The Unintentional Nudist XI: The Long Escape
“Some people get older and smarter, and some people get older and stupider,” Rebecca had said last spring during one of her impromptu sermons on the campus quad. Like so many others, Tami had been drawn to her voice, though this time she was making sure her friend couldn’t see her so that she wouldn’t be introduced one more time as Rebecca’s “inspiration”. “Make sure you are in the first group,” Rebecca continued. “So many people go through bad experiences and then say, ‘Well, I’ve learned from that,’ and it fools a lot of people, even themselves. Because they are actually not one whit smarter -- in fact they’re stupider, because now they THINK they know more. After something bad happens to you, ask yourself: what can I learn from this that I didn’t before? Was it partly my fault? Where did I go wrong? And then make it right the next time.”
Tami Smithers, age 18, just done with her first year in college, remembered these words as she looked out the driver’s window of the big black Cadillac and felt the hot wind in her face, the chrome gleaming even through her sunglasses. The gently rolling hills in the distance were a backdrop to her bare leg and foot stretched up out next to the side view mirror. She was slouched down on the black vinyl; only her head could be seen, making people think she was merely barefoot, though that was but the least of it.
She squirmed a bit in her seat, feeling the wind playing around her nipples and even against her bare, shaved, tanned pussy, aware of unwanted arousal. She looked down at her lower lips, slightly parted. By now they were accustomed to the air and the sun and the wind and to the world’s gaze. Tami’s other lips, as public as the lips on her face. Her pubic face was her public face. She looked back outside, spreading her outboard foot and feeling the hot wind currents between her toes.
McMasters was to her right, looking at a passing dairy farm, in his dorky shorts and plaid shirt and sneakers with gray socks, folded map in his hand. He turned to her without gawking and said, “Careful around Binghamton. I’m told there’s a speed trap here.”
On a long trip it was just a good idea to be friendly. “New York is a big state,” she said. “What?” McMasters had his window opened too; the air conditioning in his old Caddie was more theoretical than real. “I said New York is a big state”, she yelled into the wind. McMasters smiled. Of course, to Tami, having grown up in Rhode Island and never having been outside New England, even Massachusetts seemed like a big state.
Her brow furrowed as she looked out at the open interstate ahead. Here I am, going across country like I always wanted. It was a cruel joke that she had to do it naked. She hadn’t worn a scrap of clothing since last September. Not that it was her idea. She hated being naked, desperately wanted clothes, but had been forced into nakedness since that first week of school. Acting on a dare from a sorority girl, Wanda Percival, Tami had gone streaking across part of campus that night. Caught by campus police, aware that streaking was an expellable offense at that strict but prestigious college, desperate not to lose the scholarship that had made her parents so proud, she had said off the top of her head that nudism was her religion. Dean Jorgon consulted with the college attorney, Henry Ross, who said that nudism had been recognized as a religion by the girl’s home state and she could not be expelled for her religious beliefs -- but, skeptical of her claim, the Dean told Tami that she would be monitored for her compliance with this “religion”.
And so she was trapped. All her clothes were taken away, even all her shoes and the blankets on her bed, by Wanda no less, who was her R.A. but also a sadist. Tami soon found out that she was just one of the Dean’s campus-wide network of spies who would be quick to report any sign of modesty, the merest attempt to cover her breasts or her pussy with her hands, any sign that Miss Tami Smithers was anything less than comfortable with total nudity. Any such sign would be taken as proof that the religion story was just an excuse and that she in fact had just been streaking, and she would be immediately expelled, her scholarship revoked, her parents and her whole family crushed. Her father was upset with his daughter for jeopardizing her future by such a stupid prank as streaking, and was adamant that Tami live with the consequences of her foolishness, so there was no hope for support there.
Meanwhile, the Dean and Ross, aware that the college’s conservative benefactors were very upset at having a naked girl walking around campus, tried to devise ways of humiliating and exposing Tami in ways that no real nudist would ever have to endure, trying to make her say “Uncle!” and admit that nudity was not really her religion. The teenage girl had been cajoled or intimidated into agreeing to serve as a model for art classes, work on the grounds crew, perform gymnastics in the nude, and finally and most crushingly, be a subject for sexual experiments at the Chalfont Institute, a medical research center on the college grounds. That horrible “Lab 6”. Through it all Tami hung on, having secretly found a summer job in another town as an accountant’s assistant, planning on putting clothes on the bus on the way there and returning to living a normal, clothed life, quitting college for a year or two, then applying to another college to resume her education normally.
A nice plan, it had sustained her throughout the humiliations of the last few weeks of the spring semester, only to be blasted to hell a few hours before she was to board the bus. She had been pruning a maple tree on her last day at work for the grounds crew when the Dean came over to tell her that he had found out about the summer job and, as a precaution naturally, told her prospective employers that this was a naked student, whereupon they revoked their job offer. Tami was left naked and alone in the top of that maple tree as the Dean and Henry Ross walked away, having given Tami the option of working for this Chalfont “instructor”, Nevada McMasters, as he went around the country demonstrating the various devices he’d been trying out on Tami.
And McMasters was to be assisted by Wanda, who was out for revenge. Wanda had been promised an exchange student year in France, where her latest submissive, Janice, had gotten a job working the dance circuit -- if she could get Tami to admit on tape that her nudism claim was a hoax. But even though Wanda had walked into Tami’s most humiliating moments with the tape machine, Tami had refused to confess, surprising everyone. So now Wanda, who had lusted after that exchange student deal as much as Tami had pined for that summer job with clothes, was angry and frustrated and boiling mad at Tami, forced to take a summer job, and deciding on this as a way to vent her frustration and anger all summer.
Poor naked Tami, sitting a tree, looking down past her windblown nipples and her tanned, bare pussy and her rough bare toes to the ground . . .the naked teenager had cried and cried and wept, tears running between her breasts and soaking her pussy and dripping way down to the grass. She stayed up there till the sun went down, watching the fireflies come out, and lucidity gradually returned. She thought of her options. One thing she couldn’t do was go back to her home town. The college had intimidated her into walking naked into Midnight Mass at her home church, and going to a friend’s Christmas party where she had gotten drunk and danced around with ornaments tied to her nipples as pictures were taken. Pictures that Wanda promised to post all over town if she returned. And pictures of her strapped into those experiments at Chalfont. No, the college’s network of sadists had closed that avenue off to her, for the time being at least.
As the sky turned black and the cooling air raised goose-bumps on her tight, bare butt, Tami devised a new plan. Yes, she would agree to work for McMasters -- but only tentatively. She spent that night at the apartment of her old roommate Terri. Then the next morning she told McMasters, “I guess I’ll do it, but I was hoping to do something non-college related this summer. As you know, I had something planned but it fell through at the last second.”
“Well, we’re both helping each other for a while then,” McMasters said, packing up various things from Lab 6 into little suitcases. Both were aware of Wanda’s sullen presence as the former R.A. arrived with her two duffel bags of clothes and shoes. “I had this little tour set up already,” McMasters explained, “but having you around would be an added bonus.” Actually, a BIG bonus, as he well knew. Having a live model to demonstrate these things would draw such big crowds that several planned venues would have to be rearranged.
Tami was well aware that McMasters was not in a position to complain as she shook his hand and said, “I can’t commit to the whole summer then, I’m sorry.” Not owning any clothes or shoes, the naked girl’s luggage consisted of one little bookbag, containing her I.D. and bank cards and some notebooks, plus a couple of textbooks so she could do some reading ahead for fall classes in her major, mathematics. Or at least give that impression.
In fact she had decided to travel even lighter than necessary. Those college transcripts she had ordered a few days ago, which included glowing remarks by her teachers, and her perfect grades and attendance -- she had left them at Terri’s, to be faxed wherever and whenever they were needed. McMasters might be taking her on a series of further shaming experiences, but he was also taking her far away from Campbell - Frank college, away from the network of spies. Her plan now was to go along with McMasters for a couple of weeks, then in a suitably remote location, tell him that she missed home and wanted to go back to Rhode Island. As she boarded a bus there would be no spies to follow her and notice that she was getting off at the very next stop. She would quickly hit an ATM and then walk into a clothes store and walk out wearing her purchases.
Then she would get a motel room and look for a job. With her transcript to be faxed to put in with her job applications. Not that Terri, who like all of Tami’s college friends took Tami for an authentic, brave nudist, would ever know that Tami had put on clothes. But Terri didn’t have to know that. All Terri knew was that Tami was planning on getting “bored” with her job with McMasters and was going to try to get a summer job somewhere else. For all Terri knew, Tami was going to return to Campbell - Frank in the fall, naked as always.
Tami reflected on her new plan as she looked into the rear-view mirror to see Wanda asleep in the back, in her shorts and sleeveless blouse. Wanda, of course, would have to be watched. Tami had decided to leave her diary in the zipped-up bag of books she had left with Terri. In that diary, she had expressed her deepest thoughts about her shame and frustration throughout that horrible freshman year. Someday when she was again living a life in clothes like the rest of humanity she would give that diary a ceremonial burning. But obviously if it fell into Wanda’s hands during this trip she would be expelled, the transcripts worthless. So she left the diary with Terri, who had no idea about it either.
Looking again at Wanda, Tami noticed that her sneakers were off and her stockinged foot was up against the rear window. Socks . . . Tami’s mouth went dry as she looked over at her gritty bare foot out in the wind and longed for the feeling of socks. Then she sighed deeply. No. She thought about what Rebecca had said that day on the quad. She was going to get older and smarter, not older and stupider. It was a mistake to put so much hope in that summer accountant job, and to lust so strongly for it as the days counted down so that having it fall through at the last minute was so much more crushing.
No more mistakes like that. My plan has to be more foolproof, better thought out, less desperate. Tami was reminded of those Chinese finger traps where the harder you try to get out the tighter the trap becomes, and resolved to be more cool about her escape. Shaming as it was to travel this big wide country in the nude, it was out here, away from the network of tormentors, that she would jump into the sea of anonymity and finally effect her escape. Jumping into it naked, of course, but when she emerged, she would be in a swimsuit, one-piece of course, very covered up!
Tami looked lazily out the window. The tree-covered hills were still and hot in the midday sun. Looking ahead, she noticed a police car had stopped someone. She eased her bare foot off the gas so that she was going 55. McMasters was right; there was a speed trap here.
A lazy, hot, dusty day. There hadn’t been much rain lately. She licked her lips. Only coffee and a doughnut for breakfast, she was getting hungry.
The moron in front of her in the BMW, seeing the police car, suddenly slowed from 75 to 45, and as Tami veered into the left lane to avoid him she heard something metallic shift in the trunk. She thought of all that equipment back there, the dildos, the steel shafts, the wide flat box that McMasters had cobbled together to take the place of the stage in Lab 6, designed to hold the little motor which pistoned the shafts. And then there were the retainer panties and bristle bra, waiting back there in their little white plastic box, once again a part of her life.
That damned computer chip . . . McMasters had told her that she would continue with her daily “sessions” of five orgasms each on a strict schedule, twice a day now to take account of her increased sexual capacity, so that her metabolic reactions (or some such b.s.) could be recorded on the chip in the panties. And e-mailed from his laptop to the computer at Chalfont, where Henry Ross could probably access them and jerk off to the numbers. . .The naked girl clenched her butt cheeks, as if to expel the dildo that would be shoved way up there twice a day, then released them with a sigh. Got to keep patient. She would have to decide very carefully when she would quit this traveling sex show. In the meantime, she would just have to go along with whatever was asked of her as if she really was a religious nudist who did not believe in any display of personal modesty.
The Cadillac rounded a curve and started up a long hill. Tami had to keep the pedal floored. This engine had a lot of power but no pickup. A big, glorious car in disrepair. Tami couldn’t help noting the contrast between the refitted lab at Chalfont, where no expense had been spared, and McMasters’s lonely, shoestring operation. Obviously this marketing trip was his own deal, not the college’s.
She got onto a long uphill straightaway and then the car started to fall away to the left. The rough rumbling from behind could only mean one thing. Tami slowed down and pulled over onto the gravelly shoulder, which fortunately was pretty wide. As she came to a stop McMasters looked up from his map and said, “What’s wrong?”
“Flat tire, I think. Left rear.” Tami straightened up in her seat, feeling her bare back unstick from the vinyl. Cars were passing quickly from behind, and the eastbound side of the interstate was a ways away. She was glad that her bare breasts were not visible to them. She said, “Flat tire”, to Wanda as her nemesis roused herself in the back seat. Wanda put on her sneakers and got out to stand around in back as McMasters popped the trunk. This was one of the older models where the spare tire was fitted into a bulge in the center of the trunk. Tami thought she could get away with staying nice and hidden in the car, not getting out. As the car was jacked up a hundred pounds or so of extra weight wouldn’t matter.
As the minutes dragged by Tami drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. What was taking him so long? She didn’t want a curious patrolman stopping by. Finally she heard McMasters’s sheepish voice. “Tami, can you give us a hand?”
Fearing the worst, she scooted over and emerged from the car on the passenger’s side, then, keeping her head low, crept along the rough gravel. She saw that there were no cars coming, then darted over to the roadward side. Her bare shoulders drooped and she covered her eyes in exasperation.
It was one of those old-style cylinder jacks, undoubtedly bought from a junkyard, and the klutz had put it under the quarterpanel, not under the jack point. It was a wonder the chrome wasn’t bent. “Where’s the lug wrench?” the naked girl said.
“I -- I don’t know.” As McMasters and Wanda stood behind Tami, fortunately hiding her from the view of a car that whizzed by, she realized that this guy had no idea what he was doing and she was going to have to take charge. She had always liked working on cars; in high school she was the only girl to take the class in auto repair, the future career for many of her male classmates, and had worked on the family car with her father. But now that she was naked it seemed she was doomed to work on cars in public because the guys around her were all thumbs. She thought of her ordeal on Christmas Day back home, when she had to get out in the freezing slush in front of all those churchgoers to attach the jumper cables on the old family car because her brother didn’t know how.
And here was McMasters, who besides jacking the car up on an unstable surface didn’t even know to loosen the lug nuts first. Tami decided the quickest thing was to just do this whole thing herself. Shaming, but it would get them out of here faster. Squatting down, she lowered the jack, an arduous task because it was rusty and the crank stick was hard to turn. Then she stood up with a sigh and rummaged through the open trunk to find the lug wrench, trying to ignore the boxes there and the knowledge of what they contained.
As cars whizzed by Tami wordlessly went through her task. She fitted the tire iron over the first lug and pressed a tough bare foot on it. To extract that first reluctant squeak she had hold onto the roof and jump up and down on the iron. To her chagrin McMasters and Wanda retreated to lean on the guard to give her room to work, exposing her bouncing breasts and heaving stomach muscles as one car and then another passed and then stopped short, dangerously backtracking to park in front of them. Both were driven by men who walked behind the Cadillac to watch in amazement at this naked girl changing a tire on the highway, wondering if this was a kind of stunt. Was this a nude dancer trying to drum up business for a bar? They half-expected to be handed a handbill for a free lap dance. Their hesitant query, “Do you need any help, Miss?”, was answered by a curt, “No.”
Each of the eight lug nuts was just as tight and rusted. At least this tire had no hubcap to deal with. Tami realized that it would be less shaming to face away from traffic as she hopped on the iron, and the watching men were treated to the sight of the flexing muscles of her bare butt cheeks and toned calves. Finally the lugs were all loose. She looked around for something to chock the wheel, noticing finally a large rock on the far side of the guard rail fifty feet back. A couple of passing cars honked and a couple more stopped to park behind the Cadillac as her tough bare feet made their way comfortably but glumly over clumps of asphalt and broken glass to get the rock. The occupants of the new cars got out and soon there was a circle of about ten men watching every nuance of the naked girl’s motions as she went up to chock the front wheel and then came back to start jacking up the car. By now the heat and exertions had created a dust-stained sweaty sheen over her perfectly conditioned body, putting into sharp relief the motions of the muscles in her legs, back and shoulders. Her breasts jiggled tightly as the continued her labors, the large, brown, suntanned nipples poking out.
Fortunately the watching men and the cars parked behind them all but hid her nakedness from the passing cars and trucks, but having a closer, more intensely observant audience was all the more shaming. To the side, leaning on the guard rail, McMasters looked at the girl and at the crowd with a neutral expression, but Wanda was hard put to contain her glee at Tami’s plight.
Bolt upright again, her sweaty, concave tummy heaving with each heavy breath, Tami walked to the trunk and spread her arms to heft the big spare tire. As she dropped it next to the jack everyone could see the dark streaks of grime the dirty rubber had left on her shoulders, breasts and tummy. She took off the lug nuts and lurched the flat tire off the car, then positioned the spare. Putting the flat tire under her to sit on it, she winced as she felt the hot, dirty tire under her butt cheeks, knowing that it would create a round, black area around her butthole. In fact she could feel that ring of brown skin making contact with the hot rubber. Ouch . . .
Tami spread her legs for leverage, pointing her toes out, and lifted the spare onto the bolts. The men sighed with lust at the grunt, the soft, high grunt of a teenaged girl exerting herself, which sounded like a moan of orgasm. More jiggling breasts and flexing butt muscles as she got the lug nuts on and tightened them. The naked girl, now sweating so much that her hair was beginning to stick to her forehead, heaved up the flat tire with a great effort and staggered over to the trunk, grimacing as the hot dirty tire rubbed against her chest. As she dropped the bad tire into place she could see that it was wet with her sweat. When she turned to face the watchers she was fully aware of her black, greasy hands, and the grease and grit all over her front. One of her nipples was totally black. A tractor trailer sped by and blew dust and little grains which stuck to her sweaty nakedness from head to bare toes.
Squatting again, she lowered the jack and got up to walk over and throw it into the trunk, then tightened the lug nuts on the spare, her breasts bouncing again as she hopped up and down on the iron with rough curled toes, this time clockwise. Finally she threw the tire iron into the trunk, leaning onto it as if waiting for a policeman to give her a pat-down, breathing heavily now that her task was done, flat bare feet on the rough gravel, her butt and bare back shiny with sweat as they faced the men, her clean brown butthole fully in view between her tight cheeks, winking at them.
She turned around and said, “O.K.” to McMasters. She made up her mind not to act shamed. Standing upright, she faced her audience, hands at her sides, legs a little bit apart, as if entirely unconcerned with her nudity, a proud, strong, intelligent naked girl who was naturally dirty after a hard job done well, looking up at the hills with what she hoped was a deadpan gaze. She wiped the hair off her face with a dirty hand and realized that by now her face was streaked with grime.
She glanced over to McMasters and Wanda. This was so unfair. Here she was, naked and dirty and shamed, having to do all the work. She desperately wanted to get into the car. But they were hesitating. What . . .
Wanda held up her watch, and with a tight little smile, announced, “It’s one o’clock, Tam.”
Tami shut her eyes and permitted herself a soft, low groan. Oh no . . .please, not here . . .
One o’clock. . . Time for her “session”. In front of all these gawking men on out on a public highway. Another devastating assault on her sense of modesty, but of course that sense was supposed to not exist and Tami knew she could not be seen to object. Her first session, which began at 7 a.m., had been different. She had put the equipment on at Chalfont just before they got in the car. It wasn’t so bad to endure those orgasms sitting in the front seat while McMasters drove. Wanda herself was still half asleep in the back. But now . . .
“You get it, Tami, you’re closer,” McMasters said. The sweaty, grease-stained naked girl paused a moment and then, with the fear-tinged resignation of someone being led to the gallows, popped open the trunk again, leaning over the flat tire, still wet with her rubbed-on sweat, and got the plastic white box. About the size of a shoebox, she mused. She looked down at her gritty, dirty, rough feet and longed for shoes, but then forced this thought from her mind.
Her audience of strangers, mostly beer-drinking hunter types, who had been standing around amazed at watching this beautiful naked girl changing a tire, paused in their panting lust and were puzzled. What was going on?
Tami thought of putting the equipment on in the front seat, but McMasters was thinking in other terms. “Why don’t you do this on top of the trunk. Doing it on the ground might get dust in the works.”
“Doing it on the ground. . .” Like an animal. Yet Tami knew that McMasters was right. And to put the retainer panties on required a hard, flat surface big enough for her to squat on. She shut the trunk and opened the box, squinting with distaste as she saw the dildos attached to the panties. These were bigger ones now. McMasters had explained that he wanted to get deeper contractions for a better readout on her metabolism, or some such mumbo jumbo. Standing up with these huge things inside her wasn’t so bad, but sitting was very uncomfortable. During this morning’s session she had felt so totally stuffed that she had to raise her pelvis up and put her feet under her butt cheeks as they drove along. As if to punish her more he had told her the measurements, numbers which she could not blot from her mind. “The vaginal dildo is now six and a half inches long, an inch and a half in diameter. The rectal dildo is now seven inches long, one and three-quarters inches in diameter.” Not quite as big as the dildos on the piston machine, but still . . .
Tami hopped up on the trunk, slim and agile like the gymnast she was. Wanda quickly moved over to get the remote control from the box. “Now don’t think of turning your back on us, Tam,” she said quietly.
The naked girl knew what the men’s reaction would be, but it was still mortifying. As she spread her legs wide, wide, wider, and took out the twin dildos which totally dominated the little leather strap that connected them, she sensed the men’s eyes widening and heard one of them say, “Jesus . . .”
She positioned the anal dildo on top of the spare tire hump and took the tube of lubricant from the box. Another tractor-trailer, whose driver could not see her because of the men standing in the way, boomed by, causing a dusty wind which almost blew the dildo over. Tami spread lubricant over the top of the dildo. It looked huge, like she was about to sit down on a baseball bat. Better to this as quickly as possible and get it over with, she told herself. With these larger dildos it might hurt, but so what. The important thing is to get this apparatus strapped on and get out of here as soon as possible.
She forced herself down on the big white dildo, faster than she should have, causing a degree of pain from her forcibly stretched anal ring that was unusual in her ordeals. She grimaced, keeping her eyes closed, not wanting to see her watchers, above all not wanting to make eye contact. Soon it was in enough so that she didn’t need to steady it with her hand, and she put her hands on her knees as she continued to sit on it, going lower and lower as it went into her gut, her concave tummy heaving with the strain, her breasts, smeared with grease with one nipple totally covered with black grime, jiggling unevenly as she took short ragged breasts.
Finally she felt the leather against her bottom and knew it was all the way in. As she opened her eyes to look up at the hills the naked girl realized that the pain of her too-fast insertion had made her exude another sheen of sweat which she felt hot on her face. A gust of warm wind cooled her off somewhat, then she looked down to twist the apparatus around to position the dildo for her pussy. Some more lubricant, and it began its journey into her. Her toes grasped and ungrasped the metal of the trunk hood as she worked it in. She tried not to notice the little bump on the top, that extra feature which would protrude to massage her G-spot if the right button on the remote was pushed. Finally the dildo mated with her widely-spread, shaved, tanned pussy lips, the bristly pad was positioned over her clit, and she tied the straps together over each hip. Someone said under his breath, “What a slut!” The only sign of the deep hurt this caused was a slight knitting of her brow.
She took the bristle bra out of the box and stood up on the trunk, almost falling over from the uncomfortable shifting and rubbing of the large objects inside her as she rose. The bristles felt sharper than ever as they were positioned over her nipples. After she connected the straps in back she stood upright, fists at her sides, taking a deep breath, and looked up at the hills. “Ohhhh . . .” Her groan was caused partly by the intense stimulation that now attacked her nipples and her clit, and partly by deep shame.
Slowly she climbed off the car and down onto the gravel and closed the box, putting it back in the trunk. As she did so she noticed a police car slowing down. It parked in front of the series of cars and everyone watched with concern as a young, tall trooper walked back to them.
Wanda hit the remote control. Bzzz --- zzz --- zzz --- The nearly naked girl stiffened and gritted her teeth.
“What is going on here?” the trooper said, looking at the dirty, sweaty barefoot girl in the odd-looking tiny bikini, the top covering just the nipples, leaving the rest of her firm mounds exposed, the bottom a super-low-rise thong which left her butt cheeks bare.
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
“Nothing, just fixing a flat,” McMasters said calmly, knowing the trooper had no basis for arresting anyone or giving anyone a ticket. “We’re all done now.”
The trooper looked suspiciously at the circle of watching men, who were recovering from the weakness of their lust and were looking sheepish. Then he looked at Tami. “Miss, how old are you?”
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Her head jerked slightly and she tried to control her breath. With these bigger dildos deeper inside her the vibrations were almost making her teeth rattle. “Eighteennn . . .”
The trooper looked at McMasters. “This isn’t another stunt from Dangerous Curves, isn’t it?”
This was a local topless bar, notorious for pumping up business with its bikini-clad hot dog vendors and open-topped limousine fly-bys through town, but McMasters didn’t know that. “No,” he said, puzzled.
Bzz -- zzz -- zzz -- Tami gasped.
The trooper noticed the minimally clothed girl’s heavy breathing and walked right up to her, looked her up and down from head to toe, noticing her sweat and the grime all over her. She seemed like she was in terrible pain and trying to hide it. “Look at me, Miss,” he said, and then when he had eye contact, he said, “Are you all right?”
Tami’s eyebrows twitched as she looked into the handsome blue eyes of this strong, good-looking young man, probably a real stud, someone who was being stern now, but probably was a sweetheart deep down, someone who could rescue her and love her. She dearly wished she could tell him exactly how she was. Help me! Rescue me! Please!! Tami’s eyes got red as she looked down briefly and blinked these thoughts away. Now was not the time, not like this. If she told the truth right in front of McMasters and Wanda all would be lost. Looking up again into the handsome eyes, she said, “Yes. I’m just -- j - just tired, that’s all.” Her hand went out to the trunk to steady herself as her pelvis gave an involuntary jerk. She glanced toward the front of the car.
After looking at her a moment longer, the trooper said, “Well, then get going.” He looked at the watching men. “Show’s over. Move on.” He watched as they got back to their cars, then marched back to the squad car. In a moment the black Cadillac was back on the road, McMasters driving, Wanda in the back, using the remote to turn the buzzing on and off and then on and off, watching the motions of the suffering girl in the front seat.
. . . .
It took a while to lose them, those men who had seen Tami’s roadside doings and then kept following the black Cadillac, hoping for more. McMasters got off an exit, then drove around some back roads, then got on the interstate, fortunately not getting lost. “I’m hungry,” Wanda said, putting the remote control down and stretching with insolent laziness. McMasters was hungry too. Time to eat. “Tami, you hungry?” he said, looking over to the squirming, dirty girl in her vibrating bikini prison.
Tami looked out the window, her head jerking slightly. She couldn’t deny that she was starving, though she wondered if these dildos would leave any room inside her for food. “Y - yes. Ohhh . . .” She had a craving for a hamburger and fries. Anything was better than sitting here with nothing to distract her from . . . Wanda had been cruel. After Tami’s first orgasm, shortly after they got back in the car, Wanda had kept the buzzing low and then turned it off and on and intervals. Right now it was off. The result was that Tami was suspended in a state just short of orgasm, a very uncomfortable feeling.
Tami thought of saying, “Mr. McMasters, Wanda has been keeping me frustrated. Can you tell her to make me come four more times so we can end this session?” Bizarre. But if they were going to be in the car away from watching eyes, she would much rather have the five orgasms over with so she could take these horrid things off and sit again in simple nakedness.
“Daisy & John’s Diner”. A safe choice, McMasters thought. As the old Cadillac pulled up besides the pickup trucks the girls saw a couple of tractor trailers parked out back. As if Tami were dressed perfectly normally, McMasters got out and chivalrously opened the door for her as Wanda went on ahead.
Tami, too, tried to act normal as she walked in behind the others into what was a pretty big diner, with a long counter, the usual Formica tables, and stuffed animal heads hung on almost every available wall. Obviously a place where hunters ate; during hunting season this place must be crammed. Today, though, there were only a few tables occupied.
As she followed McMasters and Wanda to a table in the back, Tami’s brave deadpan facade was shattered by the looks she got from the other diners. She was instantly aware again of the kind of appearance she presented -- barefoot, filthy with grease and grime, and wearing a freakishly small bikini. And if they only knew what was inside me -- ! She glanced at a teenage girl in jeans, T-shirt and sneakers, sitting at a near table and some kind of bell rang in her mind. Then she realized it -- the girl looked a lot like Tami Smithers. And was about her age. And was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes, the kind of clothes that Tami herself used to wear. What was so horrifying was the look on the girl’s face -- a look of shock and disgust. Tami blinked back a tear, thinking of how she used to be, trying to remember how it felt to wear those clothes . . .
Of course the other two worked it so that Tami was sitting on the outside, so that anyone walking in could get a nice side view of her near-nakedness from down the aisle. A hard-faced, 40-ish waitress gave them menus, looking at Tami and saying sternly, “I don’t know if the manager will let you stay here dressed like that, Miss.”
“Well, that’s how she wants to dress,” McMasters said evenly. The waitress shrugged and walked away.
Tami was reading the menu, trying to think of the pleasures of eating, when --
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Tami’s head shot up and she glared at Wanda, who had one hand under the counter, obviously working the remote. Tami succumbed to one second of giving a pleading look at Wanda and then, realizing that it was pointless and not wanting to give Wanda the pleasure of begging, she looked back down at the menu again, moaning softly under her breath. “Zhhhh . . . uhhhh . . .” Her legs jerked apart and then together as her arousal level leapt up from its plateau and quickly ascended --
“What’ll you have, folks?” The waitress was back, looking at McMasters. He ordered a tuna melt. As Wanda gave her order, speaking very slowly, Tami blinked and shook. She was about to go over the waterfall again -- gotta hold it down -- a quick jab from one of the bristles in the bra caused her to involuntarily grab one of the tiny nipple cups, the one over the nipple that was black with grime, as if she were about to rip the infernal torturing thing off --
“And you, Miss?” the waitress said with a sigh, looking at Tami.
The menu became a blur as Tami’s eyes crossed. With her first contraction her knees jerked up and hit the bottom of the table, causing silverware to clatter and people to stare. And it was while experiencing an orgasm that Miss Tami Smithers gave her order through gritted teeth. “A b - burger de - LUXE . . . with . . . oh . . . w - with f - fries . . . oh! oh! . . . Well . . . DONE . . . c - . . . coke . . . please. . . OH! . . . God . . .”
The waitress stopped writing and looked at the girl, whose spasms were tightly controlled but disconcerting, with a mixture of distaste and concern. “Is she O.K.?” she asked McMasters.
“Nerves,” he said quietly. “We try to ignore it. She’ll be O.K.”
The waitress, having seen many strange things in her life and knowing that some things just should be left alone, nodded and finished writing and then was gone.
Tami closed her eyes and took some deep breaths as the orgasm subsided.
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
McMasters got out his little datebook and started chatting idly about the next few days. “We have a trade show in St. Louis on Wednesday,” he said. “And then . . . ever been out west before?” He looked up affably at Tami, expecting an answer.
“N - no. Never been outside . . . ohh . . . N - New England.”
Wanda allowed that she had been to California a few times to see relatives, and also went to the Grand Canyon during a family vacation.
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
“Lots of animals in here,” he said, looking around at the walls.
Was Tami going out of her mind? As she crested into another orgasm she crazily decided to join in the banter. “That -- moose -- MUST -- have been . . . ohhh . . . hard to . . . c - c - catch . . . ohhh . . .” There was a purpose to this: she was trying to take her mind off her orgasm. Could she put her mind somewhere else and leave her spasming body behind?
“No, that must be an elk,” McMasters said, looking along with Tami at the big antlered head, though his gaze was even, while Tami’s head jerked from side to side. “An elk’s bigger than a moose, right?”
“No . . .the moose -- IS -- uhhh . . .the . . . b - b - b - . . .” she gulped and breathed quickly, planning to space her words between the spasms. “Biggest member . . . of the . . .DEER . . . f - family . . . ohhh . . .”
She just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t get used to these orgasms. Each one wrung her heart and emotions to the core. As her second orgasm in as many minutes ended she bowed down as if praying, covering wet eyes with one trembling hand, and stayed like that as the food was served.
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
She made it through the meal, careful to stop chewing when another orgasm came. Her third Daisy & John’s orgasm came in the middle of the fries. Finally, blessedly, her next orgasm, the fifth and last of the session, arrived when she was in the middle of the pickle. As the buzzing stopped and the last spasm spent itself, the sweating girl put her head in her hand and sighed thankfully. When she removed her hand tears could be seen going down her face, tears which she quickly wiped away with a napkin. Her body now quiet and still, she sensed now that the burger and fries had “hit the spot”. She also became aware of the stares she had attracted from almost everyone in the diner.
The waitress silently came by and left the check. As McMasters got out his wallet he said quietly, “Tami, why don’t you remove the apparatus in the bathroom.”
Feeling the sweat drying all over her, Tami walked up, stiff from having to endure all those spasms in a seated position, and like a robot padded stiffly on dirty bare feet to the little rest room. She mechanically got up on the toilet seat and undid the panties and shitted out the big rectal dildo, then withdrew the pussy dildo. She sighed gratefully at feeling her inner cavities close, then realized she had to pee. She took off the bristle bra and, doing the best with a dirty mirror and a soap dispenser that was reluctant to give up any soap, managed to wipe away the worst outrages of the grease and grit from the tire-changing job, her breasts jiggling as she scrubbed and scraped them with the rough paper towels.
She found herself standing in the bathroom totally naked, holding these huge dildos in her hand. She couldn’t just walk out there like this. Or could she? She shook her head, cursing fate for the predicaments it put her into. Glumly plunging into what she could not avoid, she walked out to McMasters and Wanda, who were finishing up at the cash register, as everyone stared at the totally nude girl carrying the big dildos.
The manager was out like a shot. “Hey Miss -- what the hell -- ” But of course “that greasy naked slut”, as everyone would refer to her in wonderment around the diner when the story was told again and again for months, was already out the door.
The teenaged girl was doing what teenaged girls like to do, gab on the phone. With her boyfriend, asking how his summer job in Boston was going, exchanging gossip about the people they knew from school.
This teenaged girl had just gotten out of the shower and was still naked, all scrubbed and pink and clean, sitting at the desk in the motel room. She hadn’t put on clothes yet and wasn’t about to, because she didn’t own any. This was Miss Tami Smithers.
As she talked she idly glanced at the room. A cheap motel, but at least it was clean. For some reason McMasters had gotten off the Interstate and driven along the old U.S. highway that was parallel to it, while his female passengers looked at the passing cornfields of southern Ohio, finally stopping at this old place. He had made reservations, even though it didn’t seem like the kind of place that was ever full. The motel was just a little office and a row of about fifteen rooms with a little swimming pool in front and a diner next door. Tami had stayed behind in the car while McMasters and Wanda checked in, getting the rooms at the end of the row. It was dark by then and no one could see her as she strode in behind them carrying more than her share of suitcases, none of them hers of course.
Now she had gratefully showered, properly scrubbing all that grease off her, wincing as the stiff soapy brush went over that left nipple again and again until every speck of grime was gone and it stood brown and stiff and big and proud from her slim bare chest. Wanda and McMasters had gone to eat at the diner while Tami had stayed behind, saying she wanted to call home and asking them to bring something for her “to go”. They’d probably be gone for another half hour at least.
Tami looked at what she could see of herself in the big mirror in front of the desk. Her clean face with the damp, freshly combed dark red hair with some streaks of gray reaching down to her bare shoulders. And the bottoms of her feet way over to each side. Her legs were widely spread, her feet propped up on each far side of the desk. A position she assumed only when ordered to in front of other people, due to her sense of modesty, still indestructible after all this time, except when she was with Rod. She loved showing herself off for her nerdy boyfriend, trying to get his eyeglasses steamed up. He was so cute that way, and so fuckable. And she pictured him in front of her as she listened to him joking about trying to stay awake with his boss while attending the National Society of Black Engineers meeting. Soon she realized that her fingers were playing with her bare, shaved pussy lips, lazily spreading them, sticking a finger in, then closing them and rubbing them this way and that.
She looked up in the mirror at her bed, one of two beds in this room. She had the one near the windows. There was also a back door that opened up into what looked in the dark like a large mowed lawn behind the motel, lit with a floodlight. Of course her bed was bare like her dorm bed had been, having only a slipcover; one of the first things Wanda did when they got in was to make a big show of pulling off the pillow and all the blankets and stuffing them into a big pile on the far side of Wanda’s bed. It was understood that Tami Smithers, the religious nudist, would sleep with her nakedness in full view of Wanda, who would lay in her pajamas all covered up with sheets and blankets. Tami could hardly be heard to object.
She glanced at her ankle pouch lying on the desk in front of her, half-opened with her bank card and her credit card spilling out. The credit card was handy; it was how she was paying for this call, and the call to her parents. As for her bank account, she had almost three thousand dollars in it now, after earning all that money on campus doing those shaming jobs. These two cards were her escape route, her lifeline. When she quit this job and made her escape the first thing she would do would be to use them to buy clothes, get dressed in the store, and get a room somewhere. Then get the fax from Terri and find a job.
The call to her parents was planned to be necessary and brief. She just wanted to assure them that she was O.K. Her father was a little peeved when she didn’t show up at home after finals as expected, but she told them that at the last minute she had gotten a summer job, a job that would take her across the country. She said it was with a professor and another student, that she would be paid very well, and it would be on things she was working on during the school year. All of which was true, as far as it went. It was good to hear her parents’ voices and know that they wouldn’t be worrying. So much easier to tell them half the truth on the phone, rather than in person . . .
But the call packed an unexpected emotional punch. Her father said that her grades had come in, straight A’s and glowing recommendations for the second consecutive semester, and he said once again how proud he was of his little girl. And when her mother came on the phone, almost choked up with pride, Tami almost choked up too. Hearing their scratchy voices, coming from so far away from that little house in that little town, she wished she were home too, safe in good old Providence. Of course, even Providence was not safe; Wanda’s threats had seen to that. But Tami was keenly aware that she was her parents’ pride and joy. Taking leave of Campbell - Frank had to be done v - e - r - y carefully, so as not to somehow get retroactively expelled. Surely once she got away and worked for a while and applied to another college in a year’s time, by then it wouldn’t matter if the Dean and Henry Ross happened to find out she was wearing clothes again. But in the meantime she had to be meticulously correct in playing her role as a religious nudist.
An unconscious brush of a finger across her clit gave the naked girl a thrill and her thoughts returned to her boyfriend. Far to each side, her toes spread and she sighed deeply. “Oh Rod . . .” she said, bringing her boyfriend’s words to a halt. “I’ve . . . got my legs spread for you.”
After a short silence, Rod said, “Oh Babe . . . come for me.”
“Ohhh . . .” Gone was the memory of today’s “sessions”, the naked girl felt like she was getting stimulated for the first time in days, since the last time they made love, going for the first orgasm in all that time. She worked her clit with rougher strokes, inserted one and then two and then three fingers into her as far as they would go. Her legs shook again. “Take out your big dick, lover . . .”
“I got it, Babe.”
“Is it big and hard?”
“Ohh . . .fuck me Rod . . .” She was getting there really fast tonight. “Ohh Rod . . . put your load of come inside me . . .”
“Ohhh . . .” came the deep groan at the other end.
Tami Smithers and Rod Sykes, almost a thousand miles apart, had a simultaneous orgasm on the phone. For once she could let her body react to the fullest, and her jerking contractions shook the desk and almost caused her to fall out of the chair. A few moments later the naked teenager was holding the phone to her heart with a big smile on her face. “Mmmmmmmm . . .” It was so hard to say good-bye.
Tami sat there with her eyes closed, feet still on the desk, enjoying the inner calm. After a few minutes she opened her eyes and looked at her face in the mirror and smiled, looking at her hair, mussed after the long-distance ravishment. She flexed her toes. Curious, she braced her hands on the seat of the chair and lifted her butt up, higher and higher, until her tanned pussy lips dominated the mirror. Flexing the muscles in her concave tummy, spreading her toes, she did her trick of opening her pussy lips without any hands. She tried to open them as much as possible, imagining she was doing this for Rod, and tried to make out any detail inside the wide oval cavity that gently opened. From the reflected light of the lamp she did see something of her dark red inner walls. It was a shame she had never done this for Rod; she pictured herself spread like this facing the door as he came in, totally ready for him. A shame to waste this view on someone like the Dean, though it was sweet to embarrass him like that in his office, making him finally come in his pants. A victory she cherished fondly, even though it was temporary.
The naked gymnast gracefully flipped and twisted, planting her legs and hands the other way around, and found herself facing the floor, butt sticking up at the mirror. She tried her other trick, relaxing and opening her anal ring with her butt muscles, turning her head to look. She could get it to about an inch wide now, maybe wider. This cavity was too dark to see inside, or maybe it was the angle. She smiled at how weird it looked, and wondered if there was anyone else who could do this. Maybe some porn actress. Well, she would gladly be a porn actress for her one-person audience of Rod. She could wait for Rod in this position too. He would call her before leaving his job, and give his order. “Number one today, Babe.” Or, “Number two.” Number two for her rectum. Of course!
Tami giggled and almost fell off the chair head-first onto the floor. She dismounted from her spread, face-down position and turned again to sit relaxed in the chair, arms folded, legs up, smiling, thinking of Rod. Her smile faded a bit as she thought of how Rod would see her next, fully clothed and not attending Campbell - Frank College any more. He would be surprised, but . . . he would still be in love with her. Of that she was becoming absolutely sure. She smiled again, looking at her toes as they lazily played with the credit card. She could pick it up, flip it over, and put it down again, all with one foot. Her toes were becoming pretty skillful.
She almost didn’t mind it when Wanda came in with a styrofoam box. Opening it up Tami found some fried chicken and mashed potatoes. In a good mood, she said, “Thanks. I’m starved.” Wanda went wordlessly to her bed and got the remote control. The two girls, one clothed and expressionless, one naked and eating, sat watching a game show. Through stuffed cheeks Tami called out the answers. By the end of the show it was clear she would have been a millionaire.
When Tami finished both girls realized it was late. “Time to get some sleep so we can have the energy to sleep in the car tomorrow,” Wanda said. Tami had to poop and went into the bathroom, followed by Wanda who was sure to keep the door open. While Tami was obeying the call of nature Wanda returned to brush her teeth. The naked girl was burning with shame but was determined not to show it. As Wanda looked down at her she even made a point of looking back, ostentatiously grunting as she expelled each turd. Tami’s steely eyes were like those of a prisoner who wants to show her torturer that she cannot be broken.
It was when Wanda was sitting on her bed in her pajamas and Tami, having brushed her teeth, was about to lie her nakedness down on her bare bed, that the confrontation occurred.
Wanda fixed Tami with a stern gaze. “Have a good time today? Did you like changing a tire in front of those lower life forms? Did you like ordering in the restaurant while everyone could see you were in the middle of an orgasm?”
Tami lay down on her side and turned her bare back to Wanda. “Go to sleep.”
“The whole summer is going to be like this, you know.”
Tami smiled, knowing Wanda couldn’t see. The whole summer? No no no no! . . Ha ha ha! . . .
“And you know what awaits you when you get back in September. . . Do you think you can take it? Naked Tami, orgasming Tami, always on display. These pajamas are s - o - o - o comfy. Flannel. Ever feel flannel? Of course you have. All soft and warm. Do you still remember? Mmmmm . . . ” Tami heard the sound of hands rubbing the arms of the pajamas.
Finally Tami turned over and said, “Shut up. Go to sleep --” Her words were cut off at the sight of a little tape recorder. Tami smiled and shook her head in exasperated wonderment.
“Face it, Tam, you’re fucked. Hell awaits you in September. Just admit the truth. You have nothing to lose.” Wanda’s eyes got a little less hard and she tried a softer, wiser tone of voice. “Get back into clothes. Go back home and work for a year or two. You’re a smart girl, you can easily get into another college someday.”
“Wanda, I can’t believe you!” Tami said. “This is so over. This is so lame. You’re not going to France, face it!”
Wanda raised one eyebrow. “So you won that round. You staying naked kept me from France. O.K. I have my reasons for doing this now, but let’s not get into that. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. Get back into clothes. Get your normal life back again. Admit you’re not a nudist.” She held out the tape recorder again.
