Storiesonline.net
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                          Dee Does High School
                              by peregrinf

Copyright© 2012 by peregrinf


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Description: Dee is tall, she's slender, she's bisexual. What will she get up to as a fourteen year old? If you haven't read Dee Does Middle School this book may be confusing. Even better, start with "Carl Naked In School" and just follow the bread-crumbs. 

WARNING: Chapter 8 consists of a dom/sub scene and involves water sports, humiliation and a golden shower. If you find such material offensive you can skip it. References in later chapters will fill in the pothole.

Codes: mf ff Ff cons rom coer les bi het fant inc mother dau Fdom lght humil group oral pett toys ws exhib DP slow sch
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Chapter 1

The sun was shining low in the west, the late summer air was warm, the pool a clear, cool blue. The lane ropes were dancing on the waves from the just finished race, and the air was ripe with the scent of chlorine. The temporary grandstands on one side of the pool were crowded with chattering friends, parents, siblings, and fans from all over the county.

On the other side of the pool was a patchwork of swim teams in their skin tight racing suits, most wrapped in their towels, a few trying for a tan. The deck at the shallow end was the organized chaos of judges and timers and other officials, the last swimmers from the 12-and-under boys' medley relay wending their way back to their teams.

Meanwhile, the four of us were huddled up in our own little corner of the deck, heads together, arms around each other's shoulders.

"What're we gonna do?" I asked softly, bending my knees, bouncing gently, getting us all bouncing in sync.

"Win!" Gail, Meredith, and Cynthia answered together.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

"What're we gonna do?" I asked, louder.

Bounce, Bounce, Bounce -- higher, stronger.

"WIN!" they responded, louder, bouncing harder, faster.

"What're we gonna do??" I asked, still louder, bouncing harder.

Bounce! Bounce! Bounce!

"WINN!!" the answered, louder yet!

BOUNCE. BOUNCE. BOUNCE. Rising on our toes now.

"What're we gonna do???!!!" I yelled.

"WIINNN!!!!!" they shouted.

JUMPING! JUMPING! JUMPING!

"CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA!!" in time with the jumping, finishing with "WOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO!"

We broke our huddle, reaching for our suits and caps on the ground in front of us.

Oh, did I forget to mention we were naked?

Well, we were.

We slipped back into our racing suits like snakes putting our skins back on, tugged our white racing caps down on our heads like gladiators donning our helmets, tucking stray locks out of sight, and turned to march to the starting block at lane 3, our game faces on, the mantra bubbling through our minds, "WIN! WIN! WIN! WIN!"

Okay, sounds corny, but had it worked for us all summer and we weren't about to change it now. We'd even beaten a couple of boys' teams in match races. Granted, maybe the distraction created by our bare-ass bump-ups had something to do with that, but a win is a win.

Anyway, the only time we'd lost was at the dual meet at the camp run by the Restored Temple of the Holy Redeemer Reformed Evangelical One True Church. To avoid offence, Coach hadn't let us do our ritual naked there, which we assumed offended OUR god. That day it had felt like our feet were nailed to the blocks.

Other than that, it's been a good summer, a good year, in fact. It's hard to realize that in a three weeks I'll be starting high school, and soon after that turning 14! Where has the last year gone? After all the sex ed hoo-hah, and my birthday party, my last year in middle school went pretty smoothly.

The only bad thing about it was that I didn't get to spend much time with Greg, since he was at Northside MS. Until school ended for the summer I saw him at swimming practice in the high school pool, a few times at the library, but otherwise our schedules clashed, and over the summer the opportunity just hadn't presented itself.

Forced celibacy sucks, I tell you. Plus I didn't see Drindy at all, and she's such a cute little bug.

But this fall Greg and I'd both be in the same high school together! Maybe even sharing some classes, and definitely sharing lunches, and swimming practices, and walks home together -- well, maybe not that, since he'll probably have to ride the bus because he lives on the wrong side of town, or the right side if you put me on the wrong side. You get what I mean.

But back to the matter at hand. We reached the starting block just as the starter called for swimmers in the water -- perfect timing.

Gail, our backstroker, took her usual hop with a half twist to slip into the water, feet first, barely a ripple. The rest of us knelt down and scooped water over ourselves to get used to the temperature.

This was it, the big enchilada, the whole bag of marbles, the last race (for us) of the last meet of the summer. Not a dual meet this time, but six teams competing for the county championships in individual and team events. It was all on the line.

I'm too modest to crow, but I did okay in my individual events. Well, maybe a little better than just "okay."

Anyway, this race was the girls' 4x50 meter medley relay championship, and the points for that would determine the overall county girls' team champion. It was that close. We four girls were the last to swim for the Town Turtles (our mascot), and it was up to us to bring home the medley relay trophy and with it the points needed to take the team trophy away from the perennial powerhouse, the Country Club Carps, which nickname we, of course converted to something less fishy but just as fragrant, and they may think theirs doesn't stink, but we've shared a locker room with them and know better.

Win the race we win the meet, the whole magilla, sweep the table. It was all in, go strong or go home -- empty handed.

Not an option!

The three of us clustered around the starting block, encouraging Gail, while dealing with our nerves in our own way. I was working the odds in my mind as she slipped over in front of the starting block and curled her fingers around the bar, taking a deep breath and puffing it out, taking another deep breath.

"On your mark!" the starter called.

We fell back in line behind the starting block, Meredith, then me, then Cynthia, while Gail braced her feet against the end of the pool.

She wasn't the fastest backstroker in the race...

"Set!"

She coiled herself into a ball, arms drawing her up tight.

 ... but the team that had the fastest backstroker had the slowest breaststroker and butterflyer...

"CRACK!"

She exploded off the block, arching backward, arrowing into the water, immediately starting her stroke and kick, her arms flipping glittering arcs of spray in the air, feet churning as she pulled hard.

 ... it was the Carps we had to work hardest to beat. They were the best balanced team. In the next leg Meredith could top anyone but the Carp breaststroker, who was a phenom. I could whip the 'flyer of any team. I'd already proved that. Cynthia was a strong freestyler. I'd beaten the Carps' 'flyer in the 50 meter sprint by half a length, creamed her in the 200 meter IM, but they were strong in the other three strokes.

We'd have to really rip to win, with perfect starts every time. I'd have to do just as well or better than I did in the individual 'fly for us to pull this off.

Oh, yeah. I also set new 14 and under county records in both the 'fly and IM, but I don't like to brag. If you can do it it isn't bragging, is it? Besides, I only got silver in freestyle, bronze in back stroke and finished off the podium in breast stroke and diving, darn it.

The screaming was intense. Meredith, our breaststroker, was up on the block, trying to shake the nerves out of her arms and shoulders. I was swinging my arms back and forth like wings, then windmilling them, stretching my pecs, traps, and delts (Beth had shown me what those were). I could see Greg with the rest of the team, his face red as he cheered Gail on. He should be saving his energy. His medley relay came next, last race of the meet, and it would determine the boys' team champion.

In the bleachers was my cheering section; Mom and Dr. Smathers, Carl and Beth and Beth's parents, my troubled buddy John with his steadying squeeze Alice, of course, and Kathy and Stephanie, and the lunchroom gang, and even Missy. Gee I got a lot of friends! Greg's parents and his sister Drindy were there for him, along with a gang from his school.

I felt a pang, knowing that Carl and Beth were headed off to college, and Steph was headed for the Curtis Institute, all in just the next few days. I was gonna miss them SO much!

I yanked my mind back to the matter at hand. Gail was on her way back, trailing the Carp backstroker by half a length, another girl by even more, but gaining. Both the other girl and the Carp girl had gone out too fast and were tiring. Our breaststroker, Meredith, had her toes over the edge of the starting block, coiling herself for the start of the breaststroke leg, and I prayed she wouldn't jump the start and get us disqualified.

WHACK-SPLASH Gail hit the wall and Meredith hit the water a fraction of a second later. She took one strong underwater breast stroke and frog kick, all she was allowed under the stupid rules, and popped up to begin her bobbing plod, shoulders breaking the surface, arms below it for the recovery, as the rules demanded, shoving a wave ahead, breathing with every dorky stroke.

I mean, it looks ridiculous! Even frogs swim better, their webbed feet are designed for pushing, and they stay submerged! I'd heard that at one time you could swim the whole race underwater, which is so cool, and a lot faster, but The Powers That Be decided that was too dangerous and made a rule we had to breathe with every stroke. They said it was because if you suppress the breathing reflex for too long you might black out and drown. I think it was 'cause it made it hard for the judges to spot an illegal kick.

You better frog kick! One hint of a scissor or flutter kick and you were disqualified. Breast stroke had the most fussy little rules!

The judge by our starting block stepped back, so it was a good start, good stroke and kick.

Mercifully, Meredith, who was barely 13, had less drag for the breast stroke than I do -- smaller tits, believe it or not -- I'm up to an A cup now! -- but she was still falling back to the country club's breaststroker. That girl was built like a torpedo, and had the strongest frog kick I'd ever seen. The first time she got her long legs around a boyfriend she'd pinch him in two -- or crush his skull, depending.

I got up on the starting blocks, fidgeting nervously, taking deep, deep breaths, blowing them out, steadying myself and pumping up my body with oxygen. Adjusting my suit, tugging down on the butt, up on the straps. It was the second new suit in the past year and it's already too small -- I'm still growing, up as well as out. I glanced over at Greg, he was gathering with his relay team, but spared me a moment to shoot me a thumbs-up. No way could I hear him above the crowd, but I read his lips -- "Go get 'em!"

My toes gripped the block as I told myself to focus, focus, focus. I was going to have to make up a full length, and more. I had to give Cynthia as much of a lead as possible. Meredith was chugging in on the return leg, working her tight little ass off, but a length behind the Carp girl and dropping back. Shit this was going to be tight.

The Carps' 'flyer took off as I was leaning, leaning, leaning -- if I lost my balance it would be all over. Meredith's arms came forward on her last stroke and I started to uncoil and I could only pray I hadn't jumped the start as I went in the water, my legs, my whole body whipping in a series of three underwater dolphin kicks before I broke the surface for my first butterfly stroke.

My arms and shoulders broke the surface of course, every stroke, so instead of fighting the water I flowed over it. I didn't breathe that whole first lap. No rule said I had to. Keeping my head down, I was flying, flying, flying, my whole body one sleek swimming machine. I was a porpoise. With every stroke a wave of power swept down the whole length of my body to whip my legs, my feet thrusting. God I loved it! I was a dolphin, the water was my world, my friend, my ally.

I was gaining on the Carp 'flyer with every stroke! I hit the turn only a half a length behind and kicked off like a rocket. Now it was breathe every third stroke -- chuff-chuff-chuff -- breathe -- chuff-chuff-chuff -- breathe -- chuff, chuff, chuff -- breathe -- gaining, gaining, gaining.

Half-way back I drew even, and she knew it, and I saw her try to hold me off but she couldn't do it! She couldn't 'fly the way I could 'fly.

I knew what she was feeling. She was tiring, her arms were like lead, her shoulders burning. She was breathing every stroke, heaving up, gasping for air. I remembered those desperate times when I dug down for more and there wasn't anything there. Not for the first time I thanked Coach for the endless, exhausting wind sprints. My muscles were burning, but when I asked for more they gave it. I dug deeper, pulled harder. I was powerful, unbeatable. I was on a total high.

I hit the wall like a runaway train. Cynthia was off on the anchor leg, her feet passing over my head as I popped up, sucking air, suddenly aware of the screaming crowd. The Carp freestyler in the next lane took off, their 'flyer next to me, clutching at the backstroker's bar, coughing and choking while I was already catching my breath, turning around to look down the pool.

I'd given Cynthia a good lead, her arms were like windmills, her feet churning the water like a speedboat, the country club anchor struggling behind. The other teams, the also-rans, were sending off their freestylers to pick up the scraps we left 'em. I'd done all I could.

Once the last of the other teams were off on their anchor leg I joined the parade of 'flyers ducking under lane ropes, slogging through the water to the ladder at the side of the pool. I dragged myself up it, muscles suddenly like rubber. This was my fifth race of the afternoon, my hardest, and it all added up. I wobbled over for my towel, stripping off my cap, before tottering back to cheer Cynthia in to the finish. She was holding on to the lead I'd given her, and came steaming down to the finish, her head whipping as she breathed, first to the left, then to the right so she could track the opposition, only it was all behind her.

The Carp girl was gamely trying to catch up, but it was too little and too late. Cynthia came charging in and touched the wall a quarter length ahead and the three of us on the deck went crazy, screaming and bouncing and hugging and kissing, warm, slick, wet girl flesh and skimpy racing suit against warm, slick, wet girl flesh and skimpy suit, then reaching down to slap hands with Cynthia, who was still in the water, trying to catch her breath. I felt my pussy melting. God I loved these girls in ways they'd never understand!

The last racers came floundering in, and Gail and I reached down and lifted Cynthia out of the pool and we went into high fiving and group hugging.

Then I got an idea. "Come on, guys!"

"What's up?" Meredith asked as I led the way toward Greg and his teammates.

"We're gonna bring the boys some of our mojo," I answered. The boys' medley relay team had had a rough season. All together they were a good team, but they'd either been late off the blocks on the exchanges or, worst of all, early and disqualified. All they needed to do was get it together.

"Suits off," I reminded the girls. I saw Coach heading over to give his usual pep-talk, but when he saw where we were headed, stripping off our suits, he pulled up.

"Come on, guys, ditch the suits, jock straps, too. We're gonna give you our mojo," I told the boys.

For some reason they listened to me, and in moments all eight of us were naked, forming a circle, boy-girl-boy-girl, all the way around, arms around shoulders, Greg on my right. It was like I choreographed it.

"What're we gonna do?" I asked softly, getting it started, bending my knees, bouncing gently, getting us all bouncing.

"Win!" Gail, Meredith, and Cynthia answered, followed by a ragged chorus from the boys.

Bounce, bounce, bounce. The boys' dicks were bouncing, too. They'd seen us do this all summer. I don't know why they hadn't picked up on it.

"I can't hear you! What're we gonna do?" I asked, louder.

Bounce, Bounce, Bounce -- higher, stronger, dicks beginning to flip a bit.

"WIN!" they all responded, catching on, together this time, louder, bouncing harder, their dicks flopping. None of them was hard.

"What're we gonna do??" I asked, still louder, bouncing harder.

Bounce! Bounce! Bounce!

"WINN!!" they answered, louder yet!

BOUNCE. BOUNCE. BOUNCE. If they didn't already know I bet they were learning the reason for jock straps.

"WHAT'RE WE GONNA DO???!!!" I yelled.

"WIINNN!!!!!" they shouted.

JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!

"CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! WOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO!" we all bellowed, breaking our huddle.

"Swimmers to your places," the starter called, and the boys scrambled back into their jocks and suits.

I slapped Greg on the butt, harder than I meant to, and sent him on his way just before the starter called for swimmers in the water. "Go get 'em!" I ordered.

It was their last race of the summer, the last chance to redeem their season.

We girls didn't even bother to recover our suits, lining the edge of the deck, totally starkers, to cheer them on. Once again it was the Carps versus the Turtles, only this time I was betting the Turtles had some snap in them.

"On your mark!"

The crowd went silent.

"Set!"

The only sound was the slap and gurgle of water in the pool gutters.

CRACK!

There was a roar from the crowd that drowned out the splashing of the backstrokers. The pool was churned to whitecaps, spray flying. They were off even, but almost immediately the Carps and the Turtles pulled ahead of the rest of the pack. Those two backstrokers were almost dead even at the turn, dead even coming back to set off the breaststrokers.

My heart stopped when our breaststroker got off first, but the judge signaled a fair start and I started breathing and yelling again, and it was the plod, plod, plod of the breastroke, heads popping up with every stroke, like turtles who'd lost their way looking for landmarks. We had a small lead at the turn, but it evaporated on the way back.

Greg was up on the blocks for the butterfly leg. He shot me a look and I gave him a sharp nod and a thumbs up. He coiled himself like a spring. God he has a great body! I saw him rock back a fraction, lean forward, and he was already pushing off when the breaststroker hit the wall -- but his feet were still on the block! It was a great start, the best he'd had all summer!

I felt like I was with him every stroke. Like me he didn't bother to breathe the entire first lap. He was like a shark through the water ... No, that's not right. Shark's tails move side to side, not up and down. He was like a killer whale on the hunt. He'd started a little behind -- the Carp breaststroker had beaten ours -- but Greg was closing the gap with every stroke. Shit he was fast! I couldn't believe that I could keep up with him, but in training we'd been dead even almost every time. Sometimes I'd beat him by a touch, sometimes he'd beat me.

He hit the wall and our freestyler had a perfect start, a fraction of a second ahead of the Carp's anchor man. Everyone was screaming themselves hoarse as they splashed the length of the pool, turned almost dead even and headed back.

But once again, our conditioning made the difference. Sam Herring -- how's that name for a swimmer? -- our top freestyler was eking out a lead. The Carp anchorman was struggling, his stroke getting choppy as his arms got heavy. Sam steamed in and touched the wall a full stroke ahead of his opponent and we all went crazy.

But no one did anything stupid! All it would have taken was for one of our guys to jump in the pool to celebrate before the last team finished to throw it all away. All it would have needed was for someone from our team to dash out on the pool deck before the judges cleared out, but discipline held, until the last man touched, the judges left, and then I broke ranks along with all the other girls, still naked, and all I could see was Greg, his chest still heaving as he hugged his panting teammates.

Good thing he saw me coming so he could brace himself. I slammed into him and wrapped him up like a rug, and his arms went around me, cupping my naked butt as I wound my legs around him, and the only thing between me and carnal ecstasy was his racing suit and jock strap. Our lips met and it was suck-face time. Oh, he felt so good against me, and I was so happy for him and proud of him I was crying. They'd done it! They were champs!

Then, with the meet over, our cheering sections engulfed us.

"Get a room!" Carl whispered in my ear, handing me my suit as I untangled myself from Greg.

I blushed, and slipped into it while my guy was accepting the congratulations from the throng.

"I hope you don't do that naked thing at every meet!" Dr. Smathers commented.

I grinned at her. "Every meet!" I assured her.

"I can see I'll have to help you with your sunscreen," she warned with a wicked smile.

Oh, she'd like that, I knew. And so would I. She'd become a constant fixture around our house, and Mom was happier than ever.

The awards ceremony finished with me and Greg up on the top step, receiving the team trophies, and it felt super-good to wave it high while wearing our individual medals, and Greg and I shared a kiss and everything.

Eventually the celebration damped down, with handshakes and congratulations for the winners, consoling words for the losers, and everyone with that endorphin loaded feeling of exhausted accomplishment at the end of another season.

From the locker rooms we Turtles adjourned to the park pavilion, where fathers tended charcoal fires, sending appetizing gusts of flame and smoke up and moms set out food which we descended on like a flock of locusts. The two team trophies were sparkling centerpieces to be passed around from table to table. It was open seating, but we sorted ourselves the way you'd expect, by age groups and specialties, the championship clinching medley relay teams sharing a table.

"Where'd you get that crazy idea?" Greg asked me, his breath warm against my ear as he talked over the din.

Having devoured two hamburgers, I was stuffing chips into my face.

"What crazy idea?" I mumbled.

"That cheer thing of yours? And why'd you bring it to us?"

I shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea."

But Greg wouldn't let it lie. "No, really, where'd you get that idea?"

"You'll think I'm crazy," I muttered to Greg. I'd never told anyone about The Stick. I know some little kids have imaginary playmates, but I'd always had my brother and Missy and hadn't needed one. But somehow, when I was at my most awkward, The Stick had appeared.

""No I won't!" he argued.

I dithered. I don't like keeping secrets.

"Come on," he urged, as if he sensed something. "Let's take a walk."

So we slipped away and strolled through the park, and I held his hand, and felt nothing like I'd ever felt before. Oh sure, we'd fucked our brains out at my birthday party, and I'll always count that as the night I lost my virginity, even though it wasn't the first time I'd had sex. But with Greg it was different, and this time was different in another way, like we were closer than even when he'd been in me and filling me and flooding me with his hot come.

I was walking on air to be with him here, in the dusk, the crickets chirping, the breeze stirring the leaves. It was like we were in tune with each other, sharing our victories. We'd won, and I had my guy right with me.

"So?" he asked, and it was like a pebble in my shoe.

The Stick is that little corner of my mind that jogs me into action, the one that had led me through the first dark days of Sex Ed. It was the same one that had sent me charging into the gang that was about to rape Missy, that made me help John escape his abuse, that made me stand up and lead The Dirty Dozen out of the Sex Ed room to bring enlightenment to the masses. I blame The Stick for all my crazy ideas.

So, I told him how skinny I'd felt when someone called me "Stick" that the first day in sex ed. I told him how I'd turned that upside-down, creating that little voice to remind me that I wasn't skinny, I was tall and slender, I was graceful, and strong, and I was sexy. And ever after that, whenever I needed a boost, how that little voice would chime in and give me the courage to do what needed to be done.

Yeah, The Stick was still with me, whispering in my ear when I needed advice, whether I wanted it or not. That's what it had done before our first dual meet of the summer, when we were all suffering from the jitters, afraid of letting our team down. The Stick had told me to pull it together, to pull us together, and somehow it just seemed right that we get naked so we'd be more in touch with each other, and I came up with that crazy routine.

And it had worked! It had worked for us, and now it had worked for Greg and his team.

We sat together on a bench under one of the lights, and he put his arm around my shoulders and held me close, warm and caring beside me, and he didn't think I was crazy even after all that. It was cooling off and I appreciated his warmth, his strength. He still smelled faintly of pool water. My tousled hair was all over the place, as usual, tickling his cheek so he brushed it away before snuggling me again.

I rested my hand on his thigh, inches from his dick, and I knew it was hard, and I knew he wanted me, and I wanted him, but somehow this warm togetherness was almost better than sex. Almost. We hadn't hooked up since that amazing birthday party, where I'd taken his virginity, out there on the end of the diving board at Stephanie's pool, under the stars, with everyone looking on from the far end. Somehow we'd just never found a chance since, and we knew tonight wasn't the time, either.

"So, that's how you do all those amazing things," he mused.

I cringed. "They're not all that amazing. It's just, well, I see something needs to be done, and The Stick makes me do it. It was that way with our relay warm-ups."

"Naked?" he asked, and I could hear the chuckle in his voice.

I shrugged under his arm. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. That's the way we started doing it, and you know me and clothes. You coulda said 'no' ya know."

"When we reached the jumping stage I kinda wished I had," he admitted.

We laughed together.

"Something in the way you told us to ditch our suits and jock straps, well, somehow 'no' was not an acceptable answer. That was the biggest crowd I'd ever been naked in front of."

I giggled. "Wait 'til school starts, and you get stuck in The Program," I reminded him.

"I'm not exactly looking forward to it," he admitted.

"Oh, but think of all those girls who'll be panting to give you relief!"

"Ya think?"

"I know," I assured him. "I'll be first in line, but there'll be times I'm not there. What will you do then?"

"Wait?"

I drew back just a little bit, so I could look at him, and shook my head "No," I told him. "Don't do that."

"But..."

I put a finger to his lips. "I love you," I assured him, "but it's not in the spirit of the program. And anyway, I love you enough to not try to tie you down. I've been talking with my brother. You know he and Beth have been a pair since they did the program."

"Uh huh."

"Well," I went on, "they were each their first, remember?"

"So?"

"So, but they weren't exclusives, either, exactly, after that. Both of 'em got experience with other people, and Carl says they were the better for it, 'cause they appreciated each other all the more."

"But..."

"But nothing. Don't forget, you weren't my first, remember?"

He nodded reluctantly.

I snuggled back under his arm. "And for me, you're the best, but you have the right to get some experience, too. And, well, I have to admit that -- well -- uh -- I'm not exactly thinking I'll be able to be -- uh -- monogamous, I guess you could say."

I was still wrestling with my sexuality, and knew I was hoping Kathy Powers would ask me to "model" for her during the school year. With Stephanie going off to Philadelphia at the Curtis, well, maybe I'd have a chance with Kathy.

"Oh."

I could hear the worry in his voice.

"Carl made it a point to remind me of just how young I am -- how young we are. We got started a lot younger than he and Beth did, and he says we've got a lot of growing and changing to do, that he and Beth haven't been a hundred percent faithful, and we shouldn't be either, 'cause, well, 'cause there are a whole lotta different kinds of people out there."

So many guys, and girls, I thought, and so little time!

"And now, he's going to Stanford, and Beth's off to Harvard, and they've agreed it just wouldn't be fair for either of them. They'll be meeting a whole lot more new people, and won't see each other for months.

"We both need room to grow," I concluded. "I'll always be here for you, I promise, if you need me, which I hope you will, and I hope you'll be here for me when I need you, which I know I will, and want you, which I do, but high school's gonna be a whole 'nother thing for us. Oh, I'm not explaining this very well, but as much as I love you, I love you enough to trust you and let you go."

"Oh."

"And I hope you'll trust me, too," I finished lamely.

"I will," he answered huskily, touching my chin, turning my head so we could kiss, deep and long and sharing. It was all we could do to keep from charging off into the bushes for a quick fuck. We discussed it. The only thing that stopped us was that wasn't the way we wanted it, furtively in the bushes, with pebbles and twigs and bugs, and in a hurry. We wanted to savor the experience, take our time, share our joy.

Maybe I was influenced by thoughts of Missy and her shameful times with Mike on a seedy mattress in some old garage or someplace. She and Mike had broken up, maybe because Mike wasn't getting any from her, or maybe that was "had been broken up" when her parents dragged her off to Europe for the summer, and Mike had found someone else.

Anyway, that relationship was history.

"We'd better get back. Mom and Dad will worry," Greg suggested reluctantly.

"Yeah, my mom, too," I agreed.

"So, what're you doing tomorrow?" I asked as we walked back.

"Oh, we leave tomorrow to go visit my grandma. We'll be gone until just before school opens. You?"

I felt a pang. "Stephanie is having me, and Carl, and Beth and a few others over to her house. Sort of a going away party, since they're all scattering next week. I was hoping you could come."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I wish I had a granny to visit."

"I'll loan you mine," he answered. "She's pretty cool, in a granny-ish way. Mom says granny and I are natural allies."

"Why?"

"Because we have a common enemy," he laughed. "Meaning her, of course."

I slapped his arm. "Your mom is nice!"

"She is," he agreed. "Only she insists on being a mom all the time."

"Be grateful," I ordered him, thinking of John's worthless mother.

"I am."

"Give Drindy a hug for me, will you? See you at high school?"

"Bright and early," he agreed as we rejoined the barbecue for ice cream and cake.



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Chapter 2


Okay, I admit it. The afternoon after the county championships, I was hiding out in my room.

I mean, look, Stephanie's party was gonna be an orgy. How could it not be? Steph would be with Kathy, and Carl and Beth, well, they were like bunnies in heat 24/7 under normal circumstances. It was now even worse (or better, depending on your voyeuristic tendencies), since they were about to be torn asunder (once something from lang arts gets in my head it never rests) by their conflicting college decisions, Carl at Stanford and Beth at Harvard.

As if that weren't enough, it is a "slumber party."

Yeah. Right. As if there'd be any slumbering done.

And face it, with Greg out of town I'd be a fifth wheel, odd girl out. No dance partner for me.

Phooey!

I was on my bed, playing with arrangements for my medals from the season and looked up when Carl knocked on my open door and took in my gloomy countenance.

"What are you doing moping around here? It's time for the party."

"Oh, you don't need me there," I grumbled. I started to go into my reasons, but he didn't give me a chance.

"Yes we do! And besides, you can't hang around here. Mom's having Elaine over."

"So what? She's had her over before. Dr. Smathers practically lives here."

"Something tells me tonight is something special, and I know Mom's counting on you not being here. God only knows what they'll be up to. What does a gay gynecologist do with a willing patient?"

I coulda told him, having shared one memorable pelvic exam with Mom in Dr. Smathers's office. But I wasn't sure he was ready to hear about how I'd fisted Mom while she was on the exam table, while Dr. Smathers had gone 69 on her, sucking on Mom's clit, until she -- Mom that is -- was singing all the parts of the Hallelujah Chorus single-handed into Dr. Smathers's cunt -- it sorta burbled out through the juices -- her fingers clutching the doctor's smooth ass, making Dr. Smathers blubber her own harmony around Mom's clit.

I still get wet just thinking about the incredible feel of Mom wrapped around my hand like a hot, wet sock puppet.

"Come on," my brother answered, dragging me off the bed. "Stephanie insists that you be there. If I don't have you in tow she'll skin me alive."

"But..."

"No 'buts'," he retorted, dragging me bodily out the door. "Steph insisted."

"But I'm not dressed for a party!"

I mean, I was in a sloppy T and loose shorts, no underwear, and it was some kind of a miracle I had that much on.

"You think anyone's going to be wearing anything ten minutes after we get there? Make that five minutes. Beth is already naked. It's warm and sunny, the pool awaits."

"But what about my sleep-sack, and jammies?"

That actually stopped him, but he didn't let go. "Jammies? Get real! And Steph's got a bed big enough for a tennis match!"

"But I don't have a date! Greg's off visiting his grandmother!"

"Beth is bringing John," was Carl's response, dragging me down the stairs. "Which is another reason we need you there. When Beth leaves for Haaavaaad..."

That's the snide way Carl says it -- with a long, flat "A" sound, like an oboe with a sinus condition. It drives Beth nuts!

" ... he's gonna need support, and whatever pleasures you can provide. Beth has been doing her best to relieve his nightmares. She says it's a tough job, but someone's got to do it."

"But John's got Alice!"

"And Alice is going to be stuck in middle school for another two years, and anyway, I hope her -- uhm -- carnal relationship with John is not one she flaunts in front of her parents," Carl pointed out.

"And you know what kind of trouble 'not flaunting' got Missy into," I reminded my brother as he dragged me out the front door. Having run rampant while hiding her slut-dom-ness from her mom had almost resulted in my former BFF getting gang raped on the school's front lawn, until I intervened.

Beth's little red car was out front, John perched behind the driver's seat, on top of the folded down top. I was picked up and joined him there, our legs jammed behind the front seats. Being the buttinsky that I am, I took a moment to reminded John of the results of Missy's foolishness. I was not about to be an accessory after the fact again. I flat told him if they didn't tell her parents, I would!

"They know, and anyway, it's not the same thing," John answered. "First of all, Alice isn't Missy. She's still a virgin, and dresses like it, and she wants to keep it that way, and that's okay. She's only twelve so we only do the safe stuff, together, in private, in her room or mine. Her parents know. They trust us, within reason. Believe me, after the talking to I got from her dad, well, I'm not about to screw that up by screwing her. Besides, I respect Alice. She's, well, she's special."

I felt a pang. I wished I'd had the will power she did. I'd lost my virginity -- well, never mind.

I also had to agree about Alice's special ness, remembering their instant chemistry at Judy Liu's sleepover party, her tenderness with John, and especially the blow job she'd given him just as her parents pulled up to pick her up for church. Her with oh-so-demure church-going dress puddled around her as she knelt before him in the foyer. It looked like Alice in Wonderland sucking off the Mad Hatter. With her naive wide, blue eyes, blond curls, and pink cheeks still padded with baby fat she was a vision of purity and innocence, and just the balm that John needed.

Oh, her parents hadn't seen what she was doing, but she'd been wiping the evidence off her chin with her lace hanky as she'd made her way to the car. I think the demure white gloves her mom had handed her as they drove away was the finishing touch. I mean! White gloves?

"But considering who's at this party," John went on, as Carl folded himself into the passenger seat in front of me, "well, we thought -- what is it? -- discretion is the better part of valor? We worried about getting carried away, and then, when we asked 'em, her folks said 'nu uh' anyway."

I wondered how they'd asked. Ask one way, the answer is one thing, ask another it's the opposite. Kids do it all the time. My bet was they got the answer they wanted to keep Mom and Dad happy.

"So Beth said you'd be there to -- uhm -- take care of me. Besides, don't you want to be with me?"

He sounded so forlorn, what could I say to that? Impulsively, I gave him a juicy kiss, my reservations evaporating. "Hi, John, will you be my date to Stephanie's orgy -- I mean party?"

Cheering up, he kissed me back. "I'd love to be your date. But I promised Alice no fucking. Other stuff is okay, but no fucking. I only get to fuck Beth, and only if I have a nightmare."

Talk about strange rules! I wondered how many nightmares he had. But I was cool with it. I wanted to save myself for Greg in that department.

"Hang on, you two, to something other than each other," Beth warned as she pulled away from the curb.

Fortunately it was a short drive, and Beth was very careful to avoid throwing John and me off our precarious perch, and just as fortunately the forces of law and order were elsewhere or probably all of us would have been handed tickets for not wearing our seat-belts. Hell, John and I weren't even wearing seats, and Beth wasn't wearing anything but her seat-belt!

But then, there's no law against that, and she does it a lot. At her graduation she gave the valedictory address wearing nothing more than a white mortarboard (with a gold tassel), golden slippers, and a smile -- oh, and her little gold cross, of course.

She's not very big, only 5 foot 2 and 1/4 -- don't forget that 1/4 inch, she's very proud of that -- so she stepped out from behind the podium so everyone could see her cute little body, her little pink titties, her bare pussy shining in the sun -- graduation was outdoors, in the football stadium, scene of one of her greatest Naked in School triumphs as Miss School Spirit. She was a living example of what The Program can accomplish if you go into it with the right attitude. I only hope when my time comes I can do half as well as she did.

We pulled up at Stephanie's house -- it's a sort of a mansion, really -- scrambled out of the car, and I don't think it was even five minutes before all of us were into the pool for a real slippery, sloppy, skinny-dipping, dunking-and-splashing, no-holds (or should that be holes?) barred water fight. At least this time Carl didn't throw me in, I jumped.

We made free of our access to each other until we were all so waterlogged it was hard to stay afloat. Crawling out, we spread ourselves on the cool, soft grass like pagan sacrifices to the sun god. After shoving down a pop-up sprinkler head that tried to invade my butt I wound up with my head on Kathy Powers's thigh, toying with John's pecker, his head on my body, while Kathy cupped the shy mound of one of my boobs with one hand and fondled Steph's much more ample mammary with the other, strumming our nipples with her thumbs, making them all perky and eager.

Kathy's an equal opportunity fondler -- give her the opportunity and she'll fondle. She says she's a very tactile artist. That's why she's studying sculpture this year, and Steph doesn't seem to mind sharing that much, at least.

Carl and Beth were already well into foreplay, murmuring sweet nothings to each other as their hands toyed with each other's body. There was no bashfulness, we all knew why we were here, and we had no secrets. I loved watching them together, their beautiful bodies, their totally unabashed love and lust for each other.

Carl is tall, with the musculature of the superb swimmer he is, while Beth is petite but not waifish, with pert little boobies capped by delicate pink nips, a nifty, nicely rounded butt, and a shaved pussy that goes into full bloom at the first hint of potential penetration. Carl's cock, of course, responds just as eagerly, but I knew from experience they loved to put off coupling for as long as they could, building the suspense.

It must have been their first time today, because it didn't take long. Carl rolled over her and she spread her legs to cradle him. He filled her with one firm thrust, wrenching a cry out of her as she reached to clutch at his ass. Then he proceeded to plunder her there right there on the lawn.

It was catching, of course. Kathy relinquished her grip on my breast, dislodging me from her thigh as she rolled together with Stephanie.

Now there was another wonderful couple. Kathy, tall and fit, not as slender as me, built more like that statue of the Goddess Diana -- firm, high, rounded breasts capped with nipples that never seemed to soften, while Steph is lush, rounded, with big, soft breasts and nipples built to nurse big healthy babies, and ample hips to birth them.

I learned a new word the other day that suits her perfectly -- zaftig. I'm going to study German.

Left to our own devices, John and I cuddled together. By agreement we limited ourselves to fingers and kisses. I curled my hand around his cock, while he teased my pussy with his fuck finger. He'd grown some, filled out thanks to Mrs. Finch's cooking and a supportive environment, but I was still taller.

I heard Beth singing with joy beneath Carl, her melody punctuated with Carl's grunts, and Kathy and Steph making their own sweet music. Steph plays a mean flute, but her vocal talents aren't as impressive. Kathy's an artist in any medium, but her cries were muffled in Steph's juicy pussy, they having squirmed into a delicious 69, Kathy on top, the sun beating down on her sleek flesh.

I tickled John's balls, stroking his cock, his pre-come making sticky noises as I ran my thumb over the soft plum of his dick-head. His finger was curled deep in my pussy, his palm mashing my clit. I humped my hips as he slipped a second finger inside me and we squirmed against each other, skin to skin, until his pecker erupted with pulsing spurts that spread like hot glue between our tummies. My cunt went into joyous spasms and we tangled our feet together and hugged and hugged and hugged until our orgasms faded.

Then it was back into the pool for all of us to sluice away the juices and sweat and grass clippings. Our initial horniness having been slaked, we gathered on the grass for an evening meal, ordering in fried chicken and fries and sodas and stuff. Let me tell you, the delivery guy got an eyeful when Steph and Kath opened the door for him. Rather than lug all the stuff in themselves, they led him back to where the rest of us were.

His eyes were pin wheeling so bad he had to be guided back out the door. Too bad, he was kinda cute.

The sun was behind the trees by the time we'd reached the finger-lickin' and belchin' stage. Carl and Beth and Kathy and Steph started reminiscing about high school, talking about teachers and courses.

I don't know for sure about John, but I was listening, hoping to pick up any tips that might make life easier. The last time I'd gone from one school to another, from grade school to middle school, it hadn't really been much of a big thing. Just one other grade school had joined us in middle school. But now it was going to be a bunch of middle schools feeding in, so there'd be more strangers, along with all the sophs and juniors and seniors -- big kids! -- in a much bigger school.

Of course, following my brother, an academic stand-out second only to Beth, and a state high school champ swimmer, wasn't a picnic, but I hold my own, or at least had in the past.

As they reminisced, for some reason Beth got going on about the first time Carl had met her parents. Oh, I remember. Carl had somehow gotten telling how nervous he was when he'd managed to ask her to the dance. And later he'd discovered he'd have to go to the dance naked, so he'd avoided her, and she caught him on the way home, wasn't about to miss her chance to go to the dance, and made him get naked, out there on the street. A reasonable request, she'd reminded him.

Anyway, to get his clothes back he'd had to go to her house that evening, naked, and meet Beth's daddy. She had us all laughing with her tale of how she waited up in her room, chewing her nails, while her father grilled poor Carl.

"I thought I handled it rather well," Carl observed primly.

Beth patted his cheek fondly. "You handled it beautifully," she assured him. "Just as I knew you would."

"And then you went to the dance with me..."

"Naked!" she chirped.

The way he looked at her almost made me tear up. "And you were the most beautiful girl at the dance," he said huskily. "I am going to miss you so much!"

"Now none of that, guys, this is supposed to be a party!" Stephanie interrupted before things got all mushy. "Dee, let's get this mess cleaned up while these two get their emotions under control."

Leaving John trying to make an oboe out of a blade of grass trapped between his thumbs, I followed her into the house with the containers and left-overs. I had the feeling she wanted to talk about something. Sure enough, she stopped me before we headed back out. Through the window I could see Beth in Carl's lap as they cuddled and kissed.

"Can I ask you for a big favor?" she asked.

"Of course!" I agreed. She's one of my favorite people.

She leaned back against the counter. "Would you keep an eye on Kathy after I'm off to Curtis?"

My heart gave a little hop. Me, keep an eye on Kathy? I tried not to sound eager. "Uh -- I guess so. But why would I need to?"

Steph was obviously upset. "Oh, she's -- well..."

I touched Steph's shoulder. "You're going to miss her, too," I pointed out unnecessarily.

She nodded, blinking back tears, and I had to hold her, so warm and soft against me, patting her. When she'd regained her composure we settled side by side next to the sink, arms around each other. I do so love the feel of warm, bare skin against my warm, bare skin.

"When Kathy's working on one of her projects she forgets to take care of herself," Steph explained. "You know artists. She forgets to eat, she even goes without sleep sometimes. Could you make sure she eats? I worry about her."

I was rocked by this. Kathy always seemed so all-together to me. I was also caught in a dilemma. There was nothing I would like better than taking care of Kathy. I'd had a crush on her from the time I'd first met her. But I didn't want to be poaching Stephanie's girlfriend, either. I knew Steph had found it hard to come to terms with being a lesbian, and that Kathy had been her first real lover, and had even been with Steph when she came out to her parents.

Truth time, I decided. "Uh -- you know I've had a crush on Kathy practically forever," I confessed.

Steph managed a smile. "I'd have to be an idiot not to know that," she admitted, eyeing me bashfully. "You're a good person, Dee. I know how you feel, and Kathy's honest to a fault. She told me that her birthday present for you wasn't just a paint job, that there was be some loving involved as well, and I didn't have any trouble with that. You've never intruded, never tried to come between us."

I nodded, a little embarrassed. "I couldn't do that. I love you, you know. Are you sure you want me to be the one?"

"Who better?" she asked softly. "You love her. You love me. I couldn't possibly make a better choice."

I wasn't at all sure I wanted the responsibility, but what could I say? As I gave her another hug I looked out the window. Kathy was weaving some blades of grass together, shooting glances toward the house. John was studying his hands. Carl and Beth were engrossed in their own conversation that involved a lot of nuzzling and fondling.

That, plus what Steph had asked of me kinda weighed everything down. I was worrying about high school, Carl and Beth and Kathy and Steph were facing separations, and I knew John was worrying about losing Beth's comfort. And what if her parents decided not to keep him?

I knew they wouldn't do that to him, but he was still learning to trust people after what his mother and some of her druggie boyfriends had done to him over the years.

This party was in danger of becoming a wake.

I hugged Stephanie close.

"I'll try. But I'm going to be a freshman, and she's a senior. I don't know how much I can do," I pointed out after I let go.

"Would you model for her? She'll need someone after I leave."

I looked down at myself. Would I model for her? In an instant! But Steph was all the woman I wasn't. I'd gained some shape, but I was still tall and slender. "Think she'd want me?"

"I know she would. She's talked about it, about you and maybe John, about you and Greg, about doing a series of swimming paintings, and diving. You're a beautiful couple."

"I don't know of Greg will go for it."

She smiled wickedly, her dimples blossoming. "Oh, I think you could get him to agree."

I looked at her, and we both laughed. Boys are so easy to manipulate!

Then I looked out the window, at our gloomy picnic on the grass. A control panel by the door out to the back yard caught my eye. "Is that what I think it is?"

Steph nodded. "Sprinkler control. It's Daddy's latest toy and water saving measure. Everything's on a timer."

But timers can always be over-ridden, I thought. I hovered my thumb over the big, red "on" button.

Steph gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"Of course I wouldn't!" I assured her insincerely.

But The Stick would, I thought wickedly. The thumb came down on the button. Driven by water pressure, the sprinkler heads popped up out of the lawn like mushrooms, and, just like I knew, the one that had tried to get in my butt was right in the middle of where Kathy and Carl and Beth and John were sitting, glooming.

Fountains of spray blossomed, soaking everything with cold, fresh water, turning the lawn into a waist-high meadow of mist in the twilight, drenching everything and everybody.

The screams were most rewarding.

I waved through the window, cackling, and suddenly realized that maybe I should be elsewhere as the four of them headed for the back door with blood in their eyes. Stephanie was already punching the stop button to cut off the deluge.

I fled through the house, laughing hysterically. I hadn't pulled a stunt that good on my brother in months!

"She went thataway!" Stephanie informed them, presumably pointing.

Oh oh! Upstairs? No way out there. That left out the front door, which I slammed behind me, not that that would slow them down much.

Skidding to a stop on the front walk, I paused to analyze my options, which were limited. The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. I could take off down the street, stark naked, chased by my naked friends screaming for my blood.

Nope. In Stephanie's rather high-toned neighborhood that might draw unwanted attention. Or I could turn to face the music. My pursuers, presumably getting in each other's way as they tried to get the door open, made that option even less attractive. Apparently the water from the sprinklers had been somewhat cold.

I decided maybe I could throw them off by returning to the scene of the crime by a different route and by then they would have cooled off -- or maybe warmed up. I looped around the house toward the pool, the evening air cool on my naked body, my bare feet slipping on the grass.

If the gate to the back yard was locked I was doomed. It wasn't, but as I charged through my relief was cut short.

"OOOOOOF!" Something caught me in the stomach and I was swooped up. Damn! Having a smart brother is NOT always a Good Thing. He'd anticipated me! While the posse was at the door he'd cut me off at the pass. I was draped over his shoulder, beating his naked butt as he crowed triumphantly and swatted my bare backside.

"Help me control her, and then I'll let you in on a little secret," he told his cohorts coming through the gate behind me.

Before I could do anything they had me helpless.

"She's ticklish!" Carl told them as he wrestled me down on the lawn.

"Oh no! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."

I was being subjected to a multiple finger attack from all sides -- my ribs, under my arms,

"NO, Not my tummyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!"

They had me down on the grass! Alas! It was cold and wet and kinda icky, probably as a result of my mischief. But that was the least of my problems. I was at their mercy, fingers attacking every vulnerable part of my lanky anatomy, even the backs of my knees, the soles of my feet, the insides of my thighs!

"Enough!" I pleaded. "I surrender! Uncle! OH GAWD AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" They didn't relent until I was reduced to helpless gasps, in tears, my sides aching. Beth gave my left nipple a last, defiant tweak that would have made me convulse, if I hadn't already been reduced to a quivering lump of jelly.

"Oh god!" I gasped weakly.

Kathy grabbed my ankles. "I think she needs to cool off after all that exercise, don't you, Carl?"

"Yep." He went for my wrists.

Damn Kathy is strong! She picked up her end while Carl took care of his.

"Nonononono," I pleaded, hanging ignominiously between them as they lugged me over to the edge of the pool.

"Oh yes!" they countered.

"Ooooooooo..."

"On three," Carl instructed as they starting me swinging like a hammock. Thank God Beth didn't jump on for the ride!

"One!"

Ooooh.

"Two!"

Oh shit.

"ThuhREEEE!"

"WHOA!" I screamed as I flew through the air, flapping with all the ease and grace of a rag doll, splashing down in a welter of arms and legs and face and feet while they shrieked gleefully.

"SHIT!" I yelped as I floundered to the surface to tread water. The pool felt colder than it had, probably because I was so over-heated after all the exercise and tickling. I was just getting oriented when Carl, followed by Beth, Kathy and Stephanie cannonballed me into total submission. Wearily I dog-paddled my way over to the edge, where John was standing awkwardly, looking worried, fidgeting.

"Are you okay?" he asked fearfully, leaning over.

"I will be," I assured him, reaching up for his hand, only to pull him into the water with me. He did a creditable somersault before he popped up, sputtering and coughing and I gathered him in, our warm bodies tangling in the cool water. The others gathered around and we merged into a warm, wonderful, laughing, panting group hug before lazily paddling down to the shallow end where we could stand. We looked at each other, and what could we do but laugh, and gather into another sodden group hug before slogging out of the pool to grab from the stack of towels and dry ourselves.

It was getting dark, and cooling off, so we made our way into the house for some ice cream dessert, loaded with toppings. Later we piled together into Stephanie's bed -- it wasn't as big as a tennis court, but that only made it more cozy. There was lots of cuddling and petting, and sighing and moaning and murmurings, and at some point I dozed off in spite of the rocking and swaying.



-------

Chapter 3

The first day of classes, the moment I walked up to the front door of the high school, I had a decision to make.

"Fresh meat."

"Kinda scrawny."

"She'd look like a zipper if she stuck her tongue out."

His buddy cackled. "She better be careful around them straws they got in the cafeteria. Might get sucked in."

Someone had left the cage door open and two knuckle draggers -- sophomores was my bet -- were looking me over as if I were a picked over spare-rib. I got that prickly adrenaline rush I felt before a swimming meet. There it was a tool to be used. Here it was scary. This sort of encounter hadn't been covered in the orientation tour we'd had.

So, do I hold my head high and ignore them? Or do I call their bluff. I'd flinched, and I'd felt Greg stiffen beside me. They knew they'd struck a nerve, and that's like blood in the water to snarks like that.

The Stick, of course, took over. I gave Greg an eye cock and squeezed his hand to damp down his testosterone. This required a woman's touch, neither fight nor flight. I turned to confront the gruesome twosome, donning my sweet, reasonable look to put them off their guard, even as The Stick reminded me to show no fear, stand tall, keep my shoulders back, and stick out my chest -- what there was of it.

Yuck! I wished I was upwind. They smelled of stale smoke -- both tobacco and weed. Their clothes looked like they'd crawled out of a pile of thrift-shop rejects. The elastic of red paisley boxers ringed the top of one's low-slung, tatty cargoes like a caterpillar. The other wore Haines. It said so right on the waistband of what should have been tighty-whities. The crotch of their trousers was at the level of their knees. I bet inside the school they'd haul their pants up rather than catch a dress-code violation -- underwear was to be worn "under" everything else. Said so right in our orientation papers.

A dress code in a school that has the Naked in School Program? Don't ask me, I'm just a lowly student, freshman at that.

Aided by my latest growth spurt, and their slouches, I could look them right in their bloodshot eyes before slowly scanning each of them from head to toe and back up again, making sure to let my gaze linger below their waists, cocking my head slightly as I did, as if examining some strange, inconsequential life form -- or, maybe, measuring them for castration.

"I can't wait to see you guys naked in school," I noted after a pregnant pause, eyeball to eyeball with them again, deflecting their smirks with an insincere smile. "It's gotta look better than your outfits. I bet your dicks are as dinky as your brains, so it doesn't matter which head you think with -- if you think at all."

Unused to being confronted, they shifted nervously, tried to regain the advantage.

"Wait'll you hear our reasonable requests," one growled. I think he was trying to grow a beard -- or maybe he just hadn't washed.

I gave him an eye roll. "If you do, remember, 'reasonable requests' cuts both ways. I don't think you'll like what I'll ask you to do. It may be physically impossible but it'll be fun watching you try. And you don't want to ask me for relief. I've got teeth and claws."

I turned on my heel.

"Dorks!" I snorted. They reminded me of Horace. At least I was free of him for the year, while he tried to claw his way out of the legal and academic hole he'd dug for himself. I should have known high school came with its own consignment of Neanderthals.

"Ouch!" Greg winced as together we walked in to the building. "Well, that got things off to a good start!"

"Too much, huh?" I asked.

He shrugged, and gave my hand a reassuring "we'll get through this together" squeeze as we merged with the chattering crowd. Around us upper-class kids chattered like machine guns. Summers were being caught up on, old friendships renewed, hugs and kisses, shoulder slaps, fist bumps and elaborate handshakes exchanged. Guys scoped out the girls, and vice versa. There were bursts of laughter, squeals and giggles, shouts. Seniors strutted, Juniors looked serious, sophs slouched, frosh cringed.

Then I saw John looking uncertain and fearful in the chaos and quickly moved to gather him under my wing.

"Sorry we're late. Greg's bus was late, and then I had to deal with the local goon squad guarding the door."

"Me, too," John admitted unhappily, in a way that led me to suspect the "fag" label had preceded him here. He's not gay, by the way -- not that I care.

"Well, we're here now," I assured him. I could actually feel him relax as, together, the three of us plunged into the turmoil of a new school. With Beth off at college, John's home life with her parents was shaken, and a new school would be hard without his sweet squeeze, Alice, to buck him up. I wondered if the relationship would survive the two years she had left in middle school. I hoped so.

At least he was still seeing Ms. Andrews, his counselor from middle school. His so-called mother and her boyfriend were still where they belonged, behind bars, and, it was hoped, would be until he turned eighteen. The case against them had been so solid it hadn't gone to trial, which meant very little publicity. Because names were different no one connected those losers to John. He had enough problems without that.

Meanwhile, after orientation we'd done what we could to assemble a support group for him, ignoring his mumbled protests. Greg was in some of John's classes, Mike in others, and both in his lunch period, so John had someone to sit with. Through me Greg knew John, had a sketchy knowledge of his background and was happy to oblige. Even though John and I had a carnal history, Greg knew the circumstances and claimed he wasn't jealous, though I still worried.

Even so, mom was right -- life is a lot simpler if you don't try to keep secrets.

Speaking of which, something was perking between her -- Mom -- and Elaine -- Dr. Elaine Smathers, OB-GYN. The strange noises in the night were getting stranger. I'd do some snooping after school. No secrets, right? Don't want Mom's life getting complicated, after all, do we?

Then I saw Missy and Mike, and for a moment I thought maybe they were back together, but they just happened to be standing side-by-side, looking in opposite directions, obviously lost. So we all coalesced, the five of us seeking comfort in the herd. Since out of all of us I'd spent the most time around the high school I was the natural leader, again.

Not that I minded, really. These were old friends. Four of us had survived the fires of our own middle school together, including our notorious sex ed adventures, while Greg had endured his own pubescent torments. Now we faced high school together. Even allowing for Saturday's tour the turmoil was intimidating, the geography confusing, and our assigned peer counselors had their own opening day challenges to deal with. Consulting the fists of papers we'd been given during orientation, I helped maneuver them through the maze to find homerooms and lockers.

-------

"Diane Walker!"

"Here," I responded as I slid into my desk in home room in the nick of time. I was aware of various curious looks from some of the people around me. Well, I do stand out in a crowd, I consoled myself.

If the teacher said anything about Carl...

"I had your brother for English Lit," she remarked.

"Yes'm," I answered. I was relieved she left it at that and moved on with the roll call.

And so it went through the morning, from class to class, my backpack growing steadily heavier with each textbook or workbook, a few comments about my scintillating, talented brother Carl, only adding to my burden. I'd marched in his footsteps since pre-k, so I was used to it. This isn't to say that I liked it.

Greg and I shared some classes, John and I others, along with various other classmates from my middle school. I wasn't in French, where, during their stints in The Program, Madame DuClos had used Carl and Beth for lessons in French anatomical slang. I wondered if Frau Blucher would use me the same way in German class. When I'm in The Program, or maybe even if I'm not, I'd likely be called on in biology at some point, of course. Such is my fame.

The culinary offerings at lunch looked no worse here than they'd been in middle school, but no better, either. I was carrying my tray toward a distant table -- this cafeteria was at least four times the size of the one I was used to -- when I heard a snatch of conversation from a table of fashionably dressed upper-class girls, conversation obviously intended for my ears.

"What on earth is that?" one drawled.

"Looks like a truffula tree," another sniped.

That triggered a gust of catty laughter.

I winced internally at the reference to the slender-trunked, puff-ball topped trees out of Dr. Seuss. But what could I do? I am what I am, tall and slender, and my hair is my hair. Even under the best of circumstances it has a mind of its own. After a summer of sun and chlorine it was bleached almost white, with the texture of straw. Maybe if it were long I could do something with it, but it was cheaper, and infinitely more practical for swimming, to keep it in a simple bowl cut. With it really cropped I'd look like the business end of a cue stick. Instead I looked sort of like a bottle-brush.

I told myself I had better uses for my limited resources than the beautician. The Stick reminded me that we are tall, we are slender, we are graceful and to pay no attention to the carefully coiffed dwarfs.

"That's Dee Walker," one commented.

"Carl's sister?"

The mention of Carl brought a wave of sighs and drools from the estrogen brigade as I drifted out of earshot. The whole exchange -- like I needed it! -- was a reminder that, as a lowly frosh, I was at the bottom of the food chain again, after a year of being at the top in middle school.

Ah well.

While the gender barriers were eroding under the hormone onslaught, the tables were still pretty much segregated by sex, social group -- jocks here, geeks there, this first day we frosh circled our wagons based on the middle school we came from. I joined my lunchroom gang from last year as they coalesced around probably the least desirable table in the cafeteria, in a far corner, near where the departing diners scraped their debris into ripe trash containers and clattered trays onto the wash line.

We tried to be unobtrusive, keeping our voices down as we compared teachers and courses. At the same time we were aware of the boys scoping us out as they exited the room, and our eyes flicked over them in return. When sightlines happened to intersect there was a flinch and the applesauce on our trays suddenly became a point of interest while the boys usually found the sorting and recycling instructions on the wall above the containers fascinating.

"So, is anyone we know naked in school this week?" Inez asked, nervously twirling a lock of her black hair.

"No one," Fran answered around a bite. "I think they try to lull us into a false sense of security. They don't start The Program until next week."

Peggy, the most modest of us all, shivered and looked uncomfortable, hugging herself. Petite in every direction, her little breasts barely made an impression on her usual trim polo shirt. "I don't know if I can do it. I don't wanna be naked in school! What happens if I won't do it?"

"Didn't your parents opt you out?" Cindy asked.

Peggy shook her head dolefully. "They opted me in. Said it would be good for me."

"Uh oh," Fran barked in her way. "Bummer." Fran is big, and bold, and kinda brassy, with a heart as big as all outdoors.

I tried to soothe Peggy. "You can do it. We'll help you, won't we girls?"

"Well, you won't have any trouble with it, after what you did in Sex Ed," Fran observed slyly, looking at me.

I shrugged. "Naked is naked. But it is a different audience, and first thing this morning I drew some fire from a pair of Neanderthals by the front door..."

"Ick! Me, too," Cindy put in. "They said, 'Look at them balloons!' Gross!" She's precociously endowed, you might say.

" ... and then there's the fashion-police at table one," I went on.

"The Witches of Winfield?" Fran asked.

"You know them?"

She shrugged her broad shoulders. "Heard of 'em. They're the Queen Bees around here. They'll roast me on a spit if I have to go naked for a week."

Fran is, well, as I said, a Big Girl. I reminded her that Stephanie had made it through her week in The Program with the help of my brother Carl and his GF Beth.

"We've got your back," I assured her.

"It'll take more of us than there are to cover Fran's back," Cindy sniped.

Fran laughed the loudest among us.

"I'll bring a parachute," Inez teased affectionately as we gathered our stuff and joined the departing throng, chattering about who goes where next.

Phys Ed resulted in the usual dorky phys ed shirt and shorts, both of which exposed plenty of my epidermis, of course, in comparison to my less vertically gifted classmates, especially my long legs. I figured I was certain to be first-pick for volleyball and basketball teams, until they discovered my ball-handling skills.

As the afternoon wore down I was not looking forward to going home, believe it or not. Mom wouldn't be home for hours, and Carl was gone, gone, gone, had been for a week. I was suffering from a sibling version of the empty nest syndrome, the house seemed so empty without him.

Oh, sure, even before he wasn't always home when I got there after school, what with his swimming and band practice, but I knew he'd be home later. We teased each other, and fought, but I always knew when I needed to talk, he'd listen. But now he wasn't going to be home that evening -- any evening -- for quite some time, and I missed him. I wasn't eager to go home to an empty house.

The stick reminded me if I was handed a lemon I could always make lemonade. Hmmmmm. Mom and Dr. Smathers had been making some very interesting night noises, something more than the usual sighs and moans. Maybe it was time to do a little snooping.

Me? Snoop?

Well, at Mom's infamous pelvic exam Dr. Smathers had said, "no secrets," and after that exam there had been few left. If there were not supposed to be any secrets, what's wrong with a little snooping?

I had another problem as well -- make that two problems. Until swimming practice began in a few weeks Greg was locked in to his bus schedule. While that would change, now it meant I had no snuggle and smooch time with him.

And on the second front, John would be going home to Beth's house, probably walking. Though I hadn't shared my worries with him I had no illusions. At this point he practically had "victim" stenciled on his forehead, the way he walked, shying at every loud laugh, every sudden move, even when he was with me. I'd seen how the people who didn't know him assessed him in the hallways. If the wrong people got him out in the wild they'd make mincemeat of him, psychologically if not physically. I wouldn't even put it past them to deliberately hunt him down.

I don't mean to give the impression the school is a hot-bed of violence, but face it, with the testosterone flowing there's a pack mentality. There's a pecking order, a food chain, and John was on the wrong end of them. Boys, and girls, I admit, in a pack can be ruthless. John needed time to find his balance.

After the closing bell I found him with his head in his locker, a hermit crab looking for shelter. As if to verify my fears, I saw the same goons who'd greeted us in the morning sauntering down the hall and picked up my pace to get to John before they did. I wouldn't put it past those jerks to stuff him in his locker and snap the lock. Whether my being there deflected them or not, they ignored him and swaggered on their way.

"Hi, John."

There was a muffled thump and curse as he backed out, rubbing his head.

"Sorry," I apologized.

"'S'okay. Hi, Dee."

"Want to walk home with me? Beth's place is pretty much on my way."

He looked relieved. "Yeah! Lemme get my stuff." He hauled out a backpack that looked heavier than mine and wobbled under it as he shouldered it.

"So, how was your first day?" I asked as we trekked down the hall.

He shrugged, or tried to. "Okay, I guess. A few of the big kids made some nasty comments."

I nodded as we headed down the hall. "Did I ever tell you about The Stick?"

"What's 'the stick?'"

"Remember the first day of sex ed, when Carl got me up in front of the whole class and had me get naked? And you called me 'the stick?'"

He looked mortified. "Yeah. I'm sorry. That was really mean of me."

I reassured him. "You were still trying to be part of Horace's bunch of nasties. I understand."

"But still, I shouldn'ta..."

"No," I agreed. "But I'm glad you did."

"Huh?"

We blinked against the bright sun outside. "I went home feeling like shit," I admitted, "but then I got this little voice inside me."

So, I told him about how I'd taken what he'd said and turned it upside-down, how I was "The Stick." I was -- am -- tall, and slender, and sexy and proud of it.

"And it worked?"

I nodded. "Every time I get down on myself, or have to make a big decision, The Stick takes over when I need her most."

I let him think on that as we walked along.

"But what if they call me 'fag' or something like that? How can I turn that upside-down?"

"You tell yourself that you know you are not a fag. You tell yourself they're wrong and you're not gonna let them get to you. You square your shoulders and march on. You are your own person, not what they try to make you. Tell yourself they're just trying to tear you down 'cause they don't feel as good about themselves as you do about yourself."

"They're bullies," he concluded.

"Yes, they are, but only if you let them bully you. And if you have a problem you can always come to me, to any of your friends -- you know who we are. You may not have family, but you've got us."

"Yeah!" He positively glowed. "I got friends!"

It was as if it had never occurred to him.

"And I got family, too, sorta. Mom -- I mean, Mrs. Finch..."

"You call her 'Mom?'"

"She asked me to," he mumbled. "They asked me if they could adopt me."

I squealed with joy and gave him a hug, practically unbalancing both of us because of the weight of our packs. "You have got a family! That is so cool! What did you say?"

"That I'd think about it. I think it means they'd lose the foster parent money, though."

"I'd say you let them worry about that. How can you say 'no?'"

He shrugged, and I didn't press him.

"Anyway, Mom thinks I might like to take karate."

"Would you -- like to, I mean?" I'd known a couple of kids who had. It had given 'em confidence, but not arrogance.

He made a couple of karate like moves, almost falling off the sidewalk when his backpack unbalanced him. "Might be fun," he admitted.

So we talked about that for a while, and found ourselves at the foot of the Finch's walkway.

"You want to come in, Dee?" Mrs. Finch was already at the door. She must have been watching for John.

"No, thanks, Mrs. Finch. I need to get home."

"Well, remember, you're always welcome here."

"Thanks!" She always gives me a warm feeling. I gave her and John a wave and headed off, feeling good.

At home, after the mandatory pit stops -- cookies and milk, then bathroom and bedroom (where I got myself naked, of course) -- I began my espionage. I couldn't help thinking that Mom and Dr. Smathers were up to something beyond a straight -- if you could call it that -- lesbian love affair. But where to start?

Mom's bedroom, of course! It was the obvious scene of the crime, the battlefield, if you want to call it that, the source of the intriguing noises, the yelps and yips, the moans of carnal pleasures. That Mom and Dr. Smathers had a sexual relationship was no secret. The question was, what kind of a sexual relationship.

I remembered Mom's hesitancy at her gyno exam, how Dr. Smathers directed the action, so I had my suspicions. Now, at one time Mom had loaned me and Missy -- dear Missy, I still missed her -- some toys she'd had squirreled away under her bed, so that was the obvious starting point, even though it was long before she and Dr. Smathers had hooked up.

Mom's bedroom was nicely feminine without being gushy. The bedspread was white satin with pink flowers and a dust ruffle. There were matching curtains, a makeup table, a full length mirror on the wall, a closet and a bureau, some pictures and bookshelves just loaded with books. I dug under the dust ruffle for the toy box Mom had dragged out for Missy and me that wonderful day we'd pleasured each other. The box was there, but judging by the dust it hadn't seen any action recently, so I left it undisturbed and went for the closet, and almost immediately struck pay dirt.

I'd learned not to look high on shelves a long time ago. Mom was used to have a skyscraper for a daughter and never hid things like Christmas presents on high shelves. No, this was on the floor, in a back corner, not really hidden but unobtrusive, a case not unlike the one that Beth had brought to Judy's slumber party.

Dragging it out of the closet, I folded my legs tailor fashion, my little quim already steaming. It had been a while since I'd had any action, and the very possibility of finding something titillating was enough to make my pussy drool in anticipation. So, after giving my eager little kitty just a teasing tweak on the nose, I opened the case, noting the initials E. S. on the latch.

Elaine Smathers was my bet.

Oh my! And what to my wondering eyes should appear?

No, not a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. Nor lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Instead it was leashes and tethers and butt plugs -- to say nothing of vibrators and strap-ons and cuffs and titty clamps, a blindfold, even a soft leather cat o' nine tails!

Oh My! Okay, I confess -- sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me.

Mom! What have you been up to?

Just the sight of the butt plugs was enough to give me a micro-come from remembering the delicious pleasure/pain/humiliation of having that wicked little gymnast, Judy Liu, stuff one up my ass in front of the whole crowd at her party.

Oh my indeed! Discipline and submission, a little BD and some SM by the looks of it. Nothing heavy, but still, this was my mom we're talking about. Was she a top or a bottom? I've been doing a bit of reading, and talked with Beth after Judy's party, where she'd provided the butt plug that had violated my rear. It had come out of a box of toys just like the ones I was looking at now.

