortured mind was trying to pray. She felt an orgasm begin to crest. These dildos were in control of her body now, they were dragging her over the waterfall and there was nothing she could do about it. In front of these bright lights, this audience, including Ross and Winant, every aspect of her body being recorded, minutely observed . . . In her life of exposure and shame, this was the most extreme yet.
Sensing the imminent orgasm, McMasters moved to the wall and said, “I almost forgot,” then reached over to pull the cover off the electronic counter.
The first space -- “orgasms” -- flipped to “1” as Miss Tami Smithers lunged up toward the ceiling, to the extent allowed by her bonds, and grunted in a hoarse voice, “P - p - please -- GOD!!!”
As her body wildly jerked like it was on a string, each spasm was delivered with a wordless shout. “G - gaah!! . . . Gaah!! . . . Gaah!! . . . Gaah!! . . . Ohhhh!! . . . ” Fortunately the lab was soundproofed. . .
The second slot on the counter kept track at each shout. “1” changed to “2” and then to “3” . . .
A little while later, a final, somewhat delayed flick to “12”. Then the naked girl slumped. A sheen of sweat appeared over her whole body as her skin flushed from head to bare toes. Her flat tummy heaved in and out as she caught her breath. But her limp body continued to lurch to and fro as the dildos kept on pistoning and in a few seconds she was quivering again.
. . .
Contractions/Last Orgasm: 10
Total Contractions: 73
Time Elapsed: 0:26:13
“Notice that in the interorgasmic periods Miss Smithers has never quite descended from the plateau phase,” McMasters said to his audience, most of whom after almost half an hour were still furiously scribbling notes, trying to take account not only of the sweating, spasming body in front of them but the readouts that flashed on the monitors, the electronic counter, and the movements on the MRI screen. They briefly rested from their notetaking to listen to these comments by McMasters, his first in several minutes. “This makes it easy to start the orgasmic cycle all over again. One can see also that Miss Smithers’s expression changes and gives almost as reliable a gauge to the stages of the cycle as do the readouts. Notice the crying and tortured expressions, typical of many women during sexual excitement. Mr. Zipkin, what are the insertion parallaxes?”
Checking his dials and some graphic indicators, Mr. Zipkin reported, “Vaginal averages about 8.5 inches, with standard deviations to 8.3 and 8.7. Shallow mark of 7.9 inches, deep mark of 9.4 inches. . . Rectal averages about 8.9 inches, standard deviations to 8.2 and 9.6, shallow mark of 7.4 inches, deep mark of 10.6 inches.”
“Very good,” McMasters said. “What this means is that we have been successful at controlling the depth of penetration within narrow parameters. Her body is pretty well stabilized and the cuffs don’t need to be tightened. Notice also that the rectal figures vary more widely than the vaginal. This is to be expected, given the open-ended nature of the digestive tract, whereas with the vagina we are limited by the existence of the fornix.”
Tami, her face beet red, was recovering from another orgasm. Her whole body was shining with sweat, which dripped from her chin and in rivers down her tummy. Her nipples, big and permanently erect, poked out over quivering, drenched breasts. Her wet hair was plastered to her forehead. Her heavy-lidded eyes, out of focus, looked dully out to the wall.
“Can I ask the subject something?” one of the women said.
McMasters looked at the naked girl’s face and then said, “She might not be able to answer, but go ahead. You’d better come up and speak loudly.”
The woman made her way up to Tami, crinkling her nose as she encountered the intense smell of sweat and female secretions. The room was no longer cold; the naked girl’s metabolism had heated it up. The woman brought her face up near Tami’s. “Dear? Miss?”
Tami, barely conscious of her, turned her head slightly, her eyelids raising the slightest bit.
“Are you trying to achieve these climaxes, or are you letting the machine do the work for you?” She craned her neck closer, listening for a response.
Tami tried to form words but could only say, “Uhhhh . . . ”
“Excuse me? What did you say?”
After a couple of seconds, the naked girl repeated, “Uhhhhhh . . . ”
“It seems like she is not in a condition to speak,” McMasters said. “At a later stage of these experiments we will research her mental state during arousal and orgasm and to what extent she can mentally function.” The woman raised her eyebrows a bit and went back to her seat.
After a few more seconds McMasters said, “As Miss Smithers ascends to another orgasm we will add the other component . . . ”
Brendo got up and reached up to the ceiling and retracted the suction tubes, the ones with the bristly caps to fit over Tami’s nipples. Feeling another orgasm beginning to build, the naked girl looked up to see what was about to be attached to her and her eyes gently closed in an admission of defeat.
As Brendo fitted the bristly caps onto her nipples one by one with a twisting motion, McMasters said, “We can expect Miss Smithers’s ninth orgasm to be more prolonged. . . ”
Contractions/Last Orgasm: 8
Total Contractions: 151
Time Elapsed: 0:48:22
The naked girl, lying in a fetal position on the bare stage, snored loudly. Her skin was clammy and pale and covered with dried sweat. The only other person in the room, Brendo, was putting away some things at the console. He went over and shut off the electronic counter, then buttoned his lab coat as he went to look at the thermostat on the wall. 61 degrees. He shut off the air conditioner. The lab was silent except for the snoring.
The girl lurched a little bit and her eyes opened. “Oh,” she said, as if being awakened from a dream, and got up and looked around for a second as if surprised to find herself there. She looked up at Brendo. She felt cold.
The nerdy assistant went up to the stage and took her hand to help her up. “Good show, Tami. Take a shower and Mr. McMasters will see you in Lab 5.”
Experiment, sleep, shower. This was a routine from the Harridance experiments. Tami listlessly, a little unsteadily, got up and walked out of the lab, her pussy and ass sore, trying to ignore her shame at the fart sounds as air escaped from her well-opened pussy and rectum. Out in the hall she was almost oblivious to the students passing by gazing at her naked body. She entered the large bathroom and planted herself under the shower, feeling the welcome hot water as it hit her scalp and ran down her body. As she became more alert she started crying, sucking water into her mouth with her sobs, then crouching down into a ball under the hot cascade, hands over her mouth, eyes staring out with horror at what she remembered in her mind’s eye, thinking of what she had been through, what people had seen. After a few moments she calmed down and stood up, shut off the shower, dried herself with the little rough towel hanging nearby, and after clutching the towel to her breasts for a moment with longing, dropped it onto the sink and walked out.
Lab 5 now contained a gynecologist’s table, complete with extended stirrups. McMasters was waiting for her there, along with an older man who looked more like a dentist than a doctor, wearing a short white shirt. To one side sat Mr. Zipkin. Tami sighed. Weren’t there any women working here? Just men. Not that it would make it any less shaming.
“Hope you had a good rest, Tami,” McMasters said. “Everyone was very impressed, and of course we owe it all to you.”
Tami ignored the irony of being thanked, and stood naked in front of these men, resisting the urge to cover herself with her hands, an urge which she hoped by now would have been suppressed. She could think of several sarcastic remarks but knew she had to play it straight. “You’re welcome,” she said deadpan.
“We still have an hour left on your schedule for today, so we are going to try on the retainer and the bristle bra,” McMasters said, taking a large box from Mr. Zipkin and putting it on the rear of the gyno table. Tami wanted to clench her buttocks and close her legs; she didn’t want anything else being shoved into her today. And what did this guy want to do, wear me out? She tried to remember what the electronic counter said. What was it? 14 orgasms? Are they trying to make me come to death? Was that possible?
Tami’s thoughts were stopped cold when McMasters then said, “Of course, to prevent chafing, your pubic hair will have to be removed.”
Tami’s hand automatically went to her pubic bush and she touched some of her lower curls. “W - what?”
“Your hair will just get in the way. Mr. Redl here is a surgery prep assistant. It’s his job to shave people about to go in for surgery. Don’t worry, he’s an expert. Just get up on the table and put your feet in the stirrups. It will only take about five minutes.”
Tami looked at the gyno table with alarm, then glanced at Mr. Redl’s kindly, wrinkled face, then back at the table. What had already been done to her today had been bad, but she at least had been told about it in advance. This was a total surprise. Shaving off all her pussy hair? She had read of such a thing, maybe in a magazine somewhere, and remembered it sounded grotesque. Even when Jen talked her into having her pubic hair trimmed before the Black Formal last winter, it was strange and a shocking suggestion. Then Tami thought: can they do this to me? She remembered the agreement she had signed. It didn’t say anything about shaving my pussy hair off . . .
“Miss Smithers, please, get up on the table,” McMasters said, a little impatient. Then, detecting Tami’s hesitation, he said, “Is there a problem?”
“Well, I . . . “
McMasters said in a dark tone that was unusual for him, “Is it that you want to stay . . . covered?”
Could she take a chance and say no? Of course McMasters would report her refusal to the Dean. Was this a sign of modesty?
“Miss Smithers, if you want your vaginal area to remain outside of people’s view, I will of course coordinate with the Dean.” McMasters was speaking in code, maybe so Mr. Redl wouldn’t detect anything odd. But to Tami his message was very clear. She gulped and got onto the table, saying in a quivering voice, “It -- I just forgot, that’s all.”
Mr. Redl had gentle, soft hands, and it was hard to object even though he was extending Tami’s legs wide, wide, wider, finally inserting each bare foot into its respective stirrup. The stirrups were set at maximum spread, far more than would be necessary for a normal gynecological exam. Tami was almost doing a split, like that time in the dorm lounge, helping Professor Congi with that workshop on sexual health. Then Mr. Zipkin took out a little backrest, like part of a chair, from under the table and pushed it against Tami’s back. It fastened to the sides of the table. Tami was now sitting almost straight up, her legs up and out, each stirrup just two feet or so to each side of her face, a limber position possible only for trained gymnasts like her. She tried not to look down but couldn’t help it, as Mr. Redl got out scissors and a cup of water and shaving cream. And a little plastic razor, like she used to use to shave her legs, back when she had such amenities.
For a second the only sound in the room was the snipping of scissors. Tami watched with desolation as her lush curls fell away bit by bit. At least they would grow back.
McMasters was back to his old, courtly self. “Miss Smithers, can I get you a coffee? You could probably use one, after what you’ve experienced.”
Now that he mentioned it, coffee was exactly what Tami wanted. Also, it was something normal. She wanted to do something normal. “Yes, please,” she said, looking forward to a few minutes from now, when she could come down from this spread-open position and drink coffee like a normal person, or at least like a normal naked person.
But in a minute McMasters returned with coffee and gave it to her as she remained extended up on the table. She looked uncertainly down at Mr. Redl, who had clipped her hair down to a buzz cut and was applying the shaving cream, the hot wetness of which made Tami flinch. McMasters told her, “Go ahead.” Tami found herself sipping coffee casually while her pubic hair was being shaved off.
“Hi, I thought you’d be here,” a familiar old voice said. It was Dr. Harridance, coming in with a coffee of his own. “Good to see you, Tami. How are things?”
The three men, Harridance, McMasters and Zipkin, were standing casually in front of Tami, chatting with her as if the three were co-workers on a coffee break instead of one of them being naked, spread wide on a gyno table as her pussy was being shaved. Tami was so disoriented by the unreality of this situation that she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Well, for someone who’s just had fourteen orgasms, I’m all right.” Which caused all the men, even Mr. Redl, to laugh, and Tami to blush. Did I really say that?
“I’m afraid you’ll have a few more today, I hope you won’t mind,” McMasters responded jovially.
Tami took a sip and shook her head. Then Dr. Harridance asked about her classes, and Tami found herself actually engaging in small talk. She chatted with Harridance and McMasters about the weather, they told her about the great impression she had made at the Chalfont Banquet, about the article by Harridance that was about to be published, then she talked about the academic format of citing articles she had learned in her extra credit math research . . . all the while the men stood facing her, idly glancing at her spread pussy as shaving cream disappeared under the gentle scraping of the razor. Finally Mr. Redl wiped the excess cream away and Tami was completely bare. Well, almost.
As she put her coffee cup down she followed Mr. Redl’s instructions to get up on all fours and spread her butt cheeks. The feeling of camaraderie quickly went away as shame took over. It was always horrible to show her butthole to everyone like this, and the coffee sippers looked at it, front and center in the bright light of the lab, as Mr. Redl applied one more bit of shaving cream to remove the few remaining hairs at the bottom of Tami’s pussy, next to her perineum.
After he finished there he got Tami’s feet back into the stirrups for the final once-over with a wet cloth. Miss Tami Smithers now had a totally smooth, hairless pussy. She looked down in spite of trying not to. It looked like she was eight years old again. This was an uncomfortable, creepy feeling. The newly uncovered skin was very sensitive and she could feel tiny drafts in the room. As well as the stares of the three men, and then of Mr. Redl, who got up and stood right in front of Tami, hands in his pockets, looking at her pussy appraisingly.
Satisfied with his work, Mr. Redl acknowledged McMasters’s thanks and gathered his equipment and left. For a moment there was an air of expectation as the naked girl continued to sit up there with her legs stretched up and out. Tami figured it was time to get down but she knew she had to wait for someone to tell her.
Instead, Dr. Harridance said, “Fine specimen, Zipkin. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Zipkin nodded, and said, “I think the’re in now. “
Then, to Tami’s horror, McMasters got behind the table and let loose some kind of brake. The table was on wheels, and he was pushing it outside into the hall! Zipkin opened the big double doors and Dr. Harridance, leading the way, said in his amiable voice, “Tami, if you don’t mind, we’d like the ob-gyn committee to see this. You would make a great demonstration model.”
As the table went out into the light and hustle and bustle of the hall, displaying the naked girl with her legs splayed out and up, the students passing by turned and froze into a sea of staring eyes. The gyno table was big and the hall was narrow, so students had to move out of the way, which they did reluctantly. It was certainly one of the oddest sights ever seen in the Chalfont Institute, as Harridance walked alongside, telling people to make way, and Zipkin and McMasters pushed from behind.
The naked girl’s mouth was open in shock and she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t believe this. The urge to cover her pussy with her hands was intense, but she knew to do that would be sudden death. Instead she grabbed the sides of the table next to her hips with a white-knuckled grip, her eyes unable to completely hide her feelings of shame and shock. To the newly naked sensitive skin of her pussy the drafts of the hall felt like arctic blasts, and she knew without looking that her lower lips were widely parted as she felt the drafts shoot inside her and curl around, chilling her most secret place.
The strange convoy turned a corner into another hall and Tami met with the astonished looks of more students, white-coated geeks all, who quickly trained their eyes right at her gaping hole, looking right up inside her. Then the naked girl was rolled out into the main lobby, and for a horrible moment she thought they were going to roll her outside and parade her around campus. She had an image of her leading a parade down a main street, people cheering her opened pussy, taking snapshots of it, with a big picture of it on the front page of the next day’s newspaper . . .
Thank God for small favors. They weren’t going outside, just turning into another hall. As Tami blinked back tears of shame, she found herself being rolled through an open door into a small meeting room, where six men in suits were sitting. They looked up in amazement and Tami saw them staring, of course directly into her pussy. One of them, an older man with a gray handlebar mustache, finally caught his breath to speak. “Harridance!” he said, at first with outrage, then turning to a smile and finally laughter, “what are you -- Good God -- this -- this must be Miss Tami Smithers!”
There were smiles all around the table. Dr. Harridance moved away a chair and Tami was rolled up to the edge of the table as if the gyno table was her seat. The men stood up and reached over to greet her, saying they were glad and honored to finally meet her, and Tami finally extended a bewildered hand crossing in front of her upraised leg to shake their hands, certainly the oddest entrance she had ever made into a room.
The men were nice and made genuine, affectionate eye contact, but also quite naturally looked down at the obvious center of attention. When they were all seated again, Dr. Harridance said, “Tami, this is Dr. Haufenstedt, chairman of the ob-gyn department, and this is the faculty ob-gyn committee. Doctor,” he said, addressing the man with the handlebar mustache, “you were talking about the need for better illustrations for your classes, and here you have it. We just shaved Tami as part of our experiments, and it’s amazing how easily you can see the external anatomy without pubic hair.” Bracing himself by grabbing the naked girl’s bare, upturned foot, he leaned around her leg and pointed to the little bare mound above her pussy, and up and down her lips. Tami didn’t want to look down. She just kept a neutral expression focused on the opposite wall.
The doctors looked appraisingly at her opened pussy. “This is very impressive,” Dr. Haufenstedt said. “I never saw the mons venus in such a way. Dr. Isadore should be told about this too, this girl has excellent musculature. . .
Dr. Haufenstedt then looked up at Tami’s face. “Miss Smithers, I wonder if you could be available for a demonstration at our ob-gyn class. Of course, you would be compensated, and we’ll work it around your schedule. Also, Dr. Isadore teaches a class in kinesthiology and would like to point out various muscle groups. You would be ideal.”
Tami felt her face blush red. After all the shame she had been through she thought she had forgotten how to blush. “Well . . . “ More exposure, more being put on display so that more guys could look at her private parts . . . will it ever end?
Dr. Haufenstaudt nodded with a kindly, old-man air. “I know, this is abrupt. Think about it. I know you are a busy young woman and an exceptional student. I don’t want us to interfere with your studies or your other work with the Institute. Let me know, though.”
Tami said softly, “O.K.,” being aware once again of carrying on a conversation with her legs spread out and her pussy open and in full view. She knew, though, that any refusal would get back to the Dean . . .
“Thank you, doctor, and thanks, Tami, sorry about this little jaunt,” Dr. Harridance said, and turning the table around he and his assistants rolled Tami back out into the hall . . .
The ride back to Lab 5 was even more shaming -- classes were changing and lots more students were walking around. Professors too, most of whom seemed to know Tami, and in fact she remembered some faces from the banquet. She heard “Hello, Miss Smithers” about ten times as smiling, courteous faces greeted her as she rolled by, only momentarily glancing down to her spread, wide-open, bare pussy. Hands clutched behind each hip onto the edge of the table, the spread-out naked girl managed a diplomatic smile and nod as she returned the greetings, trying to preserve her dignity by imagining she was a nude princess on a royal procession, even as she felt the cold drafts blowing around inside her gaping lower cavity, so recently opened for almost an hour by the Godzilla dildo, and now so cruelly stretched and put on display.
Dr. Schnitzler, a distinguished and imposing figure in a three-piece suit, walked by. “How are you, Miss Smithers?” he asked, extending his hand. Tami crossed her hand up over her leg and found her hand being kissed in the doctor’s elegant, Old World style. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you like this,” he said, briefly glancing down, “but I know you are very busy here. Are they treating you well?” he said jovially.
McMasters coughed absently.
“Y - yes, very well,” Tami said quickly, bringing her hand back to clutch the table behind her, leaving her pussy achingly open and exposed. “Everyone is very nice,” she added bravely.
“Well then, I hope not to detain you, but, well . . . “ The Director’s voice lowered a bit. “You remember Herr Remmler from the banquet? He is, shall we say, not very well. He lives in an old house just outside of town. A few of us were hoping to visit him to cheer him up. We thought in light of the high regard in which he holds you, you might join us.”
“Oh. “ Tami indeed remembered the bent old man, his little speech that flattered her and Rod so much, that amazing painting of her that was unveiled . . . She was sorry he was ill. He was very old. Was he dying? Clearing her throat, momentarily almost forgetting her bashful pose, Tami said, “I’d be glad to.”
“Thank you very much Miss, we’ll pick you up. I’ll let you know when,” Dr. Schnitzler said, then with a wave to Dr. Harridance and the rest, he went on his slow, benevolent, distinguished way.
Tami quickly drew air between clenched teeth as the table rolled on, past the gazes of students and professors. It was almost a relief to be back in Lab 5, a relief tempered by the knowledge that the retainer and bristle bra were waiting. Tami’s feet were finally taken down from the stirrups and she was allowed to work out the kinks in her muscles. This meant hopping down onto the cold tile floor with the slap of bare feet and waving her arms and legs around, crouching and standing up again, knowing the men were intently watching every inch of her skin and muscle.
McMasters got the box from off the back of the gyno table and said, “Insertion of the retainer is something that you are best off doing yourself. There’s a tube of lubricant in here. Probably the best way is to sit onto the rectal dildo and then wrap the retainer around and insert the front one.”
Intensely conscious of the men’s close attention, the naked girl squatted on top of the table and laid the retainer panties out so that the white rectal dildo was standing straight up from its reinforced base, with the tan vaginal dildo flopped forward. She carefully positioned her butthole over the lubricated dildo head. Not wanting to look down, she looked forward at the wall with a frozen expression. Her breathing was nervous and shallow as she crouched lower, lower, then felt the cold tip against her butt. She reached down and held the dildo with one hand as she gently and carefully guided it to her wrinkled brown asterisk, then slowly lowered herself onto it. It slid in, inch by inch, opening her ass ring. Because she had been so recently reamed with a larger object, it was not painful, merely uncomfortable.
And of course, very shaming. The men crouched down in front of her, with Mr. Zipkin behind, watching intently as the white plastic slid through and stretched open her brown ring. To voluntarily insert a dildo in her butt while others were watching was a shame that she had not experienced before. Every time Tami thought she had reached the ultimate in exposure and humiliation, something new happened which shamed her anew.
Tami closed her eyes and gulped as her bottom met the panties. The dildo was all the way in, with that strange invasion feeling she got whenever something was in her butt, feeling like it was about to pop out of her throat, though she knew it was not as big as the dildo on the machine. Then she dutifully brought up the front dildo, the one with the little bump at the base which was supposed to press against her clit. She could not avoid looking down now, and gazed at the weird sight of her plump cleft, white and tender, so recently denuded. Hidden from the sun all this time, the skin there did not have the all-over tan glow of the rest of her, and its paleness made her cleft stand out even more. Hating every second, Tami spread her pussy lips with one hand as she pointed the dildo inward and upward. The men leaned closer to look at her red inner membranes and the tan dildo that was beginning to enter and separate them. Angled out over the edges of the table, her toes twitched nervously.
That she could not control her gasps made it even worse. But as the dildo slid in, inch by inch, she could not hide the little chills of pleasure. With her rectum already filled with one dildo she had to shift and squirm, her butt cheeks rubbing against the table, to make room for the second one. Finally she got to the base and pressed it up against herself, breathing in suddenly as the knob pressed against her clit. Her legs shook momentarily, then she carefully put her legs down.
McMasters was very helpful with the next step. “Here, let me show you,” he said, as he brought together the velcro straps on one hip. Tami tightened them on the other side. Then McMasters took her hand and helped her down.
Tami was not unaware of the significance of this event. She felt straps around her hips, like the long-ago feel of bikini panties, and her pussy and butthole were covered. For the first time in months, she was actually wearing a scrap of clothing! Not very much, of course -- little straps across her hips, a thong-like strap running into her butt crack, and the panties stopped way below her navel, showing her hip bones, covering just her clit and not much more. Still, it was like clothes.
But she was not able to enjoy this moment as she had hoped. Because as soon as she stood up she felt weak in the knees. The twin dildos filling up her pelvis were almost debilitating her with sexual stimulation. Especially the knob on her clit. And there was that rough gritty material between her pussy and her butthole. She couldn’t help it. She moaned and bent down, hands on her knees. “Ohhhh . . . Oh God . . . “
This was not worth it, she quickly decided. These panties might be clothes but they were worse than being naked. She was thinking, “Take these off!! Get me out of these!!” They were horrid. Every little movement was like getting fucked in both holes, like being stimulated all over. To stand there wearing this thing, with people looking at her and knowing she had a dildo up her butt and another in her pussy and was being turned on against her will . . . she closed her eyes and longed for being simply naked and left alone.
She exhaled and stood up, her body jerking slightly with unwelcome pleasure as the knob shifted a fraction of an inch over her clit. She looked with fear in her eyes as McMasters brought over the bristle bra. “Now this,” he said.
She had almost forgotten those once-familiar movements of her arms, bringing bra straps up around her shoulders, around her back. This bra attached in the front. She clasped it on, the bristles scraping over her nipples, and told herself: For the first time in months I’m wearing a bra. Not much of a bra -- the little black cups, with strange little protruding knobs, were only about three inches across, covering only her nipples and the brown areolas and very little more.
“Now let’s adjust the cups,” McMasters said, and he slowly twisted the little knob over each nipple. They were clamps of some kind. The no-longer-naked girl inhaled and gasped as the bristles tightened over her nipples, squeezing them. Finally when the bristles were almost at the point of poking into her, McMasters pulled on each cup, stretching the nipple a bit away from the breast, and decided they were on tight enough.
Tami felt about to cry. This bra was even more horrid than the panties. It felt like her nipples were being encased in steel wool, some horrid itchy rough material that she couldn’t get away from. She gulped and began taking deep breaths, her face flushed.
Dr. Harridance, who had been watching the attachment of these devices from afar, looked at his watch. “Well Tami, it looks like this invention is having its desired effect. All in the name of science, you know. Have a good time. Getting paid for it, too!” he said in his amiable way. “Gotta go. Remember, watch out for this guy!” he said with a smile, pointing to McMasters as he left. Tami didn’t want Harridance to leave. She trusted him and his easy manner and was uneasy and afraid with McMasters. She watched the door close and then looked at him with trepidation.
“Well,” McMasters said, “how does it feel?”
Tami didn’t know what to say. Finally, she said, “Weird.”
“That’s what we expected. You really are a most fortunate young woman,” he said, which made her want to scream. Then, to her surprise, he took what looked like a remote control out of his pocket and pressed a button. Tami heard a quick, low beep. It reminded her of when she had a hearing test in high school and she had to put on headphones and there was a low note in one ear, then the other. Then she heard another low beep.
“A new refinement, put in only a few days ago,” McMasters said. “The beeps reflect your level of arousal. Orgasm is a steady tone. And here -- ” he pointed down to a spot in the middle of the panties, “is a counter.”
Tami looked down. There was a little electronic display at the top of the panties, right over where it covered her clit. The lit number was clearly visible. “0”. She knew what it meant immediately. Another orgasm counter, in full view for everyone to see. She closed her eyes and prayed. Please God, get me through this . . .
“Now, Miss Smithers,” McMasters said in a strong voice, “let’s try this out.” He opened up another door and Tami saw sunlight and felt fresh air. The door led out to a long garden-like area with a path down the center and a small fountain at the end, maybe a hundred feet away. A very pleasant place, with benches here and there, to relax between classes, at least for a person in average circumstances.
Gasping with each step, trying hard to smother her arousal, Tami followed McMasters’s lead until they were out on the beginning of the concrete path. Mr. Zipkin stood behind. Tami took a deep breath of the fresh air. It was good at least to be out of that antiseptic lab environment, but . . .
“I’d like you to walk out to that fountain, go around it, and then come back. Try to keep a steady, relaxed pace. No matter what you’re feeling,” McMasters said with an air of firmness.
Her eyes wet, knowing what was bound to happen, Tami took a breath and started with uneasy barefoot steps down the path. And was immediately attacked by a swarm of horrid sensations. It was like being stung by bees, licked by tongues, sucked, fucked . . . her clit, her pussy, her nipples, the dildo in her butt like a huge prod pushing her into a rasping noisy riot of intense stimulation she could not escape. The little beeps came at quicker intervals. She tried to hold her breath, holding in her gasps, but after about twenty feet breath exploded from her in a load moan. She looked back for a second, her face etched with fear, and saw that McMasters and Zipkin were staying at the doorway. Glad she was getting farther away from them, she turned ahead and permitted her moans to build, until they were rhythmically pulsing with each tortured step. “Ohhh . . . oh - ohhh . . . oh - ohhh . . .” The beeps, getting faster and faster, only served to remind her of her increasing arousal and spurred her on, in the best tradition of biofeedback.
Finally as she approached the fountain she cried out, trying to pray in the crisis of orgasm. “Oh God please -- p - please -- pleease -- . . .” Her steps faltered but she remembered what her instructions were and kept going. The beeps were now an unbroken tone, just like McMasters said. As she rounded the fountain she had to lean onto it a couple of times to keep from falling over. The orgasm spent itself and the beeps slowed down and she longed to take this horrid outfit off, lie down and rest, but knew she could not.
The walk back was worse because she had to face her tormentors. With a superhuman effort that turned her face red and caused the veins to bulge out on her neck she kept her arousal down until she was two-thirds of the way back. But the quickening beeps gave lie to her efforts. The second orgasm announced itself to her audience by the bugging out of her eyes as the girl gazed forward with an unearthly stare, rhythmic spasms causing her legs to splay to the side, pitch forward, then bend over, arms swinging wildly, her ragged gait bringing her closer and closer to the watching men, who listened as the steady low tone got nearer and nearer. Wave after wave assaulted her body and then she found herself standing right in front of McMasters and Zipkin, sweating, her eyes crazy, jolting again and again with the last spasms, until she caught her breath and wailed, covering her eyes, tears running down her cheeks, crumpling down on the concrete. “Oh God . . . oh please . . . no . . . no more . . .”