Wanda’s offer might have sounded reasonable to a girl condemned to nakedness, but knowing that her escape was imminent Tami had no patience for this. She got up and stood right in front of her sitting nemesis, hands on her hips, her bare, tanned pussy almost in Wanda’s face. “Get this clear. I . . am . . . a . . . nudist!” Feeling cruelly giddy, Tami put her hands to her pussy. “Listen to me.” Working her pussy lips open and closed with her hands in time with the words, she said in a gutteral voice, “I . . . am . . . a . . . nudist!”
Being mocked like this was too much for the girl in the flannel pajamas. She pushed Tami so that the naked girl fell onto the bed. Tami rebounded and lunged onto Wanda, grabbing her hair and sitting on her. What bounce there was in the old mattress allowed Wanda to tumble over on top of Tami. Soon the two girls were rolling around on the floor.
It was hardly a fair fight. Tami was so much stronger, and took advantage of Wanda’s mortification when she tore at her pajamas, a tactic that of course could not be reciprocated. But Wanda got in a few good hits and had the advantage of long fingernails which she swiped at Tami again and again, forcing Tami to dodge and keep her distance. Tami then body-blocked Wanda and rammed her back-first into the wall next to the mirror with a loud thud. Holding her ripped pajama top to her chest with one hand, Wanda then reached over Tami’s head and dug her fingernails into the bare back and scraped. Finally Tami pinned Wanda to the floor, her triumphant, slightly open pussy almost in Wanda’s face. Tami would have shoved her pussy right into her, something she knew would gross Wanda out, but didn’t want Wanda to bite her.
They were at this impasse when they heard a loud knock on the door. Looking at the door they waited, hoping whoever it was would go away, but then there was a second knock. “Girls!” It was McMasters, whispering loudly.
Wanda got up and, quickly changing into her shirt, opened the door. McMasters was in shorts and an undershirt and black socks. “What the hell is going on here!” Looking at the naked girl kneeling on the floor, he saw something and knitted his eyebrows.
Tami suddenly felt very naked and very shamed, sitting on the floor in such an unladylike position, her knees apart on the carpet, her breasts sticking out. As McMasters looked intently at her with concern, she had to suppress the urge to cover her breasts.
“What is this?” McMasters said, putting his hand on Tami’s bare shoulder and pushing to one side. “Get up, Tami.”
“Look at this, Wanda,” he said as they stood behind the blushing naked girl, pointing to a thin blood-colored scratch that extended from the middle of the back down to one side almost to the butt cheek. He glared at Wanda and faced her. “Wanda, Tami will be displaying products dealing with . . . sexual function. She’s a willing participant, and that is priceless. We’re trying to restore integrity to an industry which has a history of abusing women. Taking in vulnerable girls and forcing them to perform. Remember Linda Lovelace?” He noticed the blank look on Wanda’s face.
“Let’s say we have this teenage girl on stage and she’s scratched up. Or has bruises. Do you know what that looks like? Do you know what people might think? Do you know how a prosecutor will react? Especially if he wants to make headlines?”
He sighed, realizing maybe he had scolded Wanda too much. Then he spoke more calmly. “We’re running a clean operation and I don’t want any hint that it’s otherwise. If this scratch is still showing the day after tomorrow it’s your job, Wanda, to get it covered up with makeup or something so it doesn’t show for the presentation.” Tami felt like an animal on display as she stood there with McMasters and Wanda looking down the length of her bare backside, but also felt the flush of a small but important victory. “Meanwhile, I don’t care who started the fight, I don’t care who’s right or who’s wrong, but Tami’s skin,” he concluded, speaking now very slowly, “MUST remain clear of any bruises. Her body is very important to this trip. I don’t want her even TOUCHED. Get marks on your own body if you want, but leave Tami’s alone. O.K.?”
Wanda nodded solemnly, strangely showing a little fear. After McMasters left, the two girls went to bed silently and turned off the light. Tami got to sleep much more easily than she expected, both girls aware of the unspoken change in the atmosphere.
The girl was awakened by the light of the full moon through the little window in the back door. Lying on her straightened out arm on the blanket-less, pillow-less bed, blinking into the pale glow, feeling her bare nipples rub against the sheet, her groggy mind formed questions. Here I am, a naked girl on a bare bed. How long must I be naked, Lord? Will I ever have clothes again? Will I go through life like this? A dream was leaving her, of standing on a hill overlooking a beachfront village and talking to a kind, bearded man in a long white robe, whom she knew to be Jesus. In the dream she was naked, ashamed to be seen thus by her Lord, but he didn’t seem to notice, instead extending his hand out to the village below. Then he disappeared in a flash of light and she was naked and alone and knew what she had to do. She turned her bare feet to trudge downhill through the gravelly sand toward the village . . .
Tami blinked again and shook her head. Fully awake now, she sat up slowly until she was sitting on the side of the bed, her bare shoulders a little slouched, her toes flexing on the thin carpet. Another weird dream. When I get into clothes in a couple of weeks or so these dreams will be over. When her life got normal again, so would her dreams.
She looked back at Wanda, heavily clad in pajamas in a bed stuffed with pillows and blankets. Then she turned to look at the moonlight again. She got up on silent bare feet and went to the little back door of the motel room. She raised up on her toes and looked through one of the little windows in the door, and saw a beautiful, ghostly big mowed lawn. With what looked like a field of wheat in the distance. Through the half-opened window she could hear crickets, smell the grassy dew. She loved that smell, newly mowed grass. And it smelled somehow heavier, fuller here.
She felt drawn to it, just had to do it. Sneaking a careful look at Wanda she s - l - o - w - l - y turned the knob. Fortunately the door did not creak and, swiftly putting it behind her, she carefully closed it and found herself standing outside naked, her feet bathed with the cool dew as they sank into the grass. She felt devilish and naughty doing this, even though it was nothing compared to the crass exposures to gawkers that were the constant theme of her life. But this felt precious, poetic, because this was the kind of thing she often wanted to do back when she wore clothes, walk outside naked in the middle of the night, but she had never dared to do it, until now.
Smiling, she walked gently out onto the lawn, breathing in the wet cool air. A breeze caused her to look up. That smell . . . it was like . . . what? Bread? She realized it was the field of wheat she was smelling. Not being a country girl, it was a new experience for her. The sweet smell made her happy, gave her energy, privileged to find out another secret about God’s creation. She crept down to her knees and then went all the way down, rolling around in the wet grass, all over her breasts and tummy and butt, squatting down on the grass like an animal, spreading her legs to rub her pussy in it, then spreading her butt cheeks to sit on it, rubbing it around on her most sensitive skin.
Then she ran toward the wheat like a sprinter, arms and thighs pumping. She remembered running around during that rainstorm at college but this was much better, no one around to see. Just her and nature. She loved feeling the grass and dew and air on her skin, all over, caressing her nipples, prying inside her pussy lips, massaging and scraping her bare feet. In a few seconds she was at the edge.
Now what? The wheat was about as high as her waist. Not really considering the question, she plunged in, running into the wheat, feeling the long grassy stalks tickle her thighs and pussy lips and tummy, feeling it get stuck between her toes as she progressed, even bending forward so she could feel it brush her breasts. When she had gone about a minute she stopped, winded, and turned around to see the motel in the distance, all the lights out except for the little floodlight on the grass. She looked the other way, and saw that they were on a rise; in the moonlit valley below she could see a road and an occasional house. Why don’t I just escape now? Make my way to those houses. Surely someone there would give clothes to a girl who appeared naked on the doorstep in the middle of the night. She smiled at this idea, knowing it was not possible. No, running away would be the end, a red flag, a bad idea. Better to escape with my credit card and bank card, making it look like I’m just going back home.
She decided to sit down. She almost squealed with pleasure as she felt some of the stalks poke into her pussy and against her anal ring. She sat cross-legged, then fell backward, then flipped full length onto her belly, enjoying the wheat, rubbing and scraping and massaging it into her skin. She lay on her back again, arms and legs extended, and looked up at the starry sky. Thank you God, thank you for this wonderful creation, thank you for my nakedness and being able to feel nature touching me all over, against me and around me and through me . . .
After a few minutes of reverent, almost giddy meditation she was reminded of another aspect of creation, namely bugs. A swarm of black gnats had gathered around her tummy, with another one swarming over her face. She got up, brushing them away, and with a sigh began stomping through the wheat back to the motel.
When she emerged from the wheat she looked back. She could barely make out the path she had forged, as if she was a friend to the wheat and could pass through it without harming it. She wondered if a clothed person with rugged-terrain boots would make a wider path, causing damage. Probably.
While looking back she caught another gust of wind from the direction of the field, which chilled her now-wet skin and raised goosebumps. As it passed over the wheat she got another strong whiff of the bread smell and with a giggle realized that it also smelled like semen. Rod’s semen, to be exact. She smiled and stretched herself out into an ‘X’, trying to absorb the smell into her body. A naked nymph, being ravaged by the gods through the smell of the wheat. No . . . being ravaged by Rod. Fertile, impregnated. She briefly thought of the beautiful tan-colored child they would have someday and it brought a tear to her eye.
What? A child? Hell yes. . . Rod was her man, she would gladly spend a life with him, have children. In the future when she was wearing clothes, of course. Not only that, but just like in bed, she would be the one to take charge. She would propose to him. By way of a short poem maybe, pressed into his hand on the way to class, letting him react to it after she’d gone.
Shaking her head, realizing the smell of the wheat was intoxicating her and fogging her thinking, the naked girl slowly walked back to the motel, dew and little bits of grass and wheat sticking to her hair, to her wet skin, between her toes. It would be good to wash this off. In the corner of her eye she saw the little swimming pool . . .
It took only a second to decide. With a quick look around at the row of dark rooms, she stealthily walked around the side of the motel and onto the concrete perimeter. The whir of the little chlorine pump was broken occasionally by the lapping of the water at the edges. The naked girl sat down and then slid in.
Glorious, sensual, delicious. As Tami darted around underwater she realized in all her time being naked she’d never swum. A long-time swimmer, on the swim team at high school, she’d never had a chance to swim naked. This was heaven, she thought. I’ve finally found the very best thing about being naked. Feeling the cool water all around her, feeling the currents swish past her nipples and her butt and her pussy, she stayed down as long as she could and then, slowly so as not to make a splashing sound, she emerged. With a quick look around at the dark cabins she held her breath and went down again.
The pool was not that small; she could have done some mini-laps. But doing a front crawl or butterfly would be too noisy. She confined herself to swimming underwater, undulating, spreading and closing her legs, slithering along the bottom like an eel. She wished Rod was around to share this. The currents caressing her body were making her horny again. She backtracked and leaned her head back against the side, arms extended up, her feet flat on the bottom, looking up at the stars. Her legs were squirming with desire and finally she gave in and put a hand down there. It took only a few rubs on her clit and a finger inside before she was at the crest. She tried not to moan, but her voiceless breaths got heavier and heavier and finally she gave a low groan as her legs jerked and her whole body shook, making ripples that spread out in circles across the pool, finally a long moment later hitting the other side. “Oh, God . . .” she whispered, partly in relief, partly in prayer.
She couldn’t avoid the sound of dripping from her body as she got out, but otherwise was silent as she made her way back to the back door of their room. With her body totally wet the bugs were all over her, so she opened and closed the door behind her as fast as she could. With a start she realized Wanda had turned on the lamp between the beds. Her erstwhile tormenter was lying there, eyes groggily open. “Have fun?” she said.
“Just a little dip,” Tami said, feeling especial shame now at having her nakedness on view. She quickly dried herself off with some little cloths in the bathroom and when she got back to the bed Wanda had turned the lamp off again. As she turned her back toward Wanda and began to drift off to sleep she couldn’t help but think that her roommate was a little jealous.
. . . .
Please God, I love the feel of nature on my skin, but I don’t want to be naked any more. Please give me clothes.
Please God, help me plan my escape well. And let it be soon.
Arms stretched out to the rising sun, the naked teenage girl prayed thus, her bare feet planted in the dewy grass, nipples stiff in the cool air, eyes closed, face raised to the blue sky, aware only of the chirping birds.
She put her arms down and opened her eyes, looking at the rising orange ball with a sigh. Time to walk naked through another day. I hope it won’t be as bad as yesterday --
She turned to the motel and froze. There was a guy sitting on the back step of the next room, smiling at her with a missing-tooth smile and polishing a rifle.
Her arms flinched just a bit towards a covering of her breasts, but she got her bearings quickly, suppressing the flinch and continuing to walk to the rear door of her room. She didn’t want him to think she was being impolite by not looking at him; as she got closer she saw he looked about 45, dressed in a hunter’s outfit, his orange hat on a little footstool along with some gun paraphernalia and a lit cigarette poking over the edge. As she looked at his face she realized he was not all that scary. He had a mustache and mussed black hair and he had the same tooth missing as her Uncle Sean had. At first he seemed like a psycho, but now his smile seemed friendly.
“Hi,” Tami said, aware of every inch of her nakedness, feeling the chill and her nervousness raising goose-bumps on her breasts and thighs, the wet dew causing pieces of grass to stick to her toes. She was about to go right to her door when he decided to engage her in conversation.
“Saying a morning prayer?” He had a mild kind of mountain accent. Tami was unfamiliar with such things but it was your standard southern Ohio twang.
She found herself stopping, and noticed he had ceased looking her up and down and was now making eye contact. “Yes . . .” She looked at the rifle. “Going hunting today?”
“Naw, just a turkey shoot,” he said, shining the long barrel in a way which could easily have suggested rubbing a long penis, but didn’t.
“I didn’t know there were wild turkeys around here.”
He chuckled. “We just shoot clay pigeons, there’s no real turkeys. A little sling puts ‘em in the air and we shoot ‘em.”
Tami looked again at the barrel of the rifle, and saw that it had a tiny hole, too small for a bullet. Maybe for BB’s? she guessed.
Looking up from his gun cleaning, he said, “You get up awful early for someone who doesn’t hunt.”
Tami shyly waved her hand back toward the field, her breasts bouncing with her motions, and said, “I -- I don’t like people watching me.” The smile on her face froze as she realized what she had just said. If this guy was a spy she had just given the admission that Wanda and the Dean and Henry Ross had been looking for. She bit her lip, then unbit it. No, please, God, after all I’ve been through, please tell me I didn’t blow everything just now.
She was relieved when the man seemed unaware. But his next words still shook her. “Are you the girl who was changing that tire east of Binghamton yesterday?”
“Y - yes. . . How did you know that?”
“News like that gets around pretty quick on the C.B.,” the man said, putting his gun aside and standing it up against the shingles behind him. “From what I hear you either were in a bad mood, or didn’t want to be naked. Or so it seemed to the guys.” Tami thought: “The guys.” Do all hunters know each other? “At first they were sure you were a topless dancer or someone trying to drum up business. But you seemed too, well, innocent, none of that cootchy-cootchy that dancers do. It sure seemed strange to them.”
Then he said something that caused another involuntary twitch of her hands, this time to cover her pussy. “And I saw that little run and swim you did last night. So did half the guys here, I reckon.”
Tami looked at him, frozen facing him in a fully exposed frontal stance, arms stiff at her sides, afraid to cover up, afraid of what he might say next. During her cavorting last night the windows were all dark, but now it turned out they were filled with watching eyes. Such a private moment, now violated.
“You seemed to enjoy it. Of course, you thought no one was looking.”
Tami smiled defensively.
“So why are you always going around naked? Where are your clothes?”
Tami’s throat was dry with nervousness. She felt sure by now that this guy was one of the Dean’s spies. But he was such an obvious local, such an unlikely character . . . But he had her number, somehow. She cleared her throat to make her voice clear. “I don’t have any clothes. I’m a religious . . . nudist.”
The man looked at her with a steady eye. “Are you SURE you are? It sounds like a tough religion to follow.”
Tami nodded, smiling, remembering that she was actually on familiar ground, affirming her “religion”, something which through much practice she had gotten good at.
The man seemed to relax and so did Tami. “My name’s McCaig,” he said, offering up his hand. “Ben McCaig.” That it was a friendly handshake suddenly struck Tami as being no surprise. Odd that he could be so low-keyed after finding a naked teenaged girl frolicking around.
It was almost unreal, but the sitting hunter and the standing naked girl fell into easy banter, talking about the weather, this part of Ohio, how good the wheat smelled. All the time McCaig was sitting with his legs crossed at the thighs, hands folded over his lap, puffing his cigarette but being careful to blow it in another direction, looking out at the wheat and only glancing occasionally at his companion. And the naked eighteen-year-old stood slouching in front of him, her arms casually crossed over her tummy, idly twisting one big toe into the wet grass.
McCaig was talking about when the various hunting seasons start when the back door to another room creaked open and out shuffled McMasters, half awake in his bathrobe with a coffee in each hand. “Well look who’s an early riser,” he said, giving one coffee to Tami. “This was free at the front desk.”
“You’re with her?” McCaig said.
The friendly conversation continued. McMasters spoke proudly of Tami, telling McCaig that they were from “a little college back east” where she was a straight-A student, a religious nudist who had been allowed to go naked all year. And that now they were going across the country on a research project.
“Researching how to change tires on a highway when you’re naked?” McCaig said playfully. Seeing McMasters’s look of surprise, he said, “It got around on the C.B. radio.”
Tami felt herself blush, being talked about this way in front of these two men. And then she saw a couple of other men walking up from the other rooms. And behind them, a guy and a lady in biker leathers coming up. Soon there was a little semi-circle of people around her, looking at her nakedness from front and back and side. What made it worse was that McMasters and McCaig were talking about her “religion”, drawing even more attention to the fact that she was naked. Their words barked out in the stillness of the morning air.
“She doesn’t even wear clothes in winter. She goes barefoot in the snow,” McMasters said, as everyone looked her up and down.
“Amazing,” McCaig said. The naked girl shivered a bit as a soft breeze blew around her. She felt it on her bare butt and her stiff nipples and her bare pussy lips. It was God, reminding her of her nakedness, as if she needed reminding. Yet the tone of the watching group was surprisingly respectful. They were all looking at her but more out of curiosity than ogling. Unlike, say, some of the guys at Campbell - Frank. Or Lorinda and her crowd.
“She does have an outfit she wears,” a scratchy female voice interposed. It was Wanda, emerging in her flannel pajamas and fluffy slippers, her hair messed, actually looking a little cute rather than bitchy. Extending her arm so that the sleeve drew back, exposing a watch, Wanda pointed at it. Soon it would be time for Tami’s morning session.
“It’s just a scientific monitoring device, a couple of hours each day, a temporary project she agreed to,” McMasters said. Tami breathed out in relief, and hoped Wanda wouldn’t add, “It makes her have orgasms like you wouldn’t believe!” Fortunately, she didn’t say anything more.
There was more talking. Tami noticed that McMasters wouldn’t be pinned down on what college they were from or exactly where they were going today. She knew he wanted to make St. Louis by suppertime, but all he said was, “Well we’ve got to shower and eat soon.”
“The diner here is pretty good,” one of McCaig’s hunter friends said.
“We’ll see you there at a little after seven then,” McMasters said. And he went in with Wanda, leaving the naked girl alone with McCaig and the circle of travelers.
Tami waved and said, “Ten-one hundred,” to McCaig.
This unusual man grinned and took another drag on his cigarette. “Ten-four.”
Half an hour later Tami, walking stiffly in her skimpy but deeply penetrating and frictioning bikini, followed Wanda and McMasters into the diner where they were met by (of course) everyone who had been talking to them out on the grass. Tami was conscious not only of all the skin she was exposing but also of her bare feet, as she carefully avoided stepping on the many cigarette butts on the cracked concrete walkway and inside in the little vestibule.
It was several tables pushed together to make a big long table, set up so that Tami was at the head. She looked around. Another diner with animal heads on the walls. McCaig was to her right, McMasters to her left, with others further away according to how unsuccessful they had been in jockeying for position. As the waitress passed around the menus, Tami knew she had the “seat of honor” and felt once again like a princess with her royal court. Though there was an assassin waiting: Wanda, at the other end, holding the remote control under the table.
Bzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Tami’s whole body jerked and everyone looked at her. “You O.K.?” McCaig said.
Tami nodded tightly as she shuddered, causing her menu to shake. “Y - yes. It’s just -- just the m - monitoring . . .ohhh . . .” She was aware of every eye at the table fixed on her. As they continued to watch she made like she was concentrating on the menu, trying to keep it from shaking. Within a minute they saw her face flush, her eyes close, and a strangled moan issue through gritted teeth. “Zhhhh . . . ohhhh . . . zzhhhhh . . .” Then she swallowed and opened her eyes, blinking back the wetness, recovering enough so that by the time the waitress came back nothing could be noticed.
But it was clear to everyone at the table what this “monitoring” was doing. They didn’t know the exact mechanism but this girl had just had an orgasm. As Tami gave the menu back to the waitress and held onto the edge of the table with white knuckles, her somewhat distracted subjects robotically ordered the same thing, eggs and toast, as they kept looking at her.
Conversation continued. McCaig made sure of that. Following his example, others chimed in. Such as:
“So what’s your major?”
“M - math. Mathematics.” Despite her difficulty with speech her head was held high, her bearing as dignified and regal as she could make it.
“Not many girls take that, do they?”
A crooked smile. “M - more than did in the old days, they say. I -- ohhh! -- I like having such a big selection of guys to ch - choose from.” Some chuckling from around the table. The crooked smile turned into a bit lip as the princess’s body shook. Then she smiled her gentle regal smile again.
The princess held court in this way, and conversation ceased as food was served and everyone ate, looking up now and then to see how the princess was holding up. As if she were a beloved and respected personage who suffered a type of nervous condition which everyone was aware of but was too tactful to mention or take overt notice of. Meanwhile, her nemesis Wanda worked the remote under the table, trying to make Tami come at the most inopportune moments. But despite the depths of shame that Wanda was plunging her into, Tami did a pretty good job of hiding what could be hid. By the time everyone stood up and said their good-byes nobody had guessed the exact number of orgasms their princess had had: four.
Back in the motel room, Tami lay down on her bare bed, catching her breath, as Wanda tidied up in the bathroom, having left her nudist companion hanging with one more orgasm to go before the session could end. Fortunately the buzzing was off, for which Tami was grateful. To get her mind off the giant dildos inside her she got off the bed, laboriously as if she were eight months pregnant, and flicked on the TV. She lay back down, willing to accept whatever was on. She managed a smile as she saw it was a rerun of the old, old “Superman” TV show. Silly and stupid but entertaining. Then she saw that one of the bad guys looked a bit like Henry Ross. She wearily shook her head. Can’t even get an escape with this silly TV show. She dozed off . . .
Half an hour later, having splashed her face with cold water and brushed her teeth, Tami slowly eased into the back seat of the old black Cadillac as the big silent dildos rubbed her insides. McCaig spoke briefly with McMasters before the three of them drove off toward the west. The hunter with the missing tooth smile made sure that nobody started off after them for a good twenty minutes. Nobody did, even then. Of course, they all had their C.B.’s.
For Nakedgirl, it was a new ordeal in her glorious/horrible life, ever since that meteor had fallen in front of her that night on the way to the library, glowing with those strange rays that burned off her clothes and gave her super powers.
Every day the modest girl was filled with a bitter longing for covering, but it was impossible. She had superpowers only when she was totally naked. Once, she tried putting on a bracelet, but even with that minimal covering she found it impossible to fly, she could not see past the horizon, she could not lift even an ordinary cinder block. Even after taking the bracelet off it was several hours before her super powers returned. She got the same results with putting on a ring, even a cheap pair of flip-flops. So with Ross-man and his henchmen seeming to appear out of nowhere causing crime and mayhem all over Clothingtown, she had to be totally naked at all times to be ready for them. Known worldwide for its fashion industry and textile mills, the city was trying to survive this latest crime wave and could only do it with the daily help of Nakedgirl. Only her boyfriend, Rod, a mild-mannered reporter for the Clothingtown Planet, knew her secret self, the shy, modest, quiet librarian from Smallburg.
Now she had fallen into Ross-man’s trap, and an exquisite torture it was. She hadn’t been looking when his sidekick “Dean the Suit” threw a sheet over her head, reducing her strength and making it easy for Ross-man to strap her into his new invention, the Orgasm Panties. Now, tied spread-eagled to the dirty brick wall, she was about to crest yet again as Ross-man stood in front of her with the remote control, controlling her response by turning the little dial from “low” to “high” and back again, watching her unwanted pleasure with sadistic glee.
“How much more do you think you can take, Nakedgirl??” he cackled, turning the dial up to force her into another orgasm. “This will be your tenth! Now come again for me, baby!”
“Y - y - you’ll . . . never . . . ohh! . . . g - g - get away . . . with . . . thisssss . . . OHHH!” Her eyes wide with anger and strain, Nakedgirl tried to spit the words out through clenched teeth, but could not help gasping in surprise as another orgasm overtook her.
Her bare backside thudded against the wall as she jerked with the spasms. But as Ross-man looked down at the controls Nakedgirl realized, with the tiny part of her mind that could still think, that her jerking had loosened the ropes around her wrists. . . Pretending she was still tightly bound, she did nothing as the spasms spent themselves and her body drooped and she caught her breath. Then, picking her moment carefully, she lurched forward, flexing her bare toes against the bottom of the wall, and grabbed the gun on the floor.
“Hold it!” she looked up at Ross-man, steadying herself on one hand, her bare butt cheeks, dirty from the brick, sticking up in the air and her feet braced against the wall, her hard-nippled breasts pointing down. She aimed the gun at Ross-man’s head. “Turn it off and put that thing down or I’ll blow your head off!!”
Ross-man, his glee suddenly gone, meekly obeyed, then placed the remote on the floor. The awful intruders inside the panties stopped vibrating. As she breathed deeply with relief, her body finally calm, Nakedgirl untied her bare feet and stood upright in front of her nemesis. She wished she could take the intruders out but the panties were locked on and the key was back at Ross-man’s hideaway. She sidled over to the phone on the beaten-up desk and dialed 911. “Police! This is . . . Nakedgirl” -- she still hated saying that word aloud -- “I’ve got Ross-man at the old Campbell warehouse. I’m locked into clothes and I can’t fly. Come get us!”
“Thank God, Nakedgirl. . . We thought you were done for!” said a staticky Irish voice. “But traffic is backed up for miles. It’ll be an hour or more. Will you be O.K.?”
Nakedgirl smiled. She thought of those big black Packards and Oldsmobiles (this was 1938) waiting in a motionless line along the Dixon Mill Highway. And with those bumbling police always making wrong turns. But that was O.K. “Yes, take your time. Ross-man and I have some things to talk about.” She hung up and looked at him. Finally she had him. With a gun to his head she could finally get information about his operation, including this mystery weapon he supposedly was developing. They’ll lock him up and throw away the key. And then she could finally put something on!
“So . . . you were about to blow up the City, you say. With what?”
Ross-man was sweating in his business suit, staring at the barrel of the gun, his courage suddenly gone. “Please don’t kill me, Nakedgirl. . . It’s called . . . a nuclear bomb. I use uranium.”
Nakedgirl’s forehead went slack. “You know what you’re saying?? A uranium bomb would destroy all life for miles around! Or at least that’s the theory.”
Ross-man nodded. “Well, it’s not theory any more, it’s fact. It’s set to go off in six hours unless I defuse it. I’ll drop it from a plane I have waiting and I’ll be gone.” Still staring at the gun, he looked up with a weak smile as if to curry favor. “You’ve got to admit, I’m pretty smart.”
Nakedgirl slowly shook her head. “If only you’d used your genius for good, instead of evil.” She sighed, then looked down. “A little thing to take care of before I make you talk.” With her gun she motioned Ross-man away from the remote, and then with a quick motion she shot it, shattering it to pieces.
“AIEEEE!!!” Nakedgirl suddenly crouched as if in agony. She tried to stand up but her body jerked around. The panties were now vibrating at full power! And now there was no way to turn them off! “NOOOOOOO!!” she shrieked as a powerful orgasm suddenly overtook her. Her body lurched with spasm after spasm as Ross-man looked on in amazement.
The spasms did not stop!! This orgasm was not going to end!! She wiped the sweat from her unfocused eyes and with all her willpower kept the shaking gun aimed in Ross-man’s direction. Her nemesis was now gloating as he glared into the spasming girl’s tortured eyes. “So, Nakedgirl! The tables have turned again! If you kill me there goes your last chance at defusing the bomb! How long do you think you can hold on?”
HOLD ON, Nakedgirl told her shaking hands as her slender but muscular hips bucked violently again and again. H - h - hold onnn --
. . . .
“OHH!” Tami sat up, eyes suddenly opened, as if waking from a bad dream. “OHH!. . . OHH!” As her eyes focused she saw the setting sun glaring through the windshield and felt the black vinyl under her thighs and butt as her pelvis jerked again. “OHH! OHH!” Wave after wave jolted her body. Through her wide-open eyes she saw Wanda looking around from the front seat, aiming the remote at her with a little devilish grin, turning her on, waking her up.
Tami had never been awakened by orgasm before. It was not a good feeling to be jolted awake, especially not like this. Wanda had reached into her dream and pulled her out of it into the waking world. It was a new kind of violation which Tami resented keenly. The spasms finally, blessedly subsided and Tami caught her breath. Try as she might to be strong, she could not help giving in to the enormity of her shame, and began to sob, tears rolling down her cheeks as she covered her face with her hands, finally after a few minutes winding down to sniffles. McMasters, at the wheel, seemed about to turn around, but of course everyone knew that this was how Tami often reacted to a really powerful orgasm. He then returned his attention to the big arch of St. Louis looming in the distance. Gateway to the West.
Tami Smithers was tough enough by now that she could bounce back from almost anything. That was her fifth orgasm (finally!), and the session was over. After she regained her composure she squatted up on the vinyl seat and began to expel the dildos. Wanda watched intently, of course, always seeking to increase her shame. The naked girl spread her legs and leaned back against the seat. Her pointed-out toes grasped the vinyl near both doors as she held the base of the Godzilla dildo with both hands and began to pull it out, her concave tummy quivering with her gasps of unwanted thrills as the big ridges of the emerging monster bumped one by one against her clit. Then, she leaned forward, holding onto the headrests of the front seats, Wanda’s eyes about five inches from her face, as she shit out the rectal dildo with a suppressed grunt. She was trying like hell to ignore Wanda’s presence, but could not control her intense blush.
Taking off the bristle bra, she was done. Tami had already made putting the equipment away a quick and clean procedure, assisted by some scented wet towelettes from the glove compartment. Glad to have her body back, she curled up against the door, squeezing her thighs together so as to quickly close those spaces that had been rudely created within her. She gently caressed her big, irritated nipples, cupping her left breast in her left hand, her right breast in her right hand, for a moment almost looking like she was trying to cover them from view. Then she wiped away the marks of dried tears and looked at the big golden arch. It made her want french fries.
“I used to live here,” McMasters said. “Our first engagement is tomorrow afternoon. It’s called Sexpo 2001.”
Tami almost rolled her eyes. She was hoping that wherever she was being exhibited it would have a more tactful name.
The annual Veiled Prophet fair, a St. Louis tradition. Gathered like little huts around the immensely tall arch, like a medieval market at the base of a Gothic cathedral, carnival games, fried dough, Cardinals in their baseball uniforms signing autographs. With most of the booths sporting mosque-like canopies. And now, a growing bunch of people gawking at this totally nude young woman walking up to the base of the arch. Obviously a stunt, yet she seemed unconcerned with the sight she was presenting, occupied with her own thoughts. Heads turned as they looked for the police officers who surely must be coming. Fortunately for the naked girl the crowds were so thick that no one could see her from a distance, including the police, who were clustered around the doughnut booth a ways away.
It was a hot day, and as Tami reached out to touch the base of the arch the metal felt hot too. She looked up its immense length, over 600 feet. She concentrated on it, trying to block out awareness of the stares. She spoke to McMasters, who was a few feet away with a camera. “At first this looked to me like half of McDonald’s,” she said. “But seeing this up close I’m pretty impressed.” Glad to have math thoughts to occupy her brain, she was speculating what kind of curve this arch was. Probably a parabola. . .
“It was either build this, or a 200-foot statue of August Busch,” McMasters said, clicking the camera as Tami made a show of holding the arch up with her arms. This even brought a smile to Wanda, who was standing around looking for something non-greasy to eat.
After lollygagging around the motel all morning, it was McMasters who had said, “Let’s go to the V.P.,” and Tami had gone along without knowing what he was talking about. When she saw that it was a big fair she wanted to stay in the car, but that would have been too suspicious. So she gamely walked from the car along with McMasters and Wanda, along that long, long parking lot, passing people who glanced quickly at her and then looked away. There were no comments shouted out; people probably didn’t quite believe what they were seeing. Meanwhile Tami’s feet got oily and gritty from the warm, soft asphalt. It was a really hot day, and though she wasn’t sweating as much as her clothed companions, she soon worked up a light sheen which served only to attract the dust. By the time they got to the arch she was dusky with stuck-on dust from her sweaty, messy red hair to her bare, dirty toes.
Looking up at the arch again, Tami wondered if she could crawl up to the top. Being just a far-up speck in people’s eyes, that would be good. She resolutely kept her attention divorced from the prying eyes around her, trying with all her might to pretend that she was wearing clothes like everyone else, just another person taking in the V.P. Fair. Realizing she couldn’t look up at the arch forever, she shifted her gaze to the wide, slow-moving river, her first ever view of the Mississippi. She licked sweat from her lips and wished she could jump in and swim away, the water hiding her from everyone’s gaze. The water could be my clothes, she thought.
Her eyes shifted to a nearby beer stand, trying to ignore the stares and smiles of the guys there as she thought of how good a beer would taste right now. Of course, she was underage, so that was out. As a mere teenager the law protected her tender sensibility from dangerous experiences like alcohol. She almost laughed at the cruel irony as she studied the leering guys sipping away at the beer stand. Those guys, they’ve never been through anything like I’ve been through . . . She smiled at a long Busch Beer T-shirt being sold there, making fun of Coors’s mountain ad campaign. “If you loved my mountains” -- over the breasts -- “wait till you see my BUSCH” -- above the crotch. Ah, to be a naughty girl who could wear that. Of course, for Tami, forced to expose her bare pussy lips to the world, even having her pubic bush again would be a wonderful covering, let alone a T-shirt. . .
“I’m hungry. Fried dough!” McMasters said jovially, looking around, his car keys jingling from the clip on his belt. “Come on, let’s go.” Tami found herself tagging along as Wanda and McMasters made the rounds. Hamburgers, ice cream, meatball heroes . . . they finally settled on the fried dough. All the time people were staring at the naked girl, some guys now making no attempt to hide their outright gawking. A couple of them went right up to her, making like they were waiting on line. She shut her eyes as one of them said, low so that only she could hear, “Mmmmm . . . yum . . .” She clenched her fists, straining against the unbearable urge to cover her breasts and pussy and run.
“Get some sodas, O.K.?” Wanda said as she and McMasters waited for their order. She pressed a ten dollar bill into the nude girl’s hand. “Diet coke for me, regular for him. Get what you want for you.”
Tami exchanged a quick angry look but knew she had no choice but go off by herself like Wanda asked. She scoped out the soda stand across the way. Bravely, proudly, she strode across the dry, crunchy grass to where a little crowd of surprised people had just turned to see the naked girl. Determined not to betray any trace of shame, she defiantly threw her shoulders back and thrust out her bare breasts as she placed her order. The nervous kid behind the counter, probably about to explode in his pants, stared at her nipples, unable to move or speak. He was told to step aside by an older man, possibly the kid’s father, who looked with cold regard at her nudity and then, seeing her put the money on the counter, wordlessly began to pour the sodas.
As she turned around, balancing her order and the change in her hands, trying to keep the cold soda cups from touching her nipples, she looked up and saw not only McMasters and Wanda, but a row of touristy looking guys with cameras. When she was left with only her own soda, there was nothing to do but start sipping it, remembering the other times when she had stood naked in a circle of people watching her drink something. For the twenty or thirty persons watching from close quarters it was a treat to observe the delicate workings of her concave tummy muscles as the soda, in a phrase never so aptly put, “hit the spot”.
“How much are you charging?” one of the touristy guys said. Upon seeing Tami’s eyes flash he quickly clarified, “For taking your picture.”
So this is what they thought she was. Tami looked at Wanda and wondered if this was a test. But the naked girl, being stared at from every direction, utterly unable to cover any part of herself, decided to assert her dignity. “You can’t take a picture.”
There were looks of confusion. Then a painfully shy guy around her own age came forward hesitantly and said, “C - can I take a picture of you? Just your face? You’re the most beautiful girl I ever saw. I mean it. You’re . . . b - beautiful.”
Tami was so touched by his stuttering longing, the parched thirst of this earnest virgin. He was so sweet. She smiled and held his face alongside hers as McMasters took the boy’s camera and snapped a photo of their faces. The boy was careful not to let his hands touch her, but looking down discreetly, Tami saw the long, thick bulge running down the leg of his pants. She imagined this reaction was common and probably had caused him much embarrassment, adding to his shyness.
She gave him a little peck on the cheek and received his profuse thanks. Then the inevitable happened. A big cop made his way through the pack of admirers and, looking the nude girl up and down exactly once, said, “Miss, what are you doing here?”
She was about to explain that she was just a visiting nudist. “I’m --”
“Never mind. I’m taking you in for indecent exposure. Come with me.”
Tami’s quick mind and reflexes came to the rescue. Before the officer could reach out to grab her, she pulled the keys off McMasters’s belt and ran toward the parking lot. Bumping into people right and left, her bare feet slipping on the occasional discarded hot dog roll or corn cob, she darted through the crowd well ahead of the big, clothed policeman, who fell further and further behind, yelling, “Hey! Stop!” His shouts drew attention as people looked with scarcely believing eyes at the naked, scooting girl sprinting past. When she got to the more open spaces of the long parking lot she broke into the long strides of her old track team sprint, her feet slapping loudly on the asphalt, keys clenched in her fist. McMasters and Wanda followed the cop, trotting behind him. By the time the cop reached the parking lot Tami was nowhere to be seen, having slipped into the Cadillac, one of dozens and dozens of cars. The cop had no idea where she had gone. After stopping and panting as he surveyed the parking lot, he turned around and went back to his patrol, his mission accomplished.
McMasters and Wanda took their time getting to the car. As he opened the door and settled into the driver’s seat McMasters looked at Tami, crouched down below eye level in the seat next to him. He was smiling. “Good show, Tami. You’re spunky.”
The compliments continued as they drove off. “Everyone has dreams where they suddenly find themselves naked in public and don’t know what to do. The way you handle it, Tami, well, it does you a lot of credit.” Sitting back up, Tami did not say anything in response but to smile. Then she looked through the side window at the receding arch and was left alone with her thoughts.
Yes, he had cheesy salesman clothes, and he was obviously a huckster, with none of the suave charm of, say, Dr. Harridance or Dr. Schnitzler back at Chalfont. And he obviously knew from the beginning that she was not a willing participant, judging from how he continued to show and describe the Lab 6 apparatus in spite of her tearful reaction. But that was when they first met, now so long ago. He really seemed to believe in what he was doing, and was acting, well, respectfully, not like Wanda. She would take her leave of him soon, but she had to admit, this guy was not all that bad.
It was not one of your more glamorous exhibition halls, a little run down, Tami told herself as they drove up to it. It reminded her of the auditorium part of her high school, only bigger. Actually it was a remodeled hockey rink, with a modest front entrance, above which was a little banner that said, “Sexpo 2001”.
The nude girl bit her lip. She knew McMasters would be demonstrating some of his sex toys, using her as the model, and the exhibition was going to last all afternoon. Surely she wouldn’t be strapped into something the whole time. And what about during breaks? Could she come back to the car? Probably she’d have to stand around and answer fool questions. She tried to steel herself for what was to come. Next to her in the back seat, Wanda smiled her evil smile as she noticed Tami’s discomfort.
At least they would have nice digs. They had just unpacked in the rooms set aside for them in the hotel down the road. The hotel was nicer than the exhibition hall. In fact to Tami it seemed downright luxurious, what with old-fashioned chromed faucets and huge, fluffy towels. She had never been in a true hotel before, merely motels, and it seemed doubly insolent and impolite to move about in such elegant surroundings totally naked. They’d even set up separate rooms for her and Wanda, though any thought of covering up away from Wanda’s view was quickly dashed when Wanda stripped Tami’s bed, took all the big towels, and propped open the pass-door between their two rooms. Still, a nice place, and amazingly discreet. While walking through the halls she passed a couple of porters and they nodded politely, seeming to take no notice of her nakedness.
McMasters, clearly excited with anticipation, crept the Cadillac forward as it waited patiently in line behind other cars discharging their cargo into the entrance. Mostly freaky-looking men carrying big suitcases for women in their 20’s and 30’s who loudly chewed gum and wore trashy dresses, too much lipstick, and outrageously high heels. There were a few people who looked “gay”, but they seemed humorless and drab, not pretty and graceful like Jen or good-natured and easygoing like Jeffrey. Thinking of this, Tami realized how much she missed her friends at college, and looked forward to the day when she could return to them as a clothed person.
These people, part of the exhibition obviously, were greeted and helped through the door by a portly tuxedoed man holding a clipboard. Finally their turn came and McMasters stopped the car and got out to shake hands and sign the clipboard. As he went around to pop open the trunk he said, “Tami, Wanda, give me a hand with this please.” With a deep sigh Tami opened the door and put one bare foot on the warm asphalt --
“Hey! You! None of this! None of this!” the man pointed at her angrily. “Get some clothes on or stay in the car!” When McMasters walked up in confusion the man said, “We have a strict dress code here. We don’t want any trouble!” Tami shot back into the car in shame and shock, feeling like a little girl being scolded by grown-up. Naked? How dare she come here naked??!! She felt like she was being yelled at by a nun during catechism. Or by Charlene’s father at the Christmas party when he found her dancing around with Christmas tree ornaments tied to her nipples.
“But she’s a religious nudist!”
The man rolled his eyes. “Yeah right!” He calmed down a bit and said, “Look, Mr. -- ” he looked at the clipboard -- “Nevada, what goes on in there is our business, but we can’t afford any trouble with the authorities. It was hard enough getting the permit for this place. Outside, in public view, we’ve got to be prim and proper. Capeesh?”
McMasters thought for a minute, then told Tami to stay in the car. He and Wanda unloaded the suitcases and boxes and carried them in. Tami knew it was wise to crouch down out of view, and stayed hidden in the space behind the front seat as McMasters returned and parked the car in the nearest available space. He then went back in and was gone for a few minutes, while Tami stayed hidden like a nude refugee. Then McMasters came back and drove the car around to the rear of the hall. In the middle of vast, bare brickface there was a little metal door without a handle. “Stay here, I’ll go around and open it for you.” Five minutes later, the door was furtively propped open with a stone. The naked girl parked the Cadillac nearby and then slipped into the exhibition hall. In her life of public nudity, she had never had to go through such subterfuge in hiding her nakedness as now, trying to get into a sex toy exhibition.
The place was huge, well lit, and busy, reminding her in a way of the college Job Fair. Rows and rows of folding tables and folding chairs, and maybe dozens of exhibits, of liquid gels and vibrators and lingerie and books and things that Tami could not identify, the men mostly setting things up, the women, some of them stripped down to sparkly bikinis, clicking around in their high heels. Standing on the perimeter, Tami’s bare shoulders drooped as she realized that not only was she the youngest person here, she was also the only one naked.
The teenage girl, toughened by months of enforced nudity, chided herself. What did she expect? A room full of religious nudists? Of teenaged Tamis forced to be naked all the time? No, in all the world she was unique. And right now, she felt as much on another planet as she did in the banquet hall at Chalfont. Only that banquet hall was friendly, educated, refined. This place was tacky, degenerate, glitzy. She most intensely didn’t want to be here.
Gamely, she straightened her shoulders and went to look for McMasters and Wanda, her bare feet padding silently and gently on the hardwood floor, which fortunately was pretty clean, her firm breasts bouncing ever so slightly with her step. She felt the stale, cigarette-tinged air hitting and irritating her eyes and her nipples and even creeping between her bare pussy lips. She immediately attracted stares, astonished faces she had not expected. Why was it so surprising that there would be a naked girl here? She did not realize that she was distinguished not only by her total nakedness, but by her youth and air of innocence. (In fact, she looked so young, like a mere adolescent, that McMasters had had to give the exhibition organizers a copy of her college I.D. as proof that she was 18.) Also she was distinguished by the perfection of her body, unmarred by that scratch Wanda had inflicted which had healed quickly.