I'd learned a lot from Beth, I tell you, about tops and bottoms, and safe words. A true scientist, she was given to experimentation.

My bet was that Dr. Smathers was the top.

I gave a shiver as I handled a set of leather cuffs that were snapped together. The vibrators and dildoes were obvious, and the butt plugs -- I shivered, remembering that again -- but the leashes and stuff had surprised me. Mom, and Beth, too, had things so together, were so efficient and in charge it was hard to envision either of them tied up and being tortured.

Beth had been as honest with me as always. Bondage was something she and Carl did when the mood struck, and she wasn't always the one that was helpless. They'd tease each other, and even give a light whipping with the cat. As she described it it wasn't torture, it was teasing, tantalizing, bringing her to the edge of coming, until she was begging for release.

Wondering how Mom and Dr. Smathers did it, I took a look at Mom's bed. It was queen size, which cramped the room a little bit, but she'd always liked to sprawl out. There was certainly enough play room for her and Dr. Smathers to have a good romp.

But when I looked closely, I noticed some additional fittings that intrigued me -- what I'd thought were decorative flourishes at the corners of the headboard and footboard suddenly took on a new aspect. I'd seen them when I changed the sheets on laundry day -- one of my chores -- but saw them now in a new light.

Hmmmm. That tingle in my crotch was getting stronger.

It was a little tricky, but I separated the two cuffs and managed to buckle one on each wrist. They were lined with soft fleece and very comfortable. From my explorations on the internet I knew they were top-of-the-line. I guess OB/GYN work paid pretty well. A little pawing through the toy box turned up another pair, so I fastened them on my ankles and scrambled to my feet.

WhooooOO! I looked at myself in the mirror and the tingle got even stronger. Something about the black leather with shining steel fittings collaring my wrists and ankles looked incredibly sexy. I was tall, and slender, and naked and all skin, with my little puff of pussy-hair, my modest boobs capped with nips that were hard as diamonds, with those unforgiving bracelets and anklets embracing my extremities.

A little more digging and I found four leashes that looked about the right length. Settling myself in the middle of the bed, the satin spread cool and slippery under my naked butt, I tried to figure out how I could do this. My ankles were no problem. A quick "snap, snap," and I had my ankles anchored to the corners of the footboard. When I scooched myself up toward the headboard my legs spread, of course.

Oh wow! Did I feel vulnerable! I could see my reflection in the mirror on the wall beyond the foot of the bed, the inner pink ruffles of my cunt visible and already salivating, and suddenly realized that the placement of the mirror was quite deliberate, with malice aforethought, you might say. Shit! Talk about indecent exposure!

The tingle had turned into a hot little flame. I shoulda put a towel under me, I realized, but didn't want to stop to fix that right now. But with my feet already secured I couldn't reach to get the leashes attached to the headboard, so I had to sit up and unhook my ankles. After a scamper for a towel I was back on the bed. Once I had the leashes attached to the headboard I refastened my ankles.

Now the wrists! Oh jeez was I hot! This was so incredibly sexy!

Being as tall as I am, I had to readjust things that were obviously set for Mom or Dr. Smathers, and got my ankles secured again. Darn it, if Greg were here it would be simple. Finally, somehow, I managed to get one wrist attached to the headboard, leaving my right arm free, but I couldn't figure any way to get it anchored. It was just as well. I was so horny I just had to scratch that crotch itch!

I diddled my clit and went off like a roman candle, fireballs blasting through me right out to the tips of my toes and fingers. My whole body was twisting and squirming against the tethers that spread my legs wide open. My crotch was so hot it was inflamed! Good thing I had the towel or I would have drenched Mom's bedspread. My legs jittered and jumped against the tethers, the muscles of my abdomen were rippling, my tied arm tugging hard against its restraint, my modest boobies dancing to the tune of my pecs. If I'd had a third hand I would have pinched my nips, and I promised myself next time I'd try the titty clamps, and maybe jam a vibrator up my cunt.

Finally my coming crested and began to fade and I flopped back, limp but still restrained. Something about being so helpless was an incredible turn-on. I just lay there for a while, still bound but for my right hand, which was cuddling up to my sopping pussy just fine.

What would it be like, I wondered, to be totally restrained, to be at the mercy of someone like Greg? I remembered that marvelous fuck we'd had at my birthday party. So far I'd fucked three different boys, and that one had been, by far, the best. I had been totally his, and he had been totally mine, and we were one. Oh how I ached to do that again, but, as they say, events had conspired against us. We didn't want it to be some quickie in the back seat of a car or a grubby mattress in someone's garage.

What would he do if he had me in this position? Would he torment my tits? Would he play with my pussy? Maybe he'd whip my tender breasts, or chew on my nipples until I screamed. Then maybe he'd fuck me, deep and hard, ruthlessly.

I reached up with my free right hand. Finding that loose tether, I wrapped it around my fist, so I was well and truly helpless. Tugging and pulling against the bindings, I let my mind drift, imagining Greg standing by the bed, nude, his cock rigid as he looked down at me, so naked, so exposed, so vulnerable and helpless. He'd reach for my breast, maybe, stroke it, squeeze it.

Oh gosh that would feel so good.

Maybe he'd pinch my nipple, gently? No, hard, he'd pinch it hard, and pull on it as if he were trying to lift me by my tit, twist it like he was trying to unscrew it. I'd cry out, not from pain but from pleasure, burning pleasure, until he let go and it would snap back, sting with relief, leaving me gasping, quivering. Naked, my legs spread, I'd struggle against the restraints, not to get away but so I could touch him, grab his cock, drag it down, to my lips or my cunt. I tugged at the leashes as I imagined it, trying to close my legs, to roll over, to break loose, but I was helpless.

He'd caress me, his hands stroking my naked ribs. Maybe he'd pinch my mouth into a pucker and make me kiss him -- oh, how I'd love to kiss him. Then he'd stroke down my bare body, teasing my flesh, making me achingly aware of my nakedness and helplessness.

Or, maybe he'd present his cock to my mouth, command me to suck it, thrust it into my mouth, clear to the back of my mouth, and I'd taste his hot, manly come.

Maybe he'd kneel on the bed between my open legs, running his hands up and down my long, graceful legs, tickling the insides of my thighs, massaging my calves, my quads, my hamstrings, getting closer and closer to my cunt, but not touching me there. I'd be so frustrated!

Touch me, touch me, touch me, I thought, immersing myself in the fantasy. My hips rose, inviting him, but he teased me, just teased me, his fingers tickling where my thighs joined my pelvis, that curving line where limb joined body. I convulsed like I was hooked up to some source of electricity ... something about frog's legs? Oooooooo.

And then, maybe he'd bend down his head, his lips approaching my naked cunt. Oh please, eat me, eat me, eat me, I'd beg, but he wouldn't. He'd tease and torment me. He'd blow on my little puff of hair, his breath chilling my oozing juices, and he'd laugh gently at my desperate efforts to raise my pussy to him so he could taste my arousal. He had to smell me. He'd have to know how turned on I was. I was writhing and squirming, inviting him to devour me.

Then, then, he'd lick me, oh so gently, his hot tongue sliding up my slit -- my inner lips would already have blossomed eagerly, and he'd be tasting my yummy juices, and more would flow, and more. He'd get hungrier for me, his tongue probing deeper, spreading my petals. He'd lick my clit and I'd jump from the shock.

Oh, I would want to come so much! I'd look down, and my eyes would meet his as he looked up, his mouth buried in my crotch. He'd lick my clit, and then maybe he'd see how far he could get his tongue into my cunt and I'd feel it wriggling around, all hot and wormy, inside me. And then he'd move up my gooey gash. With his fingers he'd peel back the hood from my clit and his lips would close around it and he'd suck on it, and tongue it, until I erupted in a tremendous, wonderful orgasm, and then, he couldn't take it any longer, and he'd pull up, move up to cover me.

At last, at last, at last I'd feel his cock fill my eager vagina, and he'd be pumping into me, hard, hard, hard, his body cracking my clit with every stroke, flash, flash, flash until my cunt was clutching at him and I was grunting, and then he'd shove hard one last time and I'd feel his come spurting, spurting, spurting into me, hot and gooey and rich while I swirled away on a flood tide of ecstasy.

And I almost did it. I almost came just from the fantasy, and if I'd freed my hand from the leash I could have touched myself, just touched my little clitty and I would have gone over the waterfall. But I was so enveloped in my fantasy I couldn't get my hand untangled and the next thing I knew the wave had passed and I was left panting on the soft satin bedspread.

"Dee? Are you home?"

Oh shit! Mom! What was she doing home? How long had I been here? I couldn't see a clock. I struggled to get my right hand untangled so I could free myself as I heard her footsteps on the stairs.

"Dee? I know you're here, you left your backpack in the kitchen."

OOhhmygosh! Shit! My hand was still tangled up and the harder I tried the worse it got! SHIT!

I was working frantically, trying to shake free, making the snap link to the bed chatter like a rattler's tail, even though I knew it was already too late.

I heard a gasp, a snort, and all I could do was cringe as my mom stood in the doorway, taking in my plight, and all I could do was lie there, on my back, naked as the day I was born, spread wide and tied, in a trap of my own making, caught red pussied, you might say. Red all over. Mortified!

I couldn't even hide my face and try to pretend she couldn't see me!



-------

Chapter 4

Mom's jaw dropped, her eyes wide. She took in me. She took in the case I'd dug out of her closet, took in the sex toys scattered on the floor, looked back to me, spread like a butterfly on her bed, an obviously very wet towel protecting her lovely satin duvet from my soggy butt, and nothing but air between me, my aroused pussy and her staring eyes.

I was doomed! My whole life flashed before my eyes! It had been such a good life, too -- short, but definitely interesting.

Her mouth closed with an audible snap and I hoped she hadn't chipped a tooth, then felt guilty for thinking that maybe I should hope that that she had, 'cause that would make it harder for her to take a bite out of me when she opened it again.

Then I saw her face pucker and turn pink, her throat knot, her chest bounce. She was making funny little noises through her nose -- "snuck, snuck, snuck" -- and for a moment I was afraid she was having some kind of a fit, a stroke or something as her face went from pink to red.

"SNUCK!"

Was she trying not to laugh? Her lips were pinched, her jaw clenched, beads of sweat burst from her forehead as she stood there in the doorway, her stomach spasming.

"MOOooooOMMMMMM! It is NOT FUNNY!"

That cracked her up. The first laugh was a snort that must have shaken her brains like Jell-O and cleared her sinuses for a week. She coughed. She choked. Finally she erupted, tipping sideways to brace herself on the door jamb. The walls rang with her laughter. She was laughing so hard she could hardly stand up, tears running down her cheeks, and I was absolutely mortified! I was blushing in places I didn't even know I could blush. I wanted to crawl in a hole and pull it in after me, but, tied as I was, there was absolutely nothing I could do! I thought I was going to die of embarrassment and hoped it would be soon. Please, God, take me now!

No! Wait! At least let me come first! THEN take me. In spite of everything, I was still horny as a goat.

Then, as she slowly slid lower, and lower, her legs giving way, laughing her head off, I snickered, maybe partly from relief, partly because Mom's laugh is so contagious. I tried to tell myself that even though she was laughing it didn't mean she wasn't going to tear me a new one. But, I mean, really, of all the ridiculous situations I'd ever gotten myself into, and I'd been in some real doozies, this was probably the most preposterous, outrageous, embarrassing one since I'd shut myself in the clothes drier pretending it was a space capsule.

Thank god she hadn't pushed the "start" button with me in there. On the other hand, maybe she should have. As it was, she'd gone for the camera, immortalizing my mortification. She took a picture of me peering out through the window in the drier door, my nose and hands pressed to the glass like a monkey in a bottle or something before she opened the door to let me out. At least this time she didn't do that!

Anyway, this time I didn't need a picture to know what I looked like. By lifting my head I could see myself in the mirror, a lanky, naked high school freshman, spread on the bed like a pelt stretched on a barn door, a perfect crotch shot of my aroused pussy in full bloom between my wide-spread legs.

A virgin sacrifice on a Serta altar.

Except, of course, I hadn't been a virgin for almost a year.

Still clinging to the door frame, Mom sank to the floor, laughing like a maniac, gasping for air between gusts of guffaws. Trying to stifle my own laughter I started to jiggle. I started with snicker, a giggle, and I couldn't stop myself, going from giggles to cackles, snorting snot out of my own nose.

Hysteria, that's my only excuse. I was hysterical. Maybe it was the horniness made me do it. Blame it on hormones?

"What is going on up here?"

Oh god! Dr. Smathers? It was Dr. Smathers! She'd come home with Mom?

It only made me laugh harder, and get hornier.

Arriving in the doorway, she took one look at me, gasped, guffawed, and joined the chorus. By this time I was laughing so hard I was bouncing like a trampoline. With my extremities anchored my middle was jumping in the air. If I hadn't been tied down I probably would have flown off the bed. It was almost orgasmic -- almost.

Mom was rolling on the floor, just inside the room, howling, while Dr. Smathers was clinging to the door to keep from joining her. Mom had a deep, rich guffaw. Dr. Smathers was more the high cackle type.

Together they made an interesting harmony, I guess. I was laughing so hard I could hardly hear anything.

I don't know how long it went on. One of us would start to gain control, only to lose it again. Tears were running from my eyes down into my ears! Finally we started to run down, probably out of simple exhaustion. My whole body ached I'd laughed so hard. Somehow my right hand had finally come loose and I was holding my aching, naked side, wheezing, trying to catch my breath only to be rocked by another wave of giggles. When I got my strength back, I reached for my left wrist, trying to unfasten it so I could get out of this predicament.

Still gasping, Mom crawled over, to let me loose, I thought. But when she hauled herself to her knees, instead she took my right hand and dragged it away.

"Oh no! I think you deserve the full experience!" she said, still chuckling.

I tried to pull away, but I was too weak, and it was only a moment's work for her to snap the tether to the cuff.

"Moooommm!" I tugged at the restraints, now well and truly helpless, and my horniness only increased. I was so aware of my total exposure, my vulnerability. Shit. I wanted to come so badly. How could she do this to me?

"Definitely," Dr. Smathers gasped out, tottering over to sit on the bed beside me as Mom left the room for some reason. She casually took possession of my naked right tit, her thumb toying with my nipple, making me gasp. My god it was sensitive, and there wasn't a thing I could do to stop her! Not that I wanted to. I wanted to come.

I was a mess! Tears of laughter had pooled around my eyes, dribbled down the sides of my face. I was snuffling and tasting the snot on my upper lip. Mom came back from the bathroom with a warm, wet washrag. She tenderly washed the mucus and tears off my face before she knelt by the bed again. "Sweet baby," she said, before giving me a loving kiss on the lips.

"Now let's see, what do I have here for you?" she muttered, pawing through the stuff on the floor. "Ahhh, here we go, just the thing."

She came up with a dildo that looked big enough for a horse!

"MOM!" I protested.

"Now dear, this is what you wanted to experience, isn't it?" Mom asked sweetly. She did something to the dildo and it buzzed like my electric toothbrush. When it touched my pussy I let out a shriek, then I moaned as she slowly slid it up inside me. Oh god it was big, and long, and it felt soooooo GOOD!

"We don't want it slipping out, darling," Dr. Smathers pointed out to Mom when my cunt contracted, trying to evict the invader. She grabbed a pillow and jammed it between my thighs to hold the humming monster inside me.

"Now I don't know about you, dear, I could use a drink," the good doctor said, standing up and unbuttoning her blouse. "But let's get comfortable first, shall we?"

Mom got up and started getting undressed. Were they going to leave me like this?

The good doctor was already down to her undies and as she quickly shed those said, "No, dear, you know how much I enjoy undressing you."

Mom stood there submissively as Dr. Smathers peeled her, exposing some truly sexy underwear, a lacy bra that cupped my Mom's full, motherly tits, matching panties that cupped her shaved pussy. Before going to work this morning Mom had obviously dressed for her lover.

With every move, Dr. Smathers lovingly touched and stroked Mom's exposed flesh, cupped and fondled her lush breasts, stroked Mom's sides to her hips, kissing her. The panties stuck to my mother's obviously juicy folds as Dr. Smathers dragged them down, holding the lace for her step out of them. Down on her knees, Dr. Smathers took a moment to cup Mom's ass and nuzzle her face into her cunt, to lick her slit, making her quiver.

When she stood up, Dr. Smathers looked at the soggy underwear dangling from her fingers, and turned to me as she wadded it up. "We don't want her disturbing the neighbors."

I tried to protest. "This is child ab-mmmmppphhhh!"

She stuffed Mom's soggy panties in my mouth. I tried to tongue them out.

"Here, use this to hold them in," Mom said, offering a Velcro strap.

My protest was limited to "Mpphhh!"

I was swamped in Mom's scent and taste. It was obvious Mom had been anticipating this evening with her favorite OB/GYN. All day she'd probably left puddles wherever she sat.

I have to say the doctor -- oh, heck-- Auntie Elaine -- she's asked me to call her that -- has a truly wonderful body, athletic, more compact than Mom's, with firm tits that need no bra, a trim tummy. From my own pelvic exam I knew how strong and skilled her hands were.

The two of them carefully hung up their nice work clothes, making a point of brushing against each other as they did, touching and teasing, bare skin against bare skin. OOooo that looked so sexy! Once they were done they embraced, body to body, and kissed deeply before heading for the door.

They were going to leave me like this? I whined through the soggy gag. It wasn't that I was being hurt or anything but I sure as hell was frustrated. I was so hopeful when Mom came over to me, but instead of releasing me, or at least relieving me somehow, she carefully tightened the tethers, stretching me even tighter before giving me a loving kiss on the forehead and patting my tummy affectionately, making it flinch. The FOREHEAD! That was NOT where I wanted to be kissed! My tits yes, at least my lips, my twat especially, but my forehead?!

"Now don't go anywhere, sweetie. We'll be right downstairs if you need us. You have a nice time, maybe you can nap a little bit."

Oh yeah, right! How could I possibly nap with that buzzing monster buried in my cunt?

"MmmmMMMFFFMMmmmmmm."

"I do think she probably should be disciplined for getting into our things without permission," Elaine observed as she led Mom out of the room.

Oh oh. Disciplined? Visions of the cat o' nine tails lashing my flesh made me sweat. I was strung out on the bed, tight as a violin string, totally helpless, my insides slowly turning to jelly from the vibrations buzzing through me, inhaling my mom's sexy pussy scent, tasting her luscious juices, knowing that when they came back they could do anything they wanted to me!

I was totally at their mercy, and my mind went crazy imagining what they might inflict on me.

The Stick advised me that if this was child abuse, shouldn't we make the most of it? Having been given a lemon, could we somehow make lemonade?

I pointed out to my alter ego that the way I was juicing I could stock a Sunkist plant.

If nothing else, I am a pragmatist -- one of my language arts words from last year. I rode the wave of horniness, or tried to, but that vibrating demon stuffing my oozing cunt was as much a distraction as a joy. It didn't quite touch the right spots, so I kept missing the wave. I would get close, so close, but couldn't make it over the top. My hips were humping, trying, trying, trying to bring that wonderful explosion of pleasure but I just couldn't quite make it.

I tried fantasizing again. I imagined Greg looking down at me, seeing his beautiful cock, so hard and drooling for me. I tried to pretend it was his wonderful dick buried in my pussy instead of some mechanical beast, but I knew from wonderful experience that Greg's dick felt hot and alive, and it didn't buzz! I tried to somehow get some pressure on my clit, but the damn bindings wouldn't let me! I couldn't squeeze my thighs together, couldn't roll over to hump the pillow jamming the vibrator inside me. I couldn't even reach my tits! My arms were stretched to the limit! All I could do was sort of wriggle on the bed, and barely do that.

AAARRRRRGGHHHHH! I wanted to come so badly it hurt!

Not being a boy, I don't know what "blue balls" feel like, but I was sure enduring the female equivalent. I tightened my buttocks -- no good. I tried clenching my cunt muscles -- oooooo, that felt good! Try again -- clench, clench -- mmmmmmmm. Oh yeah! Clench, clench, clench. Better! Try clench and hold -- cuh-lench, cuh-leennch, cuh-l-le-lench, cuh-le-ng-ng-ng-whooopeeeee.

Oh boy! I was like a kid with a new toy! Catching my breath I let my body relax and slide down from the peak. Then I began again -- clench, clench, clench, cuh-lench, cuh-leennnch, cuuuuh-le-le-lee-leeennchchchchhhhh-ng-ng-ng-ng-ng-mmmmmmmmmmmm--sigh! I went all limp, sated, let myself sink into the bed. MMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

"Why, I do believe she managed to bring herself off!" Auntie Elaine observed some timeless interval later.

I must have dozed off. I knew if my mouth hadn't been jammed with Mom's underwear I would have had a sappy smile all over my face.

"Maybe she's learned her lesson," Mom observed, the Velcro strap parting with a ripping sound. She extracted her panties from my mouth. Between her juices and my spit they were sopping, of course.

"PFLAHHHH!" I tried to get the taste of it out of my mouth. It had gotten stale after a while.

Removing the pillow and extracting the vibrator from my pussy, Auntie Elaine laughed. "Judging by the sodden state of the towel she sure learned something."

With the gag gone, I indulged in the sappy smile as I savored the memory of those self-induced orgasms.

"Are you all right, darling?" Mom released my wrists.

Even the stinging pain as I dragged my arms down didn't bother me. I wrapped Mom up and drew her down to hug her and we kissed a real good, spit swapping kiss.

"Mmm-more than okay," I admitted. Experimentally, I clenched my weary vagina one more time.

"Whoa!" Auntie Elaine mopped at the flood that gushed from my pussy, then tested the floor of my vagina in her gynecological way. "I'd say her Kegel muscles are the strongest I've ever felt! Next time she lets her boyfriend in there he's in for a surprise!"

"Is that what they're called?" I purred as I stretched and pushed myself up on my elbows, my feet still tied and spread.

"Named after the German doctor that discovered them. Yours are world class," Auntie Elaine observed, testing them. Finishing playing in my playground, she unfastened my legs and removed the cuffs from my ankles as Mom did the ones on my wrists.

"You know, all you had to do was ask," Mom pointed out.

I made an embarrassed face and agreed with her, then brightened up. "But this was a lot more fun."

Mom chuckled. "I haven't laughed so hard since the time..."

"I shut myself in the drier," I finished for her, blushing again.

"Well, now that we've all had some fun," Elaine said, "I'm hungry."

"So'm I," I admitted. "Famished."

"And you probably have homework," Mom observed. "But I think you'd better shower before anything, young lady."

"Yes'm," I agreed. I reeked.

Afterwards the three of us sat around the table, naked, eating some of Mom's delicious stroganoff, fresh from the freezer through the microwave to the table, while I pondered things.

How could I ask my mom why she and Auntie Elaine did what they do? Could I ask if she's a domme or a sub? How could I possibly ask her if she's a top or a bottom? To me she will always be the top, the domme. She's Mom, she MY mom.

"When I'm tied up, under Elaine's control, I'm in another world," Mom observed softly, toying with a mushroom. "No worries. No decisions. I'm more free that way than I am in the real world."

It was as if she was reading my mind.

She popped the mushroom in her mouth and savored it, looking at Elaine Smathers with an expression so devoted, so blissful it made the good doctor duck her head and blush before she looked back at Mom and reached for her hand to give it a loving squeeze.

I ducked my own head, struck by that silent communication they shared. Thinking back to my brief time in bondage I got an inkling of what she was talking about. After they'd left me, I'd given myself up to the moment. I hadn't realized what a gift that lemon they'd handed me was until I'd made lemonade of it -- gallons of it.

I also realized what a hard thing it is to be a mom, a single mom, always wondering and worrying -- about paying the bills, about making sure there's clean laundry, about getting the car serviced, about getting food on the table. Worrying about where the next commission was coming from to pay the bills, where the next home seller, the next house buyer, was coming from, worrying about getting the plumbing fixed, the house painted, changing the batteries in the smoke alarms -- so many things I never worried about.

Worrying about what her wacky daughter is going to do next.

Finished with my stroganoff, I took my dishes to the sink, went around the table and bent to give my mom the biggest, warmest hug I could possibly give her. "I'll take care of the dishes after I get my homework done."

Then I gave "auntie" Elaine a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," I whispered in her ear.

Then I was off to my room to sort out all the stuff I'd gotten on this first day of high school. After that, and doing the dishes, when I was snuggled down in the warm, soft bed my mom had made for me, when I heard the strange noises in the night I knew what was going on. I imagined Mom tied to the bed while Auntie Elaine made her forget all her worries for at least a little while, and promised myself I wouldn't do anything that worried her.

But how could I keep a promise like that? Kids being kids, and me being me means stuff happens. And anyway, Mom being Mom meant she worried, and being the kind of kid I am she had every reason.

-------

I did try, honest I did. During the next week I slid smoothly into the new rhythm of high school. It wasn't crazy different from middle school, except for unfamiliar teachers and tougher courses. I got to know some of the kids in my classes, and the boundaries between the various middle schools began to break down, especially since I knew more than a few from swimming.

Beth and Carl had advised me to get to know lots of people. There was no distinction as to sex. I noticed the guys' butts, the girls' boobs. There were some hunky guys -- not that they compared well with Greg, of course -- some almost as tall as me, and probably growing faster so eventually they'd pass me. There were a few girls that intrigued me, too. I shared two classes with Greg -- bio and German -- and managed to grab time with him before school, at lunch, and after school, snatches of chat and a few discrete snuggles, nothing more...

And there was Kathy Powers. In spite of all we'd already done I was still shy about approaching her, so I kinda hung back, seeing her in the halls, so tall and confident. I hadn't forgotten my promise to Stephanie, but still couldn't quite believe Kathy needed anything I could do for her.

Things didn't get complicated until the second week of school, the first week of The Program, when Peggy Hughes from my middle school lunch-bunch was chosen as the freshman girl. Peggy of all people! If I'd known they'd pick her I would have volunteered to replace her. She's the most shy, modest girl I know. She didn't even like undressing in front of other girls in the locker room. She did it, but wasn't comfortable with it, always keeping her back turned, looking away if someone naked should cross her line of sight. At slumber parties she wore fuzzy pajamas with feet while the rest of us were in old oversized t shirts and, maybe but not always, panties, or baby doll nighties.

She is also the cleanest person in the universe! She washes her hands before going potty, and after. In case there's no sink handy she carries those moist towelettes to wipe her hands with before every meal, and bathes every morning. Oh, she wasn't obsessive compulsive, just careful. If you'd ever seen her on the soccer field you'd know mud and blood didn't bother her -- she was a vicious tackler -- as long as there was a good, preferably private shower after the game and lots of anti-infection ointment and bandages for her abrasions.

I've gotta admit it pays off -- she's almost never sick. She had a perfect attendance record in middle school, even after she got her first period, when most of us used the first minor cramp as an excuse to take a day off.

So, when we heard her being called to the office before the homeroom bell, we assembled our forces outside the Principal's door, determined to protect her when she emerged.

She came out like a mouse being released into a cage full of hungry cats, timidly, trying vainly to cover her lovely, blossoming body with its bubble-licious boobies and delicate fluff between her thighs. She was greeted, of course, by the usual cheers and applause, a few whistles.

Fran, bold and brassy as ever, took Peggy under her motherly arm, drawing the blushing nudie protectively against her bulk, and the rest of us formed up around them, offering love and encouragement. Behind Peggy came her partner, a kid blushing as red as the hair on his head, with enough freckles for six people and a hard-on that was already begging for relief. He was in my homeroom, too! I wondered if there was a chance he'd want relief there, instead of waiting until first period. Yum!

But, getting back to Peggy, our schedules were distributed well enough that one of us would be with her during and between at least the first of her classes, handing her off like the baton in a relay foot-race.

So, of course, it had to happen on my watch!

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The gods smiled before they frowned. In homeroom the red-headed kid -- his name was Dennis -- bashfully admitted to wanting relief, so my hand shot up, of course. My reputation having preceded me, the choice was a no-brainer and I was happy to kneel in front of him as he blushed like a fire-engine, his beautiful dick jutting from the soft, pale red curls at its base, was already drooling eagerly.

I caught the first drip on my tongue. It was a beautiful cock, slender and firm, a soft plum-head that my lips engulfed. I licked the underside and he groaned, his hands going to my head. I let him draw my head toward him, sliding the head of his cock to the back of my tongue. It was logical to assume he wasn't going to last long, which was a good thing as we were close to the bell for first period.

I enjoyed the taste and feel of his meat, the soft skin over a hard core, the spongy consistency of the glans, the musky saltiness of his pre-come, my head bobbing to fuck my face with his prick. I slid the backs of my fingers up the inside of his naked thighs, my fingertips finding his balls in their soft sack, and I toyed with them gently, rolling them around, and that was all it took. His penis pulsed against my tongue and I was suddenly awash with his gooey flood, swallowing quickly to capture every delicious morsel. He was grunting, and I moaned as I savored his juices, slowly drawing back as his spurtings faded.

He had a blissful grin as he leaned back against the teacher's desk. I carefully licked him as clean as I could, gave the tip of his dick a quick kiss and scrambled to my feet to the sound of thunderous applause, the class bell adding a final exclamation point to my performance.

I couldn't' resist it -- I was at least six inches taller than Dennis -- I gave him a pat on the head. Turning around I gave a silly little curtsey to the class, tugging at the cuffs of my shorts, before returning to my desk to gather up my stuff for classes.

The morning was going just fine until I gathered up Peggy after second period and was escorting her to her third period Spanish class, and who should appear in front of us but Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber, as we'd taken to calling our sophomore Neanderthals.

"Gimme a feel," Tweedle Dumb announced, blocking us in the hall, reaching for Peggy. The poor girl reflexively flinched back.

I interposed myself -- that's what Secret Service agents do when someone attacks the President, they interpose themselves between the President and the assailant. I figured if it's good enough for them it's good enough for Peggy. "I'm sorry, was there a request in there somewhere?"

"I want a feel of the little cunt," he insisted, trying to push me aside.

"That's sounds more like a demand than a request," I countered, standing firm. "What's the magic word?"

"Please," he retorted sarcastically.

"Are your hands clean?" Peggy asked, peeking around me.

"Huh?" Dumb looked at his grubby paws.

"Y -- y -- you have to wash your hands first, if you want to touch me," Peggy insisted nervously.

I almost choked trying to keep a straight face. You go girl! I thought. "You heard her. You want to touch her you have to go wash your hands," I explained.

"You're shittin' me!"

"You can't touch me until you wash your hands!" Peggy insisted staunchly.

"Seems to me that's a reasonable request," I countered.

"Hey, we're the ones doin' the requestin' here!" Dumber protested.

"I told you that first day, guys, reasonable requests works both ways!" I reminded them, knowing I was treading on thin ice as far as Program rules went. I don't think there was anything about a program participant making requests of people not in The Program. Hmmmm. Something about that ... I set the thought aside for the moment.

"It seems only reasonable, and fair! Wash your hands, doofus! It's her body you're asking to touch. She doesn't want your cooties."

"I ain't got cooties!"

"Read my lips," I came back. "If you want to touch her, wash your hands! What part of 'Wash. Your. Hands' don't you understand?"

"Quit shittin' me."

"No wash, no touch. Right, Peggy?"

"Right."

By then we'd acquired a bit of a crowd and people seemed to be choosing up sides -- the girls on Peggy's side, for the most part, the boys -- well, boys will be boys. The gorillas looked around, then at each other, and shambled off in the direction of the boys' room.

"And don't forget under your fingernails," Peggy added courageously.

That brought a laugh from the girls as the crowd dissolved and Peggy and I made our escape.

"Do you think I'll get in trouble?" Peggy asked nervously.

"Why should you?"

"Didn't I refuse a reasonable request?"

"No, you just wanted them to wash their hands, and I don't blame you. Those guys are about as sanitary as a sewer. Relax. And anyway, if there's any trouble I'll be there to back you up."

"Would you?"

"That's what friends are for. Now relax, those goons won't file a complaint." Leaving Peggy at her class, I headed off to mine, feeling virtuous.

But I should have known my noble deed would bite me in the butt, or rather us in our collective butts. At lunch a courier came trotting up to our table and handed Peggy a note. She looked at it, blanched and started to tear up.

Fran snatched the note out of Peggy's trembling fingers. "Uh oh. A Program violation?"

Shit! "Lemme see that."

She passed it over. "Refusing a reasonable request," Fran announced to the table at large. "Report to the office immediately."

It was a very officious looking form -- name, class, nature of offense, signed by someone named "Douglas Worthington."

"You didn't do anything," I assured Peggy. "Did you? I mean, yeah, there were the Tweedles, but did you turn down anyone else?"

"No one else asked," she admitted. She seemed a bit disappointed, which surprised me. "Really, I woulda let 'em touch me if they'd just washed their hands. Honest! In fact, the idea kinda turned me on ... a lot. Even a moist towelette would have been enough, and I'd've given it to them, even, if I'd had the chance."

I was a little surprised. This was a girl who, at a recent party, changed into her sleeper in a closet. Now, here she was, half-way through her first day naked in school and ready to be fondled. I had to admit, the thought had occurred to me that she'd just latched on to a convenient excuse on the spur of the moment to keep from being touched, but I should have known that wasn't the case. She's not like that. She's so honest it sometimes gets her in trouble. Once a friend had asked Peggy what she thought of a new hairdo, and Peggy had told the girl. It had put a serious crimp in the friendship for awhile, even though the 'do really did look like the asker had plugged her finger into a light socket.

But Peggy had learned from that. Now she'd answer something like "it's very interesting" and leave it at that.

"C'mon, let's get this over with." I got up and picked up my tray.

"Where are you going?" Fran asked. "What happened?"

"She told Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber -- you know, the dogs guarding the door every morning? -- that if they wanted to touch her they had to wash their hands. In my book that's not refusing a reasonable request, it is establishing a condition -- no washee no touchee. I promised I'd back her up if she got called in for it."

"That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut," Fran laughed. "Careful, you might find yourself in the program with her."

"Like that would bother me?" I threw back over my shoulder as I led the way out of the lunchroom, many eyes following our departure. Once in the hall I shortened my stride so Peggy wouldn't arrive at the office out of breath. According to the note we had to report to "The Program Enforcement Officer." Apparently unwilling to deal with these trifles, the Principal's Office had delegated this authority to some underling below the level even of Assistant Vice Principal.

"What're we gonna say?"

"We tell the truth. How can they refute that?"

How indeed. Such is the mind of bureaucrats. Retreating to the rule book, they refuse to be swayed by sweet reason. In Mr. Worthington's defense -- yes, it was a guy, but I don't think a woman would have done any different -- he was young and new on the job, probably fresh out of school administrator school, if there is such a thing. He wasn't very tall, well, compared to me, anyway, with a baby-smooth complexion that didn't look like it needed a razor, while his prematurely thinning hair was arranged in a comb-over that looked like a Venetian blind. His voice was nasal and grating.

Peggy explained the situation, but all he did was purse his lips and shake his head, so I explained it my way. "She wasn't objecting to the request, only asking for a little hygiene on their part."

"She refused a request... ," he insisted. He had his rule book, and that was that.

"But she didn't!" I protested.

"She did. Mr. Cagney had made a reasonable request and she refused it. I have witnesses."

Who was "Mr. Cagney" I wondered, Tweedle Dumb or Tweedle Dumber? Anyway, there'd been a crowd, so what had been said was public record. Can't challenge that.

"All she wanted was for him to wash his hands!"

"There's nothing in the rules that allow the requestee..."

"The who? 'Requestee?' I don't think that's even a word!"

"The requestee is not allowed to decline a reasonable request, and a simple touch is certainly a reasonable request," Worthington persisted, shaking the book at me.

"But who knows where his hand had been? It might have been up his nose for all we know, or up someplace worse!"

"It was a simple touch, probably only to her breast." He reached as if to demonstrate and Peggy flinched away, surprised, and he frowned at her.

I'd heard enough stories to know that a "simple touch" usually evolved into something more intimate -- more, shall we say, penetrating.

So we went back and forth and around and around on this a few times, but he wouldn't budge. Okay, I admit, I was getting a bit frustrated, and my voice rose, and he started to get a little red in the face.

"Miss Walker, I have heard all I am going to hear from you. One more word, and you'll join her in The Program for the rest of this week, and perhaps next," he snapped after I'd finished my impassioned plea.

What? Threatening me with getting naked as punishment? He obviously didn't know me. I'd always thought that was a silly punishment anyway, since The Program was meant to be a positive experience. Mom and me and Carl and Beth had discussed that at supper during Beth's time in The Program and come to the same conclusion. I was still formulating a reply to that threat, something that wouldn't break the rules of civil conversation, to say nothing of vulgarity, but he turned to Peggy.

"Miss Hughes..."

Peggy cringed, undoubtedly having visions of being held down on a bench in the school's hallway and being spanked with a ruler, one of the totally anachronistic and sadistic penalties for refusing a request.

I had to try again. "Mr. Worthington..."

He cut me off, pointing at me. "You're in The Program, Miss Walker, as of now, for your insubordination. A letter of reprimand will go home to your parents or guardians, and be placed in your file.

"As for you Miss Hughes, since this is a minor infraction I'll only note it on your record. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you were under the influence of Miss Walker here, who seems to feel free to ignore any rule she chooses to. However, any further violations and disciplinary action is mandatory. Why are you still dressed, Miss Walker?"

I began stripping, muttering under my breath. Parents or guardians? I liked that! He knew nothing about me at all! I have Mom, you jerk, and she's worth any number of you! And like I really cared if I was in the program? I probably spend half my public life naked.

"What was that, Miss Walker?"

"Nothing, sir." I decided I'd already said too much and shut up for fear of making things worse for Peggy. Changing tactics, I remembered how Mom had dealt with an unresponsive telephone company customer service rep. Maybe I could appeal to wiser heads further up the food chain.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Worthington. I did not mean to be disrespectful. I do understand that you have a job to do and rules to follow, and I apologize. I'm sure you have followed The Program regulations to the letter." And logic be damned, I thought.

"Well, I'm glad you've seen the light, Miss Walker, but my ruling stands. A week in The Program should do you a world of good." He was insufferably smug.

"Yessir," I agreed contritely. "I understand your position. I'd even like to make sure your -- uh -- boss knows of your steadfast adherence to the rules."

Never let it be said I didn't have a silver tongue to accompany my rapier wit. Okay, maybe I was laying it on with a trowel, but it caught him off balance, as I hoped it would. "There's no need to bother them with this, Miss Walker."

Maybe it was because I was down to skin so I appealed to his gonads -- if he had any -- with my svelte curves, but I prefer to think it was my awesome powers of persuasion. Regardless, when I assured him I had nothing but the best to say of him to his boss, and that I felt his diligence deserved to be recognized, he relented, probably figuring a mere teenager would not have the perseverance to follow up.

Like I say -- he didn't know me, at all. And when he told me who he reported to I knew I had him in my clutches. Unfortunately for him, the next one up the chain of command, it turned out, was Vice Principal Devers, a woman I had very good relations with, given that her daughter was the backstroker on our county champion medley relay team.

"Thank you, sir. I'll make sure she knows what a fine job you're doing. I assume I'm to pick up my clothes at the office at the end of school, and tomorrow I should undress in the usual location?"

"Yes, Miss Walker, and let this be a lesson to you."

Meanwhile, Peggy was tugging at my hand, wanting nothing more than to be out of there. We emerged from Worthington's office to be greeted by the post-lunch throng.

I was about to get my first up close and personal encounter with the Naked In School Program.

Then I remembered what Worthington had said about a letter going home to Mom, and groaned. I'd done it again. Well, at least I wasn't suspended this time, and I was confident that Mom would understand once I explained it to her. In fact, I'd better get my explaining in before the letter arrived to minimize the shock.



-------

Chapter 5


I'm not going to bore you with endless tales of the requests we fielded after emerging from Worthington's office — stand up straight, stick your chest out, spread your legs, arms behind your head, behind your back, above your head, bend over and show me your ass, spread the cheeks — other than to say that what some people regard as reasonable I don't.

Put a pencil up my butt? Eraser end first, please. A pickle? Sure, why not. Better that than a banana, they break too easily. I'm told it was a sweet pickle, but I drew the line at even looking at it, let alone eating it afterwards. That, I felt, would really have been unreasonable, and if I get reported for refusing that request I'll fight it all the way to the Supreme Court.

I also did my best to make sure that Peggy got her share of requests, as long as the requester had clean hands. Turns out Peggy has probably a year's supply of those sanitizing wipes in her backpack, one of those pop-up boxes of them you see in the market for moms to use on a baby's butt. Okay, they've got baby lotion on 'em, but that just means the hands that touch the baby maker are baby soft — not a bad thing, considering some of the places the touchers want to touch. Used ones — wipes, that is, not fingers! — go in a closable plastic baggy kept in a different pocket of her backpack.

She's very organized.

Oh, it also turns out she has about 14 years of stored up lust to release.

We share all of our afternoon classes so we could share the adventure, and before the day was over she agreed it was a Good Thing that her parents had signed her up for The Program. Maybe Worthington had put the fear of God in her, but whatever the reason she accepted the spirit of the program, and once she'd cracked that metaphorical egg, she proceeded to make an omelets with all the trimmings, including a dash of hot sauce. Sex was a revelation to her. She'd only learned theory from The Dirty Dozen, she had no practical experience at all. She'd remained — I can't think of a word that exceeds chaste, but she was it. She'd even been too shy and fastidious to have touched herself Down There other than with toilet paper or a washrag, and only for the purposes of hygiene.

My goodness! Had she no curiosity?

Fortunately, the Tweedles were not in evidence and she was blessed with gentle, thoughtful admirers, for the most part. Okay, maybe I managed to draw off the barbarians, like the pickle pusher, rather than have her be overly challenged on her first day. But the first time a geeky sophomore toyed with her delicate boobies Peggy almost melted down in her loafers. When another was given permission to kiss her tits she wound up hugging his head to her chest and almost suffocating him.

Oh, and she didn't insist he brush his teeth before his mammary osculation.

After that it wasn't far from there to her carefully cleaning a boy's fingers with one of her wipes, and checking his fingernails, before he explored her sweet little pussy. Peggy's little squeaks of joy had everyone around smiling and laughing, and she was almost late to her next class.

The only surprise for me was when Kathy Powers showed up in front of me just before my last class, but I was overjoyed with her request.

"Would you and Greg come by the studio this afternoon and pose for me?" she asked nervously.

Would I! I'd been kind of hanging back, not wanting to be pushy — sooo unlike me! — for fear of offending or upsetting her. I know, I was supposed to be keeping an eye on her for Stephanie, and I had been, from a distance, but I couldn't believe she'd need my help. Now, up close, I felt shy and a little guilty, as well as happy to be asked.

"Of course I would," I agreed, "but Greg's kinda locked in to the bus schedule." I beckoned him over from where he'd been anxiously watching me respond to requests, waiting his turn.

"Whassup?" he asked.

"I really need your guys help," Kathy explained. "Got an idea I want to work on with you."

"Uh, okay. When?"

"This afternoon?"

He frowned. "I've gotta take the bus home."

"I can drive you home," Kathy answered. "Both of you."

"Oh, okay, I think," Greg agreed. "I'll just have to call my mom and clear it with her."

Kathy seemed so hopeful, almost anxious. I had to think fast. I had other plans, my encounter with Worthington being at the head of the list. Vice Principal Devers had an open office policy, and I was heading for that right after closing bell. "Could you call my mom, too?" I asked Greg. "Just leave a message on the machine in case she gets home before me. Kathy, I've got to see Mrs. Devers right after school. Shouldn't take long. Can it be about a half hour after last class?"

"Sure." Kathy looked incredibly relieved. For a moment I thought she was going to ask something more, but she didn't. I tried to hide my disappointment. I'd have done almost anything she'd asked. As she walked away she seemed lighter on her feet and I hoped I was the reason for that. I know my afternoon had brightened up considerably. In the interests of being fair and balanced I hauled in Greg for a quick kiss and grope before he had to dash off to his next class.

Then Dennis, the redheaded boy from home room asked if I'd give him relief in our last class of the day, and how could I possibly refuse? I am, if nothing else, obliging in such matters, and it seemed so fitting, to begin and end the school day — well, almost, anyway — by giving the same boy a blow job. I liked the symmetry of it. Only this time both of us were naked and as I knelt in front of him he toyed with my titties while I sucked and sucked and tickled his balls until he filled my mouth (Yum!), my pussy juicing merrily from the combination of his taste, his teasing my tits, and anticipation of the time with Greg and Kathy!

I wondered if maybe Dennis would like to learn how to give me relief. If so I'd be happy to give him lessons.

Maybe tomorrow.

Peggy was also in that last class and she watched me suck him off, her fuck finger deep in her mouth, her tongue obviously working, her eyes as big as saucers as I devoured Dennis's dick for the second time that day. How long would it be before she obliged some boy with her own mouth? Of course she'd towelette him clean before she did, but I really don't think he'd mind. Already, when she wiped a boy's hands it looked like foreplay. She'd look up bashfully into his eyes as she carefully swabbed each finger, then suck and lick the tips to make sure they were clean. That girl was hot!

I wonder if she'd be up for a little girl-girl action with me?

Once free of my last class I hurried off to Mrs. Devers's office before someone got in ahead of me. She looked surprised when I, still naked (well doh! That's what 'naked in school' means), knocked on her open door.

"Dee! I didn't know you were in The Program this week!" She was doing some filing or something.

"I wasn't. I sort of talked my way into it," I confessed. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"Of course! Come in, come in, and close the door behind you." She moved around behind her desk, and motioned me into a chair.

She's a tall woman, slender and athletic, and always very nicely turned out but not prissy — white satin blouse, knee length navy skirt this day. Her graying hair is short, framing a face a little more handsome than beautiful — strong jaw, delicate nose, nice cheekbones. But it's her eyes that capture you, or at least me. They're gray, and seem to see right into my soul. They can be warm and welcoming, like now, or sparkling with laughter, storm clouds when she's angry, or icicles that drill right through you if you screw up.

"Looking forward to the school swimming season?" she asked. "Gail is still over-the-top at winning the county championship."

"So'm I," I admitted.

"She gives you all the credit for it, you know. She insists that warm-up routine of yours made all the difference. I must say, it was a treat watching your bouncing naked butts — my husband especially liked that, once he got over the shock of seeing Gail that way. And I must say, those boys have great butts, too."

"It's the swimming," I pointed out. "The swimmer's kick builds the glutes."

"Anyway, I was so surprised when you got the boys to do it, too, and it worked for them!"

I shook my head. "They did it all themselves. As for us, Gail got us off to a great start with the best split time she's ever had. She'll be the best backstroker in 9th grade this winter."

"And you'll be whipping everyone in butterfly again," she responded.

"I don't know about that. This isn't age-group swimming. I'll be taking on seniors."

"You'll do it. Now, what can I do for you? How come you're naked?"

I guess she hadn't heard from Worthington, so I told her what had happened, beginning with Peggy being chosen for The Program, taking it through our encounter with the Tweedles — I didn't call 'em that, of course — to our summons to Worthington's office.

"He probably wouldn't have let me in his office, but she was so scared I couldn't abandon her, and I really didn't give Mr. Worthington a chance to keep me out. By the time he got his mouth open I had the door closed behind us," I admitted. "His office is kinda small, by the way."

"A converted closet," Mrs. Devers admitted. "He wasn't my idea. He was foisted on us by the National NIS Board after they'd suitably indoctrinated him."

"Figures. Anyway, I was between him and the door, and I'm taller than he is." I went on to explain how frustrated he made me waving that silly rule book at us when I tried to explain what had really happened. Mrs. Devers is a great listener. She didn't interrupt, and gave me her full attention, then, when I was done talking, she thought for a minute, leaving me twisting my hands together.

"I'll probably get his report on this by the end of the week. I'm sorry you're in the program," she said at last, "but I'm not going to reverse Mr. Worthington's decision, if that's why you're here."

"Oh, no, don't feel bad! I don't mind. You know me, I'm not bashful about being naked. And I did get kind of loud when he wouldn't listen to me, so I guess I deserve it, except for me it's not really punishment."

"Putting you in The Program is like that old story of Brer Rabbit and the Briar Patch," Mrs. Devers responded, a twinkle in her eye.

I couldn't help it, I had to laugh. "At least I didn't say, 'Oh please, Mr. Worthington, don't make me go naked in school!' if that's what you mean. But if I'd thought of it I would have."

She laughed with me. "I bet you would have. I've witnessed some of your escapades, known about others, heard about how well you handled the sex ed program that Carl and Beth put on in your school. How are they, anyway?"

"Okay, I guess. I get email from Carl pretty often, and Beth, too. They're excited, and both real busy, of course. I miss 'em."

"I'll bet you do. But what is it that brings you here, if it isn't being in The Program?"

"Well, it is The Program, really, but it's not about me."

I reminded myself to sit up straight, my hands in my lap, knees and feet together, legs cocked to the side so my knees didn't stick up. I sat like a lady's supposed to sit, even though I was stark naked. Maybe, in fact, it was for the best I did sit like that since I was stark naked. Otherwise she'd'a been looking right up my crotch. If nothing else, that would be distracting.

"Anyway, this morning got me thinking. Peggy didn't refuse a request. All she wanted was for the Tw ... the boys to wash their hands before they touched her. They really were kinda grubby, with dirt under their nails, and they always smell of cigarettes and — other stuff — and she's got this cleanliness thing going."

She nodded. "Who were the boys?"

"One of 'em's named Cagney. I don't know the other. They're always by the front door, staring at us girls, and now that The Program's started they'll be on us like white on rice." I made a face.

"Ah yes, Mr. Cagney and Mr. Lacey." Mrs. Devers sighed, making notes on a pad.

"You know them?"

"Better than I want to," she admitted. "They — come from a challenging environment. But I can certainly understand Miss Hughes being reluctant to submit to their fondling."

I'd been trying to get my thoughts about The Program sorted out all afternoon, and now I had to reassemble them all over again. I knew I shoulda made a list.

But she let me think, didn't prod me.

"Well, the thing is," I began, "as I said, she didn't actually refuse their request, but Mr. Worthington treated it as if she had. He kept waving his rule book at us. I kept trying to tell him she didn't refuse a request, she'd just asked them to wash their hands. She just had a condition for them to meet before they could. But Mr. Worthington wouldn't listen to me, to us."

"He's young and inexperienced. I'll talk with him."

I had the feeling she wanted to add "not that it'll do any good" but she didn't say it. I was getting the feeling that Worthington was as much of a trial to her as he was to any students hauled before him.

"But it's not just that," I went on. "I mean, yeah, it would have been nice of he'd at least listened, but it's this whole 'reasonable request' thing. Who decides what's a reasonable request? Is it only the requester or — what was it Worthington called it? — can it be the requestee? What seems reasonable to some boy may not seem reasonable to me."

Mrs. Devers looked a little surprised. "I'd never thought of it that way," she admitted. "Requestee — an interesting word."

She scribbled another note.

"I'm not sure it is a word. Anyway, like, well, after lunch today some boy wanted to put a pickle, a big one — I think it was a sweet pickle — up my — uh — anus." I blushed. "I didn't mind that, though I prefer dill pickles, to eat that is. Of course I can't taste back there, but it was kinda cold..." I realized I was rambling. "But then he wanted me to eat it, after he took it out, and, well, I wasn't about to do that! So I may be back in Mr. Worthington's office tomorrow for that," I finished lamely.

Mrs. Devers looked shocked. "I don't think so! That's not a reasonable request, no matter which way you look at it. That's plain unsanitary, unhealthy! Frankly, I'm not sure I'd have agreed to the first part of the request, be it a sweet, sour or dill, and if it were one of those little gherkins I'd be afraid it'd get lost in there. But, I guess if that happened nature would take its course, of course."

After chuckling along with her I continued. "And when Peggy wanted the hand washing before they touched her, it made me think. What if they'd forced her, put one of their grubby fingers in her and she'd gotten an infection? I bet that would get the school sued! I know my mom would be furious!"

Last year, thank you lang arts, I'd learned the word "blanch" and knew that it meant to turn white, and I'd heard of a person blanching, but this was the first time I'd ever seen it — Mrs. Devers actually blanched, and for a minute I was afraid she'd faint. "My God! Why didn't I think of that?"

Then, her eyes like a thunderstorm, she scribbled another note on a pad on her desk, pressing so hard she broke the point on her pencil and had to grab another one. "I wonder if there are statistics they aren't letting us hear," she muttered, still writing. "Go on, Dee, please."

I took a deep breath and plunged on with all the stuff I'd been thinking about. "And then there's this thing with putting people in The Program as punishment or extending their time in it if they do something like refusing a request. Isn't it supposed to be a positive experience, we're supposed to be getting something good from it? I think using it for punishment just sends the wrong message entirely, and in my case it doesn't work anyway."

After making more notes her eyes focused on me, not angry or anything, but intent. It made me a little nervous. She nodded, so I went on.

"And then, I remember when Carl was in the program, and Beth. Well, Carl got in trouble for failing to report being bullied, and Beth — what was it? — oh, yeah. She was nervous about boys touching her, I think it was her second day or something like that, and asked her friends to hold her while they did, instead of just standing there and taking it. And for that they were spanked, in public, with a ruler. That's humiliating. That's like something out of The Scarlet Letter!"

I didn't go on to tell her that both of them became incredibly horny as a result. Some punishment! Or that my mom had never laid a hand on me for punishment in her life, though I'd certainly given her good reason sometimes, but now that I'd uncovered her secret I wondered what I could do to deserve a little — uhm — tuning up with the Cat — while I was suitably restrained, of course.

Realizing Mrs. Devers was patiently waiting, I hauled my mind back on course. "And then, the chairs are really cold on your butt — our butts, I mean — when we're naked, and sometimes we leave sticky spots, or stick to them, but that's just a silly little thing, I guess. Giving us towels would solve that problem."

"And another cost because of The Program," Mrs. Devers mused, making another note. "And we should issue hand-sanitizers," she went on under her breath, still writing.

"But the big thing is figuring out what's a reasonable request," I said, returning to that problem. "There should be some way for the — uh — requestee to refuse one she — or he — feels is unreasonable before being stuck doing it. If they're forced to do it, even if they think it's unreasonable, well, that's just not fair. This is about gaining self-respect. How can we develop that if we're being forced to do something against our will, or principles? And there's another thing — guys are always making requests of us girls, but girls almost never do of guys, but I guess that's just a gender thing.

"Anyway, we need a court of appeals, or something, that will decide what's reasonable, and maybe a list of what's reasonable and unreasonable. And what if I'm in the program and I want someone to — uh — do something? Can I make a request to someone not in the program? Other than asking for relief in class, I mean, like maybe I'd like him to kiss my — breasts, or something, maybe after I've done his request?"

At that point I realized I'd been kinda running on here, and being kinda harsh on The Program, so I shut up, and looked at my hands sort of huddling on top of my pussy.

When I looked back up, for the longest time she just looked at me. I think she was smiling, sort of, maybe, but I couldn't read her eyes at all. Then she nodded.

"You'll do," was all she said.

"Uh — I'll do what?"

"You've raised some important issues about The Program," she answered cryptically. "Some that I'd already thought of, and some that I hadn't."

She took a deep breath. "We've been thinking about what to do about the whole Naked in school program, how to fix it. We've had a lot of questions about it. The problem right at the top of the list is the whole 'reasonable request' thing. As you said, who decides what is a reasonable request? Should there be an appeals process to resolve issues such as the one that got Peggy called in? In that particular case I agree with you, and it should never have come before Mr. Worthington, but there are others that are less obvious.

"But, as you pointed out, an appeal after the fact does no good. We need some definitions of what is reasonable and what is unreasonable. We need guidelines to avoid trouble before it starts."

"And what if the girl, instead of satisfying the request she's given proposes a different one?" I asked impulsively, then felt badly about interrupting.

But all Mrs. Devers did was nod. "That is why I said 'you'll do.'"

I wanted to ask her "do what?" again, but figured she'd heard me the first time, so I kept my mouth shut.

She drummed her fingers on her desk for a moment, thinking.

"We've known from the get-go we needed to look into these things. In fact The Powers That Be, of which I am one, I guess, have been floundering around about it and we're still clueless. Now I'm thinking that we need a committee to study it and make recommendations. My idea is that the committee should be made up people familiar with The Program, students and faculty, specifically — not parents, that would open a whole 'nother can of worms — and you're perfect for it. Will you do it?"

"Huh? But I'm just a kid!"

She smiled softly, kinda the way Mom does sometimes when she looks at me. Then looked a little more thoughtful, studying me like I was under a microscope, and reached some sort of a decision. I was braced for something like Ms. Andrews's "natural leader" comment. That still made me itch.

"There's no such thing as 'just a kid, '" she countered, to my relief. "Each of you is different, unique. I don't want to say 'special' because that has so many other connotations these days. Let me just say that I think you'd bring particular abilities to the table that the committee will need."

"I'm only a freshman," I pointed out, "and I've only been in the program for one day."

I wasn't really sure I wanted to be on this committee. I was already looking at the German club, and there's my swimming and diving, and the math club was another thing that interested me, and maybe chess...

"And already you're raising some good questions, some that I'd not thought of," Mrs. Devers responded. "Questions that the committee will need to answer, that you can help the committee answer. It's important. It's going to be a challenge, maybe impossible, but I know you're not the type to avoid a challenge."

She did know how to push my buttons. I hadn't been about to "volunteer" to be on the committee, anything but, but the moment she used the word "impossible" she had me. Telling me something might be impossible is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

"Who else is on the committee?"

She smiled, and when Mrs. Devers smiles like that it's like the sun coming out. "As a matter of fact, you're the first, if you agree, and if I can set it up. I'll have to run the idea by the rest of The Powers That Be, but I don't think I'll have any trouble getting it approved. We've been wrangling over these issues ever since The Program began, and getting nowhere. This will kick it out of our court, at least for the time being. For that we'll all be grateful. At least I know I will be. No. I don't think there'll be any trouble from them."

"Oh!"

"Now, I was thinking, we don't want it to be too big — say, two students, one male and one female, from each class, plus one faculty member. That's nine people, which avoids tie votes, assuming everyone is equal. What do you think?"

My head was spinning things were happening so fast. She was asking for my opinion? "Uh, okay, I guess."

"Who would you suggest for the committee? Oh, and will you do it? I guess I should have asked that first."

I was rocked back by this. "You want me to suggest people? Can I think about it? I mean, yeah, I'll do it, I guess."

"Great!"

"But I want time to think who else should be on it." My mind was racing. "I guess I'm willing to try to come up with a boy from my class, but upperclassmen won't take kindly to being picked, or not picked, by a lowly frosh. Besides, I don't really know too many of them," I pointed out. "Don't try to saddle me with that."

"Fair enough. I'll put some feelers out with some people I trust in those classes. But don't hesitate to make suggestions, from any class. Dee, that is so good! Thank you!"

"Uh — you're welcome."

Then I had another thought. I wasn't going to say anything, but, well heck, she had asked me for my opinion. "Do you think everyone on the committee should have Program experience?"

"A good idea," she agreed, "yes, of course, excellent!"

Then I saw a sly smile, and I knew she'd seen through me. "And you think that should include the faculty member, too. Right?"

I felt myself pink up, and nodded.

"And I bet you already have a faculty candidate in mind, don't you."

I didn't say anything, but the thought of having Worthington in The Program certainly appealed to me. "They'd have to obey the same rules the students do, wouldn't they? Requests and everything?"

She was grinning now. "They certainly would! So, you will do it? Be on the committee, I mean."

I only hesitated a moment. She was giving me another chance to bow out. But I nodded, not about to go back on what I'd already agreed to do.

She seemed really thrilled, and I suddenly kinda wished maybe I hadn't agreed. It suddenly felt like a heck of a responsibility. I mean, I could see the outcome of it being the total dismemberment of The Program, and I didn't want that. I'd seen how much good it could do for people like Carl and Beth, and how Peggy was blossoming under it already. It could even do dorks like the Tweedles some good, if they were handled right, so I'd hate to see it go away.

Oh my.

After making me promise not to say anything to anybody about this until it was formally announced, Mrs. Devers sent me on my way, my head whirling as I tried to get my mind around what had just happened, how it had happened. I'd gone in there just to talk, and suddenly I'm on a committee that doesn't even exist yet, even helping to set it up. Who could I recommend from my class? Greg came immediately to mind, but maybe that was just because I knew him, and because of how I feel about him, and we'd have more time together. But maybe that's not a good thing. I'd have to get to know some other boys better — maybe Dennis? — and what about John? No, not John, he's got enough problems. Maybe when he was a soph, or junior ... The only senior I knew well was Kathy...

Kathy! Ohmigosh! And Greg! I promised I'd pose with Greg for her this afternoon, and I was late! I almost broke into a run, but managed to stop myself, telling myself I was a high-schooler now, not some impulsive kid. But I wanted to skip and dance. I felt important. And then, the next minute, I felt the responsibility, and worried about that. I wanted to tell somebody, but knew that I couldn't. Maybe I could talk with Mom about it, at least.

Then I thought of Greg and Kathy and almost ran again. I saw so little of Greg, and this would be super, posing with him. Kathy might pose us really close to each other. I wanted to feel him naked against me — in me — so much! I rounded the corner and saw the puddle of light from her studio at the far end of the hall — I always think of it as her studio, even though it's really the school's — my sneakers squeaking on the floor as I hurried. My soles sort of screeched at the doorway.

Kathy looked up, and for a moment I saw a frown that switched to surprise and relief, then worry. "You came!"

She was sitting on a tall stool, a lump of clay on a pedestal in front of her, fingering it. It was kinda shapeless and ugly, like she'd been wrestling with it and losing.

"I'm sorry I'm late," I apologized. "Where's Greg?"

"He couldn't make it. He called his mom and she said she needed him home, something about keeping an eye on his sister." She poked the clay, hard, making a dent in it, not looking at me.

I was as much worried about Kathy as I was disappointed about Greg. "She's a handful," I admitted. "Kinda like me when I was her age."

She poked the clay some more, then squeezed it hard and whacked it.

"What's wrong?" I asked. I'd never seen her so upset. I dropped my backpack with a thud.

"Have you been avoiding me?" she asked softly, studying the clay, and my heart sank into my shoes. "You have been, haven't you."

I sank down on the floor next to her, feeling more awful than I ever remembered feeling since I'd pulled my bonehead stunt with Missy and Mike, cutting school and fucking and breaking Mom's trust. This time I'd hurt Kathy! My stupid shyness had hurt her!

"Don't you love me any more?"

"Oh, Kathy! I love you more than ever!" I couldn't say it, of course, but to me she was a goddess, and I'd been afraid to approach her, even after what she'd done for me on my last birthday, painting my body so I looked like a phoenix, and making love to me as she did.

"Then why?"

I took her hand, feeling the drying clay on her warm skin, and pressed it to my cheek. "I was afraid you wouldn't want me. I couldn't believe you'd want me. I mean, you've had Stephanie, and she's so — well, so perfect for you, and I'm just me. I can't play the flute, I'm skinny and bony, and young, only a freshman, and you're..."

And I was crying. Crying! I thought I was over that, now that I was in high school. I was one of the big kids now, and I was crying!

"Oh, Dee, no! You're beautiful, slender and graceful in the air, and so powerful in the water, like a dolphin! And I was so afraid I'd done something wrong..."

And the next thing I knew she'd slid down off the stool and she was holding me, and we were both crying and hugging and I was saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" until she muffled me with kisses and we were lying on the floor, kissing and hugging, and I didn't care that the door was wide open or if the whole world saw us, I just wanted to be closer to her, and she was letting me undress her, and then we were skin to skin, our thighs tangling, and we were fucking as only girls can fuck, pussy to pussy, thighs to thighs, and crying and crying and crying until we were both coming and coming and coming, pressing against each other, and it felt so good, and it felt so good to know that she was feeling just as good, until the pleasure finally burned itself out and we were left cuddling and fulfilled, and then I was wiping tears from her cheeks as she wiped tears from mine, and we looked into each others eyes, and kissed again, long and deep and tender, and sighed into each others mouth, sharing our breaths, savoring the scents of our loving, and just relaxing in an embrace for a long, long time, sharing our closeness.

I could only marvel that she felt this way about me. Me!

Then I remembered something Stephanie had told me about taking care of her. "Have you eaten today?" I asked her softly.

"I don't know," Kathy admitted. "I was in classes, and then at lunch — at lunch I was here, working, and I guess maybe I forgot."

At that point her stomach gurgled, and we both giggled, and kissed again.

"Would you like to come home with me for supper?" I invited, knowing Mom wouldn't mind.

"Oh, Dee, I wish I could," she sighed.

"There's plenty of food," I offered.

She touched my cheek again. "It's not that. I've got to be home. Maybe next time?"

I squelched my disappointment. "Okay, but promise. And for now..."

Untangling myself from her, I scrambled to my backpack and dug into my emergency rations, pulling out some granola bars. They can't compare to chocolate chip cookies, but they're nourishing and durable.

For a while we sat there on the floor, cross-legged, munching away, sharing water from my water bottle. "Now, what's this project you need me and Greg for?"

"I want to do a sculpture of the two of you together. You're such a beautiful couple. Uh — do you think Greg minds that you and me — uh —you know..."

I shook my head. "We've talked. He knows how I am, and that we're both young, and that he's got my permission if he wants to. I think he'd be more jealous if you were a guy, but he knows about me and John — not that I've done it with John since — well, in a long time."

"Greg's quite a guy."

I nodded.

"And he won't mind posing with you the way I have in mind?"

I smiled. "I don't know exactly what you have in mind, but I have a good idea. I know how I feel about it, and I'm pretty sure he'll feel the same way. Anything that gives us an excuse to — uhm, cuddle — is just fine with us. The only problem is going to be working out a schedule, but if you can get him home so he doesn't have to take the bus every day that would be a big help."

I was remembering a charcoal sketch she'd done of Carl and Beth interlocked, just a few simple, graceful lines, and the thought of Greg and me like that while she modeled us in clay made my palms sweat.

"That's no problem," she assured me, dusting the crumbs off her hands. "Oh, Dee, thank you."