Tami knelt on her haunches, arms around her knees, trying in a useless effort to expel the horrid intruders in her pussy and ass, escape from the bristles torturing her poor nipples. “Please . . . please . . . “
McMasters coldly offered a hand and helped her up. “Very good,” he said, pointing to the little indicator over her clit. Tami looked down at it, defeated. It now said “2”.
A minute later, gasping and feeling weak, the girl was squatting on the gyno table, looking at the red nipples on her bare breasts, and blushing in shame as the men watched her shitting the rectal dildo out. In a moment all the devices had been removed from her and she lay stretched out on the table, groaning, saying, “Oh God . . . Jesus . . . “ She was glad nothing was in her or on her. She was glad to be naked again. And she wanted to be alone.
She dozed. A few minutes later she rubbed her eyes and got up. To her disappointment McMasters and Zipkin were still there, waiting near the doorway, McMasters holding the box. “Long workout today, Miss Smithers. Thank you for your time.” He handed the box to her. “Today was excellent, Miss Smithers. Excellent. . . The retainer has sensors which monitor your reactions, as I’m sure you can now tell. This is your assignment. Put the apparatus on at your convenience until you have had five orgasms. Do this for three sessions during the next week, at any time and place at your convenience. Maybe you can make a romantic event of it with your boyfriend around. The information on your arousal will be recorded on the computer chip that’s embedded in the retainer. We can read out the information when you come back for your next appointment.”
McMasters opened the door and he and Zipkin went out. “We’ve got to get going. You can see yourself out. Again, Miss Smithers, I can’t thank you enough. The research you are helping with will be to the benefit of many, many people.” He gave his usual smarmy, salesman-like smile.
And then he was gone. Tami looked at the box in desolation. She was too wiped out by today’s orgasms to feel any intensity of despair. She went back to the waiting room of Lab 6 to get her backpack and found that she could stuff the box inside. Good. She didn’t want people seeing the box and asking questions about it.
She made her way to the side exit, the exit she had used that night before going to the Student Union and finding the ad for the summer job. She longed to get back to her dorm, to the normal world, even if she was always naked in it. And she looked ahead once again with longing to four weeks from now, when she would be in another town and swaddled in clothes, clothes, clothes . . .
There was a full-length mirror just before the doorway. She caught a glance and then stopped, looking at her reflection in shock. With her pussy now shaved smooth she looked like some kind of freak. The lower lips, slightly parted, red and flushed, looked like they were announcing themselves to the world. Anyone who saw her would be arrested by the sight. They were so prominent with no hair to hide them! It was like she was asking the world to look at her lower lips and her clit, which stood out prominently above them. And her nipples were drawing attention to themselves too -- rubbed raw, red, puffed out.
And what was this?
She moved closer. It was true. Scattered through her long, dark red hair were a few little strands of gray. Gray hairs!! What was happening to her? The naked, shaven girl recoiled in alarm. She remembered what Wanda had told her. She knew for a fact now that there was an organized conspiracy to break her will, to shame her into admitting that nudism was not really her religion. Wanda had only 28 days to do it. Could she make it through those 28 days? Or would she go crazy first?
The walk back across campus might have been, under different circumstances, rather pleasant. It was late afternoon, sunny and pleasant, and she looked up around at the budding trees, her bare feet caressed by the soft green grass of the soccer field, and tried to get into a favorite fantasy of hers since the weather turned warm, that she was Eve in the Garden of Eden, a naked woman walking through this beautiful spring paradise. But she felt every little draft and shadow on her bare pussy skin and knew that every eye would be on her prominent pussy lips, sticking into everyone’s face.
And it was true. People noticed it just as much as they did her nude figure the first time she had to walk outside naked, so long ago, back in September. As she made her way along the paths by the academic buildings she overheard people saying, “Look at that!” “Jesus!” “She’s all shaved now!” “You can see her -- you know what!” The students on this campus, who had grown accustomed to seeing her naked body, suddenly were taking a close look all over again. The teenager, still so sensitive at her age to vicious remarks, had to blink back tears of shame as she heard one gutless jerk yell, “Nice pussy!!” just before he ducked into a building. Even worse were the reactions of her friends. “Tami?!?” was heard more than once. She waved and passed by, as if in simple acknowledgement. Inside she felt the same cringing mortification that she felt in September.
There was one friend she could not avoid giving an explanation to. It was Marisol, coming her way past the Student Union, and Tami saw her astonished eyes looking straight down at her denuded pussy. “Caramba!” Marisol said, stopping about six feet in front of her naked friend. “What a difference! You look like a walking pair of -- labios!”
Tami blushed but smiled bravely. “How do you like it? I thought I’d give it a try.”
Marisol kept staring and finally shook her head, smiling. “Tami, you are the bravest mujer on this whole planet!” And she hugged Tami and then went on.
In the dorm, people stopped and stared as Tami went by. She ignored them and then, with a pause and a deep breath, opened the door to her room.
Jen and Mandy, sitting on their bunks, looked up and their mouths dropped open. After a second Jen scampered up to Tami and got down on her knees, overcome with lust. “Oh baby, oh Jesus, oh my, oh thank you God . . . “ she said, hugging her arms around Tami’s hips, one hand on each bare butt cheek, by turns kissing Tami’s exposed pussy lips and resting her head against it with the smile of a child hugging her favorite teddy bear.
On this pleasant, sunny, gentle spring day in the academic quad of Campbell - Frank College, right after lunch time, students were passing here and there on the way to classes. To one side, Rockley Hall, the social sciences building, a modernistic white marble geometric shape with clean lines and dark recesses which on closer inspection turn out to be windows; to another side, Ashley Hall, the humanities building, a much older brick and ivy affair with a small statue of Shakespeare in front; on the third side, Bergland Hall, the undergraduate biology building, a four-story glass structure with windows that perhaps needed a bit of cleaning, though the bottom floor, open on all sides between huge concrete pillars, was a good idea, a meeting and chatting place for the biology students, at least in warm weather like this.
The quad had a grassy area in the middle and benches all around, and some dogwood trees that were alive with fragrant white blossoms. The scene, accompanied by the passing murmurs of students and professors talking, was your typical New England college in the fresh flower of spring. Except, of course . . .
The fourth side was taken up by Fellowes Hall, a gnarled concrete monstrosity that had seemed futuristic when it was first built (in 1956) but had not aged well. The home of the physics and chemistry departments, it was always under repair in some way, and classes often had to be moved elsewhere. The front facing the quad was a wide shallow stair area that had been roughed up and partly destroyed in preparation for total replacement. It was a mess of rough gravel and broken stones, with a narrow path of chipped pebbles cleared through the middle so that people could pass. At the moment the entire building was shut down, evidenced by a handwritten sign on the front door, way up at the end of the sloping pebble path.
What made this quad scene different from any other in the world was the naked girl, looking even more naked because of her cleanly shaven pussy, standing barefoot on the broken concrete to one side of the path, waiting. She bravely faced out into the quad, squinting in the sunlight which made a bright white beacon of her perfectly toned, lightly tanned body, standing shoulders back with legs slightly apart, like a statue making a strange counterpoint to Mr. Shakespeare across the quad, stiffly acknowledging with a little nod of her head passing friends who said hi. To those who weren’t personal friends, she was “Naked Tami”, though in the last few days many had started referring to her as “Pussylips Tami” because of her shaven pussy which emphasized her lower lips to such prominent advantage. She tried to ignore the stares and comments and strange counting chants from the students near the pillars at the biology building as she stood waiting, waiting, exhaling finally with impatience and anguish . . .
Where the hell was he? Tami asked herself. Mr. Winant had told her to be here, he had another task for her. She was at least grateful that she wouldn’t be thrusting and heaving on the treadmills at the Dixon Mill again. She must have had a dozen sessions on that thing, and it seemed like half the administration had been by at one time or another to view her sweating, straining nakedness, as Mr. Winant and a couple of physics professors had shown the apparatus to various people who were, as far as she could guess from overhearing their conversations, from places that were funding that crazy research, or might fund it in the future. All the time, she had to keep pushing up with her spread arms, pushing down with her wide-spread legs, bare feet pushing down on blade after blade. With the onset of warm weather it was now like a hothouse in there, and sweat constantly ran down her back, down her butt and down her legs, dripped from her chin and her nipples and into the sopping wet nest of her pubic bush (which she no longer had), wet hair plastered to her head, while people walked around and viewed her from every angle. She would keep looking straight ahead, trying to ignore them, but she could feel their stares aimed right at her breasts, at her pussy, then behind her at her bare butt cheeks and her spread, exposed butthole. . .
Now, naked in the bright sun of the quad, Tami closed her eyes for a moment. 24 days . . . 24 days . . . 24 days to clothes. . . She looked down and shifted her feet to some less pointy rocks, even though her bare feet were toughened from months of walking on every kind of surface. At she looked at her gritty toes, whitened with concrete powder, she could see almost as a mirage big, leather hiking boots and thick gray socks, knowing that in only a little more than three weeks her feet would be covered and protected and snuggly, as would all the rest of her poor exposed body.
She was feeling the intense urge to cross her legs, cover her breasts, turn around so that everyone could see only her bare back and butt, but she glanced up at Rossland Hall, looming over Ashley, and she knew, just knew, that Henry Ross or one of his many accomplices was watching her naked body, clearly visible and shining prominently in the bright sun, for any sign of modesty. Of course, among the older people walking around in front of her there were probably some spies as well.
Where was Winant?? Tami exhaled and closed her eyes as she heard a taunting voice from under the bio building. “Five! . . . Six! . . . Seven! . . . “ Fortunately there was no one behind her to see as she clenched her buttocks.
Her mind wandered to the past few days. Worn out as she was after those orgasms at Chalfont, she had submitted to Jen later on that night. Jen was intoxicated with Tami’s bare lower lips and kept licking until the exhausted girl came three more times, the last time in the middle of sobs of anguish but also of joy that for once she was being given an orgasm with love and tenderness, even as her thighs locked open in the death-grip of Jen’s elbows. Then Tami immediately fell into a deep, deep sleep, so deep that she hardly moved, and the next morning she found herself waking up in the xact same position, legs splayed to each side, feet flat on the floor, as she looked at the cheerful faces of Dawn and Mayree and Mandy and Jen, reminding her it was time to go to class. Thank God, after the initial surprise her friends in the dorm didn’t comment too much on her bare pussy lips, not even Jen, though Jen couldn’t stop looking at them.
Still, this morning was torture. She knew that when she got back to Chalfont on Thursday they would expect her pussy to be clean shaven again, and she noticed that with each day she had been growing a “stubble”. And the stubble was even more embarrassing than being nude down there. Finally this morning she had had to bite the bullet and shave it.
It was a bizarre scene, at least to Tami, though her friends took it in stride. Mayree, Dawn and Mandy were chatting at the sinks in the dorm bathroom, talking girl talk, in their bathrobes and fluffy slippers. And there was Tami, the naked girl, at the sink on the end, watching herself intently in the mirror as she carefully scraped the little plastic razor she had borrowed from Jen around her opened pussy lips, catching the shaving cream. It was necessary of course to spread her legs, and she did this by extending her right foot way over past the sink next to her, the one Mayree was at, and over to the one Dawn was at. Dawn had to lean over Tami’s toes as she spat out her toothpaste. Though no one mentioned it, Tami knew that they were all aware that Tami’s pussy was open, and in the mirror she could see the light reflecting up from the shiny white sink so that the dark pink cave, maybe half an inch across, was not totally black, but she (and her friends as they glanced over) could see the dull red shadows of her inner pussy walls.
Her friends were O.K., but the scene in the math building, where she spent most of each day, was decidedly different. Most of her math major friends were polite, though they kept looking down at her lower regions. A few came up to her and said, “Nice, Tami, nice!” And then there were the new equations that were being put up anonymously on the bulletin board. She didn’t know why she was torturing herself so, but she couldn’t help but enter them into her graphing program. One was a little circle with rays radiating out and then outer curves. It was her butthole, the little ring of brown skin, the outer curves being the slope of her butt cheeks. And then what looked on paper like a hyperbola, but which actually was a pretty accurate rendition of her bare pussy lips, complete with a little parabola on top for her clit, and a shaded long ellipse in between, the open cave of her pussy. She squeezed her eyes shut when she saw this, it shamed her to know that these guys were looking at her most secret spaces so intently, studying them so carefully. But how could they not? They were guys, and her every intimate crease and hole was on constant public display . . .
24 days . . . 24 days . . . Where is that guy?? Did his wheelchair break down? . . .
She thought of Rod. She hadn’t told him about her summer plans yet. How should she play it? She remembered a dream in which she called him from her apartment, wrapped in clothes from head to toe, and kept telling him that her work number was out of order. Rod had told her of the job he had gotten for the summer with a research project in Boston, a good opportunity for him. It was not really a surprise; the two lovers had assumed that they would get summer jobs in different places. But they promised each other they’d call every day or so. Certainly their love would survive a short summer apart. And in the fall . . . ?
Tami was beginning to think about that. What about September? She would have to come back here and she would have to be naked again. And with her all-over tan faded and gone, a sure sign that she had spent the summer in clothes. Was there some way out? She explored the issue in her diary extensively. She was now halfway through the second book. Knowing her ordeal was almost ended, she found it cathartic to spill out all her experiences of shame and torture at the hands of Wanda and Henry Ross and all the rest, planning to tie the books together so that the first week of summer, in her first week of clothes, in that faraway little town, she would ceremonially burn them, putting the whole nightmare behind her.
At least things were going O.K. with Rod. At first he was weirded out by the sight of her shaved pussy. But on their weekly Fuck Day, Sunday, after poking around it with his tongue, he decided it wasn’t so bad -- “no hair in my teeth!” -- and then, when they were fucking, facing each other on Rod’s cleared-away desk, both of them were turned on when they looked down and saw the contrast of his black dick plunging into her bare white pussy. They fucked and rested and fucked and rested and fucked again, quite a day even for them. Then in the middle of the night she woke and stroked his cute face pensively. She loved Rod so much. . .
The naked girl, squinting into the warm spring sun, shifted her feet again and allowed herself a little smile. Which then turned into a wrinkled-chin frown. What about that damned box? She hadn’t opened it since McMasters gave it to her when she woke up after Thursday’s orgasmathon. Good thing it fit into her backpack. She hadn’t taken it out since, though it was a bother, working around it in there while putting in and getting out books. But if she took it out everyone would see it. There was no place to hide it in her dorm room; she had no clothes and few other belongings, and she would either have to put it into the closet she shared with Jen or put it under her bed, where everyone would see it because she had no blankets. And then people would ask about it.
She had been assigned to have three “sessions” with the retainer and bristle bra, five orgasms each, before Thursday, and it was already Monday. McMasters mentioned having her boyfriend around. She hated to admit it but McMasters probably had the best idea. She would take it to Rod’s house tonight and show it to him. He would be freaked out, but he already knew that she was having orgasms at Chalfont, all in the name of science. Maybe they could make it a romantic event. The average guy would probably be turned on by the idea. Maybe --
Finally, the naked girl looked up and saw Homer Winant scooting toward her in his wheelchair, in his usual mechanic’s outfit and baseball-style cap. This time the cap said, “Camaro”.
She wondered how the wheelchair would make it up the gravelly path but Winant turned and started going to her right. “Sorry I’m late, follow me, Miss,” he said, and the naked girl slowly walked behind him as they went around the smooth concrete sidewalk to the side entrance, which was just one glass door which he opened with a key. As they went in, Tami thought, Why didn’t he just ask me to wait for him here, instead of out in the quad in front of everyone? Of course, she knew that the question supplied its own answer.
As they went down the dusty hall, strangely cold even though the day was warm, Winant said, “This building has been a pain in the ass almost since the day it was built. One big problem is the boiler. It’s an old model and we have to clean it out every summer, but this year it got so clogged we had to shut if off early. That’s why the building’s closed.” They went into a large elevator, obviously designed to carry big machinery, and then descended two floors, into the “lower basement”. The big doors opened slowly and the naked girl found herself stepping over tools and debris strewn on a rough concrete floor in what was obviously a big boiler room. It wasn’t creepy, just dirty and obviously the scene of much neglect.
The boiler, a big round rusty ugly green thing about ten feet tall, dominated this messy scene. Winant stopped in front of it and he and the naked girl looked up at it appraisingly. There were dials on it here and there, big pipes coming out of the sides, a utility ladder welded to it running up to the top, and what looked like a bolted-on trap door on the side near the bottom. “Cleaning the muck out of this thing is your assignment for today,” he said, as Tami’s spirits sank, her bare shoulders drooping as she contemplated this giant dirty monstrosity. “It’s been emptied and off for a couple of days, so don’t worry, it’s not hot anymore. See those pails?”
He pointed to four dirty, dented metal pals, bigger than the kitchen cleaning pails Tami was used to seeing, sitting to one side. Next to them, leaning against the boiler, was a shovel. “Look inside, there should be a crescent wrench in there,” Winant said, and walking over Tami could see there was.
“What you do is go in through the top hatch, take the buckets and shovel and wrench with you, and put the muck into the buckets. You don’t have to get it all, just enough so that the rest will dry and can be swept out with a broom. Just get as much out as you can with the shovel. The pails will be too heavy to lift out the top. So loosen the nuts on that utility door, and crawl out from there. Just leave the pails out on the floor for now, we’ll clean those away when we clean the rest of this sad sorry mess in June,” he said, waving his arm with disgust.
Tami looked down at the pails, then up at the top hatch, which now seemed about fifty feet up. Winant turned his wheelchair around and said, “Think about the guys who did this job before you, guys bigger than you, wearing clothes that got all sweaty and mucky. A skinny naked girl is the perfect person for this job. Just think about that,” he said, making his way out. Then Tami heard the hydraulic sound of the elevator and he was gone.
As she pulled up a pail with the shovel and wrench inside and climbed up the utility ladder, she was at least grateful that Winant didn’t stay behind to stare at her butthole as the ascended. She got up onto the big open hatch on top and looked down. Below her was a wide open mucky tank with a little ladder that ran down in mid-air to a point about three feet above the floor. Or what she imagined might be where the floor was, because she couldn’t see it. She wrinkled her nose as she contemplated the wet, muddy flat below her. Brown and red, it smelled a little like the sand at the beach, and also a little like red pepper. It was very fine and looked like the grounds of espresso coffee. She didn’t know how deep this muck was. But she would have to find out. Balancing the pail on one hand, she slowly descended, her toes clasping around each skinny rung of the little ladder.
Finally her foot was on the bottom rung. Tami looked down. The muck did not look any less threatening closer up. In dejection she carefully dropped the pail and its contents to the side. It slopped onto the muck with a quiet plop. No metallic ring to indicate that the pail had hit the bottom. This muck was not shallow.
Her face screwed up in distaste, as if she were saying in the way of the teenaged girl that she was, “Ewwww!”, the naked Tami slowly lowered her top foot the bottom rung and slowly, slowly, inched down her other foot. She took in a ragged breath as her big toe made contact. Yuck. Slimy, and cold. And a little grainy. Closing her eyes, she pushed her foot down, down, until it hit a cold metallic surface, then put her foot flat with a ghastly squish as it took on her entire weight. Silently she brought the other foot down. With resignation she let go of the ladder and looked down. She was standing in muck that came up a little above her ankles. She felt it oozing between her toes. It felt like she was barefoot in mud, a feeling she had never gotten to like in spite of having to walk through the mud many times, but this was worse. God knows what was in this goo. The weird smell, the weird color. Petrochemical. Maybe toxic waste! No, Mr. Winant wouldn’t put her to this if it was really toxic. But still, this goo was industrial and mysterious and horrid. And that funny seaweed/red pepper smell was especially intense now that she was right down in it.
With her first mucky sideways step the naked girl realized that the floor was slippery. Slowly she picked the shovel out of the pail and then the wrench. With tiny steps she shuffled over to the utility door. Bending over with her knees straight, she unscrewed each of the six bolts holding it on, something she did easily from her experience working on cars. Then, bracing herself by reaching back with her hand to push against the downhanging ladder, she pushed with her bare foot. It took a couple of tries, her toes making ghastly brown smears on the door, because it was on with a rubber seal which was stuck at first, but then the seal gave way with a sucking sound and the door fell out to the floor with a metallic clang. Gratefully she took in the breeze as a little draft of air came down from the top hatch and out the little door, which was about three feet high. She calculated. At the end of her labors she could probably crawl out of this thing without having to go on her hands and knees.
It was part of her plan to keep her exposure to the muck confined to her feet and ankles. As she surveyed her surroundings, a circle about ten feet across, she figured that with luck she could get this done in maybe an hour. The shovel was short and she had to bend over to scoop and plop the first load into the pail. The wet plop made it sound like she was shoveling soft, mushy cow dung. Yuck, yuck . . . She knew it would be easier to squat down but did not want to risk touching the muck with her butt. So she carefully spread her legs and bent her knees in order to get the shovel to lie flat and scoop more efficiently. She looked down and saw her pussy slips slightly parted, her white bare cleft a big contrast over the dark goo below. She was aware that she was in a position like she was trying to take a shit, and was thankful that for once there was no one to see her in such an embarrassing pose. “Thank you, God,” she found herself saying aloud, aware of how little a thing it was to be thankful for.
The naked girl shoveled a small circle around the pail, exposing little streaks of the dull gray metal of the floor. She thought of grounds crew guys doing this job in past years. Yes, it would be worse, doing this job in heavy clothes. Even naked as she was she was working up a sweat. The ideal outfit, she finally decided, would be to be nude except for tall rubber boots.
As she grunted with effort she heard her voice echo through the tank. She stood absolutely still, listening to the echo decay, and was struck by how utterly silent the building was. She was the only thing moving in it.
Alone, and relieved to be so, Tami became engrossed in her thoughts. She daydreamed about Ned and Ethel. How like grandparents they were! She missed her own grandparents since they died a few years ago. She imagined herself being invited over to their house for supper after work, a little grandparent-type house with flowers in the window and home-made doilies on the couches. And her, dressed primly in corduroy pants, a cotton shirt, sneakers and white socks. Maybe saddle shoes. No, now I’m getting hokey, she told herself. Still, she wanted to escape into a 1950’s - style picture of domesticity and bliss. In which she was modesty and abundantly clothed.
She felt she could read so much into characters of Ned and Ethel from the few conversations she had had with them on the telephone. Ned, practical, old-school on time, by the book but kindly. Crusty but loveable. Ethel, kindhearted, patient, always able to talk Ned out of being too harsh. Tami would fit right in. She knew she would make a fine, smart, hardworking assistant. One that they would be proud of. She was so ready for this!
With her concentration wandering so, disaster was inevitable. Straining to push the shovel out one more inch, her widely-spread left foot slipped outward and her right foot did the same in the opposite direction. Both feet shot up, splattering muck on the far wall, as her widely-spread thighs dropped and she landed right on her bottom. “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!!” she said, banging her fists down, which only served to plunge her hands into the goo as well. “Shit!” she said again, defeated, looking down. She was sitting in the silty muck that came up over the tops of her pussy lips. She could feel it oozing into her opened pussy, and sitting on it she could feel it grinding up into the sensitive skin of her butthole. As the silty goo pushed into her private crevices she could feel every vile gritty grain. She almost cried.
Hating herself and her stupidity, she put her hands down to steady herself and slowly stood up. Miserably she looked down. Mud covered her entire shaved pussy, dripping down the insides of her thighs. To her horror she realized that she could feel that some of it had gotten inside. Behind, she couldn’t see it, but she could feel mud covering the bottom of her butt cheeks and oozing down between her legs. The backs of her legs were covered as well, all the way down to the feet. Taking stock of her situation, she felt sweat about to drop into her eyes and absently rubbed her forehead, getting mud on it, then passed it over her flat, sweaty tummy, leaving a brownish red streak there as well. Realizing she was making it worse and worse, she closed her eyes to collect her thoughts.
In a moment she was back at her task, going about it much more comfortably on her knees as she shoveled muck into the pail. What difference did it make now? she told herself. Knees muddy, forehead muddy, now even her shins and hips got muddy as she felt no hesitation about wiping away sweat and scratching any itch she had. She had a few itches on her nipples and soon her breasts were stained as well. What the heck, she told herself, I’ll wash it off anyway. The important thing is to get this job done a.s.a.p.
One pail, two pails, then three pails full of muck gradually appeared outside the tank. Finally Tami scooped the last half-shovelful of muck into the fourth pail. She stood up and surveyed what she had done. A pretty good job. There were streaks of mud still on the floor, but she guessed they would dry as Mr. Winant said. She judged it maybe an hour and a half since she had begun. She looked down and held her arms out. Practically all of her was either covered with or marked up with muck, especially on her pussy and butt and on her feet. And the muck was starting to harden and dry and crack, a very unpleasant feeling. She felt the caking goo inside her pussy lips and against her butthole and knew she couldn’t wash this junk off her and out of her a minute too soon.
She crawled out through the door and emerged into the big boiler room, glad to be out of tank, which had become stuffy and humid with her body heat. She trudged over to the big utility sink she had seen before.
She turned the faucet but it mocked her with the breathy sound of air passing through empty plumbing.
“SHIT!!” she yelled, stamping her bare, caked-up foot against the rough concrete floor. It was only then that she realized that with the boiler emptied it was no surprise that the water would be turned off in the whole building. “SHIT!!” she yelled again. Her voice echoed through the big room. The mud-covered, naked girl stood in the dank, messy basement for a moment, her mud-caked, concave tummy moving in and out with the deep breaths of her distress. Then she realized there was only one thing to do. Run to the dorm as fast as she could and plunge under a shower.
Once she was out of the s - l - o - w - l - y rising elevator, she dashed down the empty hall, the normal slapping of her feet turned into muffled thumping because of the dried mud. At the threshold of the door she realized she would be running across campus in full view of dozens of people, and braced herself to try to ignore her shame at being seen like this. With a deep breath she pushed the door open and ran.
It was certainly a public spectacle, seeing Naked Tami all covered with mud as she raced her miserable way through the quad. Watching her steps, Tami looked down and realized to her horror that the brownish-red covering looked just like shit. She looked like she had shit all over her! Not only that, but this drying muck was beginning to burn. As she turned out of the quad and down the path that led to her dorm, she felt it more and more, that burning sensation, the grit scraping in her armpits and between her toes, worst of all in the sensitive tissues inside her pussy, and on the sensitive ring of her butthole. She ran faster and faster, even though her motions only exacerbated the grinding of the grainy muck in her pussy and ass. Burning, grinding, who knows what petrochemical acid was corroding her skin and inner tissues! “Oh -- oh -- oh --” she said under her breath as she ran, desperate to get to the shower before real damage was done, feeling like she was losing her mind. Please God, get me there quick . . .
She turned the corner so that Pilgrim Hall was immediately in view and her eyes opened wide in horror. A fire drill!
It was at the stage where the dorm had been evacuated and everyone was standing around outside the front entrance. She looked on in anguish, then looked across the way at Rankin Hall, the next dorm. A fire drill there too. The naked girl thought quickly. Was there another place with a shower nearby? There were other dorms but they were across campus. Academic buildings had bathrooms and sinks but a simple sink wouldn’t be enough. Her bare shoulders drooped as she realized she best course was to wait until the fire drill was over. They took only a few minutes and it looked like at this point everyone was just waiting for the word to go back into the dorms.
She tried to ignore the shocked stares as the crowd on the patio in front of her dorm watched her approaching, stares of people she passed every day in the hall. There were more shocked stares from the crowd over in front of Rankin. Aware that she looked like she was covered in shit, she sensed the repulsion as people shied away from her, though still staring. “Tami?” a couple of people said. As she stood with dried, caked brown feet in the center of the patio, people looking at her from a safe distance of six feet or so, she decided it was best to tell the truth. At least that way they’d know it wasn’t really shit. “I was cleaning the boiler at Fellowes,” she said, with a faint smile and a shrug of her shoulders, looking at the open front door of the dorm, praying that any second the dorm director would come out and say it was O.K. to go back in. With the shrug she could feel the cracking of dried mud on her back and her arms. She could also feel the burning, which was accompanied now by intense itching, all over her body, but especially inside her pussy and over her butthole.
She turned around and looked away across campus, trying to avoid the glances of her audience, even though she knew she was now giving them a view of her mud-covered butt and legs. It must look like I took a shit while sitting down and then got up, she mused, unable to banish this disgusting thought from her brain. Shit over my butthole, running down my legs . . .
Dully in her intense shame and distress the naked girl noticed the sprinkler on the lawn in front of them. Part of the underground sprinkler system. Aimed away from them, it shot out water in rhythmic bursts. Tami licked her lips. If only I could rinse myself in that. The water was undoubtedly cold, but that might actually feel good right now. Impossible, too shaming. I’m not going to bathe myself in full view of everyone. Yet even as she rejected the idea she felt the burning, the itching, the grinding of the grains in her pussy and ass . . .
NO! she told herself. I can wait for the shower! To blot out the idea of a public bathing she turned around again to face the dorm, which meant she had to try to ignore the stares again. She looked up at the top of the dorm and breathed deeply, hands at her sides, aware that she must make no motion to cover herself. To relieve the shame she tried to pretend that she in fact had no modesty, that she was a naked Stone Age savage marked up with ceremonial mud, greeting a curious crowd of European explorers. But she just could not get into the fantasy. She was hopelessly modest and hopelessly ashamed of her current state.