She tried to smile and nod politely, but was distracted by some of the exhibits. She had been given a crash course in dildos and stimulators the past few months but still couldn’t guess what some of these things were for. Odd shapes, some motorized, made of plastic, some of wood. Vibrators -- some of them were huge! Where did women put them? With little round things on the end. “Magic Wand.” What the heck was that? These people were degenerate and old, too jaded to enjoy simple loving screwing like she and Rod did. The naked teenager felt soiled just walking by.
Her eyes tried to look past the staring people near and far as she searched for McMasters and Wanda. When she saw them way on the other side of the hall she stopped and her eyebrows went up in resignation. Yes, it was what she dreaded. They were fussing around their table but the exhibit was already up. Way, way up, she noticed as she approached. On top of the table was a little platform, and on top of that the two dildos, the Godzilla dildo for her pussy, and the big white dotted one for her butt, set up on their metal pistons and angled inward so that they were almost touching. And then, the little half-chair that would support her back and buttocks and thighs. And metal supports going up maybe six feet on each side, from which hung the tubes and cups for the purpose of nipple suction. Her throne for the day, her seat. And so high up that her pussy would be at people’s eye level and her sweating, spasming body would be up on display, visible from anywhere in the hall. On the base of the platform was the word, “Total Lover”, written in a florid script logo.
She cleared her throat as she met Wanda and McMasters, well aware of people behind her staring at her bare butt cheeks, suppressing the ridiculously inadequate urge to clench them and squeeze her legs together. Wanda raised her eyebrow insolently. “Almost time for your show, Tam! Bet you can’t wait to come . . . and come and come and come . . .” She patted the Godzilla dildo and then the rectal dildo. “I’ve heard this gizmo really turns you on, Tam. Think of how far inside you this will be, and this . . .” She patted the tip of each dildo. Tami’s glare was like a dagger, but it was defeated by Wanda’s evil little smile. Wanda continued muttering, “. . . and come and come and come . . .”
McMasters was too caught up in things to notice this interaction. “Sit down, Tam, rest up,” he said. As her bare butt made contact with the cold metal chair Tami couldn’t help looking at what he was doing. He was setting up charts next to the pedestal, one of which she recognized as a chart of her orgasmic response. The “X” axis was “Time”, and the “Y” axis was “orgasmic level”, divided up into “plateau”, “threshold” and “contractions”. She told herself a nerdy math major joke: I wish the equation of my response was, f(x) = 0.
There were other charts too, dealing with respiration, contractions . . . And then came the pictures. Tami’s eyes widened with horror as she saw the big color glossies being arranged in order on the other side of the pedestal.
They were pictures of her face, showing the various stages of arousal! Taken, obviously, by the camera in Lab 6, they had little captions underneath. In the first photo, entitled “Level One Arousal”, she was looking down to the side, one eye squinting. The second photo, “Plateau”, showed her reddened face and eyes half-closed as if in deep concentration. The third photo, “Threshold”, was filled with her sweating face, her wrinkled forehead strewn with disheveled hair, and anguished eyes looking up as if delivering an urgent prayer.
And the last photo -- Tami closed her eyes and looked down. She had caught a quick glimpse and couldn’t bear to look, but morbid curiosity got the better of her and she looked again. “Orgasm.” Her desperate eyes opened wide as if in terrible agony, pleading right at the camera, and also right at anyone passing by this table. With her mouth opened in mid-scream. Tami shut her eyes again and looked down, squeezing her butt cheeks together, remembering the feel of the dildos pummeling past her clit, ramrodding her front and rear. She wanted to bolt out of this hall and run into the street, hiding her breasts and her pussy with her hands, crying tearfully, “Help! Save me! I don’t want to come for the crowd! Give me clothes! Anyone! Please! Clothes!!”
A deep breath and she was O.K. again. Control. She had to keep her wants and needs under control for now, and pick her time for escape with a controlled mind. Escape will be soon. And certain.
“All set,” McMasters said, as he eased into a chair behind the table. “The doors open in ten minutes.” He and Wanda would be sitting behind the table, but Tami’s seat was in front, leaving her nakedness in full view. She sullenly conceded that this was the best setup to attract attention. Then McMasters tapped her on the shoulder and said in a low voice, “Tami, I can’t thank you enough. I know this affair looks a little chintzy. Most of these ladies are probably strippers, maybe a few porn actresses here and there.” Tami’s nose crinkled in distaste. Stripping and porn films were kinky, yucky things she had only heard about. What kind of girl would do things like that? Then McMasters whispered. “Some hookers too, at least in their spare time.”
Then back to the low voice. “But think of all the people, all the women, who can’t have an orgasm, or who are single, or who have husbands who can’t get erections any more. For them, think of how fulfilling this ‘Total Lover’ will be. And it relieves tension, gives them the ultimate pleasure that is everyone’s birthright, for many of them, for the first time ever in their lives . . . Think of an older couple, he can’t get it up any more, but he sits next to her as she sits on the Total Lover, as they kiss and hug each other as she goes from crest to crest. . .”
Tami glanced up at the “Total Lover” again and found herself actually touched by what McMasters was saying. And she was indeed lucky to be able to have so many orgasms, when some women couldn’t have even one. This was probably a useful invention, and it could not have been perfected without her. Still, the shame of it . . . Why did it have to be her? She looked around at the passing spangled bikinis. These women would have been much better candidates to test this thing out on, not a shy and unwilling 18-year-old.
“The first demonstration will be at two o’clock,” McMasters said, pointing to a little sign he had put up. “Until then, I’ll answer people’s questions. You might get asked some things too.” He patted her bare shoulder. “Here they come,” he said, motioning to the big entrance doors as the opened. A depressingly large number of people began milling in, most of them actually looking pretty respectable, some of them yuppies in casual clothes. Tami closed her eyes and said a little prayer. Please God, give me the strength to live through this. Please don’t make this very bad . . .
And so it went, as McMasters said. Tami sat upright in the metal chair as people stopped by. Typically, they would take a long look at her and then up at the Total Lover and then ask, “How exactly does this work? As if I couldn’t guess!” Whether flippant, sarcastic or genuinely curious, their comments were answered by McMasters in the same earnest tone as he did his spiel. “. . . Motorized pistons . . . ridges which stimulate her G - spot . . . tiny holes to keep her anal ring lubricated . . . “ Tami tried to tune him out, but couldn’t avoid the feeling that whenever he said “her”, he meant Tami. She felt the eyes of the prospective customer shift between the device and her, specifically her nipples and her bare pussy lips. “Does this thing really work?” someone finally asked her, a middle-aged woman in a prim professional outfit, looking down at the naked teenager with the air of someone who is used to getting quick answers to her questions.
Tami was proud of how well she handled herself. She looked this woman right in the eye and smiled, hiding the deep hurt in her eyes. “Yes, very much.” She thought of adding “You should try it,” but somehow that would seem impertinent.
It was much harder to answer the slimy - looking guy in the greasy hair and ratty sweatshirt who cocked his eyebrow and said, “So how many times did this thing . . . ring your chimes?”
Tami’s eyes darted to McMasters’s proud grin. She cleared her throat but found it hard to meet this guy’s eyes. “One hundred and . . . th - thirty six times.” She tried to manage a smile but just could not do it.
“Yeah, bullshit!” he muttered, shaking his head and moving on, leaving Tami mortified and McMasters shaking his head in disgust. As for Wanda, her attention was focused on the clock up on the wall.
McMasters had put up a little sign that said, “Demonstrations at 2:00, 3:30 and 5:00”. At the first appointed time McMasters told Tami to get up on the table and then, to her horror, he started barking. “Time for our first demonstration! Come see the ‘Total Lover’ in action! With a live model! Time for our first demonstration! Come see the ‘Total Lover’ in action! With a live model!” Though there was hardly any need to bark, because the sight of the naked teenager awkwardly getting up on the table and resting her widely spread thighs on the little half-chair drew enough attention in itself. People gravitated toward the table.
When a sufficient crowd had gathered McMasters leaned over from behind the table so as not to obstruct the view, and said, “The first dildo, as you can see, is angled directly into the vagina.” He pointed to the big dildo with ridges on top that looked like the scales on Godzilla’s back. He then pointed to the dildo’s target, the teenager’s bare spread pussy lips, now slightly opened but seeming far too small for the impending penetration. “Note the many holes through which lubricant continually seeps via the pump down at the pedestal. And if some of you could come behind and see the rectal dildo back here.” Tami felt the movement of people behind her. “We call it a ‘rectal dildo’ because it penetrates not just the anus but all the way into Tami’s rectum, in fact when Tami shifts her hips it will go straight into the colon. This further stabilizes Tami’s body and will increase the force of her contractions.”
Tami wished McMasters wouldn’t use her name. She looked up into the middle distance with a neutral expression, trying not to focus on the fact that she was brightly lit and up high and everyone around her could see every inch of her nakedness and knew what was about to be done to her . . .
The video camera appeared to the lower left of her view. She determined not to look at it but couldn’t help noticing through her peripheral vision: a nerdy guy with a camera. And a well-dressed woman with dyed green hair with a microphone. She was saying something into the camera with a perky voice. “And now what looks like the main attraction, the ‘Total Lover’.” Surely they can’t be putting her on actual TV, Tami thought. Maybe it was just a cable TV show. Still . . . The reporter put her microphone up to McMasters as he continued his description of the many fine features of his invention.
The equipment got closer, closer to Tami’s bare, exposed, brightly lit, displayed body. She saw the woman stick the microphone up near her face and the cameraman point his lens up from the side. “Miss Tami Smithers, this is Valerie Johnstone of ‘Actual Sex’, Cable TV’s top rated adult education show. Tell our audience how it feels!” Tami was thinking of what she could say to make the microphone go away when her concave tummy flinched at the touch of the cold, lubricated head of the Godzilla dildo pressing against her pussy lips, then parting them and going inside, slowly splitting her open. She couldn’t help but breath faster as she accommodated more and more of Godzilla, then found herself moaning as the ridges got inside and began to flick her G - spot. Her face was a mask of agonized shame but she answered the reporter’s question. “G - good. . .” The chuckles and cackles this evoked caused her eyebrows to knit in mortification.
The reporter, realizing the naked girl was not a very good interview right now, returned to McMasters and he described the play-by-play. “ . . . notice how she is feeling the ridges inside . . .rectal dildo must be inserted with care . . . longest possible dildos . . . stability . . . important to immobilize . . . tying ankles and thighs . . .” Then there was that uncomfortable feeling as her anal ring was invaded and stretched, wider, wider, wider. Then Wanda helped to tie the naked girl’s ankles and thighs to the half-chair.
Tami had been strapped in and hooked up many times, but not in so public a place. Lab 6, in spite of its little complement of theater-style seats, seemed like a private cubbyhole compared to this big exhibition hall. And now she was on national TV!
She now keenly felt the two big dildos way up inside her. McMasters carefully fitted the suction cups over her nipples. Though she kept her eyes on the far wall, she could not avoid noticing the continued movement of people toward her, the probing lens of the video camera. It seemed like everyone in the hall was crowding around the table now, looking up at her. Even some of the jaded spangled bikinis stopped chewing their gum as they looked up at this beautiful naked teenager, high enough up on her pedestal so that no one’s view was blocked by anyone in front. The other exhibitors, with no one at their tables, sat and watched intently from afar.
The machinery went into motion and Tami grunted, prompting the reporter to once more put the microphone up near her face. The suction cups drew up her nipples harshly and rhythmically, sending a direct jolt to her pleasure center. The camera man crept around behind to take a close-up of the rectal dildo plowing in, its immensity stretching her rear ring wide and piercing her deep into her guts. Though he had his “game face” on, the camera man was amazed at such a sight, and in his job he had seen a lot of things! In front, the Godzilla dildo repeatedly stuffed her pussy, its ridges driving her crazy as they bumped past her clit and inside past her G - spot. The slim naked body heaved back and forth within its bonds as each dildo pushed her forward and back, forward and back. The girl’s skin flushed and she began to sweat. Her eyes closed as if savoring the pleasure. Actually she was praying. Please God, please God, help me, help me through this torture . . . I am being tortured in public now, I’m about to have my most public orgasm ever, on TV, people I know will probably see this someday, this is my worst shame yet, please help me be strong . . .
The naked girl’s eyes opened but she refused to look down. But below the center of her vision she sensed it to be Wanda, enjoying her first view of Tami on the machine, cheering her on, letting her know she was watching. Tami thought she sensed Wanda’s hand moving to a pocket as if to remind her of her little tape recorder. Want to confess now, Tam? The naked girl shut her eyes again, then grimaced as she heard the reporter take up the cheer. Soon several people were chanting, “Go Tami! Go Tami!”
Tami was dimly aware of strangled screams echoing in the big hall, of the reporter straining to stretch up higher to get the microphone closer. She gritted her teeth and opened her eyes as she gave up the ghost of her orgasm. With widened eyes beseeching above, in the harsh light of the exhibition hall, the flash of camera bulbs, a female Jesus dying on the cross. My Lord, why hast thou forsaken me??!! . . .
Of course one orgasm was not enough. The undoubted authenticity of the naked teenager’s response surprised her audience, who were used to fake porn-style female orgasms. But they were even more astonished when the demonstration continued. A second orgasm! And then a third! “This really is amazing, this machine really works!” the reporter said loudly into her microphone, as McMasters beamed. The people with their little cameras quickly reset them, and another series of flashes began. The air around the table was humid with the girl’s sweat, her heavy breathing and gasps clearly audible because the audience was completely silent, they themselves hardly breathing, they were so transfixed. Then they saw the tears begin to run from the girl’s eyes. “This is a . . .sacred . . . moment,” the reporter enthused. Deep inside her thoughts, Tami survived by thinking of being under the covers, alone with her dear Rod, tenderly making love in a freezing room in a ratty apartment in the dead of winter in a place far away and long ago, six months ago a thousand miles from here . . .
When McMasters finally turned off the machine and the naked girl’s sweaty body slumped, her tummy heaving in and out with catching her breath, there was a moment of silence. Then applause. A few minutes later, with the naked, zoned - out teenager accepting compliments on sweaty, unsteady bare feet as she stood to one side of the table, holding onto it for support, McMasters began taking the first of many orders.
It was a bizarre post-game interview with a star athlete. “You’ve just had three powerful orgasms on the ‘Total Lover’. How did it feel?” Valerie Johnstone said, putting her microphone in front of the dazed naked girl.
Tami was still catching her breath. “Uhhhh . . . g - good . . .” She desperately wanted the reporter to go away, but of course she had to look eager. Some people around chuckled at the understatement. She noticed Wanda to the side, minutely observing how the naked girl comported herself.
“Those . . . things . . . looked kind of big. Weren’t they uncomfortable going into you?”
Tami imagined for a moment that they were both Rod’s dicks, Rod somehow fucking her in both places at the same time. She wearily shook her head with a little smile. “N - not at all.”
Valerie Johnstone and her cameraman stepped back a moment. “You don’t usually see an absolutely naked woman at these shows . . . Let me say, Miss Smithers, you have an outstanding body.” Tami tried not to look at the camera man as he made a long, slow sweep of her evenly tanned body, from her sweaty hair down past her erect nipples and sweaty flat tummy, past her bare, tanned pussy lips, down her long, toned legs, ending at her pretty bare feet. “Do you work out often?”
Tami thought for a second, remembering how the ordeals of the past months had been true workouts of her body as well as her mind. She blinked as she began to become fully alert again. “Yes.”
“Let’s see those muscles,” Wanda said. Knowing it was required of her, Tami stretched her arms and legs out in an “X” so that the camera could get a good view of her stretched muscles. The camera man zeroed in on her slightly opened pussy lips, which the reporter thought was tacky. “No, no, Sam, get her scooped-out tummy, look at those abs. . . Men!” she said in exasperation. Sam did as he was told, as every inch of Tami’s body made it onto cable TV. “Show them your backside, Tam,” Wanda said. Tami turned around. “Look at those tight buns! I hate you, I hate you!”, Valerie Johnstone said playfully.
Then the reporter cleared her throat and spoke in a lower voice. “They might cut this from the show,” she said, “but I’m just curious. That rear dildo was huge. Are you still ‘opened up’ back there? If you could bend over . . .” Glad at least that she was facing away from them, the naked girl dutifully bent over and spread her butt cheeks. She sensed people crowding around back there to look. Sam turned on the light over his camera as it zoomed in, recording the brightly illuminated ring of Tami’s stretched anus, still slightly open, in fact the light showed a little of the pinkness of the upper part of her rectum deep inside . . .
Back at the hotel, Tami slumped on her bare bed, listlessly watching TV, as Wanda and McMasters, next door in Wanda’s room, got ready for dinner, a buffet and bar set up downstairs for the exhibitors to get together, swap business cards, chat. It was in the “Rainbow Room”, which Tami had passed before when getting settled. A nice little room, then the “Disco Den”, a dance floor with a stand for a live band or a DJ. Tami had felt terribly self-conscious walking by these places naked, and had no wish to go down there now.
“I’m too wiped out, I think I’ll nap. Bring me up something,” Tami said. McMasters was disappointed but he understood. After that first session for cable TV, there had been two more sessions on the Total Lover. Tami had come a total of ten times. Actually not an exhausting afternoon for the naked girl, who had developed the endurance for suffering unwanted public orgasms and then going on with her day, but she grabbed the chance to use any plausible excuse to stay out of public view.
McMasters and Wanda went downstairs to eat, leaving the naked girl alone. She wanted to sleep but couldn’t help noticing the room was hot and stuffy. Not wanting to move any more than necessary, she angled her leg back over to the vent under the window and hit one of the buttons with her big toe, then felt cool air on her foot.
She smiled as she took notice for the first time of what was on TV. One of her favorite old movies, Ice Station Zebra. Patrick McGoohan. Rock Hudson. Americans and Russians trying to retrieve a crashed spy satellite in the arctic. There’s Rock Hudson smoking in a submarine. Smoking! How funny. She watched this movie at home a few years ago with her father, and enjoyed figuring out the intricate plot. At the last plot twist, Tami had laughed, as her father said, “Huh?”
The unintentional nudist felt herself beginning to doze off, staying awake just long enough to turn off her lamp and the TV . . .
. . . .
Nakedgirl climbed up the face of the snowy cliff, her bare feet getting toeholds in the rocky white powder. The frigid wind whipped around her nipples. When she got to the right spot her hands wiped away the little broken crater of snow, half - filled now with the windblown powder in the bluish pallor of the Antarctic night. Dr. Montana’s crew knew the satellite had come down here somewhere, and as she flew over this area her X-ray vision had picked it up in this cliff. It was so weird to fly over those bleak valleys here in the middle of the continent, deep in August, winter down here, the sun below the horizon for months now. It was hard to believe this was still planet Earth. It seemed more like Pluto.
She dug some more as she spread her legs to get a firmer grasp with her toes. She gasped through her teeth as she felt wind hitting her exposed butthole. Thanks to her super powers she was in no danger, but she could feel every degree of the cold. A normal person, left naked here, would be dead within seconds. As would she, if Ross-man or his henchmen were around to try to put something on her to cover her nakedness, taking away her super powers. But no normal human would dare venture out here. No person had ever seen this valley, probably no living thing had been here at all for millions of years.
Nakedgirl’s super-strong fingers broke off another piece of white ice to reveal a dull blinking red light through some snow. Finally, the satellite! She looked up at the thermometer/ammeter Dr. Montana had given her; while she was out in these unexplored regions they wanted her to record the temperature and wind chill for scientific purposes. Putting it on her wrist as a bracelet would of course have been fatal, so it took the form of a little spike which she stuck in the snow a few feet up the cliff.
No person has ever felt such cold, she told herself as her fingernails chipped away at the hard snow and the red light got brighter. Due to her powers she did not have the bittersweet relief of going numb before dying, she felt the intense cold all around her, on her nipples, her pussy, her butthole, her toes. It was beyond cold, it was pure pain, but of course, being Nakedgirl, she could withstand it. At these temperatures odd things happened. The icy fog from her breath crystallized to encrust her eyebrows and hair with thick frost. Her lush pubic bush was frosted too. Thin, transparent films of ice formed in her eyes which cracked every time she blinked. The ice in her pores crinkled every time she moved a muscle. Even the snow was weird, like sand except for parts of it that were like breaking rock. But all stray thoughts left her as the basketball - sized satellite emerged into her grasp. She put it under her arm and snatched the thermometer and flew gracefully and frigidly up into the night.
A few minutes later she was in the welcome warmth of the research station, carefully placing the 600-pound satellite onto a table where it was rolled away by the heavily gloved hands of the decoding crew. Dr. Montana looked at the thermometer. “Just like I thought, Nakedgirl. A record.” She almost expected it when she saw what it recorded -- minus 142 degrees Fahrenheit, wind chill minus 255 degrees. Then the sound of a jet rushing overhead as the decoding crew took off for Vermont . . .
. . . .
Tami woke up in the freezing darkness to the sound of the loud fan. God! This air conditioning is COLD! Turning on the lamp, she hopped over to turn it off, discovering in the process that she had turned it to “Max Cold”. They really meant it! She hugged her goose-bumped body, rubbing her rock-hard nipples.
“Hi, Girl Who Comes a Lot in Public,” Wanda stuck her head in through the pass-door. “I heard from Valerie Johnstone that the ‘Actual Sex’ segment will be on cable sometime in September. They get that channel on campus, you know. I’ll be sure that there’s a party in the dorm lounge to celebrate so everyone can see you on TV! Of course you’ll be there, right?”
Rubbing her warming nipples, Tami looked daggers at Wanda but of course her nemesis remained cheerful. “I’m getting ready to go down and dance, come with me if you want.” And then her head was gone.
The first urge the goose-bumped naked girl had was to grab some warm clothes to put on. Of course she was not allowed to do that, but there was still the shower. She set the water for as hot as she could stand and hopped in. She hugged herself, feeling her skin get all flushed and pink. It was like the dorm, there seemed to be an endless supply of hot water, she could luxuriate here for as long as she wanted.
Standing under the warm jets, Tami thought: I can’t go through many more days like today. She closed her eyes as she tried to willfully blot the memory of today from her memory. Up on a display pedestal, pierced and suctioned, made to come over and over in a public exhibition hall in front of Wanda and all those creeps. . . Never mind the fact that the cable show would be yet another reason not to return to Campbell - Frank in the fall. As far as this summer goes, this can’t go on.
She would have to find out what McMasters’s schedule was and pick a convenient time to tell him she was going home. A time that wouldn’t make it look like she was trying to avoid something particularly shaming. But he had not said much about the summer’s schedule. Certainly she could ask about it without raising suspicions. After all, it was a natural thing to be curious about.
Her brow furrowed in anger. Damn. This is so unfair. Wanda’s in the next room changing from one nice outfit to another, about to go down and dance, something I always liked to do, but here I am stuck naked in this room. She shut her eyes again to blot out the sight of Wanda gloating at her as she suffered up on that pedestal. She thought of the fight they had had in the other motel the other night, how it ended up with McMasters scolding Wanda. Tami really had the upper hand here, in a way. How could she take advantage of it?
The wheels in her head were turning as she shut the shower off and began drying herself with the tiny cloths Wanda had left her.
She wandered into Wanda’s room as her friend showered. She wished she could be downstairs, having a soda, enjoying the amenities, but no, not naked. If only she had clothes like Wanda. But her experiences were all dominated, were all ruined, by being naked. Here she was doing what she always wanted to do, go across the country, see the sights. Like the big arch this morning. And she was forced to do it naked. In the future it would be impossible to separate the memory of her nakedness from her memories of the sights.
As she heard Wanda’s shower going she exhaled, pissed off, folding her arms under her nipples, which now seemed to express defiance and anger with their erectness. It was not fair that Wanda could so abuse her and get to wear clothes at the same time.
The naked girl knew she was just making it worse, but she opened a couple of the dresser drawers to look at Wanda’s clothes. She felt goose bumps all over her as she touched the soft fabric of a fluffy sweater, felt her throat get dry with longing. . .
What was this? -- Tami saw them stuck under the sweater and picked them up. Little lengths of soft nylon rope! And a little ball with straps -- maybe to gag someone? She smiled. It looked like Wanda enjoyed tying people up. It figures, she was such a sadist. And she was evidently hoping to “meet someone” during their travels. Tami looked at the rope. It was actually more like wide string, and not cut up; the pieces were separately made. It occurred to her suddenly that these were manufactured especially for that purpose. And that gag -- was that what it was? Weird, yet more things that were strange and new to the naked teenager. Maybe Wanda had bought them at the exhibition during a break. The wheels in her head started turning.
A quick look at the tan miniskirt Wanda had laid out to wear, and various lipsticks she found in another drawer, and Tami had another inspiration. A couple of minutes later, the deed done, she was back in her room, trying to act like a regular (naked) teenage girl watching T.V. as Wanda came out of the shower and got dressed. Actually Tami was doing a good job of acting nonchalant, lying on her tummy, head propped up as she watched MTV, her bare feet rubbing idly together as they stuck up behind.
Wanda came in, giving her hair one last brush. “Sorry you can’t . . .come,” she said with a smirk.
“I’m too wrung out.” This was not something Tami would normally have admitted so casually. “I’m going to sleep early.”
Wanda shrugged. “Well I can see that, after coming for the crowd.” Of course, she was trying to put it in the crudest way possible. “Bye.”
“Bye.” As Wanda turned to leave Tami smiled at the lipsticked message on the rear of Wanda’s miniskirt: “I like it right here -->“, with an arrow pointing to an asterisk right over where her butthole would be.
Tami was surprised that Wanda hadn’t seen it. At some point, probably in a few minutes, she would come storming back up to the room and say “You fucking bitch!!” And then what? She couldn’t very well strip Tami or do something to humiliate her; Tami was already naked and had already been humiliated in ways even Wanda could not top. And Wanda couldn’t do anything to her physically; McMasters had made that very clear. Tami could just do as she wanted. Sweet revenge without fear of payback. The naked girl smiled as she kept rubbing her soles together like a comic book villain would rub his hands together. Meanwhile she was idly watching a rap video on MTV. Then she bit her lip with envy as the rapper was joined by a girl with the tiniest bikini ever seen on MTV. The naked girl again felt her mouth go dry. If only I could be allowed to wear even those tiny strings . . .
The minutes ticked by. Lying on her stomach, Tami kept glancing at the door, waiting for Wanda to burst through it and begin to chew her out. The naked girl quickly figured out how she would react. She would stick her bare butt in Wanda’s face and say, “Kiss my butt!” No -- she’d spread her butt cheeks and say, “Kiss my ring of brown skin!”
No -- she’d turn around, put one foot on the desk, spread her legs apart to plant the other foot on the bed, and turn around to see the expression on that bitch’s face as Tami did her trick of opening her butthole wide, forcing her to look right into her rectum. “Put your head in here, Wanda? Please?”
The naked girl sprung up on the bed and came to a rest cross-legged, blushing, covering her face, giggling. I am getting really shameless and silly. Not that Wanda doesn’t deserve it.
She found herself wandering into Wanda’s room. She opened the dresser drawer again. So Wanda’s into tying and gagging people. Figures. The naked girl, denied covering for so long, once again bit her lip as she touched the lush sweater neatly folded in the drawer. Gee, here they are, whole drawers full of clothes . . . The naked girl got goose bumps and her nipples hardened. Odd that Wanda hadn’t locked her clothes away so Tami couldn’t try them on. Her mind must really be on “scoring” tonight.
Tami shut her eyes. No, no, Wanda will be coming in here any minute, enraged. If she saw me trying clothes on, that would be the end. Expulsion from college. Loss of respect from everyone she cared about. Life ruined. To avoid temptation Tami went back to her room and watched T.V. Odd, still no Wanda. Could she really be going through that party unaware of what everyone surely must be seeing?
There was a little balcony outside Tami’s third-floor room. Opening the curtain she quickly thought to turn out the light so that she would be less visible. Then she opened the big sliding door and went out into the night.
This was quite a luxurious hotel. On the concrete balcony there was a little wrought iron table with two little chairs. She rested her bare buns on the cold metal of a chair and crossed her legs, contemplating the city before her, the world before her, as the cars went by on the highway below. In the distance she could see the Arch, lit by floodlights. Sometimes it seemed like this was her fate, to go naked through the world. Everything seemed to conspire to keep her naked. Whenever she seemed to have a chance to finally wear clothes, or if she made a plan to get into clothes, it always fell through. Well, this time her plan will work. She would end the summer far away and in clothes. Maybe the farther away the better. McMasters had said something about California the other day. Maybe she could stick it out until they got there and then quit. Ask him to drop her off at a nude beach where she could spend the day and then go back to town with someone, explaining that her clothes had washed away in the surf or something. They’d have an extra sweatshirt and shorts she could wear. Then when she was dropped off in town she’d find an ATM machine and off she would go, into the anonymity of the world of the clothed.
It would be odd to be around nudists. INTENTIONAL nudists. She supposed in California there would be a lot of them.
She idly put her legs up on the table, which would have been very uncomfortable for a newly naked girl but not so much so for Tami Smithers. She didn’t like to admit it but she had gotten used to being naked, at least when she was alone. It seemed so normal to feel the iron grille under her bare butt, the iron flowers pressing against her bare back, the cold iron table under her bare heels. Leaning back, she spread her legs and absently started playing with her pussy lips, rubbing her clit to and fro. Mmmmmm . . .
. . . .
It had been so easy. Wanda’s anger had quickly turned to utter surprise as Tami, fully clothed with the contents of Wanda’s dressers -- panties, bra, jeans, thick socks, sneakers, flannel shirt and that fluffy sweater, mmmm -- jumped her in the doorway and dragged her into the room. Pinning her down, Tami had ripped her clothes off one by one with the help of the little knife, ignoring the shouted threats that quickly turned to screams of pleading. The nylons and heels were the hardest, but Tami solved that problem by trapping Wanda’s hands under her knees and keeping Wanda’s head down with the instep of the sneaker, leaving a print of the sneaker treads on her chin. Then gagging her with the ball gag, dragging her out to the balcony . . . With the help of the ropes and pulleys and tackle Tami slowly lowered the panicking Wanda down, down . . . Wanda’s arms and legs spread into a wide “X”, she could imagine Wanda’s fright and mortification as her wide-opened pussy descended on the street below. At the height of the second floor people started to notice. Crowds began to form. Down, down, lower, lower . . . Cars were stopped, a traffic jam, horns honking, men in pickup trucks flailing their cowboy hats and hooting at the naked, gagged, spread-eagled girl who now was suspended ten feet over the road, TV cameras, reporters, the local news sticking a microphone into her face, recording her tears, anguished eyes, pitiful babbling behind the gag, she sees her picture on the front page of tomorrow’s paper, all night she’s there, she’s still there in the morning, she has to pee and can’t hold it any more, to her utter shame the pee sprinkles down from her legs as people cheer and flashbulbs pop, then her eyes widen with fright at the cement mixer truck approaching with the long corkscrew dildo aimed at her opened pussy, designed to make her come and come and come for national TV . . .
. . . .
Whew! Tami shook her head, stretched her legs, spread her toes, caught her breath. What an imagination I have. She chuckled, her flat tummy jerking, as she noticed her pussy was now wet. Maybe I’m a sadist too. How nice it would be to really turn the tables like that. She took a deep breath, then stretched out some more. The gentle warm night breeze washed over her, playing with her nipples, caressing her bare wet pussy lips. Thoughts of Rod came to her. If only he were here. Mmmmm . . .
It was the shutting of the door that woke her, somehow audible over the honking cars and street noise. She walked in to find Wanda back in her room, carrying in a plastic bucket of ice and humming a little tune with a smile on her face. “Oh hi, naked one,” she said merrily, as she went to the far side of her bed and put the ice down on the floor. As she turned to do this Tami stared openmouthed at her little message, a little smeared but still very visible on the back of her miniskirt. She STILL didn’t know!
Wanda put a little tube of K-Y on the floor next to the ice then passed Tami and grabbed the pass-door. “Sorry, you’ll have to go. I have -- business tonight with a couple of fellas.”
Tami smiled and folded her arms. “Oh really?”
Wanda cocked an eyebrow. “I suppose you’ll never learn it, you go around naked all the time, but there are subtleties to getting men to do your bidding. I was a big hit down there. I kept saying, ‘I know what I want and I hope you do too’. That’s how a dom show’s she’s a dom.”
The 18-year-old was a little lost. “A what?” She thought she heard Jen use the term once when talking about one of her friends, but forgot what Jen said it meant.
“A dom. Dominant. I control, and there are a lot of guys who like to BE controlled. So I say, ‘I know what I want’. And I had them hot for it. ‘You certainly let people know what you want’. All these guys kept saying that. Especially these two, Hank and Larry. They’ll be up here in a few minutes. They loved looking at my butt.” She gave her butt a muffled slap through the fabric of the skirt. “My best feature. They all loved looking at it and I didn’t mind showing it off. So,” Wanda concluded in a singsong, beginning to close the door on Tami, “off you go. Don’t disturb us. The next sound you hear will be sounds of men begging to be dominated. Bye.”
Tami’s smile grew wider. How was she going to break this? The expression on Wanda’s face would be delicious. “Wanda? Um, do you know what they were looking at?”
Seeing Wanda’s puzzled expression, Tami decided to be aggressive. She had just had a powerful dream of dominating Wanda, and just maybe, she could afford to turn at least part of that dream into reality! She knelt down and touched the zipper of Wanda’s skirt, which unzipped from the side. “What are you doing??” Wanda said, brushing away her hand, but then the strong naked girl lifted Wanda up and pushed her back onto the bed. She turned around and sat on Wanda’s stomach as she unzipped the skirt and slid it off Wanda’s struggling legs. “Nice panties,” Tami said tartly, looking at the black thong.
She stood up, bare breasts bouncing, as Wanda sat up on the bed and said lividly, “Are you crazy? Give those back! Or else!!”
Tami simply held up the rear of the skirt -- “I like it here --->”, the little circle butthole -- and enjoyed the look on Wanda’s face as it turned from surprise to horror to mortification to rage. “YOU ABSOLUTE SHIT!!” Her face was red both with anger and embarrassment. Her eyes were red and getting wet with tears. “How DARE you!!”
Tami taunted her. “They want to screw you in the butt. And they’ll be here any minute!”
Wanda looked down and wildly shook her head. “Jesus. Jesus.” She swallowed and gasped. “I’ve never . . . no way. . . no dom . . .”
“It’s not so bad getting screwed in the butt,” Tami said. “Except for the awful pain. Pain like you’ve never felt in your life. PAIN!” She widened her eyes to emphasize. Of course, she was lying. The naked girl’s rectum had been penetrated many times in her ordeals, but it had rarely been all that painful, just uncomfortable. And feeling Rod’s dick in there was actually rather romantic and pleasant. But now she just wanted to scare Wanda, and she was succeeding.
“Oh my God . . . “ Wanda meditated, then she got up. “Well,” she said, grabbing some pants from her dresser, “when they knock on the door I’LL be somewhere else! I’m getting out of here!”
“Oh YEAH!!” Tami said, body-blocking her back onto the bed. But a soft bed was too good for her, and she dragged Wanda off onto the carpet. Time for fantasy to become reality, at least a little bit. Pinning Wanda’s arms down with her knees, Tami unbuttoned her blouse, thinking only in the back of her mind of how badly she wanted to wear it herself. Wanda’s eyes widened with fright as she tried to throw Tami off her, but she was no match for Tami’s strength. Off came the blouse, revealing a black lacy push-up bra, probably not easy to find because Wanda’s breasts were so small.
Tami unclasped the front and pulled the straps over the shoulders and around Wanda’s protesting arms. Off it flew across the room. “Nice tits, Wanda,” Tami said, “even though they’re a little small.” The pale little nipples made a striking contrast with the big, brown, weather-toughened nipples hanging over them, transformed by all those months of harsh weather and suctioning and bristling.
Tami turned around, too quickly for Wanda to react, and pinned Wanda’s hands down under her knees as she started on Wanda’s nylons and heels. It was like in the dream, except Tami had no sneakers to push onto Wanda’s chin. Still, her tough bare foot did a good job of pushing Wanda’s head back so that her protests were no more than strangled grunts. Off came the heels, then off came the black nylons, starting at the bands at the thighs and working down, down. . . In another frame of mind Tami would have longed to put these on her thighs and the heels on her feet, but her mind was fervid with revenge, greedy to inflict more, more, more . . .
Tami hopped off and stood over her nemesis, now dressed only in the thong, curled up on the floor, arms folded over her breasts. “Give those back. I mean it. I gotta get out of here. I mean it!” Wanda said in a tiny, pitiful voice.
Tami looked down at her. “Look at me. LOOK AT ME!” As Wanda’s frightened gaze slowly went up, the fully naked girl spread one foot across onto the bed, folded her arms over her head, sucked in her concave, tummy, and made her bare, tanned pussy lips open and close. In a hoarse voice, in time with her lower lips, Tami said, “Time . . . to . . . get . . . ready!” And then she turned to the drawer and took out the ball gag and the little straps.
Wanda jumped up from her crouched position and ran for the door. As Tami watched, bemused, Wanda paused before opening it, her arm crossed over her breasts, thinking of the prospect of running down the hall in just her thong. She dodged to the bathroom for a big towel but the naked girl, moving like lightning, intercepted her. Grabbing her hands behind her back, Tami quickly tied them, realizing in the process that these little ropes were ideal for their purpose. They stretched a little and made a good secure knot, but they were soft and broad and didn’t cut off circulation.
Tami pushed her captured prey back onto the carpet. “Tami . . . please . . . Tami . . . I’m warning you . . . I’m gonna scream -- mmmfff!” Wanda’s quiet threat was cut off by the ball gag, cleverly inserted after Tami held her nose and forced Wanda to open her mouth to breathe. This gag, too, was perfectly designed. It filled the mouth completely and allowed nothing more than a few muffled grunts.
Sitting on top of her prone nemesis, the naked girl considered how to tie the legs. She reached back into the drawer, her breasts jiggling tightly as she kept a lid on Wanda’s struggles, and in the process of grabbing more rope found a smooth dildo. Hmmmm . . . Tami tied Wanda’s ankles together, then stood up as Wanda flipped onto her side and looked up helplessly.
“And what is this?” Tami said with a cruel smile, a look that was unusual on Tami and which scared Wanda. Tami turned the dildo end up and slowly launched it upwards like a rocket. “I think I’ll leave this out for your friends. It might help to loosen you up. Do you how this feels going into your butthole?”
Wanda slowly and pitifully shook her head. Tami realized something. “You don’t know how ANYTHING feels going up there, don’t you?” Wanda did not react. Hmmm. An anal virgin! “Well let me tell you. Even with the lube, just one finger will hurt like hell. And this thing here . . . well, even if they’re slow and gentle, you will hurt so much you will wish you were never born. And I don’t think they’ll be gentle, no no no!”
Tami mused . . .
. . . .
Mistress Tami, head of the brothel of naked slaves, gathered her robes and looked down from her plush chair at the miserable, quivering girl kneeling painfully on the cold stone floor for her weekly evaluation chat.
“I know I didn’t fully please Mr. Masterson,” the slave said, referring to yesterday’s 3 p.m. appointment in her cell. “Can I be excused . . . please . . . from servicing him in the future?”
Mistress Tami flexed one of her exquisitely-shod feet and shook her head wearily. “Wanda, Wanda, won’t you ever learn? You are to complete your assignments in full and with enthusiasm, or face extra punishments.” She saw the slave quiver and shake her head, obviously wishing she could take back what she had said. “I know you -- dislike -- what Mr. Masterson wants, but we simply can’t accommodate your whims.”
Almost on the verge of tears, the slave said, “It’s not -- a whim, Mistress. It hurts terribly.” She rubbed her bare butt and winced at the memory.
Mistress Tami exhaled with exasperation. Then after a moment’s thought she said, “Remember Georgene?” Seeing the blank look on the slave’s face, she said, “She must have been -- sold -- before you began here. She was our specialist in anal oriented clients, and we assigned her five or six anal appointments a day. She could adapt to any size penis, it seemed. Except for Mr. Gunderson. He was so large, and so rough, that we broke our usual rule and restricted him only to Georgene, fearing he would do the other girls actual physical damage. Even so, when he visited Georgene her screams of agony could be heard all over the cell block. She would always need several days to recover.
“He used to visit once a month. Recently he contacted us and said that after a hiatus of several years he will be visiting again. Not monthly this time, but twice a week. We were about to refuse him, but what you have just told me has caused me to change my mind. We will accept his business, and you, my dear, will be his exclusive girl whenever he visits.”
“Noooo!!” the naked slave wailed, lurching forward and clutching Mistress Tami’s thick clothing in desperation.
. . . .
Now in the hotel room, Tami, looking down at the tied, spread Wanda, shook her head and get back to the here and now. What a daydream that was!
One last thing. With her strong hands she tore Wanda’s thong apart and ripped it from her crotch, leaving the bound girl totally nude. She spread Wanda’s knees and looked appraisingly at the sparsely-haired pussy. “Looks rather delicious,” Tami said, licking her lips. “Maybe I should make you -- come -- would you like that?” She looked into Wanda’s forlorn eyes.
Tami knew that to licked Wanda to orgasm against her will would be the ultimate in humiliation. Too bad she just didn’t feel like it. Except for a few times with Jen and Mandy, she didn’t really consider herself bisexual, and Wanda’s pussy didn’t really turn her on. In fact, everything about Wanda’s body pretty much turned her off.
Still, it might be nice to scare her. Tami turned to the lamp on top of the dresser and turned the light off, leaving the room in total darkness. “Here comes my tongue,” she said quietly. Wanda, hobbled, still managed to hump forward like a dolphin as she made her way around to behind the bed, next to the window.
Both girls froze at the sound of male voices outside the door. “Room 334, this is it,” a gravelly voice said. A knock, and then the doorknob turned and the door began to open. “Hello?” A slice of hallway light shone into the room.
There wasn’t time to bolt for Tami’s room. Tami scooted around behind the bed, overtaking Wanda. There was enough room under the bed for her slim bare body to slip in. There she lay back by the wall, her head sticking out. As for Wanda, all she could do was lay crouched down, her head on the carpet, her hands tied behind her, her butt sticking up in the air. And lay absolutely still and hope that these guys would think she had gone. They were trapped!
The room was lit with ghostly shadows now, as the door opened wide and the two men stepped in uncertainly. “Looks like nobody’s here, Larry,” the gravelly voice said.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” Larry said in a high-pitched, military-sounding voice.
“Odd she’d leave the door open though,” Hank said. They both took a few steps in.
The girls were afraid to even breathe or make the slightest sound. But Tami realized that she herself was in no danger; she could just tuck her head under the bed and be totally hidden, something Wanda couldn’t do in her bound state. As Tami’s eyes got used to the light, she saw Wanda’s butt sticking her practically in the face, the knees widely separated so as to bring her butt cheeks down low as possible and out of the line of sight.
And Tami saw, not two feet from her eyes, the bucket of ice and the tube of K-Y lying on the carpet. An idea took root that sounded better and better the more she thought of it, causing Tami to smile the broadest smile in a long, long time. Silently repositioning her arms, she squirted a little jelly onto her middle finger, coating it nice and thick, then stuck it into the bucket of ice. As her eyes got even more used to the light she could clearly see the little asterisk of Wanda’s virgin butthole within easy striking distance. It took a bit of shifting but Tami soon was on her tummy, her slim naked body extended under the bed, as her greased middle finger silently noodled through the hole of one of the little machine-made ice donuts, getting colder, colder, she felt the tingling as the finger began to get numb, colder, colder, all nice and slick and greasy . . .
For Wanda it was a life and death matter to keep absolutely quiet, absolutely still. She prayed these two guys, somewhere on the other side of the bed, would lose interest and go. But after a few seconds of no motion, she heard footsteps along the side of the bed. No! No! Her cheek forced against the carpet, she looked under the bed and saw their shoes approach toward the corner of the bed. And then one of them snapped the light on! Another couple of footsteps and she would be in full view . . .