"It'll be fun!" I was thinking of the posing, of course, but she knew.

She cupped the back of my head, drew me in for a kiss. "Not that. Thank you for you being you! I miss Stephanie — I always will..."

"You'll see her again!"

"Yes, but we know we're growing apart. She's got her music, at one of the most wonderful music schools in the world, and I've got my art, and I'll be going to a different school for that. She was my first real love but, as you said, we're young. Life moves on."

"And you'll move on," I mused, seeing the future. She'd graduate, and I'd be left behind.

"Yes, and you'll move on as well," she reminded me. "But for now, we'll have this."

"And I'll be part of your art," I said, cheered by the thought.

"Yes. But for now, you've got to get home, and I've got to do some clean-up in here."

"I'll help! Can I help?"

So we spent half an hour tidying, turning it back from her studio into the school's art class studio, and she drove me home, me still naked, having left my clothes in Worthington's office, unless he'd gotten them to the main office, which I doubted, and not about to brave him again.

Mom was already home, and took one look at me when I came in the door naked. "Uh oh, The Program strikes again."

So, of course I had to explain what had happened between me and Worthington, and that she should be expecting a letter from him. And that led to talking about my meeting with Mrs. Devers, of course, and I poured out all my worries about her committee.

As I expected, Mom heard me out as she sipped some wine and I had some juice. I sat beside her on the couch, her arm around me, holding me close.

"Oh, Dee! I'm so proud of you!"

"I'm scared," I admitted. "We could screw the whole thing up, run The Program right off the rails."

"It sounds like it's already off the rails," she pointed out. "So you'll have to figure out how to put it back on the tracks."

"I'm gonna be awful busy, too, with diving and swimming, and other stuff I want to do, and I've got Algebra and German, danke schoen und bitte sehr. High school is hard!"

"You can do it. Carl did."

"But I'm not Carl!"

"No, you're not, you're yourself, and I've got confidence in you. It's mostly going to be a matter of time management, and you're already good at that, and I'll help keep you on schedule if I can. If it gets to be too much for you, well, we'll deal with it.

"So," she went on, "you're going to be on a committee. I've got an idea, a book you should read, and take with you, but that's for later. Right now, supper. Oh, how's Kathy?"

I blushed. "Oh, she's wonderful. Greg and I are going to be posing for her."

"You love her, don't you?"

I nodded bashfully. I still couldn't believe that she loved me, too. "And Greg, too," I admitted.

"I'm happy for you," she said huskily, tousling my hair and kissing my head. "You're going to be a busy girl this year, I can see that. Now come on, let's rustle up some grub. I'll help, and I'll take care of cleanup so you can get to your homework."

Later, as I lay in bed, trying to get to sleep, my mind kept running, and running, and running, like my hamster, Henry, in his wheel, a mad dash to nowhere. There was school, and homework, and Kathy and Greg, and The Program, and most of all, the committee, and it all kept going around and around and around, leaving me tossing and turning.

Finally I turned on my bedside light and slipped out of bed, padded over to my memento shelf, with the little broken figurine that Missy had given me, and I got my old hairbrush, and brought it back to bed with me.

Oh sure, I had a vibrator, but this old friend was like comfort food for me. I guess, in a way, you could say it had taken my virginity. I don't know how many times in the past I had lulled myself to sleep with it, even falling asleep with it still in me.

Now, a fantasy. Greg, of course, even after my wonderful love-making with Kathy, it had to be Greg. His beautiful blue eyes, blond hair, wonderful swimmer's body, lean and muscled.

How would Kathy pose us? Would she pose us the way she had drawn Carl and Beth, Beth on her back, Carl covering her, between her thighs, their legs twined together, their bodies one. Or maybe she saw Greg and me as we'd been a year ago, on the diving board at Stephanie's house, Greg on his back, me straddling him, his cock sunk deep in my cunt, his hands squashing my barely-there tits as I leaned against him, rising and falling, rising and falling.

I spared a fleeting moment to the knowledge that I had another birthday coming up soon, wondering what Mom might plan for me this year, hoping that Greg would be involved — oh what a joy that would be! — then returned to my erotic musings.

I began to warm up, imagining him standing over me, looking down at me as I lay naked on the bed.

Oh my. Maybe I was bound to the bed, totally at his mercy.

Oh my!

I teased myself with the handle of the brush, sliding just the tip of it along my juicing folds, a touch at my clit wrenching a gasp out of me.

I was imagining Greg's wonderful cock, hot and hard and ready to fill me to the brim, and I pinched my nipple, squeezed the mound of my breast, breathing harder. He'd reach for me, stroke my body, kiss my lips, and I'd breathe in his scent as his body descended on mine, and I'd spread my legs, opening myself to him.

The brush handle, cool and slick, slithered into my oozing vagina, an old friend penetrating my welcoming cunt. Greg was somehow with me, and filling me, and we were joined, and he began to stroke in and out, in and out.

A touch at my clit and I began to come, hot, sweet, pulsating pleasure, and that was all there was in the world, that wonderful sensation sweeping away the last vestiges of thought and worry as I abandoned myself to my fantasies and my orgasm, and I slept.



-------

Chapter 6


"Good morning, darling," Mom greeted me as I dropped my backpack by the front door. "All dressed for school, I see."

I looked down at myself, my nipples poking out merrily, enjoying the morning air, my freshly washed pussy hair, what there was of it, waving in the breeze. The only thing separating me from the rest of the world was my socks and sneakers.

"I'm trying for a fashion statement."

"I'd say it makes one."

"Do you think it's too much?"

She laughed. "Or too little, depending on your perspective, I suppose. But, since you're in The Program, it's appropriate. Oh, I dug around and came up with Carl's copy of the NiS rule book for you. You might want to try to get an up-to-date version, though I doubt it's changed much."

"Thanks." After flipping through it I stuffed it in with the rest of my books. I hated to admit I'd never read the thing, but I hadn't expected to be thrust into The Program in the first week.

Now, thanks to Me and my Big Mouth -- no, it was obviously The Stick's fault -- The Program was going to be the center of my existence, and not just for this week. Not that I really minded being in The Program, of course, but if I was going to be taking on Mr. Worthington, or "Worthlesston" as I'd taken to thinking of him, I did need to be armed with facts. I kind of suspected he was making up his own rules as he went along.

"And what's with the towel?" she asked, as I covered my chair at the breakfast table with a hand-towel from the linen closet.

"The school's seats are cold," I explained, "and I did some research on nudism and naturism and it is considered good etiquette to carry a towel to sit on -- hygiene and all that. As long as I don't try to hide behind it it is legal."

"I wonder why Carl never thought of that?"

"Boys are different," I pointed out, reaching for my orange juice.

"I've noticed," she responded dryly. She was busy dishing out French toast and bacon. Mom had figured out it was quicker and more efficient to do French toast than to juggle bacon, eggs, bread and a toaster. She'd just scramble some eggs in a shallow soup dish, dip hearty, whole-grain bread in it and fry it up while broiling the bacon. Before I sit down I nuke the syrup -- real maple -- ten seconds or so to get it hot and after I butter the stack and drizzle hot syrup I dig in.

That, a glass of orange juice and a bigger glass of milk and I was ready to face the day. Without a big breakfast, with plenty of carbs, by about ten o'clock my metabolism crashes and I fall asleep in class.

"And speaking of that committee, did Mrs. Devers give any kind of timetable for getting it set up?" Mom asked, joining me.

I shook my head. "She said she'd have to run it past The Powers That Be, but didn't think there'd be any trouble. I hope it's soon, or by the time we get some answers it'll be too late."

"I thought of a way to give it a nudge, but I don't want to joggle your elbow."

I shrugged. "Nudge away, as long as it can't be traced back to me. I'm not supposed to talk about the committee until it's announced, but I figured since you're my mom I could talk with you without needing to worry about causing an uproar in school. No way you'd blab."

"Thank you for your trust!" She sounded genuinely grateful. "Okay, here's my idea. Your story about -- who was it? -- those two boys and Peggy?"

"Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber -- Misters Cagney and Lacey, I found out from Mrs. Devers. I just think of 'em as 'the Tweedles.' It's simpler."

"It gave me the chills, what might have happened to Peggy if they'd violated her with their filthy fingers."

"Is it 'violated' if it's part of The Program?"

"A far as I'm concerned it is if she doesn't give permission! Anyway, you've spotted a real, immediate hazard. I thought maybe if I dropped a word with Elaine and she alerted the school nurse it might motivate the administration. There's no way it could be traced back to you talking with me about the committee. She's just a concerned medical professional suddenly aware of what's going on and pointing out the danger. It would have been better if she'd said something sooner, say when Beth was in the program, but if she had, the problem would have already been solved."

I thought it over as I enjoyed a bite of French toast, and nodded as I swallowed. Mom's not big on me talking with my mouth full -- good thing she doesn't sit at my lunch table. "Just don't mention anything about a committee. Maybe she can say it's come to her attention, and she's concerned, and yada yada yada." I waved my fork.

Mom nodded, and I paused with another bite halfway to my mouth. "Where is Elaine? You two haven't had a fight, have you?"

Mom dimpled. "No, dear. But she does have a place of her own, you know."

I shrugged. "She could move in here, the amount of time she spends here." Mom turned pink, and I realized I'd stepped over the line and changed the subject. "Anyway, I was thinking last night, I'm going to have to make a quick decision on who to recommend from 9th grade -- a boy, I mean -- and I don't think this week's victim would be right for it, even though he is very sweet."

"And you'd know this how?" she asked shrewdly, and it was my turn to turn pink.

She smirked, and I made a finger-stroke in the air, indicating she'd scored a point. "Anyway, every committee member has to have experience in the program."

"Even the faculty member?"

"Even him -- or her."

"Oh boy!"

I giggled at her reaction. "Anyway, to get experience, whoever I recommend has to be in the program as soon as possible."

"Good point."

"So I'd better come up with someone today, and hope Mrs. Devers can juggle the schedule if she can."

She agreed. "And I've had another thought, too, of something you should move fast on. Unless you're careful, the faculty member will wind up running the committee by default."

I could only nod in agreement on that point, working as I was on a piece of bacon at that moment. I'd already thought of that, but couldn't figure out a solution. Worthlesston would wreck the committee if he ran it.

"You might point that out to Mrs. Devers when you see her, before you're presented with a fait accompli."

"A what?"

"A 'fait accompli.' That's French for 'an accomplished fact, ' or 'a thing already done.'"

"Oh."

I eyed my mom with renewed respect. "How come you know stuff like that?"

"I was on a debating team in college, young lady, didn't you know that? And I was President of the French Club in high school."

"Neat!"

"Anyway, drop that little note in her ear when you see her, before things get too far along. Maybe there's some way for the committee to choose its own chair. Ask her."

"Thanks." I looked at the time. "Gotta dash, I want to take a different route to school this morning." I hustled my dishes into the dishwasher. I never leave enough on them to need rinsing.

"Don't' forget your towel!"

"Oh, thanks." Scooping it up I tucked it into a strap on my backpack and shrugged the pack on. It felt funny to have it on my naked back, but I knew I'd get used to it quick. I'd done it before. "See you tonight."

"Have a nice day, Sweetie." She insisted on giving me a hug and a kiss, and I didn't object, even though I was in a hurry. I never turn down a hug from Mom. I scampered down the front walk and enjoyed the feeling of being naked in the morning air, the sun warm on my breasts and shoulders. I always feel so alive when I'm out in the open in nothing but skin.

Mike Collins lived a couple of blocks out of my way and I was hoping to sort of accidentally on purpose bump into him on the way to school. I haven't had the time to get to know many boys in my class. Of the ones out of my middle school I knew Mike the best, and except for a hormone hurricane last year he seemed pretty level-headed. I'd had a terrific crush on him in middle school, but, in a fit of testosterone madness, he'd fallen for my former BFF Missy, to his lasting regret, even though he'd taken her virginity (and mine) in one amazing, mortifying afternoon. I could sort of feel him out about The Program without tipping him off anything was going on.

Anyway, I lucked out, passing his house just as he came out. The first thing he noticed was that I was naked, of course. Now, he's seen me naked before, even plumbed my depths once, but I still have an impact on him, especially now that I'd developed some bulges and curves. His pants saluted me nicely.

"How come you're naked again today?"

I made a face. "Oh, you know, yesterday I mouthed off to Mr. Worthington. He didn't specifically say I was in The Program for the week, but I figured I might as well just assume it and start the day this way."

So that led to a talk about The Program, of course. Mike knew he'd be in it sooner or later. He, of course, was one of The Dirty Dozen, the group of us that emerged from Carl and Beth's sex ed program last year with the task of educating our peers. Mike wasn't uncomfortable exposing his naked body, not that he should be. He's not only athletic but nicely endowed as well, and also knew how to use his appendage, having introduced it to me, and he'd subsequently gained considerable experience with Missy, before she'd trashed that relationship.

Even so, he was worrying about what some upper-class fem might ask him to do. Girls didn't make requests often, but rumor had it some of the ones they did ask of the boys were pretty embarrassing. I tried to reassure him on that. Naturally I couldn't mention the committee to him, but his knowledge and attitudes about The Program made me confident he'd be a good person to have by my side.

We got to school early enough I was able to grab some time with Mrs. Devers and suggested him as the boy from my class.

"I know Mr. Collins. He's a good choice. But, he needs a week in the program, right?"

I nodded.

"The upper-class members aren't a problem," she went on. "We have the pick of those who've already been in The Program, and I have some candidates in mind. But all the freshmen boys have the same problem -- no program time."

"Can he be gotten into it soon enough? Who picks the people?"

"I'll take care of it. He'll be in next week, but don't tell him, of course. It's supposed to be a surprise. Which leaves us with the faculty member. He, or she -- I'm not taking anyone as a given -- will also have to be in The Program. I can't do anything on that until the committee plan is approved."

This woman doesn't waste time, was my thought. "Mom had one other -- oh oh, I hope it's all right I talked with her about the committee." I broke a sweat, afraid I'd spoiled everything.

Mrs. Devers nodded. "Knowing you and your mom, I would have worried if you hadn't. I assume she's sworn to secrecy."

"Uh huh. Anyway, she pointed out that the faculty member might automatically assume he, or she, will run the committee."

"And?"

I took a deep breath before I launched into the speech I'd been planning. "We, the students, are the ones most intimately affected by The Program, and I do mean intimately. I don't think it would be right to have the faculty member chairing the committee. He'd dominate and we'd be stifled."

"You make a good point. What do you suggest we do about it?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe the committee as a whole could elect the chair. At least that way we kids have a chance. Make it clear when the committee is formed that is the rule. Can you do that?"

Her eyes were so cool, so gray as she studied me.

"It was my mom's idea," I admitted, looking down.

Her lips quirked up in a little smile. "She's a wise woman."

"Yes'm," I agreed. "Can you do it?"

She had that secret little smile going again. "Something can be done," she answered, turning to her bookshelf and taking something down. "I think you could use this." She handed me a real thick paperback book with a gold cover.

"Robert's Rules of Order, Newly Revised," I read off the cover.

"It's virtually the bible for running a meeting of almost any kind. It'll help you keep the committee organized."

"Me? I don't want to be organizing things!"

The look she gave me wasn't reassuring, though her words were, sort of. "Right now, you are the committee. You're it. Later it can be you, or someone else," she allowed. "Find some way in there to make it so the committee elects the chair."

I looked at it, riffled through it to the back, totally intimidated. "It's 700 pages long! Small print!"

"Don't worry, you won't need ninety-nine percent of it, but that last one percent can save your bacon. It's got a good index. Don't try to read it all, just pick out the parts you may need -- like electing officers -- then we'll talk when it's time.

"Even if one of you students is chair, the faculty member may try to dominate. It'll be up to you to keep that from happening, and that," she indicated the book, "will provide the tools you need.

"Now, that's the homeroom bell, so you'd best be off. I may have more information for you by the end of the day."

The book added weight to my already heavy backpack, I heaved a sigh as I left and plunged into the day, which began with a few requests that had me juicing before I even made it to homeroom. A couple of boys toy with my nipples and it's like I've got a direct wire from them to my pussy. The teacher raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything when I put my towel down before I sat.

"Mr. O'Brien?" Mrs. Tisdale inquired in response to Dennis's waving hand.

"Uhm -- may I have relief?"

I felt a tingle at the thought of sucking him off yet again, and got a sly idea.

Mrs. Tisdale sighed. "It is only homeroom, Mr. O'Brien -- but I guess we have time, but try to listen during announcements?"

"Yes'm," he agreed, looking hopefully at me.

I didn't hesitate as he moved to lean his naked butt back against Mrs. Tisdale's desk, his prick already standing at attention. I knelt in front of him and licked my lips in anticipation. Based on my limited experience, his dick's not overly large for a fourteen-year-old, but very pretty, circumcised, with a nicely sculpted shaft capped with a lavender head. After a quick lick, I looked up, my lips almost kissing the tip. "I'm going to want relief, too, later. You want to do me in bio?" I asked softly. "I'll be happy to teach you how."

The response of his cock was all the answer I needed. I hadn't realized it could get even harder and larger! He nodded eagerly as I set to work, sliding his hot sausage down the length of my tongue, tasting his delicious seepings. I really do love the feeling of a hot, live pecker in my mouth, especially seasoned as his was with a hint of pre-come. His fingers tangled in my untamable blond locks and I heard him groan as my head moved forward, fucking my face on him.

He didn't last long. I triggered his coming, my fingers dandling the eggs in the little dusky sack between his thighs. Just to be impertinent, I let a finger stray back to tickle the pucker of his asshole just as he let fly. He gave a grunt and a lurch and his jetting pecker entered my throat. Fortunately I was able to open my esophagus to the first hot gush, so I didn't inhale it. I drew back to catch his last spurtings on my tongue, rolling them around, savoring the musky scent and the hint of saltiness. I heard a soft "oh shit" from him as his pulsings slowly faded and his cock began to shrink. I'm not sure anyone paid much attention to the announcements droning over the PA system as I drained his balls and cleaned off the last tasty oozings.

My own pussy was streaming in reaction to that and in anticipation of working with him in bio. And anyway, it was my duty to teach him, wasn't it? The kids from other middle schools hadn't had the advantage of The Dirty Dozen's advanced tutelage. By the time I was done doing my show-and-tell this week my intent was to make sure they'd gotten a thorough education.

As before, I curtseyed in response to an ovation before I returned to my seat, my thighs sticky from my own juices. Roaming the halls naked kept my libido perking, of course, especially when boys wanted a quick feel or show. It wasn't easy, but I managed to save myself for Dennis until we were together again in bio, just before lunch.

My request for relief wasn't unheard of, but was much more common coming from a boy than a girl. The classroom had lab furnishings, so I perched myself on one of the stools, the big front lab bench at my back, my long legs dangling, my aroused pussy on open display from the front of the room.

Dennis, after washing his hands at my request, was more than ready for his little lesson, and I figured while the rules allowed five minutes for relief we could safely stretch the limits, if we needed to, as part of a bio lesson. He knelt between my spread legs, looking up with a mixture of worry and eagerness, his pecker as hard as ever.

"Stroke the insides of my thighs," I suggested, "it feels really good when you do that, and pet my tummy."

Oh my, did it feel good!

As he petted me he was studying the folds of my already leaking twat, my inner pink ruffles peeking shyly from between the outer labia. "Closer to my pussy," I urged.

His fingers moved up my legs, closer to my crotch, and I sighed, leaning my elbows back on the table behind me. It felt so good, and to have the whole class watching only made me feel even better. I am such an exhibitionist!

"Notice how Miss Walker responds to this gentle stimulation," the teacher, Mr. Kaltenborn, pointed out. "Her nipples are erect, and her inner labia are swelling, their color deepening, sure signs of her arousal."

Oooooyeah, I thought. "How do I smell?" I asked, looking down at Dennis.

Hesitantly, he sniffed, and wound up licking his lips. "Yummy!" he admitted, surprised.

"Miss Walker's vagina is lubricating, and as it does it produces a scent that Mr. O'Brien's body is reacting to," Kaltenborn pointed out.

Poor Dennis, he was going to be wanting relief by the time he was done with me.

"Lick me," I ordered. "Let just the tip of your tongue touch my pussy."

I shuddered from the delicate contact with my sensitive folds, resisting the urge to grab him by the ears and stuff his head into my crotch. "Deeper," I moaned. "Use your fingers to spread my outer lips."

"Notice, class, how Miss Walker's vagina is responding, producing plenty of juices. The large opening is her vagina, of course. Mr. O'Brien would find it quite ready for his penis, but should penetrate her only if Miss Walker requests that."

I managed to shake my head. "No, not that." That, I'd sworn, was to be saved for Greg. "Lick deeper," I urged, my tummy muscles rippling in reaction to the warm, velvety stroking of his tongue. "Lick upwards. See where my inner lips come together? Oh wow!"

His tongue tip had brushed the little pearl of my clit, making my hips jump.

"You can put a finger in me," I offered, knowing his hands were clean. "And suck on that little lump between the top of my inner lips, where they form a sort of hood over it. Oooohhyeah! That's -- that's my clit. Oh God that feels good! Lick it and suck it, lick it and suck it, and wiggle your finger inside me, put another finer in, two more, if you want, deep, as deep as you can, and move them in and out, and wiggle them in there and oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!"

I'd meant it to take longer, but I was just too horny to wait. My toes curling I pinched my own nipples, my thighs closing around Dennis's head as he sucked and licked at my clitoris, his fingers stirring my juices to a froth inside my clenching cunt.

Finally I couldn't take anymore and released his head, pushing him away gently as my body slowly relaxed. "And that," I told him, "is how it is done!"

"Now I need relief again," he complained to me as the class applauded, his cheeks slick with my juices.

So I had him stand between my spread legs and, making sure he used the hand that had explored my depths, let him jack himself off as I fingered just the tip of is dick. He went off like a rocket, his cock quickly spurting thick, creamy globs of his rich, musky come on me all the way from my throat, down to my tits, to my tummy, leaving it drooling over my naked skin, until Mr. Kaltenborn handed me a rag to wipe myself off, but not before he'd captured some of it on a microscope slide.

Darkening the room as Mike and I recovered, he slipped that slide under the projection microscope, and a zillion wriggling tad-poley sort of things came into focus on the screen -- sperm, lashing their little tails, eager to find one of my eggs. Not this time, little fellas, I said to myself. Maybe someday, but not this time, as Mr. Kaltenborn described their long journey, and what happened when the lucky one reached his goal.

The rest of the class Mike and I remained up front while Mr. Kaltenborn covered the details of our anatomy, giving all who wanted a close look, of which I wholeheartedly approved, of course. By the time the lunch bell rang I was at a low simmer again, and I suspected some of the guys were wishing they could ask for relief.

Me, I wished Greg were in my lunch period, rather than the later one. On the other hand, maybe it was best he wasn't, or I'd have had him right there on one of the lunch tables. Instead I was surrounded by my usual lunch bunch, and found myself on the spot. It seemed that the rumor mill was in high gear, The Program being the grist.

Apparently, somehow, the word had gotten around that The Program was, depending on who you listened to, going to be summarily eliminated, or drastically regimented, with stations at every hallway intersection where Reasonable Requests would be performed under the watchful eye of monitors who insured that the needed sanitary precautions were observed and that all parties involved agreed as to reasonableness. Lists of approved and un-approved requests -- regularly updated to keep pace with the ingenuity of students to find outlets for their unrelenting sex drive, curiosity and ingenuity -- would be prominently posted and circulated among the students.

That was a solution that had already crossed my mind, but I'd dismissed it as impractical. Still, it did have its good points...

As to how the rumors had gotten started, well, don't look at me. But if Mrs. Devers had been in contact with some upper-class students about being on the committee, that would be all it would take. They had to know what she wanted them for, and all it would take was one of them to let something slip.

"So," Fran began, in a tone that put me on my guard, "word has it you've been seen coming out of The Devil's office."

"The Devil," of course, was the students' nickname for Mrs. Devers, particularly those who had somehow incurred her wrath. It was not, you'll note, a name I ever let pass my lips -- except maybe accidentally. I hastily stuffed my mouth with food so all I could do was lift my eyebrows innocently while I chewed.

"Doesn't she sort of oversee The Program?" Peggy asked. "Didn't Mr. Worthington say she's his boss?"

She looked so cute, sitting there primly, as naked as the day she was born, except for a girlish pair of sandals. She really did have a lovely body, with beautiful little boobs, a B cup, like half-grapefruit, capped with alert pink nipples. Her delicate cunt ruffles were showing through the soft brown bush nestled between her thighs. She'd covered that mouth-watering display with a paper napkin, for sanitary reasons only, of course, but before she'd spread it I noticed she'd obviously received more than a little attention during the morning, and thoroughly enjoyed it, was my bet.

I wanted to throttle her.

I also wanted to crawl under the table and lick her until she screamed.

Still chewing, I shrugged, wondering if I could possibly make this bite last through the whole lunch period. Unfortunately, I had twenty minutes to go, and every eye at the table was focused on me.

I nodded, still chewing, drooling down my chin.

"And Worthlessness put you in The Program 'cause you mouthed off to him," Fran reminded us all. "I don't suppose you appealed his ruling to a higher power, did you?"

After taking a desperate gulp of milk to wash down the food, I was able to truthfully deny that charge, frantically wiping my chin and chest of the dribbles that had escaped my mouth. "I didn't! As you can see, I'm still in the program, and anyway, I deserved it..."

"Probably," Fran interrupted gleefully, "but anyway, putting you in The Program would be like, like..."

"Like throwing Br'er Rabbit in the Briar Patch," Inez filled in for her.

As far as I was concerned that simile was getting a little shopworn. The resulting laughter didn't slow Fran down.

"But what did go on behind that closed door, in that case?" she persisted.

It isn't really a lie if you feign ignorance with a look, is it? I mean, I didn't lie! I just -- tried to look innocent, cursing my tendency to blush like a fire engine.

"I bet she said something in there that's stirred things up," Cindy said with a toss of her blond curls.

I couldn't think of anything to do but concentrate on my lunch. I didn't think I could even admit I was sworn to secrecy, 'cause that would confirm that something had gone on, which, of course, it had. I tried to think what a politician would say in my position, and the best I could come up with was "no comment," which was just as bad as admitting something had gone on.

"So, how did the morning go with you?" I asked Peggy lamely. That was enough to make her blush prettily, which was all the answer we needed.

"I hear you and Dennis put on a show in bio," she countered, and that was enough for me to regale them with a long rendition of my display. With Cindy to embellish my tale, since she'd been a witness. Her description of how Dennis had hosed me with his come had them panting, and it was enough to use up the lunch period.

But, as we left the lunchroom, I could feel Fran's eyes on me -- the others', too. They knew something was going on, and that I was right in the middle of it, and they were upset I wasn't straight with them. Not for the first time I regretted my rep for stirring the pot. I couldn't help wondering how these things kept happening to me. It's not like I invite them, after all.

The beginning of the afternoon went pretty much as the morning had. Greg and I rendezvoused under the stairs for a quick kiss and grope, reminding each other of our future appointment with Kathy, yet to be arranged, with its promise of future intimacies.

I did turn down another pickle up my rear, this one from a horny junior showing a depressing lack of originality. He said it was a dill, and it was a monster. I pleaded tenderness back there from yesterday's penetration. It was just too big, and besides, I'd already been there and done that. I let him give me a good feel instead, which seemed to satisfy him. It only left me hanging, though, darn it.

I was hurrying past Worthington's office to my last class when he nabbed me. "Miss Walker, why are you naked?"

That jolted me. "Uh, you put me in the program yesterday, remember?"

"I only meant for the remainder of the day," he snapped. "You'll still get your full week in The Program later in the year! So put some clothes on."

Oh brother, I thought, doing an Olympic class eye roll. He didn't even have the courtesy to drag me into the closet that was his office. Well, if he wanted to embarrass himself in front of the world that wasn't my problem. "I'm sorry, that's not possible, sir."

"Why not?"

I sighed. "I assumed I was in The Program for the week, sir. To save time and trouble, I came to school this way. Sir."

Of course I knew yesterday's clothes were probably somewhere around, maybe even in his office, but I wasn't about to remind him of that. Then I remembered the first time he threatened me with the program he'd said, "for the rest of this week and perhaps the next," and I tried to remind him of that, but he'd have none of it.

"I know what I said, Miss Walker! I did not say the rest of this week, and I most certainly did not say anything about next week!"

He was getting rather red in the face, so I shut my mouth before the two of us together sucked all the air out of the corridor. While there were a few gawkers, most of the passing throng was rubber-necking us like he was a cop writing me a ticket for speeding or something.

Nothing would have stopped him anyway. He had up a full head of steam. "This just won't do! I'm afraid I'm going to have to send a strongly worded letter home, making them aware of your delinquency! And as of now, you may consider yourself in The Program for the remainder of the week! It will not excuse you from your future scheduled participation."

I was still digesting the fact he'd used the word "delinquency" as I parsed the remainder of his tirade. Oh. Okay. So I was destined to be roaming the halls naked for the rest of the week. I could live with that, and another week later on. No problem. This Br'er Rabbit was happy in her briar patch. It was my comfort zone, after all.

"Yessir." I hung my head meekly.

Somehow I also resisted coming up with some smart remark -- or ripping his tongue out, take your pick. This was MY briar patch! I was SO looking forward to seeing him in The Program for a week, if I was so unlucky as to have him named to the committee.

That thick paperback in my backpack suddenly loomed large in my immediate future. I wondered if there was a version online that I could search for "assholes, silencing of," rather than having to plow through all 700 plus pages. Maybe I could just throw it at him, literally. I vowed to myself to cut him off at the knees, figuratively speaking, if he tried to take over my committee.

I mean, the committee. It is NOT going to be my committee! NO! No, no, NO! Not my committee. I only agreed to be on it. Someone else could run it. Not me!

"Now get along, or you'll be late to your next class! No dawdling!" He stamped his foot.

He stamped his foot? And "dawdling?" What century did this creep come from?

Fuming, I "got along," as he put it.



-------

Chapter 7

So much for Mrs. Devers having some information for me that day. I spent the rest of the week -- still naked, of course, not that I minded -- waiting for some word from her, while avoiding my lunchtime friends. I knew eating with them would be like being pecked to death by ducks. They knew me too well. They'd be coming at me from every direction, trying to find out what I knew, what was going on, and I was afraid I couldn't stand up to their assault.

Oh, sure, I'd see them during classes that we shared, bump into them in the hallways, but there was no time for them to gang up and get their teeth into me during those brief head-to-head encounters. All of them together for a half an hour at the lunch table, well, they'd be piranhas in a feeding frenzy, in the nicest possible way, of course. The very thought of it destroyed my appetite. I brought my lunch, seeking out secluded corners where I could safely enjoy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in peace.

One day I went to the athletic wing to eat by the school's indoor pool, only it was empty, still undergoing maintenance. The hollowness really bothered me, it echoed every little sound. The comforting smell of chlorine was missing, replaced by a fresh-paint smell. I remembered this was where I'd first met Greg and I wondered if we'd ever have a really good time together, alone. The whole world seemed to be conspiring against us.

Another day, after wolfing down my sandwich in a stairwell, I spent my lunch period wandering the halls. As long as I looked like I knew where I was going, with something like a book in my hand, the hall monitors ignored me. With two lunch periods, half the school was eating, the rest working, so some classes were in session. I'd pause outside them and eavesdrop, listen as teachers asked questions, fighting the urge to stick my head in and contribute when no one answered.

By Friday I was really lonely, so I skulked my way down the corridor to the art studio.

By the way, it is very hard to skulk when you're on your way to being six feet tall -- yeah, I'm still growing -- and built like a trufula tree. The Stick kept prodding me to stand tall.

Anyway, I told myself I was going to see Kathy 'cause I'd promised Steph to make sure Kathy ate, rather than admitting my cowardice avoiding my friends.

Yeah, The Stick got on me about that, too. She doesn't let me lie even to myself.

When I'd made my lunch I'd even planned for this, arming myself with an extra sandwich and a bunch of fat, juicy green grapes, and I'd fed a vending machine enough quarters for a couple of milks to wash them down. No sugary sodas in this school, no siree, only water and milk (chocolate and white, both non-fat) and juices that actually came from fruit, with no high fructose corn syrup or sweetener, other than white grape juice, that is, used so the bottler could maintain the purity of their 100% juice product.

Not that I'm complaining. I don't like sugary sodas.

I found Kathy mashing a wad of clay into submission before beginning a new sculpture.

"Dee! Come on in!"

"I haven't been avoiding you," I apologized in advance, "it's just been a chaotic week."

After throwing a damp rag over the clay she gathered me into her embrace and I could feel the tension just flowing out of me, and I knew I should have come here sooner. She was dressed in a tee and jeans, with a big, floppy, paint stained man's shirt for a smock. She had that wonderful scent of art stuff, this time damp clay against the background of oil paints, linseed oil, and turpentine. She felt so good against me and I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra, her firm breasts two cushions against me, and neither was I -- I wasn't wearing anything, of course -- and if her hands were smearing my naked back with clay I really didn't care as I pressed myself against her. By lifting my chin just a little bit I could snuggle my cheek to hers, my pulse point to hers, savoring that oh-so intimate contact, just breathing in her scent. Her hands slid down to my butt, cupped my ass, pulling me hard against her for a long, luscious time.

Then she held me at arms length and looked me up and down in a way that had me blushing, my nipples enjoying her study.

"I heard you got put in The Program for mouthing off to Worthington. I'm sorry that happened, but I love seeing you like this. Did you come to pose for me?"

"I brought you lunch," I answered. "It's only peanut butter and jelly..."

"Oh boy! You can pose later, I'm famished. I forgot to eat again," she confessed, making a place for us at one of the tables. "Thanks!"

For a few minutes all we did was eat.

"So, I've heard rumors involving you and The Program..."

"I can't talk about it," I interrupted.

She looked at me with a sympathetic smile. "Then I won't ask."

"Thanks." I sighed. "I got myself in another mess. I thought high school would be simpler than middle school. When I got here I expected I'd get to dive, and swim, and have fun, and learn exciting stuff."

"Why can't you dive and swim? Are you sick?"

"No, but the pool is closed for maintenance for another week."

"Bummer."

I nodded agreement.

"Well, so much for diving and swimming. I won't ask about fun, but what exciting stuff are you learning?"

So I told her about my classes. I pretty much liked them, though Frau Blucher was a bit intimidating. Bio was fun, and I really liked algebra. English with Mr. Turner was a joy, lots of interesting reading, like Shakespeare.

"Did you know that Juliet was only about my age?"

She nodded, smiling that wonderful smile of hers. I told her how I got to use the stuff I'd learned in language arts last year. And how sometimes I'd start to look something up in the dictionary or encyclopedia and find myself just reading until I'd forgotten what I'd started to look up.

"Not all the exciting stuff you'll learn comes from books and classes," she pointed out. "There are a lot of lessons picked up just in surviving this place. It's a lot like middle school in that way, only more intense."

"I'm finding that out. It must have been hard for you." Then I really felt stupid. Of course it had to have been hard, she's gay, and she'd come out her sophomore year, to her parents and the school, both! "Sorry."

She wasn't offended. She smiled. "Well, yeah, but it wasn't like I didn't know I was different. I'd known that for years, but hid it well, though my parents already suspected. It was admitting to other people I was gay that was hard, but keeping the secret was harder. One thing I learned from that is that some of my friends weren't the friends I thought they were, and people I hardly knew became true friends, like Beth and Carl, and Stephanie."

"How is Stephanie? Do you hear from her?"

"Every day, we email. She was homesick for a while, but excited about her music. She's studying music theory and composition and all sorts of other stuff besides just flute, and she gets to play every day until her lips and fingers are sore. Sometimes she sends me an MP3 of something she's learning. She's even sent me parts of a flute sonata she's composing. It's so beautiful I'm trying to think how to paint it. How are Carl and Beth?"

"They're good. I miss Carl a lot, but he emails me, and so does Beth, but not every day. College keeps 'em real busy. They haven't said, but I bet they IM or chat every night, maybe even web cam."

Kathy's eyes sparkled. "That would be very interesting to hack into, don't you think?"

I had an image of them, in front of their computers, masturbating for each other and felt a rush. I looked at Kathy, and it was like she was reading my mind and I blushed, and so did she. I knew we were both thinking the same thing, and it wasn't about posing, but my lunch period was almost up, so I knew there wasn't time and gathered up the leftovers.

"Here, before you dash off, take a shot at this." She uncovered the shapeless lump of clay.

"What should I do?"

"Just squish it, push it around, roll it up, flatten it out, punch it, whatever you want. It's a great way to relieve stress."

So I tried it, and wound up whacking the heck out of it before I quit. She was right! I felt better.

"I'll be here, if you want to come by after school," she offered hopefully as I washed clay off my hands. "Maybe you could bring Greg."

That was an offer I couldn't refuse, but the way stuff was, what if I couldn't make it? "I'll let you know if I can't make it."

She shook her head. "I've got stuff to do here. How about, if you're not here by 4:30 I'll figure you won't be coming."

That didn't seem very fair, like sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring, and I told her so.

She her strong hands cupped my cheeks and she drew me toward her. Her kiss -- oh, her kiss. It was so deep, and kind, and loving, and giving, and sharing, and wanting. "For you..."

I was trying to catch my breath. She didn't play fair, and I told her so.

"All's fair," she responded fondly.

"I'll be here," I breathed softly to her. "I'll be here. But don't wait past four o'clock. I've -- got something hanging..."

I was hoping, praying, that maybe Devers would have something for me by the end of the day, like, as in, she'd tell me to forget the whole thing.

"I'll wait all night, if that's what it takes."

I almost wanted to cry.

"No, oh no, don't do that. I want to come, but if I can't make it by four, don't wait."

God, it was like some scene out of Romeo and Juliet! How is it she could affect me like this? And how could I possibly affect her that way, her of all people? And the chance to be here with Greg? And how would that play out?

Shit! She was not making life any easier for me, but how could I possibly hate her for it?

I fled.

I wound up dodging an influx of students pouring down the corridor, and as I fought the tide to get to my next class I collided with Inez.

"Where've you been?" she asked, her dark eyes stormy. "The Devil's after you! She came to the lunchroom herself, looking for you."

"Shit! What'd you tell her?"

"What could we tell her? We told her we didn't know where you were! You weren't there yesterday, or the day before. What's going on with you, anyway?"

My mind was racing as I plotted a route to German class that would take me past Devers's office. "Can't talk now. Thanks for letting me know. Gotta run!"

"But..."

I didn't stay to hear what she wanted to say. I didn't dare really run -- the traffic patrol would nail me and I'd only be held up longer, in addition to getting detention -- but I did one heck of a race-walk. You know that wacky gait you see only at the Olympics, arms pumping, hips whipping from side to side, making sure it was one foot on the ground at all times, heel first, and I was stark naked, remember, zigging and zagging through the crowd, my tail stuck out and snapping from side to side like a happy Schnauzer's butt.

I got some really strange looks, and slipped away from more than one request -- reasonable or not I didn't take the time to figure out -- with a "got an emergency, see me later" over my shoulder. If I got reported to Worthington for that he'd have me strapped to a bench for a real pasting with his ruler -- corporal punishment was still on the books, would be until we got it off, one of the first things on my agenda. I'd heard he'd used it on a 10th grade girl on Tuesday when she forgot and used the girls' bathroom -- by all reports he really enjoyed reducing her to tears, the perverted creep.

But I didn't dare pause, even for a quick feel. I had German class next, and Blucher was a real Prussian so I knew I had to push it. I think Bismarck was her grandfather or something.

I did one of my slip-skid-squeak stops at Vice Principal Devers's office. Clinging to the door-frame, I stuck my head in. "You were looking for me?"

"Yes, I've got news. We need to talk."

"Can it wait until after school? I've got German, and I need to pee!"

"See me after school," she agreed. "It shouldn't take long. Now, off you go!"

"Thanks," I puffed, relieved she wasn't mad at me, and headed for German, but before that I had to go to the bathroom. For a second I almost forgot and used the girls' room, but caught myself. Some boys saw where I was heading and formed a sort of comet trail behind me as I banged in the door of the boys' bathroom.

"Here, hold this." I shoved my backpack in one guy's hands. Grateful I didn't need to wrestle with pants and panties I dove for a stall, plunking my naked ass down on the toilet as another guy held the stall door open, affording me no privacy. Frankly I was so desperate I didn't care. As they watched between my open legs, looking over each other's shoulders like gawkers at an accident, I released a flood of warm, fragrant piss, sighing with relief as it hissed and splashed in the toilet.

Oh shit! Even this was a turn-on! I was a total perv! I even made a point of being very thorough and careful as I wiped myself, giving them a tantalizing view of my inner secrets. I gave them a nice view up my butt when I bent to flush the toilet, of course. There wasn't a limp dick in the bathroom as I retrieved my backpack and dashed out, my anonymous voyeurs trailing behind, grinning and walking funny, their stiff dicks tenting their trousers.

God, if I got my period, would I even let them see me insert a tampon?

Given my exhibitionist tendencies, I had to admit I probably would. Then I thought of disposing of the used one in front of them. Ick!

I made it to German just in time, whipped my towel down to sit on, and managed to reset my mind into Deutsch mode, trying to get my head around the masculine, feminine and neuter gender of objects I'd always simply thought of things as "it" rather than as a "he" or a "she."

In English it's the book, or the pencil, or a book or a pencil. But, like, in German "the pencil" is a he, "der Bleistift," and "the book" is an it, as in "das Buch." The gender is in the article, the. Die (pronounced like my name) is feminine, der (sort of dayr) is masculine, and das (dahss) is neuter. And a car can be "das Auto" (neuter) or "der Wagen" (masculine) but Ford or Chevy is always masculine (der Ford, der Volkswagen), and all nouns are capitalized, not just proper nouns.

Oh, and the indefinite articles -- a and an -- are also different, ein and eine and ein, masculine, feminine and neuter respectively.

There are some rules to clue you in as to the gender of a noun, but there are so many exceptions -- aren't there always -- you just have to memorize this stuff. And, just to keep you on your toes, "girl," which you'd figure to be feminine, is masculine, "das/ein Madchen," while woman, single or married, is "die/eine Fraulein" or "Frau," feminine.

Go figure! And I'm leaving out the "umlaut" 'cause it's not on my keyboard -- that's two dots over letters like "a" and "o" and "u" and it changes the pronunciation into sort of an "eh" or "ee" sound, and I won't bore you with any more of this stuff.

After my last class of the day I had to shift back to Devers mode as I made my way to her office and knocked on the door, entering when she waved me in, closing the door behind me, and carefully putting my towel down before I sat.

"Have you been skipping lunch?" she began, concerned. "Your friends said you hadn't been there for a couple of days."

"I've been bringing sandwiches and avoiding them," I admitted. "They know I know something, and I was afraid they'd pry it out of me."

She looked understanding. "I'm sorry it took longer than I anticipated. Keeping secrets from your friends is hard, I know. Well, on Monday, all will be made clear, or at least some of it will be. We got the okay and we'll announce the program participants for the week as usual, including Mr. Worthington as the first faculty participant."

"The first?"

She nodded. "It was decided that one faculty member will be in The Program each week so they can be more sympathetic to what the students undergo. We had to get approval from the teachers' union. That took some doing, I tell you! That's why there was a delay. We didn't want to single out any one faculty member."

I tried to get my mind around Frau Blucher in the nude -- she's, well, rather mature, and built like a fire hydrant -- and decided maybe there should be some exceptions made.

"Wow! Uh -- does Worthington know?"

"That he's 'it' next week? Not yet. Do you want to be here when I inform him?" she asked with a faint smile, her gray eyes twinkling.

Would I! I'd love to see his expression when he learned he'd be walking the halls naked next week. Then I thought again. Would I? "Uhm -- I don't think so."

"Why not?" She looked surprised.

"If he gets even a hint I had anything to do with him being put in The Program, he will make my life pure hell," I pointed out.

"You make a good point. Very well. Like the students, he'll find out Monday morning. Though the faculty has already been informed of the new policy so they have the weekend to prepare themselves mentally, maybe trim some hairs, whatever. No names were mentioned."

"Who are the students?" I asked. "Oh, maybe you can't tell me."

"Well, in your class it will be Mr. Collins, as you requested, and Miss Wilson. We chose them because they both did the same sex ed you did. What did you call yourselves? The Dirty Dozen?"

I nodded, thinking "uh oh." The "Miss Wilson" she meant was Missy. Mike and Missy in The Program together? I wondered if it was likely to rekindle their former relationship, and lead to another psychosexual melt down on someone's part.

Poor Missy!

"There's no reason for you to know the upper-class program participants in advance," she pointed out.

"Uh, no," I agreed. "Have you got the rest of the committee members picked out?"

"We're still working on it. We'll announce the committee sometime next week, but we had to get The Program participants nailed first. Tentatively, the first committee meeting will be week after next."

"You know there's lots of rumors floating around about The Program," I pointed out. "That's why my friends are on my case."

She sighed. "Fastest means of communication used to be telegraph, telephone and tell-a-student, and now we've got texting and Twitter and who knows what else. There'll be more news on Monday, I expect, but at least you'll have a weekend free of all this."

I was never so glad to see a weekend before in my life! I checked the time. "Is there anything else? I'm s'posed to do some modeling for Kathy Powers this afternoon."

Well I call it modeling. You might call it something else, but Mrs. Devers didn't need to know that, or that Greg was going to be there, too.

She smiled, and it was a wonderful, warming smile, so unlike her frown. "Be off with you, Dee, and have a nice weekend."

"Yes'm, thank you." And with that I was off.

Little did I know what the weekend held for me. For now, all I could think of was Greg and Kathy waiting for me down in the art studio, and when I saw them there it made my heart flutter, my tummy tremble, and my pussy weep for joy.

I tried to walk in all cool and mature, and wound up tripping over my own feet, and I didn't know which of them to hug first. Greg, bless him, took over and I was in his arms and he was in mine, and he was even already naked! OHGOSH OHGOSH OHGOSH he felt so good against me! We'd snatched our little snuggles between classes, but he'd been dressed even when I'd been naked. I felt like Eve must have felt in Adam's arms that first day.

"Okay, you two, get a room or get to work," Kathy finally intruded.

"To work?" Greg and I asked simultaneously.

She cocked an eyebrow at us -- and she's got a better eyebrow cock than I have. "That is why we're here, isn't it? Aren't you here to pose for me?"

Greg and I looked at each other in dismay. Obviously, his idea about how this afternoon would go was the same as mine, with maybe Kathy's participation, and it didn't include posing.

She laughed. "Relax. You won't be doing anything you aren't already planning to do, it'll just be a bit more organized, you might say -- more structured -- and it's probably not going to go all the way today, at least that's not what I've planned, though I'm sure you'll have a good time."

She was very serious, and had our attention even as we stood there, arms around each other.

"I need a major project to wrap up my senior year here, and to get me into the college of my choice, and you two are it, if you're willing. Sit down over there while I explain."

She pointed.

"Over there" was a bench draped with a white sheet, and her tone brooked no argument. This was the strong, confident Kathy, Kathy the Artist, with a capital "A," the Kathy I worshipped, that I'd walk through fire for.

We sat, a little nervously, side by side, holding hands. Oh, it was so good to be beside Greg. He's gaining on being as tall as I am, with that wonderful body of his, sleek and muscular with a swimmer's shoulders, strong and broad, tapering to a trim waist, supported by great legs, and, right at the intersection of those legs was a super-yummy cock, currently at full mast, a cock that I had to fight to keep from taking in hand. Hell, I had the urge to straddle him and ride him like a horse, and if he didn't get relief this afternoon he'd be bent over like a croquet hoop! Surely we'll have to do something about that before the session was over!

"First of all, you two, physically, are practically a matched set. You're both beautiful young athletes, right on the edge of maturity," Kathy began. "Michelangelo could only wish he'd had you two to work from. Greg makes his statue of David look like a farm-boy -- which he was, by the way, a shepherd."

Greg and I looked at each other and blushed, but she went on.

"I want to do a series of works, preferably in clay, but I may do some oils, pastels, even photos as well. I want to take the two of you through courtship, to foreplay, to coitus. I want to transport my audience through all the stages of young erotic love through you two."

Greg gulped. "Coitus?"

"She means fucking," I explained.

He growled and poked me. "I know what coitus means!"

I giggled. "Sorry."

I leaned against him. He's not the exhibitionist that I am, but I'd fix that!

"I figure it'll take close to three months of posing," Kathy went on, "once, maybe twice a week. Today all I want to do is block out the first few poses, while I take some photos. We'll set up a regular schedule..."

"It can't interfere with swimming!" I pointed out, and felt Greg nod.

"It won't, and I'll probably even incorporate some of your swimming, if I can figure out a way, maybe some underwater shots through the pool window, or maybe that'll be a separate project," she said. "You guys give me a lifetime of ideas. Anyway, will you do it?"

I looked at Greg, and he looked at me, and we nodded. After all, it was only what we wanted to do with each other, more than almost anything else in the world. We were getting a license to screw our brains out, for an audience.

So, right there on the bench, we began posing for her, though it was really more like making out. We began by kissing, of course, almost innocently, while she snapped away with her digital camera. Then I was sitting on his lap, which was a bit awkward with his hard-on in the way. We wound up with it pressed up against his tummy, trapped against my thigh.

It was a little frustrating. Unable to resist it, I wiggled my leg up and down, rubbing the underside of his dick, until Kathy told me to quit, in her no nonsense tone of voice, and he pinched me to make me stop before I made him come.

"You're no fun," I said, making a face at him.

"Work before play," he countered. He can be disgustingly mature sometimes. But then, he is a year older than me.

"Try putting your hand on her breast," Kathy directed, and he did, his thumb toying with my nipple, which was already hard as a pebble, of course. OOooo, that revved my engine nicely.

"Cup his cheek with your hand, Dee," Kathy went on, all business.

Okay with me, and we kissed again, a deeper kiss, a longer kiss.

"Okay, that's enough," Kathy said, too soon.

Greg tweaked my nose and eased me off his lap, complaining that his leg was going to sleep. Well, I couldn't blame him, I was pretty much muscle and bone after all my swimming, and probably weighed as much as he did.

"Wait, let's go back a bit," Kathy decided. "Are there any of those grapes left from lunch, Dee?"

I interrupted the shower of kisses I was giving Greg. "In the bag, if they didn't get smooshed."

I heard her rummaging in the crumpled lunch bag. "They'll do," she announced. "Dee, sit on the end of the bench and you, Greg, lie on your back with your head in her lap."

So we squirmed around, and I bent over to try to kiss him as he lay there, my hand reaching for his stiff dick, only Kathy interrupted us again.

"Put your right leg up, Greg, knee bent. Here, Dee, feed him some grapes. And quit playing with his cock."

"You're no fun," I grumbled, taking the bunch of grapes from her.

"Behave, or I'll find someone else to model with him," she warned me. She did know how to push my buttons! "Hold the bunch over his face in your left hand, and pluck one to make like you're dropping a grape into his mouth with your right."

Instead of just "making like" I dropped one, and missed and hit his nose. The next time I hit it perfectly, and he spit it back up at me with a sort of popping "foop" sound, bouncing it off my chin to drop in my crotch, next to his ear. Kathy scolded us with a grinning "now children!"

The next one I dropped he didn't spit back. Instead he slipped it up between his pursed lips and waggled his eyebrows at me, inviting me to lean down and take it from his lips to mine, so I did, while Kathy's camera peeped like a baby bird with every picture she took. We shared the grape, our lips and teeth working until we were in a deep, sucking kiss again.

"Okay, time out," Kathy called. "Reverse positions, so Dee's head is in your lap, Greg."

Oooh! That put my head right next to his juicy hard on, but Kathy didn't let us get distracted, making us do the grape thing again, with him dropping one in my mouth, of course. But she did let Greg get away with palming my boob with his dropping hand when it was free, and I squirmed my thighs together while I looked longingly up into his lovely deep blue eyes. I rubbed my ear against his dick. It was wet and sticky with his pre-come, and made me think of a silly limerick Carl had told me once. So, while Kathy did something with her camera, I murmured it to Greg.

"There was a young man from Nantucket Whose dick was so long he could suck it. And he said with a grin, As he wiped off his chin, 'If my ear were a cunt, I could fuck it!'"

Greg laughed so hard I thought he was going to fall off the bench and take me with him, which naturally set me off. Clinging together the two of us went off into gales of laughter, while Kathy could only look puzzled and a little irritated that we'd interrupted her work, 'cause she hadn't heard me.

So, of course, when we'd regained control I had to share the limerick with her, The Stick making me add a little action by turning my head so I could give Greg's cock some badly needed attention! Which sent all three of us off again, only somehow I managed to give his dick some badly needed attention, and oh it tasted so good, how could I resist? As I devoured his dork he slid his hand down from my aching tit to my swampy pussy, and before you knew it we were going at it, relieving days of frustration, him turning, moving around, leaving me on my back on the bench, straddling my head so he could apply his mouth to my willing twat, putting us into a hot and heavy 69 right there on the bench.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kathy taking pictures of us and all it did was make me hotter. I had Greg's cock in my mouth, my hands cupping his tight butt to encourage him to fuck my mouth while he was muff diving me like a pro. He probed into my gushing pussy, licking deep inside me, even venturing to take swipes at my asshole before burying his mouth back in my twat, his lips seeking the hot little seed of my clit, his fingers probing both my vagina and anus.

I wondered, fleetingly, if he'd been taking lessons from someone. Maybe one of the upper-class girls had given him lessons? Then I had a brief vision of him making a Program request of Peggy, sweet, demure, petite, hot-to-trot Peggy, and squirmed at the image if him toying with her sweet little pussy, his face between her thighs.

If he'd done that -- oh I should have been jealous of her, I suppose, but instead I was thrilled at the thought, knowing he'd be so perfect at pleasuring her as he was at pleasuring me now. If I was jealous at all it was because he'd had her before I did, if only she'd let me! Does that make sense?

Oh, never mind. It felt so wonderful to have his body and mine entangled, our hands playing over each other's naked flesh as our mouths savored the hot carnal juices. I went up like a bonfire, the pleasure roaring through me. I tickled his balls and his dick erupted, flooding my mouth with his hot cream at the same time he was sucking down the juices gushing from my spasming cunt.

We finally came down to earth to find Kathy down on the floor on her back, her camera set off to one side, both her hands buried in her opened jeans -- she'd gone commando today -- obviously having almost as much fun as we had.

Only I wanted her thighs around my head.

"S'cuse me," I apologized to Greg, untangling myself from him and crawling across the floor to her. She helped me drag her jeans down and off so she could spread those long, lovely legs of hers for me, and I dove in to her bald cunt. As I lapped at her delicious pussy I was surprised to feel Greg come up behind me and begin licking my ass! Zowie! And here I'd thought I'd have to teach him all my perversions!

Kathy's fingers tangled in my hair, and her legs closed around my ears, and I was drowning in her delicious juices while Greg's tongue invaded my butt until I would have screamed if my mouth hadn't been full of Kathy's pussy.

Our chain fell apart eventually as exhaustion overwhelmed our lust. I wound up with my cheek resting on the inside of Kathy's thigh, feasting my eyes if not my mouth on her lovely pussy, all pink and aroused, her hand stroking my head, while Greg was using my ass as a pillow. When we'd recovered and began to clean up, we all agreed that this was going to be a most enjoyable project.

"But I think I'm going to have to re-think my schedule," Kathy admitted. "I forgot to allow for extra-curricular activities. That's one of the most important lessons you kids are going to have to learn in high school, time management!"

I remembered what Mom had said, and nodded my head, looking at the clock. I should be home, working on my homework.

"Get your clothes on, guys, and I'll drive you both home," Kathy offered.

"I don't have any clothes to get on," I admitted, finding the sneakers I'd kicked off at some point.

Kathy was fastening her jeans. "Well, help me mop up a bit and turn this from a brothel back to an art studio."

In a trice -- a nice Shakespearean sounding word that is -- we had things tidied and were out the door and into her rather beaten and cluttered station wagon. It was an artist's car, with easels and stuff in the back.

The moment we pulled up in front of my house I suspected I might be in trouble -- again. Mom's car was in the garage, and Elaine's -- Doctor Elaine Smathers's -- was right behind it in the driveway. It was a bit early for them both to be home.

Shrugging my backpack on after giving Greg a warm farewell, I went to meet my doom, wondering what it could be. Greg had assured me he'd left a message on the answering machine that I was going to be late, and why. My heart sank, not so much because I was probably going to be grounded again, but because I'd let Mom down again, somehow.

Shit!

When I got in the house the two of them were at the kitchen table, waiting for me, and there were two letters on the school's letterhead on the table in front of them. They couldn't be anything but Worthington's snot notes. So what's to worry? I'd told Mom to expect them.

But what was with the dog-collar on top of them?

I felt a strange tingle.



-------

Chapter 8



WARNING: This chapter contains D & S action among Dee, her mom and Elaine. There are restraints, humiliation, exhibitionism, watersports and mild "torture" in the form of an erotic flogging. If you don't like these themes, or don't want to see Dee "mistreated" -- while it may not seem so on first reading, it is all done in a spirit of loving role play in which Dee is a willing participant -- I strongly advise you to SKIP THIS CHAPTER. While it does contribute to Dee's character development, it is not vital to the plot. There will be references to the action in later chapters, but they are not graphic and are pretty much self-explanatory.

Please, I've warned you. Don't come to me complaining about the way Dee is treated. If you feel reading this one chapter might spoil the rest of the story for you then SKIP IT!



-------

The next morning found me down on my knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor. It was eight o'clock on a Saturday, no less, and I'd already been down there for an hour, scrubbing! Normally I would still have been snuggled in bed, dreaming wonderful dreams.

Unless I was at the town pool, of course, which (checking the time) would have just been opening, were it summer. God I wish the school pool would open!

But back to my situation this morning. I was getting what Mom and Elaine -- I mean Mistress Elaine -- call "an attitude adjustment." After reading the letters from Worthington, and questioning me in detail, the consensus they had reached -- I was a mere spectator to their deliberations -- was that I had been arrogant and disrespectful toward Mr. Worthless...

Worthington, I mean. Worthington. Worthington, Worthington, Worthington.

The other name, what I called him, that one with "less" in the middle, is to be banished, never to pass my lips again. But, while the thought police will do their best to wipe that other name from my mind, I feel they are destined to fail, no matter how hard they try. But I will do my best to pay lip service to their wishes, under threat of grievous punishment.

It was explained to me, that no matter what kind of a moron Mr. Worthington was -- and they did acknowledge he has his flaws -- he was an adult, he was faculty, and as such he deserved more respect than I had shown. They carefully explained to me the difference between the individual and the office which he holds, how there have been Presidents of these United States who were weak or corrupt or just plain stupid, but they were President, and as they occupied that office they deserved the respect of being addressed as "Mr. President."

Even if they were jerks.

Thus I was getting my attitude adjusted, which explains my humiliating position on the kitchen floor, wielding scrub-brush and rag.

And, before anyone gets all huffy about child abuse, let me make it clear I am participating of my own free will. I was told before I went into this some of what would be demanded of me, and that any dom/sub relationship should have, for the safety of all concerned, an escape hatch, as it were -- a "safe word." I have one -- I'm not going to tell you what it is -- but if they demand of me anything I really feel I cannot do, or that it places me in real danger, all I have to do is use it and the game stops. I'll still be punished -- grounded for a week -- but the shackles come off, I get up off my knees, or whatever, and life goes on more normally.

As to why I need this attitude adjustment, when questioned by Mom, I had to confess that as my frustration with Worthington had increased, certain disrespectful words such as "idiot" and "moron" and -- uh -- "dick-head" -- might have escaped my lips at a volume such that he might have heard it -- even through a closed door. Perhaps I -- uhm -- glossed over some of the less savory aspects of my interaction with -- that -- man. I have a temper, I admit it. In his letters home, Mr. Worthington had quoted me accurately, much to my embarrassment.

Oh, about the dog collar on the table when I got home yesterday? That is around my neck as a reminder that since I had behaved like a bitch I was to be treated like one. At the moment that treatment consisted of being down on the floor on all fours, wearing that collar, along with cuffs on my wrists and ankles -- all very sexy black leather, with shiny fittings.

Reaching the sink side of the kitchen I crawled backwards a foot and began working my way back across the floor, my chains rattling.

Chains?

Yes, chains. There was a shining chrome slave chain around my waist, cold and heavy rather than light and decorative, the kind of chain used for leashes for big, strong dogs -- very decorative but unforgiving. A matching chain, about a foot long, joined my wrist cuffs. The chain linking my ankle cuffs was a little longer, maybe eighteen inches, so when I walked I shuffled, if they saw fit to let me stand. Crawling was just as awkward.

At the moment a chain in front, from my waist links down to the ankle chain, was short enough to keep me from straightening my legs to stand. Another chain, from my collar to my wrists, meant I couldn't lower my hands past my belly button, or raise them much above my head. I was lucky I could scratch my own nose. I sure as hell couldn't scratch my butt, or that nagging itch in my crotch.

I'd tried, by raising my feet and humping my pelvis, to work the waist-to -ankle chain into my slit, but hadn't had much luck. Very frustrating.

Collar, cuffs and chains were all I was wearing. It was, Mistress Elaine took care to point out, more than a real bitch would get to wear, not that it did anything for my modesty.

After checking I'd finished my homework they'd put all the cuffs and chains on me at bedtime, locking them with shining chrome padlocks, the key to which Mistress Elaine wore on a chain around her neck, so it nestled cozily in the attractive space between her delicious breasts...

Ahhhhh! I've got to stop thinking like that!

Anyway, I'd slept in those chains. If I hadn't been so tired after my, shall we say, adventuresome Friday, I probably wouldn't have slept at all, even without the chains. They'd taken my covers and my pillows, leaving only the snugly fitted bottom sheet. It's amazing how a simple lack of covers adds to the feeling of vulnerability. The chains forced me to curl up in the center of my bed like the bitch I was, my head on my paws, and I soon slept soundly, my bedroom door wide open (bitches don't deserve privacy), oblivious even to the sounds of carnal revelry emanating from Mom's bedroom.

Getting down the stairs to the kitchen this morning had involved -- well -- call it sort of a butt-bounce process. As a result I had rug-burns on my ass.

Now, up at dawn, nourished by a bowl of cold, dry granola (chosen for its resemblance to dog kibble) sucked from a bowl on the floor (no spoon, of course) I was down on the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, my bare butt in the air, dipping a scrub brush into a bucket of hot, pine-cleaner-scented water, and scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing, following up by drying and polishing the just-scrubbed portion of floor with a rag -- an old hand towel -- which I periodically squeezed out into another bucket.

They had debated making me use a tooth brush, but relented so the job would be finished sometime this century.

So, using both hands together because of the short chain linking them, the routine was to rise up on my knees to dip the brush in bucket number one, scrub as much floor as I could reach, given the limits of my chains, then return the brush to bucket one. Then I'd take the rag and wipe and wipe and wipe, pausing to wring it out into bucket two, until the floor was shining clean and no more than damp.

I crawled on sore knees, painstakingly moving the buckets, to repeat the process on the next patch of floor. I figured I did about a two-square-foot patch each time, going from one side of the kitchen to the other, backing up about a foot and then scrubbing my way back across to the other side, a couple of feet at a time, and -- well, I'm sure you get the idea. Because I had to use both hands on the brush, I couldn't even brace myself with one hand and scrub with the other. It was also awkward because I didn't want to put the buckets on the portion of floor I'd just cleaned, so I had to be kind of a contortionist as I moved the buckets and reached to use them.

The kitchen is about twelve feet by fifteen feet, and I was working my way down the long axis.

You do the math.

My hands were like prunes. My knees hurt. My back hurt. My wrists hurt. My shoulders hurt. My toes hurt. Even my neck hurt -- you try staying on your hands and knees, holding your head up for an hour. So from time to time I'd stop and rest my head on my paws -- I mean, hands -- and try to stretch my back. If I rested too long, someone would come in and give my naked ass a swat with a rolled up newspaper -- and no, these were not sleep-in ladies.

I was in masochist heaven. Something about it -- the restriction, the exposure, the humiliation, the degradation -- was turning me on something fierce. I was as frustrated as I'd been when I'd stupidly managed to tie myself to Mom's bed, maybe more so, and I couldn't do anything about it. They hadn't even had the decency to fill my cunt with one of their delicious vibrators. Surely they had a way to secure something like that within me.

I can't reach my pussy, remember?

Which, for some reason, puts me in mind of a silly riddle:

Why does a dog lick himself?

Because he can.

Ho ho ho.

Believe me, if I could have licked myself, I would have.

I heard footsteps and looked up to see Mistress Elaine -- yes, that's what I'm supposed to call her for the next two days, when I'm permitted to speak at all -- coming through the door, stepping right on the cleaned part of the floor. She was wearing knee high, stiletto heeled boots, a collar and wrist cuffs, and a bustier, all shiny black with lots of chromed rivets and grommets and spikes and stuff.

No panties.

Okay, maybe her costume sounds a bit over-the-top, like a caricature out of some bad B & D comic like I'd seen on the internet, but on her it was dramatically effective. She's not very tall, not as tall as Mom, or me, but she has a very fit body, with firm, high breasts (the bustier no more than a fashion statement), a trim waist, well-proportioned hips and shapely legs. She maintains only a narrow landing strip of dark hair above her otherwise smooth pussy.

Oh, and as I learned last night, she'd recently added a tattoo of a hummingbird high on the inside of the front of her right thigh, its long, thin beak pointing suggestively at the pink petals of her cunt. In an act to symbolize their intimate relationship, Mom had obediently acquired a matching one on the inside of her right thigh. I presume when they humped each other the tattoos danced together.

My mom! With a tattoo!!

They were really very discreet decorations, though a bathing suit would reveal their bodies and heads, the long slender beak vanishing into you-know-where. Mom had blushed when Ela -- I mean when Mistress Elaine -- had ordered her to disrobe to reveal her decoration. I wondered how she'd felt as she'd had it inscribed on her bare flesh. Was the artist male or female? How much had it hurt? Had there been much blood? Had Mom licked away Mistress Elaine's blood as her tattoo was applied, and vice versa? I wished I'd been there.