The muck ate like fiery sandpaper at her poor inner pussy, at her poor butthole. It was unbearable. She glanced back at the sprinkler, then forced herself to look at the dorm. She peered inside, praying that the dorm director, that old party dude Justin, would appear. She saw him in there but he was still talking with someone on the phone. Maybe this “fire drill” was due to a false alarm. They had had a problem with those last semester. Burn, burn, itch --
She turned and dashed as if stung by a force she couldn’t control. Hopping over the little stone curb, she ran onto the grass and placed herself right in front of the sprinkler. In full view of her surprised dorm mates, and the crowd in front of Rankin Hall, the naked girl faced the sprinkler bursts, which meant that she was facing them too. She desperately squatted and opened her thighs, then frantically rubbed her hand over her denuded pussy, as the muck ran off in brown rivers over her legs and ran straight down right under her to the wet grass. Then they saw her actually open her pussy lips and stick her fingers inside and rub them around, as more brown rivers ran down. All the time she was grunting -- “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” -- and hopping up and down. It looked for all the world like she was masturbating on the jets of water.
She then hopped around and presented her bare, brown-covered butt to the sprinkler and to the crowd of astonished faces. Justin came out and said, “O.K., everyone back in -- what the hell?!” and stood in amazement with everyone else as their naked dorm mate squatted, her legs opened wide, and spread her butt cheeks apart. As she stuck her hand in between and cleared away the chunks of brown caked muck they squinted in revulsion; it looked exactly like she had had a diarrhea attack and she was cleaning herself off, right in the middle of campus, in front of dozens and dozens of people. Again the girl grunted. “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” Finally the rivers of brown running down her legs turned clear. She stood up straight and seemed to relax a bit.
When she turned to face them again her face looked like she was crying, but they knew this was just the scrunched-up expression of someone who is being spritzed with jets of water. There then followed a scene which nobody there would ever forget, and which would fuel masturbatory fantasies of many of the guys (and some of the girls) for years to come. Slowly, desultorily, she placed first one part, then another part of her perfect naked body in the line of the water bursts and rubbed them with the water until all traces of brown had disappeared. They watched as she rubbed water over her face, her shoulders, her arms, her concave tummy, down to her knees, then holding up one foot and then the other, spreading her toes so that the cleansing was more complete. Then she turned around and rubbed her upper back and then caressed her butt cheeks and bent down, exposing her now-clean butthole as she rubbed the backs of her legs up and down.
As she finished and walked back towards them, head down, they woke themselves and started wandering back into the dorm. The naked girl, dripping wet and fully aware of the spectacle she had presented, trudged past the lobby and she thought she heard a voice, it sounded like the voice of Wanda, saying “Good show!”. Tami Smithers, the Unintentional Nudist, headed up to her room, leaving behind miserable sloppy wet prints of bare feet on the tile floor. Fortunately Jen and Mandy were not in. Drying herself off quickly with the little towels she was allowed, she lay on her side on her bare bed, curled up into a ball, traumatized. Only then did she make the connection in her mind between Wanda and Winant and the red pepper and the false alarms. Naked and alone, she rubbed her wet eyes and thought with longing of the summer only 24 days away.
Campbell - Frank College at 8:15 a.m. was still just waking up on this sunny spring day. As the world got green one could best appreciate that the campus landscaping was beautiful. Grassy hills and lawns gave the effect of pastoral spaciousness even though the campus was actually pretty small. Abstract sculptures placed here and there added to this effect. At this time of morning, the long sleepy shadows of bright sun threw every little rise into sharp relief. With the dew on the grass and the newly sprung flowers here and there and the singing of birds, it seemed like the world itself was new and fresh. And actually a little chilly, though the sun was warm and in a couple of hours it would be almost hot.
Only a handful of classes began as early as 8:00, and there were few people walking around at this hour. Those walking past the Student Union, if they looked up and a little to the left of the academic quad, would see the white abstract metal sculpture of a giant chair, with smooth rounded curves. And on top of this chair was a naked girl, legs spread and looking down at a small group of students in folding chairs with sketch pads.
Tami Smithers, her beautiful skin covered with goose bumps, shivered a bit as a slight breeze came out from a shadow somewhere. Sitting up on the giant chair like a little naked midget, about five feet above the ground, she was obediently following instructions, spreading her legs as far apart as she could, almost a split, on the cold metal, her back leaning against the cold curved back of the chair. Also per instructions, her hands were on her inner thighs, spreading her bare, shaven pussy lips as far apart as she could, and her gaze was directed right into the faces of her watchers, with a small smile. Also per instructions.
The students, heavily clad in sweaters and sweatshirts, looked up intently at the naked girl’s gaping-open pussy and then down at their sketchbooks. Sitting in the very front was a young man with a wide, doofy smile, looking intensely into the reddish darkness of the girl’s cavity, then trying to make eye contact with her, but her gaze was resolutely dull and not focused on anyone in particular. To one side stood Professor Brignon, in a stylish sweater over a flannel shirt, trim jeans, and fluffy moccasins, by turns walking around to look at the sketches, and then standing up next to the model and pointing to her crotch, which was almost at her eye level. Her thick, melodious French accent was easily heard over the singing birds in the early morning quiet. “Notice again the standing out of Tami’s clitoris, how it forms a shadow over the side of her lips now that they are bare. . . ”
Tami tried to keep her thoughts calm. She could sense the drumbeat now. What Wanda had told her that time in the Rossland Hall basement after the orgasm demonstration -- those words had made her look anew at the things that were being done to her and now it all made sense. The Professor, the Chalfont experiments, Mr. Winant and his devious grounds crew assignments -- there was indeed an accelerating, organized campaign to subject her to ever more extreme forms of shame, to break her will and admit that nudism was not really her religion, that it was merely an excuse to explain that streaking dare her first week here. The humiliation was almost daily, now. Having to go naked all the time was of course a given, she had trapped herself into that. And still could not find a way out. But the ongoing exposures . . . And it seemed like in the past couple of weeks they had really turned the screws. It looked like they were determined to break her before the semester ended. Wanda had told her that if she got her to break by then, the college would give Wanda that exchange student year in France she obviously desperately wanted. But for some reason the others also seemed to be working with determination toward that deadline. Steadily they were ratcheting up the shame, ratcheting up the humiliation and the exposure . . .
This class was just the latest example. All semester long, every weekday at 8:00 a.m., Professor Brignon had made Tami pose in wide-spread, humiliating poses that exposed every little crevice of her nudity to the figure drawing class -- one of the new open enrollment classes full of not only Campbell - Frank students, but older people from the town, and kids from the community college who looked like they should still be in high school. And this creepy dweeb who always sat up front and made no attempt to hide his leering, like a 14-year-old seeing his first porn movie.
Then yesterday, the Professor had announced that today’s class would be on drawing of genitals and other private areas, an important skill in many types of portraiture (she said), and she was giving advance notice so that any students who would feel uncomfortable could stay home. At the time, Tami, standing up on the wooden pedestal with her arms spread out and her breasts on glorious display, cringed inside, wondering what further exposures awaited her, hoping that today few students would show up. And actually when the class gathered in the classroom today she noticed that some of the older grandmother types were not around, and some others. But probably two-thirds of everyone else had shown up.
Then there was the Professor’s supposedly last-minute idea at the beginning of today’s class to do the drawing outside. It is important to be able to draw in natural light, she said. And then she said that when weather permitted all the rest of this semester’s drawing classes would be outdoors. This way the students could learn more about natural light and also enjoy the weather. Yeah, right. Spreading her pussy for the crowd, Tami’s genitals were public, but her thoughts were still private, and in her private thoughts she recognized how the Professor simply wanted Tami to pose in front of all the world, increasing her shame.
An ant suddenly crawled up from nowhere onto Tami’s left pussy lip. She gasped and flicked it away. Ugh! In a moment she was back assuming her assigned pose.
I can tough this out, Tami said, though recognizing the intense shame she felt, her shaved pussy making her feel even more naked. It was a sign of her reduced circumstances that now she longed even for the covering of pussy hair again. Well, only 20 more days. I can do it . . . I can survive this. She knew this whole ordeal had made her stronger. After this year of being forced to be naked all the time, I can deal with anything. This summer will be easy. And after that . . .
In 20 days she would be wearing clothes, working with Ned and Ethel in Ferrisburg, 30 minutes away by bus. A full summer in a town where nobody knew her. And in the fall? Maybe she didn’t have to come back. Maybe she could work for a year and then enroll at some other college. She had to get a final spring transcript anyway for Ned and Ethel, she might as well get extra ones to keep. And then, after a year, she could put them in with her applications to other colleges. Perfect attendance and straight A’s from a prestigious school --- she would be sure to get in somewhere. And wherever that was, she would be wearing clothes, of course -- once again, a normal college girl.
Even if the Dean found out about that, by that time there would be nothing he could do to her. He couldn’t expel her, because she’d already be gone. And the transcript would be final, he couldn’t retrospectively void it somehow. Or could he? Tami thought he probably couldn’t, though she was guessing about it, in fact guessing about all this. She thought it over, momentarily distracted as a quick breeze blew right into her pussy and chilled her insides. She shivered for a second, causing one of her bare heels to slip off the side of the sloping chair sculpture. She put it back up, laying her leg flat against the cold white metal. In spite of all she had been subjected to she was still only 18 years old, less than a year out of high school, and knew very little about the college application process and things like that.
Getting a job after the summer. Hmmm. Maybe Ned and Ethel would keep her on when September came. If not, there were probably other jobs she could get. Surfing the internet the other night, she found out to her surprise that the local newspaper in Ferrisburg was actually online. Its web page had ads there from local businesses. Computer stores, schools, department stores . . . certainly she could get a job at one of them. She could easily become an employed resident of Ferrisburg.
And what about her father? A real stubborn guy, he had insisted that Tami live with the consequences of her actions. Either that or put clothes on, get expelled, and go back to work with him at his hardware store. Well, once the summer was over and she was no longer going back to this college, with a job of her own and an apartment of her own, she would be financially independent and he would really have no control over her.
As for the Student Government, Brad would just have to get a new Vice President. She really wasn’t too thrilled about having volunteered for the job. She’d be standing behind the lectern, but still the focus of attention at every S.G. meeting.
The more dicey problem was Rod. Once she got clothed how could she explain it to him? Her being naked at all times for religious reasons was one of the things he admired about her. During the summer they would be apart and she could be evasive, but in September when they visited each other she would have to deal with him. Would he feel betrayed to see her wearing clothes? Surely she meant more to him than that by now. Well . . . she had all summer to figure this out.
“Oh!” She twitched as she saw an ant crawling over her big toe. She shook it off with a little kick. Where were these ants coming from? As she resumed her position, staring down dully at the students whose eyes were glued to her open pussy, she fervently hoped that no ant would crawl up into her pussy, or try to make its way into her butt crack. She tilted her pelvis a little backward to keep her butthole solidly on the metal so that it wouldn’t happen, even though it meant the coldness was pressing right against her sphincter. Shit, this sculpture is like sitting on an ice cube . . . Good thing the sun is getting warm!
Thinking of Rod made her mind turn to more pleasant things. Such as their first experience with the retainer and bristle bra, a couple of nights ago. It was very difficult for her to bring it up. They were at his apartment and were watching TV, grainy transmissions of a Canadian program in French, apparently a soap opera. She and Rod both knew a little French but they could make out only a few words at a time because these folks on TV talked so fast. She was sitting her naked self up on the couch while Rod was on the floor, his head between her legs, absently spreading her toes with his fingers as he tried to figure out what was being said.
During a commercial Rod turned his head and kissed her bare pussy. She could feel his hot breath and five o’clock shadow. Her skin down there was still so sensitive. “Uh . . . Rod?”
“Maybe you can help me with my . . . assignment.”
“What, Babe?” he was still looking at her pussy, playing with the lips.
“The research at the Chalfont Institute . . . They gave me an outfit to wear.”
This, at last, drew Rod’s attention. He looked up with alarm. “They can’t do that, Babe!”
“Well I agreed . . . it was for the cause of science.”
“So this outfit, what about it?”
“It’s supposed to make me . . . come,” Tami said, feeling her face burn red, suddenly realizing how tough it was to explain this.
Rod didn’t notice her shame; he was suddenly alert, as any man would be. An outfit that would make a woman have an orgasm! He had heard about such a thing, somewhere, or something like it. “Tell me more!”
“Well, it’s a . . . bra and panties. . . Only the bra has little . . . ” Tami gathered her breath and forced herself to go on. “B - bristles to . . . rub my . . .nipples.” She saw Rod’s eyes go to her brownish red, weather-toughened, tanned nipples, which seemed always to be hard. She felt a chill of shame which caused her nipples to get even harder, sticking out like pencil erasers, only quite a bit bigger.
“And the panties??” Gosh, Rod thought. This is getting good!
“The panties have two . . . things in them. One goes in my . . . my vagina.” She said the work awkwardly. She never could never force herself to say “pussy”. “And the other goes in my . . . in my butt. “ She clenched her buttocks, thinking of that invading white dildo, remembering having to insert it and then shit it out under the close attention of McMasters and his assistants.
“Wow!” Rod said, so turned on that he didn’t notice her discomfiture. “Where is this outfit?”
Tami got up and went over to her backpack. A moment later she was taking the bristle bra and retainer panties out of the little box. Rod held these items tenderly as if they were long-sought pieces of gold. “Wow . . . ” he said again. He looked at the twin dildos and was amazed at female capacity. “These things both fit inside you at the same time?”
“Yes,” Tami said without emotion.
“And what’s this?” Rod said, getting something else out of the box. It was the remote control McMasters had used. Surprised at seeing it, Tami said, “That turns on the counter.”
“Yes . . . here,” Tami said, pointing to the little dark window on the panties over where her clit would be.
“Counter?” Rod said again, wanting to hear more.
Tami tried to force a smile. “I’m supposed to . . . keep it on until I come . . . come five . . . times,” she said nervously.
“Five times?” Rod said, engrossed, feeling the little bump next to the front dildo that was supposed to press against Tami’s clitoris. He chuckled. “Well, that shouldn’t be hard to do for someone like you, Tam. You come more times than anyone I ever heard of.”
You don’t know the half of it, Tami told herself. She saw Rod look at the apparatus some more and then he looked up at her and said, “Get up and squat on the desk, Babe. I’ll help you put this on!”
Tami was glad that Rod was taking over. She just could not impale herself on this thing with Rod watching. But this outfit was a common male fantasy come true and Rod couldn’t wait to see what kind of effect it had on his girlfriend. Trusting his tenderness, the naked girl squatted wide and low on top of his desk as he industriously scurried around and got out some of the lubricant they always kept around for screwing. She shut her eyes as she slowly sat on the rear dildo, but didn’t really mind it so much, or when the front dildo was put in place with the little bump for her clit. It was like he was fucking her himself with these things. Or like he was an African prince trying out a new gizmo on his white slave girl, this thing which would make her come for his amusement. Or like . . . though she almost laughed to see the word pop into her brain, she realized it was appropriate. The whole process was “romantic”.
Impaled front and rear, shivering with a jolt of pleasure, the teenage girl brought her legs down and the side straps were tightened, and the rear thong that went up her butt crack. Rod then carefully strapped the bristle bra over her nipples and, being quick to figure out its mechanics, twisted the clamp knobs until the two bristly cups were snug and secure.
He then stood back as his no-longer-naked girlfriend got up and stood in front of him, extending herself straight up slowly as if in pain, breathing heavily. She drew her eyes up to his, eyes he recognized as being almost overwhelmed with sexual stimulation. It was the look she had just before orgasm, a look he knew well.
“You are beautiful, Babe,” he said, going over to her and hugging her and then kissing her. “Thank God for science,” he chuckled. He looked down at the remote control and pushed a button. A low beep came out of the panties, then another. The two lovers looked down at the little window, a little display that said, “0”.
A quick chill and Tami inhaled as her whole body twitched. Then Rod pressed another button and the beeping went off. “Good,” he said. “Too distracting. I like hearing you pant and moan better.”
Tami stood before him, shifting carefully on nervous bare feet, humbly presenting herself to him, his naked white slave girl suffering for his pleasure. Should she start walking around? Now what?
Rod, giving in to curiosity, turned a little dial on the remote control.
“OH!!” Tami yelled, crumpling down, holding her arms across her stomach. Everything was vibrating! The bristly cups tight around her nipples, both dildos . . . but especially the little knob pressing her clitoris! “OH . . . GOD!” she said, as she lurched toward the alarmed and surprised Rod. She tried to straighten up to put her arms around his shoulders and had almost got there when she succumbed to orgasm. “Oh! . . . Oh! . . . Oh! . . . ” Jolt after jolt, wave after wave assaulted her body as she held onto Rod for dear life. Her amazed boyfriend could only hold her, his body jerking from her powerful pelvic spasms, as the orgasm gradually ran its course. With the final contraction he brought her limp body over to his bed and laid her down on her back. She looked at the ceiling with a wide-open stare as she sought and grabbed his hand. “Ohhh. . . ” she said, her body still shaking. In a moment she was cresting again. “H - hold me Rod!” were her last words before she moaned into another series of spasms.
Through her dulled senses Tami knew that Rod was as surprised as she was by her quick capitulation to the gentle buzzing. Less than a minute after he turned that dial and she was already coming a second time. She felt his face against hers, his hands running through her hair . . .
Now, in the cold morning out on the metallic abstract chair, shivering a bit again on the cold metal as she readjusted her hands to spread her pussy lips a bit more for the sketching students, the smile that Tami was supposed to exhibit as part of her pose became a little more real as she remembered that night. It was one of the most intense romantic experiences of her life. After her quota of five orgasms, Rod had turned off the vibrations and carefully taken off the various stimulating devices. Then they had a couple of beers and some chips, watched some more TV, and then, with the lights out, they had put the outfit on again. Before Rod turned the vibrations on, Tami lovingly took his hard dick into her mouth and gave him the best blow job she’d ever given him. Then it was time for her second session, just as intense, yet quieter in the dim light, with Rod stroking her hair, holding her hand as she lay on the bed. . . Almost like he was trying to comfort her while she was going through some kind of painful medical procedure, which in a way it was, but in another way was anything but.
Tami, smiling her little smile, lost in her remembrances, at first didn’t hear Professor Brignon as the French accent again broke through the stillness of the sunny early morning. “Please to turn around, Tami,” she said. Enough of romance and intense shared sexual pleasure, back to cold humiliation.
Without enthusiasm Tami followed the Professor’s instructions. When Tami had assumed her new pose to the Professor’s satisfaction the naked girl was showing her butthole to the utmost. Turned around, left knee down, the right leg up on one flat bare foot, her face turned to look at the sketching students with another little smile, with her right hand pulling on one butt cheek so that the little ring of brown skin winked in the chill morning air at the whole campus. It was just as shaming as the first pose, maybe more so, and the Professor’s commentary made it worse. “Notice please the wrinkles coming out from Tami’s anus, beautiful in their own way. Take note of her smile, she is happy to show you all her secrets.” Tami put on her little smile and looked at the students, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, trying to numb her mind to what was going on.
Her eyes shot up momentarily with secret horror as she saw the Dean, of all people, walking up the little hill to them in his usual business suit, his polished black shoes getting wet from the dew, which was starting to evaporate in the sun. Tami was keenly aware of the sight she presented and dearly wished to turn around and cover herself with her hands. The urge was so intense that her whole body quivered with the strain of suppressing it, but she knew she had to. She kept her eyes down but knew that he had a calm, jovial expression on his face and was probably looking right at her blatantly exposed butthole. Oh God . . . Dear God, get me through this encounter . . . The naked teenager closed her eyes momentarily as she said this prayer.
“Hello all, Hello Professor,” the Dean said, standing behind everyone, sharing their regard of the model posing up on the sculpture. “No, go ahead with your sketching, I’m just making my rounds. This is not a sight you see on the typical campus, believe you me.”
There was a little chuckling. The Professor said, “Yes, we are the most lucky to have Miss Smithers as our model. “
“The whole college is lucky to have her here, she is a model student, you might say,” the Dean said, smiling at his little pun. “Fortunately Miss Smithers has agreed to continue as your model for the rest of the time she is here until graduation.”
Staring dully down at the back of a student’s sketch pad, Tami’s smile disappeared for a moment, but then she caught herself and forced the smile back on. She didn’t remember agreeing to any such thing. Yet why would a committed nudist object? Particularly when the pay was so good. He had her trapped again. Tami shuddered at the thought of doing this every morning for the next six semesters. At least there was only one more week of classes left, one more week of posing. Her ruminations caused some internal muscles to move and her butthole winked at the students, at Professor Brignon, and at the Dean.
Then the Dean said something that made Tami’s heart stop.
“I’ll just let you know, you might notice Miss Smithers actually wearing something in the next few days,” the Dean said amiably. “It will look like a bikini. She has agreed to participate in experiments by the college’s physiology research department concerning detection of skin response, and has agreed to, uh, wear this monitoring device. I just want you to know that this is no way is an attempt to interfere with Miss Smithers’s religion, for which the college and all of you probably, have the highest respect. It is simply the only way to collect the required data, and Miss Smithers has agreed in writing to wear the devices, which are, shall we say, the ‘bare’ minimum required for the experiment.”
“That is hard to imagine,” the Professor said. “Miss Smithers actually wearing something? I thought for her it was forbidden.”
“Well, it is O.K. with her, don’t worry, right, Miss Smithers?”
The naked girl, spread out and exposing her butthole from her perch, looked up and nodded weakly, then looked down again. Having deftly dropped his bombshell, the Dean walked away placidly and with maybe a hint of self-satisfaction, and the class went back to sketching. The naked girl continued to look numbly down, the little smile frozen to her face, trying to contemplate the enormity of the shame she would soon have to endure. She blinked and her eyes got red as she prayed silently. Please God, please dear God, help me through these final days . . .
. . . .
“Excuse me, Miss Smithers?” said a feminine voice.
Tami Smithers, the Unintentional Nudist, looked up from the text book she had been reading. Not being in the mood to sit in her dorm room and be stared at by Jen and Mandy, the nude girl had sought some privacy so she could study. .. and get away from the eyes of her fellow college students. Walking around naked all the time, Tami was always the center of attention, something the shy 18 year old was certainly not used to and didn’t really want.
Normally she would have gone and hid in the Library, in one of the many study nooks scattered about the building. But upon stepping outside on this warm sunny day, Tami found she couldn’t bring herself to go back indoors just yet. For she had discovered one of those perverse ironies. Tami didn’t want to be naked, she loathed her forced nudity and every day prayed for some way she could put on clothes without burying herself in the deep, deep hole she had dug for herself over the school year. Yet, once the good weather had turned up, Tami found that she actually enjoyed the sun on her skin, the warmish air across her bare body. It was one of those rare benefits of her condition, and as miserable as life was for her at the moment, she was willing to grasp at anything good. So, instead of hiding in the Library, Tami found a different spot to study where she could enjoy the sun in some privacy.
She thought she had the spot too, a small courtyard in the middle of three of the Administration and Maintenance buildings. Not on the way to or from anywhere, few students walked through it and Tami figured that most didn’t even know it was there. But someone had taken the trouble to landscape it, for there were flower beds and grass and a single park bench upon which Tami now sat. It was a little bit of private heaven for her. But her solitude wasn’t to last.
“You ARE Tami Smithers, aren’t you?” said the voice again.
With a sigh Tami turned to look up at whoever was speaking to her. In the back of her mind she knew that yet another person was now going to see her naked, yet she made no attempt to cover up even in this private place. The Dean’s spies were everywhere, and this could have been one of them.
Tami was surprised to see an older woman, maybe in her mid-forties, dressed in a very expensive business suit and carrying a briefcase. The woman was well groomed and quite attractive, but Tami only had eyes for her outfit. Her mouth actually salivated at the thought of what it might be like to wear such clothing.
The woman smiled. “Earth to Tami,” she said.
Tami shook herself mentally. “Hi. .. yes, I’m Tami,” she said, wondering how anyone could mistake her for anyone else. It wasn’t like she had to carry ID around anymore, who could fail to recognize the naked Tami Smithers!
The woman chuckled and moved closer. “Just making sure, Miss Smithers. In my line of work it doesn’t pay to make assumptions. Although in your case I doubt there are any more nude students walking around this campus.”
The woman’s smile and friendly manner actually made Tami relax a little, but she stayed on her guard. “I wish there were!” she said.
The woman blinked and smiled some more. “My name is Sarah Wickland,” she said, holding out her hand, “and I’m an attorney. May I sit with you for a moment?”
Tami reached out and shook the offered hand but felt nervous about talking to a lawyer. After all, Henry Ross was a lawyer. Still, this lady seemed friendly enough. “Sure,” she said.
Ms. Wickland smiled and sat down. “I was hoping to bump into you this trip,” she said.
“You were?” Tami asked, wondering how this lawyer knew of her to want to bump into her.
“Oh yes. I’ve heard stories about you for several months now. Not very flattering stories either.”
“Excuse me, but am I supposed to know you?” said Tami, getting worried.
“No, you don’t know me. But you do know my ex-brother in law, Henry Ross,” Sarah said with a smile.
“Oh,” Tami said with a precious mixture of darkness and wounded innocence, thinking she understood things now. This lawyer was one of THEM, the group determined to break her. Tami just wasn’t in the mood to play those games at the moment. But to her surprise the lady started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Tami asked her.
“Never have I heard a more appropriate reaction to that butthole’s name expressed in one word. You nailed him completely!”
Now Tami was confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Henry Ross IS an butthole, a bigot, and probably one of the slimiest people I know. He gives my profession a bad name, but unfortunately those same attributes also make him a good lawyer. The only reason I still talk to him after I divorced his brother is because we handle a mutual client. But if I hadn’t been talking to him I wouldn’t have found out about you.” Ms. Wickland stared directly at Tami, making the nude young woman nervous. Tami thought she had the woman pegged, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“What do you know about me?” Tami asked slowly.
“Only what Henry has told me, and I have no doubt that most of it is inaccurate, colored the way he wants it. He tells me that you have been walking around the campus nude almost since the beginning of school, that you claim to be a religious nudist, and because of that claim the school can’t do anything to stop you. Legally that is. He also tells me that you’re faking it. That you’re only doing this to avoid being expelled. That you’re taking advantage of your condition to bring down the moral code of the college and promote subversive living.” The lady paused for a moment. “Personally, knowing the man I doubt he even knows what a moral code is. But while he has never admitted it outright I get the idea he has been taking steps to find out the truth about you.” The lady looked directly into the naked girl’s and held her gaze. “So, what IS the truth?”
For just a brief second, Tami was tempted to tell all. But she still had no idea who this woman really was. “I’m a nudist,” she forced herself to say, “and my nudity is my religion.”
The well-dressed lawyer looked at her for a minute longer. “Young lady, I know about religious nudists, I represent some. In fact, given my client base, you are hardly unusual.”
Tami wondered what Sarah meant by that but the lawyer continued to speak. “Henry mentioned that you are doing a lot of work for the college, medical studies?”
Tami paled, reminded of the awful sexual experiments she had to endure once a week. She nodded.
“Somehow, I don’t think you look too thrilled about them,” the lady said.
“They’re . . . okay. I don’t mind them,” Tami replied, trying to sound neutral. But she didn’t think she was fooling this woman at all.
“I see. Well, being the religious nudist that you are, I have no doubt that you wouldn’t mind such invasive procedures. Henry described a few of them to me. Yes, any nudist would go for that.” Her tone suggested that Tami was a fool to do what she did, but Tami felt she had no choice. This lawyer didn’t know the full story.
“Still. I wanted to meet you all the same,” the lady continued, “and when I saw you sitting down here I knew I had to come down.”
“Come down?” Tami asked.
The lady pointed up at one of the buildings surrounding the courtyard. “I was in Henry’s office going over some business with him, there is a clear view of this bench from his window. He was watching you when I got there, and I suspect he’s watching us now.”
Tami’s bare shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, knowing that another private place had just been taken away from her. The world of Tami Smithers’s privacy was growing smaller and smaller every day and she hated it.
“I think you’ve become something of an obsession with him to be honest. He sees his job as protecting the school and you aren’t making it easy for him. But he isn’t all bad.”
“Are you sure?” Tami asked, unable to think of anything good about him herself.
“Well, it’s good for you simply because even Henry Ross can’t let things go TOO far. Haven’t you ever thought about how unusual it is for you to have been walking around this campus naked without being bothered by the media? I would think that a nude and attractive young woman such as yourself would have made national headlines by now. Didn’t you ever wonder about that?”
Tami frowned. It actually hadn’t occurred to the 18-year-old, naïve still in many ways.