Tami decided just having a cold tip wasn’t enough; her middle finger had to be cold along its whole length. She slowly stuck her greased middle finger further into the icy water, trying to get it cold up to the second knuckle. Swirling it around, it got colder, colder . . .
Thankfully the men’s shoes stopped. “No one’s here,” Larry said, “but it sure looks like she stripped in a hurry. Look, there’s her skirt.”
“And here’s a thong, all ripped up. Man, to put a sign like that on her skirt. . . What a fuckin’ slut!!” Hank said.
“And look at this!” Larry said. The girls didn’t know it but he was holding up the dildo which Tami had left on the dresser. “Hmm, looks dry.”
Larry then apparently paced toward the pass-door. “Where is that young cunt?” he said in his tight high voice. His voice got a little fainter as he went into Tami’s room. “Me first, you know.”
“Fine with me,” Hank said, apparently following. “You know I like that buttered bun.”
Wanda was still afraid to even breathe, or even wipe the drool starting around the ball gag. That would possibly make a sound. She wasn’t thinking where Tami was; all her attention was on the men. Meanwhile, Tami’s finger swirled around as her eyes focused like a hawk on Wanda’s little puckered asterisk . . .
“Looks like no one’s booked here,” Hank said from the other room. Sounds of opening and closing drawers. “No clothes.”
“She must have had the two rooms,” Larry said. “Look, the balcony door’s a little open. And there’s stuff in the garbage. Looks like she ate here.”
“Suppose she was working out of two rooms at the same time?” Hank said. They both chuckled.
The room was so silent that the girls could hear their own breathing. And the could hear the men’s footprints crushing the carpet as they walked back into Wanda’s room. Hank cracked his knuckles. “I don’t know.”
The two men walked past the bed and stopped in front of the dresser. Larry said, “So now what?”
Tami’s eyes narrowed like those of a cat about to pounce.
“Mmmfff!” A loud strangled grunt!
WIGGLE! Tami’s freezing cold finger snaked three inches into Wanda’s rectum as the strictured girl struggled to avoid it while making no noise, truly a futile endeavor. The cold snake danced wildly inside her gut, rubbing all around inside the unexplored rectal cavity, the icy finger now driven in all the way, and Wanda couldn’t help a long whine -- “mmmmfff -- mmmfff!!” before the snake withdrew and Tami’s head and arms shot into hiding under the bed.
“Holy shit! Look at this bitch!” Larry, having shot around the bed when he heard the sound, now stared wide-eyed at the terrified bound naked girl on the carpet.
“Hot damn! Oh come to Daddy!”
Tami, her bare body stretched out of sight face-down under the bed, heard the frantic, useless struggling and whimpering of the bound girl as the men, suddenly energized with horniness, managed to lift her onto the bed and turn her onto her stomach. Apparently Hank was taking her arms and Larry was pinning her down by the crooks of her knees. Tami looked back behind her, at the bed springs. There was going to be a lot of bouncing around up there. Was she safe? Probably. These springs looked pretty strong. They hardly moved as Wanda’s body was thrown onto the mattress. There was at least six inches of clearance above Tami’s bare butt cheeks.
“That’s it, play hard to get,” Larry piped up in his high voice. “Hold her down, Hank.”
“C’mon, bitch,” Hank said, trying to pin the bound girl’s knee while putting his knee down into her upper back. “Larry, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think she’s acting.”
“Fuck that . . . she was naked and tied up and waiting for us,” Larry said, undoing his trousers.
“Yeah right, we’re o.k.,” Hank said, chuckling viciously. He must have been spreading Wanda’s butt cheeks because then he said, “Look, she’s already greased up!”
Tami suddenly felt sick. This was rape. She had never been raped, but knew a couple of friends. . . The most horrible experience she could think of. She remembered the somber atmosphere at a rape awareness workshop she had gone to during orientation week at college, back when she was a normal clothes-wearing freshman. How someone said then, “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” And now Wanda was about to be raped. And I got her ready for it!
What to do? There were two strong men up there. And she was just an 18-year-old girl, naked and defenseless. The men said nothing for a while as Wanda continued to struggle. Then Larry said, “I’ve got a good one goin’,” probably referring to his hard-on. Anal penetration was seconds away.
It was crazy, it was impulsive, but it was the only thing to do. Tami scooted out from under the bed so quickly that the carpet burned her nipples. She stood up straight and tall over the men as her breasts stopped bouncing, and shouted, “STOP IT!”
For a second the two men gaped openmouthed at this naked girl with the all-over tan and the gorgeous, perfectly toned body. Tami swallowed and said, in an earnest voice like she learned at that workshop, “She doesn’t want to do this. Stop! No means no!”
It sounded ridiculous, like an addition to Wanda’s hard-to-get role play. Two college girls acting like they’re being raped. The men giggled. Then Larry, his pants half down around his knees, his small hard dick poised, bounced up off the bed and said, “Hank, I think I’ll take THIS one . . .”
A hard bare heel in Larry’s crotch told the men that this naked girl was serious. He cowered for a moment, grunting, “You stupid little cunt,” then hitched up his pants and went after her. But Tami was quicker and anticipated him. A hammer-like hard fist in his eye, then a split second later another fist in the other eye, and Larry was down, hands over his eyes. A hard bare foot on the top of his head pushed him back against the dresser. He got up, trying hard to see through bruised squinting eyes, but Tami was already there and elbowed his nose. Blood spritzed across his face.
There was Hank. Brandishing a switch-blade. “YOU are asking for real trouble,” he said in his gravelly voice. Tami swallowed and acted scared, slowly allowing him to back her against the corner. When she had braced her arms against the wall she kicked up like lightning and knocked the knife from his hands. It flew across Wanda to the floor on the other side of the bed. Surprised, Hank started to go to retrieve it but Tami kicked him in the crotch. He grabbed her toes, trying to flip her, but she bent her knee and drew close and fisted him in each eye like with Larry. Then Larry, trying to approach again, was elbowed in the nose again. . .
Tami was spinning and attacking like the star of a kung fu film, her breasts bouncing in every direction, her thin muscled body beginning to shine with sweat. She thought of dreams she had been having, of a naked girl with super powers. She was that girl now. Wanda, lying on her stomach tied up and motionless on the bed, watched from behind her ball gag with fear turning to amazement.
In two minutes Hank and Larry were running out the door, Larry holding his pants up. The girls never saw them again.
Tami stood next to the bed, looking at the opened door, hair mussed, sweat shining all over her naked body, her concave tummy heaving in and out as she caught her breath. She looked over to the bound and gagged Wanda and Wanda looked at her. Tami heard herself saying, “Sorry.”
Neither girl moved a muscle for a long time.
Tami went to lock the door and then walked listlessly to her room. She sat on her bed, then went out to the balcony, knowing that Wanda was still motionless on the bed, not trying to get off or crawl around. She looked out across the city. Here I am, naked in the world. And pretty stupid.
She told herself that she still had to get revenge on Wanda, so she went back to the bound girl. The strong naked girl lifted her up and took her out to the balcony of Wanda’s room. Wanda was perhaps too much in a state of shock to resist as Tami tied her hands to the back of one of the chairs, then faced the chair to the railing and tied her feet way apart so that anyone looking up from the street could see her widespread pussy. Tami looked at her handiwork, both girls feeling the night breezes, which had gotten a little cooler, playing across their naked bodies.
The Unintentional Nudist thought about lying under the covers on Wanda’s bed, but not only would that be covering herself, it seemed somehow pointless. She wandered back to her bare bed and lay down, intending to sleep.
Her head was a jumble of unpleasant thoughts. She had saved Wanda from rape, but she had set her up for it in the first place. Wanda was really mad at her now. Obviously she wasn’t going to tell McMasters about any of this, but she now had a real reason for having it in for Tami. Yet what could she do? Wanda seemed more pathetic than threatening. But why was Tami feeling at all sorry for her? Yet it was actual rape that was about to happen. Would Wanda actually go so far as to do the same to Tami? But was Tami a wimp for even having these thoughts? Shouldn’t she strike back hard in whatever way possible now that she had the chance?
After an hour of twisting and turning Tami got up and went to Wanda’s balcony. The bound girl, not used to exposure, was shivering and goose-bumped even though the breezes didn’t seem all that cold. Tami untied her feet and led the limping Wanda back to her bed, then pulled the covers over her. She decided she just wanted to forget about the whole thing, so she untied Wanda’s hands and undid the ball gag and went away.
A few minutes later, the permanently naked girl stood at her balcony, pensively leaning over the railing, her toes clasping and unclasping the bottom rung. She felt dead and lifeless inside. She knew now that Wanda was basically a pathetic, weak creature, and also she had found out a truth about herself. Namely, that she just did not have an appetite for revenge, she might have fun fantasizing about it, but she got no thrill out of acting it out. Wanda sorely deserved it, Tami had been through months and months of extreme humiliation at her hands, yet to get back at Wanda seemed like a waste of time and energy. All Tami wanted to do, the only thing that motivated her, was the prospect of escaping to someplace where she could put on clothes and not be naked any more.
“Nnnh!. . .”
Tami grunted ever so softly and tried to keep her writhing at a minimum. Her butt in the air, her hands grasping the edge of the table under her head, she looked down at the floor, at the shiny black shoes and the dark pants and the nice suits above them. She swallowed, hoping it would counteract the itch she felt way, way inside, and indeed the motion of her throat did seem to move the probe around a bit.
She thought of yesterday, of the long ride to this place, looking out across the corn fields, her bare foot out the window, reclining in the front passenger seat of McMasters’s Cadillac so as to better make room for the huge dildos inside her and to ease the tugging and scratching of the bristle bra on her nipples, trying not to grit her teeth as yet another orgasm quietly washed over her, causing her whole nude body to shiver. Going west of St. Louis the land began to change, getting flatter and browner and drier, less trees, more open fields of corn and wheat. Having spent all her life in New England, she had never seen land like this. She had always wanted to travel across the country, and now she was trying to enjoy the view. Trying, except for this overwhelming distraction. . . As the orgasm ran its course and the last irregular spasms caused her outboard foot to jerk and her toes to spread, she closed her eyes and prayed. Please God . . .
She was trying to pick her date of escape carefully. McMasters had just said that there was a demonstration of some medical equipment that he was to do in Omaha, then another exhibition of the “Total Lover” in Colorado. He did not need to add that Tami would be the live model for these. The morning before the Colorado exhibition would be a good time to give him her spiel: that she was homesick, that her father needed her at the hardware store, that his assistant quit and he was shorthanded (blah blah blah). . . Then to show that she wasn’t avoiding public exposure, she would go through with the Colorado thing, and then get on the bus.
Get on a bus? Naked? Where would McMasters drop her off? Yes, it would have to be at a bus stop. She wanted to get to an ATM first and get money for clothes, but asking him to drop her off at an ATM would arouse suspicions. Maybe she could say she wanted money to buy the bus ticket, but that would make no sense, she could pay at the bus station with her credit card. Maybe renting a car would be a better idea. But how does one rent a car? The idea was unfamiliar to the 18-year-old. Go to a car rental place? Did she have to reserve a car ahead of time? Would they require a deposit? Once her father spoke of renting a car after going on a business trip. Could one rent a car for personal reasons? Did she have to be 21? Did they charge by the mile, did she even have enough money to go across the country in a rented car? Could she rent only one way? Would they even let her into the car rental place without any clothes? . . .She still had to figure out exactly how she could take her leave of McMasters without him following her or deducing that she was about to get some clothes.
“Unnh!. . .” Another soft grunt, another deep itch, another attempt to suppress the urge to scratch it by shimmying around on this table. . .
Then there was Wanda. Wanda was boiling mad at her now, with good reason. Tami had tried to torture her last night. Bunked together in the same motel room, trying to sleep after watching a soft-core porn movie on the motel TV, Tami saw Wanda squirming around in her pajamas under her abundant blankets and knew that Wanda was really, really horny and badly wanted to diddle herself. That is until Tami decided to stop the show by saying, “Now now now, no unnatural acts! Not permitted! ANNNGG!” making a sound like a game show buzzer after someone has given a wrong answer. “And no hiding in the bathroom either, I’ll knock on the door every two seconds!” Wanda of course was stuck, ashamed to diddle in front of Tami and pissed off that her attempt at secret diddling had been ruined and her mood destroyed, and lay stiffly on her back with her clenched hands over her chest.
And then Tami, naked on her bare bed, said, “Only I, dear Wanda, am allowed to come. And I think I’ll do that now. Mmmmm . . .” She spread her legs and then her pussy lips, pulling at her clit. “Ohh Godddd . . . did you see that guy’s dick . . . so long and hard . . . ohhh . . . uhhh . . .” She actually did get herself a little excited. “C - can’t you imagine what it feels like, Wanda? Uhhh . . . Ohhhh. . . I’m so excited . . . Remember what it’s like to come? Well you can’t anymore . . . But I can . . . uhhhh . . . and I’ll tell you how GOOD it feels . . . uhhhh . . .”
But Tami just couldn’t get over the edge, or even close to it. As she knew by now, she was not a sadist, she didn’t get any sexual thrills from torturing someone, not even Wanda. She tried to defuse the situation by hopping up and saying with a smile, “Maybe next time, I gotta pee,” and going to the bathroom. But she knew, and Wanda knew that she knew, that Tami just was not capable of having an orgasm out of spite.
Being stuck together on the road like this was not pleasant for either of them. The sooner Tami got out of it, the better. Yet with Wanda’s increased viciousness she would be sure to monitor Tami’s escape to the extent she could. This had to be planned v - e - r - y carefully . . .
“Unnnh! . . .”
They had driven into Omaha, a medium size, clean-looking city, or so it seemed to Tami, who was used to the dingy crowdedness and tired dankness of old factory towns like Pawtucket and Worcester. The medical center was clean and new too. They went in a back way and up through a special elevator. Tami’s nakedness was acknowledged only casually by the few doctors and nurses they passed along the way. McMasters then took Wanda and Tami into a small library where he opened his suitcase on the table. And then went into a short explanation of these gadgets and how they worked. In other words, what was to be done to the naked girl. Upon hearing the explanation she bit her lip and held her breath.
As she entered the big round room she noticed it was like a more modern version of the upstairs lab at Chalfont. There was a steel table in the middle and chairs placed around the perimeter. As always in such medical surroundings the naked girl felt chilly and ill at ease. Yet it was not entirely antiseptic and clinical; there was a table set up with refreshments. Doctors strolled in bit by bit and joined McMasters and the two girls near the refreshments table. Tami was hungry, having been instructed not to eat for the past day, and it was agony to watch everyone else stuffing their faces with pretzels and potato chips. And wearing clothes. But she gritted her teeth and had to content herself with a cup of soda.
“This is Dr. Bishop, head of the urology department,” McMasters said, introducing a kindly little bald man in a white lab coat. Dr. Bishop extended a clammy hand. “Quite a nice specimen you are, Miss. You will be demonstrating some very improved equipment which I was hoping we would order, if the residents are suitably impressed.” Holding a soda in one hand, Tami was conscious of his frank stare at her breasts and then down below. Then she blushed as her stomach growled so loudly that the man certainly heard it, though he pretended not to. “I’m glad you shave your pudendum, it makes the demonstration much easier. Your labia majora are nicely tanned, too. I hear you never wear any clothes, being a radical nudist.”
Looking down in a blush, Tami was also conscious of everyone else looking at her from all around; she almost felt goose bumps on her bare butt cheeks, felt her nipples stiffen. She saw the contrast of her bare feet on a cold tile floor which was crowded all around with expensive hosiery and shoes. A naked specimen in a room full of clothed persons, to be stared at and exhibited, like an alien being from a race with no covering. Like she was the only one there with breasts and genitals and toes and everyone was looking at these strange features with scientific curiosity.
She looked up again at this kindly little man and said, “I don’t have any clothes at all. I don’t own any.” He wrinkled his chin, somehow impressed. Tami thought: “Radical nudist”; that is a good way to describe me, or what I’m supposed to be.
A short time later, she suppressed a blush as she followed McMasters’s instruction and got up on the table on all fours. Thus began two hours of display, poking and prodding deep inside the naked girl in ways she had not thus far experienced.
“Note this improved anoscope,” McMasters said from somewhere behind her, as Tami gasped quietly from the feel of Wanda’s cold latex-gloved hand smearing lubricant between her spread ass cheeks. “The shaft is sectioned so as to allow both greater penetration but, more importantly, a greater aperture upon full distension.” Tami sensed the doctors gathering behind her and leaning closer over her rear end. Then her flat tummy jerked as she felt the long cold metal instrument inserted into her butthole and begin its journey into her rectum. “I will now turn on the light attachment,” McMasters said, and she could swear she felt some heat up in there. Her knees did a little jerk as she felt the tip gently press against the upper wall. “I will now begin to distend . . .” Wanda, of course, had walked around to face Tami. Tami didn’t give her the satisfaction of making eye contact but knew that Wanda was closely watching her wince as the metal cylinder opened her anus wide, wide, wider . . .
She could only imagine what the interior of her rectum looked like in the harsh light, but she heard a voice behind say, “She has fine pinkness inside, a very healthy rectal lining.” “We are now at two and half inches, full extension,” McMasters said. “Naturally with a typical patient this width will not be necessary or even possible, but Miss Smithers is trained to accept large objects and her sphincter is very pliable.”
Indeed. Two and a half inches! None of the dildos had been that wide. Yet this was not really painful, just uncomfortable. Tami felt more opened up than ever before. As the doctors leaned closer she could feel their breath curl up inside her most private cavity as they talked. “Look at the articulation with the sigmoid colon . . . Very good illumination . . .Most impressive . . .” A couple of them pushed on her butt cheeks with cold thumbs so as to move the instrument more in their direction, causing McMasters to say, “A healthy rectum like Tami’s is fairly hardy. If you want to see better the anoscope itself can be moved from side to side to some degree.”
“Yes . . . that way the entire proximal surface can be visualized,” a stern-sounding female voice said as the tip plowed and circled and pushed around the entire area of Tami’s insides. She was glad that this was a select professional audience, not like the crowd of lewd gawkers at the St. Louis “Sexpo”. Yet she felt so opened up that it was like her lower half had been turned inside out to create a big wind tunnel. She was hollow down there, an empty receptacle.
Suddenly her whole lower body jerked. Ick! McMasters had just inserted one of his special specimen swabs, a long thin stick about a foot long with a cotton tip. “Note how easy it is to get a sample, with her inner rectal field so accessible,” he said, and she grimaced as he noodled the swab around and around against her tender inner surface, so sensitive that though he was exerting the merest touch it was almost painful for the naked, opened-up girl.
After that there were more swabs poked in by various doctors. Tami buried her face in her hands and tried to control her breathing. Being poked by these things way up in there made her squirm. It made her toes flex and unflex individually in a complicated random rhythm. Then she gasped as one swab was slipped forward up into her colon, as someone said, “A healthy articulation.” What a strange feeling! Like being butt-fucked within being fucked in an inner butthole!
The swab siege was then lifted. Though Tami didn’t want to look, she couldn’t help notice the TV monitor placed to one side. “Now the colonoscope,” McMasters said. After some fussing around back there, during which Tami felt breaths and lights being bounced around inside her rectum, she gasped again as another intrusion, smaller and pointier this time, slipped into her -- should she call it her “inner butthole”? Was she truly unique now in having such a vocabulary for herself? -- and wiggled and squirmed its way in and in and around and around.
She remembered one time back home, when she was a little girl, the kitchen sink was clogged up and her father had called the plumber in who used a long stiff metal wire to push into the pipe. It was real long, maybe ten feet, yet the plumber got it all down there, then he began to rotate it around and around with a handle on the end. He told Tami this tool was called a “snake” and it was meant to unclog the part of the pipe down in the basement. Now she felt exactly like McMasters was using another “snake” and it was turning around and around way inside her . . .
“You can see that we have reached the end of the large intestine, over forty inches of penetration,” McMasters said. Tami’s eyes widened. Forty inches inside me! And the camera on the end, the eyes of the snake. She bit her lip at the unpleasant thought. “Note the improved camera angle,” McMasters continued, “and the resolution on the image.” “Remarkable!” said one of the doctors, an old guy with an English accent.
Tami could not resist looking at the TV monitor. The image was like someone shining a flashlight into a cave, a cave that was mostly gray but also strangely tinged with red. And the cave had rough walls, like little pebbles were embedded in them. Tami momentarily forgot the feeling of the snake inside her and raised her head in wonder. Her words were spontaneous. “Wow. . . That’s me!”
A sprinkle of laughter and the naked, invaded girl blushed and smiled and bent her head down again. In her shame she involuntarily clenched her butt muscles, a degraded and vestigial effort to cover herself, and that caused the anoscope to shift and the camera at the end of the long snake, forty inches up, to move and rub her insides.
“Now,” McMasters said from behind, with a voice that indicated he was some distance away, “we will crook the lead segment and proceed further.” Tami’s eyes popped open as she felt something under her stomach get prodded to the side and the snake’s little head pushed up even further. Its movements were slower and much more subtle now.
“Nnnh!” The first of many tiny grunts during this yet deeper stage of her penetration. And her mind began to wander. She thought of yesterday, of the long ride to this place, looking out across the corn fields . . .
The naked girl smiled as she spied the big purple flowers and broad leaves in the little gully way down below. The sparse brown grass crunching under her bare feet, she walked over to the concrete bench and sat her butt cheeks down onto its rough coolness. Actually quite a soothing relief; only a few moments ago, when the car stopped, she had taken out the retainer and the dildos. Sitting in the cool shade on this lower outcropping at the “scenic overlook”, the Cadillac out of sight back up on the parking lot, Tami crossed her legs and tried to imagine she was on one of those benches outside the Student Union at Campbell - Frank, with Rod by her side. She closed her eyes and leaned back . . .
It was amazing, seeing the land change. As they went west from Omaha the land got drier, more hilly, big and more expansive. She half expected to see cowboys on horses. Now they were on the verge of entering the big red mountains, the Rockies. Or at least it seemed so. The mountains had been looming ahead for hours, yet they kept going and going and they hadn’t gotten there yet. Seeing something from a couple of hundred miles away, that was another new experience for the 18-year-old from Rhode Island. Incredible.
She looked out again to the vista in front of her. Past the gully there was a long stretch of dry tan-colored range, then a few hills further in the distance she could make out what must be grazing cows. Or were they buffalo? Probably a couple of miles away. In this desolate area she felt like a naked prisoner of a chain gang, suddenly free of her chains. Now was her chance to make a break for it. Run naked over those hills. Could she survive, a naked girl left alone out here? She thought of the burdock again, a plant she had learned about in that “Stalking Wild Plants” course. The leaves could be used in a salad -- or as toilet paper! She smiled. At least those bare necessities would be taken care of.
She recognized a smaller green plant growing there -- it looked like a regular weed, but it was called orphine, or “live-forever”. Another plant to make salad out of. “Live forever”. What a name. A breeze blew and she hugged her arms over her stiffening nipples. Up here in the high country it seemed cold, even in June, especially in the shade.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” McMasters’s voice almost made her jump. He was looking down from the guardrail, and perhaps referring to the beautiful naked girl, not to the landscape.
Tami smiled, trying to look sad. It worked. “What’s wrong?” She sighed. “Just homesick, I guess.” She was setting him up for her spiel. McMasters didn’t say anything.
Up, up, up the Cadillac went. Finally they were at the bottom of the giant red mountains. In the back seat now, Tami couldn’t help looking from side to side, curious as a little girl, much to the amusement of McMasters and Wanda in front, as the car went into a narrow pass and started up a winding road in total shadow, even though it was early afternoon. The sun seemed especially bright here, the shadows especially dark. The naked teenager turned around on her knees and bent over so she could see out the back window, unaware that she was sticking her bare butt cheeks out almost in between the two front seats, Wanda and McMasters not being able to help looking. Tami saw the bright hilly land they were leaving. Somewhere way back there, she thought, was St. Louis and the Arch. And further back, Ohio and Mr. McCaig and the hunters at that motel. And further back, Providence and her family. A little past that, Rod was no doubt hard at work at his summer engineering internship in Boston. Tami wished he could see these sights, wished that she and Rod could make this trip alone, even if she was still naked. She sighed and turned around to face the front and sit down, only to see Wanda smirking. Tami blushed as she realized she had shown her butthole to her nemesis one more time.
. . . .
Time to get out of the phone booth and expose herself once again. Fortunately there was no one in this dingy little room near the restrooms, but the floor, scattered with cigarette butts and what looked like the dried remains of spat tobacco, was an obstacle course for bare feet.
Of course, the naked girl’s entrance into the bar was well noticed. It was quiet, a country ballad playing softly from the jukebox, but everyone wore cowboy hats and that made the turning of heads more obvious. No words were spoken as Tami took her place on the stool next to Wanda and McMasters, but the bartender, apparently the owner of the place, had something to say.
“We don’t do that stuff here,” he said sternly, looking at Tami’s face, not her nipples, but with a reproachful glare that made the shamed girl wish he was in fact looking further down and not making eye contact.
“She’s a nudist, that’s all,” McMasters said, taking a second sip out of his bourbon and coke, which was practically the only mixed drink they knew how to make out here. He looked sideways at the other people in the bar, all of whom were staring at the nude young girl.
The bartender’s face did not change expression. “She should go down the road to Jessie’s. They have a permit. Folks pay pretty good for a look at titty and pussy like that.”
Tami almost wrinkled her nose in distaste. She didn’t like being spoken of in such gross terms. “What’ll you have?” McMasters said. “Just a coke,” she said, hoping they’d finish up here soon and go up to their rooms. “It’s O.K., you can order anything. The drinking age here is eighteen.”
“IS she eighteen?” the bartender said. “Looks more like fifteen or sixteen to me.”
“She is.” Tami wondered if the bartender would ask her for I.D., and where he supposed she would keep it -- in her rectum? She had been so opened up down there, especially at that equipment demonstration in Omaha, that she imagined she could carry all sorts of things in there by now. A little pocketbook, maybe, with pens, combs, money . . . But the bartender seemed to let it pass. “What the hell,” he said, “we’ve seen lots of stranger things in here. You do improve the scenery. Just don’t hang out too long, O.K.?”
She saw the tap for Coors beer and thought of those Coors T-shirts she had seen for sale in St. Louis. She ordered a Coors, liking the idea of doing something associated with clothing, no matter how pitifully attenuated that association was.
The ballad ended and the jukebox started on another. Apparently Monday nights were quiet here, even more quiet now that conversation had all but ceased with this naked girl on view sitting up at the bar. Self-conscious as she was in front of the twenty or so watching westerners, she was grateful to be drinking a cold beer. It had been a while. After half a glass she was ready for her speech. She had prepared her words carefully.
“I just spoke to my dad,” she said.
“How is he?”
“His bookkeeper quit. He didn’t want to say so but I think he needs me there.” Another sip. “Also, I’m kind of homesick.” She looked at McMasters’s intent face. He did not look surprised. “Mr. McMasters, I’ve . . . enjoyed working with you and coming across the country like this -- ” now that she was speaking these words aloud she heard this pun and suppressed a blush -- “but I think I want to go home. I hope I don’t mess your plans up but you know this was only, uh, tentative.”
McMasters looked steadily into Tami’s eyes and then took another sip of his drink. “I could tell you haven’t been, um, very happy during this trip.”
Tami briefly looked past McMasters to glance at Wanda, who was looking at her with narrow-eyed suspicion. McMasters was evidently acknowledging the friction between them. “But,” Tami hastened to add, “I’ll do the demonstration Wednesday. After that, though . . . just put me on the bus.”
“On the bus? Okay.” He took another sip. “After Wednesday we’re headed to southern California. They’re looking forward to seeing you. A man named Brian Cook, who, uh, has a connection with the college, he has a beautiful piece of land near the ocean that you’d enjoy a great deal. He’s invited you to stay a couple of weeks if you want. We’ll be doing things in the area in the meantime.”
Tami wrinkled her chin. She had always wanted to see California and the Pacific Ocean, but it would have to be some other time. She had to be firm now. She absolutely could not go through any more shaming public demonstrations. “I’m sorry, but no.”
McMasters had apparently been half-expecting this. “Tami, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done this trip. It’s been a resounding commercial and educational success.” He thought some more. “This being your last fling, so to speak, we’ll have to change Wednesday’s presentation a bit. It’s at a progressive school w - a - y up in the mountains, very nice folks, Unitarians, I think.” This made Tami think of Rebecca, now in Unitarian minister school. Rebecca was so smart and such an obvious future minister, Tami was sure that the next time she saw her she’d be wearing a collar. Or did Unitarians wear collars? Having grown up Catholic with not much exposure to Protestants, Tami had only a vague idea of such things.
As McMasters nursed his drink Tami’s mind continued to wander. She looked through the little window at the end of the bar. It was ten o’clock at night. Outside in the parking lot, guys in cowboy hats were getting out of a pickup truck. They were wearing heavy coats and blowing on their hands. This place was so high up that it got freezing cold at night even in June. Tami looked idly at the T.V. over the bar, playing with the sound off. A model in a miniskirt waiting at a train station, a commuter line, the platform was above a highway. People driving below honking horns, guys on the platform moving closer to the model. Apparently a perfume ad.
“Look,” the bartender broke in softly but firmly, “this girl’s catching too many eyes. Why don’t the three of you sit in that corner?”
Two minutes later, sitting at the little corner table, the naked teenager, sitting cross-legged on her little wooden chair and grateful for being relatively out of view, downed the rest of her beer as she heard McMasters describe what he wanted for Wednesday. Tami ordered the strongest drink she could think of, a straight bourbon, then as McMasters continued to talk and she realized what was in store for her she ordered another.
. . .
A blustery winter morning in busy downtown Denver. The Campbell Street station platform was crowded with commuters waiting for the 8:15 a.m. train. Sky: sunny. Wind: out of the north at 15 mph. Temperature: 17 degrees Fahrenheit. Used to equipping for the cold in this mile-high mountain city, the commuters made the platform even more crowded by being heavily bundled in coats, boots, hats, scarves and gloves. Some looked to their left, waiting for the train, which was a few minutes late. Some looked down past the tracks, to the highway which ran under the platform at right angles, cars and trucks whooshing loudly underneath, making the platform vibrate slightly.
But increasingly the commuters’ astonished attention was directed toward the young girl, about college age, waiting with them in the center of the platform. Absolutely naked.
No, not naked. Those close to her could see the little black string of silk that crossed her hips a few inches below her navel, and the little string that ran down from it to cut in between her shaved, tanned pussy lips. Those behind her could see the little string as it emerged from the sensuous cleft of her butt crack to join the hip string just under the little “Y” of her tailbone dimple. And they could see the strappy backless high-heeled sandals she wore on her feet. A pocketbook was slung over her bare shoulder.
As people passed she stared ahead with the poker face of the average commuter. Sometimes she acknowledged people with a little polite smile. Except for her lack of clothes she was in every other way just one of the commuters. A serious girl on her way to work. Perceptive observers would have noted the lipstick, the slight trace of makeup, the carefully set hair, the glossy polish on her fingernails and toenails, the fact that the stringy thong was made of fine silk, the sandals were black with patent leather straps, and the pocketbook looked new. She was actually in her full formal office attire, on her way to work. But mostly the people on the platform noticed her pale skin, her nipples, tiny and hard and gray, and the goose bumps on her bare butt cheeks and thighs. As a gust sliced through the heavily bundled crowd, they cringed at the thought of the icy wind attacking the girl’s nipples, blasting her bare pussy lips, her bare toes. Surely she must be freezing and going numb, courting frostbite and hypothermia.
Yet the girl stood still, remarkably not shivering, not seeming to take any notice of the cold or the fact that she was totally naked except for the tiny string around her hips and the two thin straps crossing each foot. Instead, she looked down the tracks occasionally like everyone else, wondering what was happening with the train, and showed no especial disappointment when the announcement came over on screechy loudspeakers that it would be ten minutes late. Ten minutes extra she waited there with everyone else.
Then when the train finally came, she walked on, perhaps a bit more stiffly than the rest, and stood in the middle of the car, holding her pocketbook against her shoulder with one hand, holding the strap above her with the other, as everyone looked speechlessly at her perfectly toned body, the concave sweep of her tummy, her breasts jutting out firmly, her bare skin in the harsh light front and center making a bright contrast with the dark coats and heavy clothing of everyone else. When the train came to the downtown stop she filed out with the rest, walking into a tall building to her job as a secretary on the 27th floor. Glad to have the stringy thong bottom and the sandals. She had fought for a long, long time for the string and something to put on her feet, and though these skimpy items did nothing to protect her from the cold or to cover even as much as a square inch of her skin, she was grateful for them every minute of every day . . .
. . .
Tami woke up, having dozed in the back of the Cadillac with a mild hangover, and thought she was still dreaming as the car, having climbed through winding roads for hours, the engine running rough because of the high altitude, crested onto a valley surrounded by snow-capped peaks, a valley where there was a little town and the fields lay covered with snow even though the trees were green and the houses and buildings had no snow on them and the air was warm. Tami felt like she was still dreaming and she rubbed her eyes.
“This is it. Quaker Lake,” McMasters said as the Cadillac slowly descended into the valley.
Tami took in the surroundings as the Cadillac cruised along with main street of this town in the middle of the valley. It reminded her a little of towns in New England, or maybe anyplace else. Little stores, a supermarket, nicely kept houses. A big school, she couldn’t tell if it was a high school or a college. A lot of the houses were unpainted, and there were a lot of flowery banners flying from porches. The people on the streets seemed all grungily dressed. A little hippy-dippy, as her friends would put it. The Cadillac turned onto a side street and wound around and around through tree-lined slushy curbless roads. Through the trees she could see the surrounding mountains looming large; they were near one end of the valley. They stopped in the driveway of a little cottage.
The old familiar feel of ankle-deep slush on her bare feet greeted Tami as she stepped out onto the muddy, slushy driveway. It reminded her of this past winter at Campbell - Frank College. Yet the air was warm and the midday sun was almost hot on her breasts. The slush itself wasn’t that cold. To have her feet in icy slush, and the rest of her bathed in balmy sunny warmth, was an odd feeling.
A tall, thin man with a shaved head and a professorly-looking tweed jacket had come out and anticipated her comment. “I bet that feels odd, doesn’t it? That’s called ‘corn snow’. It’s here almost year round. Meanwhile the air is hot. People can ski up here wearing nothing but bathing suits. Or less, of course,” he said with a smile.
“Professor, this is Miss Tami Smithers,” McMasters said, as if introducing a visiting dignitary. “Miss Smithers, this is Professor Langley, Coordinator of the Maslow Mountain School. . . And Professor, here is Wanda Percival, who has been helping us out.”
. . . .
The naked girl tried not to cringe or cover herself as she sat in the front seat of the Professor’s jeep. After a quick lunch of very good, home-cooked lasagna, the Professor wanted to introduce Tami to the school before the day was out. McMasters and Wanda had stayed at the cottage, leaving Tami feeling even more naked as she went to this strange place with this man she had just met, away from her things and not even wearing her ankle pouch.
The Professor led her down a long empty hallway, his hard-soled shoes tapping on the floor, drowning out the soft whisper of her bare feet. They approached a door with a window, through which Tami could see a big field with benches, little covered pagodas, and what could only be described as playground equipment for adults. Several dozen young people were out there; apparently there were no classes right now for some reason, a reason which immediately became apparent. As Tami died a thousand deaths, the Professor opened the door and said, “Go ahead, Miss Smithers. They’re very eager to meet you. Thanks again for honoring us with your visit. I’ll see you later.”
Tami stepped outside onto the wet concrete and winced as she heard the door close with a loud final-sounding thud, leaving her outside, naked and alone. A breeze blew up, a cold one because it was blowing up from the snow, and played with her stiffening nipples and across her bare pussy lips. It also played across her beautiful face and updrafted her red hair with its streaks of gray which glistened in the sun. She bit her lip as she walked forward slowly, seeing the young people’s heads turn as they saw her. The naked girl’s hands were stiffly at her sides as she resisted the urge to cover herself and run back into the school. Her toes squirmed as she slowly walked onto the slush.
Some were walking, the more distant ones were running. They came from every direction and within a minute were crowded around her. All healthy-looking and fresh-faced, mostly white but a few black, all seemingly around her age. There were sprinkles of “hi” and “welcome”. A cute guy with glasses stepped forward and was the first to offer his hand. “Tami Smithers, the nudist. Hi, I’m Seth.” She put her hand to his and found herself clasping its warmth. In spite of her all-over blush she smiled.
After the first welcoming comments they began with the inevitable questions. “Are you naked all the time?” “What did you do with your clothes?” “Are you going to be naked all your life?” “Don’t you get hypothermia?”
A little while later they were sitting in the little dining hall. Aduare, a native of Senegal, said in Oxford-educated English, “We had one guy here who liked to go naked once in a while.”
Tami was glad she had to wait to swallow her mouthful of burrito; it gave her time to think before speaking. She was sitting in the middle of the table, like Jesus at the Last Supper, feeling like royalty. When her response finally came it was diplomatic and dignified. And maybe a bit wistful. “It’s good that this school allows you to have freedom like that.”
“Amen,” someone said.
“Then there was Zahira,” someone said. Eyes rolled and faces smiled.
At Tami’s puzzled look Seth explained, “She went barefoot for the whole four years. She came here in flip-flops which she threw in the trash as soon as her parents left. It was almost a religion with her. Now she’s in Micronesia, where they never wear shoes anyway.”
This turned conversation to other recent graduates and what they were doing now. Tami learned that the main purpose of this college was to prepare young people for overseas work as missionaries, or as technicians in service programs run by churches. She liked sitting here, even in spite of her nudity; it reminded her of the many times she had sat with her dorm friends in the dining hall at Campbell - Frank. And she thought: Rebecca would love it here. These folks are all like her, intelligent and agreeable. So unlike Lorinda and all the other creeps.
Curious, Tami said, “Is this a religious college?”
“Well, yes and no,” Seth said, and some chuckled. “It’s named after a touchy feely psychologist. He wanted people to ‘self-actualize’.”
Tami had heard the name in her intro to psych class. “‘Self-actualize’ means . . . ‘be all you can be’.”
More chuckling. “Not exactly an Army place, but the phrase fits.”
“Herbert is going into the Army,” someone reminded Seth. “Oh, right. Well, the Army needs peaceful people.”
Then Tami remembered the town was called Quaker Lake. “Is this place run by the Quakers?” She had never met any Quakers, but knew it was a denomination of some kind.
“No, Unitarians,” Seth said.
Kathy spoke up. She wore a leather jacket and had her hair tied back, and spoke in a familiar accent. “Unitarians are like Quakers, except they know how to party,” she said. This got a laugh.
Tami looked at Kathy with a quickly growing sense of recognition. That accent. She took a chance and looked right at her. “Craaauhnnston,” she said in a drawn-out whine.
Kathy’s face broke into a big smile. “You’re psychic. . . What’s a quahog?”
“I’d know that accent anywhere.” The naked girl pointed at herself. “Pwovidince,” she said in an exaggerated imitation of the accent of her uncles, an accent she had for some reason largely lost when she went away to college. “I’ll have a grinder and a vanilla cabinet.”
“With shrees meat thrown in,” Kathy said.
“Ewwww,” Tami wrinkled her nose as they both laughed.
All this foreign language was getting everyone confused. “What is going on here?” Seth said.
“Just talking Swamp Yankee,” Tami said. “Hi,” she said to Kathy, extending her hand. Friendly as these people were, it was so nice, way out here, to find someone from home. Tami could easily picture Kathy in a monkey suit, her face smudged with grease, as she rolled out from under a T-bird to sip a can of Narragansett. “When you opened your mouth, I -- well, that old Cranston whine. It’s unique.”
“Actually I’m from Olneyville,” Kathy said.
“Close enough. I live off of Chalkstone,” the naked girl said.
Then she stopped herself. This girl Kathy might run into me someday. Is she about to ask my address and phone? Then I’ll have to give it or look like a total creep. She’ll visit some day, or call. She’s seen me out here, and will see me tomorrow during that . . . demonstration. Tami took a breath. Well, my parents know I’m supposed to be a nudist. And so do my friends. She thought of that shameful party at Charlene’s over Christmas. I suppose no real damage has been done, she decided. Still, she should be more careful about telling things about herself. . .The fact that she was totally naked once more came to the forefront of her consciousness. Here she was, a being apart from these clothed people. While craving clothes desperately.
People got done with their lunches and Tami found herself walking out into the main hallway, intensely conscious of her nakedness and her bare feet slapping against the floor in the midst of all the sneakers and hiking boots and work shoes, yet glad to be with this crowd. Her shyness kept her near the back, and Seth lagged behind to walk next to her. He was obviously attracted to her, and Tami felt herself wanting to be with him as well.
In fact, it was a bit stronger than that. She wanted to grab this cute guy, sort of a white version of Rod, and suck his face and hug him and hungrily feel his rough sweater scraping against her nipples, his jeans against her poor deprived bare thighs, rubbing her bare feet longingly against his sneakers.
Tami felt her face flush hot and shook her head. What a hot flash. How weird. It shows how long it’s been since I’ve had Rod in my arms. She reflected pungently on how the Chalfont devices had changed her. No wonder I’m getting horny, it’s been a whole four hours since my last orgasm.
“Want to go to the slope with us after classes are done at 5?” he said.
The naked girl wondered what he meant, and looked out a window at the warm sun on the bright snow outside. She found herself saying “Yes.”
As she walked next to Seth in the middle of a bunch of a dozen friends, slapping through the wet slush at the far end of the school’s athletic field, the naked girl looked up and saw “the slope” -- the first foothill of the surrounding mountains, in shadow now that it was late afternoon, dotted by trees but with a clear path down the middle.
Everyone else strode sturdily up the side with their hiking boots but the naked girl’s bare feet slipped and slid, making it necessary for her to cling to Seth’s shoulder. The others were talking about this and that but only Tami and Seth were silent, sharing this romantic moment, the man gallantly helping the naked woman up the hill as if rescuing a damsel in distress.
As they got to the top Tami looked down and saw the snow on the plain below, still in the bright sun and glistening. It was mottled in a regular pattern, like kernels on an ear of corn, making her realize why it was called “corn snow.” She looked upward the other way and saw a tiny furrow beyond, then the steep wall of a much bigger hill that led straight up to a point way up high, hidden by trees, where it gave way to the wall of red bare rock, the side of the mountain, and that went up and up to a place far and cold and perpetually covered with snow. At the very top she could see a gleam of snow, evidence of the sun which shone on the other side. What a big, thrilling, expansive place.
Expansive was the word. Tami had whiled away the past two hours in the school library, taking some books and curling up in the overstuffed chair in the corner, glad that there were only a few students around and that all they could really see of her were her bare breasts. What got her attention was all the books about other countries, many written in other languages. She skimmed through a book, an old novel by Sinclair Lewis, attracted by the title. “World So Wide”. That summed it up. What a big world this is. She imagined having to travel the world naked, her body on display in front of peoples of all races and cultures, the International Nude. Then she caught herself. No, I’ll be snugly in clothes in a few days. Heh heh heh . . .
It was a little bit chilly on top of the slope, but really not too bad. Tami hugged her arms to her chest as Kathy said, “Me first,” and grabbed a snow wing which had been lying against a tree. “Are you O.K.?” Seth said, as if noticing for the first time that here was a naked girl standing in the snow. Tami nodded.
Tami’s eyes widened as Kathy lay prone on the snow wing and paddled herself to a start with her hands. This was a higher slope than Tami realized. As Kathy picked up speed and started shooting down and far away, Tami felt concern, which was quickly allayed by the whoops of encouragement from the others. Kathy bumped up and down, the snow wing entirely leaving the ground at points, as she steered it straight down the path. With a final bump she hit bottom and shot out across the flatness of the sunny white field, coming to rest after about a hundred feet.
There were three other snow wings lying against the tree. Aduare was next. As she started off down the slope, Seth grabbed a snow wing and offered it to Tami. She shook her head, still hugging her chest, rubbing her shin with her other foot. With a shrug Seth took his place and, after Aduare hit bottom, started down.