Would I have the nerve to be similarly decorated, should Mom permit it? The thought made my pussy weep.

In case I haven't mentioned it, Mom's pussy is now bald, not even a landing strip. Mom confessed she enjoys letting Mistress Elaine regularly wax her. I believe they call it a Brazilian wax. She said they'd discussed electrolysis, but that she prefers the regular personal attention and stimulation of the waxing. There was some talk of me becoming similarly denuded. I still haven't decided how I feel about that.

But back to Mistress Elaine, who stood looking down on me. I thought she'd come in to see how I was doing. Maybe she'd be pleased to see that I was almost half done. Maybe I'd receive praise, perhaps even a pat on the head, or maybe a swat on the butt.

But I was wrong. Oh, was I ever wrong.

Spreading her legs she humped her pussy forward, fingered her labia apart, and proceeded to pee on the floor, right where I had finished scrubbing only twenty minutes earlier! Her yellow flood spattered down, hot and pungent, spreading wide on what had been a spotlessly clean floor, a few stray splatters landing on me.

All I could do as Mistress Elaine relieved herself was sit back on my heels and watch, dumbfounded, until the cascade died away with a few final fragrant spurts.

"You missed a spot." Mistress Elaine pointed to her puddle. "Now get over here and clean me up, bitch."

I had no doubt as to exactly what she meant. There wasn't a scrap of toilet paper, not a hint of even a tissue or paper napkin to be seen. And, oh my, oh my, oh my, I didn't even hesitate. My mouth and pussy watering profusely, I shuffle-crawled over to her on my hands and knees, right through the cooling pond of her piss. It was slippery and I went down awkwardly on my chest and had to struggle back up on to my hands and knees, piss dripping off my stiff nipples.

I finally reached her. Rising to my knees, I started to put my hands on her naked thighs, then realized I'd be getting the piss I'd just crawled through all over her legs if I did that, so I tried not to, tried to get my face up into her crotch to lick away the lingering droplets of her urine, but of course I failed and had to paw her thighs to brace myself.

I was aware of Mom coming in, moving around behind me, straddling me, and the next thing I knew I felt a hot shower of pee on my back and ass even as I slurped up the drops clinging to Mistress Elaine's pussy. She had a grip on my head, pressing my face into her fragrant crotch.

So I licked, and licked, her landing strip rasping against the end of my nose, and as I did my own body steamed with lust. I remembered the horniness from the day before, when I'd peed with a bunch of boys watching me, and what I was doing now made me even more horny, and triggered another urge in me as well, and I wished I hadn't used so much water to wash down my dry granola breakfast.

"Inside, too," Mistress Elaine ordered, as Mom's cascade dwindled and she stepped back to witness my humiliation. Mom wore her own collar, but nothing more. Mistress Elaine put an arm around her and fondled her breasts before pinching her nipple, making Mom moan.

Using my fingers I parted Mistress Elaine's pussylips and probed deep with my tongue, wiping away the last remnants of her salty, pungent pee, and all the while the heat in my own pussy flared higher, along with the urge to pee myself. Mistress Elaine of course enjoyed my oral attention immensely, pushing her pussy forward and purring happily.

When I had cleaned her pussy to her satisfaction, which resulted in a mild orgasm on her part, I turned to repeat the process on my mother, licking her smooth twat clean, bringing her to a quiet coming as well.

I finished by licking off what my hands had left on their thighs before I sat back on my heels, their pee running off me, looking up at the two of them pitifully, desperately trying somehow to get them to understand that I needed to go to the bathroom myself. If I could have I would have pressed my pissy fingers into my pussy, but I couldn't, so all I could do was squirm, pressing my thighs tight together.

Talk? Talk to them you say? Just ask? Oh no. They'd given me a choice. I could promise to be silent for two days, responding only to direct questions, or they would silence me with a ball-gag. Me? Silent for two whole days? Now that was a challenge, and you know how I feel about challenges. But, to make it even worse, Mom had made a bet that I could do it without the gag, the wager being seven consecutive days of servitude for the loser.

Unless specifically asked, if I spoke a single word this weekend Mom would be Mistress Elaine's slave for a week. I couldn't do that to her!

"Now, clean up this mess, and don't soil your nice rag with my filth," Mistress Elaine added.

For a moment I was confused. I'd need another rag. Only, there wasn't another rag. I looked plaintively up at her, and she looked down on me, an empress to a scullery maid, and licked her lips, and I understood. Oh, did I understand.

"But first, get the splatters on my boots," she added imperiously. Steadying herself with a hand on Mom's shoulder she raised a spike-booted foot to me, and I licked her shining footwear clean. I had to lick even the soles and the heels, so she could carefully step back out of the puddle without tracking it around. I did the same to Mom's bare feet, licking them clean of her tangy urine, guiding each foot back down clear of the puddle on my formerly clean floor.

The puddle of piss presented another challenge. I tried licking and discovered that while dogs and cats can lap up liquids quite efficiently, my tongue lacked the required dexterity. I would have been at it for a month. I solved the problem by pursing my lips and sucking it up like a Shop Vac, long slurps. The sucking action accentuated the pungent fragrance of Mistress Elaine's piss as it filled my mouth before being swallowed.

Once I'd sucked up most of the puddle I lapped at the film left behind, thankful that at least the floor had been sanitary before they had peed on it. By the time the floor was dry enough I was in agony from the need to pee myself. Somehow Mom managed to interpret my desperate squirming and explained it to Mistress Elaine.

"She can just go on the floor, and then clean it up!" Mistress Elaine proclaimed.

"Oh, no, please, Mistress. She is housebroken now," Mom pointed out unhappily. "We don't want to break her training."

I presume you've figured out the pecking order here, with Mistress Elaine at the top and me at the bottom, Mom in the middle. The dom/sub roles I'd seen hints of in Dr. Smathers's office had matured.

"Oh, very well. Dee, come!" Mistress Elaine snapped her fingers as she went over to the door to the back yard, her heels clack-clacking loudly as I scrambled to follow on hands and knees as fast as the chains allowed. I was sticky and smelly with the drying remains of my mom's piss. Taking down a leash from a hook on the wall -- how long had they been planning this? -- she snapped it to my collar, opened the door, and led me outside into the cool morning air. Navigating the harsh concrete steps was a painful challenge, and I welcomed the sweet, soft, dewy wet grass under my scraped and burning knees and palms.

Relishing being outside in the open air, even in my role as a pet, even as desperate as I was to pee, I sniffed the grass, explored the scents, looked at the yard from my dog's-eye, view until Mistress began impatiently jerking at my leash. I carefully selected a spot with the softest grass. Then, out there in the open, in full view of the neighbors, I spread my knees as far as I could, squatted like the bitch that I was, and released my own flood, the rich smell swirling around me, relishing the relief, wondering if the lawn appreciated my offering. I'd gone beyond my assigned reading in bio and learned that pee -- urine -- is rich in nitrogen, the result of my body breaking down proteins, and that plants loved it.

Then I was left with the problem of wiping myself. Believe me, if I could have licked myself like a dog, I would have. I'm limber, but not that limber. Mistress Elaine solved it by ordering Mom to do for me what I'd done for them only a few minutes ago. Down on her knees at my ass, the touch of Mom's tongue on my pussy was almost enough to make me come, but Mistress Elaine stopped her before I could. Then, before being allowed back in the house, she turned the hose on me to wash off the piss I'd rolled in and been showered in. There was a moment when the water washing over me was warm from having been in the hose, but it quickly turned icy cold.

The whole scene left me unbelievably horny!

But there was no relief. It was back to the kitchen floor -- I had to go back over the area where they'd peed -- and it was lunch time by the time I finished by the back door. Mistress Elaine unlocked the chain from waist to ankles, letting me stand so I could serve my mistresses in accordance with their exacting instructions. With my wrists still chained, both together and to my collar, making sandwiches -- ham and Swiss and lettuce on Jewish rye, mustard for Mistress Elaine, mayo for Mom -- was a challenge. Nor did they release my ankles, making me shuffle madly back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, keeping the chilled Chablis flowing, bringing some condiment, taking away another -- anything to keep me moving.

Later, at their leisure in the living room as they finished their wine, while I knelt obediently at their feet, Mistress Elaine made a great show of playing with my mother's naked body, fondling her lush breasts, tracing the lascivious tattoo on her thigh with a scratching fingernail. Mom made her own show of blushing immodesty as she made herself available to her lover's attention. Mistress Elaine teased Mom's tits, pinching her nipples, tugging and twisting them as Mom groaned, her hands obediently at her side, unresisting. She spread her thighs so Mistress could probe her slick, wet pussy with one, then two, then three fingers, commenting lewdly about Mom's arousal, and I wondered if Mom was going to get fisted again, and if I'd get to do it.

Or maybe I'd get fisted. That thought gave me a real squinchy feeling in my cunt.

I was in the kitchen clearing away the lunch debris when I heard Mom squeal ecstatically in the living room. At least I think it was ecstasy. I'd learned this morning, when Mistress Elaine woke me up, that she has sharp nails and a very hard pinch. My right nipple was still pretty sensitive, especially when my wrist chain accidentally brushed it. Not wanting my left nipple to feel neglected I gave it a treat by teasing it with the cold links from time to time. It's about the only direct sexual stimulation I could manage myself.

Oh, I could have pinched my own nipples, but that was against the rules, and my sense of honor forbade me from doing so even if I could get away with it behind a locked door.

"We're going upstairs, Dee. Come up as soon as you finish cleaning up down here," Mistress Elaine ordered, and I obeyed, careful to leave the kitchen spotless even as I hurried, afraid I'd miss out on the action. Finished and trying to run up the stairs I fell on my face, thanks to my chains, barely managing to catch myself on my forearms to avoid breaking my nose on a step.

I crawled up the rest of the way like an inch-worm, all five-foot almost ten of me, which must have been an interesting sight.

They were in Mom's bedroom. Mistress Elaine gave a happy sigh as Mom unfastened her bustier. Mom even tenderly massaged away the impression left by the tight garment. The bustier had to be an S&M affectation. Mistress Elaine's breasts would never need the support, nor her waist the confinement. Then Mistress sat on the side of the bed and indicated I should relieve her of her boots, while Mom dealt with her decorative cuffs and collar.

"Mistress, may I?" Mom asked humbly when she was done, indicating our dom's lovely pussy.

"No, dear, I'd prefer Dee did it. You'll get your turn later, perhaps."

"Yes, Mistress." Mom looked suitably subservient as she knelt naked on the bed.

On the floor between Mistress's now bare feet, it would have been a simple matter to move up to tend to Mistress Elaine's pussy, but she had a curriculum of her own in mind and swung around to stretch out languidly on the bed.

Now, with my usual total honesty, I must confess that I considered myself the champeen 14-and-under muff diver of the whole county, given my experience with my former BFF Missy and my new BFF and mentor Kathy Powers.

However, Mistress Elaine proceeded to give me a master class in oral carnality. With gesture, posture, and voice, she guided my licks and touches to every sensitive nook and cranny of her many erogenous zones, a top-to-toe tour, as it were. While Mom watched and presumably took mental notes to improve her own Sapphic skills, I laved Mistress Elaine's delicious body with my tongue.

I explored the shell-like curls of her ears, nibbled their tender lobes, licked and nipped the pulse point of her jugular, savored her mouth, her tongue exploring my teeth, her teeth scratching my tongue. I tasted musky salt from the bristles of her recently tonsured armpits, licked her throat and cheeks, suckled on her distended nipples, probed the socket of her navel with the tip of my tongue. After rolling on her stomach she directed me to the back of her neck, down the line of her spine from her shoulders to just above the glorious globes of her ass. But no lower, stopping me just above the dark, beckoning crevice separating her nether cheeks.

Instead of getting to go for the gold there, I was directed to the soles of her feet, the crevices between her toes. I nibbled and tongued each little piggy, even the one who went "wee, wee, wee," all the way home, delicately noshed on her ankles and calves, tasted the backs of her knees. When she rolled over on her back again I nibbled the insides of her spread thighs, working my way upwards. With my fingertips I traced every lovely line of her delicate tattoo, slowly closing in on the Holy Grail.

But still, still I was steered away from that honey pot. Instead my tongue traced the grooves where thighs joined pelvis, making her tummy twitch. Finally, finally, following her instructions, my teeth tugged ever so gently at the soft meat of her outer lips, my head swimming with the musky scent of her arousal. When she curled herself up, holding her knees and spreading her legs like a frog's, I lapped at the sweaty pucker of her anus with its rich, earthy scent, even probing its darkness with the tip of my tongue, my nose nestling into the steaming heart of her pussy as I did.

Moving upwards from there, after bathing the ridge of flesh separating sewer from playground, I delicately teased my tongue along her already distended inner folds, until I was allowed to do my best to plumb the depths of her vagina. I found myself wishing I had the tongue of a giraffe so I could tease the donut of her cervix. Alas, it was out of reach.

When my lips and tongue were permitted to reach the trigger of her desire they delicately savored the sweetly slippery little pearl of her clitoris as it protruded shyly from the sheltering hood of her inner lips. She wailed her pleasure to the ceiling as I lavished attention on that nerve-packed nubbin, her hands clutching my head, her thighs clapping my ears as Mom was allowed to suckle greedily at our mistress's breasts, sucking ravenously on her turgid nipples, while I wriggled three fingers deep inside her vagina.

Mistress Elaine rewarded our efforts with a song of unabashed joy along with a gush of juices that I eagerly lapped up.

During this entire safari I was, of course, madly scribbling mental notes on the cluttered slate of my mind with the idea of having someone else, whose initials are Greg Anderson, make a similar tour of my flesh if we ever got the opportunity, and I'd tour his anatomy similarly, joyously, until he rewarded my mouth with his thick, creamy essence and I rewarded him with a gusher of ecstasy.

Not that I'd reject taking tours of other people and allowing other tourists to explore my terrain, thinking especially of Kathy Powers. She was tall! I could spend hours on her, and as far as I was concerned she could just eat me all up.

But Mistress was done with me. She discarded me as casually as if I were a used tissue, turning instead to my mom, drawing her down, cuddling her, dismissing me.

You think I spent the afternoon curled up on the floor while my mistresses made erotic noises up on the bed before they began to snore softly? Think again. I had a list of chores, concluding with preparing a three-course meal (salad, main course, dessert) for them by 7:00 pm. I did not nap. I had too much to do, so I slipped out of the room to resume my labors. It's probably just as well. I was so horny if I'd stayed to eavesdrop I probably would have ended up humping the bed-post.

The list was fit for a scullery maid, if a scullery maid was what I thought it was. The list is too long and tedious to reproduce here. It was drudgery made more challenging by my cuffs and chains -- cleaning the bathroom, folding laundry. Supper was a tossed salad (three kinds of lettuce, baby spinach, tomatoes, etc.), spaghetti with my patented sauce made from scratch (chopping onions while my wrists were chained was tricky), and a light sorbet dessert. The specified table setting was elegant and romantic -- candle light, our best dishes and flatware, stemware for the Chianti.

The diners were nude. I was stationed under the table, popping out periodically in response to their imperious demands.

"More wine, Dee."

"More pasta, Dee."

"I can't reach the salt, Dee."

"Where's the pepper, Dee?"

"More Parmesan cheese, Dee!"

"I dropped my napkin, Dee."

"Lick my pussy, Dee."

That last was my favorite. I'd dive between open thighs and was granted the right to taste my mom's or my mistress's pussy, just a few tantalizing licks before it was, "more wine, Dee," or something else that was often within reach, occasionally something in the kitchen, always in a rush, making me shuffle, chains jingling.

You get the idea. Never a "please" or "thank you." They got their jollies out of making me crawl from beneath the table, my chains rattling as I waited on them hand and foot; moving the salt shaker within Mistress's reach, refilling Mom's wine glass from the bottle that was right there on the table, crawling back under the table, only to be called out again, or ordered to dive into a pussy again.

When they'd finished I was allowed to eat. They put their used plates on the floor for me to lick clean. Mom left a little more on hers than Mistress Elaine did, but not much.

After clearing away the dishes my evening was spent catering to their every whim, in the end watching Mistress Elaine torment my mom, who willingly let herself be bound spread-eagle on her bed with the same implements I had managed to bind myself once.

Mistress Elaine then teased Mom to the brink of an orgasm with strokes of the cat-o'-nine-tails, and loving licks. From neck to knees she flicked my Mom with teasing lashes of the cat's nine soft leather tails until Mom was begging for release. Only then did Mistress finally focus the cat on Mom's heaving, sweating breasts and between her trembling, straining thighs, until her whole body was flushing red, her nipples were swollen like strawberries, her pussy inflamed and she was screaming in ecstasy.

I could only watch, wishing it were me.

After reconnecting the chain that limited me to being on all fours Mistress Elaine let Mom take me out into the backyard on a leash to void my bladder. I tried to be generous, distributing my gold shower on three or four different patches of grass which seemed to require encouragement.

Back inside, still in short chains, I spent that night curled up on the floor at the foot of their bed. As a concession to my good behavior they allowed me a pillow, and I slept very soundly, until I was again awakened by Mistress Elaine pinching my other tit from the one she'd pinched the first day of my attitude adjustment. She was an equal opportunity pincher, I guess, or she didn't want me to be unbalanced, pain-wise.

And thus began Sunday morning. Before and after breakfast, which I prepared, I was taken outside for bodily functions. On the second trip I had to -- ahem -- dig a hole in a flower bed with my paws, in which I made a deposit, subsequently burying it. Instead of Mom having to wipe me again, the garden hose was turned on me. From behind it almost resulted in an enema, as well as providing a very stimulating douche. When the water was turned off the sun felt really, really warm.

"How about a walk to the park this morning," Mistress Elaine proposed when we got back inside, me kneeling beside her, still leashed. "It's a lovely day, and Dee can get some exercise. Perhaps we'll even have lunch there."

I almost forgot myself and spoke! To the park? Like this, naked and chained? Everyone would see!

Oh my.

We went. The only concession was letting me stand upright -- Mistress Elaine had Mom unlock the waist-to-ankle chain -- and a pair of athletic shoes to protect my feet. It was a good thing. My feet would have been scuffed raw before we got there. Mistress Elaine made no concession to my hobbled ankles. I had to maintain my fast shuffle to keep up with her strides.

Note to self: Remember this when I'm walking with a shorter legged friend. My long stride can cover a lot of territory.

I know I got some strange looks from passers-by.

It was a lovely day, warm and sunny, and the park was busy, oh so busy. I stood out like a nudist at a revival meeting. Once there Mistress Elaine had Mom unlock the chain linking my ankles, so I could run.

"Fetch!"

I fetched. I ran, the wind playing with my naked skin, the toes of my shoes digging into the sod, the chain rattling around my waist as I chased the Frisbee Mistress Elaine had sent flying.

I leaped, reaching, reaching, I snatched it out of the air and fell, tucking and rolling, bounding to my feet and racing back to Mistress Elaine and Mom, Frisbee in my hands, passing the plastic disk back to Mistress Elaine while on the run, I circled around them like a happy retriever and waited eagerly for the next throw. It felt so good to really run!

"She's not allowed to speak," Mistress Elaine was explaining to the Finches who, with John, were watching my antics, along with other curious spectators and dog walkers. "She's learning there are times bitches must be silent and obedient. Fetch!"

The Frisbee soared and I raced off after it again, stretching my legs, relishing the exercise, constantly aware of my nakedness, the collar around my neck, the cuffs still clasping wrists and ankles, the chain dangling from my waist threatening to trip me up.

Another diving catch, I was forced to reach with both hands because they were still chained together. I tumbled on the soft grass, rolling over and over before scrambling to my feet to run back. The Finches, returning from church, were in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, Mrs. Finch in her light summer dress, Mr. Finch looking very natty in a light summer sport-jacket and tan slacks, John in white shirt and slacks. He was adapting well to the Finches' environment, the adoption papers soon to be finalized, I believe.

He didn't seem distressed at my bondage, his home abuse having taken a different form. He did seem to appreciate my exposure.

Others in the park wore everything from light summer clothes to wife -beater shirts, cut-offs and shorts, polo shirts, slacks, even tennis garb. Mistress Elaine looked very athletic in a trim, white sleeveless blouse, crisp Bermuda shorts, and running shoes. Mom was more ladylike, a light cotton dress and strappy sandals, and her collar, of course. Mr. Finch wasn't oblivious to her nipples poking at the thin fabric, the movement of her unfettered breasts. She was as Mistress Elaine had dictated -- no underwear -- and, not having had my Naked in School experience, Mom was self-conscious about it.

"Fetch!"

Off I went, sprinting across the lawn, my attention split between the Frisbee and the sensuous feeling of the air on my naked body. Mistress had a good arm. She'd sent this one high, angled so I had to track it as it danced on the breeze. Somehow I managed to avoid a patch of shrubs and gathered it in, this time without taking a tumble, and I dashed back to them, my tongue hanging out. I made a motion toward the drinking fountain, and Mom handed the little bowl she'd brought to John, who, following Mistress Elaine's instructions, filled it and put it down on the ground for me to drink out of. I got down on my hands and knees and lapped at the water, my naked ass high, intensely conscious of so many eyes on my humiliation.

Then it was back to chasing the Frisbee. God I was loving it! I loved the park, I loved the weather, I loved the exercise, and I loved the exposure. Feeling strong and graceful, I was out there for everybody to see me for what I was, a naked bitch playing in the sun.

After lunch in the park -- for me it was bites of a hot dog fed to me as I knelt by the bench -- it was back to the house, where I was blindfolded and bound standing spread-eagle between saplings in our small back yard. Mistress Elaine used tent ropes with those sliding things so she could stretch me as tight as possible. Then she gave me a safe word, but made it clear that if I used it Mom would lose her bet.

Oh shit.

Mom wielded the cat, while Mistress Elaine supervised, stretched out in the sun on the chaise. The first stroke stung my fanny and I yelped, jerked against my restraints, more from surprise than pain.

This was my mom. She whipped me with love, while Mistress Elaine ate grapes and gave instructions on how hard to hit, and where, but in a way so I never knew where the next blow would fall. For a time it was my back, from my shoulders to my thighs. If there was a pattern I couldn't figure it out. One stroke my set my shoulder blades on fire, the next the back of my thighs or small of my back. It really stung the backs of my knees. By the time Mom began on my front my back felt like I'd spent the day out in the sun.

Oh lord, lord, lord. The first stroke flicked on my tummy, my tight, tight tummy and I gasped in shock. It was like a splash of water so cold it felt hot, and then it was hot. Then my thighs, one at a time, on the quads, making my legs jump. Then across my pelvis just above my pussy. The tips of the cat's tails flicked around my sides. She struck a little higher, my ribs, and I moaned and squirmed. Then it was the insides of my thighs, my gut again.

I can't quite explain how it felt. Each blow stung, made my skin burn, but it didn't really hurt. It made me incredibly aware of my skin, my total exposure. I felt the sun on my stimulated flesh like I'd never felt it before. Blindfolded, all my other senses were hyper-alert.

I heard the birds in the trees, the bark of a distant dog, the thump of a basketball, the laughter of children playing in a sprinkler or play-pool -- all the normal suburban sounds. Then there was a soft rushing sound of the leather strips just before the cat struck my flesh with a flat slapping sound. I felt sweat trickling down my sides, smelled my arousal on the breeze, heard my soft grunt with every stroke.

It made me as horny as I had ever been in my short life. I knew my pussy was totally aroused, my juices drying chill on my tender petals.

When oh when would my tender titties feel that wonderful sting? Would I be able to bear it? I remembered the time trials, where I'd gone off the starting blocks nude, the pain when my tits were slapped by the water. Would it be like that?

Then it struck, square across the shy mounds of my breasts, seared my nipples, and it was like a sunburst through my whole body. I was left gasping, my ribs heaving. Oh SHIT!

And the next one -- the next one -- oh GOD! The lash struck my exposed and aroused pussy and it was like a bomb going off, a flash of pain and then my whole body was engulfed in my orgasm. For the longest time I strained against my restraints in full sensory overload. Finally, after some timeless interval, the pleasure faded in steps that made me jerk and shudder, until I was hanging limp as a dishrag between the trees, and Mom was cuddling me and soothing me, holding me up as Mistress Elaine released my arms and then my legs.

Tottering between them they half carried me in the house, up to the bathroom, where they bathed me in lukewarm water, their hands slippery with soap, rinsed me and patted me dry with a towel that felt like it was sandpaper on my over-stimulated skin.

Between them on Mom's bed, they cuddled me, skin to skin, between their warm, comforting, loving bodies, and I slept.



-------

Chapter 9

When I woke up in my own bed Monday morning I had a vague memory of getting up in the middle of the night to pee. I must have staggered back here on instinct and flopped, until my clock radio woke me with that damn car commercial again.

Monday.

School.

Then reality hit me like a barrel of bricks and broken glass. My fingers clutched at the dog collar, trying to rip it off my neck. I could see my whole life crashing down, reduced to a pile of rubble with nothing but sharp edges, the whole mess teetering on the edge of a black hole that would suck my future into an abyss.

Oh pooh, you say.

You think I exaggerate? Think again. If I had done all those things my memory was vomiting up my life was over, done, finished, kaput.

Maybe it was all just a really, really, really bad dream.

I must have screamed, because Mom was there in a moment, her weight pressing down the mattress, rolling me toward her. Untangling my fingers from the collar she leaned over and gathered me into her comforting embrace. "Bad dream?"

I buried my face against her warmth, her sweet scent pushing back the mountain of doom threatening to crush me. I nodded, shuddering as I struggled to regain my wits.

I had a dismal image of me shuffling into school this morning, nude but for wrist and ankle cuffs, chains, and that damning collar, to be greeted with a chorus of barks and sardonic calls of "Fetch!" while all my friends -- Greg, Kathy, Missy, Mike, my lunch-bunch, Mrs. Devers, all the people I depended on -- turned their backs on me. Worthington stood over me, gloating as I groveled at his feet.

I was going to be the laughingstock of school.

"Did we really do what I think we did yesterday?" I managed to mumble, doing my best to escape the nightmare's clutches by burrowing further into Mom's warm embrace.

"That depends on what you think we did yesterday."

"You peed on me!"

"Actually, that was day before yesterday."

"Eeeewwwwwww! How could you DO that?" I pushed away from her.

She shrugged. "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time." She gathered me back in. "It was Elaine's idea, and you didn't seem to mind it."

Thinking back to that moment, to the whole mad weekend, I had to admit I hadn't. "The devil made me do it," I grumbled. "Speaking of the devil, is M ... Is Elaine still here?"

"Right here," Elaine said from the doorway. "Problems?"

I pried myself loose from Mom to turn on her. "Problems? PROBLEMS?? You took me to the park! Naked!! I drank out of a little bowl on the ground like a -- a -- like a dog, with everyone watching! You had me chasing a Frisbee like a demented Dalmatian!"

"More like a golden retriever, I'd say." Mom's loving fingers teased my tousled blond locks.

"You weren't naked. You were wearing cuffs and chains," Elaine reminded me calmly.

"And the Finches were there, and John, and who knows who else from school?" I wailed, collapsing backwards on my bed I pulled the pillow over my face. "I am doomed! Doomed, I tell you, doomed, Doomed, DOOMED! Throw dirt over me and put up a headstone -- one that dogs will pee on would be your first choice, I suppose."

"She's right," Mom admitted to Elaine. "Word will get around school. There was quite a crowd at the park. That will cause problems."

"Well, it was a beautiful Sunday!" Elaine pointed out. "Probably half the town was there."

I pulled the pillow off my face. "You're not helping! How could you have done that to me?"

Pillow back over face.

"You could have used your safe word anytime," Elaine reminded me.

Pillow off face -- it is hard to fulminate effectively through a pillow. It kinda takes the edge off. "Oh sure! And Mom would have lost her bet and she'd be your sex-slave for the next week!"

Return pillow to face. At least they'd dropped the 'punishment in lieu of' clause if I had bailed, not that it mattered now.

"Oh, pooh," Mom snorted. "You think I would have made that bet if I didn't think you could win it? And look who's the slave now? She is, and I'm really looking forward to it.

"Does it run from, say, next Saturday morning through to the Saturday after, Elaine? We'll have to schedule it when we both have the weekend free again."

Mom turned back to me. "And, if you hadn't stuck it out, Dee, well, there certainly are worse fates than me being Elaine's sex-slave. But the whole scene was a little over-the-top, I must admit. Don't you agree, Elaine?" Mom concluded.

"It was. But it made for a fun weekend," Mom's lover pointed out. "A nice break from the routine. Distracting. Cheaper than a cruise to the Bahamas.

"I am sorry we got a bit carried away," Elaine confessed. "I'm sorry, Dee, I really am. I didn't mean to put you or your mom in a bad position. I guess I just wasn't thinking. Not having children it just never occurred to me it would cause problems."

"Fat lot of good that does me now!" I retorted, taking the pillow off, resisting the urge to hit her with it. I had to admit they were right. I could have called a halt to the whole thing. I should have. As for why I didn't, well, I had to admit I'd enjoyed myself immensely, even that mad romp in the park. Especially that, to be brutally truthful. It really appealed to my exhibitionist streak, the air on my skin, on parts of me that were -- ahem -- spread to the breezes as I extended my stride to reach the Frisbee. I also had to admit that the whole weekend was certainly a break from the routine, and that Mom had really, really needed it. Which is, I suppose, one of the reasons I went along with it.

See, Mom had been really stressed. Last week hadn't been great for her, what with a couple of clients who couldn't make up their minds, and a major deal falling through. And then, normally, weekends were anything but relaxing for Mom. Saturdays were usually taken up by an open-house -- very stressful -- or showing potential buyers around -- just as bad -- while Sunday was housework.

But not this time. This time Mom had had Saturday totally open and, for a change, Mom's squeeze, known to the community as Dr. Elaine Smathers, Board Certified OB/GYN, -- and privately, known to us, when the mood arises, as MD, Mom's Dom -- hadn't been on call all weekend, which was a real rarity!

She and Mom had planned to spend the whole weekend doing nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. They'd planned on exploring, in depth, their Dom/Sub relationship, if you get my drift, a relationship which relieves Mom of all responsibilities and concerns so she can really relax. A little bondage and a light flogging and all her cares melt away.

Anyway, when I'd gotten home Friday afternoon the dog collar had been on the table for Mom to wear over the weekend. Unfortunately, Worthington's letters superseded it. At the end of their hearing regarding my disrespectful deportment, the verdict had come down that this was my chance to spoil both of them and learn some humility at the same time. I'd be at the bottom of the food chain, so to speak. Elaine would rule supreme, while Mom carried out Mistress's orders vis-à-vis me.

The verdict rendered, I'd picked up the symbolic collar and put it on myself, and it just sort of mushroomed from there to a full set of cuffs and chains, total degradation and humiliation, ending with a backyard erotic flogging that had sent me over the moon. At that point my cares had melted away right along with Mom's.

All with my total cooperation, which was utterly stupid of me I now knew.

Oh was it fun!

But now, I guess the expression is, "I had to pay the piper."

I could just see it. The assignment for Mr. Turner's creative writing course would be "How I Spent My Weekend." Well, let's see. To keep it from being X rated I guess I could say I'd cleaned and scrubbed the house, done the laundry, fixed their meals, and waited on them, obeying their every command. I'd best just leave it at that.

And I had to admit it had all been an incredible turn-on. They really hadn't been mean, just deeply into the roles of that role playing game, and I had been, too. I'd had submission fantasies in the past. Who hasn't? When I was a little kid I'd gotten a tingle from the idea of being tied to a stake -- naked, of course -- at the mercy of wild Indians. If you've been paying attention you know that not long ago I'd managed to tie myself spread-eagle on Mom's bed, naked, and when they'd come home it had turned into a rather stimulating bondage session. They'd played me like a fiddle.

With the collar around my neck and the cuffs and chains on wrists and ankles, it was a perfect opportunity for me to indulge in my fantasy in the safest conceivable setting, or so I thought. Who better to introduce me to this kink than my loving mom following the orders of her loving Dom? I had to admit that I'd given myself over to the fantasy as willingly as they had taken it on themselves.

But I hadn't expected them to expose me to the whole world. Swept along by our shared fantasies I'd done nothing to call a halt to the proceedings, and now I was faced with the reality that I'd be nothing more than a steaming pile of dog-poop in the halls of good old Central High, the object of ridicule.

No wonder I'd screamed. Maybe I could go off and join the French Foreign Legion or something.

Mom was looking worried and regretful. I knew that look. She was afraid I'd never speak to her again -- I'd had occasional temper tantrums in the past and made that threat -- and it broke my heart.

"I love you," I assured her, reaching for her.

"And I love you," she assured me, giving me another hug. "I'm sorry, I guess we did go a little too far."

"Ya think?" I asked bitterly.

She looked apologetic, as did Elaine. Which did me little good, of course.

"But what am I going to do?" I wailed. "I'm going to be the butt of every dog joke for the rest of my high school career. When someone asks about me as a date the answer will be that I'm 'a real bitch' or, if I'm lucky, just 'she's a dog, ' or worse, 'a dog's lunch.' The only club that'll accept me will be the kennel club. I'll probably be known as 'Fido' from now on!"

Pushing off from the doorway where she'd been leaning, Elaine came in and stood next to Mom, a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her reassuring words to me were, "You'll do what you always do when you're faced with a problem, Dee. You'll hold your head high and march to the beat of whatever mad drummer it is that makes you you. I've never yet known you to back down from a challenge."

I had to admit she was right. Besides, what choice did I have? I heaved a sigh. Somewhere I read that people like Medal of Honor winners weren't brave. They were only people who did what they had to do. I certainly didn't feel I belonged in that community of heroes, but all I could do was what I had to do, which was face the music of my own actions.

On the other hand, maybe I'd get booted off of the committee! As Mom says, it's an ill wind that blows nobody good.

The weekend in chains hadn't swept away all my cares. At times it had given me time to mull over that whole tangle. It's amazing how mindless most housework is. As I'd literally slaved away, in a real "well doh!" moment, I'd come to the conclusion that because of my insolence Worthington was going be harder to deal with than ever. If the committee was still a "go," and I was still on it, a confrontation with him seemed inevitable.

I'd concluded I'd better be sure of my facts, and have lots of evidence, as well as solid support from Mrs. Devers and the committee. During one interlude I'd even immersed myself in the "Student Guide to the Naked in School Program," prepared by something called the "Federal Office of Social Awareness" -- lah-dee-dah! I'd paid particular attention to the section on "Reasonable Requests," taking note specifically of point number 2, and I quote:

"The Program Participant is the sole judge of the reasonability of any request that involves physical contact. Any attempts to coerce the participant into physical contact beyond what the participant finds reasonable will result in disciplinary action by the school administration in accordance with the judgment of local Program officials."

All Peggy had asked was that the Tweedles wash their hands before touching her. She'd had every right to refuse the request outright, and she hadn't, just like I'd told Worthington.

And while I'm on it, there's point 5, as it applies to me:

"No student shall ever be required to insert a foreign object into any bodily orifice as a part of a Reasonable Request or Classroom Activity."

I wish I'd known that before I let that guy shove a pickle up my butt. Not that I'd have refused, I suppose, seeing as how I enjoy anal penetration. But still, I should have known I had a choice. I should have read that damn pamphlet sooner. I still didn't know if it had been a dill pickle or a sweet pickle. All I knew was that it had been, shall we say, fulfilling? I wonder -- if it was dill, did it make my -- uh -- pucker -- pucker even more? It didn't feel like it.

But getting back to the pamphlet, what about Worthington? Had he ever read it himself? I mean, supposedly he had been trained for his position as NiS coordinator by this Federal Office of Social Awareness thing. Maybe he slept through that part of the course. Or, maybe he had his own agenda.

The question was, what could be done about it and how to do it? Would anyone listen to me after I'd made such a mutt of myself?

As I lay in bed Mom was patting me, and I put my hand on hers, thinking. Regardless of my reception at school, my next encounter with Worthington was likely to be this morning when he found himself in The Program. I was willing to bet he'd suspect I had something to do with him walking the halls naked for the next week.

Then I thought again. IF he walked the halls. I didn't recall ever seeing him away from his office. What the hell did he do in there all day? He didn't pick program participants, that was apparently done by Vice Principal Devers and others farther up the food chain. But he was supposed to be overseeing us. You'd think he'd be out keeping an eye on how the participants were doing. The only thing I could think was that he sat there in his converted closet like some kind of a troll, waiting for someone to report an alleged Program violation, when he'd leap into action.

Yeah, right. Like he'd done with Peggy. "Worthless"ton seemed particularly appropriate if that was the case.

Yeah, I'd promised not to call him that, but I could still think it.

I worried, too, about Missy, thinking I should have discussed her history with Mrs. Devers instead of assuming the Vice Principal had known about it. Maybe if I got to school in time to be there when she came out nude...

All this thinking made me antsy and I was ready to get up and face the day -- well, as ready as I'd ever be. "Time to get up, I guess."

"Usual breakfast?" Mom asked as she got off my bed.

"Extra French toast?" I asked hopefully, swinging my feet over the side. Nothing short of total Armageddon could affect my appetite.

"I'd say you've earned it," she agreed kindly. "Now get a wiggle on."

I wiggled my naked butt to the bathroom, meditating on my uniform for the day. A suit of armor might be appropriate, but last week I'd sent it out to be oiled and have the dents taken out. While there was no rule said I couldn't go to school naked, after my weekend that didn't appeal to me. The dog collar definitely had to go. I left that decorating the back of the toilet before stepping under the shower. I didn't want any hint of what I'd been wearing in the park yesterday to taint my image more than it already was tainted.

Back in my room, I stood in front of my closet. What to wear, what to wear? I contemplated my reflection in the mirror.

Amazingly, the activities hadn't left a mark on me.

I didn't want to stand out -- which was hard enough already, with me towering over most of the school -- but did want to look confident and mature.

Yeah, right. I've got my fourteenth birthday coming up, I spent Sunday in the park playing doggie style fetch with a Frisbee, and I'm s'posed to look mature.

I went with modest shorts, a nice permanent-press short-sleeved blouse -- instead of my usual tee -- and a full set of underwear including a bra I didn't really need. It was uncomfortable, but I deserved to suffer.

I even tried to tame my hair.

"You look very nice this morning," Elaine observed when I appeared in the kitchen door, the air rich with the mouth-watering scent of French toast, hot maple syrup and broiling bacon. Mom had gone all out for me, as usual.

"Thanks." I didn't want to explain why I'd upgraded from tomboy to junior-exec, high school division, but I suppose they knew. They're smart that way. I did tuck my napkin under my chin to protect my nicest blouse from syrup drips, which caused Mom to cock an eyebrow.

I felt myself blushing. I was usually pretty casual about how I dressed for school, sometimes not even bothering at all, I admit. This was the new, more mature Dee, ready to take on the forces of incompetence and foolishness, to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, all while enduring the slings and arrows of self-inflicted outrageous fortune.

On the way to school The Stick kept reminding me that I was tall, I was graceful, I was strong.

Yeah, right. I was also stupid enough to disgrace myself in the park.

Was I scared? You bet I was! I broke out into a cold sweat as I neared the school, and the first assault on my dignity came as I headed up the walk.

It couldn't have come from a better source if I'd picked it myself. It gave me the perfect chance to show my teeth.

"Hey Dee! Fetch!" Tweedle Dumb called, sailing a Frisbee in my direction with malice aforethought. Standing beside him, his buddy Dumber cackled as he fondled his own flying plate.

Fortunately it was Tweedle Dumb, rather than one of our more intelligent or athletically talented students. Otherwise I might have taken it in the teeth or my retaliation would have only further damaged my reputation. He was about as low on the totem pole as you could get. In addition to his identity, over which he had no control, he'd made a few mistakes. His delivery was soft. His aim was off. He misjudged my reflexes and my reach, and he didn't know I'd been taught how to throw a Frisbee by my brother.

And he was well within range. Without really thinking I snagged the thing out of the air and whipped it back at him twice as hard.

I wanted to go for his neck, but rather than risk a manslaughter charge I'd aimed for his navel. The only trouble was my aim was a little teensy weensy bit off and, well, it came in a little low -- about six inches low, I'd estimate, so it -- ahh -- split the uprights, you might say.

With a noise like all the air going out the neck of a balloon he folded like an old lawn chair.

Tsk!

The laughter of the crowd, mixed with few sympathetic groans, given my target, was most rewarding.

Dumber tried to abort his own Frisbee launch, which resulted in his missile crashing ignominiously to earth about four feet from his tatty sneaks as he went to the aid of his crumpled friend.

Wearing my most formal athletic shoes, I proceeded up the steps to a smattering of applause, letting the other woofs and sniping comments roll off me. Retreating behind my mantra I reminded myself I am tall, I am slender, I am sexy, I am sometimes smart. If I let them know they were getting to me it would only encourage them.

It was going to be a long week -- or longer, given the notoriety of my performance. Well, I'd survived being "The Stick" in middle school, I'd survive this.

Maybe I would have received more flack than I did, except that, as we already know, word had gotten out that Something was Up with The Program. As a result, the usual Monday morning welcome gathering for the week's participants had been super-sized, and there was a lot of speculation rumbling through the mob.

My lunch bunch had special strong hugs for me this morning, and Fran greeted me with a "well, hello, stranger" in her usual brassy fashion. "How was the park?"

I gave her an eye roll. I shoulda known they'd stand with me through thick or thin, but not without a little poke.

"Where's Peggy?" I asked, afraid Worthington might have reneged and added her to this week's victims. Not that she hadn't enjoyed her week in The Program, but I knew there had also been a lot of stress. She was justifiably afraid of Worthington, and I hadn't been there to guard her back all the time.

"Not here," Inez answered. "She wasn't on the bus this morning."

"There goes her perfect attendance record," Cindy observed.

I hoped nothing serious had happened. Peggy prided herself on her attendance, not even yielding to her monthly cramps, sweating them out through thick, thin and gym.

Then everything was forgotten as the office door opened and Mr. Worthington emerged in the altogether, an unimpressive little man in every way, his lips pursed primly as the crowd greeted him with more than the usual number and volume of hoots and whistles. He was so engrossed in trying to minimize his exposure he barely spared me a hostile glance. He scurried away, all pink and hunched over, looking like a hermit crab out of his shell, his pale butt twitching nervously.

"You knew about this and that's why you've been avoiding us?" Fran asked. "What's the big deal? We've had teachers getting naked. There must be more going on than this!"

I just sort of shrugged, distracted as Missy and Mike emerged nude, hand in hand. I descended on them and hugged them both. Mike had a testosterone laced "piece of cake" swagger along with his hard on, but Missy was more apprehensive. Her reputation as a flirt and cock-tease had preceded her to high school, in spite of her best efforts to be Miss Prim and Proper after her flirtation with slut-dom. I bet she was bracing herself for some pretty extreme requests, and drew her aside.

"You don't have to do more than pose," I pointed out. "You don't even have to let them touch you if you don't want."

She looked surprised. "What? Really?"

I took the copy of the program pamphlet out of her numbed fingers and showed her the section on reasonable requests, figuring that, like most participants, she hadn't had a chance to read the darn thing. Her eyes got big as she read it, and shared it with Mike, who was just as ignorant.

Sure, they gave the pamphlets out to us at the before-school-opening orientation, along with piles of other crap, and almost no one ever read it. Even I hadn't until yesterday. So they had to hand it out again on the morning of the participants' entry into The Program. Since the whole "chosen" list was supposed to be a surprise they couldn't give 'em out, say, the Friday before, that'd be a total tip-off. Of course, when they were called down to the office to strip most of the chosen ones were in shock and in no condition to read anything more complicated than an eye chart.

By now the other participants had emerged and there was the usual scrum which shuffled me and Missy and Mike off to the side. One of the Queen Bees had been chosen and was flaunting her 36C-24-36 (measurements she posted on her social network page. I suggest they be taken with a grain of salt. She looks more like a "B" to me) for the crowd to salivate over, even though her nude state made it obvious she was not a natural blonde. I made a mental bet she'd go from "bikini-wax" to "Brazilian" before the week was out.

The drones were swarming her, of course, while the chosen upper-class jocks were drawing the girls like flies to honey.

Missy looked good! She'd grown some, shedding some of her baby fat. I wanted to hug her more than ever, but knew that phase of her life was over.

"How's your mom taking this?" I asked her.

"She won't know unless I tell her," Missy admitted dolefully.

I gave her the laser eye. "Tell her!"

She looked doubtful. "But..."

"She's sure to hear from somebody else," I pointed out. "Remember what happened the last time you tried to keep a secret. Tell her, or she'll never trust you again."

Missy nodded unhappily.

"Good girl! And, if you have any problems, come to me," I ordered.

She looked doubtful, so I took her hands. "You know I'll always be here for you. I promise. So, promise, if there's a problem you'll come to me. I'll make it a cross my heart promise. Do you cross your heart promise?"

I was invoking our old childhood vow, one we never, ever broke, no matter what. It was a promise I should have invoked last year, before she got herself in over her head, but I hadn't, afraid it would have driven an insurmountable wedge between us.

She nodded.

"Say it," I insisted. "And do it."

"I cross my heart promise," she agreed, bashfully grateful, shyly tracing an X with her finger between her lovely naked breasts as I did the same on my shirt and said the same words.

"You're beautiful," I told her sincerely.

Good enough to eat, I thought wistfully, turning her loose. She has such a lovely ass.

She and Mike hadn't gone ten feet from me before someone approached them and had them both posing, the usual feet apart, hands behind the head schlock that thrust Missy's boobs out, her nipples stiff in the open air. Mike's cock was at full staff, and he didn't hesitate to let a cute little frosh girl from West Middle School fondle it. My bet was he'd ask for relief the first chance he got.

Would he pick me if I volunteered? I'd be disappointed if he didn't. I decided I'd sit on my hands rather than risk rejection.

The contrast of the girl's dark fingers on Mike's pale shaft was fascinating and I wondered if Kathy had ever thought of incorporating that contrast in her art. Which reminded me, Greg and I had a date after school to pose for her, if they were still willing to associate with me.

The first bell rang and the crowd disbursed, off to home rooms, and the routine resumed. I was hoping I'd hear something from Mrs. Devers about the committee, but all I could do was wait for The Powers That Be to get their gaze out of their navels or wherever.

As I went through the morning there were occasional barks and "fetches" sent my way, which I ignored. I could only hope it wouldn't get worse. In middle school these scenes sometimes turned into a feeding frenzy, ripping and tearing at some hapless victim until her soul bled out on the floor. The high school had tightened up the "no bullying" policy with the inception of The Program, but there were still cracks. They couldn't protect anyone 24/7, and I was willing to bet movies of my rover imitation were on the web. At least if they were already public there was no way anyone -- why did I think of Worthington? -- could blackmail me with them.

Maybe I was flattering myself, but I wouldn't be surprised if I went viral. Maybe I already had!

I was half-way through lunch when I was handed a note from Mrs. Devers. It was ominously succinct -- "After school."

Shit.

I blanched.

"Bad news?" Fran asked, as alert to my nuances as ever.

"Devers," I admitted.

Cue the chorus, "UH OH!"

That didn't deter me from issuing a BOLO (Be-On-the-Look-Out) through my lunch bunch. I could depend on them to put the word out that I wanted reports of any Worthington sightings. If his fat little pink butt put in an appearance in the halls, I wanted to hear about it.

I also sent word to Kathy I might be late for our session.

But Devers's message had me sweating all afternoon, and I was quaking in my trainers when I knocked timidly on her door. Her eyes were unreadable as she invited me in and told me to close the door.

"Why?" she asked soberly when I'd taken the chair opposite her desk.

I knew exactly what she was referring to. I sat looking down at my hands, my fingers twisting like John's when he was at his worst. What could I do but tell her of my mom's unconventional relationship with Dr. Smathers, and how I'd gotten swept along in the moment.

When I was done she rocked back in her chair, shaking her head slowly from side-to-side. "Well, I at least assume you didn't eat your own homework when you got home," she concluded wryly.

"No'm," I assured her.

She snorted, laughed, her eyes warming, and I felt myself relaxing, until we laughed together.

"You did look like you were having a wonderful time," she allowed when we'd stopped laughing.

"You were there?"

"With Gail, Jimmy, and my husband. We were all enjoying a quiet, dignified stroll home after church. You ran right through us, chains jingling madly, when you went after that last throw. You practically leap-frogged Jimmy. I thought sure you were going to wind up in the bushes but you dodged 'em like you had radar. I guess you were so concentrated on the Frisbee you didn't notice us. My husband enjoyed the show. Jimmy was thunderstruck -- he's only ten and not too experienced with naked girls yet. My husband and I had a very interesting talk with him last night, thanks to your display. I thought Gail was going to sink into the ground she was so embarrassed."

I hung my head, blushing like a stop-light. "What'd you think?" I asked bravely.

"I thought you showed very good form," she answered with a smile. "Dee, if I didn't know you as well as I do I'd be seriously worried about your mental stability. As it is, you're one of the most sane people I know."

"You don't think I need to see a counselor?"

"Heaven forbid! He'd probably only screw you up. If you feel you need to talk to anyone, talk to Ms. Andrews. She knows you.

"You do get yourself into some fascinating situations," she went on. "Oh, and this morning I got a call from Child Protective Services..."

"OHmygod! We never thought of them!"

"Obviously. I apologized for not warning them in advance about your experiment in Outreach from the Naked in School Program."

"You lied?"

"Wasn't that what you were doing?" she asked in wide-eyed innocence.

"Oh, yeah, I guess that's what I did, isn't it." I catch on fast. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. How'd your mom let you get dragged into her scene?"

I shrugged. "It was s'posed to be just her and Elaine doing their sub/dom thing over the weekend, while I made myself scarce. It helps Mom relax. But when they read Mr. Worthington's letters they decided I needed a lesson about respecting my elders, even if I do think he's an idiot. I agreed to be their slave for the weekend. We got kinda carried away, I guess."

"I'd say! But, there's another good lesson to learn. Don't get carried away! Keep stuff like that indoors, at home. As for respecting your elders, I hope it worked.

"But, as to things around here, that little show is only going to make your job on the committee harder."

"You mean you're not kicking me off it?" I asked. I was really kinda torn about the whole thing. On the one hand I'd be relieved if I weren't involved, but on the other I was itching to Do Something to fix The Program while I was fixing Worthington's wagon. I'd hate to be left out when it was kinda my idea from the start.

She laughed again. "Oh no. For one thing, it's gone too far for us to replace you at this point -- you've got the NIS experience we need, and it was your idea in the first place. And you're not getting out of it that easily. Look on it as another character building exercise."

"Yes'm," I agreed humbly.

"How's Mr. Worthington handling his new assignment?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Nobody's seen him all day."

"All day? Nobody? Are you sure?"

"I -- uhm -- have my sources," I admitted. My BOLO didn't leave many holes for him to slip through. "Unless he had lunch in the teachers' lounge he even missed lunch, or ate in his office. He woulda kinda stood out," I pointed out.

"Dee, you are really something else again," she mused. "I believe you."

I was afraid to ask her if that was a good thing or bad one. "So, what's next?"

"TPTB are finalizing the committee membership. We'll have an informal gathering later in the week so you can get to know each other. The first organizational meeting will be next Monday, after school, assuming everyone can make it."

This week. That meant Worthington would have to be at the meet-and-greet naked, assuming he was invited. I wondered how that would go over with him, or if he'd somehow manage to duck it.

After a little more discussion I was sent off to another potentially stressful meeting. I'd hardly seen Greg all day other than to wave at him and I was afraid he was avoiding me, and I had no idea what Kathy's reaction would be to my display.

Realizing that both my relationship with Greg and my modeling career might well come to an abrupt end I tip-toed down the hall to the art studio, and peeked in the doorway.

Greg and Kathy had their heads together, and they didn't look at all happy.



-------

Chapter 10

I ducked out of sight and leaned back, my backpack a lumpy camel's hump between me and the wall. What should I do? This was a refuge, my safest place, except maybe for the pool, but what if Greg and Kathy hated me after my display? Where could I go but home? Right now that held its own troubled memories. Mom wouldn't be home, I'd be alone with my worries and I was still wrestling with what I'd done over the weekend.

Stop it! The Stick snapped. Just stop it! What's done is done! These are your friends! They know you better than almost anyone else in the world! Trust them! You have to trust them.

My eyes suddenly stinging, I blinked and blinked, a knot in my throat. Finally, I risked taking another peek.

"Dee!"

Busted! The Stick nailed my feet to the floor, telling me sternly not to run. I was reminded again these were my friends! Running away was NOT an option.

Kathy was on me like a hawk taking a mouse. She was in a black tee that fit her bra-less tits like a coat of paint, her smock a man's white shirt, and paint-splotched jeans. Greg was right behind her.

"Where have you been? Are you okay?" She pulled me in for a crushing hug. "We've been worrying about you."

"A meeting with Devers, but everythings okay," I assured them. I abandoned myself to her embrace, my arms clutching at her, loving the feel of her body against mine, even with all these clothes between us, awash with her scent of paints and solvents. Even her sweat smelled good. Greg touched me and wrapped himself around both me and Kathy -- he has nice, long arms -- and the three of us seemed to just melt together, my cares easing. They loved me. I didn't need to worry about snide wisecracks or hurtful words, no snipes or cheap shots.

I hadn't realized how tense my day had been until that moment.

Reluctantly I finally freed myself, feasted my eyes on Greg. Oh, he looked good to me in his usual crisp shirt and jeans. I could see in his eyes, mingled with concern for me, the same love and hunger I was feeling for him. My whole body was singing with desire, so strong it was scary.

"You don't hate me," I exulted as they gently guided me into the studio, my legs suddenly no longer under my control, Kathy closing the door behind us. "Even after I made such a fool of myself."

"Get her backpack off," Kathy ordered Greg, her fingers attacking the buttons on my shirt. "Let's all get out of all these silly clothes. We don't hate you! Why would you think that?"

"Be careful!" I pleaded. "It's my nicest blouse! I -- I made a spectacle of myself!"

"Shush!" Her hands on my cheeks, she muffled my protests with a series of sweet, tender, tender kisses, then her fingers resumed plucking at the buttons. "I'm not tearing anything. You need to get out of those clothes! WE need to get out of these clothes. Clothes aren't for you. Not here. Not now. Not with us. You're beautiful. Isn't she beautiful?"

"Always," Greg answered as he relieved me of my backpack. I felt silly. I was snuffling, tears of joy tickling my cheeks. Ick!

Greg set my backpack aside. "What you did in the park was magnificent. Drindy can't stop talking about it! It was all I could do to keep her from stripping off her clothes right there and joining you going after that Frisbee."

"Drindy?" I gasped. "Drindy was there?"

"And me," Greg admitted. "I was, too. I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life! You were so free..."

"Free? I was wearing cuffs, and chains!"

"And in spite of that you ran like the wind," he countered. "You were like ... well, I don't know what. Remember that guy that showed off his hawk at assembly last year? No, you didn't see that, did you. Anyway, it was awesome. When you went for that Frisbee it was just like when it dove at the lure the guy was swinging, only you never missed."

"I wished I'd been there," Kathy complained. She was pushing my blouse back off my shoulders, and Greg finished the job from behind me, drawing it down my arms, leaving me in my silly bra, my shorts already yielding to Kathy's deft touch.

Greg unhooked my bra and it was like being released from bondage. When it fell Kathy caught it, looked at it as if it was a snake before she threw it away. I drew a deep breath at the touch of air on my skin, my nipples puckering exultantly with their liberation.

"I should have been there -- with my camera!" Kathy repeated vehemently, her face inches from my navel. "If you ever do something like that again I want to be there."

"Not likely!"

"Not even for me?" she asked wistfully, looking up at me.

"Maybe for you," I admitted.

Within I felt The Stick relaxing, fading away like a mist. How tightly wound I'd been! The Stick had been holding me, guarding me, shielding me from verbal assaults that, in reality, had been few, but just frequent and erratic enough to keep me off-balance and on my guard.

Mercifully, for every insult there had been a -- what's the opposite of insult? Praise? Compliment? How many had said "way to go Dee!" with a pat on my back or a high five? More than once a snide crack had been met with scorn from a bystander, sometimes people I didn't even know.

But even so, all day, I'd been braced for the next strike at my dignity. Now all that was over and I could finally relax.

Kathy was kneeling, holding down my shorts as I stepped out of them, while Greg was behind me, supporting me, his arms around me, his lips nibbling at the tender side of my neck as I leaned back against him, so strong and supportive. Oh, it felt so good, so good. Kathy pulled off my shoes. I raised Greg's hands from my midriff to cup my breasts, pressed his warm palms on the soft, shy mounds, my nipples tender pebbles between us, his breath warm on my ear and I tilted my head to give him access to the side of my neck, my ear, and he nibbled on me, sending shivers through me.

Kathy's fingers hooked the elastic of my panties and drew them down my legs, and I felt her breath stirring the little puff of my pubic hair, the nuzzle of her face between my thighs as she inhaled my scent, her tongue teasing my cleft even as she guided my feet out of my last bit of clothing, and I was reborn. I whimpered when she drew away, wanted to reach for her, but she stood out of reach, and quickly shed her own clothes, shirt, jeans, tee, impatiently kicking off her flat sandals, stripping down her own panties, leaving herself gloriously, beautifully, desirably nude. "Get undressed, Greg."

She took over steadying me as he stepped back, and all I could do was marvel at the feel of her strong hands on my biceps as she gazed lovingly at me, my hands drifting up to cup her wonderfully firm breasts, savoring at their warmth, the resilient stiffness of her nipples as I thumbed them. Oh, it felt so, so good to be free of my clothes, exposed and accessible. I realized now one of the reasons I'd dressed so carefully this morning was to armor myself. I'd mentally joked about my imaginary suit of armor, even as I'd selected the textile version, but now, here, I could be me again, just me, as nature intended.

The sense of relief was so great I wobbled. I was putty in the hands of my two lovers -- yes, two lovers -- as they eased me down on something soft they'd spread on the hard, cold floor, and I reveled in being liberated from all my cares and worries, feeling totally safe in their arms, their lips nibbling at my cheeks, my ears, my face, my nose, my lips, their hands touching me all over, fingers combing through my blond locks, touching that sensitive pulse point below my ears, along my jaw-line.

I turned my head, and Greg's and my lips joined, eager to get reacquainted, that wonderful mixture of strength and tenderness, the sweetness of his mouth on mine, nibbling, our breaths mingling intimately.

"Mmmmyes," I mumbled happily through Greg's kisses.

"You are so brave," he murmured.

"You are so beautiful," Kathy purred.

Blanketed by them, I was devouring and being devoured by Greg, lip-locked to him even as I clutched Kathy to my side with my left arm, pressing my left thigh between her legs, her crotch humid against my skin, her warm breast cuddling mine, the nipple nuzzling into me, her breath on my cheek. My right arm was around Greg, his right leg over mine, parting my legs like a wishbone, his cock was pinned against my hip as he lay half on top of me. Someone's hand was cupping my breast, toying with my nipple. Someone else's was cupping my pussy, a finger nestled along my slit, pressing, massaging my clit gently against my pubic arch, fanning embers into flames.

I didn't have hands enough or body enough or limbs enough to accommodate them both the way I wanted to, so I abandoned myself to them, losing myself in their loving embrace, kissing Greg, then Kathy, tasting them each in turn, so different, smelling them, masculine and feminine scents mingling. Their skin against my skin -- satin and silk? The same, and yet different. Kathy's touch softer, gentler, Greg stronger, more forceful.

I don't know how long we snuggled there, simmering together over a low mingling of love and lust, moving gently, erotically against each other, totally immersed in a sensual nirvana of skin against skin, none of us anxious to rise to a peak, content to drift gently on a sea of arousal. I would have welcomed Greg's cock in my cunt, but I didn't want to abandon the sensuous feel of Kathy against me.

"Feeling better?" Greg asked, nuzzling me tenderly.

"Oh so much," I sighed. "Thank you for being here for me. I didn't know how much I needed this."

Then I rethought that. "No, that's not true. I knew how much I needed this, but I was afraid it wouldn't be here."

"Now do you see how silly you were?" Kathy asked.

I turned and kissed her, and she kissed me back, tender hungry pecks that tugged at my lips. "Yes," I agreed, looking into her loving brown eyes. "Yes, oh yes. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have doubted you. You ... all of my friends have been wonderful. I don't know what I would do without you, without them."

I squirmed against them, my hips rising to press harder against the hand cupping my crotch, a humping motion. I think it was Greg's hand at my crotch, but couldn't be sure and didn't really care and wasn't about to do anything to interrupt what was a slow, steady, wonderful buildup of pleasure. Someone was pinching my nipple, sending little flares of electricity through me, making my arms twitch tighter around them both, making my hips jump.

The finger at my crotch wriggled between my blossoming lips, teasing the gates of my sex. It was spreading my juices to slick up the scrubbing my clit was getting, edging away from the delicious but painful scrape toward delightfully burning pleasure. My pelvis rocked, inviting the finger to penetrate me and I felt it slowly insinuate itself into my welcoming vagina, worming its way into my slick folds, followed by a second, stretching me. My mouth fastened to Greg's, sucking, our tongues tangling, I breathed him in, he breathed me in as he dry-humped his cock against my hip -- well, not exactly dry, his pre-come slippery between us.

He was growing more impatient. He had to be as eager as I was, and Kathy was humping her crotch as all three of us drew closer and closer and closer to -- oh God -- closer to -- oh God yes! -- closer -- oh God oh God oh God, it was time, yes time, yes, time...

As I burst into flames, my cunt clutching at the fingers within, I felt Greg's cock pulse, pulse, pulse, pulsing, his come spurting between us, hot, sticky, creamy jets smearing our flesh, slick and sticky and musky, while I jammed my thigh hard against Kathy's sex as she rubbed, rubbed, rubbed, her streaming pussy painting my skin with her sweet juices. For a long, long, breathless time we strained against each other, quivering, squirming, milking every scrumptious, delicious morsel of pleasure from the moment that we could, until as one we slumped wearily, the final aftershocks making us twitch until we were all limp in a lustful tangle, and I kissed them both.

It was Kathy that finally broke the silence, stirring. "Willing to pose for me?" she asked hopefully.

"Now?"

"Please?"

"Oooohhh, must we?" I didn't want this wonderful interlude to end.

"I've got to get some work done, but you two can just lie here and play," she assured us as she untangled herself.

"What do we have to do?"

The smile she gave me was wicked. "Just -- be yourselves."

Greg and I looked at each other and shrugged, smiling.

"I think I can manage that," I admitted. "Do you think you can?" I asked Greg.

"I think I can." He tightened his arm around me and kissed my nose.

Kathy came back from the sink with a wet washrag. "You might want to clean up a little bit."

This resulted in a giggling, squirming exchange as we mopped up the come drying sticky on my tummy and his cock, wiping away Kathy's juices from my thigh and Kathy let me mop her crotch after she'd done mine tenderly as if she were bathing a baby.

"What do you want us to do?" I asked, tossing the rag aside.

"Whatever comes naturally," Kathy answered, adjusting the gauzy curtain to soften the afternoon sun spilling over us before she picked up her camera.

Ooooo, I liked that idea! "Whatever?" I asked.

The camera peeped. "Whatever."

Greg chuckled wickedly before he kissed me ravenously, his tongue ravishing my mouth. I met his assault with my own, our teeth clashing as his hand captured my breast, squeezing it demandingly. I reached for his stiffening cock and closed my hand around its hot mass. He was ready. Oh was he ready! All our earlier squirming had done was take the edge off.

And I was as ready as he was, no doubt about that! How long had it been? All last year, after my birthday party, we'd danced around, tugged by desire in one direction, yanked the other by fear, yes fear. Yes, we'd fucked at my birthday party, but still there was that reserve -- we were young, are young. And then there was geography, him at Northside Middle, me at Central Middle, and scheduling clashes, as if the universe was against us ever hooking up again. Then the summer break and more conflicts, swimming meets, family travel, altogether granting us only fleeting meetings in public places, and we knew we didn't want furtive, hasty couplings, though God knows we were tempted.

But here, and now, with no restraints -- "restraints," the word made me shudder -- nothing to come between us, and who cared if Kathy was looking on, recording us with her camera? Not us, not one bit, and I wasn't about to wait any longer, and neither was Greg.

It didn't take much to invite him into the nest between my thighs, to let him cover me, cover my face with kisses, my body with his body, and I opened myself to him, guided his cock, angled my pelvis, felt the head of his dick nuzzle into my welcoming cunt, already juiced up and eager, and he sank his prick into my oh-so willing body with one long thrust, and I moaned as he filled me to my depths.

"Oh God!" The words were wrenched out of me and I clutched at his ass and pulled him hard against me.

"SHIT!" he huffed harshly in my ear.

I was vaguely aware of Kathy circling us, her camera capturing bits of our coupling from every angle, and it only stoked my fires to know she was photographing us as we fucked like animals.

He began moving, slowly withdrawing his wonderful piston from my clutching, well-oiled cylinder, until just the head was nestled at my gates, and then he drove back in and we both moaned as if he was driving the air right out of us, and my body seemed to shiver with the wonderful sensation of his cock stuffing me, quivering on the verge of something wonderful.

Our lips met, and we swapped spit even as he began to stroke, stroke, stroke into me at a steadily building pace, until I suddenly erupted with a colossal unexpected coming and grabbed his ass to hold him deep, deep, deep inside me while the orgasm wracked me from my toes to my crown. He didn't move, bless him, just strained against me as if he wanted to drill right through me, waiting until I relaxed and the flames of my orgasm faded.

But he hadn't come! He hadn't come! No premature ejaculation there! Oh joy! I spread my arms and my long legs wide, granting him access to my body, surrendering myself unconditionally.

And when he began to move again it was short, quick thrusts, my clit mashed to a paste between us, the friction deep inside making me seethe, I wondered if I'd survive another onslaught. I decided if I didn't, well, what a way to go, and I encouraged him with more kisses, my hips rising to meet his thrusts, every inward stroke striking my clit, setting off little flashes that flared hotter and hotter, wrapping him gently in my arms to keep him from bucking off, my hips rising to meet him. At one point our bodies provided our own applause -- slap, slap, slap -- flesh against flesh.