“Well, Miss Smithers, your relative anonymity has been protected by Henry Ross. I suspect that as much as he would love to see you paraded around the nation as you are, he can’t risk the bad publicity it would bring to the college. So he told me that he and the Dean have made arrangements with the local Media not to cover your story. But who knows how long that will last.” The woman attorney looked at her watch and stood up. “I have a plane to catch, a long flight home. Here’s my card. If you need anything, help with anything. If you find yourself in a fix, give me a call. You can’t count on Henry for help unless the college is in danger, but I have a feeling you’re going to need a good lawyer sometime, and I’m good. Very good. I’m also used to taking . . . unusual cases as well,” she said with a smile.
Tami took the card. “Er . . . thanks.”
Ms. Wickland chuckled. “You should meet my paralegal, you both have a lot in common. It was good to meet you, Tami Smithers, I’m happy to see that a lot of what Henry told me is not true.”
Tami was startled when the well-dressed lady suddenly bent over her to whisper in her ear. “Be strong, girl. I don’t know why you’re really doing what you’re doing, but you’re going to need your strength. Don’t let Henry, or the Dean bring you down. You can do it.” She stood up again. “I really am on your side, and I’d like to help. Just call if you need me.”
With that, Ms. Sarah Wickland smiled and walked away. Tami watched her go until she was out of sight, then looked at the card in her hand. Tami wasn’t sure what to make of Sarah Wickland, was she really on her side or was she in league with the Dean and Henry Ross? The naked girl pondered this for a moment before bending over and tucking the card into her ankle pouch. She was no closer to a solution, but she figured there was no harm in keeping the card.
With a sigh Tami gathered her things together and stood up. She glanced up to where she thought Henry Ross’s office might be, and wondered if the man really was watching her. But it didn’t really matter. Just the chance that he MIGHT be watching had ruined this spot for her. So the naked Tami Smithers was forced to walk away.
On this warm dark morning in Room 207, Pilgrim Hall, the bunks of Mandy Rabinowitz and Jen McIntyre were in disarray, blankets and sheets strewn all over, and on Mandy’s bunk (the lower one) various books were laid here and there, opened and closed, along with the red T-shirt she had worn the day before, turned inside out. Under Mandy’s bunk were a pair of dirty sneakers and a pair of high leather boots. And a discarded pair of pantyhose. Her heavy blanket was half sliding off onto the floor.
The top bunk was a little more orderly. There was some attempt at arranging the blankets, but the three pillows Jen always slept on were at opposite corners, one standing up on its side against the wall. Jen’s footwear tended to cluster around the desk she shared with Mandy. Around the chair next to the desk there was a pair of loafers, a pair of leather sandals, and big clunky platform shoes she had worn a couple of nights ago while she was out with her old friend Leisha, who had visited again from New York City. And a discarded pair of white socks.
The closet on their side was half-open and overstuffed with clothes, mostly cold weather things that they no longer had to wear now that the weather was finally warm. Scarfs and gloves and coats were half-spilling out. They had thought of putting these things in boxes, but now that the semester was almost over there would be no point in separating them out. They would be stuffing everything in big cardboard boxes soon anyway for storage in the dorm basement, minus of course the things they were going to take with them for the summer. Both of them had signed up for the dorms again in September, though these days their minds were on their summer plans. Jen was going to summer in California, having signed up for some courses at a small private college there. Mandy was going to be working at her friend’s trendy clothing store in Greenwich Village.
At the moment both these young women were in class. But on the other side of the room, the bare side, where there were no clothes or blankets or shoes, the naked, beautiful form of Tami Smithers lay asleep on her bed, a mattress covered with nothing except a slipcover. She was on her side and splayed out, one hard bare foot sticking out into the room, arms stretched out over her head, semi-erect nipples pointing up at the ceiling, her other leg stretched straight, her hairless pussy now sharing the same golden, all-over tan as the rest of her body, her concave tummy rising and falling gently with her breathing.
She had been asleep for ten hours, truly exhausted. Last night she had another session with her outfit at Rod’s apartment. After her five orgasms, Rod had done something he had never done before -- he fucked her in the pussy, coming within a minute in thick, hard spurts, then turned her over and fucked her in the ass, filling her up with the somewhat thinner spurts of his second ejaculation. Both her holes had been well-opened and lubricated by the dildos in the retainer panties and it was easy for him to enter each one. It was as if he was possessed and wouldn’t finish until he had filled her in both places. To the naked girl, tortured with unwanted orgasms, each load was a gentle lotion that soothed her insides, front and back, and with the reception of each load she had responded with a slow, gentle orgasm of her own. Afterwards he had walked her back to her room and gently kissed her, and she had dropped onto the bed and fallen asleep instantly, oblivious to the later entrance of her roommates, who had to suppress some good-natured giggling when they noticed a few things about her.
As in the fact that from her shaved pussy was a very visible little stream of white fluid dripping from between her bare lower lips, a stream that wouldn’t have been visible back when she benefited from the covering of pubic hair. And that there was a separate little wet spot under Tami’s butt, whitish but also a little bit tan. Their naked roommate was leaking semen from both holes! Jen and Mandy got a big kick out of this, amazed and lost in admiration of their fearless, shameless, sexy roommate, who had so much sex and enjoyed it so much and was totally uninhibited about it . . .
A clap of thunder and the naked girl groggily opened here eyes. In a minute she jerked her sleepy body up, sitting up, rubbing her hair. “Shit,” she said. She was going to be late for her calculus class. She must have slept right through her alarm.
One nice thing about not having any clothes was that she didn’t have to spend any time getting ready. Still half asleep, she decided just to go straight to class. She grabbed her bookbag and went out the door.
At the front entrance she paused and looked at the depressing scene outside. It was raining like hell. Driving rain, drenching everyone within seconds. A girl heavily laden with raincoat and backpack pushed by her and started running to class. Outside Tami could see others frantically scurrying to where they had to be, getting out of the rain as quickly as possible.
Tami grimaced and pushed the door open and started running. The concrete path was almost one solid puddle. The sound of raindrops was all she could hear. As she looked up and wiped a heavy bout of water off her brow, she could barely make out her destination, the math building, through the thick shower. Finally fully awake, she suddenly realized the slippery feeling down below as her pussy lips slid against each other and a wet feeling around her butthole. Damn, Rod’s sperm!! I forgot to clean it up!! She knew she would be horrified if anyone saw the seepage and was grateful that it was raining cats and dogs. She would have to scoot into a bathroom before class and wipe herself with toilet paper. This day was starting out badly . . .
A girl passed Tami, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, jeans and sneakers, trying to negotiate a bookbag over her shoulder while trying to keep open an umbrella that was about to collapse. Tami noticed that the girl was sweating. Tami prided herself on being a fast runner and remarked to herself how unusual it was to be passed by someone. I gotta get going, she told herself, and she sped forward faster, looking down and watching her bare feet splash through the deep warm puddles. I wish I had an umbrella . . . Good thing my backpack is waterproof . . .
Then she slowed down and stopped.
What the hell am I doing? she asked herself. She looked around, suddenly calm in the middle of the pouring rain. These people running around. Why? To keep their clothes from getting wet. But I don’t own any clothes. I’m naked all the time. To me, this is just like a nice pleasant warm shower . . .
The naked girl, her body glistening with rain cascading down her beautiful, tanned skin, slowly turned her face to the heavens, feeling the drops on her closed eyelids, and smiled a gentle smile. This rain was warm. It wasn’t like those freezing, bone-chilling rains she had had to dash through during the fall and winter. These gentle drops caressed her poor, abused, naked body. They felt good.
She looked out across the field to her right, blinking as water ran from her hair over her eyes. The rain was so heavy that it was hard to see the buildings -- that was probably San Beneuo Hall out there -- on the other side. Tami had often wondered how it would feel to strip down to her bra and panties during warm rains like this and just run across a field. A modest girl, she had never actually dared it. But that was in a past life. In her new life she was forbidden to wear clothes, in fact clothes were getting to be a dim memory. Why not . . . ?
Her backpack flung on the grass, the naked girl pranced across the field, twirling around, arms extended, skipping, even doing a couple of cartwheels. She stood straight up, arms extended, looking up at the rain through closed eyes, as if praying to God, thanking Him for giving her this gentle rain, thanking Him for being alive, thanking Him for being allowed these wonderful sensations.
Yes, she was aware of the stares, the fact that people on covered paths and inside the buildings were watching her, this naked girl running out in the rain, but she also knew that they wished they could do the same thing. But only I can do this. Ha ha, I get to be naked, everyone! It was an unusual and wonderful feeling.
“Wooo! Wooo!” she found herself yelling, in a kind of orgasm of sensuality, flopping down on her belly, feeling the wet grass against her crushed breasts, her hard nipples poking into it, feeling the grass rubbing her tummy and thighs, wiggling her toes in it. Then she turned over, and felt the wet rubbing of the grass against her bare back, against her butt. She parted her legs and arched her pelvis up, as if accepting this gift of warm rain right into her pussy.
The girl who had been denied clothes or covering now celebrated her total exposure to nature. These are my clothes, the grass, the rain, the warm air. This is my shower, too, provided by Mother Nature. Finding a puddle in a low spot, she squatted down on both bare feet, wiggling her toes in the mushy submerged grass, then cupped some water to her lips and rinsed out her mouth. Then she opened her legs and cupped water into her open pussy, rinsing out Rod’s sperm. Finally she reached back and washed out her butthole, even sticking a finger inside up to the first knuckle. No shampoo, no toothpaste, but fresh rain water, and she felt totally cleaned out. And she didn’t care if anyone was looking!
After some more running and prancing and praying in the rain, the naked girl returned to her bookbag and skipped to class, skiffing water ahead with her toes. She knew she would be a little late, but she didn’t care. In fact, when she got to the classroom she deliberately entered from the front door, next to the lectern, so that the professor and the students could look on in surprise as this naked girl, her wet skin glistening and bits of grass all over her and on her hair, proudly and boldly strode in with the slap of wet bare feet and took her seat, dropping her bare wet butt into the plastic cupped seat with a loud plop, and fished her text and notebook out of the wet bookbag, a few drops falling onto her notes from her erect nipples as she looked up with pen poised for today’s lecture.
If, during this gently breezy, spring afternoon, one climbed halfway up one of the many flowering dogwood trees that ringed the campus, and looked into a dark, curtainless window on the second floor of Pilgrim Hall, one could get a pretty good sideways view of a naked girl, sitting back from her desk, arms flung back behind her wood chair, looking downward, apparently lost in thought. In fact it was Tami Smithers, looking down at the tanned expanse of her denuded pubic area, and the prominent pussy lips and clit that seemed to have almost gotten a little tan of their own. The naked girl breathed in a long, ragged breath, then forced herself to look up at her neglected math textbook, which had been opened to the same page for twenty minutes.
She knew she was torturing herself, but she looked back down again. Her pubic skin was now soft and silky, thanks to some lotion that Jen had given her, normally used on shaven legs. Tami had also been using depilatory cream down there. It was better than that scary razor which she was always afraid would cut into her sensitive parts if she made a slight false move. At the moment, her lower lips were slightly parted, and she could see the slight wetness --
She was horny as hell, and trying like hell to resist diddling herself. She reflected on her circumstances and realized why she was so resistant. It was not just the fear of being caught; she didn’t know where her roommates were and they might walk in any second. But she could always go to the shower and do it there. It was, rather, the sex with Rod, and those dildos at Chalfont, and those retaining panties and the bristle bra -- all those things which had combined to give her more orgasms than she ever thought possible. Once again, she didn’t want to, but she found herself counting. Over the last week she had had over 70 orgasms. She shook her head, thinking of the number. Probably more than she had had her entire life, before she began her sentence of total, mandatory public nudity.
These orgasms, most of them unwanted, had awakened in her a ferocious libido, a hungry need that she walked around with. If she didn’t have a bunch of orgasms every day, she would get antsy. Though she had had no problem in her past life with diddling herself -- she used to do it maybe every couple of weeks -- to give in to the urge now would be admitting to defeat, admitting to the effectiveness of the college’s organized campaign to turn her into a sex monster of some kind as a way of humiliating and shaming her. God, what am I turning into? She wanted to stay the way she was before . . . a modest, ordinary girl who wore clothes like everyone else . . . She knew that seeing her pussy lips on full view, unhidden by any pubic hair, prominent and proud and seemingly always a little bit open -- only served to make her hornier. And with no clothes in the way, that horniness was so much easier to take care of. Please God, give me clothes . . . I know it’s just 17 days but I can’t wait . . . with clothes on I could take my mind off this . . . The naked girl closed her eyes and turned her face up to the ceiling, taking another ragged breath, her toes gripping and ungripping the hard tile floor, her hands grabbing the back of the chair with white knuckles. She even wished she was tied up so that her hands could not go to her pussy.
The door opened and Tami shifted forward and quickly brought her hands up to her textbook as if she actually had been caught masturbating. It was Mandy and Jen, overdressed in long clothing, which they immediately started peeling off. “Christ, we must have thought it was February again,” Jen said. “That sun is H, O, T, hot!” Off went her long jeans and her flannel shirt, leaving her in bra, panties and socks. “Let’s go up,” she said to Mandy, who was stripping off her black skirt and then her black tights to reveal pale, pasty skin.
As the naked girl looked on with curious eyes, Jen got a bikini out from the dresser on Tami’s side that she had let her use, Tami having no need of a dresser, then went across to hide behind her bunk to remove her underwear and put on the bikini. Tami couldn’t help but smile at the irony at seeing Jen, who was actually a bolder person than she was, showing such modesty, especially in front of her permanently naked roommate. Mandy put her skirt back on and took off her shirt, revealing a red tank undershirt with no bra underneath.
“Where are you going?” Tami said.
“We’re going to catch some rays up on the roof,” Jen explained, getting some large towels from the bottom drawer. “Come with us,” Mandy said. Jen added, “We used to do this last year. A great place to get a tan, nobody knows about the way to get there, and the place is deserted. No guys around gawking.” Jen looked at Tami up and down. “You don’t need any rays, but you might enjoy it. And I got to admit, WE want to gawk at YOU.” “Amen,” Mandy rejoined. “Here, you can use my extra pair of sunglasses.”
Tami chuckled. She didn’t really mind being gawked at by her roommates anymore. And why not go up with them? If the roof is deserted, she could enjoy the outdoors without anyone else to see her nakedness. It could turn out to be a good place to run and hide these last few days before she got all dressed up to meet Ned and Ethel.
With towels and sunglasses in hand, the three girls were closing the door on the way out, but then Mandy went back in. “Wait, I gotta have my SPF-900 sunscreen,” she said, which did not seem like much of an overstatement to Tami, given how pale Mandy skin was. Tami was also pretty fair-skinned and had memories of using SPF-15, but that was long, long ago, when she led a clothed life and showed skin only at the beach. Going around outdoors in total nudity, Tami had tanned gradually over the space of months without even a slight sunburn, and now even the idea of sunscreen was quite foreign to her. “Wait, me too,” Jen said. “Africans get burned too, you know.” Actually, Tami hadn’t known that.
They went down the hall into what looked like a janitor’s closet, which Tami had always assumed was locked, and then started up a straight-up metal ladder with corrugated steps. Tami made sure she went last, so no one could look straight up at her butthole.
The roof of Pilgrim Hall was covered with little white stones which reflected the sun and were almost blinding. Sunglasses were obviously necessary, and Tami put hers on as she strode comfortably over the warm stones behind her roommates, whose tender feet made the progress across the roof slow and halting. After passing what looked like a wide chimney Jen and Mandy spread their towels onto the stones, leaving a space of three feet or so in between for Tami. It was unspoken that their naked roommate would not have a towel, so as Jen and Mandy lay down on their backs on the soft towels, Tami lay down on the stones, which impressed themselves warmly and surprisingly gently into her shoulders, her bare back, and her bare buttocks.
Women, it seems, have almost an imprinted genetic behavior when lying down to take in rays. The three settled silently into position with synchronized uniformity and then just as silently lay with faces up, motionless, their eyes closed under their sunglasses as they absorbed the sun.
Tami wished she had a towel, but enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her body, especially her pussy lips. She was still a little horny. She had the urge to spread her legs and let the sun right into her pussy, but knew this urge was caused by her horniness and she suppressed it.
After a few minutes Mandy sat up on one elbow to start squirting sunscreen onto her thighs. Through her super-dark sunglasses she looked over across the lip of the roof, past which she could see the top parts of the dogwood trees on the edge of campus. No one saw her raised eyebrow as she spied a man in a short plaid shirt and dorky dress pants trying to climb up the top branch of one of the trees while carrying a bulky zoom camera and camera case. Suddenly there was the cracking of wood and the branch gave way, send him flying down headfirst and out of sight.
Mandy burst out laughing, which she immediately tried to stifle but couldn’t control. “What’s so funny?” Jen said. Tami was curious too. As they looked over at their roommate, they saw tears flowing from under her sunglasses as she snorted and turned red. Finally she quieted down and shook her head. “Long story,” she said. A moment later she said, “I was thinking about a rave I was at last year. An XTC flashback.”
Jen and Tami shrugged and went back to their worship of the sun as Mandy put on her sunscreen.
Feeling the warm stones from below, the hot rays from above, Tami could not help but return to contemplating her horniness. It was unbearable. She started regretting coming up here and wanted to go to the showers and finish herself off. At least to give herself one orgasm, which should keep her for the next couple of hours or so. She desperately wanted to hide this horniness from the girls on either side of her and was horrified when, shifting her shoulders a bit to scratch an itch with the stones, she grunted in a way that one only hears from women during passion. She immediately froze and tried not to move a muscle.
She was sure not only that Mandy and Jen were aware of her horniness, but were horny themselves too. And it was the special kind of horniness which they had around Tami -- not the desire to have an orgasm themselves, but the desire to give one to their naked roommate. Tami suspected she was right, because she was. The three of them, lying in the sun, cooked themselves together to a higher and higher degree of desire and frustration.
Finally Tami sensed Mandy sitting up. She squinted to one side and saw that she was propping herself up on one elbow, looking Tami’s naked, tanned body up and down slowly, biting her lip.
Yes, Mandy was in some ways a sadist. Yes, she knew the whole truth about the joys and sorrows of Tami’s predicament, probably the only person who did. But after rooming with her all semester Tami decided that Mandy was more friend than enemy. After all, she had disapproved of Wanda’s brand of sadism that wintry day when Wanda had stuffed snow against Tami’s stretched butthole. So therefore it was as a friendly, kind gesture, as well as an expression of her need, when Tami arched her pelvis, then brought it down and bent her right leg toward Mandy, turning and spreading her pussy in her direction, and said, “Mandy . . . ”
The naked girl had her eyes closed but felt the movement to her right and then gasped as she felt the soft tongue sweeping down her pussy lips. Some more movements and then she felt gentle hands on each thigh. Tami’s legs shook and she moaned. Mandy’s technique was softer than Jen’s but just as effective. Tami’s hips undulated as Mandy’s tonguing got more and more intense. The naked girl knew that Jen had to be watching and gasped when she felt a warm mouth fasten itself around her nipple. A hand from somewhere squeezed and rubbed the other nipple and Tami was on her way over the waterfall.
“Oh -- oh -- oh -- oh -- ” Her spasms came in long rolling waves, a nice, gentle, long come, as her pussy arched up again and again into Mandy’s mouth, while Mandy’s black lipstick made licorice smears onto Tami’s bare pussy skin and the insides of her thighs.
With the last spasm, Tami’s butt gently eased back onto the stones and she caressed Mandy’s hair as if in love with her. Tami smiled a deeply felt smile. Ahhh . . .
Her roommates knew that with Naked Tami the first orgasm was always just the beginning. Above Tami’s closed eyes signals were exchanged and Tami found her body gently prompted to turn over until she was on all fours, her hands and knees and the ends of her toes on the stones. Someone smoothed the remains of dirt and stones off her bare back.
For her roommates, the stones were uncomfortable. Neither one was a tough creature of the outdoors as Tami was by now. Mandy bunched up her towel and used it as a tall pillow as she put her head, face up, under Tami’s crotch. Jen arranged her own towel so that she could kneel behind. Jen gently spread the naked girl’s butt cheeks and planted her flat, wet tongue against the naked girl’s butthole, as Mandy’s tongue reached up and reunited itself with Tami’s clit.
This was the first time Tami had felt tongues in both her lower holes, and it was soft, warm, loving, wet, not at all like the other double penetrations she had been subject to. A few seconds later, immersed in the hot sun, feeling it in every pore, drugged on it, Tami lifted up her face and cried up with joy into the blue sky as she came again, bucking back and forth like a mare, her clothed friends holding onto her from both above and below.
Fortunately there was a hook on the inside of the stall she could hang it from. Tami sat on the toilet, looking up glumly at the retainer, its two dildos flopped to the side so that they were pointed right down at her, like fingers of fate. Also on the hook was the bristle bra, and the little pouch that held the lubricant.
She looked down at her toes, flexing against the bathroom tile. It was quarter to ten and she had to get on with it. This must be the hardest thing she had had to do to herself during this year of having to be naked all the time. Maybe that time in the dining hall back in December, when Henry Ross had intimidated her into asking Jen to keep licking her under the table . . . No, this was worse. There were 15 days left and they were really trying to break her now. Well, she was strong enough to tough it out. Or so she hoped.
Good thing Jen and Mandy were already out at classes. But that would delay the public shame for only a few seconds. Besides, they already knew. The day before, Jen, with her usual boldness, said, “So Tam, I hear you’ll be actually wearing something tomorrow!”
Tami, hiding most of her body behind her desk, looking down steadily at her psychology text, tried to make it sound like nothing. She didn’t even look up, making like she was too engrossed in the reading. “Yeah, it’s an experiment.”
“Something about skin response, I hear?”
Tami wondered what exactly Jen had heard, and from whom, but didn’t want to ask. It was probably vague word of mouth, like the Dean was trying to spread the other morning when he “happened” to stop by during her posing for the art class on that outdoor sculpture.
“Hmm - hmm . . . ” Tami said.
“Well this I’ve got to see,” Jen said. “I imagine they’d be interested in your skin response, being that you could walk around naked in the snow all winter.” This comment brought back memories which gave Tami goosebumps, but she successfully hid her reaction. Seeing that Tami was intensely concentrating on her text, no doubt preparing for an end-of-the-semester quiz, Jen dropped the subject. At least it appeared that Jen didn’t know about the dildos and the bristles.
Tami had gotten a note by intercampus mail the day before from McMasters, with very explicit instructions. Apologizing for not being able to explain to her in person due to the press of time at the end of the semester, he wrote that she was to put on the outfit before 10 a.m. and go about her normal daily activities, keeping the little window counter on. She was to remove the retainer only if there was a pressing need to urinate or “defecate”, as he put it, and to minimize this possibility, she was to eat and drink as little as possible during the day. And then at 10 p.m. she was to go to Lab 6 so that the outfit could be removed and the data downloaded from the computer chip inside.
McMasters mentioned that the outfit had a little timer to record the hours and minutes it was in contact with her skin. This seemingly off-hand remark was a not-so-subtle way of telling Tami that if she did not wear this thing for the whole 12 hours they would know about it. And, of course, report it to the Dean. Fortunately McMasters didn’t mention the beeper, which Tami took as a sign that she could keep that damned thing turned off. She flicked the button on the remote control and stuck it back into the pouch.
Tami looked up at the ceiling. Please, God, give me the strength for today, of all days. Then she put her feet up onto the sides of the toilet seat and squirted some lubricant onto the rear dildo. She looked up, trying to think of other things, but she could keenly feel the cold flanged cylinder slide through her stretching butthole . . .
She tried to ignore her reflection in the mirror as she left the bathroom, but knew that she looked like a swimsuit model in a very, very tiny bikini, though with panties that looked a little thick. As she walked down the hallway and down the stairs she could feel her face flush with the constant stimulation, the bristly teasing of her nipples, the dildos moving up and down inside her, the little friction pad rubbing her clit . . . every little motion caused friction on several sensitive spots at once. She bravely tried to control her breathing, tried to control her walking so that she was walking normally, tried to control the swaying of her bookback flung over her shoulder. It was hard to walk normally because it seemed like she suddenly forgot what her normal gait was. Also, with those dildos in her, the only way she was able to walk was with a sway of the hips, like a model walking down a runway.
Fortunately, she made it out of the dorm without seeing anyone. She knew she was destined to have an orgasm sooner or later. In the jumble of her distracted thoughts she decided that when she felt about to go over the brink she would hide in a stairwell or a bathroom and do a little dance and get the orgasm over with so she could get on with the next class.
Tami Smithers was not unmindful of the momentous occasion as, for the first time all year, she stepped out in public actually wearing something, slight though it was. But there was no joy in this, only the awareness of the stimulation. It felt like what she was “wearing” was a bikini of bees that were stinging her nipples and her lower parts. That it was a beautiful day only made it worse. It meant more people would be out lounging about. And lo and behold, there were students flipping a frisbee around outside the dorm, who stopped and stared at Tami as she walked down the concrete path with halting barefoot steps.
“Tami . . . ?” one of the guys said. She was intensely conscious of their gaze and smiled and waved as if nothing was unusual. Then went on.
She turned the corner of a building and there, sitting on top of a picnic bench, was Wanda, wearing a cut-off T-shirt, shorts and sneakers, holding a pocketbook in front of her.
“Well hello Miss Smithers,” she said, with an evil smile. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Tami hated Wanda seeing her like this; no doubt Wanda had been told about the dildos and bristles and knew what Tami was experiencing. She had a mind to just ignore her and pass by. But something made her stop. “What.”
“I have been told that there are, quote, several dozen of these, unquote, that have been distributed.”
Tami looked at her in puzzlement. Then her eyes widened in fright as she saw Wanda take a remote control out of her pocketbook, identical to the one Tami had to go with the outfit.
Wanda turned the dial and the nearly naked girl’s mouth opened, then she gasped as if choking. Tami’s legs turned inward and her knees bent, her whole body quivering.
“Don’t be late for class,” Wanda said. Then without touching it again she put the remote control back into her pocketbook.
Tami just wanted to get away from this evil bitch. She tried to run but found it physically impossible. Instead she walked as fast as she could given her limited capabilities. Wanda watched with sadistic glee as the tortured girl staggered on to the Student Union, hoping that she would pass someone and have to speak to them while in the throes of orgasm. Fortunately for Tami nobody passed her by. Also fortunately for Tami -- though the naked girl did not know this -- the remote control had a range of only a couple hundred feet. But before Tami was that far away Wanda had the pleasure of seeing evidence of orgasm from the suddenly spastic, labored steps which caused the bookbag to slide down one arm. She could not see the expression on Tami’s face, which after the last spasm had shaken her body and she began walking almost normally again, took on an expression of total mortification and fear in the contemplation of the kind of day that lay in store for her.
During the morning the appearance of Miss Smithers walking around in a tiny, dark bikini was well noticed around campus. Most people were cool about it, doing a double-take but then going about their classes. There were some prolonged stares and a few offhand remarks. A couple of guys said, “Wow, Tami, you really covered up today,” which she tried to ignore. Her unaccustomed clothing, scant though it was, tended to distract people from the fact that she did not appear well. Her movements were jerky, her walking was labored, and she always seemed flushed. Even sitting and taking notes in class, she seemed to twitch occasionally, as if scratching an unseen itch. Also, the few people who tried to engage her in conversation were rebuffed, as their nearly naked, barefoot friend politely explained in a whisper that she had laryngitis. Aha. So that explained why she wasn’t looking well . . . ?
It was Hell on earth for the nearly naked, sexually tortured girl. She kept her movements to a minimum, trying to decrease the friction that accompanied walking. When she and the other students had to wait around for her 10:00 advanced calculus class because the 9:00 class was running overtime, ordinarily she would have paced, if only to look at the bulletin board or go to some corner where she would not be on display. But today she stood straight and still waiting at the door, along with all the other students. She tried not to look at them but couldn’t help darting her eyes furtively at one, then another of these guys (there were only two other girls in the class), hoping not to catch them in eye contact, trying to determine if any of them had a remote control, one of the “several dozen” that Wanda referred to.
Bzzzz!! No sound, just vibrations.
Tami’s legs shook and her eyes opened wide. In a blessed second the vibrating stopped as quickly as it started. She put her hand over her eyes to hide her expression, trying to make it look she had a headache. She longed to search the faces of the guys in front of her. Who did that? Was it one of them? Or somebody in another part of the building? Could the signal from the remote go through concrete walls? So much she didn’t know, longed to know, and also was glad she DIDN’T know. Thank God it lasted only a second. While her eyes were still covered she said a quick, fervent prayer. Please God, if I have to -- to come today, let it be at a time when I can hide, in a bathroom or someplace. Please not in front of anyone! Please . . . !
She swallowed and tried to force her arousal back down to a manageable level. Thinking about math might do it . . .The early class let out and with halting steps, accompanied by a couple of silent gasps, she entered the classroom and sat down in her usual place, near the back. Once she had parked her nearly naked butt into the seat, feeling the cold plastic against her exposed cheeks, she realized she should have gone up to Professor Hinton, a middle-aged nerd who was dense about everything except math, and asked him not to call on her today because she had laryngitis. But now that would mean getting up and walking up to the professor in front of the class, a shaming experience on a normal day, and definitely out of the question today.