These folks are having a great time, Tami told herself. Good clean fun. She remembered sledding down the hill at a local park back home -- a tiny, tiny hill compared to this one -- and after watching Seth and his friends go a few go-rounds, moving on to tricks like going feet first and swerving from side to side, the naked girl was getting jealous. The others were protected from injury by clothes and boots. Could a naked, barefoot girl do this? If Seth offered then it must be O.K. Still . . .
She didn’t wait for Seth to offer; he was down at the bottom anyway with some of the others. Instead, she boldly grabbed a snow wing and shouted down, “MY turn!!”
Suddenly nervous again, she placed her bare body on top of the cold painted metal, feeling it against her stiff nipples and crushed breasts. Then she decided that feet first would be better. Placing her bare butt on the snow wing, she grabbed the sides with clenched hands and, spreading her legs, pushed herself forward with two bare feet. She put her feet in front of her and her heart went into her mouth as she felt herself sliding forward, too late to stop, a victim of gravity as she sped forward and down faster and faster, her eyes wide, her mouth opening as she started shouting, “Whoa, whoa, whoaaaaa . . .”
It bounced up and down, jolting her butt. She tried to keep her feet in front so that she was looking at the bottom through her toes but the jolting was just too much. Then it happened -- she had been pushing the snow wing too far forward and it bounced out from under her, flying off to the side and away from her grasp. The naked girl, terrified, slid down the rest of the slope feet first on her bare butt, her back down against the icy slush, her head propped up so that she could see where she was headed.
No! A tree ahead! She stuck one leg out to the other side, so that she turned. It was a matter of life and death. Swerving to and fro like this, one leg out then the other, her arms flinging wildly behind her, the naked girl bumped and bounced down the slope, screaming the whole time.
Her bare butt hit the final bump and she slid out onto the field. When she came to a rest she lay flat, her head resting against the snow, legs slightly parted, arms extended up past her ears. Seth and the others gathered around, concerned. Due to her extended posture her ribs stuck out, under which her concave tummy moved in and out in the warm sun as she caught her breath. Her eyes closed and then opened as she regained her senses.
To everyone’s relief she seemed to be fine. With a helping hand from Seth she got up and placed her feet unsteadily on the slush. She looked down and noticed what everyone else did: her pussy was stuffed with wet snow. It was COLD, chilling her to the core; she was glad for the warm sun on the rest of her. Slowly, her tummy quivering as she continued to catch her breath, the naked girl went into a semi-squat to separate her legs. As everyone watched with wonder and curiosity, she opened her bare pussy lips and scooped out the little chunks of snow with her fingers. The last little bits were extracted by her putting her entire finger in.
All the snow out of her, she stood up again and looked at Seth. They hugged, both glad to be alive. Then Tami stood apart and slowly a weird, crazy smile spread across her face. She raised a fist in the air and shouted, “Woooo - woooo! Again! Woooo - wooooo!!” As she began sprinting up the side of the slope, her bare toes kicking up slush behind her, her relieved and happy friends cheered her on.
. . . .
Thousands of stars on this Rocky Mountain night, over the pine trees and the little cottage. Windows were lit, people inside were chatting after dinner. And outside, along the driveway, a girl was taking the Professor’s terrier out for a little walk.
It was cold now, though still above freezing, and the girl was totally naked. An unusual sight, of course. But the road was deserted and nobody was around to see it. The girl had volunteered to walk the dog; it gave her some time alone to think and gird herself for tomorrow’s assignment. Her feet crunching in the snow, she looked up at the nighttime sky as Spinney (short for “Spinoza”) lifted a leg and baptized the side of a pine tree. The girl had never seen so many stars. What clear, fresh air.
It was a happy day with new friends, and that would make tomorrow easier to take, but it would still be an ordeal. It would be videotaped. Being her last demonstration, McMasters said that this way the Total Lover could be shown at his other venues this summer now that she was going back home. Of course she could not be seen to object. It was all voluntary, right? McMasters had very meticulously gone over what she was to say and do; she had memorized it and rehearsed it in her mind. And now she squeezed her eyes shut as she thought of it.
Spinney tugged her along with his leash and went to examine another tree. The naked girl decided to pray. She knelt down onto the snow and, holding the leash with one hand, held her head up and back, her eyes closed, her face tranquil. Praying to the stars.
Please God, you have seen me through so much. I will shortly be done with this ordeal of awful nakedness.
Please give me the strength to get through tomorrow.
Perhaps others have prayed naked in the snow. Martyrs, perhaps. Tami was no martyr; she wanted to survive and had a plan to do so. Yet there was something sacred, something of a ritual, about praying thus. Something for the ages. Opening her eyes, the naked girl found herself snatching up a little chunk of wet snow and slowly rubbing it up and down along her bare pussy lips -- her lower lips that were exposed to the world, being denied not only clothing but also the covering of her natural fur. An odd thing to do, rubbing the snow on her lips like this, but somehow symbolic of her ordeal.
Tami sighed. Well, back to the real world. Hearing the cascading sounds of Spinney’s peeing gave her the urge to do it as well. Also, being out in the cold tends to shrink the bladder. Picking a place off in the bushes, she squatted and looked down as the hot yellow stream hit the snow, melting it in a little hot mist. Her hands were on her knees; as she knew by now, with no hair down there the pee would shoot out unimpeded without her having to spread her lips.
The last drops trickled out and the girl stood up. The cold was starting to get to her. She tugged the leash toward the house. Spinney followed her, but not before sniffing the yellow hole in the snow and lifting his leg to claim the spot as his own.
. . . .
She had dreams.
A doctor’s waiting room. All the seats were taken. As she came in she knew she had to sit on the coffee table in the middle. People went in for their appointments, new ones walked in, and all the while the naked girl was sitting cross-legged on the coffee table. Would they ever get to her? She read magazines, the same ones over and over, looked up at the clock. She sat on the edge, crossed her legs, uncrossed them, fidgeted. Just a naked girl in the middle of the waiting room, clothed patients all around her, the girl beginning to feel more and more naked, vulnerable, on display. . . When were they going to call her name?
. . . .
“This way,” the Prefect said. “The testing room.” The visitor followed. Another dark room with a black door. Then another. Finally, a black door with a devil’s head. It opened.
It was Sister Elizabeth, known in the convent by her childhood nickname, Tami.
That seemed so long ago. They had planned the capture well and it proved quite easy. Dragged her into this place gagged and blindfolded. Then the fright on the 18-year-old novitiate’s face as she saw her tormentors in their black robes and sinister cowls. Being held down as her habit and underclothes and shoes were taken off, piece by piece. Her agonized whimpering as her clothes were put into a pile and doused with kerosene and burned in front of her eyes.
The room was painted black, including the table, around which the men sat, dressed in black and barely visible, watching intently. The young nun went through her paces as the spotlight shone on her pale, white, naked body, so bright that the visitor was almost blinded and could not see anything else in the room until his eyes got used to the light. Slowly, tremblingly, the naked novitiate lay back and spread her legs wide, holding her feet apart so that she could spread wider, right on the edge so that she could give the men a closer view of her pinkness. Then parting her lower lips wide with nervous fingers so they could see deep inside her. Gulping, she moved over and did the same for the men on the other side. Her eyes were filled with fear, her face an agonized mask of shame and mortification. Somewhere in the darkness, she knew, was a man with a gun. If she flinched or shrank from offering anything less than full exposure. . .
She went into the next position, getting on all fours, spreading her buttocks to give the men a clear view of her most secret orifice. How long had she been doing this? Men left and were replaced by others. She was to keep going through these poses until -- when? Had she been here for hours? Days? Why wasn’t she getting sleepy or hungry? It went on and on and on . . .
Showing her anus to the men on the other side, she looked up and prayed with anguished eyes. Please deliver me, Lord. . . Was she being tested? Shouldn’t she just cover herself with her hands and die protecting her virtue? By continuing to pose was she showing weakness, digging herself in deeper? The internal mental torment was intense. She lifted her breasts for the men and then spread her legs again. Was this Hell?
. . . .
At the nod of the elegantly attired doorman the naked peasant girl gingerly walked through the big open door and into the Great Hall of the Palace . . .
“Good morning. My name is Tami Smithers, and I am a radical nudist.”
The naked girl stood in the middle of the classroom, hands at her sides. Behind her was a folded-out table, empty but for a little cushion, and a large teacher’s desk with some kind of apparatus hidden under a canvas. She smiled out at the twenty or so students sitting in the rows of chairs, the half a dozen professors behind them. And Wanda, looking from the side, and McMasters, in the rear, both standing behind tripods, getting the video cameras ready.
It was a little after nine o’clock and the windows were open on this warm sunny day. The students listened attentively, though because they already knew her by now, the presentation was a little formal as to them. A chill breeze blew in from the corn snow outside. People who were in short sleeves rubbed their forearms. On the naked girl, front and center, everyone could see the stiffening of her nipples, the goose bumps rising on her thighs and buttocks. Not seeming to notice the chill, she continued.
“I’ve decided to live totally without covering or clothing or shoes of any kind. I gave away all my clothes and go naked all the time, even in winter, even up in Vermont where I go to school. When it’s below zero,” she shrugged with a smile, “I just run fast to where I’m going. I sleep on a bare bed without blankets or sheets. As you can, see,” she said, looking down, “I’ve even shaved off my pubic hair so that my lower lips can be exposed as well.
“Even after spending months walking naked through the snow, I haven’t caught any colds, or been ill at all. Being naked has increased my body’s resistance.” She walked a couple of steps to the left, then looked up again, absently putting her arms behind her, holding an elbow with the other hand. “I’ve also made some good friends, friends who are true and honest. I can see into their souls, I think. I know it sounds corny. This morning, you will see inside me as well, and while I am in orgasm I think you will see my soul too.
“Now . . . the man this school is named after, he talked about ‘self-actualization’, meeting your full potential. I’m not anywhere near full potential, nobody is, but I want to show you what a person’s body and maybe their soul is capable of. I’ve gotten to know and like you” -- a quick eye-flick toward Seth, sitting in the second row -- “and you’ve seen my outsides, of course, because I never wear any clothes. Now I want you to see the rest. I brought a flashlight so you can see up inside me.”
The naked girl reached under the canvas and pulled out the little flashlight, shining it into her face for a second to make sure the batteries were O.K. Then she hopped up onto the table. The students and teachers leaned forward with intense curiosity. They had been told their visitor would give an “anatomical demonstration”, and this was evidently it.
The naked girl lay on her back and then spread her legs up and then out, intertwining her fingers through her spread toes on each side, flexing her legs straight with the flexibility of a trained gymnast so that the legs were brought back even with her shoulders. This caused her crotch to push out toward the class. Her head propped up by the cushion, she continued to make eye contact with the class as she spoke.
“I invite you all to see inside my vaginal cavity. I’ve taught myself how to keep it open by flexing the muscles inside and in my thighs. Come on,” she smiled, flexing her concave tummy and causing her tanned, smooth lower lips to separate about an inch and a half. Aduare, the first person in the first row, decided to be bold and got up right away. As she got the flashlight, others got in line behind her. Aduare crouched down a bit and shone a flashlight into the naked girl’s interior. With a little grunt, the naked girl said, “If you women would like to do this, open your vagina without using your hands, you do it by pushing out with your thigh muscles, and at the same time flex the muscle inside like you’re stopping in the middle of peeing.
“Notice my cervix, it’s way inside, a lighter color than my inner walls. You can go ahead and touch it if you want; I’m sure your hands are clean. . . Oh!” she said with a surprised whimsical smile, as Aduare, somewhat faster than expected, stuck her finger in and rubbed the naked girl’s cervix. “N - notice how it feels like the end of your nose.”
Aduare nodded, then withdrew her hand and peered inside with the flashlight again before giving way to the next person. The naked girl did not jerk with the next touching of her cervix, done several students later by Jonas, a tall blond-haired muscular guy who looked like a football player. “When I come, my cervix will reaches down farther into the center of my vagina. That’s so it will be closer to any sperm that has come in. In that way, ohh, the female orgasm is related to, like, procreation.” After Jones got done feeling her cervix, he withdrew his finger and rubbed his nose, nodding with a jokey smile. After he was done, the naked girl, who had been spread for ten minutes, brought her legs together and down. “Excuse me, I have to relax a bit. . . Maybe if a couple of you could hold my legs open. . .”
Aduare and Jonas were the volunteers, each taking one bare foot and holding the naked girl’s legs wide apart, up and back. As the next person wielded the flashlight the naked girl looked down to what she could see of her lower lips and said, “I think my clitoris is out now. ‘The man in the boat.’“ With her hands now free, she brought one hand forward over her concave tummy and opened the little hood. “There, you can see it. It’s a little erect now because all this touching is a little exciting. I’m also getting a little wet.” Indeed the smell of female musk was now detectable, mixing in with the fresh cool breeze from outside as it wafted out toward the people still seated.
“With practice,” the naked girl continued, quivering a little now that it was Seth looking inside, “the capacity of my vaginal cavity is now about ten inches depth, at maybe two and one-quarter inches width. Yet my muscles are developed enough so that slackness is not a problem. Here, see,” she said, closing and then opening her lower mouth gently and slowly like a fish. “Seth, put your finger in. I’ll close in around it.” Seth, so curious and amazed that his arousal was almost secondary, inserted his index finger in all the way and the naked girl’s vagina closed in on it. She grimaced a bit and everyone could see the muscles in her concave tummy flexing. As she concentrated, her toes, up near the faces of Aduare and Jonas, spread and flexed in a complicated pattern.
“Wow,” Seth said, smiling. “You’ve got some grip.” It was actually an effort for him to pull his finger out. Then he made way for the next person; as he did so he sucked on his finger to clean it off with a naughty expression as the naked girl smiled at him.
Others put their finger in and were also impressed by the tightness of her vagina. Everyone did the same thing: look inside with the flashlight, rub the cervix, put one finger in to get squeezed. After the last student was done the professors looked at each other and then, with very little hesitation, formed their own line. Their examinations were a bit more deliberate, shining the flashlight longer, rubbing the cervix more, putting in a finger twice or three times, fingers that were mostly fatter and rougher than the fingers of the students.
“Now for my other opening,” the naked girl said as Aduare and Jonas let go of her feet and sat down. She got up and turned around on the table with her back to the class, then got on all fours, then lowered her shoulders down to the table, resting her head down sideways on the cushion. “My rectum is the other cavity which I like to share with people. I can relax the sphincter so that it opens up and you can see inside. Unnhh--” The class saw a dark hole open up about two inches between the tanned butt cheeks. “Wow,” someone said softly, echoing the amazement of the others.
“Again, use the flashlight to look inside me,” the naked girl said. Aduare, again the first in line, bent down and shone the light inside. “There’s no . . . odor,” she said. The naked girl replied, “That’s because I keep it clean and I took an enema just before this class. The rectum is always empty, except just before . . . voiding. People tell me my rectum is actually a more interesting place than my vagina.”
The naked girl said nothing as Aduare finished, and then the next student went up, and then the next. At that point the naked girl said, “Up to the, um, upper left you can see a little slanty hole, the entrance to my colon. I call it my ‘inner butthole’.” Someone giggled, making the naked girl giggle too. Kathy had been crouching down with the flashlight, and in her Cranston accent she said, “Wow! It opened and closed just now, when you laughed!” The naked girl chuckled. “What do you know. . . Did it open again just now?” “No,” Kathy said. “Well, I can’t make my inner butthole open at will, at least not yet,” the naked girl concluded.
A couple of other students took their turn, and then the naked girl said, “A dildo or a very long penis can go right into my colon. That’s why my capacity is greater back there. I can comfortably take twelve inches of depth, and two and a half of width.”
“That would be some penis,” someone said.
“Well, dildo then,” the naked girl said.
Again, the teachers took their turn. When the last one had explored through her rectum up to the entrance to her colon, the naked girl sat up on the table and shook herself out. “I hope this was, uh, interesting,” she said, looking out affably at the audience, noticing the nodding heads. “Excuse me, I have to stretch myself out after all that, before I do the next thing.” As everyone watched, she got off the table and bent down to touch her toes and then bent lower, holding her bare feet in her hands, so low that the ends of her hair touched the floor. Then she stretched herself out into a big “X”, facing the class, her legs wide apart, her bare pussy lips opening just a bit, her eyes closed. Opening her eyes again, she grabbed her right foot and stretched her leg out and up, up, up, until it was higher than her head, anchored on top of the apparatus under the canvas. She flexed her leg muscles, her bare pussy fully open to everyone’s view. Then she brought her leg down, turned around, and brought her left leg up onto the apparatus, showing everyone a clear view of her anus and her flexing butt muscles.
Standing in front of the class again, she said, “What follows is a demonstration of a commercial product which is going to be videotaped. But we’re not trying to sell it to you. I just want you to see what the human body is capable of, and how beautiful the process of sexual arousal and orgasm is. I want you all to look at me closely, the expression on my face, my muscles, the changes on my skin.
“Now this,” she said, reaching under the canvas and bringing out a dildo, “is what goes into my vagina.” Some of the female students gasped. Aduare, in front, squeezed her legs shut and hunched over in her chair, saying, “No way!!” A couple of people laughed.
“Yes, way!” the naked girl said, smiling. “Not like an inexperienced woman can take something this big, but I can, because I’ve had a lot of, uh, practice. They come in much smaller sizes, of course.” Apparently reminding herself to do so, she looked up at McMasters’s camera and then at Wanda’s, continuing her presentation like she was on TV. “I call this the ‘Godzilla’ dildo, because of these bumps.” She ran her finger over them. “They get pushed in with pressure. These stimulate my clitoris going in, and once inside me, they rub against my G-spot. Let me tell you,” she said with a smile, “instant orgasm!” She saw some women smiling back devilishly. “ The clitoris and the G-spot are part of the same structure -- the only organ on the human body whose only function is sexual pleasure.” She saw Kathy, in the back, raising up a fist with a smile, and couldn’t help but add, “Women rule!”
“And then,” the naked girl said, getting something else from under the canvas, “this goes into my rectum.” Seeing the large white plastic shaft covered with tiny holes, Aduare clutched her butt and said, “Ow!” This brought more chuckles.
In a minute the canvas was ripped away and the audience saw the apparatus, the “Total Lover”. As the naked girl screwed the dildos onto the cold metal cams, her big toe twisting idly into the floor, she momentarily pointed up to a console and little motor to the left, from which two black rubber hoses were hung. “Notice also these suction tubes, they suck on my nipples.” She turned around and put her thumb and index finger next to one nipple. “After a long session my nipples come out an inch and a half, and as thick as my thumb.” Seeing the looks of shock, she said, “Of course, they go down to normal after about an hour.”
The naked girl climbed on top of the desk and looked down at her audience. “Time to suit up. I suppose you can say this is my only article of clothing.” She spread her thighs onto the semi-chair and bent down to strap each ankle against the side support. “This is for stability.” Then she gently lowered herself onto the lubricated rear dildo, squinting slightly, and turned a knob on a little control console mounted next to the suction motor to her right. “The rectal dildo is now going in. . . ohhh . . .Now the other . . .” With a momentary glance at McMasters’s camera, she turned the knob further and everyone could see the Godzilla dildo slowly make its way into her pussy, the bumps disappearing one by one. With each bump her body lurched slightly. “Oh. Oh. It’s hard not to -- uhh -- come just from this. Oh! . . .”
She fastened a suction cup onto each nipple and took a breath, her hand poised on a button on the console. Keeping her eyes on the console, she said, “Why don’t you gather around so you can see me from different angles. Here I go . . .” And she pressed the button . . .
It was slow, rhythmic, laborious. Given the huge size of the dildos and the slight frame of the naked girl, it could hardly be otherwise. She stared ahead, eyebrows twitching, as her body was pushed forward and back by the dildos sawing in and out from front and rear. “Huh! . . . Uhh! . . . Uhh! . . .”
The students were slowly drawn up out of their chairs as if possessed. So were the professors. They approached the teacher’s desk and looked up at the naked girl, who was now beginning to sweat. They had awe and wonder on their faces. They spread around the desk so that some were looking at her from the front, some from the side, some from the rear.
Seth approached her slowly from the front, gaping up at her reddening face with reverence, like a devout priest seeing an exquisite Renaissance crucifix sculpture for the first time. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly. The naked girl evidently heard because she seemed to smile. Then her eyes opened wide and she said, “I’m -- gonna -- come -- ohhh. . .”
Her head snapped to the right and she strained to keep her eyes open at Wanda’s camera. Then the contractions began, freezing everyone in their tracks as the spasms shook the entire apparatus. It shifted slightly on the desk, causing a couple of the watchers to hold the bottom of the frame to keep it from possibly falling off. “Ohh -- Goddddd --” the naked girl continued in a breathy shout, her damp hair flinging wildly.
They saw her head drop, sniffling, as the last contractions spent themselves. The dildos kept sawing in and out, the suction tubes kept rising and falling from the cups on each nipple, as if nothing had happened. The girl grimaced as if in extreme pain, then seemed to sob. She opened her eyes again, looking up. She had to concentrate intensely to get any words out, and she spat them out with great effort. “I’m -- gonna -- ohhh -- come again -- can -- come -- many times -- multiple -- org -- ohhh --”
She jerked her head back, her gritted teeth showing, again seeming like she was in intense pain. The people around her looked up with a mix of concern, secret horror, curiosity and yes, arousal. Kathy shook her head. “She looks like she’s in terrible pain and yet . . . it’s beautiful . . .”
As everyone stood, motionless and speechless, the naked girl started working herself up to another orgasm. Wanda and McMasters took their cameras off the tripods and moved in closer; the others did not block their view of the naked girl because she was so high up. Five minutes after turning on the machine, she was about to crest again. Seth shook his head with wonder and said, “You are amazing.”
Her body being sawed back and forth, the naked girl opened her eyes and looked down at Seth as she went over the waterfall again. “Ohhh -- ohhh -- please --” She started spasming again but seemed determined to keep her eyes open, looking right at him with what could have been a look of anguish and desperation, but what he could only imagine was intense ecstacy.
The orgasm spent itself and again there was the look of intense teeth-baring pain as the machine continued on. A few minutes after that, her face bowed down and hidden by stringy wet hair, the naked girl said, “Come -- one -- more -- time -- ohhh --”
The third orgasm was as intense as the other two. The three orgasms had taken a total of twelve minutes. With what seemed like her last bit of strength the sweat-covered girl reached over to fumble with the console, grabbing it and slipping over it with her sweaty hand before finally hitting the right button. Then she slumped as the Total Lover stopped into silence, holding her still form. Everyone wondered what would happen next.
Slowly, she raised her head and smoothed back the wet hair that was plastered to her forehead. Taking a deep breath, she detached the suction tubes to reveal two now very large nipples. Then with another grimace, she eased herself off the Godzilla dildo, then off the dildo in the rear. People wanted to help her but didn’t know how. Finally, with unsteady, shaking legs, she collapsed sitting on the desk and then got down to stand in front of it.
And then she crossed her legs and crossed her arms in front of her breasts, and started bawling like a baby.
Everyone was horrified, until the sweaty, naked girl said through her sobs, “I always cry “ -- sniffles -- “after a really good orgasm.” She held her hands over her face, still crying, then lurched over to Seth and said tearfully, “Hold me.” The surprised and puzzled young man took the naked girl in a full-length embrace, feeling her hot, sweaty skin against his T-shirt and jeans and hiking boots. A few seconds later Kathy wordlessly moved over and hugged the naked girl from the rear, holding her naked back and butt against her leather jacket and jeans. The naked girl’s body was now covered, front and rear. Then others went over to hold the naked girl’s shoulder, her arm, any part of her they could touch. Feeling love from every direction, the naked girl left Seth’s embrace and turned around and hugged Kathy, and then Aduare, and then Jonas, every last student in turn, most of whom found to their surprise that tears were coming from their own eyes, an experience that had touched them like no other and that they were never to forget.
McMasters and Wanda faded to black and turned off their cameras. The video, quite literally, would be good as gold.
. . . .
From the roof of the three-story dorm the view was spectacular. One could see the entire campus, the corn snow over the whole athletic field, glistening in the warm afternoon sun, the sledding slope to one side, looking very tiny in front of the tall mountains capped with snow. To the other side, a partly thinned forest of pine trees and little houses, and then further over, the low buildings of the town. All of it looking like a little toy model next to the big red mountains.
The nearly naked girl sat in the middle of her new friends, Seth, Aduare, Jonas, Kathy, and Herbert, feeling the rear dildo of the retainer seeming to poke right up into her stomach. She shifted her bare buttocks on the rough asphalt, enjoying at least its warmth if not its gritty texture. The others, whose bottoms were well protected by jeans or (in the case of Aduare) a thick flannel dress, leaned back on their hands, all enjoying the warm sun and the view, but mostly thinking the same thing.
Finally Kathy said it. “I was surprised to see you come in after lunch with that bikini thing on.”
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
This time Tami herself had the remote control. It lay next to the bare feet extended out in front of her, and the little velcro pouch around her left ankle. “Well -- ohhh -- f - for the c - cause of science -- ohhh -- ” Squeezing her eyes shut her body shook and she crested for the fourth time, clutching Seth’s hand.
Kathy smiled and shook her head. “What a supergirl you are. That makes seven times today, right?”
Tami shook and shuddered, knowing they would allow her to finish her contractions before she answered. “When -- ohh!” One last, unexpected contraction. Then she caught her breath. “At school during the research I sometimes -- come -- a hundred times a week.”
Everyone joined Kathy now in shaking their heads with wonder. “A real supergirl,” Kathy repeated. “A naked superhero. You must have super powers.”
Tami smiled weakly, being known to them by now as a modest girl who was slightly embarrassed by compliments, though more so than they could suspect. She also was reminded of recurring dreams she had been having, of being a super hero, fighting evil, but having super powers only when totally naked.
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
The friends looked at a large bird fly overhead and into the trees.
“W - what was that?” Tami said.
“An osprey,” said Herbert, a serious-looking guy in sweatshirt and shorts. “Not a big one, though.”
“B - beautiful. . . I’d love to g - go to school here,” Tami said with a wistful look.
After a moment Seth said, “I imagine you’d be welcome.”
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Herbert said, “It’s hard to believe you don’t feel the urge to wear clothes at least once in a while.”
Tami tried to hold down her arousal and think. “Af - after a y - year, almost -- ohh -- the idea of -- uhhh -- w - wearing c - clothes is. . . something I c - can’t even immmmmmmagine. Ohhh! . . .” As she jerked slightly from a shot to her clit, she realized this was almost true. Much as she loved to feel someone else’s clothes against her skin, wearing clothes herself was only a dim memory now, a memory that she was trying desperately to hold onto.
Some more silence. Then Kathy said, “Well, later. I’ve got a class.” Except for Seth, everyone got up, brushing the loose asphalt from their bottoms, and in a moment they were gone.
The handsome, slightly nerdy young man, clothed in flannel shirt and jeans and boots, sat close to the quivering, nearly naked young woman. He put her arm around her. “I really like you,” he said.
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
Tami smiled and then looked down. “Seth, I -- ohh -- I already have -- s - someone.” She reached down to her feet and with quivering hands took a picture out of the ankle pouch and showed it to Seth.
“H - his name is Rod. God, I miss him,” she said, shaking her head.
Seth looked at the picture and then fished a picture out of his own pocket. Tami looked at it with blinking, only partly distracted eyes. A beautiful Japanese girl, smiling out from over a kimono, obviously not her regular attire. Tami thought: what a beautiful face.
“Donh Yenn,” Seth said. “But everyone calls her Sukie.”
Bzzz -- zzz -- zzz --
“B - beautiful,” Tami said. “OHH! -- ” She grunted sharply, cresting into her fifth and last orgasm of the session. Her toes curled inward and Seth held her shoulders supportively as her spasms spent themselves. Tami kept the picture of Sukie in her hand, careful not to damage it in her excitement.
The enforced pleasure over, Tami turned off the remote and looked at the picture of Sukie again, breathing evenly and enjoying the calm. “You miss her too?”
“Real bad,” Seth said. Then he said, “I don’t think she’d mind,” and showed Tami another picture -- of Sukie, still wearing the kimono, but turned around with it hitched up to show a tight, pretty bare butt, her face looking back at the camera with a saucy smile. Tami laughed, a relaxed, low-voiced belly laugh.
Seth watched as Tami took off the bristle bra and squatted to extract the front dildo and then the rear one. Putting the equipment to the side, she looked at Seth and sat back down, reclining slightly.
They looked at each other for a moment.
No words were needed. He slowly came close and kissed her, at first on the lips, but then more deeply. Another glance. Then he brought his head down to his naked friend’s still-opened pussy and, positioning himself carefully, gently licked her bare lips up and down, then centered in on her clit.
After the weeks of cold machines, a loving, warm tongue was a blessed relief. In spite of her many orgasms that day Tami felt aroused anew and she cried out loud. This was a better, sweeter passion, a horniness she wanted to have and could claim as her own. Leaning back on her elbows, she took great heaving breaths with her tummy and turned her face up to the sky. “Ohh Seth . . . ohhh . . .Rod . . .” It was a gentle, rolling orgasm that almost made her cry.
When it was over she collected herself and then turned around on all fours and presented her undulating butt to him, like a cat in heat. Seeing the perfectly formed anus, his favorite female orifice, slick from the retainer and still partly open, Seth dropped his jeans down and slid his dick into her, a dick that Tami could feel was long, long, longer, and very thick. Seemingly rock hard, it slid deep into her rectum, then deeper, finding her inner butthole and gently poking through it. . . Then after a few strokes the hard, thick jets of sperm began to fill up her insides. “Ohhh --” the young man exhaled, as he shot out what had been building up inside him for two days, eight and nine and ten and then eleven spurts, and then he pushed forward and the nude teenager lay her body down on the rough asphalt, her companion lying on top of her, still fully clothed except with his pants halfway down. She felt the stones poking into her bare breasts and tummy but she found herself not minding it at all. Contented, they dozed off.
At the nod of the elegantly attired doorman the naked peasant girl gingerly walked through the big open door and into the Great Hall of the Palace.
Her pretty eyes opened wide at the opulent decorations on the ceiling, the candlelit chandeliers; they opened wide again as she looked down at the plushly embroidered carpet that stretched out before her, seemingly endlessly into the long, long hall. She took her first tentative steps, amazed at the unusual feeling of the carpet under her bare feet. Until then she had felt only the hard-packed earth of her family’s little hut and the stone floors of the little merchant shops in her village.
Floridly dressed lords and ladies lined the carpet on both sides in their frocks and petticoats and exquisite shoes. The girl tried not to shrink from their gaze. She had asked for this audience months ago, in spite of her fear (and her parents’ fear) that she would be punished for her impudence. Everyone in her village had been surprised when the audience was granted. She had to act exactly right, and was very nervous because she had no experience in how to act before powerful people, let alone in such a shameful state. Still a modest girl at heart, she fought the intense urge to cover her breasts or cross her legs. She had been told the king did not like subjects seeking favors to grovel. She had to walk tall and proud and unashamed.
Yet she was quivering with longing. How she wanted clothes again! It was five long years ago when Noryb, the king’s sorcerer, had passed through her village seeking a solution to the years of drought and plague that had almost brought the kingdom to ruin. The girl had been drawing water at the village well, and in response to his imperious command had humbly lifted the cup up to him on his horse.
That night Noryb had a powerful vision which commanded that for the good of the kingdom this girl must always be absolutely naked. Even Noryb admitted it was a difficult vision, but when it returned to him the next night he told the king it must be followed. So the following day he returned to the village with an armed guard, and to the horror of her family and the villagers, not to mention her own, the girl was stripped in the town square and her few other items of her rough clothing was taken from the hut and burned in front of her. The edict was read out -- this girl was to live the rest of her days without any scrap of clothing or shoes (though any prohibition of shoes was unnecessary because she was too poor to own any). Anyone attempting to give her covering would be beheaded.
A marshal was permanently stationed in the hut to make sure the edict was followed. Fortunately he was not cruel and not a burden to the family, but he was vigilant and the girl was always under his gaze, or under the gaze of the assistants he had hired in the village. She slept on bare straw without blankets and as she went through her normal daily activities -- working in the field, tending the local priest’s livestock, learning to spin cloth at her mother’s side -- she remained naked, everyone too intimidated to offer her clothing. In harsh weather, she went out only briefly; her parents arranged it so that she was always near their little fireplace.
And with her nudity, the droughts and plagues ceased. For five years now the people had enjoyed good health and abundant crops, something everyone commented on, marveling at Noryb’s wisdom. Yet, strong-willed in spite of her modesty, the girl expressed her shame to her parents. In spite of praying over and over to God for insight, she still could not believe that this good fortune could have been caused by her suffering. A local magistrate was prevailed upon to send a petition to the King; when this was denied, another was sent; and so on until an audience was finally granted.
As the girl looked down at the plush royal carpet she was ashamed to see her bare feet on it. True, she had been barefoot all her life, even in the snow; she knew there was no danger in doing so as long as she came in to warm her feet over the fire once in a while. Still, being shoeless was a sign of poverty and it shamed her for everyone to see her exposed feet in the midst of such luxury.
Onward she walked, not knowing if she was allowed to look at the nobles to each side, yet unavoidably seeing their luxuriant clothing out of the corner of her eye. Looking down at the carpet, she saw their shoes in particular, a stark contrast to her bare feet. She heard people whispering and knew that everyone was commenting on her naked body. “A fine, beautiful girl, ‘tis a shame she is low-born,” was a typical comment. Or, “I hear she has developed very well. Notice the flowering of her pubes.” Or, “Such large teats on such a small maiden.” She could not help blushing in her shame. To be seen like this! By a crowd of her betters in the Great Hall itself! Still she did not move to cover herself, keeping her arms resolutely at her sides.
Light skin and a soft form were highly prized and fashionable among women; they signified social status because they meant that the woman did not have to work. As the aristocratic ladies, gathering their petticoats and shifting in their bustles and their expensive hats, looked at the naked peasant girl walking past, her nipples big and brown, her pubic fronds abundant like a wild animal, and saw the over-all deep tan, wiry muscles and hard, bare feet, the result of years spent in hard outdoor labors, they could not help but admit that the girl’s body, though unfashionable in every way, had a rough beauty to it.
The peasant girl saw the large, high throne as she drew closer. King Richard the Fourth, commanding and gray-bearded in his golden robes. A much-respected but stern personage. Standing to one side was Noryb in his black frock, with a sour look on his face.
She guessed it proper to stop as she came to the stiff-backed man in the uniform. He turned to the crowd announced her. “All hear the petition of -- ” he checked his scroll -- “Tamarinda of Nottingham.”
The naked girl tried to contain her nervousness and fright. Do not grovel, she told herself. She curtsied meekly to the King, her hands moving to stretch her nonexistent skirt to the sides. Speak slow and loud, she had been advised. Clearing her throat, she said, “My Lord, I beg to be heard.”
After a moment King Richard said, “We see that ye have grown into a beautiful young maiden.”
Her face blushed hotly. “Thank you, M’Lord.”
“State your plea.”
She had rehearsed the words carefully. “Sire, I pray that the edict that stripped me be withdrawn.”
The King, who of course expected this, said, “What ye ask is not to be done lightly, my child. I understand your plight, it must be deeply shaming to ye. Yet your nakedness has brought good fortune to the land.”
She had anticipated this comment and hoped that her carefully rehearsed responses would not be seen as impertinent. “I am not well lettered, Sire, and I would do nothing to bring back the former pestilence, but ‘tis a mystery to me how my shame could have banished it. I have suffered much, M’Lord. My modesty and -- maidenhead are known to all. And the snows are very cruel.”
“Yet ye have survived. The Almighty has somehow protected ye.”
The King thought for a moment. “Did not our Lord and Savior suffer for the good of all?”
The girl was ready for this. “True, I pray to him every day and am thankful he did so, but I am not the Son of God. I am merely a simple peasant girl, upon whom this edict weighs most heavily.”
There was some murmuring from the watching courtiers. This uneducated girl had a wisdom in spite of her youth and station. The King let the murmuring go on for a moment and then, quietly, said, “Silence.” He looked at the girl who stood before him, naked and with her eyes averted. “Child, do ye truly wish to possess coverings again?”
Her voice was almost tearful. She extended her arms out, palms up in supplication. “My Lord, with all my heart, with all my soul. I ache for covering. Please let me be clothed.”
The King stood up and said, “I grant thy application, with conditions.” He gave a stern glance to Noryb, who stood there sullenly, having been overruled. Then he said: “Child, have ye heard of the lower dungeon?”
It sounded ominous. “N - no, Sire.”
“It is a bare room with a rough floor. The air is dank and cold. It is reserved for the most despised prisoners.” He clapped his hands and looked to the side. The poor girl’s mouth gaped open in amazement and longing as a large table was brought in front of her upon which lay the most exquisite wardrobe -- a long dress made of heavy, shiny fabric, a fur-lined serape, elegant gloves . . .and just as luxurious, shoes and underthings, which the girl had never worn, even before she had been stripped. The naked peasant girl’s lip quivered and she almost cried. Everyone could see goose-bumps all over her as she suddenly felt so much more naked in front of this abundant finery.
“This pleases ye?” the King asked.
The girl was almost babbling. “Oh -- I -- what --”
The King smiled. “It is yours, child, but ye must first live and sleep in the lower dungeon for forty days and forty nights. Alone and naked on the cold rough floor, with these wrappings nearby. Touch them or make any move toward them and your right to them will be forfeit. We shall have spies secreted to make sure ye don’t cheat. Forty days and forty nights of temptation, just as Our Lord endured in Egypt. Our trust is that He shall protect you, and if you survive and be not tempted, this shall be a sign to us that you may be again covered, and the Kingdom protected.”
The girl cringed, knowing what was ahead of her. Overwhelmed at last, she blacked out and fainted -- then felt the rough floor of the dungeon beneath her. Then the floor became warm, and a serpent approached her prone body and entered her in the most sinful nether region . . .
. . . .
Tami awoke, groggy. What a dream. . . She lay on the warm rough asphalt of the roof, breasts and tummy crushed onto the gravel. Tender arms held her shoulders and she felt Seth’s partly clothed body on top of her -- and his long, soft dick still deep in her rectum. He was still dozing, after the longest, heaviest ejaculation of his life.
Tami had had some strange dreams during her sentence of public nudity. In the few moments before it left her memory she realized that this dream, at least, had a meaning for her future. For she had gone through not just forty days, but ten months of temptation and, like the peasant girl Tamarinda, had resisted it. Basking in warmth and love, she was about to be rewarded. She fell asleep again, and dreamed of slow, lazy anal sex with Rod.
Another joy the naked teenager hadn’t outgrown. Not that she could do much to resist the invitation. A bunch of students bolted out of class at 5 p.m. and swept her along as she was walking along the main hall, heading for the library again. No, no cloistering herself now. Hardly conscious of her nudity, she walked and then ran with everyone else out to the big slush-covered diamond where Herbert was waiting, having signed out the bases and the ball.
It was the bottom of the second, and Tami was “at bat”. She and Herbert had taken charge and they had split up into the “Tamis” and the “Herberts”, ignoring someone’s suggestion that they go with “shirts” vs. “skins”, the latter team of course being Tami’s. Tami’s team was behind by one run; with two out and Jonas on second, the pressure was on. Much infield chatter. From the bench, Kathy yelled, “C’mon Tami, hit it with your cervix!” which caused the batter, shaking the slush off her toes as she waited for the pitch, to make a good-natured face.
Aduare, the pitcher, rolled a fast one which skidded over the snow. It met Tami’s left big toe and lined into right field. Jonas slopped toward third in his galoshes. Much cheering as Tami, slipping only occasionally, rounded first. Pow! Zena, a big Mexican girl playing right, had scooped up the ball and shot it right at the naked girl’s butt. Inning over.
The Tamis took the field, their captain returning to shortstop with a big round red mark on the upper part of her bare right butt cheek. As the third inning wore on spectators started arriving, other students and a couple of professors. And Wanda and McMasters. Except for the sulking Wanda, it was a lively crowd. Finally when the third out was made and as she ran in, Tami, who at that moment seemed the most popular girl on the planet, scooped up a slushy snowball and got Wanda right in the front of her sweater. “Sourpuss!” the naked girl taunted. Wanda turned away and started to curse, only to be met by more slushballs from her naked nemesis. Finally Wanda decided to counterattack, and the two of them ran around shooting at each other. Play suspended as everyone’s attention was drawn to them, and then to the unexpected smile on Wanda’s face as she started enjoying the fight.
In being pursued Wanda circled back toward home plate and was overtaken there by Tami, who tackled her and then stood her up and said, “Pinch hitter. Go!” Wanda turned to see Seth rolling the ball from the pitcher’s mound. There was no time to think. Wanda kicked it into left field and in a minute was standing on first base, face flushed -- and smiling.
. . . .
Sitting in the back seat, Tami propped her foot up and played with the zipper of her ankle pouch. Inside were Seth’s phone number at the school and the number of his parents’ house in Madison, Wisconsin. She looked back at the valley as it disappeared behind the high walls of the narrow mountain pass, the Cadillac running better now that she and Kathy had adjusted the carburetor to run richer. The two motorhead girls had done this half an hour ago at Professor Langley’s as their friends from the school watched, Kathy in her monkey suit. How many girls had a monkey suit? Tami used to have one, long ago . . . Now, all she had were grease smudges on her thighs and arms and on one breast, smudges that hadn’t quite come off even after scrubbing. She realized she hadn’t minded it when she was bent over the car and everyone could see her butt cheeks and her butthole, her breasts hanging down and rubbing against the gritty engine parts, the greasy soles of her feet, and who knows what else.
When the Caddy was running better Kathy said, “Wish I had a Naragansett right now,” and Tami agreed, missing that cheap regional beer from their home state. Afterwards Tami and Seth had said a long, private good-bye. If she wasn’t with Rod, Seth would be her man. . . She would miss this place.
She looked to the mountains ahead. There were even more mountains ahead of those, she was sure. McMasters had said that they would have to drive straight through to California, a long haul.
But not with Tami.
She was finally at the end. Time to take her leave of McMasters and Wanda and get on a bus. “Next exit,” McMasters said. He had told her the next bus station was half an hour away, and this was it. She closed her eyes. Clothes, blessed clothes. Fondling the ankle pouch, she thought of the bank card and credit card inside, her means to the clothes she would be wearing later that day. If they wanted to, McMasters and Wanda could follow her into the station and see she was buying a ticket to Providence, but of course once on the bus she could get off anywhere.
What kind of town would she stop in? Once into clothes, what kind of motel would she find? How long would it take to get a job? These were great unknowns for an 18-year-old, only one year out of high school. A whole summer wearing clothes. . . She tried to remember what clothes felt like. She thought of what she had said on the roof, quivering on the edge of orgasm, and how true it was. She could barely remember clothes. “Barely” . . . !
This was desolate high country they were traveling through. Bleak. Getting out naked and waiting for the bus would be rough. Maybe the next bus would be in a few minutes.
The Cadillac stopped in a cloud of dust. When it cleared Tami saw that they were outside a little gas station. There was nothing else around except for a little diner and what looked like an abandoned general store. All around was desert. Two guys in cowboy hats sat outside next to the soda machine, fiddling with toothpicks. They looked at the Cadillac with a deadpan expression and then looked at Tami. They couldn’t know she was naked; she was crouched down in her seat and all they could see was her head and neck. These guys didn’t look nice.
McMasters, turning from the driver’s seat, was earnest. “Tami, I hope to see you in the fall back at the college. I hear you’ll have a lot of research projects you’ve signed up for. I can’t thank you enough for helping us these few weeks.” “Yeah, Tam, see you,” Wanda said quietly, as if preoccupied, with a hint of affection that had not been noticeable thus far.
Tami saw the handwritten sign in the window about the bus to Denver. That would be the one going east to New York and then Providence. “Buss to Denver, 11 a.m., 1 p.m., 5:15 p.m., 11:45 p.m.” It was now 1:30. She would have to wait here almost four hours. The naked girl sat in silence.
Finally McMasters turned around again and said, “Tami. Come with us to California. Just a quick stop in San Francisco, then we’re off to Brian Cook’s place. It’s a nice estate, beautiful weather. Think of the warm sun and the beach. It’s only two weeks and then you can go home. . .Of course, it’s up to you.”