He was panting in my ear, totally focused on fucking me, while I was ecstatically just riding along with him, letting him do most of the work, catching my own breath, slowly climbing closer and closer to another slower, longer, deeper climax. He was driving faster, harder, drawing out, ramming in quicker, more sharply, and I knew he was driving himself closer, ever closer to his own coming, and I tightened my cunt muscles, clenched them around his bulk, remembering Elaine's comment about the surprise I'd have in store for my boyfriend.

Boy, did I! He gasped, drew out, bored in one final, incredibly deep thrust that felt like it was going to tear right through me. He groaned, pushed, pushed, pushed and I felt him tense, thrust, his cock spasming, his hot seed flooding me deep, deep, deep inside while my own orgasm blossomed, a flame that flared through me, spreading from my cunt out, out, out through my entire body to the top of my head, the tips of my fingers and my curling toes.

And Kathy was still clicking away with her camera, her attention totally focused on our straining, sweating bodies until, with a final shudder, we both went bonelessly limp, his dick slowly withering within me, as reluctant to leave my depths as I was to lose him, leaving his seed behind.

I hoped my implant was as good as they said it was.

"If this keeps up I'm going to have to petition the art department for a shower in here," Kathy commented, finishing snapping the last few pictures.

I giggled, and loved the feel of Greg's chuckle as we hugged. My cunt twitched, and I felt bad to lose his limp pecker, but it was kinda hard to breathe under him, so I rolled him off and we lay on our sides, still cuddling, basking in the afterglow, nuzzling and kissing.

"Did you get what you wanted?" I asked eventually.

"Oh yeah!" Kathy responded. "Want to see?"

That was enough to stir Greg and me and we sat up. Kathy was warm behind us, looking over our shoulders as we flicked through the pictures on the memory card. I lost track of how many she'd taken, from every angle, capturing our coitus from start to finish. The light was extraordinary, showing the muscles on Greg's back and shoulders, the way his butt clenched as he drilled me. I was beneath him, interlaced with him, here kissing him, there stroking his back, my hips rising to meet him, the muscles of my legs straining, my body welcoming him, my face a mask of joy and passion, where it could be seen. The way we fitted together was unmistakable, two become one.

"I think some of those deserve a re-take," Greg teased.

I giggled and leaned against him and we kissed again, a quick peck. I couldn't get used to how wonderful it felt to be so close to him, feeling him against me. "What next?" I asked.

Kathy took her camera back. "Next I go through these, plus the earlier ones, and select the poses I'll want to model. Then I'll have you guys re-create the ones I choose and start working the clay."

"You won't work just from the photos?" Greg asked. I was still digesting what she'd said. Was she saying what I thought she said?

"Nuh-uh. I want to work from live models. These are two dimensional. I want to be able to see you from all directions. I'll pose you, maybe improve on the pose just a little bit here or there," Kathy answered, bringing up one of the pictures. "Take this one, for instance, I might move your hand, Dee, or this one, I'd like Greg's head tilted a bit to the left."

"You mean we have to pose this way?" Wow! I really liked that idea!

She grinned wickedly. "Maybe for hours and hours."

"Oh my!"

"Without moving!"

"Oh! Think we can do that?" I asked Greg.

He grinned back at me. "I don't know, but it'll be fun to try."

"When the series is done I'll submit the selected photos with the matching sculptures, along with a description of the process I used so the judges..."

"The judges?" Greg asked.

"If it's good enough, and I'm sure it will be, I'm going to submit it to a contest, as well as use it when I apply to college."

"Awesome!" I exulted.

"I'm hungry!" Greg announced. That triggered a raid on our various book bags and backpacks, which yielded a treasure trove of granola bars and water bottles. I regretted eating my brownies for lunch. For a while all we did was munch, the three of us sitting tailor fashion, the stash of food in the middle.

"You're leaking," Kathy teased me as we were finishing up.

I looked down and saw a pearly stream of Greg's come oozing from my pussy and blushed, grabbing a paper napkin to catch the dribble, making a face at them for laughing with me.

"I am so excited about doing this!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around us both. "Thank you, so much for helping me! I know you guys will be busy with swimming next week. I'd like to get as much done after school this week as we can."

"The pool doesn't open until, I think Saturday, so I'll be free until then. Can you do it?" I asked Greg. Then I remembered. "Oh, I will have one meeting after school, but I don't know what day yet. Probably Thursday or Friday is my guess."

He nodded, still working on the last of a granola bar. "It'll be our pleasure," he answered after washing it down with some water.

We all laughed.

"But now, I think I'd better get you two home! Help me clean up. My, we did make a mess, didn't we?"

What a joy it was to be so comfortable and relaxed with friends like these. I realized on the ride home in Kathy's car that I'd forgotten how scared I'd been all day.

Then, for some reason, I thought of Missy. How had her first day of NiS gone? She'd promised if there was a problem she'd come to me, our most solemn "cross my heart" promise, and she hadn't. So far so good, I guess.

Then I thought of Peggy. Something was seriously wrong there. It wasn't like her to miss school. I decided I'd better call her when I got home. Couldn't hurt. I might, at least, cheer her up.



-------

Chapter 11


Tuesday lunch, the second day of NiS for Missy -- she was at a nearby table with Mike, who was also NiS, of course, and a couple other nudists, sophs in The Program I assumed. I guess Missy's week was going okay, since she hadn't sought me out. She and I were sort of doing a dance around each other. I still hungered for her, as a lover and especially as a friend. I knew the lover part wasn't in the cards at all, but I really missed her friendship, and kept hoping we might revive that. Over the years we'd shared so many good times and she'd always been there for me.

But she was skittish, unsure. I suspected she was afraid if she got too close to me I might press the lover issue, which I'd never, ever do. I was hoping over time that fear might go away and we could just be friends again.

Meanwhile, my lunch bunch, which, at one time, had included her, was short another member. Peggy was out for the second day. I was poking at whatever it was they were serving, trying to decide if it was prey or predator, whether I was supposed to eat it or it was likely to eat me, from the inside out. I vowed that tomorrow I'd allow time to make my own lunch. How long does it take to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I know Mom would do it if I asked, but she's busy enough.

"Has anyone talked with Peggy?" I asked the others. "I tried calling her last night, but her mom said she couldn't come to the phone."

"I tried to call her after school yesterday," Inez reported. "Her mom said she wouldn't come to the phone."

I went for what looked to be a vegetable. "'Couldn't' or 'wouldn't'?" I asked, looking at her. "There's a difference."

Inez shrugged. "Wouldn't or couldn't. What's the diff?"

"Couldn't means, like, she's not there, or busy with something. Wouldn't means she could come to the phone but chooses not to," I explained impatiently. "That's the diff."

"Oh."

"Sorry." I apologized for sounding grouchy. "I'm not sure if her mom said 'wouldn't' or 'couldn't' myself."

"That's easy," Fran put in. "When it comes to Peggy and the phone, 'wouldn't' is a non-starter. She never met a call she didn't like. Has she ever left you a short message on voicemail? I swear, she'll carry on both sides of the conversation with an answering machine. Someday they'll invent a phone that'll be grafted to her skull and she'll take it."

Head bobs from the bunch as they masticated. I only called Peggy when I had at least an hour free to chat.

I poked my meat again. I think it moved. Not a good sign. I decided to go vegan today.

"Something's wrong," I mused. I felt like The Stick was poking me with -- well, with a stick -- trying to get my attention.

"Flu," Fran suggested.

I shook my head. "She never gets sick."

I sighed, pushing away the remains of my lunch, a rarity for me. Even my appetite has been known to wither in the face of school food, and worry didn't help. "I think I'll drop by her house after I get out of here today."

The moment I'd decided I'd visit Peggy after school The Stick quit prodding me. She can be such a bitch sometimes!

That got nods of encouragement from the rest. The conversation moved on without me while I pondered my schedule. The visit with Peggy would have to wait until after me and Greg posed for Kathy. That was a no-brainer. After all, we had an obligation to honor our deal with Kathy, even if it involved a fate as terrible as, like, say, posing nude for hours on end while carnally interlocked.

I know, I know. It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.

Inside I got all hot and squirmy at the very thought of it. It was a license to fuck.

Then I got handed a note from an office courier that doused my fire.

"Devers again?" Fran asked shrewdly.

I nodded. The note was as cryptic as the last one, letter for letter.

Cue the chorus again: Uh oh!

"What have you been doing?" Fran prodded.

"Nothing." I wasn't worried, since it was probably something about the committee's meet'n'greet this week, but of course I couldn't say anything. As far as most student bodies were concerned, Devers was The Devil, the dispenser of justice from on high. I knew her as a teammate's mom, Worthington's boss and my co-conspirator in fixing The Program, about which I was sworn to secrecy.

My schedule was shifting under my feet. Okay, late to Kathy again, so I had to get word to Greg. He'd tell Kathy. After we finished posing I was confident Kathy would be willing to drop me off at Peggy's. Once I was done there it's an easy jog to my door -- good exercise, especially if I'm wearing my backpack with its usual load -- and I'd be home in time to start supper and get homework done, if all went well.

After pitching my trash I dove into the afternoon. Once done with navigating those shoals I found myself outside Devers's office. When I rapped on her door I discovered maybe I should have worried. She wasn't alone and her gray eyes were serious. Without being asked I closed the door behind me and set my loaded backpack aside.

Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber -- excuse me, Misters Cagney and Lacey -- were slouching like lazy caterpillars in chairs by the wall, smug sneers decorating their faces. Whatever happened to their happy, carefree, childish smiles, I wondered.

Great. Now what?

She gestured to the chair opposite her desk, and I settled nervously on the edge of it, angling enough so I could keep an eye on the gruesome-twosome.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Walker."

Very formal. This was looking worse and worse for me.

"I've received a complaint that you -- ah -- assaulted Mr. Cagney on your way into school yesterday," Mrs. Devers continued, studying a sheet of paper in front of her. "He claims that you -- ah -- threw a Frisbee -- quite hard he says -- and that it struck him -- ah -- in the groin."

Shit! There was no way I could deny that! Whether he'd deserved it or not -- in my book he had -- I could be in deep doo-doo.

She set the paper aside. "So, I've heard their version of what happened. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Jeez she looked serious! I opened my mouth to voice the equivalent of "he started it" but slammed it shut before more than a croak escaped, hoping I hadn't chipped a molar as I did. I was remembering two lessons from my past.

Lesson number one I'd learned early: When Carl and I would get in a tiff, Mom's response to "he/she started it" was a succinct "I don't care who started it!" End of discussion, with justice summarily imposed, usually on the one who raised the point of order, if that's the phrase I want.

Lesson number two came courtesy of my brief soccer career: Retaliation is more likely to draw a penalty than the original offense, 'cause nine times out of ten the ref didn't see who threw the first punch, so to speak, and no amount of arguing would change that.

Sure there were witnesses I could try to call in my defense, but the three-monkey rule is endemic in high school.

So, Tweedle Dumb starts it and I get busted. There is no justice. I cleared my throat and organized my thoughts, trying to figure how I could spin my version in a way that would minimize the damage to my academic karma.

"As I was walking toward the school," I began carefully, "Tw ... uh ... Mr. Cagney -- uhm -- sailed a Frisbee in my direction, and I had to catch quickly to keep it from striking an innocent bystander, his aim being a bit off. He did give me some warning -- he yelled 'fetch.' I guess he'd heard of the skills I'd demonstrated on Sunday and wanted to test them for himself," I concluded charitably, though the look I gave Mrs. Devers put the lie to my words, and I made sure she saw it.

I paused to judge her reaction, and decided that I never, ever wanted to play poker with her.

"Anyway, so, fortunately I caught it, almost by reflex, and returned f..." I'd been about to say "fire" but quickly censored that. "I returned his Frisbee to him before proceeding inside."

Was that a twinkle I could see in her eye? There was a certain tension to her lips.

"Unfortunately, I guess I misjudged the strength of my return, and I didn't mean to hit him in the -- uhm -- crotch. He was maybe only twenty feet away," I continued ruefully, "and being kinda caught off balance as I was, well, my aim was off."

"Ya think? I may never be able to have children!" Tweedle Dumb put in nastily only to get a look from Mrs. Devers that made him flinch.

Now THAT would be a net gain for humanity, I thought.

As she turned back to me a muscle in Mrs. Devers's cheek was performing the rumba. Maybe I wouldn't be sentenced to life in detention. "The nurse subsequently examined him, and determined there was no serious damage," she assured me.

Darn! And what about the poor nurse? His crotch would gag a maggot.

"She treated him with an ice-pack and two aspirin."

I hope it was a disposable ice-pack.

"So," she said through clenched teeth, her fingers drumming on her desk. "Well. Hmmmm."

I tried to look contrite. The ceiling fluorescents hummed. The Tweedles breathed noisily through their mouths. The clocked ticked -- well, it would have if clocks ticked, which they don't these days.

I tried not to flinch when she spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Miss Walker, but given the nature of the accusation, and the testimony of a corroborating witness" -- she gestured at Tweedle Dumber -- "there does appear to be enough evidence to indicate there was real danger in your response, inadvertent as it might have been. Given the rules in place, in the interests of public safety, I have no choice but to take disciplinary action."

Shit. I hoped it didn't involve another letter home. My knees still hurt from scrubbing the floor last Saturday -- not that I expected a replay of that scenario, of course.

Was that really only last Saturday? How time flies when you're having fun!

"Yes'm." I tried to look as guilty as possible, detecting a subtle undercurrent here. The Tweedles celebratory fist-bump didn't help, but I was comforted by the fact that I knew Mrs. Devers is no fool.

"Detention," she announced ominously, and I swear it sounded like she'd had to choke it out, "for the rest of the week."

I wanted to shove Cagney's and Lacey's smug looks right down their pimpled throats. The rest of the week in detention? What about my posing for Kathy? What about the meet'n'greet? And I had homework, of course, and chores, and Kathy's whole project depended on me and Greg, and I was worried about Peggy, and...

Shit!

"You may go, gentlemen," she announced to the Tweedles, "and please close the door behind yourselves. I have some other matters to discuss with Miss Walker."

They smirked their way out of the office, leaving the door gaping wide open, of course, as they exchanged high-fives. Mrs. Devers gave a weary sigh and gestured, so I got up and closed the door for them. When I turned back she had her face in her hands and her shoulders were shaking. I thought for a minute she was having some kind of a fit or something.

"You 'returned' the Frisbee to him?" she managed to chuckle out sarcastically, raising her head.

I nodded guiltily.

"Knowing you, he's probably lucky his head is still on his shoulders. Did you really get him in the crotch?"

I shrugged. "Right in -- uh -- die Eier, you might say. That's German for...

"Eggs. I know exactly what you mean." She chuckled.

"Yes'm. Sorry. Frau Blucher encourages us to try to put our lessons to use outside the classroom."

"An excellent idea. Perhaps I should do that. My German is pretty rusty."

"I didn't mean to hit him there, even though I wasn't happy with what he'd yelled, and the way he'd yelled it. Fortunately his aim was lousy or I might be missing some teeth. Anyway, I wanted to nip that sort of -- uh -- crap -- in the bud by showing people I wouldn't take it lying down. I learned to throw from Carl, of course, and I guess I did throw it pretty hard. I was aiming for his -- what's the German word? -- 'der Nabel, ' -- his belly button. I guess the wind caught it or something."

"Or something," she agreed drolly.

She may have been chuckling and shaking her head, but I wasn't laughing. A week of detention would hurt Kathy more than it did me, so I explained the situation. "It's her senior art project, and she needs it for her college application, too," I concluded.

Mrs. Devers didn't think more than a few seconds. "Well, I think we can extend the definition of 'detention' to include your work on Kathy's behalf. I'll make sure the monitor knows where you'll be. It's very generous of you to volunteer your time."

Oh yeah, right. It's a real sacrifice on my part to spend and hour or so of my time sharing my body with Greg and maybe Kathy, too, should the opportunity arise. Still, I felt a wave of relief. My "oh thank you" was quite sincere.

"But don't let it go to your head," she cautioned. "Don't let it happen again. Keep your chin up and don't respond and the crap, as you so aptly put it, will eventually die out. The faculty and staff will do their best to squelch it, too."

"Yes'm. Thank you. I found out yesterday I have a lot of friends who'll go to bat for me, too."

"I'm not surprised. Now to other matters. We've scheduled an informal get-together of the committee for Thursday after last period, in the conference room, so you can get to know each other. I expect it will run about an hour, maybe less. I'm sorry if that interferes with your work with Kathy."

"That's okay. I've already warned them I might have something later this week. Who all is going to be there?" I still had no idea who the other committee members would be.

"You and Mike, of course. You'll meet the others then, and Worthington should be there, too."

So I was still clueless, but Worthington was the major concern. I shook my head. "He still hasn't shown himself in the halls at all."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about that. You kids -- sorry -- you young ladies and gentlemen have no choice about being on parade, given the rules and your class schedules. Him we can't force out of his cave, even if he is violating the spirit of The Program."

"No'm," I agreed. I frowned. "But I can't help thinking something is going on with him. I just have a bad feeling..." My voice trailed off.

"Anything specific?" She wasn't about to let a hint like that drop.

"Just a feeling. Do you know Peggy Thompson?"

"Of course. In your class, the first girl caught in The Program last week, and you stood up to Worthington for her. For which Worthington stuck you in The Program," Devers filled in. "I know her as a lovely young lady, good student, perfect attendance record..."

"Perfect until yesterday," I interrupted.

That got her attention.

"She was out yesterday. She's out again today," I went on. "Two days in a row. That is so totally unlike her."

Devers was checking something on her computer. "According to the absentee report, her mother called in yesterday, and again today, saying she was going to be absent, giving an unspecified illness as the cause. Probably cramps. It happens."

I shook my head, but she was still studying her computer screen.

"Two more days out, though, and she'll have to bring in a doctor's note when she comes back."

I was still shaking my head. "It's just not like her at all. Until now I'd have predicted she'd crawl out of her own casket rather than miss school. That's why I'm worried."

"Anything specific?"

I shrugged. "Just a bad feeling. I haven't seen her since lunch on Friday. What if something happened that afternoon?"

At least Mrs. Devers didn't pooh-pooh my concerns. "Well, there's nothing I can do, since her mother called in."

"I can. I'm going to stop by her house once I'm done posing for Kathy."

"Keep me posted." She scribbled something on a card and handed it to me. "That's my home number. Don't share it out, but call me if there's a problem."

I nodded. "Yes'm."

"Now, get out of here, and tell Kathy I'm looking forward to seeing the results of your collaboration. That pastel of hers, the one of a flower that hangs in the hall gallery, is magnificent."

"Yes'm."

I left, wondering if Mrs. Devers truly didn't know that the "flower" was actually an awesomely detailed close-up of Beth Finch's aroused pussy, complete with a sparkling drop of her juices clinging to one petal and the little pearl of her clit peeking from under its hood.

At least she didn't say she could almost smell it.

This time I was not worrying about my reception at the art room. In fact, I was looking forward to whatever pose Kathy might have in mind. Visions of spending an hour with Greg's cock in me while Kathy shaped her clay had me well lubed by the time I arrived.

After hugs and kisses all around the three of us got naked. Don't ask me why the artist had to be naked, too. Maybe she didn't want to get mud -- I mean clay -- on her clothes? Whatever. I always enjoyed seeing Kathy nude. The only better thing was being in her arms naked.

But the photographs of us she had tacked up to refer to weren't the ones I'd been hoping for. Instead of reenacting what we'd done the day before -- missionary position, that is -- she wanted to begin at the beginning.

"Courtship," she explained.

Shoot! It wasn't even foreplay! I remembered her taking the pictures, of course. In them we were naked, Greg and I, but seated on a bench, doing nothing more than holding hands!

First she posed us gazing soulfully into each other's eyes, but shook her head. She tried an earlier photo, one of the first in the series, where I was looking coyly away from Greg as if I were a blushing virgin, shyly letting him hold my hand.

Okay, I grant you, I still blush, but my virginity had been shredded a year ago, and two boys since had independently confirmed that the job was nicely and thoroughly done.

Anyway, Kathy adjusted us this way and then that, but wasn't satisfied. The real fly in the ointment, if you can call it that, was the raging hard-on sported by my allegedly bashful suitor. His appendage insisted on posing gleefully erect, jutting up from his lap, a cunt-seeking missile on the launch pad, the slit on the tip smirking, leaking a clear drop of pre-come.

Kathy is all business when she's working. "Can't you do something about that thing?"

"Sorry," Greg apologized insincerely. "It has got a mind of its own. Always has."

So, in my usual forthright fashion, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Well, more accurately, in my mouth! Apologizing to Kathy for breaking my pose, I assured her I'd take care of it, and knelt in front of Greg. I happily gave his rampant dick a long lick, tasting his warm meat, already seasoned with his deliciously musky seepings.

"Will this take long?" Kathy asked.

"I doubt it," Greg answered.

"I'll hurry," I assured them, just before I closed my mouth around the head of Greg's tower of power.

"Ymmmmmmmmm," I purred.

"Eat, and don't talk with your mouth full!" Kathy scolded impatiently.

"Mmm-hmmm," I agreed. I love the taste of pre-come, especially Greg's. I slid my mouth down on him, his meat sliding along my tongue to the back of my mouth.

"Oh God!" Greg moaned.

I slipped my fingers between his thighs, lifting the soft, wrinkled sack holding his balls, at the same time raising my head until I had just the soft bulb of his pecker in my mouth, my tongue playing over it, savoring the next wave of his juices before I slid my mouth back down over his cock.

I dandled his balls on my fingertips.

Now, I'd best reveal that, in an effort to -- ahem -- enhance my partner's enjoyment, I'd been polishing my oral sex skills by practicing at home with a banana. And I admit, just knowing why I was doing what I was doing when I did it made it feel incredibly sexy, sort of like a kinky version of masturbation, you might say.

I was going to say "don't try this at home because I'm a paid professional operating on a closed course," but I'm not -- a professional, that is -- and you'd probably ignore me anyway.

HOWEVER, if you should try this at home, do not peel the banana! Peeled bananas are fragile. A chunk could easily break off in your throat and choke you to death.

They should label bananas as dangerous for children under five, because they can present a choking hazard.

Anyway, leave the peel on. It holds everything together. Just wash the outside of the banana to avoid ingesting whatever it is that might be on the outside of a banana. A tasty personal lubricant helps it go down easier.

Oh, and a banana is preferable to a pickle because its diameter and length more closely model those of the average cock, providing a firm handhold, and its contours allow it to better conform to the curve at the back of your mouth to the throat. A hot dog -- one of those long ones -- will also work well, but don't use a frozen one, and here, too, be careful of it breaking.

But, getting back to the matter at hand, or in mouth, in this case, Greg's lovely, lovely cock, my gag reflex suitably suppressed, my throat embraced the plumy head most comfortably. All it takes is a little practice.

"Sheeee-it!" Greg gasped.

Up again, slurping and swallowing waves of saliva and cock juice before going down yet again, my fingers making his balls dance. I drew in a deep, deep come-scented breath through my nose while I could, then proceeded to swallow as much of his cock as I could, my throat massaging his hot tool.

"Aaaahhhhhhhhh!" he screamed, his hand coming down on the back of my head. I happily let him push my face even farther down on a cock that was harder and longer than I'd ever felt it, until my nose was buried in his curly red bush. With his prick snugly seated in my throat, which was clenching rhythmically as I tried to swallow him whole, his dick began to pulse, shooting his cream right straight down my gullet. He grunted with every squirt, his hips trying to force it even deeper.

OOoh my gosh, what an incredible feeling!

I knew, thanks to my swimming-developed lung capacity, I could hold my breath for going on three minutes, and it was a Good Thing. I swear he must have held my head down almost that long as he hosed my throat, only letting go as his cock oozed its last and began to shrink, letting me rise up, catching the last delicious seepings on my tongue while I sucked in some badly needed oxygen.

Slowly drawing my mouth off his shriveling, draining dick I smiled up at him, swallowing the last of his cream before rising to give him a very gooey kiss, then returning to sit primly on the bench beside him.

"Holy shit! Where'd you learn that?" he asked.

"I've been practicing, with a banana," I admitted. "How's that?" I asked Kathy, indicating my boyfriend's now relaxed state.

"Wipe your chin!" she answered, handing me a rag.

Darn! Not even a "nicely done" from her. She's a hard master when she's working.

After I cleaned off the overflow -- some on my chest, too, which my titties liked -- we went back to our pose, carefully readjusted by Kathy. I probably should have gotten an Oscar for managing to look demure and bashful after that yummy snack, especially since my own cunt was juicy with envy.

After about fifteen minutes, Kathy gave a sigh. "Quit fidgeting, Dee!"

"I'm sorry," I apologized, my thighs squirming together.

"Do you want to do something about her, Greg, or should I?" Kathy asked finally.

"I thought you'd never ask," Greg answered, slipping down to kneel in front of me, his hands on my knees spread my more than willing legs. I leaned back on my hands as he went for my crotch with gusto.

I smiled happily down at him as he buried his face in my crotch, my muff giving him a sort of mustache, his fingers spreading my pussy lips. He looked up at me, and I could feel his grin as he began to feast.

Ohmygosh did that feel good! Oh wow! His lips mooshed around in there, his tongue probing my streaming cunt, his nose squirming against my clit, and I let the wonderful feelings wash over me while my pussy did its best to drown him. I spread my legs wider and wider, until the fire made me swing them over his shoulders and scissor them around his head. Somehow he managed to worm fingers into my vagina while he shifted lips and tongue to torture my clitoris and I got closer to coming.

Then his free hand found one of my tits and pinched my nipple as he wiggled his fingers inside me and sucked and tongued my clit and I erupted. For the longest time all I could do was quiver, out of my mind with ecstasy. I must have held on a bit long, because it took a some prying on his part to get my legs to open so he could breathe, and I knew from the last time we competed he could hold his breath as long as I could.

When we were done he had to use the rag to wipe his face -- after we shared a deliciously juicy kiss, of course.

"If you two are quite through, can we get back to work?" Kathy got us back in our pose and returned to her clay, and we actually managed to stay still until she'd gotten done what she wanted and let us relax. Our arms around each other, his dick half hard again, we got up to admire her work.

She was frowning and cocking her head this way and that as she studied it.

"It's good," I insisted, but she shook her head.

"It's just not quite right," she complained, "but I can't put my finger on the problem."

She covered it with a damp cloth. "But I know just who to ask. I'll see if he can be here tomorrow. Let's get cleaned up and I'll get you two home."

I was giving myself a final wipe down with a clean towel. "Can you drop me at Peggy Thompson's house instead?"

Kathy was mopping off various clay smears. "Who's she? Where does she live?"

"A classmate, lives not far from me," I answered. "I'll show you. You can drop me and I'll walk home from there. She's one of my lunch bunch. She's missed school the last two days and I want to make sure she's okay."

"Why wouldn't she be?" Greg knew her, of course.

"I don't know, but I've got a funny feeling that something is wrong."

"Want me to stop off with you?"

"No, you go home. Try to keep Drindy out of trouble. Tell her I promise, we'll get together one of these days," I assured him as we headed out to Kathy's car.

"You'd better come through," he warned. "She gets mean when she's crossed."

"Tell her I promise, and that I never break my promises."

When we pulled up in front of Peggy's house I gave him a lingering kiss, and again turned down his offer to come along with me.

"Keep your ride home. I may not even get in the door, and I don't think she'd talk with you there anyway."

"Well, thanks a lot!" he grumbled.

"It's girl talk, all right? Leave it at that." I leaned in and gave him another kiss, waved them off, then turned away, drawing a deep, steadying breath as I headed up to the front door of a nice split-level ranch set in a meticulously groomed lawn dressed with carefully trimmed shrubs. It was all as neat and tidy as Peggy was.

I had no reason to think I wouldn't be welcomed, but you never know. I remembered a rather tense encounter with Missy's mom, and Missy's family and I had been closer than close for years.

All I could think of was, shit! How do I get myself into these messes?



-------

Chapter 12



"Is Peggy home?" I asked when Mrs. Hughes came to the door, trying to assess the situation.

She didn't look good. She looked tired -- an older, slightly plumper version of Peggy. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she had a vaguely rumpled look that was totally unlike the woman I remembered. It'd been a while since I'd actually visited at Peggy's house, but her mom shouldn't have aged that much.

God only knew what she'd been going through since last Friday, what she knew. Maybe she didn't know any more than I did. Peggy tended to bottle things up. What the hell was I going to say? What could I possibly do? What did I think I was doing here?

But here I was, and it was too late to back out now.

"We've missed her at school."

"Come in, Dee. She's upstairs, in the bathtub." She gestured wearily up a short flight of stairs that led to the bedrooms. "She's been spending a lot of time there. She won't talk to me. Maybe she'll talk to you."

That was scary. As far as I knew they'd always had a pretty good relationship. Peggy had never complained about her mom -- well, not much, anyway. Since Peggy had been the first girl in our class into The Program I'd assumed her mom had volunteered her. Though, come to think of it, from the way Peggy had talked about being naked in school the week before it started, it didn't sound like she'd been consulted.

Shit! Sometimes parents do the dumbest things. Maybe that was the problem -- suddenly finding herself naked in school had been a shock.

But that didn't make sense. Even before that tangle with the Tweedles and Worthington she'd appeared to handle being naked pretty well. Even after that screw up she'd posed willingly, letting some lucky boys touch her lovely young breasts, even her shy, virginal pussy, and she'd seemed to enjoy it -- a lot. She'd come at least once, I know, and she'd seemed fine right up through lunch the last day.

No. Something bad had happened to her Friday afternoon.

"May I leave my pack here?" I asked.

"Of course."

"Thank you."

Setting it beside the front door, I drew a deep breath, squared my shoulders and headed upstairs, where I knocked gently on the bathroom door, then a little louder when there was no answer. "It's me, Dee. May I come in?"

When there still wasn't an answer, I cracked the door, relieved she hadn't locked it, expecting I'd find her floating on her back, her ears underwater so she hadn't heard me. But what if I found her floating face down? That thought stopped my heart.

Stop it! The Stick gave me a defib kick, sounding as scared as I was.

The scent of bubble bath engulfed me -- Mr. Bubble was her brand of choice, same as mine -- and I relaxed. Who'd drown themselves in Mr. Bubble, after all? That'd be positively un-American, or something. I peeked around the door.

She wasn't on face or on her back. She was sitting in the tub, facing away from me, her head down on her knees, curled up, hugging her legs, scrunched up in less than half the tub at the spout and drain end.

"Hi, can I come in?" I asked softly.

Her only response was a faint shrug, barely a lift of her shoulders, so I took that as a "yes" and pushed the door closed behind me before I sat on the toilet seat. "'S'up?" I asked.

<<shrug>>

Okay, where to I go from here? "Missed you at school."

<<shrug>>

I couldn't see her face. Her skin was lightly tanned, the line of her swimsuit bra across her back a fainter, lighter stripe. She'd never been one much for sunbathing, wore a modest two-piece suit, a good swimmer, but mostly just enjoyed splashing round in the pool.

Now, here, every line of her body said something, and I tried to figure out what it was.

Depression?

Yeah, seemed maybe like that.

A few inches in front of her the bathtub spigot dripped, the "bloop" of the drop landing in the tub loud in the room. She'd been in there long enough the bubbles were patchy islands bobbing on the ripples. Her fingers probably looked like prunes, but I couldn't tell.

Tension?

Oh yeah. She was clutching her arms around her legs. I could see the strain in her shoulders and arms.

Fear?

"Would you like me to wash your back?"

<<shrug>> Again, an almost invisible one, barely a twitch of the shoulders.

Taking that as a yes, I knelt by the tub and picked up the bar of soap. Lathering up my hands, I slithered them around the back of her neck, across her shoulders, but it was awkward to reach her. One thing I could tell was that she was really, really, really tense.

I wondered if I should risk it. "Mind if I join you in the tub?" I asked softly.

Bloop!

<<shrug>>

Moving slowly and softly, I stripped, and stepped carefully into the tub behind her. The water was lukewarm. She generally liked real hot baths, so it confirmed she'd been in there a while. I managed to awkwardly fold my long legs. Scrunching myself behind her so I didn't touch her with anything but my hands, I began soaping her shoulders and back, working my way down to water level. I felt somewhat akin to a grasshopper, my knees sticking way up on the sides so I was working between them.

Her skin was soft and slick, warm, but I could feel the rigid muscles in her shoulders and neck. I let my hands slide down her arms, back up to the sides of her neck where I gently massaged her knotted muscles with my fingertips, slipped my fingers forward, sensed the tension in her jaw muscles before gently tracing the curl of her ears. She'd pinned her hair up, but a few stray, sodden tendrils had escaped to trail around my fingers.

I returned to her shoulders and back, sliding my fingers along the sides of her spine, tracing the outlines of her angel-bones before slipping more out to the her sides, back up again to her shoulders, putting more pressure on her poor, strained muscles.

She was so miserable I felt like crying.

After a few minutes my legs were cramping up, so I shifted my feet, slipping them cautiously on either side of her butt. When they brushed her hips she didn't react, so I slid them further along beside her, straightening them, sighing softly with relief as I resumed gently washing her back. I could sense her ever so hesitantly relaxing, and got a little bolder, letting my fingers stroke her ribs along her sides.

One time, in day care, we'd gone to a petting zoo. While other kids were fascinated by lambs or bunnies, I'd been taken by an armadillo, of all things, which had, for some reason, roused from its usual daytime sleep. Probably the din we were raising right outside his door had something to do with it.

He had reacted to my boisterousness in the way of armadillos and I, being a kid, rolled him around like a ball, laughing. One of the keepers gently stopped me, showed me how to treat it more gently. Explaining what it was, explaining what "nocturnal" meant she said it probably needed a nap. As I held it quietly in my lap it slowly relaxed and unrolled, its sharp claws scratching my bare legs, his long, sticky tongue tasting me before the keeper convinced me to let it slip into its deep burrow so it could go back to sleep.

Peggy was like that armadillo, slowly accepting my touch, the tensions slipping away. Finally I was able to take her shoulders, uncoil her and draw her back against me, her back against my chest as I leaned back against the end of the tub, extending my legs full length, her hips between my thighs, her legs almost straight out in front of her. I gently cuddled her, my cheek on the side of her head, and she began to cry. I put my arms around her and just held her and held her and held her, my hands resting on her soft, silky tummy over her innie belly button, on the little cushion of her little bit of remaining baby fat, while she cried and cried and cried, until my heart was breaking, until she ran down.

Once she'd cried it out she let me use my toes to turn on the spigot to add hot water to the tub until it had warmed up some, and then we talked -- well, she talked, barely a whisper. I listened. It was really, really hard for me, but I managed to stay relaxed and calm as she told me what had happened.

But if Worthington had been within reach I would have been at his throat. I would have flushed his head down the toilet -- after I'd crapped in it -- the toilet, not his head, I mean, though that's not a bad idea either.

She made me promise never to tell anyone about what happened in his office Friday afternoon, and the details don't matter. It was easy for him to get her down there. He'd sent a note that she'd been accused of a program violation. It was the last school day of her week in The Program, and I wasn't there to go with her. Why hadn't I been there? Why? I felt like shit.

I don't know how long Peggy and I were in the tub, but the water was getting cool again, so it must have been a while. Finally, Peggy's mom knocked gently on the door and asked how we were.

Peggy flinched.

"We're okay," I assured her mom, "but could you call my mom and tell her I may be a little late getting home?" I was probably already late, but I'd taken my watch off.

"Would you like to stay for supper?"

"I really can't, I do have to get home, but thank you. Just call my mom, please?"

"Will you be out soon?"

"It'll be a while. Tell Mom I'll be home in about an hour, but not to worry if it's longer."

"What would you like for supper, sweetie?"

"I'm not hungry," Peggy answered, her voice rusty from crying.

"Maybe some soup?" I suggested softly.

"Alphabet?" Peggy asked in a whisper. "I'd like alphabet soup."

The ultimate comfort food. I relayed the message.

"What am I going to do?" Peggy moaned. "I feel so filthy, the things he said to me, the things I did..."

"You didn't do them,"' I answered firmly. "He did them to you."

"But I let him..."

"It was not your fault," I informed her firmly, trying not to let my anger show. Anger? I was furious to the point of homicide. "He did it..."

"But I let..."

"Repeat after me, 'It is not my fault.'"

"But..."

"Say it, please, for me, for yourself."

"It's not my fault," she whispered.

"Say it like you mean it, again, and again, and again."

She did, over and over, until it became a mantra as I repeated it with her, changing the "my" to "your."

With every repetition I could feel her relaxing a little bit more, sounding a little bit more confident, stronger, angrier. I took her hands and slapped the water with them with every "not," with every "fault," over, and over, and over, harder and harder and harder as we chanted it, until we were splashing water all over the place and she was doing the swinging, not me. I could only hope her mom was downstairs and couldn't hear us, or she'd think we were both nuts.

I don't know why I did what I did, but it seemed to help. She began to slow down, finally stopped, probably exhausted, and I was cradling her, enjoying the feel of her body against mine until at last I managed to help her up and opened the drain, her misery draining away with the bath-water. After we got out she stood there while I tenderly dried her off, and wrapped her in a robe that was hanging there, her mom's robe, I guess, it was so big.

She looked so tired, drained, that I just had to hug her again, before I dried myself and dressed.

"Now, will you come to school tomorrow?"

She looked scared.

"I'll protect you. We'll protect you," I assured her. "Our whole lunch bunch will."

"But everyone will know..."

"Nobody will know anything," I insisted. "I'm sure not going to tell anyone, and he doesn't dare tell anyone. They'll just think you've been sick."

"But he'll be there." She was near tears again, and I held her close, her hair cool and wet against my cheek. She barely came above my shoulder.

"He's been hiding in his office ever since he got stuck in The Program for the week."

Neither of us used his name.

"He's in The Program?" It actually seemed to cheer her up a little.

I nodded, still holding her. "New policy. Faculty and staff, one at a time, have to be in The Program for a week, and he got the short straw this week. The only time I've seen him was Monday morning, when he first came out of the school office, naked, and he scurried off to hide under his rock. I guess since then he's sneaked in early, and slipped out late. As far as I know, no one has seen him."

I risked kissing her head. "You're not in the program anymore. He doesn't have any power over you, you won't have to go near his office. I promise you, you won't see him, and no one will know what happened. No one. Please come back, we miss you. I miss you so much!"

"But eventually..."

"There's no 'eventually' about it when it comes to him," I promised ominously. "I'll make sure he's history."

"But what'll you do? He warned me it'd be my word against his, and who'd believe a <<choke>> slut!"

I gave her a squeeze. "You are not a slut!"

"But what... ?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll think of something. It may take a while."

"How long?"

"A week? Maybe two. Give me two weeks." I was thinking of the committee. That would meet formally next week, but it wouldn't be much help, probably. "Two weeks, I promise."

I wanted to stamp that worm into the pavement. He was going to regret he'd ever messed with one of my friends, that he'd ever heard of me.

"Welll..."

"Two weeks he'll be gone," I vowed, "sooner, if possible, and we'll watch your back every minute until he's gone, and even after. I promise you."

"Welllll..."

"Please?" I pleaded. I had the feeling if she didn't come back now she never would, and where could she go? "How about I come by here tomorrow and I'll walk with you to school, and one of us will be with you, every moment. Please? We need you. Lunch is just not the same without you."

"I'll try," she agreed reluctantly.

"I'll be here tomorrow, bright and early. Now come on, let's get some of that soup into you."

"But what's going to happen to ... well, later?"

"He will be gone."

"But what about me? What should I do? I'm scared. I'll always be scared."

My own mind was already wrestling with that. "Well, one thing I want you to do. You know Ms. Andrews?"

"Sure, everyone knows her."

"I want you to talk with her."

"But she's middle school!"

"It won't matter," I assured her, crossing my fingers. "Trust me, talking to her will help."

The high school counselor was a man. Peggy would never open up to a man. It had to be Ms. Andrews.

"What do I tell my mom?" she asked as we were about to go downstairs.

"Right now I'll tell her it's boy trouble, that there's this boy you really, really like, and he was really nice to you last week, but that he likes another girl, and then you did something really embarrassing in front of him, and you don't want to talk about it."

She nodded seriously as I guided her into the dining room. I could smell soup heating in the kitchen.

"Now, you sit at the table, I'll help your mom with the soup," I alibied quickly, leaving her wrapped in that big robe, looking small, and vulnerable, and worried at her place at the dining room table.

"How's the soup?" I managed to ask as calm as could be.

"How is she? What's wrong? Is it something to do with The Program? I should have told her I'd put her name in."

I grasped at that straw. "Well, she was surprised when she got called up, but she handled it. I assumed she'd told you she was in it when she got home."

"Oh, she did, once she was, but she didn't say much about it. It's ... well, I'm kind of uncomfortable talking with her about sex and stuff. I thought that thing you did last year had pretty much covered -- the birds and the bees and stuff."

"Oh, it did, and she did fine last week from what I could see." If Peggy hadn't mentioned the Tweedles I wasn't about to. And, truthfully, I hadn't seen what had happened Friday.

Oh powers of persuasion, don't leave me now, I pleaded, and I could feel The Stick bolstering me.

I'd already rejected the idea of telling Mrs. Hughes her daughter had been molested. No way was I capable of dealing with a hysterical Mom and daughter. I'd leave that to a trained professional, but Ms. Andrews wasn't available right then.

So I gave the woman a real song and dance about this neat boy and a monster crush, and she'd thought he really liked her, only it turned out he liked another girl, and yada yada yada.

"But I'm her mother!"

"And that's why she can't tell you about it right now. She's really, really embarrassed. She'll tell you when she's ready. Just be here for her..." I don't know where this bullshit was coming from, but it just kept flowing. "I'm going to take care of things at school. I'll come by and we'll walk together tomorrow, but right now she needs you here just holding her when she asks. Okay?"

I was doing my best to sound calm, cool and collected, trying to keep her calm.

She looked at me. "Why am I listening to you? You're a fourteen year old, and I'm her mother!"

I didn't tell her I was still only thirteen, feeling like I was three hundred.

"Mrs. Hughes, please, trust me. If you try to get her to talk it will only make things worse." Yeah, like if the truth comes out before Worthington was properly dealt with, she or her husband would probably take a shotgun down to the school to solve the problem. Or they'd just come into the office screaming and before we knew it the whole fucking town would know what had happened to their daughter, and that would destroy her. For the moment they were better off not knowing.

"Please, believe me, in a couple of weeks this will all blow over, but right now all she needs is to know that you love her, and her dad loves her, too."

"He's -- not around -- right now," Mrs. Hughes stammered.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"We're trying to work things out."

Oh great! Peggy was going to need Ms. Andrews more than ever, but if I mentioned "counseling" that would really set off alarms. Well, I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. Shit! I felt so fucking alone in all this! And where was Missy when I needed her? I could always trust her to...

Missy! Oh shit! She was in The Program this week. Sure as anything, that worm would try to get his filthy hands on her next! I tried not to be paranoid, but couldn't avoid the thought he was trying to get at me through my friends, not just satisfying his twisted desires.

"Please, Mrs. Hughes, trust me. Don't pry, not right now. Please, promise me!"

She looked at me for a long time, until the soup started to boil and she grabbed the pot off the burner. Some of the soup splashed on her and without thinking I grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand under the tap and turned on the cold water, not too hard.

"That's what my mom does when I burn myself," I explained, holding her hand under the cold stream, which was true, at least, and it works, too.

"You're sure it's nothing?" she asked, letting the water run over her hand before she turned the water off and grabbed a dish-towel to blot it dry. I knew she wasn't asking about her hand. I suspected she wanted to believe me rather than to have to face the truth.

I wondered fleetingly how the hell my mom had managed to hold it all together without a husband to support her.

"Boys and hormones," I answered. "I've been there myself. Now, go share some soup with her. I told her I'd be here to walk her to school in the morning. She's afraid her friends will make fun of her. I'll make sure they don't."

She tittered nervously, and I wondered how close she was to hysterics. "I hear you got a little wild on Sunday."

"Yeah," I admitted as she dished out two bowls of soup, while I found the crackers and put some on a plate. "It was an experiment that went wrong, part of outreach for The Program and I got a little carried away. In a way it's good. People are so busy ragging on me they won't bother her."

"You're awfully brave!"

I shrugged. "Well..."

"Mom, I'm hungry," Peggy complained from the doorway. Bless her! It looked like she'd pulled herself together enough for now, I hoped.

Cripes, what time was it! Shit! I had to warn Missy! After repeating my promise to be there to walk Peggy to school, and giving her another big hug, I shouldered my backpack and trotted out the door, praying that I'd doused that brushfire, at least for the moment.

Damn, it was already getting dark. I set a new personal best for the mile with full backpack and banged through the front door. "Sorry I'm late," I called as I took the stairs to my room two at a time. "I gotta call Missy, and then we need to talk."

I couldn't leave Mom out of this! No way, no how! I could trust her to keep her mouth shut, but she had to know what was going on.

"Missy, it's Dee," I announced when I got her on the line.

"I was gonna call you, it's nothing about me, but..."

"It has to wait a minute," I interrupted.

"Why... ?'

"Just listen, please. Whatever you do, do NOT go down to Worthington's office alone! If you have to go, take someone with you. Take Mike with you if you can, or someone else, but don't let him get you alone! Understand?"

"Yeah," she answered slowly. "But I thought you ought to know something funny is going on with him."

I felt a chill. "Like what?"

"Madge -- she's the sophomore girl in The Program this week -- Madge got a note from him at lunchtime today accusing her of a program violation, ordering her to come to his office at the end of the day."

"Shit! Did she go?"

"No. She had a dentist appointment and her mom picked her up from her last period. She told me he could wait 'til tomorrow, that it had to be a mistake. I know Madge. She'd never screw up."

"You call her right now and tell her what I just told you -- if she goes, take someone along, preferably her partner in the program, that's what they're for. And don't stop with her. Get the word out, quietly, to everyone in The Program. No one goes to see Worthington alone. No one!"

"What's going on?"

"I can't tell you, but, well, cross your heart promise that you won't go there alone, and pass the word. Okay?"

"Okay." That was the Missy I knew. She trusted me. I heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thanks. I'm sorry, but I gotta go." I hung up -- well, punched the "end call" button -- before I put down the cordless phone. I wonder where that "hung up" expression came from?

"Supper's waiting," Mom announced from my door. I didn't know how much she'd heard. "Is everything okay?"

"No, it's not, but it's better now. We can talk while we eat."

"If I have any appetite," she responded dryly. "I can hardly wait. What kind of a mess have you gotten yourself into now?"

I knew Mom was smiling that wry, loving smile she had only for me. "Is Elaine here?" I asked as I followed her down the stairs, my legs shaky.

"She's got two women in labor, and a third is probably going to be doing the same thing any day now. We won't see her for at least three days, I suspect."

"Good." Then I realized how that sounded. "I mean, well, what I've got to talk about, well, it's got to stay between just the two of us."

"This sounds serious."

"It is."

When she heard me out as we ate -- grilled cheese sandwiches -- she agreed. For a moment she sat there, and I wasn't sure if she was stunned or just thinking.

"Something's got to be done about that ... that ... monster!" I growled.

"I'm trying to figure out what," Mom responded, "and how."

God I hope I can respond to an emergency as calmly she does, but I guess I've given her lots of practice over the years. I let her think.

"Who is there at school that you can trust?" she asked.

"Mrs. Devers." That was a no-brainer.

"But this can't wait until morning," she mused. "How can we reach her?"

I remembered. "I've got her private phone number!" I dashed for my backpack.

"Ask her if she can come here," Mom asked as I punched the number in. "Tonight. Right now. I'll make some coffee. I think it'll be a long night."

Twenty minutes later the Vice Principal was at the table with us. After I'd filled Devers in -- well, I'd never seen her eyes turn that shade before, talk about storm clouds! She reached for the phone and made some calls.

An hour later a full war council was convened around our dining room table. Besides me and Mom and Mrs. Devers there were two plain-clothes cops, an Assistant District Attorney, and a woman from Child Protective Services, and I was arguing passionately that Peggy had to be kept out of this. The cops didn't think my promise to Peggy meant much, but since I'd refused to give out her name they were stymied, and Mom, Mrs. Devers and CPS took my side.

The Assistant DA was thinking, then she came down on my side.

"Whoever she is, it would be her word against his," she pointed out to the cops. "We'd never get a conviction, and the whole thing would come out in the open. It would be a circus, devastating for the girl."

"Quit wasting time, I'm not going to tell you who it is anyway," I growled, and Mom patted my hand to calm me down. "We need to trap him, get him to give us enough rope and then you can hang him with it! Put me in The Program next week."

"No!" Mom snapped, a mama bear protecting her cub.

"We need to move fast." Mrs. Devers was deadly calm.

"We need to protect the young ladies, not just the one who's already suffered," CPS said. "It has to be handled quickly." She was quiet and calm, a plump, conservatively dressed woman even at this hour. Framed with graying hair, her dark face was as ominous as Mrs. Devers's.

"It's got to be done quietly," Mrs. Devers pointed out.

"It's got to be done in a way that he can't worm out of it," the Assistant DA explained. "The evidence has to be rock solid, so strong that he'll be glad to accept a plea bargain..."

I exploded. "A plea bargain? You want that ... that..." Well, I totally lost my couth and put myself in debt to the curse jar to the tune of about fifty bucks before Mom got me settled down.

Even the Assistant DA was impressed by my eloquence. "Believe me, if we get the evidence we need, it'll never go to trial. We will put him behind bars for a long time. I guarantee he'll do hard time and once he comes out -- if he survives jail, even convicts don't take to his type, since many of them suffered abuse as kids -- he'll be labeled a sex offender. He won't be able to even drive an ice cream truck anywhere in the country.

"The only question is, how to we get it the evidence, fast?"

The head cop shook his head. "No way we can slip an undercover cop into the school, into The Program. It's got to be someone already in the school."

"Me!" I wanted him so bad!

"Not you, Dee," Mrs. Devers told me, waving a calming hand at my mom. "You've already crossed swords with him, so he'd be suspicious. Besides, we can't just shove you in The Program before next week and we need to move fast. What we need is someone already in The Program this week."

I was fuming, and wanted to ask why I couldn't be put in the program, but held my tongue for a change.

"From the little you've told us, Dee, he seems to be picking on the underclass girls," CPS observed.

"Yes'm," I agreed. After putting out my warning Missy had called back to tell me that the sophomore girl in The Program last week had also been called down by Worthington, but he'd creeped her out so much she'd split before anything happened. She'd been too afraid to say anything, dammit. If she had it might have saved Peggy.

"Who do you have in the program this week? Is there a good candidate?" the senior cop asked.

"That's asking an awful lot of a high school freshman or sophomore!" CPS protested.

"Missy." The name sort of fell out of my mouth by accident.

"Who?" the cops and the Assistant DA asked in unison.

"Millicent Wilson," Mrs. Devers answered thoughtfully.

Oh shit, I thought. Missy, what have I just done to you?



-------

Chapter 13



"I'm not going to ask Missy to be the bait," I stated flatly.

What followed was me against all of them. Well, almost all of them. Mom was brooding, and the lady from CPS was caught on the horns of a dilemma -- me or Missy -- an impossible choice for her.

I've always wondered, what does a dilemma look like? Like some sort of a cow or bull, with long twisty horns? It certainly must be uncomfortable to be on the horns of, judging by her expression.

Anyway, in the end, outnumbered and worn down, I went to the phone and called Missy. After apologizing for it being so late, I asked her to come over and to bring her parents. Amazingly, she somehow got her mom to the phone, and my mom convinced her mom it was really important without telling her why.

"I am not going to ask Missy to be the bait," I repeated flatly to the others around the table while we waited. "She is my friend. I know her. It is not a good idea, and I will not ask her."

At the same time I was comforting myself with the thought that her parents, especially her mom, would never agree to it anyway. If my mom was a bear protecting her cub, Missy's mom was a Bengal tiger. After Missy's near rape in middle school -- granted it was her own fault -- Mrs. Wilson was more protective than ever.

"Let's table that for a minute," the Assistant DA suggested calmly. "How are we going to gather the evidence we need? We can't exactly put a wire on a naked teenage girl."

"Bug the little shit's office," the top cop suggested.

The Assistant DA shook her head. "Not without a warrant, and without a name behind a credible complaint, no judge in town will issue one. Not enough probable cause."

She looked at me, and I knew she wanted me to put a name to my source, and I met her look with one of my own. She could see that wasn't going to happen and looked away. Mrs. Devers and Mom knew, I'd had to tell them, but I'd sworn them to silence. It hadn't been hard. They'd agreed Peggy had to be kept out of it.

"How about the intercom," Mrs. Devers suggested. Jeez her eyes were cold -- icicles would be warmer!

That got everyone's attention.

"What intercom?" the ADA asked.

"The school's. Every office and classroom is connected. From the office we can use it to hear what's going on in any classroom. It's part of the security system. As a rule we don't eavesdrop, but if there's an emergency or some kind of disruption we can."

"I'd say this qualifies as an emergency," the younger cop observed wryly.

I liked her. She was petite but muscular, a compact, busty Hispanic. Her black hair was in a pixie cut that framed her face nicely and revealed very tasty looking ears decorated with piercings, a tiny diamond glittering on one nostril. She looked real good in her undercover outfit -- short skirt, tight top -- more "young and available" than "hooker at work," though I bet she could pull off that just as easily. I couldn't help wondering how she'd look in her uniform -- and out of it. She kept looking at me in a way that made me tingle in spite of the circumstances.

God, sometimes I think I'm a total slut. But at this point I welcomed the distraction. I felt like the little Dutch girl with her finger in the dike -- or should that be dyke?

Don't I wish!

"Sounds like it might work," the ADA answered. "I presume all faculty and staff are aware of the function..."

"They know we can turn it on to listen at our end if we have any reason to suspect a problem, or simply to avoid an awkward interruption if we need to contact them while class is in session," Mrs. Devers explained.

"So there's no expectation of privacy," the ADA said thoughtfully. "Can you record what you're hearing?"

Mrs. Devers nodded. "If I'd known what that ... had been up to I would have already used it and we wouldn't be going through this nightmare."

I gave her a sympathetic look, feeling the same way. On Friday, when I should have been protecting Peggy, I'd been frolicking with Greg and Kathy in the art studio. If just one student victim had said something...

Shit.

The doorbell rang and I ran to get it. Missy looked nervous, her parents worried. "You guys introduce yourselves," I told Missy's parents, pointing them to the dining room. "I need to talk to Missy."

"What's going on? What's happening? Who're all those people?" Missy asked as I hauled her up to my room and shut the door, ignoring the same questions from her parents. Let Mom handle them, I thought.

"Two of them are cops, one's an Assistant DA and one is from Child Protective Services. It's a war council. We're getting ready to take Worthington down."

I was as keyed up as I could get, wishing Missy were anywhere but here.

"What? 'Take him down?' What does that mean? Does this have something to do with Peggy? I heard you were going to see her. Is she okay?"

I shushed her. "Don't even mention her name! I can't tell you why, but if the cops down there..."

"Cops?" She squeaked.

"I told you, two of the people in my dining room are plainclothes cops, the big guy and the sexy looking girl. The other two women -- the ones in suits -- one of them is an Assistant District Attorney and the other is from Child Protective Services. Worthington is a pedophile. Why do you think I told you not to go to him alone?"

I may give the impression that Missy isn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but that's not the case. She's just still sweet and naive, in spite of all the trouble she got into in middle school. It's what got her in trouble there in the first place and she really hasn't changed. I still have to explain dirty jokes to her.

Her sweet mouth went O, and she turned pale when she realized what she might have walked into. "And Peggy... ?"

"Was his victim last Friday. You don't want to know the details. I wish I didn't," I added sadly. "This is all under a double-triple-cross-my-heart promise of silence, everything I'm telling you. Don't breathe a word of this to anybody, ever! Promise?"

She looked stoned, but crossed her heart three times, nodding. "I triple-cross-my-heart promise."

"The thing is, if the cops or the ADA get her name they'll want her to file a complaint, and that would wreck her. The cops want to know where I got my information and I won't tell them, and you must NOT let her name slip out, not even her first name. As far as you know nothing happened and Peggy was out sick because of a stomach bug. Clear?"

"Ooookay. But why are we here?"

Shit, I wished I had more time! "They want to set up a 'sting' and trap Worthington, and they're thinking you should be the bait, since he's targeting young naked-in-school participants and you're in The Program this week."

I thought she was going to faint. Deer in the headlights didn't begin to cover it.

"I've told them it's a bad idea, and I won't go along with it," I went on, talking fast as I heard Mom calling us. "Devers agrees with me. I'm hoping your mom won't let them use you that way. I've told them I'm willing to be the goat. Hell, I want to do it! I want to personally hang that bastard. Now come on. The less you say the better. In fact, the only thing you have to remember is the word 'no.' Repeat it after me."

"No?" she said cautiously.

"That is the only word in your vocabulary until you leave this house."

Mom banged on my door. "Dee, we need you and Missy. Now!"

"Got that?" I asked Missy as I opened the door. She nodded numbly, and all I could do was cross my fingers. The thought of her in Worthington's clutches made me want to throw up.

"What were you doing up there?" Mom asked suspiciously.

"Bringing Missy up to speed," I answered truthfully as we trailed her down the stairs.

You would have thought it was the entrance of the Queen of England or something when we showed up in the doorway. All eyes fastened on me and Missy as Mom went to her chair. Three chairs had been brought in, making nine seats around a table that barely holds six. Missy and I were relegated to the cheap seats at diagonally opposite corners. I figured the arrangement wasn't by accident and I didn't like it. I wanted to be next to Missy to provide support. Taking matters into my own hands I rounded the table and whispered in the ear of the young cop -- excuse me, the police lady -- at Missy's right.

I liked the lady's scent. If it was perfume it was very subtle. If it was just her -- yum!

Miss Tits kindly yielded her seat to me and moved down by Mom so I could be on one side of Missy, her mom on the other. My mom pursed her lips and frowned, as did the ADA and the senior cop. CPS barely cocked her head. Mrs. Devers showed just a hint of a smile that said I'd scored one for the good guys. My hand found Missy's under the table.

The ADA cleared her throat and started to speak, but I interrupted. "I'm sorry, I was upstairs taking time to clue Missy into the basic situation regarding Mr. Worthington, so she wasn't here for introductions. Missy, the lady in the blue suit about to speak is Martha Graham from the District Attorney's office. The nice lady in gray is from Child Protective Services, Georgia Swain. Is that right, Ms. Swain?"

She nodded.

"The big guy at the head of the table, trying to look like a civilian, is Police Detective Sergeant Michael Kelly -- I hope I'm getting this right -- while the young woman next to my mom is Detective Maria Sanchez. I believe you know the rest of us.

"Now, you were about to say, Ms. Graham?"

Martha G. frowned, totally thrown off her stride.

Gosh, I thought, how did that happen?

"We've -- uh -- got a problem with -- uhm -- The Program Coordinator, Mr. Worthington, as you presumably already know," she stammered. "We're hoping you'll be able to help us out."

Missy's mom looked like she'd taken a bite out of a sour apple and found half a worm. Her dad looked like an overcast sky about to stick out a funnel cloud to suck Kansas dry. That was good to see. He's pretty easy going, a conciliator, but I'd figured he'd be on my side, too, rather than see his daughter endangered.

I wondered why the ADA wanted to proceed with this farce. Maybe she needed to save face, or at least try to lure Missy in.

"We need to catch Mr. Worthington in the act," Ms. Graham plowed on, a farmer trying to get the crop in before Mr. Wilson blew off the topsoil, or his wife unlimbered the flame thrower and left the ADA with nothing but scorched earth, to mangle a metaphor.

Missy's parents were the only two who really mattered. Missy was a minor. No way could she be sucked into this without her parents' approval. With them united against it the door was nailed shut and it was all over but the shouting. There might be a lot of that, but I hoped not.

Missy proceeded to try to crush my hand under the table, but I didn't dare risk a look at her expression.

"He's preying on young ladies in The Program, but he hasn't approached you yet, Miss Wilson. We think you're the right person to get the goods on him. You'll be in no danger..."

"No!" Missy's mom interrupted the ADA. "That's not true, and you know it. I won't let you use my daughter as bait. After the horrible situation she went through last year I'm not about to let you pimp her out like some whore to catch that beast. Let Dee do it. She's got lots of experience as a slut! She was the one running around the park like a bitch in heat last Sunday."

Ouch!

I thought Mom was going to jump down the table and throttle Mrs. Wilson, but cooler heads prevailed and Missy's mom reluctantly apologized.

Missy gave my hand a sympathetic squeeze. I squeezed my thanks back and held my tongue. My relationship with Missy's mom over the past year or two had been up and down like an elevator, but I knew where she was coming from on this one -- not that it didn't hurt.

Besides, she was right about me. I'd been brought up in a rather liberated, single-mom household, with an older brother who I'd watched go through The Program. More than once I'd watched him bang the shit out of his girlfriend. I'd learned a lot about love and sex from them both. Besides, she was right, that had been me in the park making an ass -- or rather a bitch -- of myself.

While Missy wasn't a virgin, she certainly did not have the wide experience I did in matters erotic.

Still angry, Mom was obviously seeing the handwriting on the wall. I felt terrible for her -- here I was, striking terror into her heart yet again.

In the end, after more useless verbal sparring, Missy was off the hook and I was on it, to be dangled in front of Worthington. I'd do whatever it took to make sure he took the bait so he'd be yanked out of his slimy swamp to be gutted, cleaned, filleted and thrown into the frying pan.

Interestingly, the point that finally penetrated to Ms. Graham was the fact that Missy was fourteen years old while I was still only thirteen -- much to the amazement of those not already in the know. Apparently the law offered more severe penalties for sexually violating a thirteen year old than a girl of Missy's advanced years. That gave Ms. Graham a lifeline to grab onto, I guess.

Never mind that I felt about a century older than Missy.

As the Wilsons left I whispered to Missy that I'd welcome her in my bed that night or any night, but she politely declined, as I'd expected. Her mom would never have allowed it anyway.

With them gone I moved back down to sit with Mom and we got down to the nitty-gritty of making a detailed plan. Stumbling block number one was coming up with a plausible reason for me to be shoe-horned into The Program on short notice.

"How about I'm being punished," I suggested. "Something like when Catholics sin, they have to do something -- what is it called?"

"Do penance," Mom suggested distractedly.

"You could be doing penance for bringing disrepute on The Program with your frolic in the park," Mrs. Devers picked up deftly. "For that I could assign you to The Program for the rest of this week and all of next week. We can claim 'disciplinary reasons' to explain why you're naked in school again."

Everyone but Mom looked satisfied with that solution. Mrs. Swain was resigned, I guess.

Me? Was I looking forward to being back in my good old briar patch again? You betcha! Worthington might think he's dragging me into his parlor, but in this case I'll be the spider. Once I got my fangs in him he'd be my lunch.

ADA Graham tried to regain control of the proceedings. "Dee, you'll have to carry this off as if it is SOP."

"SOP?" I asked.

"Standard Operating Procedure," she explained patiently, treading carefully around me. I'd thrown her for a loop at the opening of the meeting and she wasn't going to underestimate me again. That was fine with me. I respected her, especially for her legal expertise, but wasn't about to let her forget that it was literally my ass that was going to be on the line.

"You don't deviate from the normal routine," Mrs. Devers agreed, "except for the fact that you'll be called to the office and stripped first thing tomorrow morning. From there everything proceeds as usual. Just go through your normal day, until..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence.

"I'm supposed to pose for Kathy after school," I pointed out.

"And you will, unless Worthington summons you," Devers agreed.

Right from the start Georgia Swain, from Child Protective Services, hadn't liked the idea of putting me or Missy at risk but had finally agreed we had no choice. She also had been paying attention. "From what's been said, it sounds like he's plucking his chickens on Friday afternoon. He'll be caught off-guard by the announcement you're suddenly in The Program."

"I hope," I heard her mutter under her breath.

"Based on our experience, sexual predators tend to adhere to a routine that works," Sergeant Kelly observed, making notes on a spiral bound tablet in front of him. "My guess is he'll bide his time until Friday, sniffing around to make sure this is legit."

"Even though he's been hiding in his cave he probably has someone feeding him information," Mrs. Devers mused. "When he gets word you're traipsing around nude I wouldn't be surprised if he called some other program participant to his office, just to pump them for information, rather than victimize them."

"We hope," Mrs. Swain muttered. But then, she's paid to be a professional worry-wart.

I tried to calm her nerves. "I warned Missy earlier not to go alone to Worthington's office if she got a Program Violation notice from him. She's probably already spread the word to the rest of the participants. If anyone is called down, chances are they'll show up with their partner in tow. I hope that doesn't alert him to trouble."

They thought this over for a minute before Mrs. Devers responded. "I don't think it will. If he's just looking for information he might even prefer it. He certainly won't try anything, especially if it is program partners showing up together. They're supposed to support each other."

"I wish I could be your partner," Maria Sanchez confessed.

So do I, I said to myself, shooting her a smile, for several reasons, not the least of which being that she was one really spicy taco, no offense intended.

"It's better that Dee doesn't have a partner," Mrs. Devers pointed out. "If he knows she's flying solo, being a last-minute addition to The Program for disciplinary reasons, he'll be more confident."

I still didn't see the sense of using The Program as discipline, but that was not on my agenda here. I was saving that one for the committee.

During all this Mom was looking more and more unhappy, and I wished there was something I could do to reassure her.

"I've got the committee's meet'n'greet Thursday after school," I reminded them, which triggered a brief explanation of what was going on with that.

"Worthington's been invited to it," Mrs. Devers pointed out. "Whether he'll be there or not is a mystery."

"If he does, you'll have to play it cool," Sergeant Kelly cautioned. "Don't let anything slip."

"Yes sir," I agreed. "I've tangled with him before."

"Can you at least manage to be civil to him?" Mrs. Devers asked with that secret smile of hers.