With another quiver she brought her legs together and opened to her notes. Think about math . . . think about math . . . Fortunately as always she had done the work ahead of time and knew today’s topic. She looked at her notes and then looked up at the professor, trying to keep her mind off the dildo filling up her pussy, and the other one, the one she was sitting on, filling up her butt, both of them so far in that she could almost feel them touching each other, making her feel stuffed and immobilized . . . Think about math . . .
In a moment of relative calm she looked around at the backs of everyone’s heads. Then she looked out the window. Was there somebody out there . . . ? That guy right in front of her who kept glancing back at her, was he just doing the usual gawking of Tami Smithers (a constant sport for Campbell - Frank males), or was there something else to his glance . . . ?
Realizing she was obsessing on paranoid thoughts, though with good reason, Tami looked up and tried to pay attention. Her eyes met the professor’s as he was in the middle of a sentence about third level integrals.
Bzzz . . . zzz . . .
The onset of the attack caused Tami’s eyes to bulge out a bit, something which the professor seemed to notice and that Tami quickly acted to correct. She started shaking and tried to correct that too, but all she could manage was to relax her bare shoulders and confine the shaking to her lower regions, which caused the chair to shift and her face to flush and her mouth to open, taking in a gasp of breath as she tried to keep the air away from her vocal chords.
The professor stopped and said, “Miss Smithers, are you all right?” Heads turned.
“Y - yes,” she said, remembering to keep her voice in a loud whisper in case someone here had overheard her before when she said she had laryngitis.
After a pause, the professor said, “Okay, then -- ” and continued his discussion. Heads slowly, slowly turned back to the front. Tami’s lids grew heavy as she prayed the buzzing to stop. But it didn’t! Her pelvis was getting heavy and flushed. Her nipples felt like someone was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing them with rough fingers. Her clit was hard, alive, throbbing, engorged, pushing against the vibrating bristly friction pad, making the friction rougher, more intense . . . Her toes squirmed against the floor, wiggling, wiggling, acting like a barometer of her arousal.
Tami took a deep, ragged breath and closed her eyes. Please God. Please God. Make this buzzing stop. Please God. But God wasn’t listening, and the girl became more and more bereft of hope as she realized with horror that orgasm, never far away, was approaching for sure.
She passed the point of no return and was gripping the edges of her desk with her fingers when she heard her name called. Looking up dully, she heard the professor say, “Miss Smithers?” Pointing to an equation on the board, he said, “what would be the level of this integral then?”
With desperate eyes she focused on the equation, and in the back of her mind knew the answer. Then her eyes opened wide and went out of focus and everything became a blur as she went over the crest.
Tami Smithers’s first in-class orgasm began as her mouth tried to form the answer, which fortunately was one word. “F - f - four,” she said, with eyes that might have been those of a girl with a cold trying to suppress a sneeze but were actually pools of bottomless shame. The end of the one-word answer was clipped short as her lower body shot forward, causing the chair to shift and people to turn around. It was the first contraction. The second and third contractions took place as she bent over to one side and made it look like she was itching her foot. With superhuman control she exerted an iron grip on her body so that the fourth, fifth and sixth spasms were reflected only in a shaking of her legs and twitches of her foot. During the seventh, eighth, ninth and -- oh God, let it finish please -- tenth spasms, she looked to the window, still bent over, scratching the heel of her bare foot. The final, weaker spasms found the girl slowly sitting up again, her whole body flushed, starting to sweat.
Then the buzzing stopped.
Tami closed her eyes thankfully, then in her calm post-orgasmic mood opened them and looked around. Did she fool everyone? Did she fool ANYone? The professor had gone back to his integrals, and now was asking questions of someone else. She detected the odor of female musk emanating from her and felt herself blush a deep red. Surely these guys can smell that. They mostly seemed as nerdy as the professor, maybe a lot of them were even virgins. It would have been obvious to any experienced person that Tami Smithers had just come. How about these guys?
With a start Tami realized that the buzzing had stopped right after she was finished coming. This must mean that whoever had the remote control that caused it must be in this room. Or does it?
In this jumble of agonized thoughts, Tami Smithers endured the rest of the fifty-minute class, thankful that at least there was no more buzzing.
. . .
It was with relief that she settled into one of the fabricky movie-style seats near the back of the big lecture hall for her next class, Intro to Anthropology. She liked this class, not the least because her exposure could be kept at a minimum. The hall was too big for the class, and there were always plenty of empty seats. Tami would pick a seat near the back several seats away from the nearest person. And the lights were pretty low too. Putting her feet up, clasping the empty seat in front of her with her toes, Tami breathed in and out gratefully. Her butt was forward of the chair bottom so she didn’t have to sit right on the rectal dildo, which when she was sitting on that hard seat in calculus class made it feel like it was about to push up into her stomach. Now she was kind of in a position to shit it out and she wished she could do so, just give a loud grunt and the whole outfit would pop off her like she was Wonder Woman bursting out of the ropes of her nemesis. She smiled at the image.
Fortunately too, the professor for this class was a very interesting speaker, and there was less wandering of eyes in her direction than in the more boring classes. Tami didn’t have to take notes, everything the professor said was in the handouts. She just closed her eyes and listened, living one moment at a time. Please God, no buzzing for the next ten seconds. Good. Thank you. Please God, no buzzing for the next ten seconds. Good. Thank you. Please God . . .
Toward the end of the class she felt a hair go into her eye and just pulled it out. Looking at it, she realized it was gray. These gray hairs were scary. Only 15 days . . . there were only two classes in this course after this, then the final, which she would be exempt from because she had gotten 100’s in all her quizzes. In fact, she only had two finals this semester, having been exempted from all the rest. She kind of figured that the Ross-Chalfont-Wanda conspiracy knew all this, and would put her to some exquisitely shaming torture during that time . . .
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Her head bolted up and she opened her eyes. Shit! She had gotten her arousal down to almost a tolerable level and now this! Well, fortunately the lights were low and the room was big and there wasn’t anyone right near her. She kept her head down, not wanting to guess about who her tormentor was this time, and though she hated to, she tried to hurry the orgasm up, getting it over with. In a corner of her brain she heard the professor’s words that sounded like he was nearing the end of the lecture. Damn!! I’ve got to come fast! She didn’t want everyone to be getting up and passing her by in the middle of her orgasm. Hating every aspect of it, she undulated her hips a little, trying to increase the friction.
The vibrations, plus the friction that she exerted all at once against her clit, on both nipples, all along the length and depth of her pussy, all through her rectum, combined in a dynamite shot to propel her to orgasm within seconds. And it was a big one. She permitted only one gasp, then slouched down even further, her bare butt cheeks almost touching the floor, as wave after wave jerked her entire body in great heaves up and down, up and down, up and down . . . Fortunately she was so far below the line of sight that the only hint of the wracking spasms came from her bare toes, which grasped and ungrasped the lip of the chair in front of her.
After what seemed like endless spasms, the buzzing stopped and the girl quieted down, her body sagging, feeling her bare cheeks touch the floor, which was sticky with dried soda and who knows what else. Her body flushed hot and she emitted a sheen of sweat. Catching her breath, she brushed off her butt cheeks and scooted back up in her chair, smoothing back her damp hair, clearing her throat, and looking up to the front with thankful clear-eyed attention.
In front of her, about half a dozen students around the lecture hall gave her a thumbs-up sign behind their backs.
In a minute class was over and Tami Smithers went quickly into the bathroom next to the class. She looked briefly up into the mirror and saw disheveled hair, a sweaty face, hollowed-out, haggard eyes. It was then that she softly wept. Fortunately no one else was there to see.
A few minutes later, having splashed her face with cold water and gone over her hair with a comb she had in her backpack, Tami felt presentable again and walked out of the bathroom, her steps a little less uncertain, feeling that for the moment if she walked slowly and nobody started buzzing her she could deal with the foreseeable future. As in, the next five minutes.
Her destination was Pilgrim Hall. Ordinarily she would eat lunch now at the snack bar or the dining hall, but she wasn’t supposed to eat or drink much today. Plus, she wanted to get the hell out of public view. It was clear to her by now that dozens of people all over campus had those damned remote controls and could buzz her into orgasm whenever they wanted. At least they couldn’t control her whereabouts. She could rest in Pilgrim Hall -- or suffer there if that’s what people wanted! -- but at least she would be out of sight. She knew that Jen and Mandy had classes for the next couple of hours. Tami’s next class wasn’t until two o’clock. That would give her two hours of solitude.
She sidled out of the humanities building and was turning her bare feet toward the dorms when she was intercepted by Rebecca.
“Hi Tam,” she said, in her usual cheerful way. It was a fairly warm day, but Rebecca was in her usual uniform of flannel shirt, long jeans, and hiking boots. “Let’s have a snack.” She took Tami by the hand.
“No, I’m -- not hungry,” Tami said. But Rebecca’s grip on her wrist was surprisingly firm and she found herself being pulled along toward the Student Union.
“It’s O.K., you don’t have to eat, I just want to talk,” Rebecca said. Tami felt she owed it to her friend to at least hear what she wanted to say. It sounded important. Her body flushed as her feet slapped jerkily behind Rebecca’s, every motion bringing unwelcome jolts of stimulation to her poor pussy, her poor clit, her butthole, her overworked nipples . . . Fortunately after two orgasms and that cooling-off period in the bathroom her level of arousal was down a bit, but she didn’t welcome the reawakening caused by walking.
Waiting for Rebecca on line to get a soda, Tami stood absolutely still, her bookbag flung over her shoulder, as people milled around her, many of them giving her “bikini” two or three looks before they passed. Finally the two young women were sitting in one of Tami’s favorite corners of the snack bar, back by the water fountain, where there usually wasn’t a crowd. Today nobody was near. Tami sat on the bare plastic seat and watched Rebecca take a few thoughtful sips as she felt the rectal dildo jabbing up into her gut. Did Rebecca know about this harsh intruder? Or the rest of the hidden stimulators?
“Tami, today you are actually wearing clothes,” Rebecca said by way of introduction.
Tami looked up, waiting for her friend to continue. There was something about Rebecca that gripped one’s attention, that made you want to listen to every word she said, and then when it was your turn to talk, made you want to give the best response you could.
“Let me be honest. Are you . . . is the college forcing you into doing things?”
Tami, thinking of the dildos stuffing her insides, felt for sure that Rebecca knew about them. She tried her best to think of a response. But all she could manage was, “What?”
“Well, this outfit, this . . . bikini it looks like. It’s part of some kind of research?”
“Y - yes.”
Rebecca looked her friend in the eye. “You don’t look comfortable.”
“I’m -- I’ve got a little cold. “ Tami was intensely aware that she was lying to her good friend and her mouth felt dry. With a little signal of asking permission she took a couple of sips from Rebecca’s soda. McMasters had asked her to keep her eating and drinking to a minimum but a couple of sips should be O.K.
Rebecca kept looking at Tami without speaking, a look that seemed to penetrate right through her, a look that told Tami she knew she was lying. Tami wondered what Rebecca knew. . .
“I think you’re not feeling well because of wearing that bikini,” Rebecca said firmly. “From what I hear, they asked you to put it on to test your skin response, or whatever. Maybe they figured because you go around in the snow with no clothes on, your metabolism is somehow special. Well then, why didn’t they have you wear this thing when it was cold out?”
Tami was confused. “What are you getting at?”
After a moment of hesitation, Rebecca said, “I think they had you wear this as a back-door way of getting you into clothes. I’ve been watching you today. You don’t look comfortable, you looked flushed and tired, in fact even going around with that thing on seems like a big effort for you. At times you can barely walk. You clearly are suffering.”
Tami exhaled, relieved that Rebecca didn’t know the everything, but having to admit that what she did say was absolutely true. And the reference to “back door” caused a twinge in her butt muscles as they tried to deal with the deep intrusion of the rectal dildo she was sitting on.
“I hate to psychoanalyze you, but it seems to me that because you have such a basic conviction to be naked, even though your conscious mind might agree to the bikini, the rest of you is rebelling at this . . . violation. Deep down, you feel violated, right?”
Tami cleared her throat, looking down, feeling the dildos. Umm . . . Finally she thought of something to say. “I -- agreed to it.”
“I’m sure you did. But sometimes I think you are too -- well, you agree to things too quickly. The college is very nervous about having a naked student walking around, and I bet they were kind of . . . well, I bet they really bugged you to get you to do this.”
Tami felt Rebecca’s steady gaze and decided to meet it with her own eyes, which had a more sheepish look than she wanted to display.
“I know I’ve said this a zillion times, but your religion is a big inspiration to me,” Rebecca said. “I’ve been talking about it in this prayer group I’ve started, and I don’t think anyone’s going to start taking off their clothes over there, but they think the world of you, and so do a lot of other people. The other day, during that rainstorm, when you danced around and bathed yourself and prayed out on the grass, that was an absolute triumph.”
Tami remembered that day, though in her present uneasy state she felt more shame than joy at the thought of having been so on display then. Right now, she just wanted to hide somewhere. “You saw that?”
“Everyone saw you, Tami,” Rebecca said with a smile. “In the class I was in, everyone stopped, even the teacher, and we all went to the windows. We saw people looking from other buildings, and from the covered paths. Everyone was watching Naked Tami, the naked girl of nature, taking a shower” -- Rebecca happily fluttered her fingers up and down -- “in God’s shower of the outdoors, with a big smile on her face, totally unashamed. I know I’m getting corny here, but that moment had to be one of the historic high points of your religion.”
This description of her naked rain dance made Tami feel better about it. A part of her mind wished once again she could be the brave girl that Rebecca took her to be. But mostly her mind was preoccupied with that damned rectal dildo, poking up into her, invading her gut . . . In spite of sitting absolutely still she was aware of all the other stimulators fastened on her and in her. . . It was damnably hard to carry on a serious conversation like this . . .
“Tami, I hate to criticize, but I think you need more backbone. You need some kind of extra stiffness inside you, that would have made you say no to this outfit. I know you’re basically a modest person, but observing you, you also seem kind of . . . lonely.”
Tami once again met Rebecca’s gaze, wanting to shake her head at all these unintended puns. How could this intelligent, concerned, perceptive friend be so totally right and so totally wrong at the same time?
“I think you need someone else who shares your religion,” Rebecca said. “I did some research on the internet. You’re from Rhode Island, right?”
“There was a court case there a couple of years ago where a group of nudists won the right to be naked on the beach, saying nudism was their religion. They turned it into a Constitutional, First Amendment issue, and it worked. They still have a web sight for their legal fund. I got this name and phone number off it.”
Rebecca gave Tami a piece of paper on which was neatly written a name that Tami recognized at once. It was the same name given her by Father George last Christmas, after that traumatic experience at Midnight Mass. She still had that slip from Father George somewhere. That whole episode, of course, was something that Tami had never told Rebecca about, or anyone else at the college. So she had to pretend that she never saw this guy’s name before.
“Try calling this guy. I try to give you support, but I think you really need someone else in your life who understands the conviction that you have deep within you about being naked.”
Tami looked at the note, her mind a blur. She decided to fixate on the fact that Rebecca’s handwriting was beautifully clear.
“I love you, Tami, I care very much about you. I want you to be happy. Right now you don’t look happy. I can’t tell you what to do, but I wish you’d just take that stupid outfit off right now and tell the college that their so-called skin response experiment can go to -- to Heck!” Which, for Rebecca, amounted to strong language.
Tami smiled wanly, though as she shifted a bit her body flinched as she felt scraping against her clit.
“Well I gotta go. Think about it, Tam,” Rebecca said. Then after she got up she gave Tami a hug around the neck and she was gone. Tami was left to look at the guy’s name on the piece of paper, wondering what to make of the conversation.
For now, though, the problem was to get back to her room before she got buzzed again. As soon as Rebecca was out of sight Tami got up and walked quickly outside. The quick friction caused by the brisk walking caused her to flush again and her whole body to shake. No matter -- the sooner she got out of the public view the better.
Her walk back to the dorm was so nightmarish that part of her felt like it was a bad horror movie that she was watching. Feeling an orgasm approaching, she quickened her steps, which only served to stimulate her more. Then, to her surprise, the low beeping started, the beeping she hadn’t heard since Rod turned it off the other night. Someone had turned it on again! Her head dashed quickly from right to left, wondering who . . .
Up ahead, sitting on a bench, watching Tami approach, was Lorinda. Dressed in her nerdy clothes, looking even more like a bratty fourth grader than usual, she held up a remote control. As Tami watched in helpless horror she turned a dial --
Bzzz --- zzz --- zzz ---
Tami passed Lorinda in a crazy trot, like a drunk person trying to run. “Oh! God! Oh! God! . . . ” she prayed under her breath as she made for the dorm entrance. As she reached for the door her eyes went out of focus. Spasms of stabbing pleasure shot through her as she staggered up the steps. She was in no condition to count but the contractions lasted all the way until she was up on her wing. Fortunately nobody was around. In the hot flush of the heavy breathing post-orgasm she dropped down to the floor to fish her dorm key from her ankle pouch.
The buzzing would not stop.
The tortured girl shut the door and flung herself full length onto her bare bed, face down, arms across her breasts, her whole body shaking. In a moment she began to sob. Please God, make this stop . . . Was it Lorinda still doing this? Or someone else? . . .
The buzzing kept on.
The girl’s fourth orgasm of the day overtook her as she lay on her side, face to the wall, clutching herself, trying like hell to push the dildos out, knowing she couldn’t . . . Please . . . only 15 more days . . . I can tough this out . . .
It was the strangest agony one can know, an agony that continued as the buzzing went on and on and the girl went from one orgasm to the other, crying and praying in between. They were intense, deep, bone-shattering orgasms, the greatest physical pleasure a person can know, but Tami did not want them. She dearly wished the buzzing would stop after each orgasm so that she could rest, catch her breath, have some relief. But no, as soon as she was finished with one orgasm she was dragged up on the way to another. And the beeping turned into a steady tone during the orgasms, mocking her in the crisis of her pleasure. She gritted her teeth, vowing to endure and endure and endure. . .
Blessedly, the buzzing stopped. So did the beeping. The girl exhaled. She turned over and wiped the wet hair from her eyes, then rubbed the sweat away so she could see. Thank God. She looked at the clock radio. The buzzing had lasted almost half an hour without a break. How much could she take?
The phone rang.
Tami, sweating and catching her breath, grateful that the buzzing was finally over, was glad to hear the phone ring. One of her friends, maybe, calling to chat. Something mundane. Wondering who it was, hoping nobody would decide to buzz her for the next few minutes, she got up, a little groggy and stiff from all the strain in her muscles, and went over to the wall next to Jen’s and Mandy’s bunk where the phone was. In a motion well-practiced by any teenaged girl, though done now a little wearier than usual, she picked the phone up and slid down cross-legged onto the floor with a slap of her bare butt on the hard tile. “Tami here,” she said.
Her bare shoulders drooped when she found out who it was.
“Good mor -- I mean good afternoon, Miss Smithers, I hope all is well. “ It was the mellifluous voice of the Dean.
Tami rested her head in her hand, her elbow propped on one knee. She felt like cursing him out. Certainly he knew about today’s awful humiliation -- he probably directed it! She felt like a prisoner who hated the warden who kept torturing her, but knew that expressing this hatred would only make things worse. So she restricted herself to saying, “Hello.”
“I’d like to meet with you today, Miss Smithers. Please be at my office at three o’clock.”
Tami closed her eyes. She didn’t feel like going to Rossland Hall and walking into the Dean’s office, not on today of all days. “I - I’m not feeling well.”
“I happen to know that you are not sick, you were at both your morning classes today,” said the firm voice on the other end.
“C - can we make it some other day?” Tami said, though she immediately knew making this suggestion was a mistake.
The Dean’s voice took on an insinuating tone. “Is there some reason why you don’t want to make the trip to my office? Is it because you are too modest to be seen in public?”
Right though he was, she couldn’t admit it. And it was unusual for the Dean to make such a direct accusation. This was a red flag. She had to show up or else . . . The tired, shamed teenage girl knew she had to give in. Only 15 more days . . . I can’t blow it now, having come so far. She ran these words through her mind and was embarrassed at hearing the pun. Having “come” so far . . . If it was a serious meeting at least she wouldn’t be buzzed during it. Clearing her throat again, she said, “No, I thought I had another commitment. I’ll be there.”
“Fine then. Thank you and good luck with your two o’clock class.” Then he hung up.
The nearly naked teenager sat there with the receiver still against her ear, trying to stay calm amidst the rubbings and frictions of the dildo deep up her butt, the dildo in her pussy, the hard rough knob against her clit, the bristly clamps on her nipples . . . The Dean was right on top of things. He knew she was at both her morning classes, and that she had a two o’clock class, a class she knew she had to be at. A perverse way of ensuring that she would maintain her record of perfect attendance, still unbroken in spite of everything.
She couldn’t decide if it was he or Henry Ross who was orchestrating today’s ordeal. But between the two of them they were doubtlessly in touch with their spies, probably coordinating who would be buzzing her and when. With gallows humor she imagined a “Tami Orgasm Control Center” behind a fake bookcase in the Dean’s office, with blips on a screen showing the location of each remote control, rows of buttons and dials, with Ross in a headset in contact with each person, getting reports and instructing as to each buzz . . .
Praying not to be pierced on the crucible of another orgasm Tami set the alarm for her next class and lay down for a 45-minute nap. The girl, wearied from so many forced orgasms, fell right to sleep.
The annual parade was the year’s biggest event for the little town. Everyone was there. Marching bands, scouts, the fire department, the police, all marching in splendid formation . . . and all led by the color guard. The five flagpoles were held up by five strong men. The flagpole in the center did not have a flag, however. Extra long and high, everyone’s attention was directed to the top of the pole. There, leading the parade, waving at the crowd with a decidedly strained smile, was the naked girl, propped up by the flagpole inserted far up her butt, her butt cheeks resting on a little cross-bar, an extra extension in front lodged up her pussy to stabilize her. Flashbulbs popped, cameras whirred, she would be on the front page of tomorrow’s paper, and a feature on tonight’s local news. . .
They were very nice as they gathered around the seated naked girl, the teachers and the teacher’s aides. This was a student always to be humored. Miss Tami Smithers, a perpetual student at the college, loved by all, pitied by all, delayed in graduation because of her . . . disability. With sad smiles they presented the final exam to her as she tried to make it out through her blurred vision. “Here is your grade, Tami,” a kindly matronly voice said.
It was the same as always. A 60, five points below failing. She would have to take this course over again, would have to stay at the college yet another semester. She frowned and, as usual, could not force out a complete sentence. “That’s . . . ohhh . . . God . . . not ag - gain . . . not an - nother . . . s - s - semesterrr . . . Ohhh . . . “ A few seconds later her face raised up and her teeth gritted as her hands reached out, hands that were held by supportive teachers and friends as she crested into yet another orgasm as if it were a seizure. Her toes curled around the wheels of her wheelchair, onto the seat of which were mounted hard, vibrating dildos that were always in residence deep in her pussy and her butthole, with a stiff knob pressing up into her clit, and the slender metal braces that came up from the arms to hold the bristly vibrating cups against her nipples. One of the teachers said, “That’s her twenty-seventh orgasm of the day. “ She heard a younger voice saying, “Can’t anything be done?” “I’m afraid not . . . she ca’t be let free until she graduates . . .”
The wheelchair-bound girl continued spasming -- in her wheelchair, which she was required to be strapped into during all waking hours. Because of the constant stimulation poor Tami could not pay close attention in class, and no matter how hard she tried to concentrate she could make only incomplete answers on her final exam, her life being a constant series of orgasms, one after the other . . . Tami Smithers, at age twenty-seven, who now had no choice but to start her tenth year at Campbell - Frank. . .
. . .
Tami awoke with a start, then looked at the clock radio. Twenty minutes before the next class. She had awakened ahead of the alarm. She leaned over to turn it off, glad to be back in the real world, not in those horrific dreams, but then realized that she was still “strapped in”. Well, at least this outfit will be off by the end of the day. And, I’ll be out of this nuthouse in two weeks! She thanked God for being in the reasonable, real world, breathing in real air, living in the light of day . . . And would shortly be living a normal, clothed, untortured life again.
Two weeks . . . two weeks. . . This thought sustained her as she washed her face and went out to make her way to the humanities building. She walked slowly, keeping the stimulation at a minimum, looking up and seeing clouds come in. A chill breeze kicked up which she felt on her butt. She swallowed, feeling confident that she could keep her arousal down during this next class, Intro to Physics, being held in the humanities building because Fellowes Hall, the science building, was closed for repairs . . . something she knew very well about! Walking naked across campus after cleaning out that boiler, sweating and mud-stained, she couldn’t decide if that was worse than her present predicament. No, this was worse.
She met one person on the way to class and it was a welcome meeting.
“Oh, Rod,” she said, burying her head in his chest, hugging him, her bare toes rubbing his shin up and down.
Rod smiled and kissed her on the top of her head, then said, “You’re getting a little gray, Babe!” He picked at some of the hairs. “I think it’s sexy!” Then he held her apart by her bare shoulders as he looked down at her retainer panties. Hugging her again, he said, “You’re up to nineteen! You must be having a lot of fun today!”
Tami didn’t want to hear about how sexy she was or all the “fun” she was having, she just wanted to lose herself in Rod’s arms. She wanted her orgasms to be for him, not for “science”, and if she had to be strapped into this thing, she wanted it to be in his room while in his arms. She wanted away from this terrible public exposure and humiliation, to go to a secret hidden place with just her and Rod to be alone.
Tami wanted to cry, but willed herself to be strong. This day was half over. “I’d rather be with you,” she said, which was certainly a safe thing to say that would not cause Rod to be suspicious.
“If you’re not too wore out, I’d like to see you tonight,” Rod said.
“I don’t know, I might just want to sleep,” Tami said.
“How about tomorrow night then?”
“Okay . . . “ Tami held Rod tight, not moving a muscle, knowing that any stimulation while in the arms of her lover would only have a result which she must suffer in public.
As for Rod, he was smiling, wondering again at this sexual super-woman he was involved with. Wearing this Orgasm Outfit while going to classes! 19 orgasms so far! And no doubt loving it, shameless as she was! This was the stuff of a horny young man’s science fiction fantasy. Watching Tami have an orgasm was his favorite thing in the world, aside from squirting inside her himself, and he wished he could accompany her and see her next one. But he was on the way to an end-of-semester test, and there would certainly be other chances.
Rod kissed Tami, a deep, French kiss, right in the middle of campus, moving his hands down so that they grabbed her butt cheeks, something the normally shy Rod had never done before, at least not so much in public. Then they parted.
Tami, walking on, thought of how much she loved Rod, how hard the summer would be without him. Then she thought of the summer. Clothes. No dildos inside her all day. Clothes. She crossed a gravel path and contemplated her bare feet on the rough little rocks. And shoes. Always shoes!
Fortunately, blessedly, she did not get buzzed during her physics class. Sitting still in her chair, leaning to one side so the dildo up her butt wasn’t so insistent on claiming her attention, she actually was close to being single-minded in listening to the professor. She was asked to give a couple of answers and, as always, she did so correctly.
At three o’clock she entered the lobby of Rossland Hall, the administration building. The lobby was fortunately deserted. She got into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, the seventh floor, and cleared her throat and tried to clear her mind, thinking of her meeting with the Dean. This meeting, she resolved, would not be a disaster like the last one. She was going to pretend she loved being naked, loved wearing this outfit. She could do it. Only two weeks left!
With only slightly jerky steps Tami approached the Dean’s office. She was being rubbed and stimulated in every possible secret place, but she thought she would probably be able to contain the inner fire for the time being. She knew her face to be a little flushed and her breathing a little ragged, but it wasn’t like the Dean would be making her run in place or anything like that. She could stand perfectly still during this meeting, whatever it was about.
Still, she felt very uneasy as she walked in to Gwendolyn King’s reception area, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible, a teenage girl in a ridiculously tiny bikini, the strange protruding cuplets covering her nipples and nothing else, standing in front of this elegantly dressed, haughty secretary. Feeling the plush carpet beneath her made Tami aware also of the bareness of her feet, and how insolent she was walking into these well-appointed surroundings barefoot in such skimpy clothing.
“Ah yes, Miss Smithers,” Ms. King said, with the air of having expected her. She made “Smithers” sound like an alias. Tami wondered, Does this lady know about what’s inside this outfit? . . . “The Dean will meet you in the Conference Room,” Ms. King said. “Third door to the left, dear.”
Something was up. Why wasn’t she meeting the Dean in his office? Tami walked down the hall with a feeling of deja vu. Then as she approached the conference room she suddenly remembered this place. This was where that scholarship interview was, last summer. It seemed like a hundred years ago. As she approached the open doorway she saw the eerily familiar sight -- a medium sized room, polished wood floor, cushioned chairs around the sides, and a long table behind which sat eight people -- the same exact people who had been there last July, plus one extra (very unwelcome) one.