Tami bit her lip. She always wanted to go to California. She had an idea of California, of nude beaches filled with naked people, where she finally wouldn’t be the only one. And then, after two weeks, surely there would be a more pleasant place in California to catch a bus. Only two weeks.
“O.K., California,” she said.
“I left my car
In San Francisco
High on a hill
It stalled on me . . .”
-- Lalo Guerrero (Tune: “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”)
Tami took her finger out of the venturi and exhaled in exasperation, trying to keep her nipples clear of the air filter. Realizing her bare butt and butthole were exposed to the world, she almost wanted to stay under the hood as long as she could, facing just the engine, like an ostrich with its head in the sand.
“Well -- ?” McMasters said, standing on the sidewalk, glancing up the steep hill and the row of little houses. After cutting out all day, the Cadillac finally wouldn’t start again. Inside the car, the bored Wanda stared out the window.
The naked girl stood up and shut the hood, glancing around quickly. It seemed a miracle but nobody was walking by. She knew that people must be looking out the windows at this totally naked teenager working on a car, something one didn’t see every day, not even in San Francisco. “The carb’s totally clogged. You need an air hose to blow it out.” It was her fault, of course. She had set it to run rich back in the high altitudes and then forgot to reset it when the car descended.
Partly she had been distracted by the scenery. She just couldn’t stop looking at it. Coming out of the mountains, turning into that gigantic canyon that opened up to Salt Lake City, sitting very low in the back seat as McMasters seemed to take his sweet time driving right through downtown. That big white church. Respectable people walking to work. And she sitting there totally naked. Fortunately it was not time for her “session”. She would rather be totally naked than be in that tiny mechanical bikini driven to orgasm after orgasm, in front of this stern Mormon monument.
Then as the Cadillac boomed out onto the desert, past the mounds of mined salt . . . she was amazed to see the scrub getting sparser and sparser until there was just sand. No plants, like that burdock she had seen in that gully in Nebraska. No, there was no way that a naked girl could survive here. -- Then into the Sierras, over the pass, that great round Lake Tahoe -- she wondered if she could swim from one end to the other? She remembered how good it felt to swim naked in that motel pool in Ohio, feeling the currents sliding past every bit of her. Then down into the redwoods, red dirt, that clean tree-scented air. She noticed plenty of edible things, and pictured herself living in a treehouse made of vines and branches. A naked woods girl, eating what grew around her.
At that point she realized that even though she was always fantasizing about escape, she still assumed she’d be naked. When she got back into clothes again she would have to remind herself that THIS would be her real self, clothed like everybody else. That would be two weeks from now, after staying at Brian Cook’s place. She pictured a big beach house, like on MTV, or like those she had seen down in Newport when her father had decided to drive by “where the hoity toity live”.
And now, San Francisco. Amazing how streets ran right up and down such steep hills. McMasters and his assistants had gotten there the night before, and were staying with his friend, Regina Wickelshaus. From what Tami gathered, she owned some kind of sex toy store. Tami had never been in a sex toy store, though she had seen them. They seemed sleazy, like dirty old men would go in there to jerk off under their coats. Ughh! Yet Dr. Wickelshaus (she was also a psychologist or something like that) had a manner like a high school health teacher, smiling gently at Tami, looking only occasionally at her naked body, as they settled in on her couch and chatted. And the house, modest and clean, was not at all sleazy. Regina (she made Tami call her that, even though Tami still felt like she should be calling her “Dr. Wickelshaus”) had referred briefly to Tami’s “religion” but didn’t ask her about it. Which was good. Dr. Wickelshaus was the kind of person it would be very hard to lie to.
The nicest thing about the visit was Regina’s daughter Sunny, who like Tami had also just finished her first year of college. Sunny was tall and dark-skinned -- her father, apparently divorced from her mother but still present in photographs in her room, was Mexican. In Sunny’s room the two girls played with her new computer and listened to radio stations from around the world, while looking up websites from their favorite stars. Sunny liked Leonardo DiCaprio, Tami was fond of Enrique Iglesias. Just two teenage girls acting like teenage girls, oohing and aahing at the pictures on the monitor, criticizing or praising the clothes. Sitting next to the sweatshirt-and-pants-clad Sunny, Tami totally forgot that she was naked as she hung out with her new friend.
What reminded her of her nudity was a photo of Sunny on her desk. Sunny was standing on the beach with a couple of her friends in bikinis -- and Sunny and one of her friends were topless! Tami admired Sunny for being so brave; she herself wouldn’t have taken off her top, way back when. And to have a picture like this out, it being apparently o.k. with her mom -- this open, tolerant, liberal house was worlds away from the conservative atmosphere back home. Tami retreated once again into thinking of her nakedness, and how she would give anything to wear just that little bikini bottom that Sunny had on in the photo.
Back to being a normal teenage girl. On a whim Tami clicked onto a picture of Carmen Electra in a thong. Sunny straightened up. Then Tami clicked onto a picture of President Bush. Sunny slouched. Click onto Tyra Banks. Up. Click onto an ad for Kotex. Down.
They both giggled as they realized they both knew this game. Penis man! “Pamela Anderson!” Sunny said. Tami hopped up, breasts bouncing, and stood straight up, arms at her side. “Pamela Anderson naked!” Tami stood up straighter, stretching toward the ceiling, eyes wide open. “Social studies homework.” Tami slouching a bit. “Studying with Alyssa Milano!” Back up straight.
Tami’s turn. By turns she got Sunny to stand, slouch, act pained, put on a wide lascivious grin. With “Alyssa Milano kissing Pamela Anderson on top of you!” Sunny reached the ultimate in upright stretching. Time for the kill. Tami went over and rubbed Sunny’s sweatshirt up and down. Sunny shook all over, then said, “Spurt! Spurt! Spurt! Spurt! Thhhbbb!!”
In a moment Sunny was lying the floor, limp. “Pamela Anderson!” Tami whispered into her ear. No response. “Naked!” No response. “I’m sticking you with a pin! Doink, doink!” she said, jabbing her finger into Sunny’s shoulder. No response. Then Sunny giggled and both girls fell into a pile on the floor.
As they sat cross-legged, Sunny said, “Stop me if you’ve heard this. There are three women waiting to see the obstetrician, all about twelve months pregnant. One says, ‘The doctor says I’m going to have a boy, because my husband and I did it, he was on top.’ The second one says, ‘I’m going to have a girl, because I was the one on top.’ The third one starts crying. The other two say, ‘What’s wrong’. She says” -- Sunny in a tearful voice -- “‘Oh no, I’m going to have a puppy!’“
Tami was puzzled, then got the joke. Riotous giggling. And now back to the internet.
“So, my naked friend,” Sunny said with a sly twinkle, both girls getting bored now that they couldn’t find any naked photos of Leonardo or Enrique, “I see you . . . shave.” The winked down toward Tami’s bare pussy.
Tami could not believe herself, but she stood up right in front of Sunny to give her a clear view of her bare, shaven pussy lips. Both girls looked down at it as Tami rubbed her fingers over the little cleft. “Go ahead,” she said, seeing Sunny’s curiosity. As Sunny ran a timid finger on one side she said, “It’s as smooth as it looks. I try that once in a while but it scrapes like hell when it starts to grow back.”
Still looking down, Tami said, “You have to use cream. Every day.”
Sunny recoiled. “Ewww . . .Doesn’t it sting?”
Tami nodded ruefully. “No getting away from it.”
Sunny went up to close the door, then stood in front of Tami. “I suppose someone like you wouldn’t mind,” she said with a smile. Then she pulled down her sweatpants and her flowered white panties. A ring pierced into one pussy lip, which she showed with a mixture of pride and shyness.
Tami immediately doubled over, covering her pussy, and started jumping around. “Akkk! Godd! Ouch!! Oooo!!” She squinted back at the ring again, a gold-colored thing with a little blue jewel. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“At first it did,” Sunny said, hands on her hips as she turned to and fro to display her labial ring. “A lot of my girlfriends have them. There’s lots of stores in the Castro that do it. They dip everything in alcohol, it’s safe.”
“The where?” Tami had a fleeting image of Cuba.
“The Castro. The coolest place -- especially if you’re a gay guy,” she whispered. “I wish there was time to take you there.”
Hopefully someday, Tami told herself. On another visit, when I’m back in clothes. She made up her mind to write down Sunny’s address and phone for future reference.
Now, standing naked on the street next to a stalled car, she wished she were back in Sunny’s room again. A man walked past on the other side of the street. And now here comes an older woman, walking right past her, with a quick disapproving look. As for the man, he glanced and then went on, then kept glancing back.
McMasters exhaled. “Too bad there’s a taxi strike.” He looked at Tami’s blank face. “Didn’t you hear the radio coming into town yesterday?” Actually, Tami had been busy looking at the Golden Gate Bridge. Finally McMasters said, “Tami, I’ve got to find a phone and get this car fixed. Meanwhile, you go and do the errand.”
He quickly wrote something down. “Go to the Hot Spot, on 19th Street.” He quickly looked up and down. “Looks like there’s no bus route on this street. Here’s the exact address and phone.” He put it in Tami’s slowly more and more horrified hands. “Tell them I sent you, ask for Cecille, and say you want the anal clit buzzer.” The naked girl looked at him in pure shock. “You’ll have to walk to the nearest BART station.”
“The subway here, it’s called BART. Bay Area Rapid Transit, I think. Just walk up over this hill and then down to Market Street. Probably take you twenty minutes or so. Take the BART south, toward Daly City, and get off at Mission Street - 16th Street. You can find it from there. When you’re done call Regina. I’ll ask her to pick you up at the Embarcadero station. Better get your ankle pouch on.”
Tami looked at the crest of the hill, apparently the way downtown, then back at McMasters. “You mean walk there -- naked?”
“Well how else would Tami Smithers do it?”
He had a point there.
“B - but. . . what about Wanda?”
“Believe me, you’re the best person to go. I need Wanda to help me move my things from the car. Besides, they want to meet you.” McMasters noticed Tami’s hesitation and cocked an eyebrow. “Something -- wrong?” That old look. Why indeed would she object to going on this errand, if not out of -- modesty?
Almost tearfully, Tami fished out her ankle pouch and bent over to put it on, giving a good show to a surprised older man who had stepped outside his front door to take out garbage. As the naked girl started walking he just stood there on his front step, bag of garbage in his hands, until she was out of view.
It was horrible, awful. Tami got to the crest of the hill and saw that at the bottom of the other side, in the distance, were the big buildings of downtown. As she started down this steep hill her bare feet started slapping on the sidewalk to keep her from falling forward. She saw a lot of people walking around just a few blocks down. To walk stark naked into a city . . . she had done it long ago, during that awful class trip before Thanksgiving, but at least then she had the protection of other students around her. And shoes, and a pocketbook over her shoulder. Now, she had just the stupid ankle pouch. Nothing to occupy her hands. McMasters was nuts. Surely she’d get arrested for indecent exposure.
The slapping of her feet got slower as she realized something. Yes, I’ll get arrested. Put in a cop car and brought to jail. And they’ll give me something -- to put on!! Surely Ross and the college couldn’t blame me for putting something on if I was in jail and the police ordered me to. She remembered refusing covering in that jail in Vermont, thinking the police chief was a spy. How stupid. No, she wasn’t going to make that mistake again. She was going to put something on, an overcoat or blanket or maybe a full set of clothes!! -- just as ordered.
She closed her eyes and braced herself. Yes, here I go naked into the city of San Francisco. But soon I’ll get stopped and arrested -- and in a few hours, maybe in a few minutes, I’ll be wearing something!! She started down again, both nervous and hopeful . . .
. . . .
Two days before this:
Marisa McBride, Miss Totally Naked 2001, tottering on 6-inch heels at the podium at the World Famous Farrell Brothers Theatre, issued her challenge to the reporters from the skin magazines and local cable channels. “I’ll be naked, right in your face, San Francisco. You don’t know where, you don’t know when. Freedom of expression. That’s me!!” She twiddled the little tiara on her head and shook her siliconed breasts.
Around headquarters you could almost hear the commissioner groaning. Not again. This happened every year. With the inevitable arrest, and the publicity, the protests, all kinds of First Amendment nuts coming out, more publicity. It’s the only thing keeping that stupid pageant going.
The order quietly went out to all precincts: Let’s not give this year’s Nudie Queen any publicity. If she shows up, don’t arrest her, just let her be. Repeat: if you see a naked female, early 20’s, dark red hair, about 5’5”, DO NOT arrest her, just ignore her.
Looking up Hickory Street from Van Ness on this sunny summer afternoon, one could see a slight, tan-colored figure walking down the hill. One must assume that it was someone in an all-over body stocking, not very remarkable in a city where all kinds of outfits are worn in public. But then as the figure drew closer one could see two dark spots, obviously nipples. And the spreading of toes indicating bare feet. And then a little cleft in between the legs. She was walking bolt upright, a little stiffly, head up, eyes straight forward as if looking into the far distance. Yes! It was a naked girl!
As she came down from the residential area and into the streets of little shops, where the traffic was heavier, her presence began to have an effect. Heads turned. Cars slowed down to look. Some people glanced and then went by, perhaps not really believing what they were seeing. Others looked around for cameras. Surely this was a movie shoot of some kind. Some cars honked, and there were one or two wolf whistles. Many people walking on the sidewalk just stopped and looked at her. And what a sight. What a body. Evenly, perfectly tanned, perfectly toned. Look at that tight stomach, it’s actually concave. She must work out and go to tanning parlors. A cleanly shaven pussy! Look how her breasts bounce as she walks . . . Was this really happening?
If one wanted to look really close, one could see the red-rimmed eyes, the biting of the lip. Inside, the naked teenage girl was terrified with shame and about to go to pieces. She was forced to stop at a traffic light, and people gathered around her, waiting with her, most looking straight forward with the deadpan, unruffled expression of city folk, but some, both men and women, stepping back to take a long, appreciative look at her nude form. The naked girl’s concave tummy heaved in and out as she suppressed the urge to sob. She held her hand to her eyes as if to rub them, her bare toes squirming on the increasingly dirty concrete. Actually she was praying.
Please God. . . Help me through this. I’m walking naked through a big city where crowds of people can see every bit of me. Please make a police car go by and arrest me so that I can be hidden in the police car and then given something to put on, in the car, or maybe at the police station. Even jail would be fine. In fact, please let me go to jail, where only a few people would see me. And I’ll have covering. . .
She took her hand away from her face, blinked her eyes, and then seeing the light turn green she walked on bravely, her bare feet sticking to the tar on the road that was a little soft in the hot sun.
She heard the clicking of heels rushing behind her and decided to try and ignore them. But the two short-haired women in black leather pants and flowery blouses overtook her and stood in front of her. She forced herself to look at them. They were holding hands like lovers do. One looked a little older than her, the other looked maybe 35. Each had piercings on the eyebrow, nose and ear. They had odd colored lipstick on. Their faces were actually rather pretty. As the younger one spoke Tami noticed a pierced tongue.
“Exthcuth me, but we jutht can’t help notithing how beautiful you are. And very brave to go out like thith. We jutht want to compliment you.” She was sincere, at least. The older one looked Tami’s body slowly up and down with a broad, silent smile.
“Th - thank you,” Tami said, then with a nod walked past them.
As McMasters knew, though Tami was too mortified and distracted to contemplate it, there is no safer person on the planet than a nude female walking into the heart of a city in broad daylight. She was causing a traffic jam. A mass of congestion, both of cars and people, centered on her and moved slowly down with her as she went past older, grittier buildings, trying not to think of how dirty the bottoms of her feet were getting as she stepped past greasy spots and cigarette butts.
Nobody was going to try to rape her or assault her when she was such a center of attention. The wolf whistles were the closest thing to any harassment. The hundreds of staring, astonished eyes were her protection -- and also her shame. Never before had every secret of her exposed, naked body been so widely on display before so many people in such a public place. Though she avoided eye contact, looking ahead with a stony gaze, she was especially aware of her breasts, bouncing with each slap of her feet on the dirty concrete, and her bare pussy, denied even its natural covering of hair, tanned and smooth and nakedly in full view. The only good thing was the fact that the sun was behind her. She felt it on her bare butt cheeks and was grateful at least that her front was in shadow.
Her eyes quickly flashed as she saw a police car cross a side street. Damn. Evidently they didn’t see her.
Market Street lay before her, wide and ugly under the lattice of heavy black wires that powered the electric buses. Just before she turned onto it she stopped and took a deep breath, and saw the people across the wide thoroughfare stopping to stare at her with amazed eyes. Her eyebrows knitted with shame and worry as she detected the harsh looks of disapproval of so many, mostly older women. As she turned onto Market she suddenly faced another crowd of people and their shocked stares. Please God . . . Where are the police?? . . . The strain of suppressing the urge to cover her breasts, or crouch down and cross her legs, was so intense that her hands, clenched and swingly stiffly at her sides, began to shake. And there was the urge to turn and run. But no, if she turned there would be just more people, and she felt the eyes on her bare butt and back as keenly as those on her frontal features. She was immersed in a sea of staring eyes and there was nothing she could do about it.
The little yellow “BART” sign was ahead. Descending the cold metal staircase to the subway at least cut down on the angles from which she was displayed. People were going up and down but almost all of them stopped as she went through. “Hot damn!” somebody, probably an out-of-towner, muttered. The naked girl went down to the landing next to the ticket booth and decided to study the big map on the wall. In a second she had figured out where she was going, but she kept standing in front of the map, glad to be looking at something other than shocked faces. Of course a couple of people came up next to her to ask if she needed help. One was a middle-aged man in a business suit and a waxed handlebar mustache. The other was a young African-American girl with a soft voice who could have been a twin sister to her college roommate Jen.
The naked girl told them that she was o.k. and thank you. But after the man left, the girl whispered into Tami’s ear. “You are so brave and beautiful!” Then she clasped Tami’s hand and went up the stairs.
Indeed. Brave. Tami now remembered how to act in public. Act like there’s nothing wrong with being naked. Keep your chin up. Ignore the stares, don’t let them get to you. It worked on the campus of Campbell - Frank College. . .
Coolly, she went to the ticket booth. Bravely, she bent down to her ankle pouch, trying not to notice her gritty toes, aware that her bare butt and butthole were sticking out practically in the faces of the people behind her. She bought the little computerized card and went through the turnstile. Waiting on the platform next to clothed people, she felt like she was posing for a photo shoot. She heard once of a series of photos done in another city, Chicago maybe, where a naked woman was posing in front of various landmarks, usually during rush hour. She didn’t know who that model was, but felt a kinship with her. I wonder where she is now . . . She also half-remembered a dream she had had recently about waiting on a train platform, though in that dream it was bitter cold, and she was at least wearing sandals and a tiny thong.
Please God, make this train come soon . . . People kept looking down the track for the train, the naked girl more insistently than most. Others had pocketbooks or newspapers or packages to occupy their hands, but the naked girl had nothing. She decided to primly clasp her hands over her navel as she waited. She almost lost her composure when some guy on the other side yelled, “Hey you’re naked!!!” and laughed. She kept looking down the track so she wouldn’t see him. She didn’t realize it but the guy was a creep and got angry stares from the people around him. Again, the protection of the crowd.
The train swiftly and silently came to a halt and Tami walked in with everyone else. Of course it was crowded and she had to stand. She grabbed one of the overhanging bars, aware that this displayed her breasts and concave tummy to best advantage, and steadily looked down to avoid eye contact, contemplating her dirty bare feet next to everyone else’s shoes. She wrinkled her chin with determination. I WILL get through this, she told herself. She tried to get into a combative mood, ready to say “Hey!” if anyone tried to rub against her. But everyone was keeping a few feet of distance, the better to get a good view. Some of the people looked down, pretending there wasn’t a naked girl standing right in front of them. Others spent the ride watching intently, with a small smile.
A young man sitting near her got halfway up and offered his seat to her as if she were pregnant. Had she been watching the scene she might have laughed, it was actually pretty cute. But she smiled tightly and mouthed, “No thank you.”
Past one stop. Still she steadily looked down.
She finally couldn’t resist the urge to look up again, meaning to stare at the ceiling of what was actually a pretty clean, new subway car. In doing so she saw a policeman standing on the other end. She looked at him, then looked at him again. He was looking somewhere else but finally their eyes made contact.
Amazingly, he did nothing. The interplay between the policeman and the naked girl was complicated and intense. The girl hated to do it, she felt like she was abandoning her “game face”, but she tried to say with her eyes, “Hey, I’m naked.” Yet the policeman’s stare did not move beyond deadpan.
Tami tried to send a mental signal to this obtuse cop. “HEY, I’M NAKED! CAN’T YOU SEE??”
Still, the cop did nothing.
Tami looked down at her bare feet, then looked up at the cop again with what she hoped was an insolent look. She exhaled and sloped her bare shoulders just so. “I’m naked, you know it and I know it, everyone knows it. What are you going to do about it?”
Still, nothing. Then the cop gave a little nod of acknowledgement as anyone would in making eye contact with someone he doesn’t know.
What kind of cop is this, who won’t arrest someone who steps onto a subway car totally naked? To Tami this made her plight doubly unreal. Maybe he’s waiting for the car to stop so he can escort me off. Not much he can do here in between stops. The train came to its second stop, the one where Tami was to get off. She walked off, trying to avoid rubbing against anyone. But the cop stayed on the train. Was he off duty? What was going on here?
The naked girl, her stony expression hiding her jumbled thoughts, ascended the stairway up onto the street. By the names on the shops she knew she was in the Castro, the area Sunny had told her about. “Nipples pierced -- with or without pain,” one sign said. She shook her head as she padded past, suppressing the urge to protect her nipples with her hands. Do people actually go in there and say, “I’ll have pain, please?”
But there were an awful lot of guys walking by with what looked like S & M gear on, or at least what she supposed as being. Chains, lots of leather, one guy actually had a coiled whip hanging from his belt. And other guys in shorts and tank tops, holding hands. Some were kissing. Tami winced. She didn’t have anything against gay men, but she just didn’t want it so much in her face. She remembered her reaction (and that of her friends) seeing Jeffrey kiss his latest boyfriend in the dorm lounge. Dear old Jeffrey. He would be in heaven here. Looking at all these guys who, though they might look icky or weird, seemed to be in good shape, like they all worked out.
And they took notice of this naked girl too. So did the women walking past. And of course, the occasional hetero couple. As she bravely walked on, her eyes on the street signs, looking for the “Hot Spot”, she was scoped and stared at and appraised. “Nice!” and “Wow!” were typical comments she could not help overhearing.
“Can I have your handbill?” a man asked, about McMasters’s age, one of the few dressed in a business suit.
“Where do you dance?”
Tami tried not to be offended. “I -- I’m not a dancer.”
The man looked her up and down for a moment. “Well you should be!” he said. It sounded rude. Tami decided to just continue on without any more comment.
She tried not to stop and stare, but her eyes grew wide as she passed sex shop after sex shop. Good grief. What a neighborhood, she told herself. This was so out in the open. She passed windows displaying dildos the size of fireplugs, gold-plated nipple clamps, entire windows full of condoms. In spite of her own nudity this Rhode Island Swamp Yankee, who had grown up in a conservative town and gone to a conservative college, blushed as she walked past.
And now, ahead, the Hot Spot.
She wished she hadn’t left her diary with the rest of her things at Terri’s place in Vermont; she wanted to look forward to having a private place tonight where she could write down and vent the shame she was feeling now. Dragging a gaggle of gawkers behind her, being stared at from every direction, occasionally complimented and once in a while whistled at, the naked girl stopped just before reaching for the door of the Hot Spot. She would be glad to be off the street, away from the gaze of the multitudes. But who would be inside this place? A sleazy sex toy shop. Ewwww. The 18-year-old girl knew she’d feel like taking a shower just after stepping into this place. Preparing to meet the stares of filthy old men, she gulped and opened the door. Fortunately none of the gawkers came in with her.
And there she stood, just inside the door, motionless as her wondering eyes took in the scene. The place was well-lit and done over in beige. A couple of bookshelves, and a table with a well-organized display of dozens of vibrators on it. Some affluent-looking women in business suits were picking up a couple of them and holding them against their hands, turning them on to find out how they buzzed. It looked like the perfume counter at a classy department store. Trolling the bookshelves were a couple of college-age kids, maybe a few years older than her. Not a man in sight. Soft new age-y type music was being piped in. Behind the counter, a smiling girl with a shaved head and an eyebrow ring was ringing up a book for a woman who looked like someone’s grandmother.
In a moment all of the customers were looking with wonder and admiration at the naked girl who had just come in. Tami stood there, her toes sinking into the plush black carpet, not knowing what to do. She was not prepared for this at all.
A ruddy-cheeked, jovial woman with quite a few pounds on her came out. “Tami Smithers! Miss Tami Smithers!” she said in a raspy, vaguely Irish-sounding voice. “Look, Marti, she’s here!” Marti was evidently the cashier with the shaved head. “Miss Smithers, I’m Caroline Dewey, coordinator of the Hot Spot collective.” As she took Tami’s hand, she said to the customers, “Excuse me, folks, but I can’t contain myself. This is Tami Smithers, radical nudist, surely the most uninhibited woman in the world. She has helped test and demonstrate some of the world’s most advanced sexual aids. And,” she said, still holding Tami’s hand but stepping back a little to look Tami up and down, “quite a sight to see, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so. I’ve heard it said, by someone who’s seen you, that if I looked like you, I’d go naked all the time as well.” Despite having shame heaped upon shame, Tami found she still had the capacity for a hot blush that spread over her from head to bare toes as her body was appreciated by the women’s kind but intent gaze.
The enthusiastic Caroline Dewey led Tami around the store while the customers paused in their browsing to look. Tami was shown the sexual aids book section, the gay fiction book section, the history of sex book section, and sections on lesbian lovemaking, X-rated films, and sexual health. Around the walls were posters that were both artful yet sexually explicit. One caught a brief glimpse of horror from Tami -- a black and white photo of someone’s entire arm, up to the elbow, up inside someone’s butt. She told herself it must be a trick photo.
Then the counter with the vibrators. Tami at first hid her distaste -- her only experience with vibrators had been as an unwilling subject for Chalfont and McMasters -- but then found herself getting a little interested. These were not sleazy; they were well-made. Most were not dildo-like, and it took a moment before she figured they must be meant to press against the clit. The naked girl, who had been roughly buzzed and jangled to hundreds of unwanted orgasms in public, saw that there were subtleties to vibrators that she was not aware of. Part of her longed to be a clothed person who could enjoy these things in the privacy of her home, maybe in bed at night, in the dark, under the covers, a gentle private buzz. She took a deep breath. For now she would settle just for being clothed.
Under Caroline Dewey’s cheerful maternal gaze, Tami tentatively grasped a big “Magic Wand” vibrator and held it against her palm. She turned it on; the soft, gentle buzzing made her smile. Trying to push aside awareness of being totally naked in this place, Tami said, “Very nice . . .Mrs. Dewey.” “Oh! Don’t call me ‘Mrs.’,” she laughed in her subtle brogue, her whole large body jiggling. “I used to be a nun, and now in my free life I don’t know if I’ll ever go that married route. Call me Caroline.” Still, somehow Tami could only think of this lady as “Mrs.”
Mrs. Dewey led Tami around and carefully picked a book off the shelf. “This came in just this week,” she said, opening it carefully. It was a hardcover called “Techno Orgasm”. She picked through the crisp, clean pages and pointed out a passage that made Tami’s eyes widen. It said:
“Another innovator is Nevada McMasters, whose latest device incorporates not only the ridged dildo noted above, but a second dildo designed to penetrate deep into the rectum. The subject is carefully strapped in to a semi-chair and the dildos are pistoned alternately via a motor-driven cam under the platform. The rear dildo, aside from providing its own stimulation, acts to stabilize the subject, whose ankles and hands must also be secured to the sides. As if this were not enough, the diabolical McMasters has devised bristly suction cups to be worn over the nipples; suction is applied through tubes connected to a suction pump driven by the same cam. The result is a coordinated stimulation of all the female erogenous zones. With the help of a “radical nudist”, Tami Smithers, who has an apparently unbounded sexual capacity, McMasters has refined this machine until it has become the preeminent device of its type. In one session lasting just over four hours, Smithers achieved 136 verified orgasms, most of them of longer duration than normal. This writer has seen a tape of that session and it has to be seen to be believed.”
Under this text was a black-and-white picture showing the slender body of a nude female on a little platform, jerking forward while on the machine. Standing close around, looking up at her, were three men in lab coats, whom Tami recognized as McMasters, Brendo and Mr. Zipkin. The photo was taken from the side and, thankfully, her face could not be clearly seen, hidden by swinging sweaty hair. A sheen of sweat was visible all over her body, her suctioned nipples thrusting up and forward, her arms straining in their bonds, one bare foot visible showing the toes flexed and spread against the platform. Obviously she was in the middle of a volcanic orgasm.
Tami closed her eyes in shame. She couldn’t really be recognized in the photo but her name was mentioned in the text. Now she was in print. Forever. And there was a tape of that long session which was being shown to others. When she got back into clothes again, she wouldn’t be able to pretend this year of nudity and shame never happened, no matter where she went. Maybe this book wouldn’t sell well and nobody would remember her name . . .
An elegant, old-fashioned fountain pen was placed in front of her. “Tami, I hope you don’t mind if I call you that. . . I can see what they say is true, you’re very modest. But we are all very much honored that you are here. We’ll keep this copy in the back in our book museum. Could you . . . please . . .?” Shown the frontispiece of the book, Tami realized that she was being asked to sign it. Being asked for her autograph, an autograph that would turn this book into a display item, an heirloom of the Hot Spot.
The naked girl’s eyes became wet in a welter of emotions that were too complicated to sort out. She switched hands and poised the pen above the paper, trying to think of how to sign. She felt nothing but kind regard for this affectionate woman, and part of her longed to be the uninhibited, strong girl she took her to be. Though an undeserving one, she was a hero to these folks. Finally she decided to write, “Love, Tami Smithers”. Yes, “Love” was the right word. She was full of love and had gotten much love in return, albeit from people who did not understand. She wrote carefully. She had tried a fountain pen once in high school and quickly gave it up; for a left-handed person smearing the ink seemed impossible to avoid. She arched her hand carefully over the page. Fortunately the signature came out fine.
Mrs. Dewey said, “Thank you dear,” in a warm motherly voice, then carrying the book open so that the ink could dry, she led Tami to the back of the store.
It was warm, tiny, cozy, reminding her of the coffeehouse Terri had taken her to on campus last winter, or maybe Professor Congi’s office. A little stove supported a teapot. Off to the side were jars of flavored instant coffee. Soft, ancient, comfy couches. Pictures of friends, posters of concerts. A bulletin board with various notices of nearby concerts, parties -- what is a “Jack and Jill” party, Tami wondered -- and people needing apartment-mates. Sitting cross-legged on the couch was a barefoot girl in ripped jeans and a halter top, reading a book called “Tales of the Tail” which had a picture of a woman’s bare butt on the cover. She wore thick-rimmed glasses and had long, green-tinted hair and blue lipstick. She looked up and broke into a wide smile. “Wow!”
Standing practically on top of her in the tiny room, Tami felt every inch of her nakedness as this girl looked her over. Soon, it seemed, everybody on the planet would know every inch of her body. “Tami, this is also Tami. This is our manager and one of your biggest fans.”
“Call me Tamara, to avoid confusion,” the green-haired girl said, taking Tami’s hand in hers. “It is so -- I just can’t -- ” She was finding it hard to get words out in the midst of her worshipful babbling.
Mrs. Dewey smiled. “Well Tami, to get business out of the way, what did Nev want? He called a few minutes ago and said he was sending you alone because he’s having trouble with that old jalopy of his.”
Yet another shameful thing to do. The naked girl wished she had forgotten but the memory was too clear in her mind. “I need -- a -- anal -- clit buzzer.” She regretted her choice of words immediately. It sounded like, here she was, walking naked into a sex toy shop with the desire to be buzzed in the butthole and clit.
“Right,” Mrs. Dewey said. She gave Tami a little plastic bag, for which Tami found herself thankful. Finally her hands had something to do. In a way it was a kind of covering -- once again, the naked girl was pathetically trying to conjure the idea of “covering” from the slightest of connotations.
“Wow,” Tamara said again. She closed her book and brought her knees together as if bashful. “One hundred and thirty six orgasms. . .” She shook her head. “That must be the most pleasure any person ever got, physically, I mean. You are so lucky!”
Tami smiled, not knowing how to respond. Mrs. Dewey rescued this awkward moment of silence. “She autographed ‘Techno Orgasm’ for us.”
“Yes, we have to give it pride of place,” Tamara said, hopping up and placing the book, still open to Tami’s signature, on a shelf next to some pictures. “Tami -- can we take your picture?” Of course Tami couldn’t refuse, in fact she was flattered and a little proud of being held in such high regard by kind-hearted and open-minded people, such a different world from the closed, conservative atmosphere she had grown up in. Professor Congi had once told Tami that she was “the woman of the future” -- to Tami, it was people like Mrs. Dewey, a former nun no less, who were the true brave pioneers.
The self-actuated camera flashed in the faces of the three women, the naked one in the center, and they all saw purple dots for a few seconds until Mrs. Dewey said, “Tami, I’d like to show you something.” She took Tami by the hand to a door in the back. Inside was a small black room, apparently soundproofed with all the surfaces carpeted. There was a couch and a little recessed shelf but it was hard to tell at first, the room was so dark. Some of the soft music from the front of the store was piped in here too. When Mrs. Dewey turned on the light Tami saw, to her utter dismay, a little saddle-looking thing on the floor, with two dildos sticking up from it and a couple of dials mounted to the side. “This is called the Saddle Mate, it was the most advanced sexual aid before Nevada came up with his ‘Total Lover’ that you know so well. We keep this one for sentimental reasons; we’ve had it almost since the store was opened in 1988.” Tami knew where this conversation was going. Mrs. Dewey bent down to the dials. “I’m sure you know where these two things go . . . there’s also a little knob in front for, well, you know where.”
Mrs. Dewey’s back was turned as she twisted the dials; she didn’t see Tami’s legs flinch as the front dildo started vibrating and the rear dildo rotated quickly in a tight little circle. “We have a nickname for it. The obvious one. ‘Flicka.’“ In spite of herself Tami smiled when she got the pun. Then Mrs. Dewey put a hand on Tami’s bare shoulder and said, “People probably think you’re always horny, because of who you are and what you’ve accomplished. So you can just relax here if you want, or maybe try some of these items on the shelf.” Tami could see a line of ten or so vibrators of various shapes and types on the inlaid shelf, next to a carved wooden box holding tissues, a few tubes of lubricant, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “But we felt the best hospitality we could give you was to offer you a ride on Flicka. If you want. Take your time. Relax afterwards if you want. We’re open until 7 o’clock.”
Tami watched her close the door and say good-bye. The naked girl sat down cross-legged on the floor, feeling the black carpet tickle her butthole and bare pussy lips, and contemplated the Saddle Mate. The leather was well-worn, so were the dials, but the dildos were new and clean, no doubt recently gone over with the alcohol. She found herself fiddling with them; they could be detached by being unscrewed. Then she looked back at the door. Closed. No one watching. She was alone in this still, private room.
With a sigh she realized she was a little horny. It had been six hours or so since her last “session” with that awful retainer and bristle bra; the experiments done on her had increased her sexual metabolism such that she was ready again. Yet here was a chance to treat herself to unharassed, gentle, private orgasms.
Though she would have recoiled at the idea a year ago -- along with the idea of being naked -- Tami found herself grateful as she applied the lubricant and gently lowered herself onto the twin dildos. As she turned the dials to the lowest setting she said, “Mmmmm . . . “ It felt so good. She found herself praying:
Thank you God, for this chance to enjoy my body for myself alone.
She didn’t know it, but she was repeating the saying of an early feminist which was posted up front in the store. She turned up the dial and was cresting within seconds. “Oh . . .yes . . .” she murmured. “Yes . . . God. . . th - thank you . . . mmmmm . . . yes . . . oh God . . . oh Rod . . .” She turned the dials down and relaxed, catching her breath, sweating a little. Then, being Tami, she cranked the dials and starting working up to another orgasm. Then she did it again. And again . . .
The light hitting her face finally woke her up. She was spread out on the couch, one bare foot way up on top, the other touching the floor. The air caused by the swinging door curled up way inside her and she knew her pussy lips were wide open. Standing in front of her were Mrs. Dewey, Tamara, and a couple of other women. “Wake up, sleepy head,” Mrs. Dewey said, as if talking sweetly to her own daughter.
Tami stretched like a cat and smiled and deep, contented smile. “Mmmmm. . . that was good.” She felt no need to close her legs, feeling content to be open and on display before her admirers. It was just her station in life, a princess whose role in her kingdom was to be always naked and brought to orgasms, nice work if you can get it. Mmmmmm . . . Stretching again, she said, “Closing time already?”
Mrs. Dewey laughed gently. “It’s been five hours, child.” Tami groggily got up, then teetered on her feet as if drunk, much to everyone’s amusement. “Whoops . . .” With a hug to each, the naked girl staggered out of the room. “Don’t forget this, hero,” Tamara said, giving her the anal clit buzzer in its discreet plastic bag. Happy and relaxed and giddy from the relief of eight long, private, beautiful orgasms, the naked girl strolled through the darkened store and went out into the street.
The coldest winter I ever spent
Was a summer in San Francisco.
She didn’t really notice it at first, so calm and relaxed and happy she was, padding naked down the street, humming a little sleepy tune, ignoring the stares, watching her bare feet treading the sidewalk. But then she took a deep breath and looked up. It was cloudy now, and a wind was beginning to kick up. Before long it would be dark. The cold air woke her up, and her permanently erect nipples, which had flagged a little after all those luscious orgasms, got harder and pointier, her breasts tightening as they jiggled less and less with each step on the hard pavement.
As she walked on her mind started to wander. I wouldn’t mind being naked around those women in the store, she thought to herself. They’re nice. A nice neighborhood too. She thought of the two lesbians who had stopped her and complimented her bravery and her fine body. The nicest thing is that nobody here knows me. Being naked in front of friends and family, or people you know who are not nice -- that’s much worse.
And then she realized she was lost. Evidently in her hazy state of mind she had taken a different turn, and instead of getting back onto Market Street, she was nowhere near it. Worse, she wasn’t sure how to retrace her steps. And of course she was not unnoticed. As her mind returned to the here and now she was aware of the gasps and stares, the occasional muttered, “Jesus!” This was a different neighborhood now, residential. And not so “gay” as the Castro. Guys and men were staring at her with hetero lust now as she walked along, and a few were starting to follow her. Where the hell are the police . . . !
She turned as she walked, looking for the tall buildings downtown or where the sun had just set, but the three-story houses blocked her view and it was too cloudy to see any sign of the sun. It was stupid, she knew, but she walked along at a faster clip possibly getting more lost, partly to get away from the men following her, though that was a hopeless task. She was starting to get a little scared.
A police car! -- no, it just passed her by and went on ahead, turning onto another street. Are the police in this city blind? Can’t they see there’s a totally nude girl walking a public sidewalk??
Why don’t I just ask someone how to get back to Market? she told herself as her feet slapped louder the faster she walked. Asking a guy was obviously out. She didn’t like the guys here. In fact she didn’t like the neighborhood at all. It looked unfriendly, and also conservative, not the place for a naked girl. And a little sleazy. As she crossed a street she looked to her side and saw a man standing in between two parked cars, arms crossed, and with his dick out, peeing onto the street, no doubt thinking all people would see was his upper body, standing there casually with arms crossed. Ewww! The teenage girl turned away with distaste and padded on.
She saw an older woman carrying a bag of groceries in her direction. Good. Trying to forget she was naked, Tami stood up politely and cleared her throat. As the woman approached she said, “Excuse me, Ma’am, can you tell -- ”
The older woman, her face deadpan frozen, just walked right by like she wasn’t there. Tami stood there, watching her go, a circle of men starting to form around her, and almost started to cry. The older woman’s reaction should have been no surprise -- after all, a naked girl on the street, obviously a slut or a prostitute. She wanted to run after her and shake her and say no no, I’m just Tami Smithers, a math major, a modest girl at heart -- but of course the words would have sounded so ridiculous that there was no point in trying.
She said a short prayer -- Please God, I’m naked and alone and lost. Help me find my way. Then she went on.
Two teenage girls were walking down the other side of the street. They looked like they were Tami’s age, wearing the kind of clothes Tami used to like to wear, no doubt talking about boys. Tami was getting desperate. She ran across the street and started to say, “Can you tell me -- ”, but the girls, with suspicious sidelong glances, suddenly ran past her and down the street. Leaving her once again with the leering men following her. Once again Tami was crushed. Naked and alone. With these men looking at every inch of her.
It was stupid, it was stupid, she kept telling herself, but she refused to ask any of these guys directions. Engaging one of them in conversation, facing them and being devoured with their eyes, was just too painful a thought. Please God . . .
A short, bald, kindly-looking man was walking her way. Maybe I can ask him. Once again she screwed up her courage and stood there politely, as politely as possible given the insolent nudity of her bare nipples and bare, shaved pussy lips staring him in the face. “Excuse me, sir, do you know how to get to Market Street?”
He looked her up and down and then said in a slightly whiny voice, “Do you have any handbills?”
No, not again! Hoping she had misheard, she said, “What?”
“Handbills. Where do you dance?”
Tami felt her insides being torn out of her once again. “I -- I don’t dance. Market Street?”
She didn’t know that in this man’s generation Market Street was famous for its “burlesque” houses and hookers. He thought she was speaking to her in code. He looked her up and down, then at her pussy lips, which Tami resisted the urge to cover. Then up at her face again. “You do anal?”
Tami looked at him in horror and shock, then quickly walked past him. Ridiculously, she felt obliged to be polite enough to drop a quickly-said “Bye” to this creepy little man.
“Bisexual?” he said as she put distance between them.
It was getting colder and windier as she strode up the hill. The wind stung her hard nipples, whistled past her bare pussy lips, chilled her bare shoulders. Her bare feet were cold too. On an impulse she turned the corner, toward the crest of another hill
-- And there, parked facing up the slope, just before the corner, was a police car with its headlights on. With two cops in it. Tami stopped and looked up to God in thanks. Then walked up the street with a determined look. Time to get arrested. Time to get taken to the station house and given a coat or something to put on. Clothes, covering . . . she was desperate to feel that almost-forgotten sensation. Plus, she had to pee, and looked forward to using the station house bathroom.
Evidently there was a bar nearby, a loud one. Tami heard band music and there were some guys standing on the corner talking. When they saw her coming up the sidewalk all conversation stopped. They were so surprised they stared and stood there like statues. They all thought the same thing: Is this a dream?
Tami stopped in the middle of the block, a bunch of guys up in front of her and another following behind, a cold lonely naked girl with dirty feet wearing nothing but a little pouch around her ankle and holding a little plastic bag. But inside she was modest, shy Tami Smithers, a good girl, not a bad girl. Getting herself arrested was going to be harder than she thought. She was the niece of a cop and the granddaughter of a cop. Deliberately getting arrested went against her grain.
She steeled herself and then went up the sidewalk, walking slowly past the police car, then up to the corner.
Feeling an air of unreality she stood at the corner, looking down the street as if waiting to see if it was safe to cross, briefly glimpsing down to see the poker faces of the cops, sitting in the front seat. What’s going on? she asked herself. Can’t they see I’m naked? As if to rub it in, she slowly sauntered across the street, right into the glare of the headlights, right in front of them. Reaching the other corner, she slowly sauntered back. It was now dark out, and the headlights on her bare skin made her so bright that one could see this naked girl for blocks from down the hill. Maybe now they can see me. Tami once again slowly walked across the street. Now that she was unabashedly giving a show, the ogling men lost their inhibitions and started wolf whistling as if she were a stripper strutting in the stage lights.
Tami was back at the corner, having developed a very low opinion of the competence of the San Francisco Police Force. Men were crowding closer. This was getting ridiculous. She hugged herself, feeling her nipples poking against her folded hands, then decided to -- you might say -- take the bull by the horns. She walked up to the driver’s side and tapped on the window. The cop obligingly rolled it down. “Can’t you see I’m -- naked?” It was now so cold the words came out in a fog. Then she spread her arms out as if to showcase her breasts.