"I will be little miss suck-up," I assured her. "Yes, Mr. Worthington, I'm very pleased to see you're going to help us iron out some of the issues in The Program. For example, did you know, sir, that it is a matter of courtesy and hygiene that participants really should be issued a towel on which to sit, sir?"

"Don't' overdo it," Maria Sanchez warned with a broad smile.

"Maria, you'll be in the office, working as a temp starting tomorrow," Sergeant Kelly informed her. "We can staff up on short notice if anything looks suspicious before Friday. Dress conservatively," he added with a smile.

"Yes sir," she agreed, a blush tinting her cheeks, her dark eyes sparkling.

"If it happens sooner than we hope I can be there on short notice," Ms. Graham announced. "I'll clear my schedule on Friday afternoon and be there from lunch on so I'm available when we expect it to go down."

"You let us know the minute you get called down, Dee, and we'll be ready. Remember, we'll be listening and be in there in an instant if there's any danger," Mrs. Devers assured me.

I was somewhat comforted by that, but worried they might jump the gun. "Give me a chance to get the goods on this creep. I'll play along, let him -- ah -- have his way with me, making sure you know exactly what we're up to with a little play-by-play -- 'please, Mr. Worthington, don't make me suck your cock, slurp slurp' -- so we're certain we have what we need to put him away."

Ms. Swain and Ms. Graham blanched at my graphic description. My mother leaned her face into her hands.

"It would be better if I walked out of there on my own with him none the wiser," I went on quickly, "rather than have a SWAT team drag me out of his grasp. The less fuss when you bust him the better, I assume. You can pounce after I've left."

"Who knows what you might have to do!" Mrs. Swain gasped.

"As Mrs. Wilson so aptly put it, I've got a lot of experience as a slut..."

"Dee!" That got a reaction out of Mom, I tell you!

"Sorry, Mom, you know what I mean. I have developed a certain reputation, after all."

She looked gloomy. I hoped she knew I was going to need her more than ever over the next few days.

"That's fine, Dee, but we've got to be very careful to avoid a charge of entrapment," Ms. Graham warned.

I gave the ADA my full attention.

"He has to initiate everything," she emphasized. "The only words out of your mouth should be something starting with 'No' or 'please don't' or 'stop!' Is that clear?"

"Yes'm." I nodded. I asked another question that concerned me. "How much do I -- uh -- need to do to get him nailed? I assume you'd prefer more than a simple fondle. Oral? Intercourse? Anal?"

Mom flinched with every act I mentioned. I thought Ms. Swain was going to puke.

"I can't answer that without getting myself in a heap of trouble. It is up to you."

I nodded. The thought of doing anything with him roiled my stomach, but to get him jailed almost anything would be worth it. I figured it had to involve more than a little fondling.

"Okay," Sergeant Kelly said after a brief silence, "let's review everything, see if there are any holes. Dee goes into The Program tomorrow morning. There's no public announcement, but you'll spread the rumor that she's being disciplined for bringing dishonor on The Program."

Mrs. Devers nodded.

"We stand ready, beginning tomorrow morning, but don't go on high alert until Friday," Kelly went on. "Detective Sanchez will be undercover in the office. I want you there when Miss Walker arrives in the morning until after she leaves in the afternoon. Devers, you'll have to cobble up some excuse for her to be there."

Devers nodded. "She looks young enough. I'll say she's an intern from the local college, majoring in school administration, and wants to hang out there to get a feel for the work. Tonight I'll warn the Principal what's going on on his turf. After I get him calmed down he can take care of filling in the District Superintendent. I think we all agree, the fewer who know what's going on the better."

She took a deep breath. "Once this thing goes down there's going to be hell to pay. I want to know how that pedophile wound up in our school! Someone should hang for this, probably several somebodies."

There was nothing but nods around the table about that.

"Dee, the moment Worthington calls you down to his office, you get word to Mrs. Devers or Detective Sanchez," Kelly went on.

I nodded. "If it's during lunch, I'll send a friend to the office, probably Missy since she knows what's going on. If it comes during a class and I have to go right away I'll ask the teacher to notify the office."

"But you can't tip them off to what we're doing," Kelly pointed out. "That being the case, will they do it right away if it's not an emergency?"

I shrugged. "It depends on the teacher. Most might wait until the end of the period."

"That's no good. Maybe we should alert your teachers in advance to what's going on," Ms. Swain suggested.

Mrs. Devers shook her head. "The fewer who know the better. All we'd need is some chatter in the teachers' lounge to somehow get back to him. We're talking a three day window here, and with something this big it would be topic 'A' over coffee and donuts."

"Use your cell phone to text Detective Sanchez," Kelly suggested.

"I don't have a cell phone," I admitted.

Mom looked mortified. "Anytime she needs one she uses a friend's."

Kelly sighed.

Maria spoke up, sliding a card to me. "Here's my cell number. Have a friend text me, just two words. 'It's on.' I'll know what it means."

I nodded.

I turned to Mrs. Devers. "You said there's a panic button in every room."

"In my office it's a button under the edge of my desk, an inch in diameter, set under a clear sliding cover so it can't be tripped accidentally. I can't be sure where his is."

"Now," I went on, thinking of my recent experience as a sub, "I want a safe word, something for me to yell if I need help."

"'OH SHIT!' sounds good to me," Ms. Swain muttered wryly.

"I'm too likely to use it by accident."

We settled on "Sweet Jesus," which was not something I was likely to say by accident.

It was late and we were all tired, and I was scheduled to become chum on the water when school opened. "Well, here's hoping I don't need it before Friday, if at all. If he sticks to his usual pattern he'll send me a note at lunch time asking me to report to him, either then or at the end of the day. Either way I'll get word to Detective Sanchez or Mrs. Devers and the game will be on."

"It is NOT a GAME!" Mom snapped.

"I know it," I assured her softly, hugging her arm and resting my head against her shoulder. I was shaking inside, and I wanted nothing more than for her to hold me close and tell me everything will be okay. "Believe me, I know it. But we cannot let him get away with it. You didn't see..." I almost let the name slip " ... her, but I did. I will do whatever I have to to nail his hide to the wall."

With that the meeting broke up. I shook hands with Sergeant Kelly, Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Swain, and got tired of hearing how brave I was, but from Detective Sanchez I got a warm hug. I was actually taller than she was by a little bit, and she was definitely well muscled.

"If you need anything, if I can ever do anything for you, you've got my number. Don't lose it," she whispered. Her kiss on my cheek was brief, but wet and ripe with invitation.

Upstairs in my room I looked at my backpack and shook my head. SOP is all well and good, but I'd just have to take my lumps for missed homework for a change. After brushing my teeth I stripped, ready to crawl under the covers, but couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead I padded down the hall to Mom's room and tapped on the partly open door. Her light was still on.

"Yes?" Obviously she was far from sleeping. There was a book in her hand, but I don't think she was reading.

"Can I sleep in here?" I asked softly.

"Oh darling, of course you can," she agreed, setting her book aside and flipping the covers back.

Like me she slept in the nude. I crawled gratefully in beside her and she swung the covers back over both of us, sheltering us from a dangerous world. She drew me close against her, skin to skin, and it felt so good I felt like crying, so I did, softly, letting the tears flow as I snuggled even closer to her.

I snuffled. "I'm sorry."

Her arm tightened around me. "For what? Doing what has to be done?"

"Keeping you awake?"

Her chuckle was warm and reassuring and I felt her pressing a tissue to my cheek so I could wipe my tears. The light went out. "You think I'm going to sleep until this thing is over?"

"No. Me neither," I agreed. "I'm sorry."

Her embrace grew warmer, more loving, if that was possible -- I know, according to language arts that should be "were possible," condition contrary to fact -- but whattaya want? I'm only thirteen.

"For getting into this mess," I explained.

I felt her lips brush my head. "You're only doing what needs to be done. Don't apologize for that."

"I'm s..."

"Shush now," she said tenderly.

We were quiet for a while.

"You know what scares me most?"

I shook my head, knowing she could feel it.

"You're growing up so fast! You'll be going off to college..."

"Not for four years," I argued.

"Believe me, that's not very long," she said kindly, stroking my head. "But you've already done so much, things I've never done in my whole life."

I couldn't think what to say, so I was quiet for a change.

"You know," she went on a minute later, "I think you can do anything you put your mind to, I really do. It's a good thing you're a good person."

"I guess I was brought up right," I murmured as I wormed my way closer into her embrace, wishing that I could just be wrapped up in her. Maybe it was some urge to return to the womb or something. I tried to make myself as small as possible, curling up my long legs, and she opened hers to let my knee slip through as I scrunched myself down, my head below her chin.

She wriggled even closer to me somehow, her legs tangling with mine. She combed her fingers through my hair, cuddling my head to her as we squirmed against each other. I was remembering another time, not so long ago, when we'd shared a bed. My fingers were snuggled against the warm softness of her breast, and without really thinking about it I toyed with her nipple, feeling its rubbery stiffness.

"Ahh me," she sighed.

Afraid, I stopped, curled my hand into a fist, my thumb near my mouth, then in my mouth.

"No, it's alright," she assured me.

"I need you," I whispered, and I wasn't even sure myself what I meant.

"I need you, too," she murmured, shifting. "I need you, too, punkin."

She hadn't called me that for years. Somehow I felt even smaller, the soft, comforting mass of her breast on my jaw, my cheek. I squirmed my face against the pillow softness, and my mouth sought the tit that had nursed me so long ago, and I heard her sigh as she shifted so my lips could close around it.

"It's all right," she assured me when I hesitated, cupping my head against her, and then I was suckling on a dry tit, feeling warm and safe.

"Yesss, baby, yesss." Her fingers tangled in my hair, and I felt her hips move, pressing her crotch against my bony thigh. I pressed back, feeling the hot dampness of her sex, and she pushed her thigh against my own pussy.

We squirmed together, snuggled, as I sucked and sucked on her life-nourishing breast. There was no milk there, of course, but there was safety and security and unrestricted all-encompassing love, and I knew everything would be okay between us, and together we rode in tandem to -- something. It wasn't sexual. It was a slow, surging feeling of warmth and fullness and completion, a gentle sharing of a love that reached deep inside, secure and comforting, not carnal or vulgar, a love cradling us both so we could sleep.



-------

Chapter 14



"Mom, how long does a Brazilian wax take?"

"A what??!!"

"A Brazilian Wax," I repeated more loudly. I'd been talking to my bellybutton, so maybe she hadn't heard me right. We had slept together last night, but not well, and been up early so we had time for me to do some serious prep word for being NiS again and still get to Peggy's and then to school in plenty of time. It was going to be a long day.

"Depends. Could take half an hour. Why on earth do you want to know?" She came to the bathroom door and looked in on me, sitting stark naked on the toilet seat, my long legs bent at the knees and spread wide like a frog's, trying to shave my own crotch.

"Worthington likes 'em young," I explained, looking up at her. "I want to look as young as possible so he'll take the bait -- namely me."

"Must you?" she asked.

I just gave her "that look" again, the one that says, "this is not open to debate."

I knew she was scared.

SHE was scared? I was terrified, but even more, I was angry. He was not going to get away with what he'd done to Peggy if I had anything to say about it. This had become very personal.

"Oh here, let me." She sighed unhappily. Kneeling between my legs, she took the razor from me and in a few minutes I was as bare as a baby down there. I'd already done my armpits, even my legs. My leg hair is light and fine, and doesn't show much, it's such a nuisance I only do it for big meets, but I didn't want anything that might turn him off. I'd probably have to do the whole thing again tomorrow to avoid stubble, and then again, until he finally took the bait -- took me!

If he took the bait. I hadn't a clue what to do if he didn't.

"Thanks, Mom." I gave her a hug before she stood up, but other than that there was no hanky-panky between us.

At the front door as I left I guess you could say I had my game-face on. I was as wired as I was before a major swim meet, maybe more. I was dressed to strip, but nothing too out of the ordinary -- old panties, old bra, a last year's T and shorts combo (a little small, so I had a strip of tummy on display) so if I never got 'em back it wouldn't really matter. I left the house fortified by a double breakfast of four thick slices of Mom's lovingly prepared whole grain French toast, six slices of bacon, a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and an extra-long and strong hug.

"You be careful!" she ordered, holding my cheeks and glaring into my eyes.

"Yes'm." I gave her a kiss and another hug. "I will be," I assured her quietly.

I did my best to un-wire myself before I got to Peggy's door. The day was going to be hard enough on her without me spooking her with my problems. She had no idea what I was up to, and if things went right she'd never know. I didn't want her blaming herself for whatever it was I would go through. You could say it was a good thing I had to protect her. It kept me from worrying about myself.

Following her mom's directions, I found her upstairs, sitting slumped on her bed, staring at the floor. She perked up a bit when she saw me, perked up more when I knelt before her, took her hands in mine, and assured her we'd keep her safe, that she'd done nothing wrong, that nobody knew what had happened, and that we loved her unconditionally.

She was dressed for school, sort of. Rumpled and mismatched, she looked like she'd thrown clothes on that she'd dragged out of the laundry basket, like I sometimes did. There were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, and a flock of starlings had to have nested overnight in her lovely brown hair.

She let me sit beside her on the bed, let me brush it out. As if we were chimps in the zoo, that simple grooming soothed us both. I added a little, sparkling barrette, which helped spiffy her up a little.

The rest of her look, gaunt and sleep-deprived, could easily be passed off as the results of a stomach bug. I don't think she'd had more than soup since Friday lunch, something like four days ago, and that lunch had been school food -- 'nuff said?

Her mom looked scared and worried even as I tried to reassure her, but she let us go, tears in her eyes as she closed the door behind us. As far as I knew, she still had no clue as to what had her daughter in such a state. I thought of her there, alone, all day, and wanted to cry myself. I hoped she'd be okay. I had to do something for her! I moved a talk with Ms. Andrews up near the top of my already too full to-do list.

All the way to school I made sure Peggy understood that as far as anyone knew -- except Missy, who was sworn to silence -- that she'd had a stomach bug. When we got there, early as it was, the lunch bunch was already there to welcome her with open arms, literally.

Peggy wasn't normally much of a hugger, and now she really shrank back. I explained she was afraid she might still be contagious. She looked wobbly enough to make it easy for me to arrange for at least one of us to be with her at all times, and Missy was already alerted to walk Peggy home since I had to pose for Kathy's art project. All I told the lunch bunch was that someone needed to be with her at all times in case she felt poorly, and that was enough for them. They are such a great bunch. They should wear T-shirts that say "All for one and one for all."

It was at that point the PA system called me to the school office.

Oh shit, here we go, I thought, curtain up on Act One.

"What's that about?" Fran asked.

I played innocent, and shrugged and waved as I answered the call, my heart suddenly hammering. Shit I was scared!

The sight that greeted me in the front office, with its high counter, cubby-holes for mail, ringing phones, teachers rushing in and out, rows of file cabinets, computers and piles of papers -- so much for the paper-less office -- made my heart slam to a stop before it resumed beating like a jungle tom-tom in a Lion King movie.

Worthington himself was there, in all his naked glory.

Shit!

Mrs. Devers stood beside him, and I swear to God I will never, ever play poker with her. Her face was totally unreadable, but somehow I knew this was her idea.

Worthington's expression was all too readable, when I managed to look him in the eye after taking an inventory of his slightly doughy, fish-belly-pale, lightly freckled body. It was balanced precariously on skinny, pale, hairy legs. His endowment, such as it was, drooped dismally over his testicles -- I refuse to honor them with the term "balls."

So much for him getting thrills from exhibitionism, I guess. Or maybe Mrs. Devers proximity struck terror into his glands.

If I had to put a word to his expression it would be "gloating," and it did nothing to ease my mind. I couldn't ask "what's he doing here?" since I wasn't supposed to know why I'd been called in, but I looked that question to Mrs. Devers.

"Good morning, Miss Walker," she greeted me. "Since he is the Naked in School coordinator, I invited Mr. Worthington to be here so he'd be fully informed as to why you have, again, been put in The Program."

I choked, and it wasn't hard for me to play innocent, I was so flabbergasted by this turn of affairs. "I'm in The Program? Again?"

Mrs. Devers nodded. "After carefully investigating your outrageous display in the park last Sunday, we have determined that you have brought disgrace on the Naked in School Program. While you have tried to claim that what you did was community outreach, it was totally without authorization by this office or the prior approval of Mr. Worthington. It was unacceptable."

Worthington just stood there, smirking.

My undercover watch-dog, Detective Sanchez, was by the filing cabinets, a sheaf of papers in her left hand, her right hand out of sight and I wondered if it was on the grip of her gun. Though if her pants were as tight as what I could see of her scoop-neck top, how she could be carrying a concealed weapon was beyond me.

But her eyes -- oh my -- those dark eyes of hers had that look that gunfighters in the movies get. I don't mean to say she'd use deadly force, but had no doubt she'd be over that counter and have Worthington in cuffs if he so much as sneezed in my direction.

I have to say, Mrs. Devers played it well. She had me crumbling as she laid it on with a trowel.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" she asked.

I hung my head.

"No Mrs. Devers," I mumbled, while my mind tried to make sense of all this.

I translated her "I invited Mr. Worthington to be here" along the lines of "I pried his skinny little ass out of his office so he could witness your humiliation." One did not decline one of Mrs. Devers's invitations. I suspected that even the Principal, who was known to emerge from his office from time to time to walk the halls to accept the accolades of his subjects, was not resistant to her invitations.

"Strip!" she ordered brusquely.

Setting my backpack aside, I stripped, trembling as I did. Off came the T-shirt, down went my shorts, goose-bumps prickling my flesh as I stepped out of them. I handed my outer clothes to Mrs. Devers, rubbed my arms nervously, then reached back to unhook my oh-so unnecessary bra. As I let that slip down my arms and handed it to Mrs. Devers, I couldn't help noticing that Mr. Worthington's dick began to stir.

It's alive! I thought.

My traitorous nipples responded with their usual unabashed eagerness, perking up as if to survey the room. I caught a glimmer of a smile quirking Sanchez's lips, a twinkle in her eye.

Hooking my fingers in my modest cotton panties I pushed them down -- slowly, as if reluctant to expose my lower tummy, my hairless pubes, finally letting them slither down my slender legs. Balancing awkwardly on one foot, then the other, I stepped out of them. As I bent to pick them up I eyed Worthington's resuscitated masculinity. Even fully aroused his endowment was anything but impressive, but his interest in me was unmistakable.

I was about to reclaim my pack and walk out when Mrs. Devers surprised me by producing a length of string -- twine, in fact -- that tan stuff that's rough and tough, with little scratchy bits sticking out.

"This is a symbolic collar, to remind you of what you did to bring shame on The Program," she explained, tying it loosely around my neck. "You are to wear only that, and footwear, in accordance with the rules of The Naked in School Program, for the rest of this week and all of next. Is that clear?"

"Yes'm." I barely whispered.

"Should there be any program violations, Mr. Worthington will administer such punishment as defined by the Program guidelines," she added. "Is that clear?"

"Yes'm." The gleam in Mr. Worthington's eyes was anything but comforting.

She made me feel ashamed for real, and incredibly vulnerable. The string triggered another train of thought, and I suddenly wished we'd thought of using one of those radio tracking collar things they put on wild animals, maybe they even came with a microphone and could transmit sounds! We probably could have gotten away with that.

Shit! Why hadn't I thought of it? If there was a hole in our plans it was a foolproof way for me to alert the forces of law and order so they could start eavesdropping on Worthington. And what if he chose someplace other than his office, there was no way they could track me! Shit!

But it was too late now. I was stuck with this useless piece of string. It itched. It made me conscious of just how naked I was, naked in a way I'd never felt before.

"Now, off to your homeroom," Mrs. Devers ordered as the first bell rang.

Picking up my backpack, I turned and left the office to merge with the crowd. I got more than a few curious looks, and avoided making eye contact. I slumped! For the first time since The Stick had taken me in hand I forgot to stand tall.

Hell, I thought, what's this all about? It isn't like I hadn't been naked in school before.

The Stick, bless her, took over and gave me a swift kick in the butt. This is just another school day, she reminded me. Stand up straight, hold your head high. It's only a silly piece of string. We're here to run Worthington's worthless ass all the way to jail, and don't you forget it!

Put that way I didn't feel quite so alone. I visualized him doing a perp walk, trying to hide his face, maybe a tacky jacket draped over his head, his hands shackled behind his back, and felt a surge of anticipation. Even better, I visualized him in a bright orange prison jump suit, with a few leering, unshaven, heavily tattooed inmates eyeing him. I drew my shoulders back and stepped out, proudly naked. This is The Stick. She's tall. She's strong. She's sexy. She's avenging her friend.

Never mind that she's scared shitless!

A guy walking beside me asked why I was suddenly in The Program again.

I gave him the party line. "Oh, The Powers That Be decided that what I did on Sunday was a little over the top, so they stuffed me into the program for the rest of this week and all of next to humble me."

The guy guffawed. "They'll never humble you, bitch."

"That's Miss Bitch to you, Jeffrey," I shot back with a wry smile. He was a soph, in one of my classes, and really not a bad guy, except he had a habit of bragging about his conquests. He had a shock of brown hair as unruly as mine, and a nice ass.

"How about a pose?" he asked.

I debated flipping him the bird, but instead stuck my chest out, what there was of it, doing a sort of a pirouette, before strutting off with a toss of my head and a twitch of my ass. This is the Dee they all know and love, after all. The Stick strikes back.

But don't overdo it, I reminded myself. You don't bait your hook with a shark to catch a minnow. Worthington's the shark, I'm the minnow. That calmed me a bit as I went into homeroom, easily managing to look chastened as I explained again why I was again Naked in School. The teacher just looked at me and shook her head wearily. She'd already learned that I one of those who often asked questions that could only be answered "because I say so."

Then it was the usual announcements, yadda yadda yadda. While they were droning on I was writing a note to Missy to ask Mrs. Devers to get in touch with Ms. Andrews, explain to her what was going on up here in psycho high, asking her to set up a joint counseling session for Peggy and her mom right away. After sealing that, I created an outside wrapper addressed to Inez, with instructions. On that I warned that Worthington might be on the loose and to pass the word to let me know ASAP if he was spotted, and get the inside note to Missy.

How I'd protect Peggy from seeing Worthington if he did stick his nose out of his burrow I didn't know, but I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

The Stick was teaching me to delegate!

It was urgent, so rather than using one of our pre-arranged drops I handed the whole packet off to Inez when we passed in the hallway, knowing she'd take care of her assignment, and pass the inside message to Missy in first period. That accomplished, I comforted myself by figuring I was reasonably safe from Worthington today, that he wouldn't make his move until he'd scoped out the territory a bit. Even so, I felt like I had a target on my back.

Between second and third periods Tweedle Dumb and Dumber caught sight of me and I heard their snide cackles all the way down the hall. They took a shot at me on the way to lunch.

"Hey, cunt!"

I didn't even flinch, just kept right on walking.

"Hey CUNT! I'm talkin' to you!"

Just keep walking, I told myself, cold sweat prickling me all over.

"Whassamatter? Didn't you hear me calling you?" Cagney, AKA Tweedle Dumb, made the mistake of touching my shoulder.

Whirling on him I asked, "Why? Do you answer to 'dork?'"

He'd picked a really, really bad day and place to try to take me on! We were right outside the lunchroom by now, quickly gathering a crowd, which I didn't mind at all.

I slapped his hand away when he reached for me again. "Hands off! I didn't give you permission to touch me."

"You're in the program! It's a reasonable request."

"I didn't hear a request. I still don't. Besides, I decide what's a reasonable request, or haven't you read the program rules? It's my choice to let you touch me, which is not going to happen in this lifetime, or the next."

"She's right," an upper-classman in the front row called out, which encouraged me immensely.

"What makes you the authority?" Cagney asked, getting a bit red in the face.

"We've read the book, Cagney, which is obviously more than you have," I answered. "Oh of course, I forgot. You can't read, can you. Let me make it clear, in words of as few syllables as possible. One more touch and I'll file an assault charge against you. I've got witnesses."

He gulped and looked around.

"But don't worry. I bet The Powers That Be will be happy to put you in The Program, rather than waste juvie court time on you."

That made him back off. Evidently he wasn't eager to join me in stark-nakedness. In his case I really didn't blame him.

"Now, if you don't mind, it's bad enough I have to deal with a school lunch. I don't need you spoiling my appetite." I pushed past him and his buddy Lacey.

The lunch bunch had been watching from the sidelines, grinning. Even Peggy looked cheered. They engulfed me, we went through the line together and made a bee-line to our usual table. Peggy was looking better as we circled our wagons around her. Maybe she was establishing defenses the way John had. I hated to see her retreat behind a shell that hid her usual sweetness, but if that's what it took to get her through the day I understood. I hoped the note I'd passed to Missy produced results.

"No sign of Worthington," Inez whispered to me, which eased my worries considerably.

"We seem to have the real Dee Walker with us again," Fran teased.

"In the flesh," I admitted, making an attempt to eat without trying to figure out what it was. It's safer that way. My vow to make my own lunch had been crushed by my morning shave. Fortunately, instead of stealing my appetite my jitters seemed to have turned my metabolism up a notch. Breakfast was but a distant memory and my body was demanding calories, even school lunch calories would do.

"I hear The Powers That Be decided you needed this week in the program, thanks to your little stunt in the park," Inez observed, not unkindly.

"A week and more -- I'm in it all next week, too," I told her.

"Bummer!" Cindy sympathized with a toss of her blond curls.

I shrugged. "Hey, this is me. I'm out to set a record, most days naked in school in a single term."

Fran guffawed loudly. "I'll notify Guinness."

That brought a laugh. At least nobody asked about the string around my neck, and Peggy seemed to be enjoying the teasing I was getting.

Naturally I had my radar out, just in case Worthington decided to strike early. Missy caught my eye, flashed our "note" sign and did a thumbs-up, so I nodded and relaxed on that score. Then, just as she turned back to her lunch and took a bite an office courier found her. I thought the poor girl was going to blow lunch out her nose, but she managed to pull herself together and read the paper she'd been handed. She paled a bit and shot me a look before quickly finishing her mystery salad -- she was dieting again -- and going over to Mike. She whispered in his ear and they left together.

Well, well, well, I thought. Unless I missed my guess I'd caught Worthington's interest and he was gathering intelligence. I felt badly about Missy being caught in the middle again, but Mike would protect her.

Still, my sweat glands kicked into overdrive and as I finished my lunch I reminded myself to dig the stick deodorant out of my backpack the next chance I had. That came when, as per program rules, I gave the guys in the boy's room a thrill. After I washed my hands I swabbed my underarms with my pit stick and headed off to afternoon classes. They'd keep me from thinking too much about Worthington.

Gym gave me a chance to work up another stink sweat and burn off some nervous energy by beating up on a volleyball. The girls on the opposite side of the net didn't seem to appreciate my spikes. The first two left 'em with bruised palms. After that, when they saw me coming they ducked rather than trying to scoop it up for a return. One of my serves almost took Martha Radditz's left ear off and I had to apologize to her. My side won big, which cheered me.

Showering with the guys after was fun, too. I let them soap me down, hands all over me, slithering over the gentle rise of my boobs, making my nipples dance with joy, fingers invading the crack of my ass. They appreciated my bare-naked pussy as much as I enjoyed their attention. After that, down on my knees, I was happy to let them spray their come all over my face and torso. Then of course that had to be washed down the drain in creamy swirls. I let them use their hands as squeegees to make sure they got all of it off. All in all it was a very nice tension breaker.

At the end of the school day I passed Missy in the hall again. She gave me an "OK" sign, and discreetly flashed me the universal thumb-pinky "phone me" signal. I nodded and went on, feeling like some kind of secret agent, keyed up in case Worthington had his spies watching me. What if he decided to invite me in now? Getting word to the office would be tricky with everyone anxious to get home or to an activity. I added that as another worry to deal with over the next couple of days.

It was a huge relief to find myself safe with Kathy and Greg in the art studio. They were already nude as a way of welcoming me and we went into a group hug. Then I realized we had company and backed off, blushing, even though the company was naked, too, and came with a seeing-eye dog.

"Are you okay?" Greg asked.

"Fine," I assured him, though I was holding on to him so I didn't fall over. It was like the only thing that had been holding me up was tension and I was switching over to his loving support.

"Henry, do you know Dee Walker, Carl's sister?" Kathy asked. "Dee, this is Henry Carver, the sculptor."

Releasing my death grip on Greg, I reached for the hand Henry held out. "Glad to meet you, Henry. Beth Finch mentioned you. Good things," I quickly added. Henry was post-grad, taking art classes at the local college, already earning himself a name in artistic circles.

"That's a relief." His handshake was warm and dry and very strong. "What's so funny?"

I felt myself turning bright red that he'd caught the giggle in my throat. "I'm sorry, that was really rude. It's just that, your last name..."

He laughed easily, cocking his head in that quirky way blind people sometimes do, and I felt a lot better. "Carver?" he said. "It is rather fitting, for a sculptor."

Without thinking, I nodded before I spoke. "Yeah." I was glad he wore those real dark glasses so I didn't see his eyes, if he had any. He'd been blind from birth and I wondered how he did sense the world. He couldn't possibly know what "red" is for example, or a blue sky, yet here he was, an artist. Granted, he was a sculptor, but still...

He'd sculpted Beth by touch, and I couldn't help feeling a tingle at the idea of his sensitive hands on me. He was a bit taller than me, his thick brown hair as tousled as my own, and he had a lopsided smile. He seemed so old to me.

"May I see you?" he asked.

"See me? Oh, of course."

His fingers ran through my hair, traced my face delicately. "You're very tall. Strong chin," he murmured softly. "Nice ears, and what have you done with your hair?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed. He was so natural about this whole thing. "It has a mind of its own," I admitted.

"As do you, I hear."

"And just what do you hear?" I asked. I sobered up again so he could brush my lips, inside saying to myself "don't stop, please don't stop!"

"Good things," he assured me. His fingers caught in the twine around my neck. "What's this? Feels like twine."

"It is. It's a reminder."

He cocked his head again and sniffed as his fingertips reached my shoulders. "Are you naked?"

"How could you tell?"

"I -- ah -- smelled your arousal," he admitted. "Being naked turns you on, doesn't it? I'm sorry, that's very rude of me."

"I don't mind," I chirped nervously, self conscious. "It does. I got put in The Program this morning. They didn't approve of my antics in the park last Sunday. The twine is a symbolic collar."

"I heard about what you did. You're very brave. Do you mind?" he asked, touching the tops of my breasts hesitantly.

"Not at all." I took his hands and guided his fingers to my modest boobs, watching Greg's reaction out of the corner of my eye. He looked more curious than anything else, as if wondering what I felt like to Henry. I wondered if Henry had given Greg the same treatment. That made me squirm a little. Had Henry felt Greg's dick? Was Henry gay? I knew Greg wasn't, but still...

I lost that train of thought as Henry's fingers flirted with my nipples. My tits were already at attention, of course, and thoroughly enjoyed the contact. Henry had to feel the deep breath I took. I couldn't help noticing that his explorations were stirring his libido, his dick rising to point at me. His seeing-eye dog was watching and she looked like she was laughing.

"Can this wait until later?" Kathy asked impatiently before he ventured below my waist. "I've got work to do, and we've little enough time as it is."

"Sorry," Henry apologized, turning in the direction of Kathy's voice. "How can I help?"

"It's over here," Kathy explained, carefully lifting the damp cloth off the work she'd started of Greg and me -- "Courtship" she called the pose. "It looks like them, but..."

"Can you guys get in the pose for me, please?" Henry asked as he began running his fingers delicately over the still damp clay.

Greg and I took our pose, sitting side by side on the draped bench, him holding my hand, me turned shyly away. Kathy had drawn the gauzy curtains again, putting a cloud between us and the outside world. Her work was within reach of the bench. What followed was one of the most amazing, sensuous experiences of my short but very sensuous life.

We hadn't remembered our exact pose so, working by touch, Henry proceeded to adjust us to match Kathy's model.

"That's a good pose," he commented when he was done. "Try to hold it as best you can. Kathy, do you have something you could use for a blindfold?"

"Will a rag do?"

"Just something so you can't see, if you would please."

He was so polite!

Then the real work began. He started with me, his fingertips barely skating over my flesh. Any time my pose slipped he gently corrected it.

"We'll ignore this," he murmured when he touched the twine.

His touch was as gentle as a butterfly's kiss on my aroused nipples. Oh jeez, that felt so good!

"Got the blindfold on, Kathy? Good, here, give me your hands. Now this is a good example of what's missing. Feel her nipple then feel it on your work."

"But, it's the same," Kathy argued.

"Have you got the blindfold on? Don't cheat."

"Oops, sorry." She adjusted the blindfold. "There."

"Now try again, concentrating on your touch."

She frowned, her fingers toying with my hyper-sensitive tit as she delicately brushed the one on her sculpture. "It doesn't feel the same."

Even though what she was working on was like one-tenth scale, she somehow could tell there was a difference.

"Very good! You already know, of course, that sculpture is as much a tactile medium as it is visual. Which is a good thing, or I'd have to find a new line of work.

"I won't go into details, but as any magician knows, the eye can be fooled," he went on. "Your esthetic sense isn't as easily tricked. It's telling you something isn't right. So, we shut off your sight so you can concentrate on touch. Work blindfolded for a while. Eventually, with lots of practice you'll be able to work without the blindfold, the brain integrating the data, but for now, work by touch."

Kathy's fingers were driving my tit nuts!

"I don't ... oh, wait a minute!" She reversed her hands, awkwardly crossing her arms to use her right hand on the sculpture to her left, her left hand on me to her right. She switched hands back. "Wow! I see -- uh -- feel what you mean."

Wow indeed! Holy shit was her touching lighting my fires! It made it really, really hard to hold still as she fondled me and the clay at the same time, so Henry steadied me. I was totally stoked, intensely aware of her touch. It made breathing really, really, really hard! I was -- oh shit! -- was I going to come just from her touching my tit? As if he sensed my arousal, Greg gently squeezed my hand, and I was suddenly aware of feeling like I was really being courted by him. I was suppressing the excitement and stimulation of his attention as if we were just beginning to get to know one another as male and female, were both still virginal, with all that that implied -- the shyness, the unfamiliar sexuality. It was as if we'd never made love before and the feelings his touch gave me scared me.

Meanwhile, between little refinements to her sculpture, Kathy's hands were busy on me.

"It's all right," Henry murmured softly, steadying me. "Your feelings, your sensations will become part of the sculpture. Just hold as still as you can and let yourself feel it!"

I did. Oh lordy, did I ever! Trying to stay still only increased the sensations flowing through me, a sort of hot syrup that made me feel all squirmy inside. It wasn't like the horniness that I was already familiar with. It was an attraction to Greg that was slowly growing stronger and stronger in a way that scared me. I could sense Greg reacting to my touch on his hand and his on mine, his grip reflecting his similarly shifting feelings. Where before we'd just been posing, pretending, suddenly our relationship was coming to life in a new way, and I actually felt like a blushing virgin, afraid and excited at the same time, if you can imagine that.

Suddenly I remembered our first bashful encounter, the first time we'd met at the time trials. I'd been naked under my towel while we'd made halting conversation. Then he'd seen me naked for the first time, on the starting blocks, and I'd beaten him in that first race, and he'd stormed off to the locker room.

I could have lost him right there, but hadn't. He'd come back and took me on and we'd matched each other stroke for stroke, and I guess at that moment I knew he was the guy for me.

Henry guided Kathy's hands on us, pausing from time to time to check our pose, and every new touch brought that part of me to life, like the touching exercise we'd done in Sex Ed last year, only more electric. I was coming to life in a way I'd never felt before, even that first time Greg and I had made love, at my birthday party. I'd been eager, impatient, and taken him out there on the diving board with the whole crowd watching, and it had been fireworks in the sky, gloriously exciting.

Greg grunted, tensing up, and I realized Kathy was feeling his cock. I sneaked a peek. Greg was as hard as I'd ever seen him. Henry corrected my pose, and I found myself wondering if maybe, by just jumping into sex the way we had, we had missed out on something, something that only now we were experiencing. I was discovering that courtship was an incredibly exciting process. Suddenly I understood Kathy's project in a way I hadn't before, and it was thrilling to be such an intimate part of it.

In spite of all those romantic notions, I was becoming more and more enslaved by my hormones. By the time Henry and Kathy were done with feeling us both up I was ready to scream, and so was Greg. We'd had enough of courtship. We wanted each other, now! We didn't even need to discuss it.

Fuck courtship, fuck foreplay, we wanted to fuck! By the time they were done their touches on our naked bodies had taken care of all the preliminaries. When Kathy released us we were in each other's arms in a moment, sliding to the floor, me pulling him on top of me, spreading my legs to cradle him, dragging him straight from Courtship to Coitus, not that he resisted in the least.

He slid deep inside me as I held him closer than close, wanting to engulf him like a blanket, or have him engulf me. To stretch a metaphor, if I'd been milk and he'd been chocolate we would have become pudding.

Henry and the still blindfolded Kathy didn't abandon us. It must have been as hot for them as it was for us, feeling us so intimately, totally focused on their senses of touch and whatever else. As we went down, they were with us, Kathy on one side of us, Henry on the other, their hands tracing how our bodies interacted, shifted, interlocked, our muscles flexing.

It was voyeurism by Braille. Just as when we'd been posing, it made me more intensely aware of what I was feeling. I was conscious of Greg's flesh rubbing against mine, his hips on the insides of my thighs, his chest on my breasts, pelvis against pelvis, lips and tongues mingling, cock in cunt. It was a quick, deep mating, but it wasn't violent. It didn't take us long to come, together, his warm seed jetting deep within me, his cock pulsing, my cunt milking him.

By then Kathy and Henry were right there with us, Henry humping on one side, Kathy on the other, and I felt Henry's cock, slithering along the crevice between me and Greg, then spurting come like hot glue between us, while Kathy was whimpering as she humped our hips from the other side. We all strained together, turning into a swamp of come until we at last went limp with exhaustion.

For a long time we just lay there in a puddle of come, catching our breaths. I still didn't know if Henry was straight or gay, but what did it matter? For all I knew he was as ambiguous in his sexuality as I was.

Eventually we got untangled, and starting cleaning up, all four of us somewhat abashed by what we'd done.

"Damn, if I keep doing art like this I gotta get my own studio, with a shower," Kathy grumbled. I got the feeling she hadn't expected this turn of events.

"I think I'll start work on Foreplay tomorrow, but that'll probably just devolve into another orgy." She looked at me and Greg with a sort of wry smile.

That got my attention, reminding me of the meet'n'greet, and all my other distractions. "I'm not going to be here tomorrow, remember?"

"Shit!" Kathy swore softly. "I'd forgotten. What is it you're doing?"

"Can't tell you," I answered apologetically, wondering myself if this darned committee was ever going to be announced. The rumor mill was still churning, of course, but nobody seemed to know anything definite, not even me. I still didn't even know who was on it besides me and Mike, and what with everything else, he and I hadn't even had a chance to talk about it.

"I've got to be home on time tomorrow," Greg announced. "I'm babysitting Drindy."

I grinned wickedly. "I'll tell her you said that." She hated any reference to her as a baby. She was eleven. I'd been trusted at home alone at that age, but the Andersons had different rules.

I was also thinking about Worthington, for the first time since I'd walked in the studio door. There was a lot to be said for posing, and a bit of uninhibited sex.

I didn't mention Friday. What could I say? I'm scheduled to be raped Friday? Depending on how things turned out I'd try to get word to them if I wasn't going to be here.

My clothes were probably still in the office, and because Worthington might still be lurking I didn't want to brave the hallways so, naked as the day I was born -- well, not quite, I don't think I was born wearing a twine necklace and sneakers -- we used the back door to the parking lot and I joined the others in Kathy's car for the ride home, Henry's dog licking my face so eagerly she occasionally frenched me, the perv.

Mom wasn't home yet so, along with cookies and milk, I phoned Missy to get her report. The bureaucratic wheels had meshed nicely, thanks to the quick reactions of Mrs. Devers and Ms. Andrews, and when Missy got Peggy safely home Ms. Andrews was there. She'd already broken the news to Mrs. Hughes, presumably calming her hysterics and saving Peggy that agony as well. Missy left them in the counselor's capable hands, glad to be free of that responsibility.

What Ms. Andrews would tell the authorities I had to leave up to her. I could only pray Peggy wouldn't be dragged through the slime, that TPTB would keep her name out of it. I was surprised they hadn't already descended on her, but I'd done the best I could with that shit situation.

I told Missy I owed her big-time, and wouldn't forget. She pooh-poohed it, but I'll think of something.

Then I asked about her meeting with Worthington, what with her being naked in the program and all. It turned out Worthington had been a gentleman, if somewhat snarky when she'd shown up with Mike in tow. Worthington was apparently still nude, in accordance with NiS rules, at least from the belly up, and his hands remained on top of the desk, not making suspicious movements in his lap.

After we both "eeewwed" and laughed we decided that either Mike being there inhibited him or exhibitionism wasn't his kink. I told her I already knew he just didn't have that much to exhibit, and so did everyone else who'd passed through the office during my sentencing.

Anyway, as we'd expected, he was probing for information about me. Missy told him what she knew about me being put in the program without revealing anything else. He didn't quite lick his chops, but there was something in his watery blue eyes that made her uncomfortable. Later she'd heard via the grapevine that a couple of other girls in the program had also been called down during the afternoon. Each had shown up with her partner and he hadn't seemed happy about that. He'd pumped them, too, but they knew less than Missy, and wondered themselves what was going on.

After thanking her profusely I hung up and contemplated what was to come. I was left wondering whether Worthington would be at tomorrow's little party, and how he'd behave.

Or how I should behave, for that matter. The only parties I knew were middle school parties. Granted my 13th birthday had gotten pretty wild, by middle school standards, but this was a more formal, grown-up thing. What should I do? What should I say? "Hi, I'm Dee Walker and I'm naked, who're you?" sounded a little too something ... Maybe 'juvenile' is the word I'm looking for.

At least I didn't need to worry about what to wear, being that it was a school function and I was in The Program.

But I needed advice. I actually started to get up to go down the hall, before I remembered and fell back in my chair. Advice like that wasn't just a few steps down the hall any longer.

Shit! I missed Carl so much!

Firing up the computer I sent him an email asking him to Skype me when he had a chance, and settled down to try to get caught up on my homework.



-------

Chapter 15



I arrived at the meet'n'greet to discover everybody else, of course, was dressed -- oh, except for Mike, who'd gotten to the meet'n'greet before me and was standing off to one side, looking lost. He and I were in our program uniforms.

Ah well, I should be used this by now.

"Oh, look! It's the Truffula tree!"

That was loud enough to draw everyone's attention to my entrance. Being tall I was accustomed to being gawked at. I tried to tell myself it didn't bother me.

Much.

As the conversation resumed around us I -- avoiding an eye-roll that would have strained a muscle -- instead, strained my principles by smiling and sticking out my hand to the Major Dumbo who had so kindly announced my arrival, barely glancing at her companion.

"Hi, I'm Dee Walker, and you are?"

Not that I didn't already know darn well who she was. Since I'd arrived at this esteemed institution, following the advice of my brilliant brother, I'd done some research. The library has an up-to-date set of yearbooks, and she'd featured prominently in them for the past three years. A senior, she was sure to be top of the charts this year, of course.

"Heather MacKenzie!" she said in a chipper tone that implied that Everyone should already know who She was. Her handshake was one of those tips-of-the-fingers ladylike grips.

Ugh.

"Please'tameetcha," I managed.

She, of course, was also the same person who had welcomed me so descriptively to the lunchroom that first day. Since then, in self defense I'd carefully scoped out her usual habitats so I could avoid them, which was no easy task. She was head of this -- Cheerleading, of course, among others -- president of that, chaired the prom committee, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. She had perfect blonde hair, courtesy of the finest salon in town, a gorgeous complexion, courtesy of a fine cosmetician and careful hygiene, perfect teeth, thanks to the best orthodontist money can buy, likewise a perfect nose, boobs and butt. I declined to speculate on whether they were naturally acquired or not.

But, regardless of what she thought, I was willing to bet that her shit still stunk.

"I hear that performance of yours in the park was really bitchin'!" she hissed with a naughty giggle.

Takes one to know one, I thought. So far she was proving to be everything I loathed, but I reserved judgment, figuring that Mrs. Devers had some good reason for picking her for the committee.

"It was fun! You should try it sometime," I parried, thinking how much I'd enjoy having her on the leash. "You'll have to excuse me, I see someone I need to talk to."

Escaping her claws I strolled over to Mike, who was looking somewhat adrift.

"Sorry I was late." I didn't add that the lateness was Carl's suggestion, to avoid standing around looking hopeless until someone else showed up.

"S'okay," he responded, cheering up a bit.

"C'mon, let's mingle," I urged. "I'm hungry!"

"You're always hungry," he teased as we descended on the refreshments. He still only came up to my earlobes, but he was slowly gaining on me.

The Kool Aid pitcher was low, but I naturally went for a cup of the ice water anyway, and a fistful of what I presumed were oatmeal raisin cookies. At least none of the raisins moved.

Mrs. Devers was gazing benignly over the gathering as Mike and I circulated, introducing ourselves. I did my best to follow Carl's advice, easily summarized as "don't talk, do listen, and catch names."

Heather Mac's chatter and tinkling laughter dominated the room. She seemed to be paired with -- what else? -- a jock, but at least it wasn't the star quarterback. That would have been too cliché. Someone else came up to her and the guy slipped away with a look of relief, so I decided to pursue him. Last year's yearbook photo didn't do him justice. I wished I'd taken more note of him when I'd responded so courteously, if hypocritically, to her greeting.

Matthew "Mongo" Mozilla was a wide receiver on the football team and star pitcher on the baseball team who, running contrary to stereotype, was rumored to be Harvard bound. I wondered how he and Beth would get along together there. They must have known each other here.

He looked bored out of his gourd, and greeted me very courteously, commenting on my swimming notoriety and how much he enjoyed my diving. It was nice having someone to look up to, physically. I mentally marked him as a potentially valuable ally. It turned out, being the senior rep, he was only paired with Heather on the committee through Mrs. Devers's machinations. He informed me that in real life Heather was, in fact, romantically entangled with the QB.

We both agreed: how formula can you get?

Mongo was a hunk I'd not mind getting to know better, on a casual basis, that is. Greg was still at the top of my charts, and I was looking forward to being paired with him for the next four years, if he could put up with me for that long.

There being only eight of us students in total, two from each grade, making the rounds to the ones we didn't already know personally didn't take long. As usual, I towered over all the other girls and most of the boys -- Mongo being the exception -- so I noticed Worthington's appearance before anyone else. In keeping with his enforced Program participation he was naked. A brief silence followed by burst of murmurs swept the room as eyes tracked him, and then chatter resumed as he went over to greet Mrs. Devers.

I tried to interpret the looks that followed him, without success. From what intelligence I'd been able to gather, politically he was a joker in the deck that was the school hierarchy -- neither faculty nor staff. A representative of the Federal Office of Social Awareness, he was charged with overall supervision of the Naked in School Program. As such he didn't report through the school's chain of command -- that would have been Mrs. Devers -- but to the regional office of FOSA. That had to bug the heck out of Mrs. Devers -- that and the fact that his charter granted him powers denied to mere Vice Principals.

Keeping an eye on Worthless as he circulated did challenge my peripheral vision, but I managed to be braced for it when he slithered up to me. I'd deliberately sent Mike off for a cookie refill, leaving me momentarily solo and vulnerable, figuring the Worm wouldn't miss the opportunity.

"Miss Walker, so good to see you again."

"In the flesh, Mr. Worthington," I responded courteously, turning to face him, not about to let him get behind me. "And you as well, I see."

"One of the burdens of leadership," he acknowledge nobly, spreading his arms slightly to display his unimpressive nakedness. "One must set a good example, mustn't one?"

He was as limp as a noodle.

"Indeed," I agreed. Don't talk, listen, I sternly reminded myself.

"So," he began conversationally, "what do you expect to see coming out of this..."

I had the feeling he was about to say something guaranteed to punch my buttons, like "silly" but he apparently caught himself.

" ... this committee of yours?"

"It's not my committee," I countered delicately.

"Oh come now! A bright girl like you should take credit for your accomplishments."

I shook my head. "The committee was certainly not my idea."

Which was true. I'd come up with some questions about The Program. The committee was Mrs. Devers's idea.

"But you will admit you put the idea in Mrs. Devers's head after our little disagreement over young Peggy's program violation," he suggested, oilier than a tub of multi-mega-plex popcorn with extra butter.

"I did have some questions for her about some aspects of The Program," I admitted. "But I don't recall Peggy's name came up."

"Since I'm the Program Coordinator you should have asked me," he countered petulantly.

"If you recall, I'd gotten off on the wrong foot with you that day," I pointed out apologetically.

"Indeed. So, what were the issues you raised?"

I shrugged, stepping back a pace. He kept moving in on my personal space and I was hoping he couldn't smell my fear-sweat.

"Oh, little things. Did you know, for example, that naturists carry a towel to sit on? It's for hygienic reasons, but it's something I thought of the first time I planted my naked butt down on one of those cold classroom chairs." I felt like I was tip-toeing through a mine field. "But of course anyone might have thought of that," I went on. "Many probably have."

Apparently deciding this was getting him nowhere he moved in on my space again, speaking very confidentially, like he was sharing a big secret. He even held my upper arm, making my skin crawl.

"Speaking of that, I've been -- ahem -- touching base with all of my current Program participants over the last few days, to see if they had any suggestions, checking on how they were faring. My other duties had intruded and I'd been a bit remiss in that duty."

Yeah, right, I thought, reclaiming my arm, backing away again, leaving his comment hanging in the air.

He closed the gap I'd just opened, going for my arm again. "Out of courtesy I'd planned to interview the ladies first, but that hasn't worked out. It wasn't like that last year, or during the first week this year. I don't suppose you know why the participants started showing up in pairs?"

Ladies first, out of courtesy? Right, and I'm the Pope.

Backing away again, freeing my arm to brush my hair back, I gave him my wide-eyed dumb blonde look. "Well, when they're selected, participants are paired up for the week so they can support each other. I would assume that's the reason. It should make your job easier, killing two birds with one stone?"

"Of course," he agreed, moving in again. "But you seem to be unaccompanied."

I tried to tell myself it was better being close to him. I didn't like the way his eyes skated over my lower regions at all. On the other hand, his touch gave me the creeps.

I nodded ruefully. "Since I was drafted into The Program for disciplinary reasons I have no partner."

I'd never fished, but suspected it was a bit like this. If that wasn't a tempting twitch of the lure I didn't know what was.

"Such a shame, a lovely young lady like you." He tut-tutted. "Well, we'll have to get together sometime soon. Perhaps tomorrow. I'll have to check my schedule."

You do that, I thought. His gaze seemed to lap at my freshly shaven pubes. Was that a twitch of interest from his endowment?

I waited for him to pursue the matter further, but he didn't. I could see Mrs. Devers watching us, and heaved a silent sigh of relief when she stepped in to call the group to some sort of order. I slipped away from Worthington to couple up with Mike, wishing I hadn't eaten so many cookies. Maybe I'd been wrong about those raisins. They seemed to be exploring my gut.

"As you know, this is just an informal gathering of the Central High School Naked in School Advisory Committee. I wanted to give you a chance to get to know each other," she began. "As I told you when you were asked to participate, as the Naked in School Program has proceeded, certain questions have emerged, which I'm not going detail here. You have all kindly agreed to address these questions and provide recommendations to improve our implementation of The Program. Thank you very much.

"We'll be formally announcing the committee and your membership on it during homeroom tomorrow morning. There will also be an article in the school paper. We'll explain its purpose, and at that time we'll encourage the student body to approach you with their concerns. One of your assignments is to make note of their worries or suggestions regarding The Program so they can be included on the agenda. Some of you have already communicated your thoughts, for which I'm grateful.

"You'll meet in this room on Mondays, at the end of the school day, beginning next week. Obviously there's no way yet to know yet how long the process will take. The first meeting will be organizational and I strongly encourage you all to attend. It's been my experience that to be absent risks being elected to fill the least desirable office."

That got some nervous laughter.

"All of you have taken part in The Program, or are doing so now, so you know what it is like to be naked in school. Mr. Worthington -- who is gaining such experience this week -- is Program Coordinator, courtesy of the Federal Office of Social Awareness, and as such has been included as ex officio member. However, it is not intended that he dominate the committee. You will be responsible for choosing a chairperson to conduct the meetings, a co-chair to be available if the chair is absent, and a secretary to take notes, produce minutes and cope with clerical details."

That was the shit job if ever there was one.

"Are there any questions?" she concluded

I might have stuck my hand up, but Heather, bless her dainty little brown nose, beat me to it.

"Can we call -- uh -- witnesses, or whatever you want to call them?"

Just what I was wondering myself. Thank you, Heather! I thought.

"It would certainly seem appropriate, but bear in mind this is an information-gathering organization. It has not been formed to resolve disputes or to be a judicial body. That will remain the responsibility of Mr. Worthington as Program Coordinator."

I did notice a few frowns at this announcement. Apparently he wasn't popular with some parties, most of them female. A grimace wrinkled Heather's perfect face, and her blue eyes were drilling holes in the Worm, which I found very interesting!

He merely beamed and looked around benignly.

"Any other questions?" Mrs. Devers went on. "No? Well, as I said, we already have a few issues on the agenda, and I'll make sure you get that list tomorrow. But over the weekend I suggest you draw up any further matters you feel should be taken up. Please have them ready so you can present them to be included for the first business meeting. Thank you all for volunteering to take on this challenge. Now, please, enjoy the refreshments and get to know each other."

Mike and I lingered a respectable amount of time before excusing ourselves. Out in the hall we both heaved a sigh of relief.

"How are you doing with being naked around here this week? Any problems?"

He shrugged. "It's okay. After what we did last year in Sex Ed, this is pretty tame. The upper class kids already have a year or more of experience with The Program, so they're generally pretty cool with it. Some of the freshmen are a little over-eager. Showers with the girls after Gym are fun, and I get relief whenever I need it. Some of the upper class girls can really suck cock!"

I laughed. "And how's Missy doing?"

He frowned. "She's been real uptight. Did something happen Tuesday?"

"Like what?" I asked, on my guard.

"When she came to school Wednesday she was real tense. Then when Worthington called her down for an interview she looked like she'd seen a ghost and insisted I come with her."

I grunted.

"I dunno why he asked her down. He asked a bunch of silly questions, asked a little about you.

"Anyway, before I came to the meet'n'greet she did ask me to tell you something. She said I should tell you she's got your back. Any idea what she's talking about?"

"Not really," I responded, feeling a surge of warmth. She was the only student who knew what was going on. I wouldn't put it past her to somehow muster the troops to keep tabs on me in a way that didn't set off any alarms. I could only hope nobody else figured out what I was up to and did something stupid. At least I wasn't quite as alone as I thought.

After recovering our clothes and dressing we talked about teachers and courses as we walked home together, until he headed for his house and I for mine. Once there I did my best to lose myself in my homework and dinner chores. Tomorrow, from what Worthington had said, was almost certainly going to be the day. But what in hell was I supposed to do if he didn't try to molest me? And if he did, how was I supposed to know if anyone was listening in and recording stuff?

All of a sudden this scheme looked very, very moth-eaten.

I was glad to sleep in Mom's arms again that night, not that either of us slept all that well.

-------

"I have got to be out of my ever-loving mind to be letting you do this!"

Mom was between my spread legs, freshening up my pube-shave. I kept my mouth shut, and my legs open.

"You're only thirteen!"

"Almost fourteen," I pointed out. With everything that was going on, my birthday was the last thing on my mind. Even tomorrow's swimming trials were pretty much forgotten, though I knew I was in the worst condition I'd been in years. My total attention was riveted on getting Worthington and surviving the day.

She gave me her patented and trade marked "don't quibble with me, young lady" look. "What decent mother in the world would set her daughter up to get raped?"

I felt for her. "One who knows me, and trusts me, and wants to see the right thing done," I answered. "It's not like he's a serial killer. He only molests, and it's not like I have my virginity to lose to him."

"I should be arrested for child endangerment," she informed my cunt.

"The police already know," I pointed out. "They're co-conspirators, or whatever you call it, along with the District Attorney, Child Protective Services, and the school authorities. Who's left to arrest you?"

"I swear, you must have some kind of hypnotic power to rope us all into this mad scheme. Done," she sighed, sitting back on her heels, giving my pussy a tender, loving stroke of her hand.

"Thanks, Mom." I hugged her head to my barely developed bosom.

Our parting this day was even more desperate and prolonged than the day before. We knew it was almost certainly going to happen today, if it happened at all. As I walked out the door I felt the way I had the first time I'd taken the plunge off the ten-meter platform. Just after I'd stepped off, when I was beyond the point of no return, I wondered what had possessed me to do it.

Only in this case I could still turn back, call in sick, anything.

But I knew I wouldn't. No one has ever accused me of being a quitter. I was of the philosophy that quitters never win, and winners never quit. They'll probably engrave that on my tombstone.

Which was not a comforting thought, given the circumstances.

I used my anger to contain my fear, and tried to wrap the whole package in a "business as usual" attitude as I made my way through the day, waiting for the ax to fall. I was nearly oblivious to people coming up to me about the committee after the morning announcements.

I got to lunch a little late, the result of fulfilling a request I found quite reasonable and enjoyable -- Mongo asked me for a pose, and gave me a very nice feel-up! -- and as I entered the lunchroom I saw Missy whispering to the lunch bunch at our usual table.

As I went through the line, though, I saw her get up and return to her normal place, while the lunch bunch was huddled, whispering among themselves, exchanging looks, pointing to each other, heads nodding mysteriously. I tried to tell myself it was just the result of my mom's usual pre-birthday maneuverings, while secretly hoping that maybe I had allies, even though I was certain they didn't know specifically what I was up to. Except Missy. She knew.

Would she have told them? Unlikely. Not under a triple-cross-my-heart promise. In our book that superseded even life-or-death situations. Once she'd threatened to break the promise and tell if I didn't come down off the roof right away, using the ladder. I did, even though I was holding a really, really, really big umbrella, the one from the backyard picnic table, with both hands. I still think it woulda held me.

But even if she had told the lunch bunch everything -- which she hadn't, 'cause Peggy was right there and she wasn't in tears -- what could they do? If they tried to storm Worthington's office it would ruin the whole thing. Worthless would get off, and God alone knew what hellfire would rain down on everyone for botching the operation, for putting me at risk -- ME, who'd dreamed this whole thing up -- and leaving the Worm free to molest again!

Shit! I felt like a rat turd for getting them into this in the first place.

By the time I got to the table the bunch had assumed falsely casual attitudes. Peggy, worried but stable, kept looking at me. Lunch wasn't the usual carefree gathering. Beneath the joking and teasing -- along with a scolding for not telling them about my committee assignment, and a number of not-serious suggestions for it to discuss -- there was tension. It was like everyone at the table was watching storm clouds on the horizon, trying to get their picnic in and get under cover before lightning struck.

They obviously knew something was up, and I wasn't any help, waiting for the courier to tap me on the shoulder and hand me Worthington's summons. When it didn't happen it only ratcheted my case of nerves up another notch.

I wouldn't say I sleep-walked through the afternoon -- anything but. But my attention sure wasn't on what I was supposed to be doing. Gym was a farce, to the extent I wound up using my forehead to take one of Radditz's bullet serves -- the return went out of bounds -- leaving my ears ringing and my eyes crossed for about five minutes. She apologized, but it may have been retaliation for my near miss the day before. I couldn't blame her. I hadn't been paying attention either time.

My side lost, and try as hard as I could I just wasn't able even to enjoy the guys in the shower, turning down their offer of a free hand wash followed by the usual mutually enjoyable pre-rinse come job.

The call came about half-way through German, my last class, and my stomach dropped into my toes. It couldn't have been at a worse time. Frau Blucher was not tolerant of disruptions, but even she, apparently, was forced to yield to Worthington's summons and release me. Apologizing as I gathered my things, I handed her a prepared note and asked her to make sure it got to the office as soon as possible, but I saw her just set it aside, distracted by a disturbance in the back row, and I realized that things were already starting to unravel.

There was no time to slip a message to someone with a cell in the class to text Sanchez. Frau Blucher was death on anyone fiddling with a cell phone. She'd been known to confiscate the offender's mobile and hold it hostage for an indefinite length of time.

Strike two! Shit! What was I left with? If I didn't find the panic button in Worthless's office I was screwed.

Actually, I'd probably get screwed anyway, but no one but me would know it, which was not the plan!

Trying to figure a way out of this mess, my mind racing, I wasn't aware of anything more than six feet in front of me. The courier was Cagney, of all people, and apparently he'd been instructed to escort me to our destination. He was about half a pace behind me, nudging me along, so I couldn't skip out. At least now we knew where Worthington was getting his information, not that it was a surprise. Fat lot of good that did me!

When I tried to turn toward the Worm's office, Tweedle Dumb corrected my course. "That office gives him claustrophobia. He's not there," Dumb explained.

Triple Shit! I wasn't even going to be where I was supposed to be! This was getting worse and worse. I felt like I did when I blew a takeoff from the three-meter board. I knew that no matter how hard I tried there was no way I could save the dive, that it was destined to end badly and painfully. My only hope was that the room I was taken to had a panic button and I managed to find it.

I tried to keep track of where we were. I thought I'd explored every inch of this place, but he took a corridor I'd ignored that ran along behind the kitchen, probably to the loading dock. He knocked on a door and as he opened it he took away my backpack. So much for any secret recording device in there! Not that I had one.

"Leave this out here," he ordered, ushering me in. The door closed behind me with an ominously solid sound, and I found myself in what looked like a break room, probably for the kitchen staff.

"Welcome, Miss Walker," he greeted me from a seat at the break table. I scanned the room, looking for some hint of a panic button. The only reassurance I got was the presence of an intercom speaker above the door.

"Mr. Worthington," I greeted him neutrally, carefully keeping the table between us.

"My office is so cramped, and there's always the chance of being interrupted. I thought this would be more comfortable. Look, there's even a sofa!"

Oh joy! I thought, pulling a chair out so I could take the weight off my shaking legs. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I just thought this would be a good opportunity to conclude my interviews, find out how your Naked in School experience has been, discuss any problems that might have cropped up."

He was as smooth as the bare skin of my newly shaved pussy, I had to give him that. "Oh, it's going okay."

"No bullying? No insults?"

Not unless "Truffula tree" qualified as an insult, I thought. Actually, I preferred it to The Stick, but I just shook my head. "So far my experience has been quite good. I find being naked quite freeing, relaxing even, and it seems to be well accepted by most of the students. The boys appreciate it, and some of the girls, if you get my drift. I'm learning a lot about my sexuality."

I thought about complimenting him on how well he ran the program, but decided that would be a bit much.

"That's good, that's good," he murmured gently, fiddling with some papers in front of him. "Unfortunately, I am in receipt of yet another Program Violation complaint involving you."

My spider sense went into high gear. "Another Program Violation? I don't believe I've received one before this."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I'm confusing yours with Miss Hughes's, the one you so eloquently defended her from."

"I still say it was not a violation," I pointed out.

"And I didn't punish her, if you'll recall," he answered.

Not then, you slimy bastard, I thought.

"Though I did find it necessary to place you in The Program for your insolence."

"Yessir," I agreed, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

"But this latest one, well..."

"What's the -- ah -- charge?" I asked, aware of sweat trickling down from my armpits.

"Refusal of a reasonable request, of course," he answered, "and threatening the requester with legal action. I'm sure you remember. It took place outside the lunchroom Wednesday, and there was a witness."

There were a lot of witnesses, but I knew he was referring to Cagney's sidekick Lacey.

I took a deep breath. "It was my right, as the program participant, to decide whether the request was reasonable or not. In fact, there was no such request, and he touched me without my permission."

He tsked. "Miss Walker, as Program Coordinator it is my responsibility to determine whether it is a reasonable request or not. Not yours."

I opened my mouth to quote the program pamphlet to him, but before I could he went on.

"However, I have been known to be lenient, even though this is not even your first time in The Program for disciplinary reasons."

My mouth snapped shut. Ah hah! Here comes the wind up.

"For example, I might be willing to dismiss this offence, in return for certain favors."

And here comes the pitch, I thought, clenching my teeth, mentally running up my curse jar tally as I desperately searched the room for anything resembling a panic button.

He must have seen my eyes darting around the room.

"Relax, Miss Walker, I'm not asking anything of you that you have probably not already indulged in, given your experience in the middle school sex education program -- yes, I've heard of that -- and your wanton display in the park last Sunday."

If looks could kill he'd have been a smoldering pile of ashes. I wondered if this was the same slimy tactic he'd used on Peggy. Poor Peggy, who moped if she got a grade on a quiz below a "B," who had been known to burst into tears if she got a foul called on her in soccer. I was stone faced, waiting.

"For example, given your experience, I believe you have certain oral skills that I might like to experience."

"In other words, you want me to suck your cock."

He merely nodded. God I wished this were being recorded on video!

"No!" I answered, clearly and firmly, just in case I should be so outrageously lucky that through some incredible intervention by some higher power this room was bugged.

"Not even to have this latest charge against you dropped? I'd like to remind you that punishment can be a public spanking. Think how humiliating that would be, to have the whole school see your punishment."

I took my time thinking this over. Oh, not the punishment, no way would that happen. I was wondering how best to get him to solidly incriminate himself, if I was so lucky someone was listening. I was functioning on pure rage now, my mind racing.

"Let me get this clear. You are offering to dispense with my punishment if I agree to suck your cock."

He nodded. Damn! Not good enough. I wanted to hear the words!

"Is that right?" I asked again, prodding him.

"Yes."

Gotcha!

Except, I didn't. Without a recording it would be my word against his. I needed evidence. "No!"

"Miss Walker," he complained softly, "it's a simple act. I bet you've done it many times, even at your tender age. Everyone knows you're a slut, especially after that vile display you put on in the park, behaving like the filthy bitch you are."

"No."

He began to turn red in the face. "You slut! You suck my cock or I will give you the thrashing of your life! I'll do it on the auditorium stage, complete with sound and lights! By the time I'm done you'll be bawling like a baby!"