On that day last July Tami, accompanied by her father, had walked in crisply but nervously, feeling the sweat in her sensible white bra, her white linen shirt, her red dressy pants, the clicking of her shiny pumps echoing loudly on the wood floor. Today Tami, alone, padded into the room silently on toughened bare feet, covered only by her skimpy bikini, bristles and knobs and dildos rubbing her secretly in every sensitive place as she walked to front and center, secretly and sadly and crushingly aware of her reduced circumstances, her far different appearance now. There was no chair this time. Tami stood as if at attention and waited for the Dean, sitting in the middle, to speak.
“Good afternoon, Miss Smithers, I hope you don’t mind the unscheduled surroundings,” the Dean said. Tami struggled to hold down the arousal and her shame at standing like this in front of these elegantly dressed personages. She looked down at her skimpy outfit and her feet. At least this bikini could have been a brighter color, nicer material. And I could at least have worn some clear toenail polish . . . She knew these were ridiculous thoughts, but she couldn’t help thinking them, worried about her appearance like the normal teenage girl she still was deep down.
Tami looked up and, shaking herself free of these musings, noticed nevertheless that the Dean seemed a little ill at ease. Running his words over in her mind, she realized it was quite unlike the vaguely threatening tone she had heard on the telephone.
“This meeting was, uh, unfortunately and unavoidably called in a hurry. For that I apologize. You might recognize and remember the people from your scholarship interview, which was held” -- the Dean nervously put on his glasses to read something in front of him, jabbing himself in the eyebrow as he did so -- “on, uh, July 17, 2000”. He took off his glasses again and introduced the others. “Starting from your left, here is Mrs. Millicent Lowell, whom you have met since” -- Tami recognized the old lady who had visited her while she was sweaty and smelly, trudging on the treadmills -- “and Mr. George Comstock” -- a little reptilian man in a three-piece suit, creepily smiling at her with what looked like little sharp teeth -- “Mr. Anthony Noyes” -- she remembered this big bear of a man all right, another in the three-piece suit crowd, giving her a skeptical but oddly respectful nod -- “and the college corporation counsel, Mr. Henry Ross, who of course is not on the committee but is here to observe.” And leer. Tami could barely stand to look at Ross, creep of creeps, and elected to give him a cool, distant look.
“To your right, starting at the end, we have Brian Ratigan, from the Foundation Committee” -- a middle-aged man with a red face and bad toupee, someone Tami thought she recognized from somewhere, leering at her as if she was the first attractive young woman in a bikini he had ever seen -- “and the Reverend Stipend” -- God, how Tami hated remembering the glare of hellfire condemnation this fundamentalist had given her, looking at her naked and sweating on the treadmill! -- “and sitting next to me, our professor emeritus, Jan Latimer” -- a kindly little old man, artistic looking with a beret, whom she had dealt with since, though not in a way she liked to remember. Nice though he was, she had been mortally embarrassed to pose for his sculpture out on the campus quad, stretched out over everyone, Jen and her other friends looking up right into her private parts. Now, finally, thankfully, those parts were covered, though at what a price!
Tami blinked away this catalog of shame and through the veil of unwanted stimulation focused back on the Dean and his strange nervousness. “The members of the committee have some questions for you, Miss Smithers,” he continued. “I apologize again for surprising you like this, but these people are, uh, curious about . . . well, I’ll let them ask the questions. Let me assure you, Miss Smithers, that your scholarship is not in question. You are not being tested. Nothing that you can say here can jeopardize what you have rightly, uh, earned.”
Tami felt slightly reassured, but only slightly. What exactly was going on here? She licked her lips as she looked at the elegant clothing these people were wearing. Such fine shoes, suits, dresses . . . 15 days was too long to wait. She wanted clothing now, right now, this minute . . .
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Oh Christ! Tami couldn’t believe it. No, please God, not now! not here!! She gasped and lurched forward a little, her eyes staring down, opened wide. Then she recovered somewhat and looked up toward the ceiling as her innards vibrated with the silent buzzing. Please God, not now, please -- ohhh --
“Miss Smithers,” Mr. Noyes began, “is it true that you have totally given up wearing clothes for the rest of your life?”
“Y - yes,” Tami answered, suppressing a quiver in her legs. Her toes scrunched nervously against the wood floor. She cleared her throat, trying to keep a steady gaze on the big man. With a shock of recognition and deep hatred she saw out of the corner of her eye that Ross had his hand inside his jacket. She knew he was looking right at her, as if to emphasize that he was turning the knob on a hidden remote control.
“Well what plans have you for the summer then? Are you going to find a job somewhere . . . being naked?” Noyes asked forcefully. He made it sound like Tami was going to find work as a stripper. Ugh! But more importantly, Tami sensed a red flag. Putting aside her hatred of Ross and her increasing arousal for a moment, she realized she couldn’t give any clue that might lead them to Ned and Ethel and her accounting job. Never mind what the Dean had said. She was walking her bare feet through a minefield right now and had to not betray anything. Even while being driven to orgasm!
“I’d like for you all to note that the Career Development Center has no record of Miss Smithers using the summer job board,” the Dean said. In her quivering mind Tami felt a little breath of relief. The Dean had checked up on her everywhere, including the job board -- and he didn’t know about her job! So far so good.
Fighting the rising tide of arousal, Tami thought quickly and said what she had been telling friends. “I d - don’t know yet about this s - summer. P - probab - b - bly” (that word was so hard to pronounce now!) “w - with my Dad at his store.” She added, “L - like last summerrr.” Sensing they might call her father to check this out, she concluded, “H - he doesn’t know yet. “ She tried a weak smile, though her mouth muscles refused to fully cooperate.
Thankfully, her answer seemed to satisfy Noyes. Mr. Ratigan, in a loud voice, asked, “Miss Smithers, I trust you’ve been benefiting from the education afforded to you here. I see you have certain . . . distractions.”
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
“Y - yes, very much. I mean . . . I’ve benefited very much. . . From the education . . . Ohhh! . . “ Tami was sorry she let the moan out, but by now she was simply incapable of holding it in. She felt her face getting hot. She gritted her teeth. Crisis time was approaching. She was trying to resign herself to the fact that she would be having an orgasm right in front of these people, right in front of her scholarship committee, but the idea was just too horrifying. Yet it was approaching . . . She had to make it look like she didn’t mind this at all, that she had no feelings of modesty whatsoever . . . only 15 more days . . .
Then Mr. Comstock, in his slithery way, pushed Tami right into the topic she least wanted to talk about.
“Miss Smithers,” he said, practically hissing the S’s, “I notice that you have consented to a slight, uh, modification of your religion for the sake of science. I understand that this device you are wearing is designed, to, uh, stimulate your, uh, responses.”
Bzzz --- zzzz --- zzzz -- The nearly naked, suffering girl was in a thick trance of arousal and, though the man’s words bounced around in a recess of her mind, she did not really understand them.
“Miss Smithers?” Comstock said, as if unaware of what the girl was experiencing. “Is this true?”
Tami gulped and looked up, then down again. She just couldn’t look this creep in the eye! “Y - y - yesss,” she said, the word ending in a ragged exhale. She was intensely aware that these people must know exactly what was happening. The vibrating was silent, but the effect on her was certainly visible.
Suddenly her whole body jerked with a thrill of pleasure. “Ohhh . . . “ Tami said, moaning as she exhaled. She didn’t want the moan to escape but it was too late.
Speaking in a slightly louder voice, recognizing that it was necessary to do so, Comstock said, “Can you describe what it is about this, uh, outfit that stimulates you? Be specific and itemize, please.”
Tami felt the wave about to crest, and with a grunt held it down. “Uh! W - what?”
“Please describe the features of your outfit, Miss Smithers,” Comstock said. Though Tami could not notice it, Mrs. Lowell and Mr. Latimer seemed a little irritated by Comstock’s insistence. Meanwhile, Ross reached into his jacket and turned the knob further. The buzzing increased.
BZZZ -- ZZZ -- ZZZ --
Deep in the shell of her mind Tami knew that she had no choice but to recite the list. “Th - th - there’s b - bristles th - that . . . ssstim . . . stimulate my . . . n - nipples . . . Ohhh! God!” Tami bent over, then with a forced lurch straightened herself out again. This was the end, now. She had forced the wave down twice but knew she couldn’t again. She felt about to go over the waterfall and was going to have to complete her answer while suffering through an orgasm.
BZZZ -- ZZZ -- ZZZ --
Her eyes went out of focus, staring dully at her questioners as the first spasms began. “Oh! G - god!” Her pelvis heaved forward as she spoke, or tried to. “A dil - do . . . oh! . . . in my . . . oh! oh! God!” She spasmed and spasmed, barely able to keep standing, spitting out the grunts and words as she tried to keep her head up. “Ohhh . . . my v - vagina . . . ohhh!” The spasms began to die down as she began to catch her breath. “Oooo . . . and . . . another dildo . . . oh . . . in my . . . ” Her face burned red, especially, at having to say this. “In my . . . b - butt . . . ”
The Reverend was astonished. “Child, you mean to say as you are speaking to us now there is . . . something . . . in your rectum??”
Tami, standing straight again in the aftermath of orgasm, face flushed, sweating all over, said, “Y - yes, sir.” She closed her eyes, realizing the magnitude of shame she had just experienced, which shamed her all over again just thinking about it.
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Mr. Ratigan, leering like a teenage boy in a dream where he gets to speak to a real live naked lady, said, “And this is O.K. with you? You aren’t ashamed?”
Shaking her head slowly, eyes downcast, Tami said, “No.”
Mr. Noyes pounded home the point. “And going to class today, like that, was O.K. with you?”
Tami had signed the agreement, she had declared that modesty was alien to her beliefs, she couldn’t give lie to it now. Not so close to the finish line. She looked up at the big man. Remembering his confrontation with her when she was standing shivering outside her house during Christmas break, she willed herself to look at him with determination. “This is O.K. I don’t believe in modesty.” Once again, very hard for this innocent, modest girl to say.
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
With a quick chill running through her legs Tami realized the feeling of another orgasm beginning its career deep within her.
“Miss Smithers, this, uh, device, didn’t affect your schoolwork today?” Comstock asked.
Her face still burned red from knowledge of the shame of what she had been through. To those at the table who didn’t know any better it looked like a post-orgasmic flush. The nearly naked girl took a deep breath and answered, “N - no.”
“Well let’s see,” Noyes said, holding some notes in front of him. “Your advanced calculus teacher, Professor Hinton, said you answered one question in class today, and that correctly. Do you remember what the class today was about?”
Shutting her eyes, realizing the next orgasm was arriving far too soon, Tami said, “Th - third level integrals. Ohhh . . . ”
“And your class in anthropology, what was being discussed?”
“Tchk. . . Khh . . . “ Tami tried to smother her arousal, a hopeless effort, but one she did automatically. To freely give in to orgasm was unthinkable. As a result her attempts at uttering each syllable sounded like someone choking. “Khh -- Crete. Ssss . . . civilizzzation of Crete. Ancient . . . c - crete. . . “ She half-remembered a weird dream of flunking a test because she couldn’t answer questions while in the throes of orgasm. . .
Several heads at the table nodded to themselves, impressed. Then the Dean spoke up. “Miss Smithers, that counter on the, uh, lower part of the apparatus, it says ‘20’. What does that mean?”
“OH!” Tami doubled over, then clumsily spread her legs, her bare feet slapping on the wood floor, using her inner muscles in a vain attempt to expel the horrible vibrating intruders in her pussy and ass. Her legs and whole body quivered like a leaf shaking in the wind. She breathed through clenched teeth. “Zhhh . . . zhhh . . . ” She caught her breath and, unable to look up, said, “It means . . . I’ve . . . c - c - come . . . twenty . . .
“TIMES!!” she shouted, shooting bolt upright, startling most of her questioners, her eyes bugged out in fear, fright, and the crisis of impending orgasm. Her damp hair shot back. Her entire body glistened with sweat. “Ohhh . . .” She was determined to look her questioners in the eye. She felt like this was the final test -- after this, she will have earned the right to wear clothes again and end this life of exquisite, horrible torture.
The suffering teenager looked at each of the people in turn, her eyebrows dancing crazily. First Noyes, then Comstock, then Mrs. Lowell -- the naked girl’s head shook and her breath was ragged -- her eyes narrowed somewhat as she felt herself going over the waterfall again -- in a flash of fevered insight, she looked the Dean right in the eye, and seeing his nervous expression knew that she was the stronger and braver of the two of them --
Inside his jacket, Henry Ross’s hand pressed a recently activated button which turned on a feature of the retainer that had not been used thus far, a little knob which now began to protrude from the inner shaft of the vaginal dildo to press against and rub against the girl’s G-spot --
“OH! JESUS!!” the girl shouted hoarsely, her head jutting forward, her eyes an explosion of amazement. Her body jerked forward again, then again, and as the spasms continued her feet slapped on the wood floor and she did a strange, frantic dance, turning this way and that as the convulsions overtook her.
It so happened she had been looking directly at Reverend Stipend as she shouted his Lord’s name at the moment of orgasm. The Reverend, apoplectic with rage, slammed his hands on the table and stormed out of the room, the sound of his shoes thudding loudly across the floor as the girl jiggled and lurched, the number over her clit changing to “21”.
When the spasms were over and Tami looked up, catching her breath and feeling another wave of sweat drenching her hair and running down into her eyes, she saw that most of the committee had left. Only Noyes, the Dean and Ross remained. Blessedly, she felt the buzzing decrease, though it still kept on.
She felt a little more lucid. As she stood upright again, her feet well apart, firmly braced on the cool wood floor, her concave tummy heaving in and out as her lungs filled her body with oxygen, she noticed that the mood had changed. The Dean looked shaken and pale. Ross looked very concerned as well, though whether that concern was real or faked was impossible to tell. And Noyes was sitting there sternly in icy calm.
The Dean spoke in a small, quiet voice, unusual for him. “Miss Smithers, thank you, thank you for your time. “
Bzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Tami nodded and then, with calm but slightly jagged steps, walked out. She held her tummy muscles in as she tried to contain her arousal. The buzzing, quieter though it was now, was still insistent. After two intense orgasms, she wanted to rest, but the stimulating devices would not let her.
She got onto the elevator and absently pushed the button to do down. Halfway down she realized she had pushed “SUB”, for sub-basement, by mistake. Yet she did nothing about it, looking at the lit button as it took her down, down, down . . . She reflected on that meeting. Yes, it was terribly shaming. Yes, she hated Henry Ross for playing her body like a pinball machine while the others watched her come twice. Yes, she hated being so responsive and having such an apparently endless capacity for multiple orgasms.
But two things dawned on her. She had passed that most excruciating test and hadn’t cracked, hadn’t begged for clothing or for this horrid apparatus to be taken off. And she had got the better of the Dean, somehow. After a little more thinking she figured out that he and Ross had tried to get her to crack, trying to shame her by making her come in front of the committee. But she hadn’t caved in. And because she didn’t crack, it had backfired. The Dean was in trouble now, somehow. She felt like a prisoner who had been interrogated under torture and refused to squeal. And now, having shown that she was un-crackable, she was about to be set free. Finally.
Bzz -- zzz -- zzz --
The door opened to the subbasement and Tami decided to step out onto the cold bare concrete. There was nothing here but cinderblock walls and maintenance equipment. The cool, damp air and the solitude was a relief to the tired girl. Quivering, feeling another orgasm coming on, hoping that the buzzing would stop but knowing it was useless to hope, she collapsed into a cross-legged sitting position, her bare butt on the cold concrete, her bare back leaning against the hard cinderblock wall. Her head bumped against the wall as her face turned up, eyes closed.
“Ohhh . . . ohhh . . . “ The moans echoed through the empty room. She was alone, thankfully, and could have her next orgasm on her own terms. She breathed in and out, moaning freely, almost praying, communing with God as she crested into a wave of pleasure once again. “Ohh -- ohh -- ohh -- ” Her hips jerked up rhythmically with the spasms, a little wearily now. Sitting, she could feel the dildo in her butt sticking right up into her guts, and felt her sphincter grab the hard intruder at regular intervals, grab and release, grab and release . . . She was becoming aware of all the body’s reactions of orgasm. An orgasm expert, having had so many of them.
As she relaxed in the afterglow, feeling the buzzing continue, knowing she was destined for yet another climax in a few moments, she thought of her victory over the Dean and Ross, of her newfound inner strength, of the fact that her travails would end soon, she started giggling. Maybe being forced into orgasm after orgasm all day was finally driving her crazy. Whatever the reason, she giggled and moaned and caught her breath and giggled some more as she leaned over onto her side, her face gratefully feeling the coolness of the floor, as she was dragged up to yet another crest . . .
. . .
The full moon lit up the campus with a pallid glow, strong enough to throw faint shadows. The air was wet, damp, as was the ground, three hours having passed since the rain ended and the clouds began clearing. Now, at 3:00 a.m., there was no one outside on this ghostly landscape, except for one stark naked girl, walking across the soccer field from the Chalfont Institute, headed toward the main part of campus. The air was chilly; warm nights in this north country were restricted to June and July, and it was still May. Goosebumps were raised on her skin, especially on her bare butt and her breasts. Her nipples were a little sore but stood out in the cold. Her breath formed little clouds. Cold water from the sodden grass squished up between her toes. And to her it all felt good.
She gladly took in the fresh air, glad to be fully naked again, glad that she no longer had bristles attacking her nipples and dildos lodged deep inside her pussy and rectum. Her arousal sated for what seemed like weeks into the future, she was glad to have her head clear. She stopped once or twice, thanking God the ordeal was over, and knew herself to be happy in a way she hadn’t been in a long time.
Yes, her mind still felt a bit scrambled after all those orgasms. She had endured orgasm after orgasm in that Rossland Hall sub-basement, going on and on endlessly, an eternal Hell, the buzzing going on and on, then decided out of desperation to stagger to Chalfont, hoping that McMasters would be there to take those things out of her ahead of time. But no, the exhausted, spasming girl was told by one of the other doctors that McMasters wasn’t there yet, and she had been directed to the faculty lounge to wait it out until the appointed hour.
She had stumbled and practically dragged herself to the lounge, unsure whether she remembered the directions she had been given, but there it was, a nicely-appointed room with a carpet and soft chairs, deserted at this hour. She had sat on the floor, head between her knees, looking up at the clock over the door from time to time, but mostly looking down and weeping as another orgasm crested, then another, then another. . . At eight o’clock the buzzing finally stopped and she keeled over, falling asleep immediately.
At nine o’clock the buzzing started again as she awoke and wailed in anguish, but the whole building was empty by then and nobody heard her. Holding herself tight in her vibrating little prison, she endured another series of orgasms. By then they had become weak little bunches of quivers, and she stared ahead without emotion, perhaps in shock, perhaps in fatigue, perhaps with the demented look of someone who had been driven insane. Finally the buzzing stopped and she looked up and saw that it was five minutes to ten. She weakly got up, holding her head in her hands and noticed the portraits on the wall and, just before she turned out to the hall, noticed the portrait of herself that had been presented at the banquet, Tami the proud and unashamed, the Tami she had wanted to be, mounted in a place of honor over a fine oak credenza.
She lurched into Lab 6 and saw McMasters and Mr. Zipkin there and flung herself onto the exam table. She was barely conscious as they removed the bristle bra and, with great care, the retaining panties. Did she hear Zipkin say “68”? What did that mean? The number of orgasms? No matter, she fell asleep immediately, lying on her side on the table, her butthole, still stretched wide open, fully in view.
She had awakened at 2:45 a.m., still a little groggy, in a darkened room. In fact as she made her way out to the hall she saw the whole place was dark and nobody was around. It was creepy, and the weary girl was relieved to feel the cold air filling her lungs as she stepped outside. Now, in fact, walking across the wet field, she felt a little giddy in her weariness. She had won a victory over the Dean. And had only 14 days left to freedom and clothes. She thought of Ned and Ethel, doubtless fast asleep at this hour.
Weary though she was, the naked teenager began to skip and then limply run across the grass. Attempting a cartwheel, she slipped on the wet grass and fell on her butt, feeling the cold textured rubbery wetness under her bare back. She giggled, looking up at the moon. She enjoyed these natural sensations, she wished she could be naked only at times like now when there was nobody to see. Grinning at herself for having this thought, she got on all fours and stuck her butt up at the moon and, using muscles she was just becoming aware of, without using her hands she managed to open her butthole, which had been closed for only a few hours anyway, with the idea that beams of moonlight could go right into her butt. She shook her head. I’ve really gone crazy. But it feels good anyway!
She stumbled back up to her feet, and looked back at Chalfont, and then up to the darkened height of Rossland Hall, and knew she had defeated them both. Ha ha. She was also aware of being very, very hungry. As she happily, wearily walked back to her dorm, feeling grass and then concrete and then gravel under her bare feet, she thought ahead to the dining hall and how she would be really pigging out in a few hours at breakfast. Mmmm . . . eggs. . . toast . . . juice . . .
The six of them were glad to get away, on this last weekend before classes ended and finals began. Not really sure of where they were going, Marisol nevertheless had navigated the Ark of Doom up into the mountains and found a secluded spot, and walking in a ways through a grassy area they found some big wide rocks and a stream. Odd how college had changed their perspective. Being raised in urban or at least suburban settings, to them the clean, bucolic campus itself had at first seemed to be “getting away from it all”, but by now it just reminded them of classes and people. Now they wanted to get away from getting away from it all.
They had brought a little lunch, and they were lounging around on the warm rocks on this beautiful, sunny, warm day. The stream, surprisingly deep and wonderfully clear, ran in a little crevice a few feet down below. Mayree, Brad, Rod, Mandy, and Marisol, sitting on soft towels, all in states of partial undress, short pants, short sleeves, Mayree and Brad and Marisol with their shoes off, Mandy in a black tank top, as they munched on their fried chicken and apples and sipped from cups of water, looked up at the blue sky, listened to the gentle current of the creek, enjoying this paradise, contemplating stepping in the water but convinced that it was ice cold . . .
The sixth person, a little downstream and out of sight, having wandered from the rest, lay stretched out on the rough, flat rock, enjoying the feel of its warmth even as it poked and scraped her bare back, her bare butt cheeks. Eyes closed, she enjoyed the feel of the sun warming her nipples, her exposed pussy skin, she could even feel the rays in the little space between the pussy lips at the junction of her widely spread legs. This was Tami Smithers, whose clothes had all been taken away from her, who was to be kept naked at all times, denied any type of clothing or covering, and right now, rather enjoying it.
Listening to the running brook, and being in the habit of praying the past couple of months, she thanked God for this paradise, though it was also kind of a bittersweet farewell. In 10 days she would be rejoining the ranks of clothed humanity, no doubt for good. Being naked was unavoidably connected to being abused and humiliated and exposed in a dozen horrible ways, and she would be glad to say good-bye to that. But if only she could be just naked, not having to endure any humiliations, well . . . Half-dozing as she basked in the bright sun, the naked girl wondered if that would really be so bad. She took stock of all the sensations she was feeling. The sun against my bare skin, the rock against my back . . . feeling the gentle breeze play on my nipples . . . Only I am allowed to feel all these sensations, only I am allowed to be naked in this paradise. In a way, the naked girl considered herself lucky, and thanked God for being naked, at least for now.
Feeling like it was the right thing to do, the girl, eyes still closed, got herself up and, standing on the rough rock with legs slightly apart on tough bare feet, turned her face sunward and raised her arms up, then spread her arms wide apart. As would be clear to anyone looking, she was praying to the sun.
Rod, having gone to look for his girlfriend, stopped and watched from a distance. He saw her sweep her arms down gracefully and crouch down on her haunches, head down, her bare buttocks almost touching the rock. He could not help but be touched, almost to the point of tears, at this beautiful vision of grace and prayer and naked female beauty. After a tactful interval he stepped forward, being sure to make a noise with his sneaker on some weeds to give warning of his approach. He cleared his throat and Tami’s head turned.
“Hi, Babe,” he said. “You sure are gorgeous.”
Tami woke up a little from her semi-intoxicated state.
“Hi, lover,” she said. She was always glad to see him.
“What were you doing?”
Tami, still crouched over, her back to Rod, looked down and said, “Praying.”
This was the answer Rod expected. He was curious.
“What do you pray about?”
Tami thought for a moment. “I don’t pray in words. I pray for strength, guidance . . . and also thanking God for such a beautiful day.”
Rod was as pensive as Tami. “Did you pray before, when you wore clothes?”
Tami thought again. “Not like I meant it.”
She looked up at Rod and got a feeling like she never had before. The both of them seemed so much more . . . grown up. Her, especially. It was a nice feeling. Crouching naked on the rock in the warm sun, her toes bracing against the rough rock, looking up at him, she began to think that, whatever happened, she and Rod would somehow make it through together.
Rod stepped up onto the rock and held out his hand. Tami stood up and the lovers softly embraced, his shirt against her nipples, his cut-off jeans against her silky, exposed pussy skin . . . she rubbed her soles over the laces of his sneakers. . . Rod’s large, dark hand rested on the small of her back, the other gently molding her left butt cheek. . . They hugged tighter and Tami felt like the two of them had never been so close.
Tami decided to give him a little show. She turned and crept down, one unsteady foot at a time, to the stream. There was a little round spot that looked kind of deep. She slowly lowered herself into it, taking in breath between her teeth. This water was COLD . . . of course, she had been through far worse. Only one way to do this -- with a quick plunge she immersed herself all the way, finding that the little pool was about four feet deep, her toes buried in rough gravel as she crouched in this wet, cold netherworld. Then, trying to look like Venus rising, she slowly stood up, looking at Rod with sexy eyes as her head emerged. She looked down at her skin, tight and goose-bumped from the icy water, noticed her nipples, shrunken but hard, and sensuously lifted her breasts, offering them to Rod.
Rod, standing up on the rock, took in the view hungrily, his dick getting so hard that it advanced the leg of his knee-length shorts out, making his dick look two feet long.
Tami stretched her arms up as if yawning, causing her breasts to ride high up on her chest, then, looking around for a toehold, climbed out of the pool, water streaming off her nipples as she leaned forward, and planted her feet to stand straight up in front of her boyfriend. Softly she swayed from side to side, like a harem girl offering her body to her master, then danced gently (and carefully, with bare feet on rough rocks).
In a final display of submission and invitation, she turned around and bent over, spreading her butt cheeks and displaying her wet, stretched butthole in the bright sun, winking at him with her brown ring while turning her face to him and giving him an air kiss with her mouth . . . then she turned to face him with her whole body and, crouching down slightly, spread her legs, ran her hands down past her breasts and her concave tummy, past the tanned, silky skin around her pussy lips, then spread her lower lips as wide as she could, the sun glinting on the pinkness inside, the little dark narrow cave visible in between. The naked girl rolled her hips, keeping her pussy stretched open.
Rod turned behind him, making sure no one was around, then gazed again at his beautiful, sexy, naked girlfriend. “Babe, you’re torturing me!”
Tami was feeling a bit sadistic, perhaps, but the mosquitos were attracted to her wet skin. Time to end this quickly with one final display. She approached Rod slowly, crablike on widely spread legs, keeping her pussy lips stretched open with her fingers, opening up as much of her dark pink cave as she could.
“CHRIST! OUCH!!” A mosquito had bit her on one of her inner lips! The naked girl jumped up and down, closing her legs, then opening them, reaching in with a finger to scoop out the offending insect, finding it dead and crumpled on her fingertip, shaking her finger and flicking it to the ground. All the while jumping, jumping . . . laughing to herself as she said “Shit! Shit! Shit!”, realizing how funny it was, while realizing that it hurt like hell.
Rod watched helplessly as his girlfriend hopped up and down, first bringing her legs together, then opening them again. Tami was helpless too. She wanted to close her legs to keep the mosquitos away, and she swatted them as they lit on her legs or her shoulder. She even flicked one off her nipple. But the bite stung more with her legs closed and the inner lips touching each other.
Rod helped her back to their friends. Mayree donated her towel and they watched as their naked friend quickly dried herself off. Brad offered some insect repellent, which Tami spritzed liberally all over. “Thanks, guys.”
Then they asked what happened and Rod said, “Tami got bit in a private place,” the three other girls reflexively closed their legs, saying “ouch!”
“This bite is really irritated,” Tami said. “Let me see,” Marisol said, having just taken a course in first aid and being eager to help, though insect bites in the vagina had not been one of the studied topics. Marisol had Tami sit up on a rock, resting each bare foot on a rock to the wide, spreading her legs as wide as possible so Marisol could see.
Marisol knelt on the flat rock and peered into Tami’s pussy. “That’s quite a mordido. You need some lotion, here, I’ve got some aloe.”
With concern, Brad said, “Can you put that stuff on a, uh, sensitive area like that?”