The cop shrugged, gave a quick glance down at her body, then rolled the window back up. He sipped from a coffee. His partner was in the middle of a doughnut. Tami longed to be in the warmth of the car. Though seeing the coffee was making her want to pee more badly; the cold air was shrinking her bladder. Tami was starting to shiver. This was horrible, unreal, a bad dream. And these men around her -- she was desperate --
The naked teenager walked right in front of the car and put her bare foot up on the cold metal of the hood. She stretched her other leg to the side so that her bare pussy lips were opened. Then she reached down with her fingers and opened them up further. Guys were shouting now at her inner cave, bright and pink and moist in the headlights. “Wooo - woooo!” Tami looked at the cops with a mixture of anger and pleading. Aren’t you going to arrest me for THIS?
She walked up to the crosswalk, at the crest of the hill, where the road surface was about at the cops’ eye level, and turned around and squatted, pointing her toes outward as she braced her feet against the greasy asphalt. Then arched her butt up and spread her butt cheeks with her hands. The headlights illuminated every crevice and wrinkle of her sphincter, the pretty ring of brown skin that Jen and others had admired so much. She turned around in a mixture of shame and anger. Aren’t you going to arrest me for THIS?
Once again she felt about to cry. She stood in front of the police car as if not caring that her slouching, dejected bare body was so brightly lit and on display. She gulped. Dare she? She was cold, these guys around her were scary, it was dark, she was lost and alone . . .
She squatted in front of the car, her thighs resting on her bare heels, her hands on her knees, and closed her eyes. And started peeing.
Suddenly there was no howling -- just shocked silence. Then awed comments. “Jesus!” “Holy shit!” “What a cunt!” The yellow stream, sparkling in the headlights, shot in a clear stream from the top of her bare pussy lips, steaming in the cold air. She could not open her eyes at first. But as the yellow stream ran down the street and under the police car, she forced herself to look at these two cops, the headlights magnifying the terrified deep well of shame in her pretty eyes. SURELY they’d arrest me for this.
But the cops did nothing. They had been told to ignore provocations.
She didn’t wait for the last tinkle. Survival instincts took over. In a flash she ran past the bunch of guys and hopped over a short fence into an alley. They tried to follow her but when they got into the alley she was nowhere to be found.
A moment later, the band music from the bar got suddenly louder, as if the front door had opened. A new crowd of men approached the corner from the other side -- led by a brassy 25-year-old redhead wearing a little tiara, high heels and nothing else. Her pubic hair was trimmed to a mohawk. Her siliconed breasts jerked with each step.
“Hiya,” she said, standing in the police car’s headlights, one hand on an outthrust hip. Following her was someone with a microphone attached to a headset, and another toting a camera. She went over to the cop in the driver’s seat. “Mind if I walk by here -- NAKED?”
The cops looked at each other. They finally had an expression on their faces, one of total confusion. “Wha -- ?”
For Tami Smithers, who because of bad luck upon bad luck had been forced to go naked through the last ten months of her life, it seemed she finally had good luck for once. The dark alley she had hopped into opened up onto another passageway to the right, so dark that her pursuers could not see it. She hid there, hearing them talk. Someone said, “We can’t, right in front of the cops.” And then the talking faded into the distance.
She didn’t realize it but, callous though the police officers seemed, they would have protected her from any actual danger. Now she was away from their gaze but also away from their protection. She tried not to think of the gritty, dirty things she was stepping on and looked upward. Please God . . . and was met with a few sprinkles of rain.
She wanted to stay hidden here, out of view from the world. But she had to get back to Dr. Wickelshaus’s. And though it was well above freezing, not nearly as cold as back in Vermont, she knew a naked girl had to keep moving or risk hypothermia. As soon as the headlights of that police car had faded from her retinas and she could see in the dark, she started hesitantly walking, picking her way through. The alley was between two houses. Ahead she saw the next street. She bit her lip, preparing for her latest entrance into public view, tiptoeing past trashcans and all kinds of unidentifiable old boxes and other junk.
She reached the end of the alley and peered out into the street. This was a more main-looking street than the other ones she had been on, though no cars were on it. A bus! It was about to stop a block away on the other side. Without bothering to think she charged for it, the wet slap of her feet across the street suddenly set off by the sound of distant thunder. As she ran up the side of the bus, seeing the last person get on, she formed her plan. Get on and ask how to get back to the subway. Take whatever connections are necessary, just stay on buses and off the street. And hope she had the exact change in her ankle pouch. But --
“You’re not getting on this bus,” the driver said, looking down at the naked girl with disgust. “Go back to your bar.” And he shut the door in her face. Puzzled and crushed and mortified by yet another rejection, the naked girl watched the bus go away, her bare shoulders slumping with dejection as they got shiny and soaked with cold rain. Now what? She had to think fast. She looked at the corner and saw the street sign. 17th Street! She was on 17th Street! One of the streets she passed on Market Street to get to the Hot Spot. . . She looked up one way and down the other, then quickly retreated behind a bush to hide as a car whizzed by. Which way to Market? The rain was coming down harder now, and it was starting to get foggy, fog made bright and opaque by the streetlights. It was hard to see past the next couple of blocks. She knew it was a wild guess, but she decided to go to her left, and started walking.
A loud burst of thunder shook her, then came the torrent of cold rain, drenching and chilling her to the bone. Shit. This has been a bad night. But she was used to dealing with cold rain. And she was Tami Smithers, after all -- any other naked girl would have been freezing and cowering totally traumatized by now, but not this toughened teenager. She got into her Campbell - Frank College mode -- head down, arms crossed over her breasts, watching her tingling bare feet slop on ahead, determined to muddle through. Five, ten, fifteen minutes went by as she went block after block. To the few cars who zipped along the wet street, it was an odd and pitiful sight -- the naked teenager walking through the driving rain, head down, hair plastered onto her bare back and dripping down the sides of her hidden face, her thin body glistening, flushed red with the cold. Some stopped by and rolled down their windows, asking if they could help, or perhaps making obscene propositions.
She didn’t hear them, or if she did the words did not register. She was alone with her thoughts -- thinking of Rod, the women at the Hot Spot, Seth on the roof in the mountains, even getting licked front and rear by Jen and Mandy -- thinking of the friendly, warm, pleasant things in her life. These thoughts were her clothes, and they somehow kept her warm as the rain pelted her and pelted her and her bare feet, getting numb now, slopped through deeper and deeper puddles. She decided to walk in the gutter, letting the rushing water flow past her feet. At least with the water her feet were now clean again.
She was getting seriously cold. At college there never had been a need to walk so far in the cold rain; by now she must have walked a mile. She found herself shivering, and suppressed the shivers. She crossed one more street and then saw a grassy hill; no more sidewalk. Looking up, she saw that 17th Street ended and there was a park of some kind. Shit! She had walked the wrong way!
She fought off tears as she realized there was nothing to do but turn around and backtrack. She went onto the other side of the street before reversing course. All she had been looking at was sidewalk and she at least didn’t want to look at the exact same sidewalk again. Slop, slop, slop went her feet through the puddles. She hugged her breasts tighter.
“Hello? HELLO?” She stopped as the voice finally registered and looked to her side. A young, athletic-looking man in a little car had stopped and rolled down his window. “Are you O.K.?”
She stood thinking for a minute, her mind dulled and slowed by the cold and by dejection. Then she bent down to the window, arms still across her chest, feeling the cold rain run into her butt crack and over her butthole as her butt cheeks separated slightly. “Can you take me to Market Street?”
“Sure. Get in.”
It was blessed warmth in the car as she gratefully settled her bare butt and back against the soft cloth of the front seat. “Oh, God. . . thanks.” She put her feet under the hot air blower and felt tingling as sensation returned to them.
After a minute or so he said, “Why are you naked?” One could hardly blame him for asking. He was a few years older, very clean-cut, wearing just a pair of shorts. “Are you in trouble?”
Tami took this to mean, was I raped or something. “No. . .” Suddenly a thought came to her. This guy doesn’t know me, he’s not a spy for the Dean. Just an anonymous person all the way across the country. “Do you -- ” she stopped herself, wondering if she was paranoid, then told herself it was o.k. -- “do you have anything for me to put on?”
“Sorry, there’s nothing in the car. Unless you want my shorts, of course.” Tami glanced down and for the first time noticed that he was almost as naked as she was. Then she saw the bulge in his crotch, then looked out the window. Please, God, not another pervert. . . Fortunately he didn’t do anything but drive.
“Here you are,” he said. They were on Market Street, as it happened right near the BART station she had gotten off of. Tami looked over to thank him and saw him holding his bulge. “Th - thanks,” she said, then bolted out of the car. As he saw the naked girl leave the man sat there in his car, rubbing himself to climax. Not the type of guy who would ordinarily do something like that, but a wet, naked girl, walking through the rain, was an extraordinary sight, and this experience he would remember the rest of his life.
It was almost a relief to the wet, naked girl to be greeted with stares and gasps as she descended the stairs into the warmth of the subway station. She waited on line for her token, then waited for the train, with the same expression as the other wet people, acting for all the world like she was normal and wearing clothes like the rest of them. The train arrived and she got on, grunting sardonically as she passed a policeman coming off. She plopped her bare, wet butt on the seat and sat cross-legged. The people sitting around her could not help looking in shock and wonder, but she carried on like she did not have any inhibition at all, twisting her wet hair back from her face, rubbing her breasts and nipples to get them warm again, massaging her feet, stretching her toes with her fingers, then finally sitting back, hands on her knees, eyes closed as if meditating. The perceptive observers noted droplets on the tops of her breasts, other droplets running down from her hair to her forehead, other droplets running down her amazingly flat, toned tummy as if coursing into a hub of highways that led them to the cleft of her tanned, smooth, shaved pussy lips. This is just the way she was, naked and wet, not ashamed of it at all, maybe even a little proud, and it was all the same to her if people looked or not. Or so it seemed.
When the stop for Embarcadero was announced she opened her eyes, her meditation over, and got up and left. When Dr. Wickelshaus pulled up on the street, five minutes after the call from the pay phone, she found Miss Tami Smithers, standing calmly on the corner, the rain having stopped, surrounded by people staring at her nakedness, yet seemingly o.k. with all the attention. As she got into the car Tami said, “Good to see you,” as if it were a routine pleasantry.
. . . .
McMasters and Dr. Wickelshaus sat chatting around the kitchen table after dinner, with Tami sitting next to the good doctor. “Regina,” he said, “you’ve got to visit us.”
“Well, maybe next spring, when the snow’s gone,” she said, stirring her herb tea. “I hate the cold.”
“Then you’d have to wait till May,” McMasters said, smiling but actually quite serious. Tami, though she was not in the conversation, knew that they were talking mostly about her. She blushed, grateful that most of her was hidden under the table, and resigned to the fact that her bare breasts and erect nipples were tan, much admired, and on display.
“Tam -- ?” a little voice poked from around the corner of the stairs. The voice was Sunny’s. “Can you come up here for a moment?”
McMasters and Dr. Wickelshaus winked at each other. The naked teenager didn’t see this, and went up the stairs to Sunny’s room.
Sunny was in a pinafore dress, white tank top, and saddle shoes, very conservative and formal attire for her. “H - hi,” she said with unaccustomed shyness as she stood in the middle of her room. Her body was shaking slightly and she had a look in her eyes that was slightly pained, slightly embarrassed, slightly -- !
Tami Smithers was the only person in the world who could instantly recognize that look. The naked teenager’s pretty eyes widened with soft amazement as she looked her quivering friend up and down. “You’re wearing -- ”
Sunny nodded and gulped. Forcing her eyes up to meet Tami’s, she said, “I j - just wanted to try it. . . I’m about to -- ohhh -- explode. I w - wanted to go downstairs with th-this thing on but I j - just couldn’t.” Somehow the naked girl was not surprised when Sunny went forward to hug her bare shoulders. Through the delicious feel of the fabric of Sunny’s clothes Tami could sense the vibrations as they held each other, pelvis to pelvis, a very special sisterhood of two. Sunny managed to blurt out, “I don’t know how you do it, Tami. Ohhh!” And now, a little preorgasmic shudder.
Tami looked at Sunny’s desk. There was the remote control, and next to it, a little dildo lying on it, the same shape as the anal dildo she had been using in her retainer but much smaller. “What’s that?”
Sunny broke the embrace. “I j - just couldn’t do that part. I just used the one for my p - pussy. And I used the smallest set. Ohhh!” She shuddered and gulped. “Tami, I don’t know how you c - can fit all those b - big things inside you.”
Tami’s eyes flashed with anger. Why had McMasters forced her to accept such a big dildo in her pussy, and a second big dildo in her butt, when just one little dildo was enough? Obviously, to humiliate her more. Her angry train of thought was broken when Sunny said, “Tami, use the remote . . . Make me c - cum. Be gentle with me, please? Ohhh. . .”
As Tami picked up the remote and prepared to turn it up higher, she was touched by the tenderness of the moment. Only a very special friend would be asked to do this. “Please be gentle with me.” If only she had been allowed to say this to her many tormentors! She thought it only proper to give Sunny another hug before turning up the dial.
Sunny’s orgasm was sharp and short, five or six sudden jolts. Tami stayed with her to the end. Except for a few times with Jen, the naked girl had never seen a female in orgasm -- she had just had them herself while others watched -- and was struck by how erotic Sunny’s girlish gasps were. She was getting a little turned on herself. When it was over, Sunny was limp in her arms. “Oh Tami. . . oh Tami . . .”
. . . .
As the Cadillac, tuned up now with its carburetor cleaned, boomed down the sunny coastal highway, AM radio blasting oldies tunes, Tami looked at her bare foot, sticking out the front window. Knowing she was about to say something risky to McMasters, who was driving, she demonstrated her lack of modesty by pushing her pelvis forward and absently playing with her pussy lips, opening them up and checking the pink insides. Then she said it. “Sunny had a good time with the retainer. She only needed the front -- dildo.” It was absurd, but she still felt shy saying that word. “And the smallest size. I don’t think the one in the back was needed.”
McMasters in his super-dark sunglasses, grooving to the 1910 Fruitgum Company, was momentarily distracted. He put his sunglasses partway down his nose and looked across at the naked teenager. “And -- ? . . . Are you saying we shouldn’t have put the rear dildo on the device?”
Tami shifted her pelvis forward even more, to show this man that of course her observation was not prompted by any sense of modesty. “No. . . But when you start selling it, one might be enough.” And that was the end of that.
Tami returned to enjoying the feel of the wind going through her toes, and the warmth of the sun. Southern California. Warmth. The Pacific Ocean, glistening in the late afternoon sun. That chilly rain in San Francisco was the last time she would ever have to be naked in the cold. From now on, just hot sun. Yummm. . . And then her escape . . .
Tami dug her toes downward and luxuriated in the feel of the hot sand against her naked body, against her breasts, against her tummy, against her pussy lips, against her thighs, feeling the sun’s hot warmth against her back and bare butt . . . Ahhhhh. . . Just me and the sand and the sun . . . No more cold, just warmth . . .
Voices dimly registered in her ear, as if filtering in from a distant other world. Those Mexican girls jabbering in Spanish from about twenty feet away. McMasters and Wanda, sitting on a nearby towel, critiquing the bathing suits passing by, and trying to talk about those Mexican girls as indirectly as possible, wondering if they were being overheard, wondering if they understood English. . .
Tami was apart from her companions, lying on the sand without a towel. No towel, no bathing suit, no sunglasses, just her bare body on the beach. With all these tiny bikinis around, like those little thongs on the Mexican girls, she felt like her nudity did not stand out so much.
But of course it did. People passing by looked carefully at her butt, wondering if there wasn’t actually a little thong string in there. No, she looked totally naked. Couldn’t possibly be . . . but . . . . They went on their way, wondering if what they had just seen was for real. Though being topless was technically legal here, all the women wore tops. And here was a girl totally nude.
The Mexican girls kept talking. Teenagers, about Tami’s age, chatting on a huge blanket. As Tami’s soporific mind zoned in and out she could understand the lilt of their voice if not the actual words. No doubt they were talking about boys, bathing suits, maybe school . . .
McMasters’s idea to stop at the beach on the way to Brian Cook’s was something that Wanda had enthusiastically agreed to and, of course, not something Tami could object to. Walking from the car past the concrete walk, she was intensely aware of being the only one actually naked, in spite of the abundant exposure of skin by everyone else. But she was also in wonder at this strange other world, a world she had seen only on TV. It seemed like all the stereotypes were true. Girls in bikinis were indeed roller-blading down the walk. So many thongs! How could they just go out in public like that? the naked girl wondered in spite of herself. Back at the beach she and her high school friends used to go to in Warwick, Rhode Island, the only girl who wore anything close to a thong was Elizabeth Apple, that snooty fashion plate. Elizabeth’s bottom piece was only skimpy enough to show about half of each butt cheek, and even so she had been so shy about it that she spent most of the day with a towel around her waist.
But this was California. Girls in thongs were indeed out here roller-blading. And there were indeed incredibly bulked-up guys with deep tans, walking arm-in-arm with girls in bleached hair with impossibly huge, oddly ball-shaped breasts popping out of their tops. And there really were little open shops along the walk selling bathing suits, with all the sales help wearing bikinis. And there really was a weight-lifting area, set off with a low metal fence. Tami felt protected and covered by the watching crowd as guys (and some women) hefted barbells and worked out on exercise equipment that looked quite a bit more shiny and expensive than what she had seen in the gym at college.
It slowly dawned on people -- that girl hiding behind the other watchers was absolutely naked. One guy, swabbing himself with a towel on a weight bench, beckoned to her to do a few presses. Another guy asked her in, then another. Soon Tami felt herself being encouraged and pushed forward by people around her. Noticing that it was apparently a rule that people inside the area had to wear sneakers, she protested that she didn’t have any shoes on, but was assured that it was o.k. Finally, feeling somehow that this was her one chance in her life to do this, even though naked, she shrugged and tentatively forded the little fence. She was helpfully guided to the bench press, attended to by three or four guys who carefully adjusted the weights, though being reminded by people watching not to block their view. She placed her bare feet on the pads and impressed everyone by pressing 250 pounds. Next, the shoulder press, which was of course installed so as to face the crowd. She lifted 160 pounds easily, closing her eyes as if concentrating, though actually it was to avoid eye contact with the people admiring the beauty of her firm, tanned breasts, her lithe arm muscles, the much-envied hard concavity of her tummy, and her tanned bare lower lips, slightly separated as her legs were spread to each side of the bench.
After a few other machines, she was urged finally onto a machine she had always avoided at college, designed to work the inner thigh muscles. Facing the crowd, the machine stretched her legs very wide indeed; her pussy lips opened so much that everyone could see into the dark hole in between, under the little understated six-pack of her abdominals that stood out as her muscles pulled the weights to close her legs. Cameras were taken out, pictures snapped.
Now, lying on the sand, Tami pressed her legs together and clenched her butt, thinking of that sunny, sweaty exposure. After she had left the exercise area, to much applause, she walked quickly with McMasters and Wanda to the sand, then as they sat down and spread their towels, she went on and ran into the water. It was a little cold, but she didn’t care -- she wanted to be hidden from everyone’s gaze. Plus, she liked the feeling of the waves swirling around her. Being in the water was the best thing about being naked, it made her feel so free, like a beautiful animal, a wild naked girl outside of human society. As she rose up and down with the waves, water up to her neck, feet and hands swirling as she treaded, she looked back at the people on the beach and imagined she was a mermaid, up from her underwater home, looking in with curiosity and puzzlement at these strange land creatures, so much like her, yet so weird, why do they do things like wear those strange things they call clothes, why do they pollute, go to war, fight all the time . . . why do they abuse and intimidate innocent teenage girls who are just trying to get a degree in mathematics . . .
She turned her head to face the other way, resting her other cheek in the sand, trying to get her mind back to positive things, how warm the sun was, how nice it was in this little spot. When she finally came out of the water she had walked up to Wanda, feeling everyone’s stare on this dripping naked girl who had come out of the ocean, and asked for a towel. It was understood that Tami would need it only for drying off, and after the naked girl had finished, she had dutifully given the towel back to Wanda, then walked over and plopped her tummy onto the sand. And now here she was. Ahhh . . .
Ahhhh . . . She returned to thinking about good, pleasant things. That orgasm she had seen on Sunny’s face kept coming back to her. It was so sweet. And to be the one asked to give it to her. Tami had been determined to be gentle, like Sunny had requested, and had been tender with the remote control. She would not crank it up all the way, like McMasters or the others did with her, way too intensely, causing her teeth to rattle and her eyes to pop out. No, she would be kind to Sunny, and she had turned up the power slowly and only a little, just enough to cause that sweet, nice come. Now there was one other person in the world who had the experience of that retainer, and even though for Tami it had always been against her will, Sunny could not know that. Tami felt a special bond with Sunny now and missed her. Fortunately she had kept Sunny’s number, along with Seth’s. She even still had the number of that missing-tooth hunter McCaig in Ohio. An odd network of friendly people across the country.
She listened a little to those Mexican girls, then dozed off . . .
“Today Tamicita is wearing:”, announced the cardboard sign outside the little open shop along the concrete walk. Tacked underneath was a tiny orange string centered on a triangle about the size of an eye patch. It was meant to attract customers, and it did. In the shade of its canvas roof this shop was stuffed with bikinis of every size and shape and color, hanging in thick array from three racks and tacked all over the three plywood walls. In back, an old man in shirtsleeves tapped at a cash register, ringing up a big one-piece for a grandmotherly type. Various kids roamed up and down the racks. And helping someone along the first aisle (devoted to larger size two-pieces) was Tamicita, the summer sales girl, wearing her stringy orange thong bottom.
Her body was magnificent. Deep brown, both by birth and by exposure to the sun, and slim except for the large breasts, way out of proportion to the rest of her, which stood straight out from her thin chest, announcing themselves to the world with gigantic chocolate nipples sticking out from dark ovals three inches across. The thong was barely more than an orange thread skimming across the brown flatness at the lowest part of her tummy, meeting the little triangle six inches below the navel, a little triangle that only just did cover her carefully shaven pussy lips and nothing else. In the rear there was only a thin orange thread coming up between her tight, naked butt cheeks, joining the thread around her hips. She didn’t seem aware of her near nudity; the large melons swayed gently as she held out a black two-piece suit for the heavy-set woman in sweatpants, cheerfully explaining in a thick Mexican accent how it would flatter a “full” figure. The old man behind the register looked up at his helper at work and smiled.
Tamicita’s cheerful and helpful disposition was successful again; the woman decided to buy the two-piece. As the girl looked around for someone else to help she saw her two friends from school, Carlos and Dom, stopping in. “Amigos,” she said, “Como están?”
“Bien,” Dom said. “You have hunger?” They were both wearing the local summer uniform of teenage boys, tank tops with baggy shorts, big sneakers and white socks that came up almost to the knee.
“Señor Sid, could I take a break now?” the Mexican girl said.
“Back in half an hour,” Sid said, in a kind but firm voice. He watched with an odd mixture of lust and affection as the two boys walked off with his nearly naked employee between them, down the concrete walk to the snack bar at the end of the shops.
It was a little place she went to every day for lunch. She ordered her usual, a dish of vanilla ice cream. Carlos and Dom each ordered a cold soda, and also a hot black coffee. “That’s weird,” Tamicita said, looking from side to side at what her friends had ordered, her large breasts swaying slightly.
“We like caffeine, hot and cold,” Carlos said.
At an open, outdoor place like this everything was either stone or concrete. The snack bar had several booths with concrete benches. The three friends went to the farthest one. Tamicita took the seat facing the ocean. After sitting down opposite her, the two boys changed their minds and decided to sit on either side of her. This way they all could have a nice view of the ocean. Dom and Carlos sipped their sodas, putting their coffees to the side, as Tamicita started on her ice cream. They all put their feet up on the bench opposite. Two pairs of big sneakers and socks, and in between, two bare, tanned female feet, crusty with sand.
Carlos and Dom took sidelong looks at her breasts and then started talking, first about the boys’ surfing adventures, then about how things were with their relatives in Mexico. “I’m so glad I’m here now,” Tamicita said thoughtfully. “It’s so poor down there.”
It was mid-July. “You staying at that trabajo till September?” Dom said.
“I don’t know. Sid wants me to start wearing a C-string.”
Dom and Carlos looked at each other. “What’s a C-string?”
Tamicita was ill at ease now. “The C stands for . . . it ties onto my . . . my little thing . . . It’s backless and no sides.”
Carlos said, “Backless? How does it stay up?”
As she took another spoonful of ice cream she shifted a bit, her bare butt cheeks scraping against the concrete seat, glancing to the side and then down. In a low voice, she timidly said, “It’s just a little string that goes down in between and . . . a little ball at the end that goes . . . in my . . . “ She whispered now. “My butthole.” She bit her lip and took another spoonful. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
This really set the two guys off in their imaginations and left them speechless in spite of their best efforts. Carlos and Dom knew they were lucky to be so close to Tamicita and tried to keep up the conversation even as they were lustfully taking in her beautiful, all but naked body. It was a lust that they knew they would have to just live with. Tamicita defended her virginity ferociously, telling off pushy guys, kicking them in the balls on a couple of occasions, while at the same time wearing the sexiest clothes in the school. Halter tops with just a couple of strings across the back, tube tops that barely stretched over her large, bouncing breasts, itty bitty “boy leg” shorts, or super-low jeans that showed the long, flat expanse of her brown belly and the tops of her butt cheeks behind -- Tamicita drove the boys in her school crazy on a daily basis.
If they knew the details of her summer life, they would go even crazier. Such as the fact that her entire summer’s wardrobe was tied around the doorknob to her bedroom, the thong bottoms that were her only article of clothing. Barefoot and topless, with only a thin string slung way low around her hips and another one disappearing between her bare butt cheeks -- that was how she hung out with friends, rode in the back of the family van to visit relatives, went to the corner bodega to buy platanos and rice for the house from the worshipful guys behind the counter. And every morning, after helping make breakfast for her six younger brothers and sisters, she padded down the hill from the three-family house, three blocks to the beach, holding her little purse, wearing whatever thong bottom Sidney had given her the day before, ready to start another day of work at the shop.
Carlos and Dom thought of her wearing a “C-string”. “Wearing?” Was such a word apt?
“Hey -- stop you guys -- ” she said in her thick Mexican accent, flinching a little. Carlos and Dom had each raised an ice cube from their sodas and were now applying them to the large, brown nipples. She always protested, but she always gave in. It was a game they played. “Stop -- ” Held by expert fingers, the ice cubes swirled round and round over her nipples and the huge areolas, causing little goose bumps in the big brown ovals, making the big nipples hard and bigger, until they stuck out half an inch from each of the big breasts that stood out from her chest like smooth brown coconuts. She breathed in through clenched teeth, then exhaled. “Ohhh . . . you guys . . .” On the bench across from them, her bare feet squirmed, the toes of each foot locking onto and playing with the toes of the other.
Around and around the ice cubes went, and little rivulets of melted ice ran down each breast and onto her flat belly, finally resting against the low-slung string of her thong. When the cubes were all melted Carlos and Dom started with two more. Her nipples were cold and tingly and almost numb by now. “Oooo -- they’re so coold -- guys -- ”
With their free hands Carlos and Dom began sipping their hot coffees. Then at once they both attacked.
“OHH!” Her whole body jerked; the nearly naked Mexican teenager shut her eyes. Both freezing cold nipples were now engulfed by hot mouths, then suddenly suctioned by raspy hot tongues. Her legs shook, her toes spread. Though they could not see it, her carefully shaved pussy was getting wet, little spots forming on the tiny triangle of orange cloth. Tamicita clenched her fists and pressed them down against the table as her big, hard nipples were bitten and stretched by hungry teeth, pulling her nipples out and away from her chest . . .
. . . .
“Whoa . . .” Tami could not help uttering this as she woke up, lifting her head and propping it up with her elbow, looking out with squinting eyes across the bright sand. What a vivid dream. She heard the Mexican girls talking again. She felt like she was Tamicita, one of them. Sexy to be Mexican. There’s a good pun in there somewhere.
Still half-awake and squinting, she decided to face the sun. There would be no hiding her nudity now, everyone would see clearly her bare breasts and her bare pussy lips. She thought fuzzily: What the heck. It’s just me and my friend the warm sun. She put her head down and turned over, spreading her legs just a little. Mmmmm . . . The warmth spread over her and she lay there lazy like a cat, not bothering even to flick off the grains of sand that stuck to her breasts and belly and thighs and even to the edges of her pussy lips. She fought the urge to stretch sinuously. That dream had made her horny and she would love to undulate her hips and rub herself right now. But, though she was only dimly aware of the people around her, a little voice inside told her not to do it.
She lay there praying, giving thanks for being able to feel all these warm sensations, the sun touching every bit of her and making her body glow.
The stern voice of law enforcement. Opening her eyes she saw it was actually a cute guy in his 20’s, one of those police in shorts. Next to him was a bleached blond in a high-cut red one-piece suit which barely covered two big artificial-looking boobs. Tami guessed that this woman thought she was being somehow upstaged.
“Put your clothes on, Miss.” His voice was firm. To one side Tami sensed some motion by McMasters and Wanda and faintly overheard their voices. “She should put on the retainer,” Wanda said to him. “It’s not scheduled,” he replied.
Tami looked up to the officer, shading her eyes, and decided to be frank. “I don’t have any clothes.” To her surprise, the police guy walked away. The blond woman stayed standing over Tami and uttered tightly, “This is MY show, kid.” A guy in black leather shorts and a vest came up to stand next to her, a really ugly guy with tattoos all over and a bulge in his pants which reminded Tami of Rod’s, though not as big.
In a moment the police guy was back with a wrinkly windbreaker and shorts. “Put these on. Now.”
Tami got up on her elbows and appraised the looks from the blond and her ugly boyfriend, and the police guy, and the gathering crowd. Then she quickly glanced at McMasters, who was standing up and fishing for his car keys.
It ended as noted in the little item on page 17 of the Los Angeles Times. The naked girl with the buff body and the deep overall tan strode quickly but forcefully over the sand and thudded onto the concrete walk and down the walk to the parking lot, followed by a man and a young woman fiddling with putting on clothes over their suits while trying to catch up.
Nina West rolled over and squinted as the sun, streaming through the lattice window, hit her face. She turned and stretched and felt the blankets rubbing over her body, reminding her that she was naked. She had been having a nice dream, of dancing in an elegant ballroom with her fiance, Jim Barb. She was wearing an exquisite gown (even though due to her new twisted existence Jim had only seen her naked). Then Sarah Wickland, the law partner she worked for, had announced herself like the Evil Stepmother and come down the ballroom steps and said it was time to go home now. Nina was glad that at that point she woke up.
And now reality was dawning on her awakening mind. She was in her room in the top floor of Brian Cook’s mansion, after being away for a few days. Back to dealing with The Rent. She was glad for the paralegal job, it was a great opportunity, but she had to live in this place, a luxurious house with servants on a big estate, and it was for free, but there still was The Rent. Which was: she had to stay naked whenever she was on the grounds. When coming and going she would go to the room over the garage, where her clothes were kept under the watchful eye of the housekeeper, Mrs. Terry, who was always naked on the grounds too.
It wasn’t really so bad. Brian Cook, one of Sarah’s partners who had retired, wanted her naked to give him ideas for his sculptures. He worked most of each day in his little studio, puttering around in his bathrobe, and was really quite accomplished at what he did. He made sculptures of various things in nature, but his specialty was naked women who looked surprised and a little embarrassed at being seen naked. In the months Nina had been here, he had made about five of these sculptures which he had sold or given to friends, and a couple of them had faces and bodies like hers. Fortunately Jim had bought one of them. She hoped whoever bought the others didn’t ever meet her.
Nina stretched again, enjoying the feel of the fine satin sheets, feeling a little horny thinking of Jim. It seemed to be late morning, a Saturday. A lawnmower outside could be heard over the low hum of the air conditioner set on “Night Cool”. Either Will or Wesley, the gardening help, was cutting the grass. She didn’t like being stared at by these young men, but she was supposed to not hide herself. One time Mrs. Terry actually made her apologize to Will for distracting him! Such an upside-down existence.
For the moment she would rather be here, though. It had not been a good week, which she had spent with Sarah and her other paralegal, Helen, up in Sacramento, for that Cronenberg trial. Sarah was representing some parents of this weird, exclusive private school for girls (actually, Nina heard, one of several affiliated schools in this country and in England) where punishments were handed out in the form of partial or total nudity. The school had an excellent reputation for turning out well-behaved young ladies, evidently due to the unusual system of discipline. Now the school trustees had softened the policy and the parents had brought suit to make them go back to the old system. Nina was just beginning to get a handle on the legal complexities, but could understand that Sarah was arguing that the school was breaking its contract with the parents. Nina could only shake her head in disbelief. Imagine parents sending their girls to a school which made them take off clothes! And then going to court to make sure it stayed that way!
Nina had visited that Cronenberg place the week before, just before the trial, to get some boxes of documents the trustees’ lawyer had been trying to hide from Sarah. It seemed just another fact of Nina’s present existence that she was made to take her clothes off before going to the room where the boxes were, and having to fight with the unpleasant, leering, rude lawyer, Frank Morgenstern. It was a relief when Mr. Dah, one of the parents, walked in and told Morgenstern to stop playing games, even though she hated being seen naked by yet another man. It seemed she was always being made to take her clothes off -- even by Sarah, not only a tough boss but a real sadist, who now had a rule that Nina had to strip at the office before starting the day’s work. Nina was getting to really cherish when she was out in public, or in the car, or being anyplace else but work and the estate. At such times she was fully clothed and could pretend there was nothing unusual about her life.
Then the trial itself, which ended yesterday. Sarah had been the trial lawyer, and Nina and Helen had sat at the table next to her, handing her marked documents as she asked for them. Nina and Helen had checked and double-checked the documents many times -- they knew Sarah had no tolerance for screwups. Still, Nina felt important and impressive, sitting in front of the judge and the jury, right in the middle of things, as opposed to the parents sitting in the audience. She watched as witnesses were called to the stand, sworn in, asked questions, and watched as Sarah and that guy Morgenstern broke into one of their frequent arguments.
And being up front Nina could keenly sense the tension and the change of mood as the trial began to go badly. The boxes of documents had statements from students about how they had benefitted from the old nudity policy, and it seemed O.K. when Sarah put these students on the stand and questioned them, but then Morgenstern cross-examined them and they gave some very unexpected testimony. Apparently they had been intimidated into making these statements -- but by whom, Sarah could not pin down. It began to look like the trustees had been correct to change the rules, and though Nina did not understand exactly, they had not broken the contract either. Sarah made a blustering closing argument and Nina had literally crossed her fingers under the table, but by the time the jury came back with its verdict it was not really a surprise. Verdict for Cronenberg.
Sarah was in a foul mood on the way back to the hotel, and neither Nina nor Helen dared say one word. Then, unexpectedly, she took a taxi to the airport to go to a meeting in New York, leaving Nina and Helen to fly back downstate to put away the documents in the office. She was glad Sarah’s office manager Franklin had left -- he was the one who enforced Sarah’s standing rule and checked Nina’s and Helen’s clothes into the closet behind his desk. As Helen mentioned, it was good to actually do work with clothes on. And even better now for it to be Saturday and back in the easygoing atmosphere of Brian Cook’s house.
Nina stretched again and sat up in her bed, looking down at her nipples, still a little hard from thinking of Jim and the rubbing from the sheets and blankets. She looked out the window; it must be almost lunchtime. She had slept late. Brian’s granddaughter Kelly had shown up at the office at 8 p.m., just as Helen and Nina were finishing up, and with her typical enthusiasm had commandeered them into going out with her and her teenaged friends. Nudity held a place in Kelly’s life, too, but in the exact opposite way. Back from school and spending her summer at the estate, she had enjoyed going naked everywhere, at one time setting a record of 32 straight days without clothes. It was so odd, how she got away with it, showing up naked all around town -- given the family connections, Nina assumed the authorities just looked the other way. It was also odd how Kelly seemed so unashamed of her nudity. But after an episode with the police, Brian had made Kelly dress up at all times, in fact in a conservative outfit that looked almost 1950’s. Nina didn’t want to be naked, but was forced into it. Kelly, by contrast, wanted to be naked, but was not allowed. Again, an upside down existence.
Though Kelly’s mood was dampened a bit by her clothes, she could be good company. Nina and Helen felt very much the “older sisters” last night around Kelly and her undergraduate friends at that diner, and a little bit like chaperones as they discouraged some of their wild ideas, such as seeing what they could order that could also be used as clothing -- Kelly jokingly suggested making a bra out of two pancakes tied together with spaghetti.
Nina rubbed the morning sleepiness from her eyes and got up and walked to the window, aware of her nudity, glad she was in the privacy of her room. She lifted the curtain and looked out on the large back yard that went past several gardens and ended in back with the trees and underbrush that covered the rest of the estate, then the public land that went way up into the hills. Probably from there one could get a good view of the ocean, she thought to herself. It looked hot out. Yet another blazing July day. She was glad the room had air conditioning. She thought of waking Helen, also subject to “The Rent”, and who normally slept in the room down the hall, then remembered that this morning she was out visiting friends.
The lawnmower got louder and Nina looked down. Her eyes widened as it came into view. It was not Will pushing it, or Wesley. It was a totally naked young girl, maybe Kelly’s age, but with a deep all-over tan, and a terrifically in-shape body. The girl had dark red hair, with streaks of what looked like gray that were out of place for her age. Her body was covered with a sheen of sweat from her exertions and the heat of the midday sun. Bits of cut grass stuck to the whole front of her body, and to her hair. The girl turned to mow facing away from the house and Nina saw the grass-stained bare feet, the sweaty, tight butt cheeks, the muscles in her back, the slender but strong-looking shoulders. Nina had seen plenty of naked female skin in her time paying The Rent, but . . . there was something unusual about this girl.
It was only when the girl turned the lawnmower around and started pushing toward the house, showing a bare, smoothly shaved pussy, that Nina figured out what it was. When Nina and Helen and Mrs. Terry were naked it was temporary; at some point they would get into clothes again; being naked was intentional and special. But this girl looked totally comfortable with her nakedness -- her all-over tan, her tough bare feet pressing against the grass, her body not flinching as the bits of grass hit her -- she looked like she had never worn clothes in her entire life, like nakedness was all she had ever known, not something she did for a while before putting clothes on again. As if clothes would have been something totally foreign to her.
And then the girl looked up at Nina, as if she expected to see her there, and nodded with a tight little smile. Then she turned the lawnmower around and started the other way again.
Nina blushed as if she were the one pushing the lawnmower naked out on the lawn, sweating and covered with bits of grass, and the girl was the one peeking coyly out of an upstairs window. Then Nina smelled what seemed to be an omelet. Mrs. Terry was cooking lunch. She started down the stairs, realizing that she would be meeting this unusual girl in a very short time.
. . . .
Nina sat herself down at the elegant dining room table, feeling the fabric of the chair against her bare butt. Mrs. Terry served the omelets in one big dish in the middle of the table. Mrs. Terry, Brian’s original model, was nearing 40 but still in very good shape; her breasts swayed slightly as she turned back to the kitchen with a deadpan expression, seemingly unaware of the clear view they both had through the big window of the naked girl mowing the lawn.
Nina saw the table setting across from her, obviously for this girl because nobody else was around. Then when Mrs. Terry came back to set the pot of coffee down she said, “That’s Miss Smithers, she’s visiting here for a couple of weeks.”
Nina took a piece of toast even though her eyes were still glued on the sweating, laboring girl outside. “She looks like she’s filling in for Annabelle and Will and Wesley.”
Mrs. Terry allowed a little smile to break her usual blank expression. “She’s been here three days. Very nice young girl. This morning she told me she was tired of just sitting around, so she volunteered for anything that needed doing. It happened to be the lawn.” Mrs. Terry then disappeared into the kitchen.
Nina absently chewed on her toast, looking at this Miss Smithers. Apparently even visitors had to pay “The Rent” and stay naked here. Still, it looked to her like this girl had been naked for more than just the past three days. There was not a tan line anywhere on her. Not that it was easy to tell, she was so covered with sweat and bits of grass. Nina watched as the girl shut the lawnmower off, her task done, and rolled it over to the supply shed.
Nina was not prepared for what the girl did next. She walked up toward the house as if she were going in the back door, but instead went right up toward the window, and Nina saw something that had not been there before -- a little platform of separated wooden slats like the top of an old-style milk crate, and next to it, a tall freestanding pipe with a shower nozzle on top . . .The girl stepped up onto the platform, and looking right at Nina, smiled again -- then squatted and spread her legs and started peeing into the space between the slats!
Nina stopped chewing, her jaws frozen, her eyes wide in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening -- right in front of Brian’s bay window! After checking downward, Miss Smithers looked up at her again and smiled, as if to flaunt her lack of shame, hands on her knees as the stream issued from between her bare, grass-stained pussy lips and fell in between the slats. Then, with the last trickle, she stood up and turned the little faucet on the pipe. A strong spray of water hit her, and she rubbed it over her hair and her body, washing away the sweat and the bits of grass.
Nina told herself that this would be a pretty sensual sight if it were not so shocking. Miss Smithers kept looking back at her as she ran a sponge over herself and used her hands to wipe away all traces of dirt, even spreading her legs again to clean off her bare pussy. In a final display that made Nina squirm, Miss Smithers turned around and spread her butt cheeks, helping the water along with her fingers as she rinsed her butthole. Then she turned off the water and strode, dripping wet, out of view.
A few seconds later Miss Smithers came in the back door, her exquisite body all dried off, finishing up her hair with the towel which she quickly folded onto a chair. Then she sat down opposite Nina, and shoveled an omelet onto her plate. “Hi, you must be Nina,” she said with a smile. Nina detected a hint of reserve, of over-politeness, odd considering this girl’s total lack of shame, and odd for someone her age; Nina was aware first and foremost of being older than this girl who seemed hardly out of high school. Miss Smithers waited until she had finished her first bite and downed half her orange juice before extending her hand in an almost formal gesture. “I’m Tami.”
Nina West followed Helen out of the elevator onto the eleventh floor. Both were entirely mystified as they met up with Donald Bell, one of the partners, and proceeded to the big conference room. What was this big meeting about? All they had gotten was a voice mail from Sarah Wickland saying there was an important new matter and it required the “special attention” of both of them. And to attend the meeting in the firm’s main office -- though this meant that they got to wear their regular business suits, instead of having to work naked in Sarah’s office down the road. Yet, given the terror that Sarah could be as a boss, they were hoping that they weren’t being called on the carpet for something they had done wrong. Did it have to do with the Cronenberg trial?
Nina’s mind was a jumble on this Monday afternoon. What a weekend. Helen had come in later Saturday, back in her room down the hall from Nina’s, and both had been ill at ease with this new younger girl at the mansion. It was hard to put their finger on it, but they both were flummoxed by this teenager Tami with the all-over tan, who kept on either reading books or helping out around the yard, pleasant and smiling, yet distant. How could someone who seemed so unashamed at being naked be so reserved? Nina had tried to make small talk with her but though polite, Tami gave short answers and was not one to open up. Did she go to college? Was she still in high school? Where was she from? These questions were diplomatically deflected. All she would say was, she enjoyed the peace and quiet and would be leaving for home in the next few days. Where was “home”? “Back East,” she said, and that was all. Nina actually found herself getting a little turned off by this mystery girl. So did Helen.
As Nina went down the hall past the secretaries, gratefully looking down at her feet shod in heels and nylons, her mind focused back on this meeting. Donald courteously opened the oak doors for the two young women and they entered the big room, used only for meetings with very big clients. Old legal books lined the side walls, elegant and dusty and but not useful for anything any more except to give a learned appearance. The facing wall, normally hidden by a curtain, was drawn back to show a big screen. Sitting at the front of the table, fiddling with a laptop which was evidently wired to the screen, was Sarah in her best suit. Sitting on one side was old Brian Cook, of all people. Nina knew he had retired from the firm and she had never seen him here. He wore a blazer and unbuttoned sports shirt which was his concession to office wear.