"Fuck you!" I taunted. Thank God, if this was being recorded he'd just wrapped the noose around his own neck.

But if it wasn't -- well, I'd been braced to resort to more extreme measures.

"That can be arranged, too! How will you explain to your dear mother why you have to eat standing up for a week? Better, maybe I will fuck you, like the bitch you are. I was willing to let you off easy, but now I won't. The price just went up, cunt. First you'll suck my cock and then I'll ram my dick right up your pussy, you worthless bitch. Which will it be, a blistered ass, and two more weeks in the program, and the scorn of your classmates, or a quick suck and a fuck and you get off Scott free."

He smiled, and it was not a pretty sight. "Being the filthy slut you are, I bet you might even enjoy it."

I looked him in the eye for a long time, trying to give him the impression I was thinking it over. I was thinking, alright, thinking how I could hang his worthless ass. I was looking forward to turning this from being a "my word against his" situation into a "now I've got your worthless balls in my hand and I'm going to squeeze them until they pop" situation.

What better way to get the evidence than to have him hand it to me, so to speak. I slumped, as if defeated.

"Okay," I agreed dismally, wondering how Peggy had survived her encounter with this eel. "You tear up the complaint and I'll suck your cock."

"And you'll let me fuck you," he added nastily. "You'll love it!"

"If you'll tear up the complaint," I agreed reluctantly, vowing that I would not enjoy this at all.

"After you've sucked me and let me fuck you," he carefully agreed. I decided he had all the makings of a lawyer.

I nodded.

He pushed his chair away from the table. "Get over here and get to work, slut!"

I didn't have to pretend to be reluctant. I wanted this about as much as I wanted an enema. But, I went around the table, and got down on my knees on the cold hard floor, eyeing his cock. It was hard. Oh yeah, he liked 'em young and smooth, and he got off on dominating them. I couldn't think of a word low enough to describe him.

He hooked his finger through the twine around my throat, and used it to drag my head down toward his lap, the harsh string digging into the back of my neck, his knuckle cutting off my breath, until I opened my mouth and took his cock in. Then he grabbed me by the ears.

So I gave him a blow job, fighting the urge to bite down, hard, debating whether I should risk taking his load, afraid if I did he'd not be able to provide the donation I wanted in my cunt. In the end I wound up swallowing his come, not that he gave me any choice, since he used his grip on my ears to jam my face down into his stinky lap, burying my nose in his pubic hair.

Then, with more threats, he made me suck him back to life, bent me over the table, and plundered me from behind. To my disgust I learned that while my mind rejected this, my body reacted otherwise -- I was lubricating for him. At least that way it didn't hurt too much, but I felt nothing but hatred as he unloaded in my pussy, him pressing my cheek down hard on the cool table, tears seeping through my closed eyelids.

No, that's not right. I also felt triumph, because by damn I was going to nail his sorry ass with the goo he'd deposited in me if I had to march all the way to the school office, pinching my cunt shut to keep it in.

When he was finished I stood there, some of his jizz drying on my chin, more sliding down the insides of my thighs, glaring at him until he picked up that bogus Program Violation form.

"And just remember," he said as he tore it up, "if you say anything, to anyone, it'll be my word against yours, and who would believe a slut like you?"

Then I pulled myself together and let myself out of the room, my head held high, knowing I'd won.

I'd barely gotten the door closed behind me when I was astounded to find myself supported by the loving arms of my mother from one side and Doctor Elaine Smathers from the other. Where the hell had they come from? The hall was crowded with cops, including Sanchez, all of them hushed quiet, guarding the door with drawn guns, looking at me.

So, did I greet them nobly and triumphantly?

Nuh-uh.

"I'm gonna throw up."

"In here," Elaine ordered, holding some kind of a big peanut butter jar or something in front of my face. I proceeded to puke my guts out into it, my mom holding me and cuddling me, wiping my forehead and drying my tears as I was eased away, half doubled over.

Still retching, I heard the door bang open, and a squawk from Worthington that was quickly cut off. Damn I wished I could have seen that, woozy as I was! I felt my legs giving way.

"She's going into shock. Get her on the gurney," Elaine ordered and I was lifted, put on my back on a cushioned surface that suddenly moved. Someone raised my knees and a sheet was thrown over me. Someone else turned my head to the side, gave me squirts from a bottle of water to rinse my mouth out, held a basin for me to spit in even as we raced along.

"Where we going?" I asked, dazed, my nose running, my stomach aching, my throat still sour with puke.

"Nurse's office," Elaine answered, capping the jar. "I'm going to run a rape kit on you."

"She's done it for the police before. It won't hurt," Mom said, still squeezing my hand, trotting along beside the gurney.

"How'd you know where I was?"

"Missy! Didn't you know? Apparently, somehow, she had people watching you from the moment you were grabbed out of German class, probably before that. Don't ask me how she did it. I think she scheduled relays of people asking for bathroom breaks all afternoon to keep an eye on whatever room you were in."

I was swept around a corner, jostled into the nurse's room, which was jammed. Mom was eased out of the way while at least two medics fussed over me, taking my pulse, my blood pressure, listening to my heart, shining lights in my eyes, even sticking an IV in my arm while I kept insisting I was okay. Mrs. Devers was there, tears in her eyes! There were two cops in uniform, one of them a woman, plus Detective Sergeant Kelly was taking careful notes, while someone else was taking pictures.

Someone made me open my mouth and I gagged when they swabbed my throat. Elaine had flipped the sheet up, and in full view of everyone -- something about chain of evidence, I guess, again I had no secrets -- she spread my legs and did things inside my pussy and on the insides of my thighs and the crack of my ass before she initialed a bunch of tubes and handed them off to someone else. After that she tenderly washed me, outside with soft, warm cloths, inside with a warm douche, then covered me again.

Someone gently cut and removed the twine from around my neck and I wondered if Mrs. Devers was going to want to replace it come Monday.

Then Mom was back, hugging and kissing me, leaving me wet with her tears and my own.

Elaine continued the story. "We had been listening in on your classes. When you were called out Sanchez was furious. She was ready to launch a search when John came tearing into the office. He was frantic, and told us where you'd been taken, otherwise we never would have known. It took a minute to figure out which room, but they had the recording going when you were saying something like 'he touched me without my permission.' By then Sanchez was already leading a squad of police to seal off that hallway. And by the way, don't ever get in her way when she's on the hunt like that! And who was the 'he' that touched you?"

I remembered, I'd been talking about the incident that happened with Cagney, before lunch. "Last Wednesday. That was Cagney, the same slob that took me to Worthington."

"You got it all on tape?" I asked Sergeant Kelly anxiously.

"We got it all," Sergeant Kelly promised stoically, taking notes. "Good job. We'll need a full statement from you."

"Later," Mom snapped, guarding her cub again. "I don't know what's on that tape, and I don't want to know. What I do know is that my daughter was in there, being raped! -- and if any of that gets out, any of it, I will personally strangle whoever is responsible!" She was almost screaming.

I didn't think it was possible, but Kelly looked worried -- more than worried, scribbling more notes, shooting a warning look at some geek in the corner, who was suddenly pale and sweating, and clutching tighter to an evidence bag.

"How did you guys get here so fast?" I asked Mom.

"Oh darling, you didn't think I could let you go through all this alone, did you?" Her eyes were leaking tears and she was squeezing my hand for dear life. "Elaine and I have been hiding in the school office ever since lunchtime." Then she got angry. "Diane Elizabeth Walker don't you ever do anything like this again! I should ground you for the rest of your life!"

All three names! She was really pissed.

Then she hugged me half to death, crying again.

Mrs. Swain from Child Protection was there, taking her own notes, a frown puckering her face. Assistant DA Martha Graham wasn't there. My bet was she was reading Worthington his rights at that moment. I wished I could have been there for that.

Mrs. Devers leaned close. "You got him!"

It was the most wonderful words in the world. "We got him," I corrected her.

"Lemme see her! Is she okay?" Missy screamed from outside. "Lemme in, you fucking ape!"

That was so totally unlike Missy I had to laugh.

"Let her in!" I demanded, and I was surprised when they listened to me.

When she appeared next to me, still naked in school, looking so scared, I reached out and yanked her down on top of me, almost hanging her with the IV tubing, and covered her face with kisses, and I tasted tears on her cheeks, and she probably tasted them on mine, and she didn't complain a bit.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you!" I murmured in her ear, luxuriating in the feel of her wonderful naked body in my arms. "You're wonderful!"

"I love you, too," she squeaked. "I love you so much!"

The crowd began to thin a bit as the evidence was taken away and the photographer quit snapping away. I hoped he was with the police and not the local paper.

I saw John peek in, then vanish, and reminded myself that he had earned my eternal gratitude as well. One by one the lunch bunch looked in, too, even Peggy, but they didn't come in.

"Are you okay?" How Greg had muscled his way in I didn't know, and Kathy was with him! "What the heck have you been up to now? This place is crawling with cops."

"Catching a bad guy," Missy blubbered, still hugging me. "A really, really, really, bad, bad, bad, guy."

When I stretched out one arm she reluctantly drew away and Greg gently took her place and he felt good, and smelled good, and tasted good, and I felt certain parts of me un-clenching, though I knew it would be a while before they'd welcome anyone, even him, again.

"We were worried when you didn't show up to model," Kathy explained, taking my hand. I'd have hugged her, too, but Greg wasn't about to let go of me. "We heard the commotion and just followed the noise here."

At least they were both dressed.

I teared up, again! Where would I be without my friends?

Finally Greg stood back, folding his arms, frowning. "You owe us the full story, but not right now. I bet you completely forgot we have time trials tomorrow, too."

I shook my head. I had to be in the worst condition of my life, but I bravely told myself I'd kick his butt anyway!

"Don't forget the committee meeting Monday," Mrs. Devers added with a little smile, her eyes twinkling.

"Aw, c'mon, guys," I pleaded.

"She's okay," the medic announced, removing the IV and pressing some gauze on the puncture, "but we'd like to keep her overnight for observation."

"Forget it!" Mom, Elaine and I shot back in unison as he stuck tape over the gauze.

Then Mom took charge. "Right now she's going home with me, she's going to have a good meal..."

"A bowl of alphabet soup?" I asked timidly, thinking of Peggy and comfort food. "At least to start with? And some crackers?"

"Followed by a good night's sleep," she concluded lovingly, "and don't worry, Dr. Smathers and I will keep her under close observation."

"Yes'm." The medic recognized the inevitable when it hit him in the face, I guess, and I felt warm and safe thinking of how close their observation would be.

I turned to Greg. "Just you wait. I'll kick your butt at the pool tomorrow."

"Dee!" Then Mom sighed, helped me sit up, and Elaine handed me my clothes.



-------

Chapter 16



At breakfast the next morning Mom was not happy and, after all I'd put her through, I felt terrible about it, but I was adamant.

Good word, "adamant." It has all those short "A" sounds, including the "dam" in the middle, coming to a full stop with that nice, hard, "T" at the end. It sounds like what it means -- stubborn, obstinate, unyielding. Thank you, Mr. Turner.

Unfortunately, Mom could be just as adamant as I was -- the irresistible force meeting the immovable object. Take your pick as to who was which.

Last night, after my nice, long, hot shower, my skin still damp, Mom and Elaine held me in their arms, keeping me "under observation," -- very, very close observation -- their bodies warm and comforting on either side of mine, skin to skin while I slept the sleep of the dead, safe in their embrace.

And now, here I was, fighting with my mom.

I tried to tell myself this wasn't really a fight, or even an argument, more of a discussion.

But I had to admit it was an argument. Not a heated one, we rarely had those, but both of us could be stubborn. We butted heads. I wanted to go to today's time trials, Mom didn't want me to, because, well, just because. She came up with one lame reason after another. It was like I was facing one of those machines that fires tennis balls. I was swatting those excuses back over the net as fast as they came at me.

Not being the biological parent, Elaine was a spectator, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and Mom like she really was watching a tennis match. She sat there, uncomfortable, finishing off her bacon, saying nothing.

I would not budge. Aside from the fact that my place on the team depended on the time trials, I was also desperate to keep my mind off what the future held for me. Tomorrow morning, Sunday, I was scheduled to give Sergeant Kelly my statement. I was not looking forward to revisiting my encounter with the Worm.

Then Monday morning I'd have to face my schoolmates. That threatened to be worse than facing them after my romp in the park. Shit. I just knew the rumors would be flying, probably already were. I bet every damn cell tower in town was lit up like a Christmas tree. "Did you hear what Dee Walker did?" And by Monday the tell-a-student grapevine would be seething with the news that Worthington had been hauled off in handcuffs, and that I was to blame. And can you imagine what they'll be saying about what I did to accomplish that?

I shuddered to think.

And as if that weren't enough, there was the first meeting of the "Save the Program Committee," as I'd come to think of it. Postpone it 'cause the Worm was unavailable? Fat chance. Mrs. Devers knew the iron was hot and she was going to strike. At least Heather Mac, as I had come to think of her, would take the point on that. Chair of that important committee would be the final jewel in the crown of her college application. At least I'd be able to sit in the background and doodle in my notebook while she ran the meetings.

The thought of moping around home all day today with those things looming over me was almost enough to spoil my breakfast.

But only almost. It was Mom's whole wheat waffles, after all.

"I am going to the time trials and I am going to swim! I am sorry, Mother, but this is something I have got to do!"

She knows when I drop all contractions, speaking slowly and distinctly, and call her Mother, I am dead serious. It is the closest thing I have to a nuclear option. In the mother/daughter arms race it ranks up there with when she calls me "Diane" or even "Diane Elizabeth," which she knows I hate. "Diane Elizabeth Walker" from her is thermonuclear. Should I ever contest any edict that follows it, vaporization would follow.

Obviously I've never tested it. I guess I'm too young to be trusted with the equivalent.

Fortunately she hadn't reached that stage yet. Before she did Elaine stepped in as peacemaker, putting a calming hand on each of us. I don't know what she whispered in Mom's ear, but I saw my mother begin to soften. Still toying with my brunch -- we'd slept really late -- I was pushing the last cold bite of waffle around to sop up drops of maple syrup and butter. I eyed Mom as she first shook her head, listened, sighed, and finally slumped as my hopes rose.

"Alright," she agreed. "You can go to the time trials..."

My heart started beating again and I almost felt dizzy. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath.

"With two conditions," Mom went on, eyeing me very seriously.

"What are they?" I asked warily.

She held up one finger -- no, not THAT one! -- she is a lady, after all. "First, I go with you. I take you there, I wait and I watch -- I promise not to cheer too loudly -- and I bring you home as soon as they are over. I absolutely refuse to let you out of my sight today!"

I hesitated, Elaine patted my arm, and I nodded, actually feeling relief that Mom would be there. The idea that she'd be watching over me was like a warm, fuzzy blanket. I'd been so alone in Worthington's lair the thought of it still gave me cold chills.

"Don't you have a showing or something today?" I asked fearfully.

"I'm canceling it -- family emergency. I'll make it official when we're done here. Someone else can take it. This is more important than the commission for some damn suburban split-level."

That made me feel guilty, but good, too, that she'd do that for me. "Thank you," I barely whispered. "What's the other condition?"

"You and I sit down together with Ms. Andrews for a nice long talk as soon as she can fit us in. After Friday you have got to have some help, and I need to figure out what makes you tick."

I ran my fingers through my hair, still damp from a morning shower. I wasn't eager to give in on that one, afraid of letting people in on my secrets, especially my mom, the few that I had from her. But then I remembered Ms. Andrews and her warmth and patience and the support she'd given me during the whole Sex Ed thing last year, and it felt like a spring was being unwound inside me. What could it hurt? I heaved a sigh of relief. "Okay."

"May I come along? To the swimming, I mean," Elaine asked.

My gloom was lifting. Swimming is so totally distracting. "Okay. Yeah! Sure! But I wanna get there early."

I ate the last bite of my breakfast, relieved to see some of the worry lines fade from Mom's face.

"Then you'd better get moving," Elaine said, getting up to clear the table. "If I remember right, they start at one, and warm-ups before that. I'll take care of the kitchen, you go. I'll get there later. I have to take my own car. I'm on call."

We all got up and I was hugging Mom. "It's okay for her to come, isn't it?"

"Of course," Mom agreed, letting me go with a fond smile.

"Great!" I turned to my alternate Mom, as I thought of Elaine, and she had her arms open, too, and I clutched at her, just as tight, before dashing upstairs to grab my swimming bag, my heart singing. If it hadn't been for the safety belt I would have been bouncing around Mom's car like a demented jack rabbit. I felt like a kid again, for the first time in a week, maybe more. This being in high school was tough. She pulled into the school parking lot and before she'd locked the car I was dashing ahead, swinging my bag wildly.

Yanking the school doors open, then the doors to the locker room, I was engulfed in the smell of sweat and mildew, liniment, and shampoo, with a faint hint of chlorine. It was the scent of the gates to paradise.

Of course it was total bedlam -- girls from 5 to 18 dashing around in all different states of dress and undress, bare butts and boobies twinkling under the harsh fluorescent lights, a few moms trying to maintain order, the older kids generally more quietly trying to get changed. There was the chatter, the laughter, the screams, the excitement, the bragging, the worrying, lockers banging, towels snapping, toilets flushing, showers hissing, voices echoing off the tile as shrieking kids made their token dash through the spray before entering the pool area.

Here, with kids from a half-dozen different schools totally excited about the trials, I was just one of the crowd. I high-fived Gail Devers as I went for my locker before I remembered these trials were for the high school team, even though Coach opened them to everyone. It was a school function! Since I was still in The Program I was supposed to use the boy's locker room. I darted from the girls' locker room past Coach's office and into the boys', where the scent included a hint of testosterone. I was welcomed by a wave of whistles and shouts of "Dee, Dee, Dee!"

My mom's arrival via the same route was greeted by a sudden hush, a flutter of towels concealing groins. She'd tracked me down -- in the BOYS' locker room, much to the guys' surprise. She had definitely meant what she'd said about not letting me out of her sight! Suddenly self-conscious with her there, I found an empty locker and was out of my clothes in about a minute flat. Then I found myself holding my suit -- my brand new high school racing suit -- up in front of me, very much aware of all the boys and Mom watching me. The thought of putting on that suit, with its gussets and panels and what not that tried to turn me into a torpedo, made me stop in my tracks.

Of course, I couldn't wear it. The Program, remember?

In my mind, I flashed back to my time with Worthington, and for a moment I froze.

Shit! Get a grip on yourself, The Stick scolded me. Focus on the time trials!

I focused. Steeling myself, I stuffed everything in the locker and slammed it shut. The combination lock out of my bag took care of security.

Then I remembered and had to unlock it and get my towel out before I shut and locked it again, blushing the whole time, from head to toe. No, not because of my nudity! With embarrassment because, with everyone watching, I'd forgotten my towel. Go figure.

When I turned toward the showers I walked right into Greg, and I was so happy to see him I just leaped into his arms, wrapping my legs around him for a long, warm hug, never mind that Mom was watching my every move and the other guys whistling and teasing.

We didn't care. Greg cupped my ass and we were body to body, though he was wearing his racing suit. No more the skimpy Speedo, this was one of those skin-tight things, waist to knees on guys, all contoured to reduce drag, but he still felt good against me.

Finally I had to break the hug. "I need to shower."

"Would you like some help?"

"I'd love it," I admitted, shooting my mom an embarrassed look. She smiled, nodded, this didn't bother her. I think she understood what I was feeling, the warm, soothing sensation of Greg's loving embrace, the first little flicker of desire springing to life in me. His suit was visibly strained by his arousal.

No token shower this, not the usual quick rinse. We walked into the shower room with our arms around each other, and while Mom watched fondly from the doorway he lavished me with soap, starting with my hair and working his way down. Oh, it felt so good, his soapy hands slithering all over my naked skin. All I had to do was stand there and let him do the work.

I could have stood there all day, especially while his soapy fingers enjoyed my playground, but time was flying, so we couldn't really play. His equipment wasn't readily accessible anyway and Mom was right there in the door, holding my towel. So we rinsed off, bumping teasingly against each other under the spray, then with my hand in his I followed him out to the pool.

Mom trailed in our wake until Greg and I headed for the water, missiles on a mission and she peeled off for the bleachers, already filling with moms and dads, there to watch their kids compete for spots on the team.

I'd had three long, hot showers since nailing Worthington's worthless ass, but I didn't finally begin to start feeling clean until I slipped into the pool for a couple of warm-up laps. Greg was in the next lane, matching me stroke for stroke, a slow, easy pace. We were doing butterfly, our favorite and I still flowed through the water, but I felt heavy, sluggish, and I knew Greg was taking it easy. I didn't care, it felt so good to be back in the sweet water, feeling the chlorine neutralizing the last of the filth the Worm had left on me.

At the turn I went to my backstroke to stretch different muscles. At the start I'd felt like I could go on forever, but after two laps I was breathing hard, my muscles burning, so I stopped and slogged over to the ladder, and hauled myself out, sloshing on surprisingly weary legs to where Mom waited with my towel, Elaine beside her.

"Are you all right?" Elaine asked.

"Out of shape," I admitted panting a little. "Coach says the three elements of training --technique, strength and conditioning -- are like the three legs of a stool. I guess a couple of my legs are a bit short."

"Are you comfortable naked?" Elaine asked.

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm still in The Program, after all."

"I just thought..." She let her voice trail off.

I wasn't about to admit that I wasn't totally comfortable. I felt vulnerable in a way I never had before, which was stupid. I tried to tell myself nothing had changed, but I wrapped myself in my towel before I sat. With Mom and Elaine on one side, Greg on the other I felt safe and protected.

Coach always started with the little kids, 6 and under. Together we watched them splash their way down the pool on their 25-meter races, cheering them on. The youngest were not long out of the "tuber" class, and it showed. One five-year-old stopped halfway to hang onto the lane rope for a minute before pushing gamely on using a mix of dogpaddle and freestyle, arms barely breaking the surface, holding his face up out of the water. His mom was there at the finish to lift him out of the water -- his baggy suit showing half his pale butt before she wrapped him in a towel and gave him a big hug.

I always enjoyed watching the kids. Greg and I analyzed their strokes, tried to pick the winners and losers over the season. Even though the trials would take all afternoon this was home to me and I was determined to stick it out through the whole grind, subsisting on granola bars, right through Greg's and my races and beyond.

As before, when our turn came Coach put us in neighboring lanes. He cocked an eyebrow at my lack of a suit, but didn't say anything, just went through the starting routine. I was naked on the starting blocks again. Jeez, what a tangle of feelings. I was scared and horny all at the same time, wondering what I thought I was doing. I was incredibly aware of my nakedness, even after all the time I'd spent naked in public.

"Take your mark!"

I coiled myself for the start, unleashed my body with the sound of the starting horn, only just then remembering the first time I'd gone off the blocks naked, how it had hurt, and I clenched up defensively, botching my racing dive.

It made my nipples burn, but not as much as I remembered and the pain quickly faded as I did my usual underwater dolphin kicks before breaking the surface, my arms sweeping over in my butterfly stroke. The water swept over my flesh, swirling around my now hyper-sensitive nipples, teasing my pussy. I flowed sinuously through the cool liquid with dolphin-like grace, so the technique was still there. Unfortunately the strength sure wasn't. My arms began to tire fast, and the stamina evaporated during the second lap.

Shit, it had only been -- what? -- three weeks or a month since I'd won the county championships? Could a month with no training make that much difference? I watched Greg sail off into the sunset as I struggled to finish.

I was humiliated, and the less said about any of my other performances the better. Coach was shaking his head dolefully. Between races I took to leaning against Greg, depressed but comforted by his strength. To distract myself a plan for the rest of the day was gestating in my head. I finally screwed my courage up and asked him if he'd like to come home with me, at least for some supper.

He lit up. "I'd love to, but..." he pointed to his sister, up in the back row of the bleachers where I hadn't seen her. She was totally engrossed with some electronic gadget, virtually oblivious to the swimming. The locks of hair in her twin ponytails had gone from blue to day-glow orange since I'd last seen her. She'd filled out a bit, too, titty-bumps poking out her T shirt.

"I'm watching her over the weekend while mom and dad are out of town."

"Oh." I thought it over. I liked Drindy a lot, probably because she reminded me of me when I was her age. Well, she might put a crimp into my probably unrealistic hopes -- I wasn't sure how I felt about actually making love, after what the Worm had done to me -- but still, I'd be with Greg, which was what I really wanted. "She could come, too. Do you have to be at home with her? Can't you watch her at my place?"

He thought it over. The idea obviously appealed to him, especially given the reaction from his groin. "Is it okay with your mom?" he asked.

I leaned the other way. "Mom, can Greg and Drindy come home with me after, and spend the night? His parents are out of town and he's stuck watching her all weekend. He can watch her just as easy with us, can't he?"

Don't oversell it, The Stick cautioned me before I added something dumb like "it'd be safer than at their house just the two of them."

"I'll have to hear that from their parents," Mom insisted after a moment's thought, "and how does Drindy feel about it?"

I scrambled up the bleachers and when Greg's sister heard the plan she let out a squeal that triggered a mass false-start of the next race. Then she tried to squeeze the life out of me. When I looked down from the back row to give a thumbs up my mom was already on her cell. Greg must have pre-dialed the number for her. A few minutes later it was all cleared and we were on our way out of there.

So much for my vow to stay to the end of the time trials. The only things more boring than the 400 meter freestyle are the 800 and 1500, which, except for the start and finish, are like watching paint dry. Mom, Elaine and Drindy created minor consternation by following Greg and me into the almost empty boys' locker room, where Greg and I self consciously stripped, showered, and dressed, while Drindy giggled and played with someone's forgotten jock strap. Some of the older boys popped in, saw who was there, and the more modest popped out again, while others just took it in stride.

Then Greg and I cuddled in the back seat of Mom's car while Drindy rode shotgun and Elaine trailed along in her car. We had all no sooner made our way in the side door to the kitchen than Drindy, as irrepressible as ever, turned to Mom.

"Mrs. Walker, can we all get naked now?" she asked, her orange-streaked pony tails flipping mischievously.

I thought Mom's eyebrows were going to disappear into her hairline and reappear on the back of her neck.

"Drindy!" Greg gasped.

I gulped.

After a moment of stunned silence Elaine burst out laughing.

"Dee was just swimming naked in front of everybody," Drindy plowed on, oblivious to the glares she got from Greg and me, "and she's told me you're naked all the time at home, Mrs. Walker, and Dee and I and Greg got naked under the bushes one day, in the park by the library. So why can't we all go naked?"

Mom looked at me, her eyebrows having recovered from their disappearing act so she could cock one ominously.

"I -- uh -- guess I forgot to tell you about that," I confessed.

She regained control of her jaw. "Did you now."

It did not come out like a question.

"Uh -- it was sorta like an outreach thing from when I was doing the Sex Ed program, you know, with Carl and Beth, last year? We -- the three of us, Drindy and Greg and me -- had come out of the library after I returned my overdue book -- remember? -- and Drindy was complaining that she didn't know anything, so I thought maybe I should -- uh -- show her some stuff... ?"

I let my voice fade out before I said too much. I decided this would not be a good time to go into details about what I'd shown the girl, or to mention that Drindy and her brother had also witnessed my bitch-chasing-the-Frisbee performance in the park not all that long ago.

For a minute I thought I might have lit the "Diane Elizabeth Walker" fuse and braced myself for oblivion.

Elaine had choked her laughter down to snorts.

I'll grant you, Mom is made of stern stuff. Instead of blowing up she drew a deep breath, shot me a look that should have melted me right down into my shoes -- but I'm made of stern stuff, too -- then looked at Drindy more kindly, only her jumping jaw muscle betraying her tension. "Well, if that's what she said -- and I can't deny that we often do go naked here at home -- then if Greg thinks it is okay, I guess we could. What do you think, Greg?"

That was quick thinking on her part, but if she thought Greg was going to bail her out of this she should have known better. I'd corrupted him a long time ago, and after all, she'd seen me jump his bones at my last birthday party, where everyone had been naked, so it wasn't like everyone in the room didn't already know what was going on.

He cleared his throat and tried to look as if he were seriously contemplating the issue like a mature person, rather than the horny 15-year old he was. Finally he nodded with all the solemnity of Solomon deciding a case. "I -- uh -- don't see any harm in it," he concluded. "After all, it's not like its something we haven't all seen before, is it?"

Drindy didn't wait for second thoughts. She was out of her clothes in an instant, right there in the kitchen, and I had to admit I did appreciate her budding figure. She was an athlete, not tall and wiry, but very fit, with the legs of a soccer player and a maturing body. Her boobs were beginning to swell, already rivaling mine, softly rounded, tipped with small brown nipples. Her body, where her swim suit covered it, was very pale, compared to the coppery tone of the rest of her. A few wisps of black hair graced her pubes with its tantalizing crevice.

Without much success I sternly tried to tell myself that she did NOT look good enough to eat, and busied myself with more practical issues. "Gather up your clothes, Drindy, and bring them upstairs. Come on, Greg, let's get naked."

I closed the door of my room behind us, cutting off the laughter from downstairs, relieved that Mom was laughing almost as hard as Elaine. Drindy was holding her clothes, looking around my room. I was stifling my own giggles. I liked this girl!

"Drindy, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Greg asked.

She gave us that wide eyed innocent look I'd used so often myself at that age. Well, okay, I still use it. "You coulda said 'no' ya know," she pointed out. "And besides, how'm I gonna learn anything without your help?"

"Wasn't under the bushes in the park enough?" I asked.

"No! Now, are you guys gonna get naked or not?" she challenged.

Greg sighed. "We might as well give in now," he told me, stripping off his shirt.

"I wanna watch you fuck. I couldn't see good at the party. It was dark, and I was clear down at the wrong end of the pool."

"You should have been locked in a closet," Greg growled.

"How did you let her live so long?" I asked, down to my skin, and appreciating the view of Greg's similar attire. My reaction quashed the worry I'd had that Worthington's disgusting performance had turned me off guys forever. Sure, I still wanted Drindy, and Missy, and Kathy, of course, but I really lusted after Greg, and judging by his beautiful hard on he felt the same way toward me.

But then, he didn't yet know what had happened to me just yesterday. I wondered if he'd still feel the same way after I told him. Maybe I didn't have to tell him, but I felt I should. When he'd seen me yesterday I was on a hospital gurney in the nurse's office, an IV in my arm, surrounded by medics and cops. At least he hadn't been there for the vaginal swab. Even so, his imagination was probably going crazy.

Our little klatch was interrupted by Mom's tap on my door before she opened it. She was as naked as we were, and I saw Drindy's eyebrows skyrocket.

Payback! I thought. Maybe she'd never seen a mature woman nude before, especially one with a Brazilian wax and a hummingbird tattoo high on the inside of her thigh.

"Come on downstairs and we'll figure out supper," Mom invited, in a way I recognized as anything but an invitation.

"Pizza!" Drindy exclaimed as I led the way out, and I heard Greg trying to shush her. I had to admit she did need a bit of grooming when it came to etiquette, but attributed the outburst to an excess of enthusiasm, especially when I heard her mutter something like "it was only a suggestion," obviously chastened. I'd been guilty of similar outbursts. She'd learn. The love Greg had for her was unchallengeable, and she worshipped him, and that gave me a warm spot in my heart, reminding me of me and my brother.

Pizza won out. The negotiations over toppings were extraordinarily complex, but good-natured, and in the end everyone was satisfied. The resulting feast was uninhibited, all of us crowded around the kitchen table, with pizza spillover decorating naked breasts and chests and thighs and fingers and faces. You've heard the expression "good, clean fun?" I wouldn't say it was clean fun, but it certainly was good fun.

After a bit of work with paper napkins we adjourned to the living room and chatted. The five of us were lounging around, burping softly, when I looked at Greg, and he looked at me, sharing that special look, and there was a stirring at his groin, a matching moistening of my own organs. In a tribute to teenage procreative instincts, one minute we were lounging around nude, sated, without a lustful thought in our minds and a few seconds later Greg's and my reproductive organs were readying themselves for a romp.

"All right, you two, get a room," Elaine commented dryly, eyeing Greg's arousal.

"Better yet, get a shower!" Mom retorted.

"Shower?" I asked.

"A cold one!" Elaine suggested dryly.

Drindy giggled.

"It is getting late," Mom pointed out. "And you guys are still covered with pizza."

"A shower sounds like a good idea to me, but not a cold one," Greg agreed, stretching in a sinuous way that left no doubt as to his horniness. I took the hand he was holding out to me.

"Me, too!" Drindy was up in an instant.

Greg looked at her. "You are not invited."

"She wants to watch," I explained to Mom, just in case she hadn't caught on to Drindy's plans. "We don't mind, but I'm not sure how her folks would feel."

I knew Mom would understand. She'd finally resigned herself to the explosive combination of my pre-teen curiosity and Carl and Beth's not-so-latent exhibitionism.

"A hah!" Mom said. "I think another phone call is in order, though I don't know exactly how I'm going to approach that with them. Drindy, you can help us clean up down here, and we'll clean you up, too, and then you stand by down here while we get this watching thing sorted out with your folks."

That was said in what I knew to be her no-nonsense "we'll have a little talk" tone of voice.

"But ... yes'm," Drindy agreed dolefully in response to Greg's warning glare.

As Greg and I let the rush of warm water sluice away the pizza drippings, I suddenly got bashful.

Urging me under the spray, Greg was already reaching for the soap and lathering up his hands. "Want to tell me what happened yesterday?"

"Not really, but I guess I should." I sighed. I turned around under the spray, putting him behind me, so I didn't have to face him. He didn't seem to mind. I'd already learned that he was really sensitive to my moods. His soapy hands on my shoulders felt so good, his fingers massaging the muscles in my neck and back that had suddenly knotted up.

Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out how best to tell him. Finally I pretended that what happened hadn't happen to the real me, that it was to a different me, in a different life, a different universe. I probably could have started "once upon a time" but I didn't, quite. Instead I told it third person, something I'd learned from Mr. Turner. That way it wasn't me that did that stuff, it was another girl, maybe even an actress in a cop drama. Also, the way I told it it was only "R" rated. I kinda glossed over the really icky parts.

Even so it wasn't easy, but all the time I was telling, he was soaping down my back and arms, around my ears and neck, his hands so gentle and soft, it felt so good it kept the demons away. When I was done he drew me back against him, his arms circling around me, holding me close against him, his cheek beside mine, warm water cascading down over us. He felt so strong, so protective, even possessive, that I knew I was safe in his arms, hugging his arms to me as they embraced my tummy, for a long time. I understood now how Peggy must have felt as she'd unburdened herself to me there in her bathtub.

"She was a very brave girl," he said softly in my ear, putting me back in that safe place where once again it was just a story -- his lips brushing my ear for a moment, and I felt better again.

"Or very foolish," I admitted. "She should have found a better way."

He thought about that for a minute. "Maybe, but when you look back on something you often see a better way. That's when my mom says hindsight is twenty-twenty," he mused, "usually when she's talking about her ex-husband."

"Your dad?"

"Biologically."

By the tone of his voice there were some raw wounds behind that single word, so I left it at that. One thing I'd learned from John was that some secrets are better left unshared, except maybe with a trained professional. Meanwhile, I was feeling warm and safe enough that I wanted more. I moved Greg's hands from my midriff up to cup my breasts, and felt his cock happily respond, nuzzling into the crevice of my ass.

"Is that thing loaded?" I asked with a wiggle and a giggle.

"You might say," he admitted, pressing it against my butt-crack, humping a little bit. "Be careful, it might go off prematurely."

I rotated in his arms and tipped my head back for a kiss. He'd grown! He was taller than me. Not by much, but I wasn't used to having to stretch up at all for a kiss. He was very obliging, however, and tilted so his lips met mine, and we shared our breaths, already musky with the scent of sex, stirring my lust and I squirmed my body against his, wet flesh to wet flesh, and oh it felt so good, my nips like pebbles against his strong chest, his cock a prod in my crotch.

"Well, if it should happen to go off prematurely we'll just have to reload and try again," I answered, nibbling at his lips, loving him so very very much.

He looked into my eyes, and I saw there desire, and love and caring, and tenderness as his hands stroked my naked back, down, down, down to the roundness of my ass so he could gently press me closer, his fingers invading that private crevice, prying it open in a way that gave me a feel-good itch back there. Oh, his fingers were so close to my pucker, and he hadn't sampled that opening yet.

"Lets get out of here," I suggested.

As we dried each other I couldn't resist playing with his cock, fascinated by the difference between men and women and how they were designed to fit so nicely together, like puzzle pieces, and even as I did I felt myself yearning for the connection, in any opening.

But what if it grossed him out?

Maybe another time, I promised myself.

When we found our way back to my room, Drindy was already there, sitting in my swivel chair, still naked, of course, nervously nudging it back and forth before spinning completely around in it. She was a wild card dealt from the bottom of the deck.

"Your mom called my mom," she announced.

"Oh oh." Greg paled. "I bet Dad was there, too, wasn't he."

"Uh huh. Cell phones are so cool. You can turn 'em up like speaker phones."

"Oi!" Greg grunted. "I hope they weren't in public!"

"But it's okay," Drindy assured us. "Mom and Dad both want me to know, they're just not comfortable talking about it. And they know you're not a virgin..."

"Drindy!"

"I didn't tell 'em! Honest! They just knew! Anyway, I told 'em all about the Sex Ed class you did last year, Dee, so they know you're a -- what is it Dad called it? -- a trained professional."

I had to laugh at that one, thinking as I did it made me sound like a whore. "Performing on a closed course, don't try this at home!" I added.

"I'm not at home! Anyway, they said I can watch, but I can't -- uh -- take part. They said I'm too young" she grumbled. There was a long pause. "If it's okay with you, that is," she added reluctantly, her ponytails seeming to droop.

There I was, naked and ready, and I had my arm around her naked brother, his cock rampant, you might say, and she was so hopeful.

"About you being too young, they're right," I agreed. "Trust me, I know. Waiting is better. As for watching, well, it's okay with me if it's okay with Greg."

The thought of her being there, watching, reminded me of how I'd watched my brother and Beth, and how I'd felt. My insides softened even more. The idea of having her as a spectator was quite a turn-on.

"As far as I'm concerned you can stay," I assured her again, reaching out to tug one of her ponytails. She grinned the irrepressible grin of hers. I didn't add that someday I hoped I could teach her how good love can be between two women as well, if she was interested in learning. I found it easy to love her in that way, but it might not work that way with her I reminded myself.

While all this was going on, Greg was providing his own answer by urging me toward the bed, and suddenly that lovely, soft oasis looked more inviting than it ever had before, and I blushed shyly. I let him guide me. There was no mistaking his desire for me. He was showing more boldness than he had in the past. Maybe I was flattering myself, but I was thinking now that we'd had that contact in Kathy's studio he was eager for even more, and that was overcoming his shyness.

As for me, I had to say I didn't at all mind him taking charge. As we sat on my bed courtship was quickly receding in the rear-view mirror and he had the pedal to the metal in terms of foreplay. Our feet still on the floor, we embraced, and kissed, and his hand found my breasts, while mine found his cock and measured its readiness.

He pinched my nipples, and then you could say he was stirring the pot, in the nicest way possible as he let his finger slither into my already juicy tunnel, smeared my juices up the slit until he brushed my clit, sending a jolt through me. And all the while we were kissing, kissing, kissing, our tongues dueling, our lips working, even our teeth scraping, and I wanted him so much! But I wanted it to last, and I knew he was on a hair trigger. And I wanted it to be for him, not just me.

I knew what I wanted to do, but I couldn't help remembering what Worthington had made me do, and I was afraid it would disgust me, or I'd make a botch of it, or maybe Greg wouldn't like it...

Don't THINK! The Stick ordered me. DO!

So, I did. Gently freeing myself from him, reluctantly displacing his hand from my crotch, I slipped off the bed, and knelt between his feet, his lovely, lovely cock right there in front of me, the tip already glistening with his pre-come.

Of course he knew what I was planning.

Hearing no objection, I gently drew the foreskin down to fully expose the pale purple head of his cock and I licked it, tasting his juices. I heard him sigh as he leaned back on his arms. I was glad he didn't reach for my head, that he didn't try to take control, that he was just watching as I embraced his glans with my lips, my tongue bathing it, the taste and smell of his pre-come stirring my own lust.

I made tender love to his erection, making this all about him instead of me. Not that I didn't enjoy it, I did very much, but I let his reactions govern my moves, concentrating on giving him pleasure. When his hands slipped and he lay back on my bed -- MY bed -- his arms spread wide, leaving it all up to me, I knew it was working and took more of him in my mouth, his hot meat sliding along my tongue.

All the time, out of the corner of my eye, I was aware of Drindy eagerly watching. I sneaked a peek at her and she was fascinated, so I gave her a wicked wink as I grinned around her brother's cock, remembering how Beth had been when I watched my brother fucking her. Love is so much sweeter when it is shared.

I drew up, slurping up his juices and my saliva, then went down on him again, slowly and lovingly, feeling his cock respond with tremors, getting hotter and harder, if that was possible.

"I'm gonna..." he gasped.

I let his dork slip from my mouth. "I know," I said softly. "Don't worry, I'm sure we can stir up more ammunition when we want it."

He grunted as my mouth engulfed him again. He was more than ready -- cocked and loaded, you might say. He'd been ready to let go in the shower, and I wanted to draw his sting now, so to speak, before we engaged in the main event. The head of his cock nudged the back of my mouth, my nose just barely tickled by the red curls of his bush. I could have deep-throated him, but that wasn't my plan. This sweet load was going wash away the bitterness left from yesterday.

My fingers tickled his balls.

"Ohhhhhh jeeez!" His hips surged. I purred in anticipation.

"SHIT!" His whole body knotted up. "Ahhhh!"

My tongue blocked the first, hot eruption short of my throat, so I didn't choke. Then I carefully captured every delicious succeeding spurt, my mouth filling with his savory jizz. Pump -- pump -- pump, his cock squirmed in my mouth, flooding me with his hot cream, the volume of each spurt slowly declining, but still too much, some escaping to slither down my chin as I lifted slowly off.

A last touch behind his balls produced a grunt from him, a clenching of his groin wringing a final little spit of come just before I drew completely off his dick and sat back on my haunches, pleased as the cat that got the canary, sitting up very straight to display my slender torso, my modest breasts with their fully alert nipples, letting him and Drindy see my joy as I savored his semen like a gourmet meal, rolling it around in my mouth.

I turned slightly so Drindy could see, saw Greg raise his head, and then, making sure they both saw, I parted my lips to show them the pearly load, and then tipping my head back, swallowed, letting his goo slither down my throat. He gasped and flopped back again. Drindy's eyes were as big as saucers. Using my index finger I deliberately squeegeed the overflow off my chin, then made a show of sucking it clean, smacking my lips.

"And that's how it is done," I told her as I let Greg draw me up to where he was still on his back, pulling me down into his embrace. For a little time we just snuggled there, me on top of him, my knees still on the floor between his feet. We kissed, and he didn't hesitate when I let my lips part so his tongue could explore my mouth.

"You taste good," he murmured.

"Some of that is you, you know."

"I know. Come all the way up on the bed with me," he urged.

"Gladly! And let's see how our student body is doing," I giggled as we squirmed around, ending so we were on our sides, spooning, his back against mine. "She's been very attentive."

We were facing Drindy, he had one arm under me, his hand cupping a tit. The other hand was over me, playing at my crotch, his soft, slippery dick trapped between my thighs.

"And that, Drindy, is how a blow job should be done," Greg told her as he snuggled his face next to mine, kissing my ear.

"Any questions, class?" I asked.

She looked dubious. "Uh, would I hafta swallow it?"

She looked a little embarrassed, holding her hand like she was looking for a place to wipe it off, finally settling on her naked thigh. Her little pussy slit was puffier, and her inner lips were just peeking out. Obviously she'd been playing with herself while I'd sucked her brother off.

"No," I assured her. "That's one of the things about sex. You shouldn't 'hafta' do anything you don't want to. If your lover wants you to do something you really don't want to do, don't do it. If he cares about you at all he won't try to force you.

"But think about it. Once you've got a mouthful of come, well, it's kinda awkward if you don't swallow it. You'll have to find a place to spit it out."

"Oh. Yeah."

"If I hadn't wanted your brother's come in my mouth, when he got close I would have taken his cock out and let him squirt, maybe aiming so it went on him, more likely so it went on me, maybe even on my face. I've heard guys like to see that, and I enjoy it."

"How can you tell when he's gonna squirt?"

"Once you have some experience you can usually tell pretty well by the way he moves. But if he ever says he'll warn you before he comes, don't believe him. That lie is older than the one about the check being in the mail."

"Oh." Drindy's mouth made such a cute "O" as she contemplated this.

Meanwhile, I was thoroughly enjoying the way Greg was toying with my twat, and feeling his cock revive between my thighs.

"Are you gonna stay shaved?" Greg asked, his fingers stroking my pussy with its first rasp of stubble.

"I haven't decided. Mom enjoys Elaine's Brazilian wax jobs. Which do you prefer?" I spread my thighs so he could have better access, watching Drindy's eyes as they fastened on what he was doing.

"Can I get back to you on that?"

"Uh huh." He fiddled with my slit. Oh this was fun! "Mmmm, that feels nice."

"I think so, too," Greg agreed, beginning to squirm his cock between my legs, letting it rub against my crotch, so close to both my pussy and my asshole.

I touched his dick as it poked its head out just below my pussy and felt it reviving. It swelled, extended so I could play with its soft, rubbery knob and tease a fresh surge of lubricant from it. "It feels to me like you've got another round in the chamber for me. That didn't take long."

He grunted affirmatively. "It's 'cause you're so sexy. I'm ready when you are."

"Oh, I'm ready," I assured him, wriggling so the tip of his pecker nudged my cunt. "But let's not rush."

"Are you gonna... ?" Drindy gulped. "Are you gonna fuck?"

I gave her my evil smile. "Would you like us to?"

"Yeah!" There was no bashfulness with this girl, that was certain.

I turned my head so I could kiss Greg, licked his cheek. "Would you like to fuck?"

"God yes!" The fingers of one hand were playing a mad beat on the upper edge of my pussy, drumming on my clit through the cushiony layers of my labia, while he pinched my tit with his other hand. His hips were working, fucking his cock between my thighs.

"Harder!" I grunted, pressing his fingers harder on my aching nipple. "Pinch it, pull on it, twist it. Oh shit yeah!"

At the same time I adjusted so his pecker-head was right at the entrance to my cunt. Drindy's eyes were riveted on my pussy, one hand was at her crotch, her finger probing her tight little tunnel, while she was pinching her own perky titty. I lifted my thigh to expose my crotch even more, spread my labia with my fingers, pressed on Greg's dick to make sure it was going right where I wanted it, working the head in my hole.

At one point it popped out and we had to start over again. With him pushing, and me squirming, I felt it slowly work its way up into my hot twat. I was arching my back, stretching my gut so the angle was right, so it could drill up into me, deep, deep, deep. This presented my tits to his hand as well, which he took advantage of, pinching and twisting my nipples, while Drindy watched, fascinated.

"Oh yessss," I gasped as he penetrated, the head of his cock scraping hard on my G spot on the way in. "Oh God!"

It was kind of an awkward way to connect, lying on our sides, him behind me, but we made it work, and it gave Drindy a great look at his cock penetrating my cunt.

Since I'd already sucked him off he was in no hurry to come, and I was thoroughly enjoying the process. They say getting there is half the fun, and they're right, though I'm not sure this is what they were talking about. It was a case of advancing two inches, withdrawing one, then a little deeper, and a little deeper, and a little deeper. In the mirror on my closet door I could see his pale shaft, ribbed with veins, as it slowly worked its way deeper and deeper into me.

Wanting a closer look, Drindy slipped out of the chair and crawled over to the bed. Her head got in the way of my view in the mirror, but having her that close was just as good. She could see how I was using my fingers to rub and gently scratch the underside of Greg's cock as he slowly worked it in and out of me. I also teased his balls, while he toyed with my clit. Reaching back past my head with my other hand I curled my fingers around his neck and pulled him tight against me.

He was looking over my shoulder, down to where his sister watched, so I twisted my head in an attempt to kiss him. Awkward as it was, I decided it was a really cool way to fuck, sort of doggy style, only on our sides. The angles made his cock stretch me in unfamiliar directions, triggering different nerves.

My crazy mind headed off on a tangent as I wondered if maybe we could talk Kathy into doing a sculpture of us doing it this way, or maybe doggy style.

Oh, I was such a bitch!

I was getting close, and Greg was moving a bit faster, a little harder, but carefully so he didn't accidentally slip out.

What if, I thought -- oh this was so good I wanted it to go on forever -- what if Kathy could do the sculpture as two pieces that fitted together, even! He could have the statue of me, and I could have the one of him, and when we got together ... That would really be bitchin' I thought. Or, if she made it life-size...

Will you please shut the fuck up! The Stick told me as my coming started to wash through me.

So I did, concentrating on my coming, my cunt squeezing Greg's prick, as he pushed harder, and deeper, until he was as far into me as he could get. My fingertips at the base of his dick felt the first shot burst up the bore of his cock like an express train to spray inside me, while his little sister watched, her chin on the bed, her nose only inches from where our bodies interlocked, straining with our orgasms, his semen filling me until it oozed out.

"He's coming in me," I managed to whisper to her, and she nodded.

"I see. I see!"

"I'm coming, too," and that was the last coherent thing I said for quite some time. I did hear Drindy whimpering and realized that, while she'd knelt there, watching intently, she'd also been masturbating.

At some point I half woke up, still erotically entangled with Greg. I heard whispers, felt Drindy being lifted onto the bed with us. I lifted my arm so I could hug her against me. Greg was still spooning me. Then the light went out and the door was softly closed and I went back to sleep.



-------

Chapter 17


Entering high school fresh-persons are safest if they first don a cloak of invisibility. Unfortunately those don't come in my size. Being five foot nine and a half I stand out. I also have a terrible habit of getting myself into some extraordinary messes. I assume getting a pedophile thrown in jail just last Friday qualifies.

After a mere three weeks at Central High, I am notorious. Having now arrived at Sunday morning, my boyfriend Greg, his younger sister, and I are emerging from my bedroom after a night of lusty, distracting frolics.

"Shower!" Drindy shrieked as she sprinted for the bathroom, naked as the day she was born, her tight little 11 year old virginal tush dancing merrily in front of me.

Holding Greg's hand, his arm nestled against my breast, sort of leaning against him, enjoying the feeling of our naked bodies brushing, I groaned. "I gather she's a morning person."

"Ya think?" he grumbled fondly as we joined her in the bathroom.

She was on the toilet, peeing, grinning up at us, obviously playing the shock card.

It didn't work. Greg was used to her shenanigans and I had mastered playing that card well before I was her age.

Just ask Mom.

I got out spare towels while Greg turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature. Like a shot the little imp was in ahead of us, turning this way and that under the spray, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. Rivulets of water swirled down over her coppery torso, a stream flowing between her developing boobies with their perky brown nipples to then sluice off her puffy little pussy with its first few fine strands of dark hair. She looked good enough to eat.

She isn't ripe yet, The Stick, my conscience, alter ego and general buttinsky scolded me. Give her about three years.

Then Greg nudged my butt-crack with his soft dick and we squirmed into the shower with Drindy, rubbing wet skin against wet skin. The usual morning urge had, of course, been triggered by the rush of water. Greg and I looked at each other, our telepathy in high gear. Turning on Drindy we proceeded to blad our voiders in her direction, thereby trumping her shock card.

She screamed and danced, trying to get out of the way. "EEEWWWWWW!"

Greg's aim was good, his range far superior to mine. He hosed her from neck to toes, while my ladylike flow just added to the fragrance swirling around us. Finished, we let her in under the spray to wash away our waste. Grabbing the soap, I turned to my beaux, more interested in him than his sister. Like a hungry monkey, my soapy hand quickly found his banana and I felt his softness fade as his dick grew in my grasp.

"Are you guys going to do it again?" Drindy asked, peering around me at her brother's rising lust.

"Oh God, must you?" Greg asked.

"You don't like?" I asked, a little disappointed, reluctantly easing my stroking.

"I like, I like," he assured me, putting my hand back. "I'm just not sure I have it in me this morning, and I am a little tender."

I had to admit that I was, too. "I'll be gentle."

I kept on massaging his expanding cock, and he groaned. "You're a witch, you know that?"

"You say the sweetest things."

I'm not sure what was driving me. I really was kinda sore, so it wasn't like I wanted him to fuck me. Besides, the shower was pretty cozy with the three of us in it. A full docking maneuver would be awkward.

I just loved the feel of his probe in my hand, all soapy and slippery.

He groaned. "I think I'm gonna..."

"I wanna see!" Drindy insisted.

"Wanna feel?" I asked her.

"Dee, she's my sister!"

"So what? I played with my brother when I was her age. Here." I guided Drindy's hand to her brother's cock, showing her my patented milking, swirling, twisting motion. His foreskin had already slipped back. The soap made him really slippery and the softness of the plummy, nerve packed-head was all squirmy in her fingers.

"Like this?" She was very serious.

"Oh my God yesssss," Greg moaned.

"Uh huh. Gently. Very gently. Keep going." While from one side she was massaging his dork, I knelt on the other, reaching to fondle his balls in their wrinkled sack.

"You're too much!" Greg's hips began to hump.

"I try," I purred, licking my lips.

"Uh."

"My face, right on my face," I hissed to Drindy as she brought him closer and closer.

"Wicked!" Aiming Greg's armament in my direction, Drindy was improving on my basic motion by using both hands.

"Ohyeah," Greg gasped as I tickled his asshole. "Awwwshit!"

His cock pulsed.

Drindy giggled.

I hummed as his hot cream spurted and spurted and spurted, spraying my face. I moved closer as his eruption flagged. Reading my mind, Drindy used the still oozing tip of his pecker to paint my cheeks and lips and nose with the last of his yummy come, its musky scent replacing the fading pee smell. As I got up I impulsively wrapped an arm around Drindy, bent down and kissed her right on the lips, letting her savor some of her brother's semen, her slippery wet body squirming against mine. She only hesitated a moment before she was licking my face like a cat cleaning up spilled cream, the little rascal.

I am, I admit, an equal opportunity lecher -- or can an almost fourteen-year-old girl be a lecher? -- given the slightest opportunity I will lech.

At this point there was a knock on the bathroom door and Dr. Elaine Smathers, my mom's lover and frequent house-guest, stuck her head in the steamy room. "Phew! It smells like a brothel in here. I hate to break up this lust fest but breakfast will be on the table in a few minutes. Sunday or not, the forces of law and order have summoned Dee and her Mom downtown, and I've got an expectant mother in labor."

"We need to get home, Sis," Greg reminded Drindy.

"Okay, okay," Drindy grumbled as Elaine left, the three of us rinsing off the soap and semen and smells. "But do I hafta get dressed?"

"While Mom and Dad seem to be encouraging our explorations, I'm not sure they're ready for this lifestyle," Greg pointed out to her, "but I guess we can stay like this, as long as we're dressed before they get home. They won't be back until sometime this afternoon.

"I wish we could spend the day together," he added, turning to me.

"Me, too. Believe me, I wouldn't mind skipping this whole thing, but I can't."

Mom had managed to keep Detective Sergeant Kelly off my back for one day, but he insisted he needed my statement while things were fresh in my mind. So, after dropping Drindy and Greg off at their home Mom and I headed to the police station.

Mercifully, Kelly didn't ask for a blow-by-blow account...

Eeewwww, that's a bad choice of words, really, really, really bad!

I meant to say that he didn't insist on a play-by-play of my time with shit-face.

And pardon me, but I have vowed never to let that bastard's name ever cross my consciousness again. May he rot in jail. I'm already into the curse jar to the tune of about ten bucks thanks to that ... unprintable.

Kelly said the recordings from the school intercom took care of the details. Mainly I confirmed that the -- what did Kelly call it? -- that the forensic evidence had indeed been collected from me. This included the swabs and stuff Doctor Elaine had taken, along with my barf.

Ick.

The only real sticky point came when Sergeant Kelly asked me, for the record, if I went into that room expecting to be raped.

I'd been wrestling with that question myself. Had I expected to be raped? I had vowed to do whatever I had to do to get that animal arrested, but did I expect to be raped?

"No," I told Kelly firmly.

Then my own mind turned on me. I had to admit to myself that when it became inevitable, I had just let that shit-face do to me what he wanted. I'd told myself, after all, it wasn't anything I hadn't voluntarily done before with someone else. I'd sucked cocks before, and my virginity was long gone. No problem, I thought, I'll just lie there and take it. Won't feel a thing.

What I felt now was a surprising flare of raw fury.

Leave it at that! The Stick told me firmly. She's that little voice inside me that steadies me.

I was angry, but angry at who -- or should that be "whom?" I wasn't sure. HE was the obvious target, but...

Leave it! The Stick told me again.

So, I left it.

It being lunch time by the time we finished, Mom and I used our rattled mental state as an excuse to head to the mall with its multi-ethnic food court for nutritional therapy, supporting each other with our favorite comfort foods, exchanging soft words and gentle touches. From there we sought distraction in sensory overload, seeing every movie playing at the mall's multi-plex, shifting from screen to screen as the scheduling allowed, subsisting on tubs of popcorn and junk soda when hunger struck.

It was dark by the time we got home. Our heads throbbing, our stomachs churning, Elaine's medical training would have been helpful but she was still doing her OB/GYN thing. Must've been a long labor.

I wondered when Mom was going to tell me they were moving in together. I didn't like to think they wouldn't. Elaine made Mom happy, and I liked having her around, too.

After prescribing big glasses of milk and double doses of aspirin for us, Mom took me into her bed and we cuddled skin to skin as she read Winnie the Pooh stories until I drifted off to sleep, snuggled against her, dreaming of hefalumps and honey jars.

When Elaine came to bed in the wee hours I took the bouncing for a little bit before staggering back to my own room. Deliveries leave the good doctor horny and Mom is always happy to answer the call.

-------

Early the next morning, nudged to consciousness by a dream I couldn't remember, I was pondering what I might face at school. Could today's reception be any worse than the one I'd gotten after my dog show in the park? Ya think?

Then the car salesman on my clock radio broke the morning silence. Reaching out blindly I grabbed and launched the radio on a trajectory calculated to add it to the earth's orbital clutter. As it happened, the radio's umbilical failed to separate cleanly from the wall socket, releasing a blue flash and a "SPAT" as I ducked under my covers to avoid being collateral damage. The silenced radio whacked the wall below my window and hit the floor. Mom responded to the noise but I refused to emerge from mission control, assuming the defensive posture of an armadillo beneath my bed-clothes. After a few minutes of nudging and cajoling, she gave up and went away.

The future could wait forever as far as I was concerned. My brain went into standby mode.

Time passed.

The next thing I knew someone was tugging at my covers.

I tightened my grip on them. "Go 'way! I'm not here!"

"Get up, sleepyhead."

"Go 'way! I'm sick. I'm not going to school today."

"It's me!"

She sounded familiar. Missy? Could it be... ? Nah, that relationship was as broken as the little figurine of a diver in my personal museum of lost causes. It had to be a hallucination, or an imposter.

But she insisted it was her.

It sounded like her.

Maybe? After all, she had mobilized the troops to track me last Friday...

Friday.

I hunkered down in my bunker, unwilling to face my peers. I'd been raped. I'd let myself get raped. All in a good cause, but still...

After beating on various protrusions in an effort to soften me up she went to work at the foot of my bed.

"I've decided to try out for the track team," she explained, sounding as reasonable as if she were going to the grocery store for a package of cookies, all the while tunneling her way into my refuge like a badger after a gopher. "I need to get in shape and I want you to run with me."

Okay, the voice was right, but the proposal didn't fit. Missy broke a sweat just saying the word "exercise."

I launched a probe. "You? Track team? This from a girl that urges her mother to circle the parking lot for half an hour to get a space by the front door?"

"That's me. I made a New Year's resolution." She was still digging, I was curling up tighter, trying to escape her incursion.

"New Year's was nine months ago!" I shifted my feet away from her groping hands. "Go 'way!"

"I'm a slow starter."

Feeling a cool draft on my toes I tried retracting my landing gear further, but it was too late. Her grip on my left big toe quickly expanded to encompass my ankle. It was like I was being eaten by a snake.

She started dragging my foot toward the foot of the bed. "Come on! Now! Come on. Get up. You've got to help me get in shape." She braced herself against the foot of my bed to get better traction, pulled harder, gained some ground.

Lying on my stomach, I grabbed the bottom sheet with both hands and kicked with my free foot, determined to remain in my burrow. That turned out to be a mistake. She captured my other ankle and straightened my legs, yanking both feet into the cool morning air. "I need someone to cheer me on. We start today, jogging --together -- to school -- every morning -- the two of us. It'll be fun!" She cranked my legs like twist ties, first one way then the other.

"Stuff it," I grumbled, tightening my grip on the bottom sheet as I resisted.

"Come on! Come on! Come on! Come ON!" she responded, with a jerk, jerk! Jerk! JERK!

My grip began to slip. Changing tactics, I snatched first with one hand, then the other, hooking fingers over the end of my mattress.

But she would -- not -- give -- up!

I was distracted by the incongruity of it all. Missy? Jogging?? That was like the sun rising in the west, the moon falling from the sky, the end of everything.

Feeling her bracing both feet against the foot of my bed I visualized her coiling herself like a backstroker about to leave the starting block. I braced myself, fearing I was about to lose the battle. Me? Lose?? Never!

"Come on -- get -- with -- the -- Fucking -- PROGRAM!!!!" she demanded, jerking me around like a rag doll.

Program ... Program? Something about ... Shit! PROGRAM! The first meeting of the Naked in School Program Advisory Committee was today. I'd been warned! If I wasn't there I'd find myself appointed Secretary, or worse, if there was such a thing.

I'd read that part of Robert's Rules. I'd have to take notes, write up the minutes!

Eeewwwww!

I let go of the mattress just as Missy gave an all-out, full-body, last-try heave-ho.

She must have put her whole self into it -- legs and butt, arms and shoulders, back and torso and more-so -- 'cause I was yanked feet first completely off the bed, friction setting my nose and tits ablaze.

Still clutching my ankles, Missy hit the floor on her back with an impact that rattled windows in Seattle. I landed full length on top of her, my face buried between her spread legs. The top sheet had come with me and settled over us like a collapsed tent. It was probably just as well she was frustratingly clothed or I might have made a meal of her right then and there.

The next thing I knew she had us rolling over and over in a tangle of arms and legs and the sheet. She was giggling, tickling and poking at any accessible bit of skin. Cackling myself, I tried to retaliate in kind, but wasn't a fair contest. I, being naked, had a great deal of exposed epidermis, while she had clothes on. I did my best, but her shorts were incredibly tight!

What was she wearing?! It felt like Lycra!

At one point, either accidentally or deliberately, one of her fingers tweaked my naked pussy and WOO HOO! Suddenly the future didn't look so awful. Reflexively I hugged her to me again, my face buried between her open legs. Her thighs clamped over my ears for a heavenly moment before we resumed the tussle until we found ourselves face to face, breasts to breasts, pelvis to pelvis -- or we would have been if I weren't so much taller -- the morning sun coming in the window filtered through the sheet over us, making a wonderfully private space for us, her luscious lips only inches from mine.

Our eyes met, and for a moment I was on the knife edge of kissing her the way we used to kiss, before Mike, before all that other stuff had come between us.

"Children! Breakfast in ten minutes or it goes to the neighbor's dog!"

Shit. The moment was shattered. I drew back rather than risk rejection.

But Missy stopped me before I could get away, wrapping her arms around me, pulling us close, but not lips to lips, tucking her face into the curve of my neck and shoulder, her clothed body warm against my nude one. I spread my legs to cradle her and felt moisture on her cheeks. Oh, she felt so good against me. I'd thought I'd never feel that again, never breathe in her wonderful aroma.

"Don't hate me," she pleaded tearfully. "You know I still love you, don't you? Just -- well -- just not that way?"

"I know," I choked out, hugging her tight, wanting so much to pleasure her, resigning myself to accepting what she could offer, offering her only what she'd accept. "And I want you to know that I love you as much as ever. I'll always love you, forever and ever, any way you'll have me."

"Forever," she agreed, kissing my cheek. "Just not that way. I'm s-s-s-so sorry."

"It's all right." I lied, because it did hurt. "I'm sorry, too, but it is what it is. At least we can still hug sometimes, can't we?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," I whispered through my own tears, squeezing her to me. After another long, teary hug we got untangled and I did the quick version of my morning routine while Missy snuffled, wiped her tears, tossed my bed back together, and gave her face a quick wash. Then we tumbled down the stairs to scarf down plates of Mom's French toast.

The talk around the table was inconsequential, the "how's your mom" sort of stuff, and to Elaine, who ate with us, "how big is the baby?" (7lbs, 3oz) "How're the proud parents?"

It's the sort of stuff people say when they don't know what else to say. They knew my history with Missy, knew what I might face at school, knew I'd die before I let them accompany me to protect me. I fight my own battles, always had.

Okay, I'd had to call in reinforcements last Friday, but that was an extraordinary situation.

At the door, during one of the big hugs and the "I love yous" with Mom and Elaine I saw Mom mouth something to Missy. Then Missy and I headed out, her in her all new, top-of-the-line sports bra, which she needed, her new, sexy Lycra jogging shorts hugging her delicious derrière, very expensive athletic socks and running shoes on her feet, the elegant outfit nicely accessorized with her tatty old and faded boy-band backpack.

I was in my most comfortable, very worn running shoes and my ratty, Salvation Army acquired Boy Scout backpack.

Period.

Oh, I was serious about the jogging, but for me a bra was still superfluous, even while jogging, and as far as I was concerned, I was still in The Program. I was determined to meet the future naked and unashamed, as if nothing had happened. My titties were pleased to flaunt themselves in the morning sun, the breeze happily playing with them.

Within a block I was puffing almost as hard as Missy. How long had it been since I'd won the county championship in the two hundred 'fly? I had a lot of work to do if I was going to regain my former glory!