Marisol hesitated, bottle in hand. “Yes, I think so . . . You’ve got to, uh, open more, Tam,” she said, and Tami obediently used her fingers to stretch her inner lips as far apart and out as she could. Marisol deftly reached in and dabbed the sore area.
“Ahhh . . . that feels cool,” Tami said. The bite area went numb immediately.
“Better keep it open until the swelling goes down,” Marisol said, putting the lotion away and sitting down again.
Thus the crisis was over. They had brought a little lunch, and they were lounging around on the warm rocks on this beautiful, sunny, warm day, except for Tami, who sat nakedly on a rock facing them, her legs spread and her hands holding her inner pussy lips apart. The stream, surprisingly deep and wonderfully clear, ran below. The six of them quietly spoke about the weather, about classes, about little things. They nibbled between words on apples and fried chicken and biscuits. Tami’s hands being occupied, Mandy sat up next to her and held up an apple that she took bite after bite out of. This was another one of those unusual scenes one found oneself in as a friend of Tami Smithers. Tami was aware of her bashful pose, chatting about this and that while her friends had a clear view of her inner cave, but except for Mandy nobody looked at it much. The bug repellent, which made Tami’s skin a little sticky and smelled like rubbing alcohol, was very effective; there was no danger of any more mosquitos flying into her.
“Good apple,” Tami said, as Mandy wiped her mouth with a napkin after the last bite.
After a moment of silence Mayree said, “So Tami, what’s around here that we can eat?”
This was a reference to the elective course Tami had been taking, “Stalking Wild Plants”, taught by a young hippie-ish instructor, Dabby Sommers. It hadn’t been her choice of an elective; she had wanted another course but then this course had appeared on her schedule, and she never bothered to change it. The same thing had just happened to Tami again; pre-registering for the Fall Semester, she had put in for Small Engine Repair as an elective, but instead she was put into Basics of Clothing Design, obviously someone’s idea of a joke.
The plant course, though, had turned out really great. Mr. Sommers was very engaging (and kind of cute, with his long blond beard), and to her surprise Tami found the topic fascinating. She rapidly absorbed all this wonderful information on what plants were edible, which were medicinal, and watched with interest at Dabby’s slide shows and the plant samples he brought into class. Plus, he seemed very respectful of her nakedness. She looked forward to the field trip which Dabby kept promising he would take the class on, though by now there were only two classes left and she felt like it might not happen.
Now, looking around, she suddenly recognized some plants. “That’s a Jerusalem artichoke,” she said, motioning with her head (because she wasn’t able to point) to some tall weeds next to the stream. “The root is edible.”
Marisol got up, fascinated, and started toward it.
“Let me try.”
“It’s probably not ripe yet. . . That other grassy thing there, that’s a groundroot. You can probably eat that.”
Marisol walked unsteadily over the rocks with tender bare feet, looking down as she went along, her huge breasts swaying ponderously from within her baggy T-shirt. When she got to the grassy plant she pulled it up. The root was all muddy. “I think I’ll pass on this,” she said, putting it down.
Tami turned slightly, ignoring the scraping of the rock on her bare butt, still keeping her lower lips pulled open. By now the swelling had gone down and she could have closed herself up, but it hadn’t occurred to her. She was too engrossed in plant life. “Over there, those are edible,” she said, indicating some tall thistles. As Marisol reached to grab them, Tami said, “Good Lord, no! Those are stinging nettles!”
“You told me there’s edible!”
“Only after they’re cut down and dried. The irritant evaporates and they’re crunchy, like potato chips. . . And over there, that tree’s a mountain ash. You can make a tea out of the berries, or dry them and eat them, to use as a laxative . . . ”
Her friends were amused and also found themselves getting interested too, listening to this naked girl with the wide open pussy educate them on the outdoors . . .
Finally, the field trip.
Dabby Sommers, in his usual, mellow, semi-stoned way, announced that today, the last day of classes, would be devoted to a visit to the woods to look at some of the plants the students had been studying all semester. The ten of them had crowded into one of the college’s vans. All were in shorts, this being a nice warm day, except for Tami, of course. All, on the advice of Dabby, were in hiking boots and thick socks, to protect their feet from the rough brush. Again except for Tami, of course, whose tough feet could walk through anything.
The naked girl was in a pensive mood as she sat next to the window in the back, the van cruising along the winding back road. Dabby was in no hurry to get there, apparently, and he kept checking a map -- oddly, thought Tami; you’d think he’d know where these plants could be found. It also was odd that they had to go so far. They must already be ten miles out of town. The campus itself was bordered on two sides by woods; why not go there?
Looking at the budding trees going by, Tami remembered passing by the same trees when they were bare and icy, on that trip to Jeremiah’s house. She thought of the cycle of life, how the leaves fell and turned to dust only to be replaced with new leaves.
This unavoidably led her thoughts to Herr Remmler, who was obviously more toward the death side of the cycle. She had accepted Dr. Schnitzler’s invitation to go see him and the day before he and some of his old Chalfont colleagues had picked her up in their big, old Cadillac and driven to a house about a mile away from town. It was a charming little house, like something out of a fairy tale, with a nice big back yard. They were led inside by a middle-aged German woman who was apparently a round-the-clock nurse and, no doubt having been warned, tried hard to take no notice of Tami’s nakedness. Yet Tami blushed at feeling her feet on the paisley rug and walking naked through these cozy surroundings, past the paintings on the wall, old black and white photos of various guys in suits, and yellowed framed documents in German, possibly diplomas. A lot of photos of an cute old woman who must have been Herr Remmler’s late wife.
Then they went into the kitchen and the scene was depressing. They saw the wheelchair, the plate of soft food, the pills on the counter -- and this pale shrunken old man, eyes glazed, sitting in his bathrobe at the end of the table. Tami could tell that, despite their forced cheerfulness, Dr. Schnitzler and the others were as depressed by this sight as she was. They tried to engage the old man in conversation but he only looked at them with no sign of recognition in his face.
But then he saw Tami and his eyes brightened. The others could not help smiling, and Tami did too. Nothing like a naked girl to put some color into an old man’s cheeks. But it was more than that. “How are you -- Miss Smithers?” he said, in his scratchy voice, not a very robust voice but not the voice of someone about to die either. He slowly and painfully extended his hand up to her, which she clasped. She could not help her eyes from getting wet as he felt her squeezing with what she knew was the most force he could summon, a man sliding toward death trying to hold on to life.
He turned slowly to Dr. Schnitzler and the man next to him. “Ah, Heinz, Fritz, how are you? Sit down, please.” Chairs scraped and in a few minutes these old doctors were chatting about the Institute and old friends, occasionally in German, with Tami sitting nakedly and smilingly at the other end, once again a guest of honor.
Now, sitting in the van passing the budding trees, she thought of life and death, then life and death . . . She was glad she was just 18. So much ahead of her. I’m going to get out in the world and make the most of my cycle of life, she pledged.
Time, time, time . . .This made her think of the number “8”. As in only 8 days left until she put on clothes, hop on the bus, and become a normal person again working for Ned and Ethel. Clothes, clothes, clothes. . . She looked down at her bare feet. Shoes, shoes, shoes. . . She was glad she had been keeping a daily track of the countdown. She thought of when she first started it, back in December, crying in the bathroom in the Student Union during the Black Formal, having just been forced to pass up the chance to put on that wonderful pretty dress she had won in the raffle. The count then was 151 days. Now she was down to 8! Just eight days!!
The van slowed down and they found themselves parked on the side of the road. Dabby, checking the map one more time, announced this was the place and the students tumbled out.
Dabby had told them exactly what plants to look for and the students branched out, each carrying a little collection bag. This was not one your easy hiking trails. The brush was thick and there was hardly a clear spot to step on anywhere. Trudging through this was painfully slow for the clothed students, but not for Naked Tami, who, holding her collection bag over her head, strode through more quickly than the rest, bushes scraping her bare legs, being careful not to head into anything that might stick into the pussy, only slightly aware that thorns and nettles were flattening under her tough soles.
She was the most knowledgeable of the students by now, and the knowledge was her clothes. She knew what poison ivy and poison sumac looked like. She also knew about the dangers of ticks; they spread no disease until they had been attached to the skin for at least two hours. All her skin being exposed, it was actually easier for her to check for ticks periodically than it was for people whose skin was hidden under clothing.
“Tami! Tami!” The naked girl heard Dabby call and waited as he caught up with her, a hobble bush scraping against her left calf, her toes entwined in some moss, part of a mountain laurel sticking out to caress her right butt cheek. Dabby, breathless, came up to her and said, “Tami, I’d like you to go over that rise. There’s some ash berries I’d like you to collect.”
Tami, puzzled, looked over the rise, some two hundred feet up to their right, and then with the collection bag over her head signaled to a nearby stand of trees to their left. “But there’s some right there.”
“The ones over there are better, and have some, uh, artichokes near them.” Dabby was still breathless. Thinking it odd that Jerusalem artichokes, which grow near marshes, would be on high ground, Tami shrugged her bare shoulders and said, “Okay.” And up she strode, bushes cracking under her bare feet, as Dabby rejoined the rest of his class in their slow lumberings.
Tami realized once again the benefit of being naked and was really starting to like it, at least walking alone through the forest like this, a real Nature Girl. Once on top of the rise she looked back; she could hardly make out the rest of the class through the thick foliage. She looked to the other side, still holding the collection bag over her head, enjoying the feel of the gentle breeze on her nipples and her bare pubic skin, the soft whooshing the wind made as it went through the trees. Down the other side she started.
Down, down, down. She didn’t see any ashes yet. Where are they? She wondered if she could get seriously lost. Partly in relief, partly in disappointment she saw a two-lane road come into view. If she got lost she would be able to hitch-hike a ride back to the college, but that was something she didn’t want to do. You never know who you might meet. . .
The naked girl emerged from the brush at the side of the road. Looking up, she finally saw a stand of ash trees, up on a rise on the other side. She looked both ways. Nobody around. She crossed the road on silent bare feet.
A short blast from a police whistle made Tami freeze in the middle of the road, her toes straddling the single yellow line, still holding the collection bag over her head, her firm breasts and semi-erect nipples shamelessly and rudely and inconveniently sticking out.
From behind a large rock that had blocked her view, a police car crept out. A very fat, very bald man in a uniform climbed out the open door.
“Miss? . . . Miss, what are you doin’ here with no clothes on, may I ask?”
Tami froze. She didn’t know what to do. She knew what every smart person knows, that when spoken to by the police be polite and do exactly what they say. She didn’t move; staying still in the middle of the road, feeling the warm asphalt under her feet, conscious of this gross man’s staring at her breasts, she answered his question. “I -- I don’t have any clothes.”
The cop looked at her suspiciously. “Get to the side of the road, Miss,” he said. “Can’t get run over.”
Tami slowly walked over to him, carefully bringing her bag down so that she was holding it in front of her navel. She was careful not to make like she was covering her breasts or her pussy. This man appeared not to know who she was, but it might be a trick. He might be one of the Dean’s spies.
“Where did you leave them then? Your clothes,” he said.
“I don’t own any clothes.”
“You mean you’re naked all the time??” His eyes were wide in mock disbelief.
The cop said, “Well, miss, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you in for indecent exposure. I don’t know what you’re up to, but you can’t go walking around on a public highway with no clothes on. Give me that bag. Now turn around, this won’t hurt.”
Tami found herself, for the first time in a long time, handcuffed and naked in the back of a police car. Her first thought, being the good student she was, was of her class. Dabby would go frantic looking for her. Then she realized how odd this was. The police hadn’t bothered her in town before; they had cruised alongside her as she walked, no doubt enjoying the side view of her bouncing breasts, but they’d never given her any trouble. Now this . . . ?
As the car sped on into a town Tami had never been in, the cop said, “So what were you doin’ out there?”
“I was on a class field trip,” Tami said, shifting uncomfortably against her cuffed hands behind her. The sun had been beating on the black vinyl of the seat and it felt hot against her bare butt. She saw the cop’s face in the rear view mirror and made sure her legs were opened just so. Can’t show modesty . . .
“From the college?”
“Uh - huh,” he said, as if to say, “a likely story.” The cop got on his radio and said, “Vic, I’m on South Grafton, girl here from the college, found her walking around naked. Call them and see what’s up.” This made Tami feel a little better. At least with the college involved she’d know who she was dealing with. And they couldn’t say she had been doing anything wrong.
Still, their arrival at the police station was upsetting. This was not the college town Tami had gotten used to. She realized that this part of the state was actually a depressed area. The whole town was maybe half a mile of stores on one block, and some of the stores were abandoned. Halfway up the block was a little square with a statue in the middle -- kind of like Tami’s home town, except for Esek Hopkins, whom Tami had grown up seeing pointing with a rolled-up Declaration of Independence in the direction of what turned out to be the local donut shop, there was another anonymous Revolutionary War hero, this one on a horse. With one front hoof raised, which Tami remembered meant that this guy was wounded in battle and died of his wounds later.
Behind the statue was the courthouse, a small, run-down building, and next to the courthouse was the police station, even smaller and even more run-down. A depressed area, and it seemed that the town’s entire unemployed population was hanging out, sitting on benches around the statue, smoking cigarettes. Mostly younger men, but some older ones, and some twenty-something women who looked like they’d had hard lives.
So it was with amazement that this crowd saw Sergeant Stanton get out of his car and extract a beautiful, naked, handcuffed girl from the back seat. Her head down, face hidden by her long dark red hair, the girl obediently went along as the officer led her by the shoulder up the steps and into the station. After they disappeared behind the dirty glass doors, people started getting up and walking slowly to the steps, hoping to see more.
Tami was forced to stand in front of the big desk while the sergeant bellied up behind it and booked her. Looking down, cringing at the disgusting floor, littered with cigarette butts and dark spots caused by unknown dried liquids, edging her bare feet to the cleanest spot in the vicinity, the naked girl obediently answered questions about her name, address, date of birth . . .A couple of other officers were there and they stood in amazement, looking the girl up and down, from her bare shoulders down past her bare back and butt, her slim but toned legs, down to her heels. All perfectly, evenly tanned. Neither of these men had ever seen any female body so perfect outside of a magazine.
The sergeant finished his paperwork and said, “We’ll have to keep you for a while until we find out what to do with you. Vic, show her down.”
One of the officers regained his presence of mind and escorted her down some broken, dirty concrete steps, to a basement with a row of open, barred cells. The room was cool and dank and smelled nauseatingly of cigarette smoke and sweat, with a little urine mixed in. There were three cells, and in the one on the right a tall, drunk-looking man in an overcoat and ratty jeans was sitting on a wood bench. Upon seeing Tami he immediately shot up. “Holy shit! A naked girl! Hot damn! . . . Put her in with me, Vic!”
“Shut up, Cal,” Vic said. “Here you go, Miss,” he said, unlocking the handcuffs and pushing her gently into the cell in the middle. He clanked the gate shut and said, “Stay here while I get something to cover you with.”
Tami stood, legs slightly apart, arms resolutely at her sides, watching Vic go back up the stairs. She shut her eyes as she was bitterly aware of the profile she was presenting to the drunk man as he continued his commentary on her assets. “Man, what gorgeous tits! Can I have some? No tan lines! You don’t wear a bikini, right?”
She turned away and looked at the cell. There was a little bunk on the far side, just a bare mattress. And a sink and a toilet. And that was all. The floor was dirty and she cringed, then exhaled. No point in escaping it, my feet will get black and disgusting.
Vic had told her he was getting something for her to put on, but she didn’t believe it for a second. So many times she had been about to have the chance to put something on, so many times it had been snatched away from her at the last second. She wasn’t going to let her hopes get up again.
Feeling like she was in an old movie, she turned to face the bars and stood there, holding a bar with each hand. Cal babbled on. “Nice pussy, girl! I see you like to be naked all over! Nice suntanned pussy lips, that’s what I like to see. Real pusscake. Come on over here, blow me!”
That last comment got the attention of Vic, who was coming down the stairs with a long, not very clean trench coat. “Shut up, Cal! This girl’s going to be out of here before tomorrow probably, but one more word out of you and you’ll be here an extra week!”
Cal nodded, put his hands over his mouth in an exaggerated gesture, and turned to sit down.
“Here, put this on,” Vic said. He held the coat through the bars.
Tami looked at the coat with longing, but shook her head.
“I said, Put it on!” Vic said in a raised voice.
Tami felt a chill. This must be a trick. They must have called the college by now, the Dean must have told him to do this. She shook her head again, all the time looking at the coat with an anguished look. Dirty as it was, it would at least cover her. She tried to remember what it was like, feeling fabric covering her bare skin, hiding her bare body from the gaze of others. Especially from this drunk butthole Cal.
Vic withdrew the coat and stood closer. “Miss, you’re in jail now. You have to wear what we say. We can’t be keeping naked prisoners.”
“I’ll get naked too, if that means she can stay naked,” Cal piped in. At a glaring look from Vic, Cal covered his mouth again.
“Now, you put this on, or there will be . . . consequences,” Vic said. Finally he lost his patience. “Do it!” He shoved the coat through the bars again.
Tami was in agony. She was being ordered to put on clothes. Maybe this wasn’t a trick. If she was being ordered then the Dean couldn’t hold it against her. But dare she take the chance? God, I want to put something on so bad . . . But no. She had only 8 days left. She was not going to trip herself up now, so close to the finish line.
“No!” she said, then turned around and went to sit on the bunk, getting as far away from the coat as possible so as to remove the temptation to grab it. As soon as she felt she scratchy mattress against her pussy lips and her bare butt she regretted sitting down. The mattress was dirty and stained with what had to be urine, or shit, or something else. She immediately shot up and brushed off her bare buns, but stood where she was. In a weaker voice she said, “No. T - take it away.”
Vic stared at her a little longer, then shrugged and went back up the stairs with the coat. Tami shed a little tear of frustration and wiped it away. In a minute Sergeant Stanton had wattled downstairs, coat in one bunched-up hand, and was looking at the naked girl with a piercing glare. “Miss, you do what we say, or we won’t be very nice. This isn’t college, this is the real world. And you’re in a real world jail. Are you going to put on this coat?”
Trembling, Tami resisted every urge she had and shook her head.
The sergeant moved closer to the bars. “Miss, I don’t take kindly to prisoners disobeying my orders. Do you want to be cuffed to the bars? Or tied up?” He raised up his hand, and flexed his big, chubby fingers. “Maybe give you a body cavity search?”
Tami squinted at his clubby fingers. She felt like closing her legs and her buttocks clenched. She guessed he was bluffing, but . . .
After a few more seconds of silence from the naked girl the sergeant threaded the coat halfway through the bars and let it hang there. “I’ll give you one more chance. I’m coming back in five minutes, and I want to see you wearing this coat or else. Got me? Got me?” he repeated.
Tami nodded slowly, and the sergeant was gone. After he left, Cal whispered, “You’re in big-ass trouble now, pusscake!”
Tami looked at the coat from across the cell and her legs almost trembled with desire and frustration. Then she shut her eyes and tried to block the image of the coat from her mind. Her mind was a confused mess of questions. Was this sergeant a spy? Was the Dean testing her? What if she put the coat on and the Dean found out about it, what would he make of that? Would he blame her for being afraid of a body cavity search? Would someone supposedly without modesty have a reason to object to a body cavity search? If she refused to put on the coat, would the sergeant really stuff his fat fingers into her pussy and up her butt? Or was he just bluffing? Would he injure her? Wasn’t she entitled to a phone call and a lawyer? Who would she call?
While thinking these questions Tami found herself edging toward the coat in the bars. She was aware of Cal watching intently, probably focused on her nipples. When she was halfway to it suddenly someone upstairs laughed loudly. She jumped back.
8 more days . . . 8 more days . . . The naked teenager was terrified. But in a way she became more calm as she became more and more convinced that this was a test. She remembered what Rebecca said to her back in December after she refused Wethby’s mean-spirited request to put on that tiny string bikini, or that sweater. “Like Jesus in Egypt, he tempted you, and you resisted!” Now, the naked girl closed her eyes and decided to pray. And take her eyes off that coat. . . She looked back at the bunk, then up to where there was a tiny, barred window near the ceiling.
The naked girl knelt down, her knees scraping against the dirty concrete floor, folded her hands over her concave tummy, and looked up at the window, closing her eyes. She was praying: Please God, give me strength . . . Please God, give me strength to resist this temptation. . . Please God, you’ve promised me clothes in 8 days, let me get through this. . . And all the while Cal was whispering, “Hey girl, kneel over here in front of me. . . I’ll have you speaking in tongues! I’m gonna fuck you, and suck you, till you scream with joy! I’ll make you come . . . ”
Tami thought of the prayer she had done up by the mountain stream, in far more friendly surroundings. She held her arms up to the little window and then separated them, like a bird ready to fly.
“And I’m gonna suck those nipples and stroke that nice bare cunt, come here babe, and grab that tight little ass, stick my big thing into you, come here babe, you’ve never had such a good time! . . . ”
Please God, please God . . . Ned, Ethel . . . save me . . .
Cal’s whispering stopped as the sergeant shuffled down the steps. He was angry but, more than that, amazed to see the bare backside of the girl as she knelt.
“Saying your prayers?” he said when he recovered himself.
Tami calmly put her arms down and got up to her bare feet, which were by now gritty and dirty, and bent over to brush the dirt off her knees, fully aware of the private parts she was exposing to the sergeant by bending over like this. Then she turned around and looked at him solemnly, like a saint ready to be burned at the stake.
“Well, Miss, you’ve disobeyed me, so we’ll have to act . . . accordingly. You want to expose yourself, very well.” He turned to shout up the stairs. “Vic!!”
The dank jail basement was silent except for the sound of breathing.
Tired of Cal’s constant trash talking, Vic had booted him out with his usual and useless warning to stay out of trouble. This left one prisoner, who presented a most unusual appearance. As one came down the steps one saw, front and center, at eye level, the widely spread pussy and butthole of a teenage girl, pressed right up against the bars, and her legs and bare feet, the soles dark from the grit of the floor, tied widely apart onto the bars near the ceiling.
She was lying on her back on a tall, long metal cabinet, her hands tied down the sides to a rope that was looped around the bottom. With her arms pulled back from her chest, her firm breasts jutted out and up, the half-erect nipples pointing up a little to each side. Her eyes were closed.
She was trying to pretend she was somewhere else. This was not easy, of course, especially when Vic or Sergeant Stanton or one of the other officers came down to examine their prisoner. She kept her eyes riveted to the ceiling but knew they were there, standing right in front of her pussy and butthole. She could feel their breathing, smell the foul breath of the cigarette smoker, feel the cold metal of the cabinet against her butt and her bare back, the cold bars pressing against the backs of her thighs. . . As she tried to think of the summer and wearing clothes or being with Rod, she found it hard to be calm all the time and her concave tummy rose and fell with her labored breathing.
She was glad when her audience left and she was alone again. She tried to find blessings in her blighted condition and count them. At least that jerk Cal was gone. At least the cops didn’t poke their fingers into her pussy or her butt. At least there was no body cavity search. She wasn’t going to be raped or tortured. But these guys were still not nice men and she wondered how she would get out of here.
It was in this extreme distress of shame that the naked teenager was visited a second time by Sarah Wickland.
“Good afternoon, Miss Smithers.” The quiet but firm voice echoed through the dungeon-like room and caused Tami to jut her head up with a start. She craned her neck and, looking past her breasts and tummy, saw Ms. Wickland’s face behind her bare mound of Venus, her nose visible through the cleft of her parted pussy lips. From the naked girl’s foreshortened perspective it looked like Ms. Wickland was giving her head. Intensely conscious of the shamed view she was displaying, Tami put her head down with a metallic thud. “Go away, please, go away, I don’t want you to see me -- like this!” she said, almost tearfully.
Ms. Wickland did not go away. Instead, she said, “I’ve been sent by the college.”
Tami looked up again, and became aware of the lawyer’s meticulous dress, the gentle smell of her perfume. How desperately she wanted clothes, wanted freedom. “Then please get me out of here, please! These guys are evil!”
Almost as if to flaunt her possession of clothes, the lawyer preened herself, straightening her sleeve. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. We’re not in Campbell County any more, the college had an arrangement with the town police and the local sheriff, but here we’re out of their jurisdiction. In fact, the authorities here would resent it if the college tried to throw its weight around. After all, you were walking naked on their highway, and they think you should be punished.”
Tami looked at the lawyer through her open pussy lips. She dearly wanted to at least close her legs. “Then at least untie my feet, please?”
Ms. Wickland pursed her lips. “Again, I’m afraid I can’t. They only agreed to let me down here if I promised not to do a thing to help you. . . Besides, I thought showing your, uh, private parts was O.K. with you,” she added with a tight little smile. She looked down and it was obvious she was giving a close look to Tami’s butthole and her open pussy. “You’ve agreed to show this much to many people. In fact you’re famous for it. I think your anus, especially, is very attractive.”
Tami exhaled in anger at this snotty lawyer, jealous of her clothes and freedom. She glared through her pussy lips and said, “I did NOT agree to THIS!” Her voice was iron. “Get me out of here! This is -- ” she realized she might be overheard and started whispering -- “this is an outrage!”
Ms. Wickland nodded. “True.”
The two heard footsteps and saw the sergeant coming down the stairs. He stopped right next to the lawyer and they both looked straight into Tami’s open pussy.
“We had to punish her because she wouldn’t put on anything. She wants to be naked. Well, this is what she gets,” the sergeant said.
“She is a religious nudist. She has a constitutional right to be naked.”
“Yeah, right. I don’t know nothing about that. It sounds ridiculous to me. Maybe at the college they go for that, but Hank won’t buy it for a minute.”
“The judge. Her hearing’s going to be next Tuesday, unless she pays the fine. She’d better wear something then, or Hank’ll cite her for contempt and back in here she goes.”
During this exchange the two of them were looking absently at Tami’s private parts. The naked girl shut her eyes in frustration as she heard them discuss her fate. She was nothing but an open pussy and anus. . .
Suddenly showing a sense of legal duty in front of this lawyer, the sergeant broke his study of Tami’s pussy to look up (slightly) at her face. “Miss, you have a lawyer?”
Tami exhaled hopelessly. “No.”
“I’ll be her lawyer for now, if she doesn’t mind,” Ms. Wickland said. Tami nodded.
“Okay then, you can keep talking,” the sergeant said to the lawyer, “but she stays the way she is. I’ll make sure no one comes down for the next few minutes.” Without saying goodbye the sergeant went back up the stairs.
Ms. Wickland watched him go and then turned back to Tami, who had craned her neck again to see the lawyer’s face. “Anything you want to say?”
Tami thought for a moment. “What about the class field trip? Did they go looking for me?”
“As soon as the sergeant called us we got Dabby on his cell phone. He . . . apologizes for what happened.”
Tami swallowed. Had this arrest been a setup? Would Dabby really do this to her?
“Tami,” Ms. Wickland said.
“What.” Tami was not really in a mood to talk unless it concerned getting her out of here.
Looking between the cleft of her pussy lips Tami could see the lawyer raise her eyebrow and shift her eyes to Tami’s face and then to her open pussy. “You’re feeling quite shamed right now, I bet.”
“I don’t like being tied up. . . I didn’t agree to this!” Tami repeated.
Ms. Wickland fixed the naked teenager with a steady gaze. “Tami, you’re spread wide open, I can see right inside your vagina, and also right into your anus. And you’re naked. As always. You haven’t had a scrap of covering for practically the whole school year. Except, of course, for when you were being driven to orgasm after orgasm right in front of everyone with that outfit the Chalfont crowd designed for you. Is all this O.K. with you?”
Tami averted her eyes, then rested her head down. The lawyer started pacing, waxing almost poetic. “Bitter cold, snow, everyone nice and warm in their boots, mittens, coats, all except for Tami Smithers, freezing her bare bum off, her bare feet almost frostbitten as she walks through the tundra. Is this O.K. with you?
“Poked and prodded, attacked by dildos, sawing in and out of both your front and your rear, bringing you to orgasm in front of a bunch of leering men. And put on tape. Remember that photo that was up on the bulletin board the other day?”
Tami’s face burned with shame. She had gone up to the math building board, wondering what all the commotion was about, and then froze in utter shock. Right up there, a xerox of a grainy black-and-white photo of her face, obviously taken from the camera in Lab 6. Her eyes were bulging right out at the camera in surprise and horror. Above, someone had hand-written, “Tami comes for the 12th time!” Below, someone had written, “Go Tami!” She had quickly retreated in shame, wondering why the “powers that be” hadn’t taken that horrid photo down immediately. Later, during a class, she excused herself to go to the bathroom and ripped it down. That night, she found it hard to sleep, realizing that practically everyone in that building had seen that picture, knowing they would be thinking of it the next time they saw her.
“And then there are the daily art classes, there goes Tami spreading her legs again, see her pussy, see her butthole, ‘see how she the very much likes to show her most private parts most pretty’,” the lawyer continued, mimicking Professor Brignon’s French accent. “And Congi, who doesn’t know any better, having you demonstrate oral sex for her trainings!