Nina and Helen took seats at the foot of the table as Donald closed the door and, ominously, locked it. Nina looked around the table. There were two other people to whom she was introduced. Normally at a meeting she would note everyone’s name, but -- again, oddly -- she had been told not to bring any legal pad today. In fact, nobody had any notes or papers with them.
One of these new people was a 50-ish, overweight, kindly-looking woman in a ruffled blouse and glasses. This was Dr. Maber, a psychologist at the state university who also worked in private practice. She reminded Nina of a kind grandmother. She greeted Nina and Helen with a warm smile.
The other person was a bald, 40-ish man in a floppy cardigan, crew-neck shirt, and jeans with torn loafers. This was Martin Wyzomirski, the partner who did the firm’s appeals. Nina had met him only once, and got the sense that he and Sarah didn’t like each other. Of course, lots of people didn’t like Sarah.
Nina’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Sarah standing up. “Thank you all for being here,” she said. “I’ve brought you here to talk about a new matter, a potentially very important matter for our firm. At the moment it is pro bono, but if things go well at the outset, we can expect to get the support of several influential organizations. Not only would it be an important case for our firm, but it presents interesting issues of civil rights law, constitutional law, educational law -- It might well result in a legal challenge going to the Supreme Court dealing with the Rhode Island court’s decision in the Moonbeam case.”
“Moonstone,” Martin said, with a slight hint of exasperation.
“Right,” Sarah continued, unflappable. “That was the case where it was declared that nudism was a religion that Congress could not interfere with.”
“That the state couldn’t interfere with,” Martin said again, making a half-hearted effort to sound polite. He resented trial attorneys, how they got all the glory, yet couldn’t understand any legal issue that was halfway complicated. He was always in the appellate courts fixing their mistakes, to the extent he could. This Cronenberg disaster, for example. Did Sarah really suppose the Cronenberg people would assume she would just forget about those missing statements? No, they knew she’d charge in to get them, and to twist the knife, put those girls on the stand -- after which Morgenstern was able to methodically cross-examine them as hostile witnesses and destroy Sarah’s case. Another trial attorney set up and undone by her own ego and combativeness. Another Wickland mess he had to try to fix on appeal. But how? The wheels in his head kept turning . . .
“Right. Not only is this matter important, and interesting, but,” and here she looked down and raised her eyebrows in a rare expression of sensitivity, “it’s the right thing to do.” She turned on the blank backlit screen and said, “This matter involves Henry Ross, my brother in law, and the college where he is the corporate counsel, Campbell - Frank College in West Lowell, Vermont.”
Sarah paused again (Nina was now smart enough to realize) for effect. “Some of what you are about to see will be shocking, I must warn you. ALL of what you see, and all of what you hear, must be kept secret. I can’t tell you how I’ve obtained some of these pictures or this information, and that’s because I don’t want even you to know. Deniability, you know.”
She cleared her throat and walked over to dim the lights. Then she pushed a button on her laptop. “This is Tami Smithers.”
It took a while for Nina to recognize the picture on the screen. A smiling girl in a white high school graduation gown, being hugged on both sides by what must be her parents. Fully clothed, a white face, much paler than Nina had seen, red hair unstreaked by gray -- this young, innocent girl seemed so different, but after looking a moment, Nina could see some resemblance to the tanned naked girl who was staying at Brian Cook’s mansion.
“Corliss High School, Providence, Rhode Island, Class of 2000,” Sarah continued. Now, a picture of an oldish, drab school with graffiti on the side. “This is her father John Smithers, an engineer with a local electronics firm.” A close-up of the man hugging the graduating girl. “He has an associate’s degree from the community college.” Now, a close-up of the mother. “Her mother, Martha. She never” -- Sarah decided to rephrase this -- “she is a high school graduate. There is also a brother, Joseph, one year younger.”
The next slide showed a line of girls in modest gymnastics leotards and tights, smiling at the camera, with a circle drawn around the third girl from the left. “Miss Smithers was on the gymnastics team, and also on the swim team. Because of her high intelligence and work habits, she was accepted to Campbell - Frank on a gymnastics scholarship, the first person in her family ever to go to a four-year college. Needless to say, her entire family was very proud.”
Another picture of the girl in her graduation gown, this time in the middle of about ten people who appeared to be uncles, aunts, cousins.
A picture of a wedding party in front of a worn-down church, the maids of honor in matching pink dresses. The bride, dressed in white in the middle, has a suspiciously large tummy. There is a circle drawn around the second girl from the left. “Miss Smithers comes from a working class, conservative Catholic background. This is her in front of her home parish, as they call it, St. Ann’s, at what we think was her cousin’s wedding.”
A picture of an ivy-covered building, very old and distinguished-looking. “Campbell - Frank College. One of the best, most prized schools in the Northeast, with a strong program in mathematics, which Miss Smithers decided to choose as her major. It would be an Ivy League school except for its small size and Baptist origins. Obviously quite a step up for a working class girl from Providence.” Some more pictures of the beautifully landscaped campus grounds. And now, a picture of a grand-looking portico ornate, Greek-themed entrance. “Also, home to the Chalfont Institute. Though not a household word, it’s one of the oldest and most distinguished centers for biophysical research, dominated in the past couple of generations by German biologists who had escaped the Hitler regime, and more recently by accomplished biologists from Asia and Africa.”
A picture of three girls sitting at desks busily filling out forms. A circle around the middle one, red hair flung back over her shoulder, dressed in a T-shirt, long jeans, white socks and sneakers. “This picture found its way into the college yearbook. Miss Smithers and some classmates at freshman orientation.”
Sarah paused. “I’m afraid that after this, my presentation gets a bit . . .darker.”
Nina West looked at Helen and Helen looked back at her. What was going on here? Why had Tami changed so much from that ordinary girl in the graduation gown? One of the things that turned them off about their guest was how she seemed so ostentatious about displaying her lack of shame. This morning, for example, when Nina and Helen came down to the living room getting ready to go to the office, they found Tami sitting cross-legged on the couch, reading a magazine. The teenage girl nodded at them in acknowledgement, then went back to reading. And then, slowly and almost casually, she leaned back and unfolded her legs, and then extended them widely out to each side. Still reading, she extended them with trained limberness -- she must be a gymnast or something, the two young women thought simultaneously -- until each bare foot lay on top of the armrests on the ends of the couch, toes flexed and pointing up. Her bare, tanned pussy was thrust forward, the inner lips opened just a bit, showing the pink inside, her little teenaged clit poking out above. And she kept on reading like it was nothing. Nina and Helen almost felt like rolling their eyes before going to the garage to put on their clothes.
Nina’s thoughts were interrupted by a picture on the screen of a line of a dozen or so undergraduate girls in matching blue skirts with yellow blouses. They seemed snooty. A circle around one of the girls on the right, a thin girl with dark hair. “This,” Sarah said, “is the Alpha Omicron sorority at Campbell - Frank. Every year, of course, they initiate new freshmen, with what we would think of as pretty innocent dares. Such as streaking past the Student Union building late at night. All perfectly ordinary. The young woman in the circle is Wanda Percival, in charge of initiations. Last September, one of the freshmen who signed up as initiates was Miss Smithers.
“This, perhaps, is where the seeds of disaster begin. This man is Robert Burdick, who had just been promoted to Chief of Security at the college, after three years as Acting Chief. The, uh, previous chief,” Sarah said in an aside, “had run off with his male dispatcher. The college relies mostly on fundamentalist Baptist benefactors and, as you can imagine, it was lucky that the incident was not publicized.” Nina looked at the picture of the stern-looking man in a pressed brown uniform and mirror sunglasses.
“Chief Burdock was brought in to crack down on any weakening of morality, and one of his goals was to make sure any hazing was done behind closed doors. He had gotten a tip on when the sorority hazing would be, so he had his two officers patrol the area. And they caught Miss Smithers, who had gotten separated from her fellow initiates and had hopped out from behind a bush, wearing only her sneakers.
“She was taken to Dean Percy Jorgon,” Sarah continued. A picture of an impeccably dressed, pale-faced man of about 50 with rimless glasses. “Mr. Jorgon has been a college administrator for many years. He has been Dean of Campbell - Frank for five years, his first job running a whole college. Not an easy job, because he has to deal with a board of trustees filled with headstrong religious types, and benefactors of much the same stripe, from old Puritan families. To return to our story, Miss Smithers, like all freshmen, had been carefully lectured on the college’s strict rules of conduct during orientation and surely knew that to be caught streaking was an expellable offense. When Dean Jorgon asked her why she was without clothing, she answered, apparently in desperation on the spur of the moment, that it was her religion.
“Now we get to Henry,” Sarah said, shaking her head with practiced exasperation. “I’m not going to show you a picture of him, but let me tell you, he is a good man to have as your lawyer, but he is also a sadist. And he doesn’t mind seeing naked women, in chains if possible, but unfettered is also o.k. with him.”
“You seem to gravitate to those kinds of people,” Brian Cook said with a smirk. Donald Bell rubbed his eyes and nodded.
“Let’s not get into that now, gentlemen,” Sarah said, a little peeved by the comment. “Let’s get back to Henry. Anything involving naked people grabs his attention, and he was certainly aware of the Moonbeam decision -- ”
“Moonstone,” Martin interrupted, not irritated this time because he saw it coming.
“Right,” Sarah said, “and he advised Dean Jorgon that nudism was a protected religion under the United States Constitution. Which was almost true. Martin?”
Martin finally disengaged his mind from how to undo the Cronenberg disaster and sat up. “Just because Rhode Island says so doesn’t mean Vermont has to follow suit. If this were litigated in Vermont, the Vermont Supreme Court would be free to hold that nudism is not protected.”
“Exactly,” Sarah said. “But still, Henry told the Dean that nudism was protected and Miss Smithers had the right to be naked. I might also add that the previous year the college had settled a sexual harassment suit for a large sum, alerting the sensitive noses of civil rights attorneys, and the Dean was wary of any further civil rights claims. So Henry hatched his devious idea. The only way to fix the situation, if they could not expel Miss Smithers, would be to make it impossible for her to stay. On the advice of Henry, Dean Jorgon told Miss Smithers that she would not be penalized, but she would be monitored to make sure that this recently acquired religion was authentic and not just an excuse to avoid expulsion. In other words, Miss Smithers was expected to go naked at all times, and any putting on of clothing would be taken as a sign that her claim of religion was false. And she would be expelled.”
Nina and Helen sat there in horrified disbelief -- horror that grew upon seeing the next picture. “This is a candid shot of Miss Smithers on her way to class the next week.” A girl, naked but for sneakers and the bookbag slung across her back, walking stiffly across a sunlit leafy path, passing other students who are staring in shock. The expression on the girl’s face is of pure fright and mortification. “Miss Percival, who was also her R.A. in the dorm, was put in charge of monitoring Miss Smithers’s ‘religion’. A cruel twist of fate, and one that matched Miss Percival’s temperament exactly. You see, we have found that despite her youth she has been an active dominant in the S & M scene, fully as sadistic as Henry. She had all Miss Smithers’s clothes taken away, leaving this petrified girl to go through her freshman college semester totally naked.”
“Why didn’t she just go put on clothes and appeal to the Dean for a little leniency, maybe a lesser penalty?” Donald Bell asked.
Dr. Maber spoke up in a warm but troubled voice. “Because she was afraid to. You must understand, to a young girl from her background the workings of the college environment are alien and intimidating. And she, and her parents, felt very lucky and full of pride at her being able to go to such an elite school. To be expelled would be a crushing blow, and a bitter disappointment for her family. This poor girl had no choice but to do exactly as she was told.”
“It might be added,” Sarah said, “that she had no clue as to how to defend herself legally. She didn’t know of any Moonbeam decision -- ”
“MoonSTONE,” Martin said.
“-- or of any rights she had. Probably not even her father knows any lawyers, at least not any who could handle a civil rights suit. All she knew was she had to stay naked until graduation or her life would be ruined.”
Donald Bell seemed to enjoy playing the skeptic. “What about when she came home for holidays? Did she have to be naked then too? Would her parents put up with such a thing?”
Dr. Maber spoke up again. “From what we can gather, her father was contacted by the Dean and knew the religion claim was a lie. But he was very upset that the girl broke a disciplinary rule and insisted that she face the consequences of her behavior.”
“He sounds almost too dumb to live.”
Dr. Maber shrugged. “We know he’s headstrong. It’s pretty clear, though, that Miss Smithers has kept from her parents any knowledge of the more . . . extreme details of her ordeals.”
“More about that in a minute,” Sarah said. “Also, Miss Smithers knows that whenever she’s home she’s being watched. One of the trustees went down to visit during Christmas intercession and intimidated her into making her usual attendance at midnight mass.”
“Midnight mass?” Nina said, intrigued.
“It’s a big deal for Catholics,” Brian Cook said. “Almost a hangout for the teenagers.”
“I’m sure after seeing a naked girl walk in, those Catholics went home and started producing even more babies,” Donald Bell said jovially. A couple of people chuckled.
Dr. Maber was not amused. “Let’s spare the cultural stereotyping, shall we?” Donald shut up and nodded obediently.
Sarah said, “Henry has his own network of spies, too. He has worked closely with Miss Percival on certain, um, aspects of this. And it gets worse, much worse.”
A picture of the totally naked Miss Smithers, this time barefoot with a little pouch around her ankle, walking through autumn leaves with a thin black girl in tights and a sweater. “After Thanksgiving a further stripping of Miss Smithers took place. They took away all her footwear, any large towels, the blankets and sheets on her bed. The college maneuvered dorm arrangements so that she had two new roommates so that her nakedness would always be on display in front of someone. Fortunately for her, these roommates were not ‘in’ on Henry’s plan and became good friends, though, and this is another terrible irony, they were under the impression that her ‘religion’ was real and they admire her for sticking with it.”
Brian Cook shook his head. “And she still held on.”
“Indeed. Even when the weather got cold. Look at this.”
Another picture, and this time gasps and shudders from everyone. The naked girl was standing in front of a supermarket on an icy cold day, bare feet planted in snow, heavily-clothed people walking by her, stockboys staring at her from the supermarket window. The girl’s eyes are closed, her arms are straight down at her sides, her hands clenched. “Here she is waiting for friends in front of the local supermarket.”
Another picture: the girl on a campus path, walking toward the camera, behind a couple of other girls in bright coats and heavy pants and boots. The extreme cold is clear from the fogging breaths from the two girls, who are cheerful and talking to each other. “Jesus,” Donald said softly. Nina felt herself whimpering, “Oh . . . God . . .”
“January in Vermont,” Sarah said. “The temperature on this day was one degree below zero Fahrenheit. Yet Miss Smithers walks nakedly on.”
“Isn’t she getting frostbite? Or hypothermia?” Donald asked.
Dr. Maber said, “Walking a few minutes between buildings would be safe. But that is not to mention the intense feeling of cold, which is like pure pain.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever BEEN in zero degree weather,” Donald, a California native, said.
“I have,” Nina said dully. “I grew up in Kansas. It feels like your face is cracking because the ice gets into your pores.”
“Well then,” Dr. Maber said, “imagine how it must feel with your whole body exposed like that, including all those parts that have never gotten used to being cold.” A collective shudder went through the room.
Sarah let the silence sink in. Then she pointed to the coat on one of the girls, and the miserable, longing look on the naked girl’s face. “When Miss Percival took away Miss Smithers’s clothes she distributed them to her friends. This is -- or used to be -- Miss Smithers’s coat. Notice her look of longing, almost agony.”
Another picture, surreal and hardly more comforting. A full-figured Mexican-looking girl and the black girl from before, both bundled up, walking along casually with the naked Miss Smithers in between. They are chatting and smiling, the naked girl playfully kicking up the snow with her toes. “Miss Smithers does have a circle of close friends, and when she’s with them she seems o.k. with being naked.” Another picture, this time walking hand in hand with a young black man with a shaved head and glasses. “This is her boyfriend, Rod Sykes, an engineering major.”
“She seems like Little Miss Diversity”, Donald said.
Dr. Maber exhaled, obviously trying to control her irritation. “That may be related to her plight, we don’t know. Probably she’s merely unprejudiced,” she added pointedly.
“Because she is so unassuming and apparently dedicated to her ‘religion’, Miss Smithers is one of the most popular, admired even, freshmen on the campus. As you put it, Brian, she ‘held on’. So Henry and the Dean intimidated her into signing a statement that modesty was against her religion too. Not only must she be naked, she must never show any sign of wanting to cover herself. That is why her arms were down at her sides in front of that supermarket, instead of clutching herself for warmth. And they plotted to put her in increasingly exposed and humiliating situations.”
A dramatic silent beat went by. Finally Donald said, “Situations? Like what?”
“Like THIS,” Sarah said, switching to the next picture. And everyone gasped. Helen put her hand to her mouth and whispered, “Oh my god!”
They couldn’t see her face, but of course they knew it was her. What they did see was a brown-ringed anus practically leaping out at the camera -- between butt cheeks spread by the naked girl’s hands. She was standing on top of a gyno table, bent over, bare toes curled over each side. Below her and around her, students crowded around, watching intently. Next to her, a long-haired, brown-skinned woman, obviously an instructor of some type, was pointing and explaining something.
“Miss Percival ‘volunteered’ Miss Smithers to be a demonstration model for what she thought would be a short lecture on breast self examination by this well-intentioned but clueless professor, Dr. Vanessa Congi. Henry got the Dean to tell Miss Smithers that she could prove her genuineness, and therefore put the whole nudity thing in the past, if she went through it without flinching. In other words, she would have the right to wear clothes again. She accepted eagerly, or maybe I should say desperately. Of course, Henry graciously offered to do the monitoring,” Sarah added mordantly. “When the breast part was done Dr. Congi went on with her planned segments on sexual health which she had been told Miss Smithers had agreed to. Miss Smithers had no choice but to do as she was told and expose herself in the most intimate ways. Such as this.”
In this picture the naked girl lay on her back, her legs spread almost impossibly wide, her bare feet in the stirrups. Under the professor’s supervision a young man was using his hands to insert something into her widely spread pussy. A line of students, male and female, waited behind him. “Here the students are getting a hands-on demonstration on how to insert a diaphragm.” The naked girl’s eyes are looking up at the ceiling in what could have been a look of slight pain or mild sexual arousal, but which everyone sitting at the table recognized as an agony of shame.
“Jesus,” Brain shook his head. “Where does this end?”
Donald said, “Who took these pictures? Did Henry have a hidden camera?”
“Could have been,” Sarah said cryptically.
Nina, being just a new paralegal, felt like she shouldn’t be doing too much talking, but she couldn’t stand the suspense. “So, did she ‘flinch’?”
Sarah sighed. “Apparently she did. When the Dean next met with her he told her Henry’s findings. She denied it, which I suppose was a strategic mistake, because it made her look like she wanted to wear clothes again. You must remember, this is an 18-year-old girl with no access to legal advice. The Dean increased the monitoring, and afterwards assigned Henry ways of humiliating her further to break her will. Which was really throwing red meat at Henry.”
“You make it sound like she’s a prisoner being interrogated,” Brian said.
“That’s exactly what it is,” Sarah said. “Henry has a morbid fascination with psychological torture. He used to be a prosecutor for a particularly vicious district attorney. So using the threat of expulsion, he got Miss Smithers to agree to things like -- ”
A picture of the naked girl standing on a platform, legs and arms stretched out into an ‘X’, in the middle of an art class. “Five mornings a week posing for art classes. The art professor is as bad a sadist as Henry is. She does not like demure poses.” The naked girl’s upward gaze is of hopelessness. Her nipples are erect, and everyone else is heavily clothed in sweaters and coats; it is obvious that the air in the room is freezing.
“Or this.” The sweaty girl, legs spread, working a double treadmill with each bare foot in front of a wooden wall. The sweat has plastered her hair to her head. More sweat trickles down between her breasts, into her pubic bush, down her thighs. A couple of men in dirty grounds crew uniforms are standing around watching intently as they sip their coffee.
“And now this.” A platform in a little lab with huge dildos sticking out of the base. Everyone suddenly shifted in their chairs. “And this.” The naked girl, sitting over the dildos planted deep within her, surrounded by three men in lab coats. Her wide eyes are screaming right into the camera. “Orgasm research at the Chalfont Institute.”
This horrible picture caused a muttered chorus of “God!” and “Good Lord!” Most shielded their eyes. Sarah watched their reactions, then changed to an equally horrible picture of a man being zapped in the electric chair. His eyes are bugged out at the camera in the exact same expression.
Donald, who was not being affected by this presentation as much as the others, said, “What the hell is this?”
“This is a picture of a political prisoner being executed in an African country. Who it is is not important. Note the similarity in facial expressions.” She shifted back to the girl in orgasm and then to the prisoner again.
“Oh come on Sarah, you can’t compare this to getting executed.”
“My point is, this is clearly ‘cruel and unusual punishment’. Without due process. It hardly needs saying that it is also actionable harassment. Which she agreed to, but only under duress.”
Sarah hit a key on her laptop and the screen went blank. She turned the lights up. The sense of shock was pervasive and palpable. Nina and Helen were actually in tears; Nina let out a sniffle and then tried to suppress it. Everyone pretended not to notice. But then she said in a broken voice, “We’ve got to do something . . . get that girl some clothes . . . that poor girl . . .”
Sarah continued, “This summer Miss Smithers was intimidated into serving as a demonstration model for this, um, orgasm machine on a cross-country itinerary. She got homesick and now she’s staying at Brian’s for a few days before going back home to Rhode Island. What awaits her next semester, what she’s agreed to, is even more shaming than what I’ve shown you.
“This girl has obvious legal arguments to get her back into clothes. She’s under duress, she didn’t know what she was agreeing to, the college has grossly violated its duty of parens patriae, and most importantly for the potential publicity for this firm, she can get the local court to declare that nudity is NOT a religion with Constitutional protection. In short, she can wear clothes again. But we must have her consent to proceed, to get a statement from her to begin with. I’ve tried on two occasions to get her trust, but she thinks I’m just an agent of Henry’s and trying to trap her. We need another approach. Now is our chance.”
Some more silence except for Nina and Helen sniffling and wiping their noses with tissues from a little box on the table. Then Brian said to his two boarders, “How does she seem to you? Is she o.k.?”
Nina took a deep breath, her head clearing. “She seems so. Though she’s pretty standoffish. No shame, though -- she’s always spreading her legs like it’s nothing, or peeing on the lawn right in front of us.” Helen nodded in agreement.
Dr. Maber said, “That’s just her effort to prove herself as a dedicated nudist who does not believe in modesty. She thinks everyone is a spy of Mr. Ross’s. You can’t really call it paranoia, in light of the fact that there IS a network of spies and she HAS fallen into their traps in the past.”
Donald said, “I hate to say this, but maybe she’s gotten used to it. She’s been naked for what -- almost a year now?”
Sarah looked at Dr. Maber. The psychologist then said, “She’s done a good job of hiding her feelings of shame, but the stress is corrosive. That she seems standoffish is a bad sign. If she were naked in a world full of naked people, it would be a different story. But she is forced to be naked when everyone around her is clothed, in a society that celebrates and constantly mentions clothes. I’m sure she’s a typical teenage girl who obsesses about clothes constantly anyway. The extreme tantalization, over an extended period of time . . .” She shook her head. “It reminds me of people who were starved to death in the middle ages. They were chained to a wall and every day a hot meal was placed on the floor just out of their reach.”
“Oh come on,” Donald said. “This is not starvation. You can’t die from being naked.”
“That’s not my point. The extreme frustration caused most of those people to lose their minds long before they actually died.” At this everyone cringed.
No one said anything for a while. Then Brian said, “So what do we do? How do we get her trust?”
Donald grunted. “Why don’t we get this over with one-two-three? Trap her in a room with fine clothes, run them right over her body until she says ‘uncle’. Make her crack. It’s for her own good.”
“I already tried that,” Sarah said. “I recited her various shames and she did seem to get agitated. But that would be . . cruel.”
Brian snorted and hid his face, chuckling. “Cruel? . . .Sarah Wickland, you are a real piece of work.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Let’s keep to the subject, shall we?”
Dr. Maber, her eyes big blue pools of kindheartedness, turned to Nina and Helen. “What she needs is for someone her own age to get her trust.”
Nina and Helen knew themselves to be on the spot. The purpose of this meeting was suddenly clear. Defensively Helen said, “She’s not our age. She’s quite a bit younger.” But this was obviously a lame excuse.
Sarah said, “Given the, uh, atmosphere where you are staying, you two would have a lot in common with her.” In other words: at Brian’s all three of you are naked against your will. That much was undeniable. “And you have several days to work on her. Just be friendly.”
“And be honest,” Dr. Maber said. “Say you want to help. That’s true isn’t it?”
Nina nodded her head wearily, thinking of those pictures. “There’s nothing I want to do more than find a way to get that poor kid into clothes and out of that awful . . . situation.” She thought of the naked girl in the snow and hugged her arms across her chest, shivering. “She was so . . . cold . . .”
“Then you see the moral imperative,” Dr. Maber said.
Brian cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “Excuse me, and I do want to support whatever Nina and Helen do at my place, but I just don’t see how this is going to work. This,” he pointed at the screen, “is a very unusual young girl, very strong. She’s got a will of iron. If all that . . . torture . . . didn’t break her will, I don’t see how a couple of days of make-nice will suddenly make her cave in and admit to everything.”
Sarah said, “Well, what do you suggest?”
Brian thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “This is a tough nut to crack. I just don’t know.”
Sarah said, “Nina, Helen, I want you to hang out with Tami Smithers for the next few days. Take her out to places, try to get her to open up. You can even tell her the, uh, particulars of your own situation. Maybe that will form a bond that will lead her to trust you . . . and us.”
The meeting broke up soon afterwards. Nina and Helen, walking together to the elevator, kept exchanging looks. This was going to be some assignment. But Dr. Maber was right -- this was a “moral imperative”. That poor girl! She probably prayed every day to God begging for clothes. They absolutely, positively, had to help her. Here we come, poor naked girl. We’re coming to rescue you. . .
It was in this frame of mind that Nina and Helen stepped onto the elevator and watched the doors close.
Nina West lay on the reclined lawn chair, feeling the sun’s rays caress her naked body, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses. She was getting to enjoy sunning out here on the back patio of Brian Cook’s estate, especially when the yard help -- Annabelle and her brothers Wesley and Will -- were not around to gawk. And she had gotten Helen, who was newer to “The Rent” and more hesitant about venturing outside, to join her too. The two young women in their early 20’s lay there motionless, tanning from head to toe. And taking advantage of the fact that they were given work to bring home and didn’t have to report to the office for a few days.
Not that their minds were on the sun. They were still thinking about that meeting yesterday. Both were a little embarrassed by the emotions they had let out -- crying at meetings was not a good idea if you were a new employee at a law firm. Still, the power of that presentation could not be denied. Their attitude toward their teenage visitor had turned 180 degrees. The wheels in their heads were spinning furiously, trying to think of how to penetrate the heavy invisible armor that the teenager wore over her nakedness. Early this morning, they had been awakened by the opening of the door downstairs, and saw Tami go out on what was evidently her daily predawn jog around the estate. Nina and Helen, seeing their chance, got together immediately and went down to the living room. Treating this as the work assignment it was, with a sense of organization they formed a plan.
Perhaps wiser than their boss, they recognized their limitations; they knew that they did not have the inventiveness or the deviousness to somehow trick Tami or trip her up. The best approach was to be honest. But not too abrupt. No, they would open up to Tami gradually, and then after some trust had been earned, they would tell her of the firm’s plan and make the direct plea for her consent.
At that point the flushed, nude teenager returned, the rising sun making a beautiful silhouette of her slim, toned body in front of the glass doors, the bottoms of her feet stained with grass and dirt. With a quick nod she scampered up to her room, where she stayed until after breakfast.
Now, as Nina and Helen lay thinking in the midday sun, they heard the sliding door click shut and felt the soft sandpaper-like sounds of Tami’s tough bare feet against the concrete. They were in luck. The naked teenager lay down in the third lawn chair which they had set up next to them.
“Good morning,” Nina said. “Or actually afternoon.” It was a little before 1 o’clock.
“Hi,” Helen said, shifting very slightly to scratch a little itch on her right butt cheek.
“Good afternoon, Miss West, and you, I forgot your name -- ”
“Tami, you’ve GOT to call us by our first names. Just Nina and Helen,” Nina said.
They heard the third lawn chair creak as Tami settled back into it. Then, “O.K. It’s just that you’re like so older.”
Nina felt a pang of pity. This young girl was barely out of high school -- to be tortured on and on for months -- but then Nina suppressed her feelings in light of the job at hand. “We’re not THAT old,” she said.
Helen said, “I’m twenty-four, and Nina, you’re what -- twenty-one?”
“Twenty-two,” Nina said. After a suitable pause she said, “How old are you? Nineteen?” It was a good guess, she hoped.
After a moment Tami said, “I’ll be nineteen in two days.”
“Congratulations,” Nina said. “Happy birthday.”
Helen said, “Happy birthday.”
Some more time went by. Then Nina said, “Nice day. Nice house, too, don’t you think? Mr. Cook is nice too. Everything is -- to use just one word -- nice.”
Tami shifted in her chair. Nina turned her head just enough to see her. The teenager was not lying legs together like her and Helen, but cross-legged, her bare, shaven pussy open to the sun. Then she intertwined her fingers with the toes of one foot and straightened the leg and stretched it straight up, up and over her head. She did the same with the other leg.
Nina decided it was o.k. if Tami knew she was looking. “You’re pretty limber,” Nina said.
“Gymnastics team,” Tami said.
Some more time went by as the three young women sat taking in rays. Then Helen said, “This rent is really something.”
Nina was afraid Helen was going too fast, but Tami was unexpectedly verbose in her response. “You must be paying a lot here. I’ve never been in a mansion like this. Well, almost never.”
“No, we pay nothing, except. . .” Helen let these words dangle, prompting Tami to say, “Except what?”
Helen cleared her throat. “Except we have to stay naked whenever we’re here. We keep our clothes in the garage for when we go out.”
Again the teenager was surprisingly verbal. “I sort of figured that it was a kind of rule. I see Mr. Cook’s sculptures. He must use you as, like, inspiration.” Tami cleared her throat as if it were dry. “You keep your clothes in the garage?”
“Yes,” Nina said. “We don’t like being naked. In fact we hate it.” Which was actually a bit of an overstatement for her.
“Yes, I hate it,” Helen said. No an overstatement for her.
With a deadpan expression, Tami said, “You seem all right with it now.”
“That’s because we’re alone,” Nina said. “I hate it when people look at me. Especially men.”
“Don’t you hate it too?” Helen said, moving too fast, making Nina want to secretly kick her.
Tami did some more stretching with her legs. “No.”
Nina said to herself: if this Miss Smithers was really a dedicated nudist, she would have said, “I love being naked, I believe in it.” Instead, all she gave was a simple “No”.
“So where do you keep YOUR clothes?” Helen said.
“I don’t own any,” Tami said.
“You go naked everywhere?”
“Yes.” Helen sensed that Tami was beginning to close up, so she said nothing more. Then after a few minutes the teenager got up and left. “I think I went too fast,” Helen said. Nina agreed, though she was too tactful to say so.
Fortunately Tami returned, this time with what looked like a large shoe box. She squatted down on the concrete and opened it up. Nina’s and Helen’s casual glances quickly turned into open-mouthed amazement as they saw what the teenager was taking out of the box. They lifted their sunglasses from their eyes and propped themselves up on their elbows.
It was two gigantic dildos, one with a ridge of bumps along the top, fitted onto what looked like a leather thong bikini bottom. There was also a little bra thing and a tube of lubricant and a little towel. “Excuse me while I do my thing for science,” the naked teenager said. Nina and Helen cringed and clenched their butt muscles as they saw the poker-faced young girl dab lubricant on the larger of the two dildos and squat onto it. Impossibly large, and thick too . . . yet it went steadily up into the girl. When her widely spread butt cheeks finally made contact with the concrete and the dildo was fully inserted Nina judged the tip to be up as high as the girl’s navel, maybe higher. Then the girl performed a similar insertion up front with the dildo with the ridge. With well-practiced hands she quickly tied the thong bottom around her, imprisoning the dildos within, then stood up and tied on the top, which was just a couple of strings with knob-like things that covered her nipples and nothing more. She turned the knobs and then adjusted the strings again.
Nina and Helen had not been told about -- this!
The naked teenager stood in front of them. Nina couldn’t help but blurt out, “What on earth is that -- those things??”
“I volunteered for research into -- you know . . . Coming. Um, orgasms. I have a session at seven in the morning, and another at one o’clock.” Tami bent over, a little stiffly, and gathered the lubricant and the towel into the box. “Skin and blood pressure and stuff is -- is recorded on a computer chip in here somewhere.”
“Doesn’t that -- thing in your -- rear -- ?” Helen said, not knowing how to finish.
“Hurt? No, I’m used to it,” Tami said, looking down and checking her straps almost ostentatiously, as if showing off the latest fashion.
Helen and Nina looked at each other in horror. Neither had ever had anything up their butts in their lives. To have something so large up in there was just unimaginable.
As the young women looked up Tami took a step toward her chair and then her whole body jerked. “Ohh!” she said softly. “M - must be one o’clock.”
Watching her shake as she carefully turned around and lay down on her lawn chair, Nina said, “Are you o.k.? What’s going on?”
“The -- ohh -- apparatus vibrates. I used to have a remote c - control but now it s - starts automatically at seven and at one. Ohhh!” Nina and Helen both sat up with a start, watching the teenager’s whole body shake, her hips arching up, her fists clench.
Nina just had to say it. “You don’t have to do this, Tami.”
Tami looked over with an odd look. Maybe it was because she was trying to speak while so obviously ascending to orgasm. “It’s o.k. I v - volunteered. Ohh!”
As Nina and Helen looked on, their teenage companion crested into orgasm, her teeth clenched. Then her body convulsed with spasm after spasm, causing the chair to scrape and shift across the concrete. The younger girl looked like she was in intense agony -- a typical appearance of a woman in orgasm, but Nina and Helen knew that in terms of intensity of shame this agony was real. They sat there watching, totally unaware for once of their own nudity, and found tears coming into their eyes. This poor girl!
The orgasm spent itself with a couple of ragged jolts, then Tami straightened out her shaking legs and heaved a deep sigh. “Ohhh . . . God . . .”
Now that the shame was over Nina could not help but express her outrage. “Tami, this is horrible! Take those -- those things out of you. I can’t believe you agreed to such torture!”
Tami, her eyes narrowed with strain, looked over at Nina. “It’s not -- ohhh -- excuse me -- I’m -- g - going to -- c - come -- again -- ohhh!” No, the shame was not over. As the horrified Nina and Helen watched, she crested into her second orgasm within a minute of the first.
Nina and Helen looked at each other. Finally Helen said, “Tami, when is this -- session -- over?”
“When I -- when I c - come five times,” Tami answered breathily. “If I’m not strapped in on time I double up for -- the -- ohh -- n - n - next session.” She put her head down and covered her face with her hands and quivered silently.
Nina got up and put her hand on Tami’s bare shoulder. “Please, Tami, take this outfit off.”
Tami said nothing for a few moments. She seemed to be almost sobbing as she said, “No, I -- I c - can’t.” Nina took her hand off and stood looking down. Then Tami apologized again. “P - please excuse me -- ohhhh!” Head still in her hands, she seemed to be trying to smother her reactions as she once again moaned and spasmed.
Helen stood up and went to the other side of the suffering girl. “Please let us help you,” she said. She and Nina no longer were thinking of whether what they were saying was in line with their plan -- they were thinking only of the teenager’s intense shame and wanting desperately to help her escape it.
That having two women watching over her might have only increased her humiliation did not occur to them. They simply watched this horrific scene with morbid curiosity. When the fifth orgasm had spent itself they realized how useless and ridiculous they looked standing around her, and they sat back down in their chairs. They watched, immobilized and speechless, as Tami took a few deep breaths and then got up and squatted down next to the box. With the same neutral expression as before, though this time exuding residual sweat and still catching her breath, Tami expelled the huge intruders from her pussy and ass, went over to the hose to rinse things off, wiped everything up with the towel, then put everything back in the box. And then she went to the makeshift shower on the slats and rinsed herself off. Then back to her lawn chair and lay down with a hefty sigh.
Nina and Helen looked at each other. They knew to carry out their plan they had to keep cool heads. Something which was going to be more difficult than they thought.
This was one steep path. Hoisting herself up by grabbing saplings on either side, Nina West looked down at her sneakers, and then up, realizing she couldn’t avoid seeing Helen’s sweating, bare butt right in her face. Helen was even slower than she was, and several times she almost found herself bumping into her friend’s behind.
Quite a workout for six thirty in the morning. Keeping up with Tami was important, especially after yesterday’s debacle on the sunny patio, but also turning out to be a chore. Nina and Helen had managed to strike up a conversation with Tami over dinner, and got themselves invited to accompany her on her morning jog. But this was not just a gentle trot on soft grass. The teenager acted like she was in training for the Olympics, albeit the nude Olympics of antiquity. After sprinting across the lawn she had continued on up into the hilly brush, darting up the narrow path. Nina and Helen were thankful that Mrs. Terry was prevailed upon to allow them sneakers and socks for this outing, and it was sensual to feel the little branches and weeds hitting and tickling them on their breasts and thighs, but they just could not keep up with the barefoot teenager.
After some minutes of slow, laborious climbing they looked up to see a clearing ahead, and the silhouette in the morning sky of the totally nude Tami jogging in place, her breasts tightly bouncing, waiting impatiently. When they finally dragged themselves onto the clearing, panting heavily, Tami sped off up into the next hill. Helen started to say “Wait -- ” but was shushed by Nina, and the two sneaker-shod girls staggered onward. This next hill had no path; the girls imagined this Tami must have skin and soles of leather as they watched her stride on, unaffected by the bushes scraping past her or the branches crackling under her bare feet. Nina and Helen squirmed as they struggled onward, hands in front of them to push away anything pointy, eyes squinting, their legs together, mincing helplessly like dumb blondes in an old movie.
The two young women were beginning to get a little scared. At this hour the slope was still in shadow, and they could not even see some of the brush they were forcing their naked bodies through. It was no longer sensuous, it was now painful and dangerous as they felt thorns and sharp branches and God knows what else scratching and scraping their delicate naked skin. Worse, through the thick brush it was getting hard to see the ghostly form of the naked teenager receding up in the distance.
Finally they reached another clearing and collapsed on the welcome patch of grass. Tami awaited them, only slightly winded, arms akimbo, standing straight and tall as if flaunting her concave tummy, the tanned slope of her bare pussy lips, her firm, jutting breasts. She turned to her left and as the young women’s gaze followed hers they saw that they were overlooking a panoramic view of the surrounding low hills, the estate down below, and the Pacific Ocean beyond. Tami’s words were not snotty but full of guarded wonder. “I love it up here,” she said. “You feel like you can almost jump right into the ocean.”
Indeed. It was a beautiful sight, though it was not surprising that Nina or Helen hadn’t taken it in before, given the difficulty in getting up here. Nina looked at the three of them, naked young women out enjoying nature, like three Eves, not missing their Adams in the least.
Helen looked around and crossed her arms over her breasts, partly from the chill air but mostly from feeling so vulnerable up here in the wild. “We must be on state land,” she said.
Nina said, “I hope no police are around.” Which she knew to be a ridiculous comment as soon as she said it. How would they get up here anyway? Tami smirked and grunted, then, hands still on her hips, clutched a small rock in her toes and pitched it over a ledge into the brush, with all the ease and dexterity of a chimpanzee with opposable big toes.
Nina said affably, “I can see why you’re in such good shape. This is a real workout.”
Tami smiled. “I like running around through natural things. I like being alone.”
Nina saw this as a possible opening. Helen was thinking of something else and was being a little more forward as usual; she said, “You must have some stamina, going through a session with five orgasms. Two sessions a day even! I’ve never come more than twice, and even that was exhausting.” Nina was surprised at this self-disclosure from such a shy person.
“I’ve gotten used to it. Watch out, that’s poison oak,” she added, pointing to an innocuous-looking plant near to Helen’s left butt cheek.
Helen moved away. Then her curiosity got the best of her. “How many -- how many times have you come at one time?”
Tami gave a sidelong squint and then, looking down to kick something with her bare foot, said, “One hundred thirty six times.”
Nina and Helen looked at her with open mouths. Nina’s reaction was spontaneous. “Get outta here!!”
Tami nodded, still looking down. “It’s for real. They got it on tape.” Then she said something very strange. “Imagine coming all those times in a lab, with men in lab coats and cameras watching you every minute.”
This was an opening for sure. Nina said, “Tami, I just can’t believe you would go through that willingly. Weren’t you pressured into it?”
“What do you mean?”
Nina decided she couldn’t tell Tami about the firm’s plan, not yet. “Who would want to do something like that?”
Helen added, “And who would want to go through a whole year totally naked? Even standing here naked now, I just hate it!”
The teenager looked up, her hard nipples pointing at them. Then she shook her head. “You’re not naked. Come over here,” She led her two older companions over to a dogwood tree at the edge of the clearing, then hoisted herself up on branches that were about at eye level. “This . . . is naked!”
Nina and Helen stared in horrific curiosity as the teenager hooked her bare feet around widespread branches and extended her legs in a ballet dancer’s split, then pushed her pussy forward and moved her tummy and thigh muscles somehow so that her pussy lips gently opened, then opened some more, until there was a dark oblong cave about an inch and a half across. “See my cervix? Go ahead, you can see it easy,” she said, with a stiff smile. Nina and Helen could not resist the urge to approach hesitantly and peer inside, where indeed within the dark cave they could see a dark red protruberance way up inside, the entrance to the teenager’s womb.
Then they thought better of it and quickly turned away, hiding their eyes. “Jesus,” Nina said. They heard Tami grunting and branches shaking.
“And this . . . is naked,” she said again. Nina and Helen sneaked a sidelong peek and were even more horrified to see Tami, turned around now on the same branches, sticking her butt out at them. With a grunt she opened her butthole and the two women found themselves looking at a gaping circular aperture. “God!” Helen said, turning away again. “Oh, Tami -- ” Nina said in pity. Without emotion Tami added, “My rectum has been examined and photographed and discussed by many people.”
As Tami grunted again and dismounted to the ground, Nina and Helen again found themselves almost near tears. In another spontaneous demonstration of feelings, Nina turned and hugged the teenager, saying, “Poor Tami, we want to help you.” In a moment she was joined by Helen, hugging Tami from behind. They lay their heads on each of her shoulders, almost as if it was they who needed the comforting. Through this all the naked teenager did not return any emotion, standing stiffly and nakedly in between them. Though all three could feel the potent warmth of naked female flesh on naked female flesh.
This ridiculous tableau soon broke up as Nina and Helen regained some of their senses. Helen walked back toward the edge of whence they had come. Looking at the view, she did not see the large rock. Her sneakered foot stepped on it, twisting her ankle, and she fell. “Oh -- ”
Tami and Nina helped her up but she had really done a job on that ankle. Nina pulled the sock down to reveal a reddish spot, no bleeding, but obviously something was sprained. Helen just could not put any weight on it. How was she going to get back to the house?
“I’ll carry you,” Tami said, bending and offering Helen her back and shoulders to grab onto. Nina was about to protest that they could both help Helen down, one arm hooked around each of them, but before she knew it the strong teenager had hefted Helen onto her back and was beginning the descent through the thick brush. Nina could do nothing except follow, feeling totally useless, amazed at how Tami’s feet were so tough that she could casually walk over branches and rocks and thorns carrying not only her own weight but another person’s.
. . . .
Helen and Nina, sitting at the patio table, sipped their after-lunch coffees and looked listlessly out at the lawn.
“Let’s face it,” Nina said. “We are really screwing this up.”
Helen hardly had to utter anything in agreement. It was so obvious. Every time they saw some new evidence of the depths of Tami’s degradation, they turned into blubbering idiots. And to get worn out on Tami’s regular jog, and to have Tami carry Helen all the way back. What useless bumblers they were. Maybe the best way to get Tami’s cooperation really was to spring a trap of some kind.
The commiseration of Nina and Helen at the patio table was interrupted by a chirpy voice emerging from the sliding glass doors