“Teased by bio majors, forbidden to even put blankets on your bed -- face it Tami, this is all a scheme. The college is trying to break you. See this?” Ms. Wickland took off her black high heel pump and brought it up to where Tami could see it. “Isn’t this a pretty shoe? Wouldn’t you love to wear it? Wear nice pretty shoes and nice clothes? But no, Tami is a nudist, Naked Tami, Tami with the bare pussy on full view at all times, Tami with dirty bare feet, sweating on the treadmills like a beast of burden in front of grubby workers and all sorts of visitors, no clothes, no covering, no modesty at all.”
The naked girl was filled with terrible longing for covering by this little speech and was now close to tears. Ms. Wickland knew everything and knew the truth about it as well. “Why are you saying this?” she said in a quivering voice.
Ms. Wickland put her shoe on and said calmly, “Because I know the truth, Tami. I know you got trapped into declaring you’re a nudist. In fact you’re not. You’re very modest. I just can’t comprehend the tremendous amount of shame and humiliation you’ve experienced the past few months. Look at you, even your hair is getting gray. You can’t take it much longer. You’d LOVE to put on any little thing, you CRAVE the tiniest bit of covering, you’d KILL for it by now!”
Tami started sobbing. “Please stop.”
The lawyer cleared her throat. “Some friends and I have decided to help. We are developing a legal strategy that would allow you to wear clothes again, and not get expelled.”
Tami quickly swallowed her tears and held her breath, suddenly hanging on every word. “What?”
“Just what I said. Call it the ‘Give Tami Clothes Coalition’. We know the truth and we know the tremendous suffering you’ve gone through. We want it to end. BUT . . . we need your help.”
Tami looked guardedly at the lawyer, who had now cocked her head downward so that only her eyes showed above the naked girl’s smooth, bare pussy lips. This, too, might be a trap. Only 8 more days. . . She decided to take a little chance and say, “What are you talking about?”
“We need testimony. We need you to give us statements under oath. Details about what they’ve done to you. Basically the whole story of how you got trapped and how they’ve been abusing you.”
Tami remembered what Wanda had said: the college wanted an admission on tape that she had been streaking that first week of school as a lark, so that they could expel her. This sounded like more of the same. Tami rested her head down again on the metal cabinet and looked at the ceiling. “No. I -- I’m a nudist. It’s not true.”
“Tami, we care about you. Here’s my card again,” the lawyer said, getting out her card and, realizing Tami had nowhere to put it, reaching through the bars and placing it on the cabinet near her butt. “We’ll keep track of you. We can get you clothes, Miss Smithers, but only if you cooperate.”
After a few seconds of silence Ms. Wickland said, “I’ll call my office and make arrangements to get you out of here.” She raised up her fist and, almost playfully as if chanting at a protest rally, said, “Give -- Tami -- clothes! Give -- Tami -- clothes!”
Tami exhaled. “Thanks.” And in a moment the lawyer was gone and the naked girl, lying on the cold metal cabinet with her legs stretched out and her bare feet tied to the bars, was left alone to think.
“Hi dearie,” the firm voice echoed through the dank jail basement.
The naked girl knew that voice at once. Lying on her back on the cold metal cabinet, blushingly aware that her nemesis was staring right into her open pussy and butthole, looking right up inside her, she stared at the ceiling with anger and said, “Go away! How did you find me here! Go away!”
“Not a good idea to be impolite, dear, I’ve come to pay your fine,” Wanda said. As Tami craned her neck and looked past her open pussy lips she saw the top half of Wanda’s face, one eyebrow raised, a somewhat stern look on her face. “You disappoint me, Tam. You haven’t cracked yet. Don’t you see how things are getting worse and worse for you? Don’t you wish you had clothes?” She held up a little tape recorder so that the naked, spread-legged prisoner could see it. “Save us all a lot of trouble, especially yourself. Tell us you’re not really a nudist, that the little streak you did that first week of school was just a prank.”
Tami expressed her frustration the only way she could, by banging her head back against the cabinet. “That YOU made me do.”
“Oh I’ll deny that. What’s not in question is that you were running around naked. We’ve gone over this before.”
After some moments of silence, Wanda suddenly got angry. “You stupid little cunt! Don’t you see what you’re in for? From what I hear you’re going back to your folks’ for summer. Well we know where you live, and we’re going to trip you up in a hundred different ways. Do you remember a certain, uh, Christmas party that you got drunk at? Remember someone taking pictures?”
Tami’s eyes, still fastened on the ceiling, opened slowly in half-remembered horror.
“There are pictures of you dancing with bulbs tied to your tits and a heart painted around your navel. And another one of naked little you sitting on the toilet peeing. So maybe we’ll post these pictures around town. Or under the door of that church you go to. Or slip them under the door of your house. How exactly will your dad react to that?”
Tami said, reflexively, “NO, you wouldn’t . . . ”
“And think of when you come back. Next semester, I can’t tell you what they’ve got planned, but it will drive you running and screaming from that Chalfont Institute, half out of your mind. And do you think it will all end when you graduate? No no no no!” she concluded with a cruel singsong. “You are in this for life!”
Tami held back her tears of shame and frustration. She was getting firmer and firmer in her conviction that after the semester ended she could never come back to the college and these threats made it more certain. Find a permanent job in Ned and Ethel’s town while working there this summer, final transcript from the college in hand, then get into some other college the year after. Anything but endure another semester of nudity and torment.
Wanda held up the tape recorder again. “Let’s hear it, Tami.” Tami clenched her fists. Only 8 more days. . . “Stupid BITCH!!” Wanda finally cried out. Realizing that it was Wanda who was more frustrated at the moment, Tami smiled, a smile which disappeared when she heard Wanda say, “At least I get to see your lovely pussy and butthole, my, do you always display it this way? Don’t you have any modesty? Slut? Whore!!”
Tami heard the click of a little camera and sensed the flash. “There, your charms on display in all their glory. If you don’t confess right now, I’ll post this picture all over campus.”
Tami looked down at Wanda, in the process getting a good view of her own tan, bare pussy and parted lower lips. Possibly she was getting used to being on display; in spite of her pose she was able to think better now and be assertive. “You didn’t get my face. No one will know who it is.”
“Of course they’ll know,” Wanda said, her eyes looking down to examine Tami’s intimate anatomy. “Everyone recognizes your pussy by now, and that famous brown ring of skin around your butthole. Even if they didn’t know who it was, they’d know who it HAD to be.”
Tami looked down through the cleft of her parted lips at her tormenter. With cold conviction she said, “Go to hell.”
“O.K. . . .” Wanda returned to her usual cheerful sadism. “I’d love to leave you here, but I’ve got my orders.”
While this exchange was playing out, the sergeant came down the stairs with a skinny old man in a suit with no tie. Tami’s spirits sank further as the three of them started talking among themselves right in front of her spread pussy.
“This is the girl who’s come to pay her fine, a friend of hers from the college,” the sergeant said.
“Oh Lord,” the old man said, transfixed by the naked girl’s open pussy and at the same time embarrassed to look at it. He kept glancing back and forth from it to the sergeant to Wanda to the floor and back to Tami’s pussy again.
“She didn’t want to put on clothes, we had to punish her,” the sergeant said. “Probably not cruel and unusual, according to the Supreme Court.” He and the old man shared a little chuckle.
The sergeant addressed Wanda and Tami, casually looking past Tami’s pussy lips up to her face. “Ladies, this is Carson Fripple, he writes the local paper. He visits every week to write up the blotter.”
Tami craned her head and addressed the sergeant with perfect dignity. “He’s not going to put my name in, is he?”
“No, I never do that,” the old man said, trying to focus on Tami’s face, which was extremely difficult given that it was right in the line of sight with her clit. “I have to live here too, you know. Anyway, even if there’s no name, most folks usually know who it is. For example, ‘intoxicated man held overnight until sober’. Everyone knows that’s Cal. You, of course, people know from seeing you taken into the station house.”
Well in a small town the buzz from that would get around pretty fast, Tami mused. She was relieved that her name wouldn’t be used; also, fortunately, the town she was going to in eight days was nowhere near here. “What will you say?”
Carson looked down, thinking, then glanced up at Tami’s pussy. “Probably, ‘woman arrested for indecent exposure on Route 82, released after paid fine’,” he said into Tami’s open cave. The naked girl could feel his breath hitting way up in there.
Tami addressed the sergeant and Carson evenly as if she were fully clothed and standing with them face to face. “I don’t like being tied up. I’d like to register a complaint. This is not right, to tie me up . . . like this.”
The sergeant, a little surprised, said, “You can do that, but you’ll have to appear before the judge for a hearing on it.”
Tami thought for a moment. “Well in that case, no.”
“Let’s go,” the sergeant said, getting out his keys. He entered the cell and carefully untied the naked girl. Tami then hopped off the cabinet, bending over to stretch out the kinks in her legs, first to one side, then the other, not caring that she was spreading her legs right in their faces. After what they had already seen, what did it matter?
She walked upstairs with the others, and stood with Wanda at the desk while they signed some papers and Wanda handed over the cash. “Good bye, Miss,” the sergeant said, almost fondly. “You sure are lucky to have a friend to get you sprung!” Tami grunted ruefully.
As Tami followed Wanda down the station house steps, she saw that there was a crowd of maybe fifty people waiting, probably a good part of the town. Tami kept her eyes down, not wanting to make eye contact, watching her dirty feet stepping carefully down the broken steps behind Wanda’s stylish black boots. The urge to cover herself with her hands was intense, but Tami was wary of spies, and freely allowed everyone to see her tanned breasts and her bare, tanned pussy lips. Only 8 more days . . .
When they got to Wanda’s car Wanda said, “I can take you right to campus, get in next to Janice,” and Tami found herself in the back seat with a tall, blond girl she remembered from long ago, way back before Thanksgiving. The girl was naked then, and nearly so now. She had on a little handkerchief top that allowed parts of her big breasts to bulge out to each side, and very short low-rise jean shorts that showed a big expanse of bare skin below the navel and long, long legs below, and fashionable flip-flops. The girl was almost totally naked, and Tami realized she had seen her with Wanda last winter too, while Tami was getting made up for the Black Formal.
The girl seemed subdued, not at all defiant like before. She acknowledged Tami quietly. “Hello again,” she said. During the ride back to campus she said nothing, just looked out the window. Tami looked at her and felt sorry for her. She seemed defeated, cowed by Wanda. Tami realized, much to her pride and satisfaction, that though she lacked even the minimal covering that Janice had, she was unbowed and defiant.
Wanda was silent and noticeably pissed-off for the whole ride, and of course when they got to campus she picked the most crowded possible place to drop Tami off, the loop in front of the administration building where there was a group of people in business suits congregating for some reason. Naked and dirty, Tami decided to banish all thought of shame. She walked slowly and straight and tall through the stunned crowd, silently and haughtily, as if she were impeccably dressed, wearing the best and most expensive suit of the whole bunch. It was only after she had passed them and was on the path to her dorm that she started shaking from the intensity of the shame she had experienced that day.
She showered herself off completely, scrubbing herself clean all over, and then when she got back to her room there was Mandy to behold and caress her bare, glowing, warm body. Neither spoke as Tami was laid down on the bed and Mandy gently placed her tongue flat against the bare pussy lips. Tami’s sense of relief at feeling this loving tenderness was expressed with a loud, “Ahhhhh . . . ” as she fondly held Mandy’s head to her crotch. Mandy herself was thinking, Poor Tami . . .
From The Campbell-Frank Record, vol. 67, issue 14 (May 13, 2001):
An Interview with the New S.A. Vice President
Today, our fearless reporter was able to spend some time with our new Student Association Vice President and ask some questions about her views and policies. Unlike her usual custom, the V.P. was actually wearing clothing this day, specifically an itty bitty leather bikini. We caught up with her between classes, while she was between her eighth and ninth orgasms of the morning:
RECORD: Good morning, Miss V.P., are you getting together with President Burns and the other members of the new administration to plan for next year?
V.P.: Oh, God . . . ohhhhh . . . w - what? . . . ohhh . . .
RECORD: What are your views on the new Activity Fee?
V.P. : Uhhhh . . . I th - th - think . . . ohhh! G - god! mmmm . . . Jesus . . . ohhhh . . .
RECORD: I see you are very religious. Do you intend to bring a Christian perspective to your job?
V.P.: J - J - J - Jjj . . . . ohhh . . . tchk . . . tchk . . .
RECORD: Are there any inspiring words you can leave your readers with?
V.P.: Ga -- OHH! OHH! GOD!! OHH!! OHH!
RECORD: Um, Miss Vice President? Can you understand what I’m saying?
V.P.: OHH! OHH!! OHH! Ohhh. . . Mmmmmm . . . Oh yeah . . .
Make that -- between her ninth and TENTH orgasms . . .
. . .
The last Student Government meeting of the year, but the first of the “new regime”, in the main lecture hall, the traditional venue, though because the entire Student Senate consisted of only 30 people, the place looked pretty empty. In the seats were the members, specifically the reps from every dorm, every student club, and a few chosen at large. Up in the front row, Mr. Rod Sykes, representing the B.S.A., or Black Students Association. Several empty rows behind him, the two sensing each other uneasily, was Lenny Jones, president of the newly-formed Africa Freedom Club, which had drawn off some of the more militant members of the B.S.A. To one side sat Mandy, cajoled into representing the Jewish Students Association (15 members), who, just to piss them off, was sitting next to and chatting with Abdul of the Arab Students Association (8 members).
Sitting in front at a long table, facing the crowd, were the new S.G. officers, headed by the tall, dark and soft-spoken Brad Burns, with the new Secretary, Isabel Torelli, and the new Treasurer, Betty Hernandez. All the officers, that is, except for the new Vice President, Tami Smithers, who stood casually and nakedly behind the lectern, reading off the attendance, pencil behind her left ear, absently thudding the heel of her flexed bare foot against the tile floor.
“Henry . . . Gail . . . Jeremy . . . Jeffrey. Hi Jeff,” Tami said, finishing the roll call with a nod to Jeffrey Dillon of the Photography Club, slouching good-naturedly way in the back. “Everyone is here. Remember the handout on Robert’s Rules and address all your remarks to the chair.” She had learned this ritual language from being Recording Secretary the past few months.
There were some things brought up on minor matters. Then Lenny Jones asked to speak and was acknowledged by the naked “chair”.
“Miss Chair, I note that we still haven’t had a response to our request for funding for the trip to New York that was given to your predecessor.” This was a trip to see a rap concert in September which had been given to Tyrone, Brad’s running mate who was then busted for drugs at his parent’s house and expelled from the college.
Tami checked her notes, her left breast jiggling as she absently used her pencil eraser to scratch just below one nipple. “That was referred to the B.S.A., because your group is new.” It was the rule that no new group could get funding until its second semester of existence. The naked girl looked up at Rod with a little smile, her breasts swaying a little just so. “Well?”
Rod hesitated, then said, “We are, uh, working out a budget.”
“Where is it?”
“Tami . . .” Brad said softly. His V.P. was supposed to run the meetings, not make decisions. But everyone knew this was just Tami being Tami. After getting over her initial shyness as Recording Secretary, the naked freshman had become more and more assertive and had gotten a reputation as a real pistol.
“Um, we’re working on it,” Rod said. Tami knew the problem. Lenny was not a bad guy but was hot-headed and a little stupid. Rod was afraid Lenny’s friends would talk him into using the money to buy drugs. Or if they did go to the rap concert, they’d get wrapped up in trouble there.
Tami left the podium, prompting another gentle but useless admonition from Brad. The only sound was her bare feet slapping on the floor as she went up to Rod and looked down. “Is that it?” Without waiting for an answer she grabbed the list of numbers from his lap and, to everyone’s surprise, hopped up on the wooden armrests of the chair next to him and walked on top of the movie-theater style seats, using the armrests as stepping-stones, until she stood in front of where Lenny was sitting. Everyone was speechless, except for Brad, who covered his eyes and shook his head, chuckling gently. “God, Tami . . .”
The beautiful naked girl with the all-over golden tan bent over and handed the sheet to Lenny. “There. You can submit it to Betty now.” The young man in the Latrell Sprewell cornrows looked up and then quickly looked down again at the paper, speechless, trying without success to concentrate on it. Tami knew, as did some others, that one of the things that got Lenny upset with the B.S.A. was the fact that its President was involved with a white girl, and not only that, but a white girl who was always naked, showing as much white skin as it was possible to show.
“Well?” Tami prodded him, standing with bare feet perched widely on two armrests, looking down at him with her hands on her hips, knowing that Lenny did not want to be seen giving any attention to this white girl’s body.
“Uh . . . I don’t know,” he said, not wanting to commit himself because he realized that in his state of distraction the numbers in front of him were not registering in his brain at all.
“Well, then, get with Rod and work it out,” Tami said. Then she turned around and wiggled and jiggled her way back across the armrests, landing back on the floor in front with a loud slap of her feet and padding back to behind the podium.
As Brad looked at the assembly and smiled and shrugged tolerantly, his naked Vice President got back to reading the agenda. “Next,” she said, looking at her notebook, “the Spanish Club wanted to talk about next semester’s cultural schedule . . . ”
And so it went, Tami conscious of being naked but also conscious of having fun running this meeting. Being naked was shaming, but it was not so bad because her mind was already in the near future. The very, very near future. In her mind she was already wearing clothes and did not really feel naked any more. Only 6 more days . . .
The only time she was stripped naked again, mentally, was when Abdul said, in his stilted, polite manner, “I’d like to bring our attention to the highly offensive article in this week’s Record.”
Tami blushed bright red. Everyone knew what he meant: that fake “interview” with Tami, convulsing in orgasm. Tami suddenly felt every inch of her nakedness exposed as she faced the assembly, once again felt the intense urge to hide behind the lectern. She felt a chill and goose-bumps broke out; her nipples became tight and erect, the floor suddenly felt ice cold beneath her bare feet. Clearing her throat, she said, “Uh, Abdul has brought up the . . . article in the Record.”
Heads turned and everyone saw that the Record’s rep had conveniently left and was nowhere to be seen. Abdul continued, “I would like very much to propose that the Student Government send a letter of protest to the Record with a copy to the Dean.”
The resolution passed unanimously, as acknowledged by the appreciative but cringing, naked V.P.
Contractions/Last Orgasm: 11
Total Contractions: 105
Time Elapsed: 27:12
The nerdy young med student looked into the naked girl’s eyes with leering fascination, aware of the hardness growing hidden under his dark pants.
“Ohh - ohh - ohh -- ”
As she forced herself to maintain eye contact her eyes were contorted in agony, tears streaming from the corners, her face a mask of misery. Sweat seeped through hair and shone all over her naked, spread, tied-apart body, her hips slowly heaving forward and back as the invading dildos sawed in and out, in and out, deep into her pussy and deep into her rectum.
Her eyes narrowed a bit and the strain of keeping them trained on the kid’s leering eyes showed itself in deepening furrows between her eyebrows as her teeth clenched and, with a forward heave of her hips, she crested into another orgasm, her eyes bugging out with such urgency that the kid recoiled a bit, but he maintained eye contact, watching her eyes lose focus and the pupils dilate. The counter switched to “10” and ticked off the contractions. “1”, “2”, “3”, “4” . . . Below that, “106”, “107”, “108”, “109” . . .
As the last contraction died away, the med student exhaled and shook his head, surprised at the intensity of the experience, and stepped away as the next one on line walked up to the little platform and noticed the nude young female catch her breath and emit more drops of sweat. Then he looked up at her eyes, which were closed for a while but then obediently opened. . .
Even in her dire distress and deep shame Tami was careful to follow instructions, still in her distracted state aware of Mr. McMasters looking on from the circular console. She had tried to control her blush when she arrived here in Lab 6 half an hour ago for her last session of the semester and saw a class full of med students in the “spectator” seats, then listened to Mr. McMasters speak of the purpose of the session -- “research on the physiological process of orgasm” -- while Brendo attached her widely spread legs and hands to the cuffs on the posts. . . and tried not to notice these students -- almost all male, but a couple of females -- crowding around as the dildos were carefully inserted front and rear. . .and listened as McMasters instructed the students to form a line in front of her so they could see the physiological changes first-hand, in particular her eyes as they lost focus and the pupils dilated.
Her own instructions, which she acknowledged with a defeated nod, were to keep her eyes open during orgasm, if possible -- “or, Miss Smithers, if because of your intensity of feeling you can’t, the student will stay for the next orgasm, and so on until the next orgasm comes when you can keep your eyes open”. McMasters then turned to the seated students and said, “It would not be too long a wait. As you will see, Miss Smithers is unusually responsive and has quite a capacity for orgasm, which she reaches at regular and quick intervals.”
With these instructions fleeting through the back of her mind, Tami once again raised her head and wearily opened her eyes to look at the next student, this one a short guy with very thick glasses that made his eyes look very big . . .
. . .
Contractions/Last Orgasm: 9
Total Contractions: 255
Time Elapsed: 50:48
The girl’s voice, now hoarse, rasped airily through the lab. “Oh -- God -- please -- ohh -- please -- help -- please -- OHH! -- uhhhhh -- ” Her body bucked back and forth as her eyes stared out of her gaunt, sweaty, exhausted face at Hilda, a nerdy girl with cat’s eyes glasses, the last student in line.
“Notice the vocalizations,” McMasters said loudly so that everyone could hear, even Tami. “During orgasm, certainly during a extended session like this, ideation of reality becomes problematic. A person could imagine all sorts of things, say all sorts of things, the cognitive process temporarily unhinged. That, I think, is why she seems to be praying the last few times as she reaches climax. Maybe she thinks she’s in church. Religious ecstasy and sexual ecstacy can be two sides of the same coin.”
Her eyebrows pleading at the nerdy female student as if begging her to release her from this agony of endless ecstacy, Miss Tami Smithers once again exploded into orgasm. The nerdy student’s glasses steamed up a little as she beheld the unfocused eyes, the dilated pupils of this amazing girl who she had heard about, this girl who wanted to be always naked, this girl with the tremendous sexual capacity.
. . .
Contractions/Last Orgasm: 12
Total Contractions: 522
Time Elapsed: 1:25:22
“So the main hormone released during this extended plateau phase is endorphin,” Mr. McMasters said, pointing to the large chart on the wall, a schematic of the body’s endocrine system. The students, sitting in the movie seats, obediently wrote this down, trying hard not to notice the console and stage to their left where the sweating girl was still being double-fucked. They had all had their turns looking into her eyes and now, after twenty minutes of lecture, they were getting a bit uneasy. Shouldn’t the girl be let down now? How much can she take?
Of course, Tami was not listening to the lecture. She was in her own little Hell, glad that she could close her eyes and didn’t have to open them any more. Not that her situation was any better now. An unobstructed view of her face no longer being needed, the suction cups had been drawn down from the ceiling and clamped onto her nipples. When the suction was turned on it seemed like her breasts were pulled up by the long tubes, supporting her like a bizarre and cruel form of bra, and with the slight sagging of her body in her bonds the effect became more pronounced.
No longer did she cry out when she came; her voice gone, she kept her eyes closed, her face tilted up as if meditating, her body still sweating but looking thinner now, as if life was being sucked out of her through her nipples, her tummy almost freakishly concave as her breath coursed in and out.
In fact she was meditating, or trying to, with a mind that was by now almost completely disorganized. She could put some thoughts together now and then. She was aware of her surroundings and a little aware of the lecture; McMasters’s words to the class bounced around in her head, uncomprehended. She thought of a word she heard in psychology class -- “hebephrenia” -- the most disorganized and hopeless type of schizophrenia. Was she headed there? Was she there already?
Above all, she was praying for strength, trying to accept these orgasms as they came, one after the other, trying to get used to them. Please God, make me get used to them. But it was hopeless -- each time a crest came, she was going over the waterfall again, onto yet another emotional roller-coaster. She wondered: was Hell like this? She was not coherent enough to ponder how she had done nothing to deserve it.
The class, of course, could suspect none of these thoughts. All they saw was a tired, sweaty, meditating teenager who was getting fucked by metal dildos and whose nipples were undergoing constant bristly suction, and whose body, every few minutes, would jerk around limply but crazily like a marionette on strings.
McMasters went on with his lecture, the class taking notes, as if Tami were just a wall decoration of some kind, something off to the side not worthy of attention. Finally he said, “Thank you, class, I know this has been a very memorable and instructive experience for all of you. You can go now. Class is over.”
The nerdy girl, the last one to look into Tami’s eyes, said, “How long is she going to be . . . like that?”
“Miss Smithers?” McMasters said, as if there were any doubt who she meant, as if he had temporarily forgotten about her. “Don’t get the idea she doesn’t like this. She has freely consented to this research, and is in fine shape, don’t worry. People in extreme stages of sexual excitement often look like they’re suffering, but of course she is not.” Everyone looked as Tami started jerking around again, finally coming to a rest with the last contraction. Her head dropped. There was no denying that she had fainted.
With a quick signal from McMasters, Brendo and Mr. Zipkin, sitting at the console, moved some levers. The dildos stopped and the suction cups relaxed and for the first time in an hour and a half the room was in silence. The naked girl had sloped forward at the part of the cycle when the front dildo was fully buried in her pussy, and the rear dildo was fully withdrawn except for the tip, which kept her anal ring widely stretched, perhaps inducing some interesting dreams.
“I see she’s finished her session,” McMasters said, as if the whole thing were under Tami’s control and she had simply decided it was time to stop. “Brendo, start detaching her.” McMasters smiled. “I’m sure she’ll have a nice long sound sleep,” he said. Some of the guys chuckled as the students gathered their notebooks and left. Brendo and Mr. Zipkin remained at the console.
A few seconds after the last student left, McMasters signaled again. Mr. Zipkin approached the naked girl with ammonia capsules and placed them under her nose, reviving her wearily but instantly. Brendo carefully fed her a straw coming from a bottle of water, which she sucked on thirstily. Then the two assistants went back down to the console and in a few seconds the dildos started sawing away again, the tubes from the ceiling stiffening as the suction cups again drew the girl’s breasts upward.
The girl’s eyes opened wide in agony. “Noooo . . . please . . . noooooooo!” she said in a hoarse voice. She shook her head violently. “No morrre . . . don’t . . . wanna . . . c - c - commmmmm. . . ” In a few seconds she was grunting rhythmically as she began another journey up to the crest . . .
Contractions/Last Orgasm: 15
Total Contractions: 1087
Time Elapsed: 2:43:07
Outside, night was falling, something barely noticeable in the nearly deserted, humid, brightly-lit Lab 6.
The sterility of the setting only made what was going on more incongruous. Brendo and Mr. Zipkin sat idly at the console, McMasters in one of the theater seats, his elegantly shod feet propped up, skimming through a magazine. Up on stage, the naked girl, gaunt and no longer sweating, barely reacted as the dildos, going a little slower now, plowed in and out of her, the tubes sucking rhythmically on her nipples, which were hidden by the cups but were now an inch and a half long and as thick as a man’s finger. What would have been horrifying to an outside observer was her face -- gaunt, pale, like the face of someone dying of fever, hair plastered to the sides of her head and onto her bare back, her eyes rolled up so that only the whites were visible between her slightly-parted lids.
But the assistants were not concerned by this; knowing that the girl was tired but in no danger, they were engaged in quiet banter.
“That was a good one, Brendo,” Mr. Zipkin said. They had developed a schedule. Brendo would go for ten orgasms, then Mr. Zipkin would take over for the next ten. They discussed techniques. Mr. Zipkin preferred the deep-and-rough method, adjusting the settings so that the dildos went in extra far, plunging in and out extra fast. This tended to result in shorter orgasms with big, convulsive contractions. Brendo, on the other hand, had perfected a gentler technique, which resulted in long, rolling orgasms. He had just gotten the hang of an extra refinement, timing the thrusting of the pussy dildo and the suctioning of the nipples just ahead of each contraction, which made the contractions go longer. Orgasm #92, a few minutes ago, lasted 22 contractions -- the longest yet -- and caused the naked girl to open her eyes in amazement for the first time in 25 orgasms. Brendo pointed out that the ridges on the vaginal dildo were key, those ridges that bumped past the girl’s clitoris and once inside massaged her G-spot.
This last orgasm was another long one; hence Mr. Zipkin’s words of congratulation.
The girl heaved on, staring sightlessly into the recording camera. McMasters put down his magazine and wondered what condition of mind the girl was in. They had considered the possibility of psychosis. Watching the tapes of her last session, studying the facial expression, the readout of the brain waves recorded by a special sensor below the camera, it did seem like her thoughts became deranged as she reached each climax, the more so the longer the session went on. Now, after almost 100 orgasms, was the psychotic state continuous? How long would it last, if at all, after the session ended? That would be a while from now. . .
Though the girl had had to be revived three times so far, McMasters was confident she could go “all the way”. As in, establishing the record for most orgasms in one session, which according to his best sources now stood at 134. She would reach 135 today. And it would be entirely verifiable, caught on tape.
McMasters’s thoughts were interrupted by an unusual and quick lurch to one side. He stood up and saw the problem.