Jogging with Missy was a good thing, something I'd suggested to her in the past, and this time I vowed to make sure we kept to it. Running isn't the best conditioning for swimming, but it's better than nothing. When she started to flag I urged her on. When I started to flag she urged me on, turning this into sort of a companionable contest to see who could outlast whom. I managed to occasionally rub shoulders with her. She'd smile at me, and I at her, and I felt myself connecting with her in a new way, and it was good. Her companionship cut the worry I had about facing the people at school. How much did they know, and how would they feel about me?

We arrived panting and sweating at the school steps to be greeted by the whole lunch bunch, plus Mike, John, Greg, even Kathy, along with a smattering of other early arrivers. I fell into the arms of my friends and they embraced me warmly and unconditionally, and my fears eased. They still loved me.

It was at that moment that I realized Mom must have called Missy who, prior to her extraction mission, had mobilized the troops to be here to take me in. I teared up. I owed them all SO MUCH, especially Missy. They all even volunteered to join me Naked in School, but I could tell some of them -- Peggy and John especially -- weren't really comfortable with the idea so I declined the offer, while making a mental vow to somehow pay all of them back for their support.

They surrounded me as we passed through the Tweedles, doing their usual obnoxious sentry thing at the front doors. Their glares gave me goose bumps, while their tobacco stink wrinkled my nose. Dis-gusting!

From there we went down to the pool locker room where Missy and I could wash away the sweat and Missy could change to the contents of her backpack, a nice blouse and skirt combo.

After that there wasn't one moment when I wasn't accompanied by at least one of them, even when I used the boys' lav as The Program required. I felt like a relay baton being handed off, but didn't complain one bit. I loved the support. Between second and third periods Peggy was my companion and we walked down the hall, arms around each other, silently sharing the unspeakable. We must have been quite a sight: petite, demure, distinctly feminine Peggy as nicely coifed and dressed as ever, unbesmirched on the outside at least, rubbing hips with naked but for shoes, ambi-sex-trous and unvirginal me, tousle-haired, a head and more taller.

Thanks to my constant escorts even the Tweedles kept their distance. I got the uncomfortable feeling that we, the lunch bunch, were becoming a gang, but God, was I grateful for their company. I was getting a lot of looks and a lot of whispers, along with an occasional nod, a pat on the back, a "way to go" punch in the shoulder or a thumbs up.

Even with my friends beside me I was on edge. Everyone obviously knew Something had Happened involving me, the cops and whozis. As people passed me I thought I heard murmurs of "Did you hear about what happened between her and 'you know who?'" but maybe that was just my paranoia.

If someone had walked up to me and flat out asked what happened I probably would have ripped her face off. Maybe that was why I was hyper-alert as I walked by Queen Bee Heather MacKenzie's table at lunch. Being probably the most connected student in school I bet she knew exactly what had happened. Previously her treatment of me had been beyond snide.

There was no "Truffula Tree" greeting from her this time. To my surprise when we made eye contact her deep blue eyes were serious but friendly. She nodded, her right hand giving me a discrete thumbs up. Already suspecting that Miss Perfect had her own dark secrets I relaxed a bit. After Thursday's meet'n'greet I'd done some digging. It hadn't been hard to find out that as a class leader last year she had been the first in her class to be Naked in School.

Last year had also been the first year he-who-shall-be-nameless had been at Central High as Program Supervisor. He must have hit the ground running when he saw her coming, the little shit. She'd been a year younger, a year more innocent. That scum-bag wouldn't have missed taking a shot at such a juicy target.

I bet no one but me suspected what hell that week had been for her.

I was suddenly seeing her in a totally different light. We were sisters beneath the skin. I was willing to bet that perfection was her suit of armor, tighter than John's cobbled together psychic shield, and I was willing to bet that her snotty bitchiness was either part of her camouflage or a way of venting her anger. She'd slipped for an instant at the meet'n'greet. Had her look at the worm been a death-ray he would have been vaporized.

I realized, too, I was establishing a shell of my own, brick by brick. I wasn't sure I wanted that, but for now I needed it.

At our usual lunch table it was just us girls, so I could relax. No one brought up the elephant in the room -- or, rather, the pachyderm no longer on the premises. I'd already been told his office was locked. I assumed the kitchen staff break-room was probably off limits as a crime scene, but I had no inclination to check.

Obviously the lunch bunch knew that I had somehow been -- uh -- intimately involved in, even responsible for, shit-head's swift disappearance. After all, they'd tracked my abduction and alerted the cavalry as to where I'd been taken. Post-trauma, some had probably even seen me in the nurse's office, being attended to by a horde of cops, EMTs, Dr. Elaine and my mom. Even so, they had the kindness not to probe. Even Fran was subdued, shooting me sympathetic glances as she picked at her food, not something she usually did.

On the good side, it was at lunch that I learned that this week's faculty rep in The Program was Mrs. Devers! That was a nice distraction. Oh my, I could hardly wait to see that! I was pretty sure she'd be filling in for you-know-who as faculty rep at the committee meeting, and that she'd follow the program's dress code regarding school functions. That was something to look forward to! Yum!

The afternoon brought its own special reward, and it was all Greg's doing. Thanks to him, rather than committing assault with a volleyball I got to spend my gym period in the pool, doing laps, while Greg sat in the bleachers, combining studying with life guarding.

Of course I was skinny-dipping, so the water's embrace was intimate. I didn't work hard, only steadily, switching among butterfly, backstroke, breast and freestyle as various muscle groups tired. I was breathing deeply, keeping my pulse up, but not racing. I wasn't even counting laps. The rhythm of the strokes, the synchronized breathing, the drumbeat of my kick, the rush and gurgle of the water past my ears, the currents stroking my skin soothed me.

I wound up as close to a trance as I could get without drowning. When Greg stopped me after almost an hour he had to help me out of the pool. I draped myself over him, totally relaxed, my muscles limp and warm, riding an exercise endorphin rush. After my shower he tenderly dried me off and we shared a long, warming embrace and delicious soft kisses.

Thanks to that the rest of the afternoon went just swimmingly, pun intended, until at the end of the day I got hung up with my homeroom teacher over some bureaucratic folderol that had me sputtering and watching the clock.

So, of course I wound up late to the Program committee's first meeting. Almost running -- still naked, of course -- I skidded to a stop at the conference room's open door, my mouth open to apologize, only to be struck dumb. The polished wood conference table, scene of staff meetings and deliberations by The Powers That Be and other high potentates, was set complete with a tray holding glasses and a pitcher of ice water.

Apparently TPTB felt we really ranked to deserve that treatment!

But that wasn't what froze me in my tracks. It was the way the chosen students and Mrs. Devers were all looking at me. Something about that look...

Then I realized that the only empty chair, the chair that had to be for me, was at the far end of the long table. The stack of papers in front of it was weighted down with...

Oh shit. Even I recognized a gavel when I saw it, and I knew what it meant. I was so screwed. Right then I decided I'd rather be Secretary, but it was obviously too late.

They only made it worse by spontaneously rising to their feet and applauding, so I couldn't even burst into tears and walk out! Moving very carefully, The Stick prodding me to stand tall, I turned my back on them to quietly close the door to discourage the gawkers gathered in the hall.

Where had they come from? And why were they clapping, too?

As I turned back my skin prickled with cold sweat, and for a moment I thought I was going to faint. I'd been so sure I was safe! Now I was going to have to walk all the way down the length of the table with them all watching me, and clapping, of all things, and I didn't have a clue as to what the hell I was supposed to do! It was worse than that nightmare where I found myself walking in for an exam in a course I hadn't taken and knew nothing about, only this was reality!

Stuff that! You can do this! The Stick told me firmly.

Oh, and let the record show, as befitting a meeting of the Naked in School Program Advisory Committee, they were all nude, including Mrs. Devers, their clothes in neat piles along the wall. Smiling her Mona Lisa smile the Vice Principal was applauding right along with the rest of them, and she was just as hot as I'd dreamed. I'd seen her, burning up the nearby tennis courts while her daughter Gail was burning up the pool in backstroke.

Not as tall as me -- who is? -- Mrs. Devers was slender and obviously very fit, with firm, ladylike boobs, a little bit of a crease at the bottom, up tilted nipples that made my mouth water, a delicate hint of a six-pack ab, firm thighs, gorgeous legs. Her tan lines and minimal landing strip suggested an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny bikini.

Oh, I was so jealous of her husband.

Okay, I mean it only with the greatest respect -- she is my school's Vice Principal, after all -- but I admit that I would not reject an erotic interlude with her, should she be in any way inclined. My lust recognizes no bounds, be they gender, hierarchical, chronological, social, racial, theological or cultural. When it comes to erotic opportunities I am pro-actively and vigorously equal opportunity.

And yes, Greg knows it.

Still frozen, like a rabbit facing a snake, I was astonished when Heather MacKenzie left her place next to Mrs. Devers and came down the length of the table to give me a hug -- her embrace warm and comforting -- before escorting me to my chair, her arm around me, steadying me.

As she returned to her place I shrugged off my backpack behind me with a thud. Still they persisted in beating their palms together. My head down, I leaned heavily on the back of my chair to steady myself for a moment, breathing deeply. Finally -- in an effort to get them to sit down and shut up! -- I drew my chair out and sat down, the polished wood cold under my naked ass, feeling the weight of the universe on my shoulders.

Only then did they stop clapping, square their chairs around to the table, and take their seats, totally attentive to me, not even exchanging murmured comments, waiting for me to say something.

Shit! They were treating me like I was the Queen of England!

"Thank you," I managed to husk out through a thick throat. Mrs. Devers was to my left, and to her left was Heather Mac, her body as perfect as I'd expected, her flawless C cup breasts capped with delectable pink nipples. Mike Collins, my fellow freshman rep, was on my right. Across from Heather, to the right of Mike, was Matthew Mozilla, senior jock and Harvard candidate. He was simply awesome. The rest were paired up along the length of the table by grade, sophs at the far end, girls on my left, guys on my right. They ranged from skinny to pudgy, they all looked good, each had a stack of paper like mine, and they were all looking at me expectantly.

I was the one that had that damn gavel, that symbol of responsibility, of authority, of leadership, and I was afraid to pick it up.

Mrs. Devers politely broke into my musings. "With your permission, Madam Chairman, may I make a few remarks before you call the meeting to order?"

Madam Chairman! That caught my attention. I nodded, grateful for the chance to gather my wits, shifting the gavel to examine the papers in front of me. She apologized for failing to get the list of questions and suggestions out to us on Friday, saying only that events had overtaken her. That was as close as anyone got to mentioning he whose name I will not use, for which I was very grateful.

I was relieved to have it confirmed that she was the committee's faculty advisor as well as Interim Program Supervisor. She made the point that this was OUR committee, we students, not hers. As Faculty Advisor, she explained, she would vote only in the event we deadlocked on an issue, and only as a last resort. She would take a very limited part in the debates, answering questions as to current school policy and the like, but making no effort to direct our discussions.

That was not what I'd expected from you-know-who. That slime-ball had been smugly certain he would have this bunch in his pocket. We might have taught him otherwise, but it would have taken time and been a messy fight.

Then she yielded the floor to me, I self-consciously banged the gavel -- which was a bit of a power trip, I admit -- and we got down to work, Mrs. Devers offering me guidance as I learned how to chair a meeting. Already nervous, as we proceeded I suddenly realized how important my position was, and it scared the freaking shit out of me. "The Chair" in this case was more than just a piece of furniture. These people, even Mrs. Devers, trusted me to lead them! At one point Mike slid his smart-phone over to me to reveal he had Robert's Rules accessible and searchable on it, which eased my worries only a bit.

You can do it! The Stick assured me and, as things went on, I began to feel more confident.

After dealing with organizational details -- such as naming Mike Secretary and Heather co-chair -- Mrs. Devers suggested softly to me that it would be good for morale to address at least one of the issues on her list, perhaps the first one, so that's where I started. As if she had been prepared -- which she probably was -- the first formal motion was put forward by Heather, seconded by sophomore rep Henrietta (Retta) Jones who, I couldn't help noticing, had a beautifully firm rack -- dare I say, like the Grand Tetons? -- capped by large special dark chocolate nipples. I had the urge to bury my face in her mocha cleavage and just go "blub-blub-blub-blub" in her warm, soft flesh.

At the same time Matthew Mozilla's periscope seemed to be spying on me. Wow!

Don't worry, I was still paying attention to the proceedings. When it comes to sexy stuff I'm getting very good at multi-tasking.

The proposed motion was a request that towels be provided for Program participants to sit on, at the school's expense. After a very brief discussion it passed unanimously. I triumphantly banged the gavel. Per the committee's request, Mrs. Devers agreed to convey the wish to The Powers That Be, with her own strong stamp of approval. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she said this, drawing a chuckle.

After some discussion about the agenda for the next meeting I gaveled the meeting closed and they surrounded me with congratulations, good wishes, and warm hugs, which I thoroughly enjoyed, even though I felt sympathy and condolences would be more appropriate.

I couldn't believe it when Mrs. Devers made a point of kissing me on the lips and looking me right in the eye. I tried to read as nothing more than confidence in me to buck up my morale. I was feeling overwhelmed. It was a shock to me that two key posts were in the hands of freshmen -- me as Chair and Mike as Secretary.

Having Heather Mac slotted in as co-chair made me feel good, and she seemed very comfortable with the arrangement, which was a relief. I had the feeling if I headed off-course or got in a bind she'd protect my back, rather than stabbing it.

While the others dressed I gathered up the papers, and slipped them into my backpack for study at home, leaving the gavel behind for the next victim. We sort of formed a loose bunch as we headed out, chattering, individuals peeling off to their lockers as we went. In the end I found myself between Heather Mac and Matthew Mozilla. While we had agreed to use familiar names he requested that he not be called "Mongo," and I agreed. He seemed to appreciate that.

"So, what are your goals?" Heather asked.

"Huh?"

"You know, for the committee. What do you want us to accomplish? It's got to be more than just towels to sit on, some sort of a general philosophy."

"I hadn't really thought about it," I confessed. "To tell you the truth, I expected you to be chair."

She shook her head. "After what you did on Friday? No way!"

I didn't say anything, glad to just let that whole subject drop.

"Anyway, think about it, and if you need any help, don't hesitate to let me know," she suggested kindly. "Need a ride home?"

I was tempted to take her up on the offer, but got shy all of a sudden. Okay, she wasn't what she seemed to be on the surface, but, well, she was a senior, and Queen Bee to my freshman, bottom-of-the-hive worker bee... "No, thanks. I usually walk, or jog."

"Okay." She pulled me close for a hug, and whispered in my ear. "Thank you!"

"Once we get out of here do you mind if I jog along with you?" Matt asked after she'd gone.

"I'd like that." I shook my head, feeling flattered and a little flushed at his company. He wasn't Greg, but he was an adequate substitute. I was especially grateful to be with him when we passed the Tweedles lurking in the hall.

Okay, I admit it, I was more than a bit paranoid, but that didn't mean they weren't out to get me.

Once outside he showed me some stretches before we set off down the walk. As I expected, he ran easily and lightly. Wearing well-fitted shorts -- his display at the meeting had revealed a yummy package down there -- a T that hugged his pecs, and a backpack of his own, he was obviously a very fit athlete. He was probably taking it easy on me, but being tall I was able to match him stride for stride, both of us working up a good sweat. He took me right to my door in spite of my protests, then jogged away, before I could invite him in or even thank him.

It was good to be home, in my nice safe nest.

Mom and Elaine were still at work. I locked the door behind me. After milk and cookies I was up in my room, a tube of super-glue in my hand, the broken figurine Missy had given me so long ago in front of me. A little dab here, another there, and the pieces came back together almost perfectly. There was a barely visible crack, but I somehow knew that it was now stronger than ever. I carefully put the little diver back where she belonged, in a place of honor among my trophies and medals.

Then I settled down to my homework, Heather Mac's question about goals lurking in the back of my mind. I was pondering the intricacies of quadratic equations when I heard the phone ring downstairs and in Mom's room and picked up my handset.

Yeah, we'd joined the 20th century -- Dr. Elaine had insisted if she was going to spend nights here when she was on call she needed call forwarding and we needed to upgrade. So we got a cordless phone with three handsets and one of them was in my room! I do keep the ringer off.

"Hello," I answered cheerily, expecting it to be Mom saying she'd be late.

"Kill The Program."

Before I could say anything I was left with a dial-tone.

Shit! That was not on the list of questions and suggestions compiled by Mrs. Devers, and there was no doubt in my mind what the caller meant -- I'd heard the capital letters in the way he'd said it.

Shit!



-------

Chapter 18


"Are you going -- pant -- to the dance -- puff --?"

"Noooo," I drawled out sourly.

"Why not?"

"Nobody's asked me," I answered irritably, my sneakers chuff-chuff-chuffing on the sidewalk, the morning breeze taking its usual liberties with my unclothed state. The neighborhood was so used to seeing me this way I got friendly waves with only an occasional whistle. Missy, of course, was in her running finery.

At least Missy's question was a good distraction from all my other worries, like that "kill the program" phone call, and something funny was going on between Mom and Elaine, and what's Mom got in store for my birthday this time, and I still didn't have "goals" for the committee, and I haven't had time to do any diving, and like at this point I'd lose a race to a guppy, and Greg and I HAVE to pose for Kathy tomorrow afternoon, 'cause her project is behind schedule, and ... you get the idea. Thinking of all that I'd almost gone to ground in my bed again this morning, rather than face the day, but I couldn't abandon Missy and our training runs.

I was current on homework only thanks to self discipline and strict prioritization. Priorities put Missy and my condition near the top of the list.

"Whattaya mean, -- pant -- nobody's asked you? -- puff -- Hasn't Greg -- pant -- asked you?"

It was Tuesday, the second our morning jogs, my muscles were protesting, and I knew from experience that tomorrow, the third day, would be even worse.

And from here on I'll spare you the breathtaking punctuation.

"No, he hasn't. Are you going?" I volleyed back, knowing that wasn't a fair question.

"Well, no," Missy admitted unhappily. "No one has asked me. But I don't have a boyfriend. Why don't you ask Greg?"

"I can't ask Greg! He's supposed to ask me." The thought of asking him gave me chills. What if he said no?

This from a girl who'd defended her BFF from a mob, taken on and soundly defeated a fiendish pedophile? How illogical can I be? My psyche was taking a battering today, which only made me feel worse.

"What century are you living in?"

I dodged that question. "You and I could go together."

I'll give her credit, she didn't slam on the brakes or hang a sharp left down Birch street. Instead she just shook her head. "I have enough trouble ... what's that noise?"

My backpack had suddenly started sounding off with a bugle call, of all things. Thanks to Elaine I was a cavalry charge.

"Hold on a minute." I grunted, slowing and swinging my backpack off. "It's my phone."

That brought Missy to a jarring halt. "Your what? When did you get a cell phone?"

Digging my new phone out of my pack while jogging proved to be impossible so ten paces beyond her I slowed to a walk, finally stopped, dropping the pack so I could dig into it, mooning everyone south of Maple Ave in the process. By the time I found the phone, extracted it and managed to get it open Missy had caught up and it had stopped sounding off. The little screen informed me helpfully that I had one missed call. Well doh!

"Shit!"

"You got a cell?" She was leaning on me, panting, peeking at my newest toy, obviously enjoying the respite.

"It was handed to me this morning, about two seconds before you were at the door," I puffed, slinging my backpack on again, keeping the phone in hand as I resumed jogging, Missy joining me, dragged along, I guess, by the sheer force of my personality.

"I'm finally in the 21st century. I haven't even had time to play with it, 'cause Elaine was still programming it -- or something -- just before she handed it to me."

And why her, I wondered. Mom gets me stuff like this. Something was going on with them. I was going to do some serious sleuthing, if I could just find the time. "Anyway, is there some way I can return a missed call?"

Missy had some sort of a smart phone. Mine was pretty dumb, not that I cared. The thought of having a phone smarter than me made me uncomfortable.

"Gimme."

I handed it to her without breaking stride. I was NOT going to let anything interfere with our training!

"Just push this button, it'll dial whoever just called you," she explained, pointing as the phone bobbed around in her hand. After I figured out which button she meant I got the thing dialed -- what an anachronistic term! -- and to my ear.

"Hi Mom ... yes, it's working ... I had to get it out of my backpack ... I'm naked, where do you suggest I keep it? ... She's still there? ... Oh, you're on the way to the car? ... Well, yes, being that she's a gynecologist I know where she's telling me to put it! ... Stop laughing! What if she were a proctologist? ... Yes Mom I'll call you when I get to school ... Okay, you'll be driving, so I'll call Elaine's cell ... Yes, Mom, hers is speed dial six ... I love you, too."

Wondering where she and Elaine were going together at this time of the day, I snapped it shut, hoping that hung it up. I'd promised never to turn it off. No problem there, I'd barely learned how to turn it on!

"Because of last Friday, huh?" Missy asked.

"Uh huh. I think Elaine laid a guilt trip on Mom. Maybe that's why Mom let Elaine pick up the cost. It's a prepaid, Elaine said, whatever that means. This morning she was setting up speed dial numbers on it, Mom at home, the office and her cell, and herself at her office and cell -- how many is that? Five? -- plus 911, and probably the FBI, the CIA and the National Guard, just in case. When we get to school maybe you can show me how to speed dial, and how to turn the darn ringer off, too, so a wrong number doesn't set off the charge of the light brigade and get me detention. Elaine has a funny sense of humor."

"Sure."

"So, you won't go to the dance with me?" I asked in a teasing tone, half hoping she'd take me up on it.

"Thanks, but no thanks." She knew I was at least half serious, but it didn't upset her. We were settling into our new relationship.

"I've got enough trouble recovering from my dumbness from last year," she grumbled. "I don't want to add a reputation as a lesbian to the pile. No offense."

"None taken. And anyway, I'm not lez, I'm bi -- just ask Greg!"

All I had to do was think of Saturday night and it got my juices flowing. It threatened to be a soggy day down there, so I had a towel in my backpack to sit on, figuring I should set a good example while waiting for The Powers That Be to respond to the committee's request.

As for Missy's social life, with her mom threatening her with a convent it had taken major negotiations for her to get permission to date at all, and double dating was not on the table. After all, it had been a defloration afternoon for both of us that triggered the carnal landslide Missy had undergone.

Under the treaty arrived at, any possible suitor had to undergo a face-to-face with her mom and dad, and her parents had to provide transportation to and from. Talk about a date breaker! Right now the few guys interested in her were bottom feeders -- is that a bad pun? -- hoping to take advantage of her alleged slut-dom out behind the soccer equipment shed. Missy was wise to that. I wanted to tell her it would be all right, that she'd find a boyfriend, but she'd heard it all before.

"So, who do you think will be Miss School Spirit this year?" I asked, changing the subject.

"I dunno. You?"

"I dunno."

"No, I mean 'You!'" She pointed at me. "You could be Miss School Spirit!"

I felt a deathly chill. "Please, no! No way, no how, never, nuh uh! Not me! I'm not the bouncy cheerleader type."

"Neither was Beth," Missy pointed out, "and you've already got more of a rep than she ever had."

"You know she was picked 'cause that ape on the football team -- what's his name? Freschetti -- was trying to embarrass her."

"Didn't work, did it?" She thought a minute. "I s'pose the next logical choice would be the Queen Bee."

"Heather MacKenzie?"

"She's a senior, head cheerleader, and she's got all the attributes." Missy made a gesture around her own not insignificant boobs.

"Maybe." I wondered how that would set with Heather. Given what I suspected I couldn't see her setting herself up for a football team gang bang. Though maybe as a cheerleader she'd already been down that road. My bet was she hadn't. She might even have been a virgin last year, until...

I didn't like to think about that at all. "Anyway, it's not up to mere mortals like us. It's the football team's prerogative. That means I'm safe," I assured myself aloud. "I don't even know anyone on the football team."

"Do, too," Missy panted.

"Who?" Then I remembered. "Oh, yeah, that's right. Matt Mozilla. But he's just on the committee."

In spite of her lack of wind from the jog, Missy sent a hooted, "MONGOOOOH!" echoing down the street. That was the cheer that greeted Matt's feats on the playing fields of Central High.

"I hear he jogged you home yesterday," she informed me.

Damn that grapevine works fast! How'd she hear that so soon?

"Oh, I just heard it," she answered vaguely when I asked.

But being reminded of that connection got me worrying. What if he did propose me for the dubious honor of leading the pep rally and cheering the team on at the Big Game, followed by joining the cheerleaders in the locker room to relieve the football team's testosterone overload? I'd better try to nip that in the bud.

"Won't happen," I said with a confidence I didn't feel. "When is the victim announced?"

"Next week, I think. No, week after next. First it's the dance this weekend -- there'll be a king and queen for that -- no worries there, I guess -- then the homecoming game is two weeks after that. Miss School Spirit is announced the Wednesday before the game."

Maybe that open weekend was to be my birthday celebration? Made sense.

"Oh, yeah." I remembered Carl's rendition of how Beth had been shanghaied into it. On the rather pointed spur of the moment -- something like two day's warning -- she'd come up with a way to shove her selection down Freschetti's throat, going all-in -- or should that be all out? -- with her performance.

That, of course, was two years ago. Last year's performance by a senior girl, a baton twirler, had been tame by comparison, though all agreed that her strip-tease to the school fight song, ending with her flinging flaming batons around, had been pretty impressive. A game girl, that: she'd finished the routine in spite of a second-degree burn. I'd heard through Carl that the bandage on the outside of her left boob only spoiled the line of her cashmere sweaters for a couple of weeks.

"Not a chance," I insisted, more confidently than I felt.

Anyway, my more immediate concern was the dance this coming weekend. Here it was Tuesday already. I mean, really, if Greg was going to ask me he should have done it already, right? Not that I have a lot of experience with this stuff but, I mean, a girl needs time to get all dressed up for a big dance like that, doesn't she?

I tried to tell myself I wasn't even sure I wanted to go. It wasn't like Greg and I really dated. Oh sure, we swam together a lot, and screwed like bunnies, given the chance, but he'd never even taken me to the movies! I didn't really know how to dance, but I liked the idea of being in his arms, dressed all fancy, with music and refreshments and maybe even a corsage -- all that mushy stuff I used to tease Carl and Beth about. And besides, it was the weekend before my birthday and it just seemed a good way to celebrate.

But then I worried, what if Mom has planned her surprise party for this coming Saturday, the day of the dance, instead of a week later, the weekend AFTER my Wednesday birthday? And why does she have to do this to me every year anyway? Wasn't I getting a little old for this? I suppose I could talk with her about it, but she seems to have such a good time blindsiding me I'd hate to spoil her fun.

I didn't bother to ask Missy. She'd profess total ignorance but she'd been a birthday party co-conspirator since we'd been friends in nursery school. She wasn't about to break -- what is it the Mafia calls it? omerta -- the code of silence.

Finishing our run, we wheezed our way up the school walkway just as the Great Unveiling was about to take place. I'd been so protected by my gang yesterday I didn't even know who the Naked in School participants were this week. I'd sorta assumed the Worm's departure might have resulted in an interruption, but I guess not.

Then I remembered my promise to Mom and asked Missy to show me how to speed-dial Elaine's cell, holding my phone to my ear as I watched the proceedings.

As usual, most of the boys were more interested in the graceful strip being performed by Barbara Morgan, a cheerleader from the Junior class, and a very tasty morsel indeed. The freshman girl was a cute little blond, the sophomore a member of the track team, and the senior one of Heather Mac's coterie.

Of Heather there was no evidence. Interesting. Another data point to add to my suspicions.

Everyone pretty much ignored me. I guess me being Naked in School was old news. I might re-think my strategy after today.

The girl spectators, on the other hand, were directing their attention to the boys, of course.

"Hi, Elaine, I'm reporting in. No I am NOT going to stow it there! Especially not with it set to vibrate!I love you, too, and tell Mom I love her! Something's going on here, I gotta go."

What had me distracted was one of my two least favorite people, Bud Lacey, AKA Tweedle Dumber, sidekick to my nemesis Rich Cagney, better known to me as Tweedle Dumb. Like a bad car crash, Dumber was the center of attention. He was nervously picking at -- no, not at his nose -- at his grungy clothes, while the girls looked on in revulsion and those guys not captured by Barbara's jiggle were like yapping like hyenas.

And was Tweedle Dumb, Rich Cagney, supporting his friend? Guess again. That shit was heckling his buddy mercilessly, just another member of pack. Shit! As much as I detested that duo, I found I couldn't just stand there while Lacey was humiliated by all and sundry, including his supposed best friend.

Then I thought of the reception Lacey would get if he even had the nerve to ask for relief, and cringed. No girl would get within six feet of him. If he wanted to release some tension he'd have to do it himself, which would brand him as the lowest form of life. These days the minimum socially acceptable act was a stroke job into a hanky by a willing girl, or guy if they both swung that way. A delicate blow job ending with a hanky catch lifted the recipient's status above that of a centipede. Top of the pyramid was a full facial or to be deep throated by a recognized celeb. Intercourse on the teacher's desk was uncouth.

Missy herself gaped as I went up to the little twerp -- he was on the short and stubby side and I was a head taller than him -- and tried to encourage him. "Hey, it's not hard," I pointed out to him. "You were naked yesterday and survived, didn't you?"

"Uh -- yeah," he mumbled. "But I mean, well..."

I began trying to drag his tee shirt up. "Yeah, stripping in public is kinda hard, I know. But, in the end it's no different than yesterday. Hey, look at me, I'm naked again. Concentrate on me. Give me a little help here, though."

He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so it took a minute for him to catch on and raise his arms so I could drag the shirt off over his head, his shaggy locks fluttering around his face in a blizzard of dandruff. I held the shirt out blindly, trusting one of my bunch to take the hint, and sure enough Fran was right there, handling it like it was toxic waste, but handling it.

My participation created a moment of stunned silence, and then the insults flew, cracks like "how can you stand the smell" and, of course "EEEEWWWWWW!" Ignoring them I knelt and was about to attack his belt when I realized he was wearing the grungiest pair of combat boots I'd ever seen. No way I'd get even his baggy pants off over those, so I went for the dangling laces, jerking his foot out from under him so he had to rest a hand on my head to keep his balance.

I'd have to shampoo later.

No socks. He couldn't go barefoot. Just the crud between two toes probably carried the athletes foot of a full army.

God! The things I do for people, I thought as I unbuckled his belt, having dealt with the second boot, ignoring the toe cheese revealed. I have to admit, there was a bit of a smell as I dragged his cargo pants down and held them so he could step out of them. His underwear -- tattle-tale gray boxers with frayed hems -- went next. I recoiled from his dick flopping free inches from my face. As I slid his undies down his hairy legs I estimated his chances of getting relief from any girl alive as between zero and none.

I thought furiously as I helped him back into his boots. Unless...

I felt a scheme brewing, and wondered what his gym schedule was. As per the rules, he was supposed to shower with the girls. With a little encouragement I bet they'd give him a scrubbing like he probably hadn't had in years, if I could find girls brave enough to take on the challenge. But who... ?

Ah hah! The Future Nurses Club! They did volunteer stuff in the local hospital, dealing with bed pans and yucky stuff like that. Who did I know?

Inez! She was taking biology this year, always talking pre-med type stuff. She'd been the one to blot at Harold's bloody nose last year after it had encountered the back of my skull during Missy's near rape. I got to my feet and looked Tweedle Dumber over, deciding that maybe there was some hope there. His body was a little flabby, but his endowment was ample, and alert. Not that I was about to touch it until it had undergone decontamination.

"Now, that isn't so bad, is it?" I asked, even as he tried to cover his formerly private parts. He may have been blushing, it was hard to tell. "Ignore the morons, and be proud of what you've got."

Jeez, what dumb send-off that was! But he took it, while I found Inez and got her aside for a few words, the rest of the bunch gathering around.

"You'd ask someone to do that for that toxic waste site?" she asked me when she heard my suggestion. "Even after what he and his buddy have done to you?"

"It's not for him. It's for the general welfare of the community. Look on it as a public health service project," I suggested, wiping my hands on moist towelettes bummed off Peggy.

Peggy gave me a sort of sideways smile. "You are something else again, you know that? Why would we think you need an escort again today? You're on your own!"

Inez had been thinking. "Okay, I know just who to talk to. We'll take care of it. I wonder if they have any hazmat suits around here."

"Thanks. If this works out we'll both owe you."

"I can't think that anything he has would be enough," she retorted wryly. "But, as you said, maybe it'll avert a public health crisis."

"I'll get this stuff washed during Ecology class," Fran offered, having somehow found a bag for Lacey's clothes. "We're studying detergents this week. This'll be the acid test, I guess. We'll have 'em back in his box before he misses them."

Ah my lunch bunch! I gotta love 'em! The crowd dissolved as the opening bell sent us off in all directions to once again deal with the forces of pedagogy.

I next saw them all in the lunch room after what passed for a reasonably normal morning. Inez was absolutely stoked. It turned out Dumber -- I mean, Bud Lacey -- had gym just before lunch, and Inez had already gotten a full report from her medically inclined cohorts. In the girls' locker room he'd tried to object to them touching him, as he had every right to do. His resistance crumbled when they asked every-so-sweetly if he wanted the whole school to know he'd refused to let a bunch of naked girls touch him in the shower. What would that say about his sexuality?

By her second-hand account, given to the whole lunch table, who responded with "ooos" and "aaahhhs" and yucks and giggles and snorts, once the future MDs and RNs got their talons into him they'd disinfected him like he was a hospital floor! He'd screamed like a baby when they'd gone over him from head to toe with brushes and germicidal soap, not just washcloths or nice, soft, soapy hands. Being future medical pros, they were anything but shy as they got up close and personal with his every nook and cranny, from ears to anus to toes. They'd found dirt in places they didn't even know he had places that got dirty. By the time he emerged he was three shades lighter, and blushing scarlet, having been thoroughly exfoliated and sterilized -- on the surface, that is. A test run at the end proved his reproductive equipment was functional, unless his sperm count had shut down for some other reason.

While she told us this every eye in the lunch room was tracking him as he bashfully made his way through the lunch line. He was pink, from top to toe, and his hair was actually soft, shiny and combed! Taking one look at his still polluted and erstwhile buddy's sneer, Lacey scuttled off to a secluded table to eat alone, rather than join the other program participants as was traditional.

Meanwhile, my plan had firmed up. Operation Cleanup had only been Phase One. Phase Two was some positive reinforcement. I tried thinking of it as a carrot and stick scenario, but that was kinda screwed up, since I'm The Stick, and Lacey was the one with the carrot jutting out from his groin.

His shower, according to Inez, had concluded with an extravagant ejaculation thanks to some skilled manipulation by three of his bathers. But a second, even more public relief session might help reinforce the lesson and even encourage further participation by classmates. He was young and virile and probably easily aroused for a repeat performance. He was already carrying a rod any male would be proud of.

I pounced as he was leaving the lunchroom, and after some oo-ing and ah-ing over his now pristine physique, complete with some delicately sensuous tactile explorations, I asked if he was in need of relief.

"Uh, yeah," he admitted, blushing, "but who's gonna give me relief? They didn't even want to look at me yesterday. I hadda do myself!"

Who indeed? Thanks to the vagaries of scheduling it looked like I was elected. God! The things I do for The Program, but it was an opportunity not to be missed! If I could bring one poor soul to the flock of the bodily enlightened it would be worth it, I told myself.

And I had to admit to my true nature. I might enjoy it, too.

"C'mon," I urged, "I'll walk you to your next class."

As we walked we chatted a bit, and I explained the advantages of his newly sanitary status. Turned out where he lived, hot water was in short supply and the only working container was a wash basin, which went a long way toward explaining his hygienic challenges. I suggested that in the future he arrive at school early enough to take advantage of the school's facilities. I even suggested he might be able to enlist the assistance of some willing young lady to scrub his back, which seemed to encourage him.

Once at his next class, taking some liberties with my schedule, classroom protocol, and with the consent of his French teacher, I was quickly down on my knees, his slender but long dick between my lips. One of the nice things about a boy's penis is that it is pretty much a one-way street out-bound and I assumed he'd already flushed it of any of any possible contamination, so I didn't need to worry about that.

I gave him full service, starting with my lips, then taking that hot rod along my tongue to the back of my throat. He smelled of soap, of course, which certainly encouraged my efforts. His bush was soft and curly and I wondered fleetingly if they'd even given it a shampoo and conditioner treatment. Then I just concentrated on bringing him off, as time was flying, of course.

He began to moan and sigh, and his fingers toyed with my hair as I took him deeper, and deeper. I was opening my throat to him before I let my fingers stray to his testicles, figuring he might be pretty sensitive even after his previous coming. Sure enough, when I fingered his balls his hips surged, and he groaned as his groin tightened up. I let his jizz flow straight down my throat, adding just enough tongue pressure on his pulsing prick to enhance his pleasure.

When he was down to seepings I sucked him dry, and sat back in satisfaction, having managed to diddle myself to a nice quiet coming during the whole process.

He even thanked me! I didn't know his vocabulary extended to that.

Mission accomplished, wiping my chin, I dashed off to another gym period in the swimming pool under Greg's watchful eye. This time he shed his clothes and matched me stroke for stroke, encouraging me to exert myself more this time. When I tried to pause he pushed me even harder. By the time we were done, while he'd barely broken a sweat -- if you can say that of a swimmer -- I was drained. He dragged me off to a warm shower and slathered me with soap and love, while I hung on to him to keep from falling.

Finished, he was behind me, his cock nuzzling my buns, holding me up, his right hand cupping my left breast while his left was curled into the oozing folds of my easily aroused pussy.

"You wouldn't like to -- uh -- go to the -- uh -- dance with me? Would you?" he murmured in my ear, his fingers doing wicked things to my happy twat.

With a little squeak of joy, suddenly revived, I revolved in his embrace and pressed my whole self against his whole self and did my best to suck his tongue out. Dragging him down with me I proceeded to encourage his advances, guiding him in, feeling him filling me, and filling me, and filling me, until we melted together right there on the hard tiles, the spray of the shower washing the overflow from our lust down the drain.

Like I said, we fuck like bunnies.

"Can I -- take that -- as a -- yes?" he asked among afterglow smooches.

"Yes, oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes," I assured him, kissing him after every sibilant. "Yes!"

After another round of kisses, I had to ask. "What did you think I'd say?"

He looked abashed. "I dunno. But I heard about you and Mongo yesterday..."

"What? He jogged me home after the committee meeting. That's all."

"But he's -- well, he's Mongo!" he answered as if that explained it.

"But he's not you," I whispered to him, snuggling against him. Boys can be such jerks sometimes!

Hearing the nearby locker room beginning to fill with the next gym class, swimming lessons by the sound of it, we picked ourselves up off the floor before being caught in flagrante delicto, or whatever it is, and sluiced off the slimy evidence of our activities. We got knowing smirks in the locker room, of course.

We parted, him dressed, me still naked, and I suddenly realized I had just traded one worry for another. I not only didn't have a thing to wear to the dance, I had no idea how to go about acquiring the necessary finery on such short notice. I needed some help. While Mom and I have a great relationship, I just had the feeling she might not be up on the latest prom fashions and where to acquire them cheaply, and she probably didn't have the time anyway.

"Heather!" I called as I encountered her in the hallway, the steel-trap of my mind snapping at the opportunity. "Got a second?"

She quickly pried herself loose from her entourage, who gave me their usual sneers, and steered me into a quiet corner. "What's up? Something with the committee?"

"Well, yeah, there's that, but this is personal," I admitted, throwing myself on her mercy, explaining my problem, praying she'd take pity on a mere frosh who was emerging from her tomboy stage. I played the "you're a fashion maven" card for all it was worth, sucking up to her ego.

"What kind of a budget do we have to work with?" she asked shrewdly.

"Uh -- limited," I confessed. "Very limited. I've got about five bucks in my backpack, and no credit card, but my Mom'll be good for more, once I warn her what's coming. I'll give you a figure after I talk to her. I'm hoping, maybe, if she's feeling kind, a hundred, maybe?"

And there went the curse jar, I thought. No movies for a while, unless my mouth ran away with itself. But then I reminded myself that the money in that jar had to come from somewhere, and my pockets were empty. Maybe I could fit some baby sitting or something into my schedule. Maybe the kid delivering newspapers needed someone to carry his bag.

Heather drew her breath in through pursed lips, nodding slowly. "I've got the plastic. I'll extend you credit. You I trust, but don't tell anyone else what I'm doing. Okay, that narrows the choices, but I like the challenge. What's your schedule?"

"Swimming practice this afternoon, posing for Kathy Powers tomorrow afternoon, swimming practice Thursday..."

"Okay, I've got cheerleading this afternoon and Thursday," she mused. "French Club tomorrow ... How about after swimming today? I'm thinking a total makeover, so it'll take more than one afternoon. Keep Friday open if you can. We'll work something out."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Like I said, I like the challenge." That was her shell talking. But then, more softly, she added, "You do know I owe you big time, don't you?"

"I don't know about that," I admitted. "I'm glad we got rid of that problem, for a bunch of reasons, but that doesn't mean you owe me anything. I suspected -- well -- with what I knew about you-know-who, last year your week in The Program musta been kinda hard on you."

Her face hardened, her blue eyes clouding over. Her tone when she said "My week in The Program," was cold enough to give me chills. I could almost taste the bitterness.

"This stays just between you and me," she hissed anxiously. "Nobody knows! Nobody!"

I nodded solemnly. "I promise!"

She eyed me. "You, I trust. I guess I don't have any choice anyway, since you've already guessed."

That was the second time she'd said something like that about trust. My eyes flicked over to her entourage. What did that say about them? I looked back at her and nodded again. "I promise," I repeated.

"Let's just say I owe you more than I can ever possibly repay. My week in The Program my ass! Try the whole fucking year."

I winced. She seemed almost relieved to be able to talk about it.

" ... and he was making noises about us 'getting together' again this year."

"Oh God, I am so sorry." I started to reach for her, but she fended me off with a hand between my naked boobs.

"I hope that motherfucker rots in hell."

That was language I'd never heard her use before. Coming from Miss Perfect, it was shockingly ugly. I drew a breath to steady myself. "So do I, but really, don't feel you owe me. I did it for all of us. If you don't want to..."

She looked me right in the eye, very, very serious. "I do want to. I really do. I don't know what it is about you, but I really do want to help you. We're so different, but God do I wish I were more like you."

I suppressed a wry laugh. "And I wish I were more like you."

She smiled through her personal pain. "Maybe some of you can rub off on me."

"And vice versa," I responded.

"I'll see you after practice today. Tell your mom this may take all afternoon, and maybe tomorrow, and Friday afternoon, and maybe even some time on Saturday before the dance."

God I wanted to hug her and comfort her, and thank her, but didn't dare, not with her entourage watching us suspiciously. "I'm at your mercy. And thank you."

"Meet me under the globe and we'll go from there. Uh -- do you have anything to wear? Wouldn't you, maybe, rather not be making the rounds nude?"

"I've got the basics I can slip into."

"Good girl. See you then."

"See you." I watched her rejoin her clique, saw her slip on that superficial facade she wore as easily as slipping on a light jacket. It was like she was two totally different people.

Her buddies glanced over at me, snickering at something she'd said, probably something about what a poor, helpless frosh I was. It could have hurt but I understood. Heather was playing to their prejudices, defending her position as leader of the pack. If she didn't they'd turn on her and she'd be picked clean by the buzzards. She was walking a very fine line, and I didn't envy her.

Then I remembered The Stick, and gave that little interior voice of mine a heartfelt danke schön, knowing just how much of my self-respect I owed to it.

Bitte sehr my little voice responded courteously, and I wondered if maybe I was now just a little bit bi-lingually crazy. Well, if I was I wouldn't have it any other way, I thought, as I headed off for the rest of my afternoon classes and then swimming.

Swim practice was wind sprints with me desperately trying to keep up with Greg in the neighboring lane. I was left puking in pool gutter, then rewarded with yet another shower with Greg. After kissing him good bye I tossed on the emergency wardrobe from my backpack, loose shorts and sleeveless blouse, ignoring the "shit, it's my period" panties. Totally commando I hurried to the front entrance, where a globe hung over the main intersection.

"Meet me under the globe" was such a popular phrase that at the end of the day the intersection resembled a flash mob, but at this hour it was only Heather, looking as fashionably fastidious as ever, her hair still damp from her shower.

"Sorry I'm late," I apologized.

"Just got here myself," she assured me, jingling her car keys. "Let's boogie."

I'd called Mom to tell her what was going on, and to get some budget numbers. I was beginning to really appreciate having my own phone. After cheering the news about my date and grumbling about the short notice, she went off for a minute, then came up with a figure which was much more generous than I expected. Even so it made Heather wince when I told her.

"You are a challenge!" she remarked. "And you're tall..."

"Five nine, about," I admitted ruefully.

"I like that. Narrows the choices. Except for shoulders like Paul Bunyan you're built like a fashion model. This is gonna be fun!" she exulted as we pulled out of the parking lot in her sporty little car.

I really think she meant it. But fun? I had my doubts, not being the shop-til-you-drop type. I had visions of wandering the aisles of every low-budget mega-super-store in search of the impossible. But as she talked and drove I soon learned otherwise. As she planned our route I got the impression she knew every thrift shop and consignment store in town, and was on a first name basis with every proprietor.

"Costumes," she explained succinctly when I asked. I'd forgotten about her work with the drama club. She was president of it, of course, but nobody's perfect.

"Is there anything you can't do?" I asked, intimidated.

"I can't swim like you do, dive like you do," she responded. "And other stuff, too. You're daring. I'm a coward."

"No, you're not."

"Well, we could argue that point, but let's not ruin what might become a beautiful friendship," she countered with a smile.

I liked that thought.



-------

Chapter 19

"One last place," Heather announced, heading further out of town after yet another rack choked with chiffon and packed with petticoats. "This'll be the one. I feel it in my bones."

She had to have the most optimistic bones in the universe.

I gave my new cell another workout, calling Mom yet again with another status report and, ignoring Heather's protests, asking her to set another place at the table.

"Thank you," Heather said reluctantly to the dinner invite. She had yet to call home, but maybe her folks gave her a longer leash than Mom gave me. Well, she was older.

I sighed. "I suppose I could go to the dance naked."

"Not naked. The whole 'naked to the dance' thing has been done to death since Beth Finch. There've been program participants and exhibitionist volunteers in the buff, the near buff, the decorated and over-decorated buff, at every school dance for the last two years. I bet there'll be at least two naked couples at this one. Bor-ring.

"And while it may seem contrary to the NiS philosophy for me to say so, it is not necessarily the best look for some people! Wouldn't you like to make a new fashion statement?"

"I just want to look good for Greg and have fun at the dance. Anyway, I s'pose everyone's getting kinda tired of seeing my skinny butt around the halls," I admitted dolefully. "No point in inflicting that on the crowd."

She threw me a smile. "Not everyone's fed up. Mongo -- I mean Matt -- still enjoys the view."

"Matt does?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. And a few others I could name. And I wouldn't say your butt is skinny. Well muscled is more like it."

"Thanks, I guess," I responded, worried by what she'd said about Matt and the unnamed others, presumably the perpetually horny jocks. What with Miss School Spirit coming up in a couple of weeks I suddenly felt like I was in fate's cross-hairs again.

"But tell me the truth. You kinda like it, don't you," she asked, "the attention and going around naked, I mean?"

I shrugged. "I hardly notice the attention anymore. As for going around naked, it's comfortable. I'm comfortable. Isn't that what The Program is all about? Learning to be comfortable in our own skins?"

She nodded as she steered around a corner. "If you say so."

I thought that was a rather cryptic response and wondered briefly what was behind it, wondering if this whole trip was a mistake. The afternoon had not gotten off to a good start. We'd knocked off "Sal's Boutique," more formally known as Salvation Army, and the Good Will store in about five minutes, total. I hadn't held out much hope for them anyway.

The consignment stores and charity thrift shops had seemed more promising, and taken more time with no results. The market was glutted with bridesmaid dresses in colors for which there were no names. I was so sick of taffeta and tulle that I was ready to vomit lace. Fortunately Heather and I agreed that petticoats on me made as much sense as a tutu on a giraffe, while a strapless would require suspenders.

I was getting discouraged. I'd never liked shopping for fancy clothes. My casual wardrobe allowed lightning strikes -- in, grab, pay, and out. Good stuff meant changing rooms, where I always felt trapped and vulnerable, afraid someone would yank the door or curtain open exposing me in my tacky underpants. Then I had to drag stuff on that who knew how many others had tried on before me -- talk about cootie-phobia!

Then, when I got the frock on I had to display myself to the whole shop floor while people gawked and store clerks tsked about me being too tall or too skinny or both and then I had to retreat to the changing room in shame to repeat the whole ugly process.

Mercifully I hadn't had to do that so far. There hadn't been one thing worth trying on.

Her "last place" turned out to be a shop run by the SPCA in a small building on the town's outskirts, sharing parking with the animal shelter. I felt bad, hearing the plaintive mews of the cats inside and "pick me!" barks from desperate dogs in the runs. In outside pens there were enough ponies, sheep, and goats for a petting zoo, even a single lonely llama -- I've read they're herd animals and don't do well alone -- sharing a space with two pot-bellied pigs. No chance of bonding there, I'd say. I hoped the baying of the hounds that greeted the bang of our car doors wasn't an evil omen.

Inside the shop there was a guard dog by the door, a stuffed Snoopy about three feet tall. His head was drooping, so I paused to scratch his ears in an effort to perk him up. The shop itself was small and cramped, jammed with shelves of knick-knacks, toys and kitchen appliances, open bins of purses, neckties, hats, shoes and CDs, mostly pretty good quality stuff. By the looks of their inventory this shop drew donations from a more upscale crowd than Sal's. The clothes racks held aristocrats' seasonal fashion turnovers instead of working-class retirement or mortality remainders.

And speaking of livestock, there were boots and jodhpurs, even some bridles and bits, reins, leashes and collars that might appeal to Mom and Elaine's kinky tastes. I fingered an interesting set of spurs, imagining Mom down on all fours, Elaine on her back wearing the spurs, waving a riding crop. Maybe I should tell 'em about this place -- or would that make me an enabler?

Some of the collars were pretty fancy. Overall, I guess the horsy set had the money to spare on their AKC-registered pets. Too bad there's no AKC for snots, I reflected. It might improve the breed.

Naughty, naughty, The Stick scolded me. Don't judge a book, and yada yada yada. I felt guilty. I'd started out thinking of Heather in that category. I was getting to know her as a person and liking her when she wasn't with her sycophants. She was bright and interesting to talk with, at least on a superficial level -- I still knew nothing about her family -- and I really appreciated all she was doing for me.

She was already flipping through a tall rack of what looked to be very expensive and stylish long gowns, some with glittery tops and semi-bouffant skirts, totally unsuitable for me, of course. As I fingered a long sheath that weighed a ton and seemed to be nothing but sequins she gave a victory cry and pounced. After holding it up a moment, she handed me what looked to be a long length of a sort of velvety fabric. There were no fancy spangles, buttons or bows, not a single sequin, and not enough material to it to fill a bucket.

This was a dress? At least the color was nice, a deep, rich red. Sending me into a changing room she continued looking.

After figuring out which was top and bottom and back and front I shed my shirt and shorts, leaving me in my skin and ratty sneaks. Slipping it over my head I settled it around my waist. The top was like suspenders, only wider. What there was of it draped softly over my shoulders and molded itself to my bashful boobs. The vee of the neckline, if you could call it that, stopped just short of my navel.

I did love the feel of the material, the way it molded itself to my body. The soft, stretchy fabric flowed over my flesh like water. I zipped up what little there was to zip in the back, drawing the lower part closer to my hips. In back my shoulder blades caught the breeze, and it felt like I was bare all the way down to my tail bone.

Once I got it on I looked down at myself, trying to decide if I liked it. With all the upper exposure there wasn't a bra in the world that would work with it, but on me that wasn't an issue. The lines were simple, no fancy ruffles or flourishes or pleats, and the shoulders actually worked well with my swimmers' muscles. From the waist down it was a little loose around my hips, then draped smoothly almost to my ankles. There was a slit up one side so if I took one of my usual long strides it would show my leg to above the knee.

I finally ventured out to get a look at myself in the show-me-from-all-sides mirrors -- you know, those three paneled things angled to display all sides of the victim. Heather took a long, critical look, and broke into a smile, nodding as I self-consciously smoothed the cool material over my butt.

"Wow! It's even better than I expected. You are magnificent!"

The overworked ladies who ran the shop took notice, and smiled and nodded as well.

That made me feel good as I studied myself in the mirrors.

The interesting thing about the dress was that while it hid all the important bits, it exposed parts of me that weren't usually seen -- when I was dressed, that is. I don't have cleavage, only a shallow valley between hills which were exposed almost all the way to my Julie Andrews. The open back ended tantalizingly close to the great divide of my ass, while the slit on the side of the skirt opened as high as my mid-thigh. I felt more exposed than if I were naked.

"No underwear," Heather observed.

"Uh, I don't have any with me," I confessed.

She shook her head. "No, I meant you can't wear any underwear with it, none at all, not even a thong. It fits your bust and your bottom like a second skin, or it will once I get through with it. You don't need underwear anyway. You've proved that at school. It's a bit short, though."

"Oh my." I looked down. My nipples were obviously eager to put in an appearance, trying to drill right through the material. Maybe they'd be more bashful at the dance, at least until Greg took me in his arms.

"It will go well with these, if they'll fit," one of the women who seemed to run the shop suggested, hurrying over with a pair of sandals. They were simple, like the gown, plain but dressy. She knelt in front of me, helped me out of my worn sneakers, and I felt like Cinderella as I balanced, letting her slip them on my feet. The modest heels added only an inch or so to my height.

While she was down there the lady flipped up the hem of the skirt. "There's more than enough here to let it down," she reported.

"Piece of cake," Heather assured me, pinching it in a bit at my butt. "We can let it out down there, take it in about an inch here so it fits a little closer. We don't want wrinkles, after all."

What did she mean "we?" I didn't know the first thing about sewing! Household ecology was an elective on my list for next year.

"And we'll extend the slit up to about here." Heather poked my hip -- very, very high on my hip. "It is a crime to hide legs like yours."

"Here's something simple yet elegant to draw the eye to your décolletage," the shop manager suggested loftily, draping my neck with a silver necklace, the simple pendant nestling between my breasts, cool against my skin. The tear-drop "ruby" it sported glowed like fire against my flesh.

"And there are these matching, dangling earrings, perfect with your lovely long neck." She held one up beside my ear, looking in the mirrors with me. "You'll need to get your ears pierced."

I was probably the only thirteen-year old in the county that hadn't bothered to have two extra holes poked in my head. Even Missy wore discrete little gold studs.

Stand tall! The Stick whispered, so I did, one foot slightly forward like I was posing on the runway at the Oscars, showing my leg half-way up my thigh.

And Heather wanted to extend the slit how high?

Oh my!

It was all so simple, no fancy frills and stuff, no satin and lace. Even the jewelry was subdued. Elegant was the word for it. I assumed the "rubies" were glass. Surely they couldn't be real.

But was this me? This couldn't be me, could it? I was shorts and tees and gangly arms and legs, or sweats and a hoody, scabs on my knees, bare skin, sunburn and freckles.

I was looking at a goddess!

Except for the hair. That brought me down to earth with a thud. That was definitely me, a silly dust mop of blond, streaked by chlorine and sunshine, sticking out wildly in all directions. My hands and feet stuck out, too. My morale sagged even as The Stick insisted I maintain my posture.

I was an over-dressed truffula tree.

"We'll have to do something about your hair," Heather concluded as if she'd read my mind, thoughtfully nibbling on her thumb. "And you'll need a manicure and pedicure."

"But is it me?" I asked. "I mean, I'm just a kid."

"Not any more you aren't," Heather answered. "You are -- what? -- fourteen?"

"Thirteen, for another week or so," I confessed.

"You're a woman, going on six feet, healthy and athletic," she argued. "And gorgeous," she added.

"That dress is you!" the manager bubbled, and somehow the way she said it -- almost worshipfully -- it wasn't like she was trying to make a sale. "As tall and graceful as you are you are a woman, and probably the only woman in two counties who could carry this look off. And I say that knowing who the donor is, who shouldn't have even tried. And don't you dare repeat that to anyone or it might get back to her! It's a small town."

Unfortunately the word was probably already out. Once again I'd drawn a crowd. The shoppers nodded their agreement.

I was still swiveling nervously this way and that. I took a step, my leg flashing through the slit. I turned, loving the feel of the fabric, the way that it moved with me, the way the jewelry and sandals worked to complete the ensemble.

"It's beautiful! But, I can't possibly afford this," I whispered wistfully, turning back to the mirrors, fingering the price tag on the necklace. That alone ate up most of my budget.

"Let me worry about that. They call it a thrift shop for a reason," Heather pointed out dryly.

"You must have that dress! If it's not within your means I'm sure we can make some adjustments," the woman who'd brought the sandals over said.

"Within reason, that is," the other woman, the manager, cautioned, checking the price tag on the dress.

"We'll take it," Heather said before I could open my mouth to protest.

The manager plucked the tags off everything and headed for the cash register, Heather bending her ear while waving me back toward the dressing room. Picking up my sneakers I reluctantly went retreated. I swore I heard the whole shop sigh in disappointment, which was ridiculous, of course.

The dress came off easily. Greg would appreciate that! Not that it would be necessary, considering how accessible I'd be, given what I would not be wearing under it.

On the other hand, it would be a shame to get stains on that material.

I came back out an ugly duckling with the dress draped over my arm, the jewelry and sandals in my hands, and nobody even glanced my way. The woman at the register took everything from me and carefully refolded the dress and bagged it. The jewelry went into a nice velvet box which joined the shoes in a second bag. I was feeling a little dazed, looking down at the receipt as I walked out the door. Snoopy's tongue was hanging out. I'd done some mental arithmetic in the dressing room and the amount on the receipt was only half the total I'd come up with.

"But I ... you haggled them down! You shouldn't have done that!" I whispered to Heather.

"That's all part of the game at that shop. The stock is all donations, the staff is all volunteer, there's almost no overhead, no cost to them. It's almost pure profit. They deliberately set the prices high, expecting to be bargained down. The very rich are even more frugal than us peons and love to think they're getting a bargain as much as we do."

I'd never thought of her as a peon! She was always fashionable. Her family had to be well-off.

"That's why I love thrift shops, especially that one! We should have gone here first," Heather went on, tweeting her car open. "I should have known they'd have just what we needed. It is almost perfect! All we need to do is let out the hem, take a tuck in at the hips and extend the slit. And the sandals and the jewelry! Oh, those are only synthetic rubies, by the way, not all that expensive, and the setting is sterling, not platinum or white gold. I checked. We'll have to pierce your ears. Hardly hurts at all."

As I clicked my seatbelt into place she settled behind the wheel and started the car. "With your carriage, well, Mrs. Van Cleef -- she's the manager -- she's right. No one else could possibly carry it off. You'll show those silly snots. But don't you dare tell anyone I helped you!" She snapped her own safety belt on.

"But I..."

"Not a word! If they think I had anything to do with it I'd never hear the end of it," she explained, carefully backing out.

I wondered what "they" she was referring to, suspecting she meant her entourage. "But you deserve the credit!"

She shook her head. "Don't want it, don't need it, don't deserve it. It's you that makes the dress. We just happened to strike it rich."

"You don't think it's a bit too much?" I asked. "I mean, it seems kinda -- sophisticated -- for me. Maybe something younger..."

She shook her head again. "Like what? A pinafore would look ridiculous on you. You're not a little girl anymore. The fit is perfect, the lines are simple. That's a sign of real quality, by the way. We're just revealing a new, wonderful facet of you. The other girls will be dolled up like Barbies. Some will show more skin, some will have more bling..."

"Bling?"

"Jewelry, most of it cheap, garish costume stuff. Baubles, bangles and beads. They'll have glitter on their cleavage, rhinestones in their hair, paint on their faces, and totter around on heels like they're on stilts," she went on. "You'll blow them out of the water with your class. This is all you, no distracting buttons and bows and ruffles and frills. The red is dark and muted, not garish, lush looking and we'll easily get your hair tamed and give your hands and feet a bit of polish."

I was mulling this all over as we drove home, the sun edging toward the horizon. What would Mom think of it? Would Greg like it? Did I like it?

I thought of not having it and it gave me a pang. Oh yes, I liked it.

"So, you're dressed and accessorized -- oh, I think I have a clutch purse that'll do -- and all in one afternoon," she mused as she turned down my street. "We can pin you up when we get to your house. I'll take it home and by Friday I'll have the alterations finished and then we gild the lily -- hair, short, simple and feminine -- manicure, pedicure, the works. Then on Saturday, minimal makeup."

It sounded like she was outfitting me for a military campaign. Knowing her, maybe she was, but who was the enemy?

All afternoon something had been nibbling at the back of my mind, but we'd been so busy chattering I hadn't had the time to analyze it. We pulled up in front of my house. Mom's car was already in the garage and Elaine's filled the driveway.

I turned to Heather. "You're coming in for dinner, aren't you?"

"Are you sure it's alright?"

"Mom's expecting you. But -- uhm -- do you have to go home tonight?" I asked impulsively.

I rushed on. "I just thought, why don't you stay here tonight, if you could, that is, if you'd like to. I'd love to have you. It's getting dark, and you don't want to drive home in the dark."

After I said that I realized I was really grasping at straws. I wasn't even really thinking. It was one of my crazy impulses, or maybe it was The Stick prodding me. Heather and I had been together all afternoon, talking about this and that, but it felt like she'd been keeping me at arm's length the whole time, talking inconsequentials, verbally deflecting me whenever I tried to get closer to her, when what I wanted most was to draw her into a warm embrace.

And I know what you're thinking, but not that kind of an embrace -- conversationally.

Oh sure, I wouldn't mind jumping her bones, but I just wanted to draw her in and get to know her, and somehow tell her that it would get better.

"Please?" I ventured softly. "We could do our homework together, and just -- talk. Please? You could call your mom."

"She's -- out of town," Heather admitted reluctantly. "So's Daddy."

"You don't want to go home to an empty house, do you? Please stay."

She seemed to think for a long time before she relaxed and nodded, a little warily. "If it's alright with your mom, yeah, I think I'd like that."

"Mom won't have any problem with it. Elaine won't either."

"Elaine?"

"My mom's -- uh -- significant other," I explained grabbing my backpack and the bags as we got out of the car. I hadn't hidden Mom's relationship with Elaine, just never flaunted it around school. "Don't worry, Elaine's cool. She's a doctor -- gynecologist. She took the swabs, after, uh..."

"Oh."

"But there are two house rules," I warned as we headed up the walk.

She paused, looking worried, so I turned back to her, smiling reassuringly. "Rule number one is -- and really applies only to Mom and me and Elaine -- no lying, ever. What we say, we mean, and if we would have to lie, even to be polite, we don't. It is 'I'd rather not say, ' or something like that. But that's for us, we don't hold visitors to it. It's just, well, I want you to know that you can believe what we say."

She thought this over. "I like that. My house could use a rule like that. What's the second rule?"

"This one does apply to everyone." I pointed toward the front door. "Anything that happens in that house, stays in that house."

"Sort of like, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?"

I nodded. "Exactly. Oh, and one other rule, I guess. That makes three. They're all unwritten, of course. The third rule is to have fun. Okay?"

"Oooookay," she drawled, resuming the march to the door. "Really?"

"Really. Now, come on in and meet my moms. Please?"

Being the classy woman she is, Mom welcomed Heather warmly, even though she'd had to listen sympathetically to me grumble about how the nasty "Queen Bee" had greeted me with "truffula tree" in the lunchroom that first day, and the stinging of the rest of the hive. Elaine was just as welcoming, but I noticed how closely she studied Heather, measuring her.

As for Heather, well, she fitted in like she'd been born into the family. I tried to study how she did it, thinking of how self-conscious and tense I was with new people. Heather's attitude was smooth and easy. She was so confident! How did she do it? I wished I could bottle it and then take it out when I needed it.

Mom had dipped into the freezer and produced a good spread. As we sat around the dining table Heather talked easily with my two moms like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was the first time she'd met either of them, but it was as if they were old friends. The conversation was light and superficial, how's school, what are you studying, where are you going to be next year, why'd you become a doctor, how's the real estate business -- that sort of stuff.

The only odd thing was the looks that Mom and Elaine shared from time to time. There was some special secret being shared there. I got the feeling that they'd been planning on telling me something important, maybe something momentous, but that Heather's presence interfered. I was desperate to know what it was, and they wanted me to know, but we'd have to wait.

After supper I had to model the dress and everything, of course, enduring their oo-ing and ah-ing. Mom actually had tears in her eyes. With Elaine it was lust.

Heather borrowed Mom's sewing scissors and some pins. As I stood on a footstool she let the hem out before pinning it to the length she wanted, then pinned the waist in. Her last act was to set a safety pin at my right hip where she wanted the slit to stop. It was -- ahem -- very, very high. I won't say waist high but, well, it was high. Then she lifted the dress off over my head, leaving me nude, and bundled the whole thing away so she could make the changes.

Later, after we had plowed our way through our homework, which was fairly light for a change, we were lounging around in my bedroom. I was still naked, of course. Lying on my back on my bed, one knee up, the other ankle resting on it, I was tossing a rolled up sock in the air, trying to just brush the ceiling with it, catching it in front of my face at the last instant, while she leaned back in my desk chair, idly swinging it back and forth.

"You like your dress?" she asked.

"I love it! It is so beautiful, and it feels so sexy. I can't thank you enough. But what about you? What're you wearing to the dance?" I caught the sock.

It seemed an innocent enough question, but there was a silence. I flipped the sock up again.

"I'm not going."

The sock bounced off my nose as I turned toward her. "What?"

"I'm not going." Her matter-of-fact tone hid volumes.

"Oh!" I didn't know what to say to that. "I'm sorry."

"It's complicated," she explained unhelpfully.

There it was again, the verbal parry deflecting me. Lying on my side now, watching her, I didn't say anything, letting the silence rest there between us, hoping maybe she'd break it. When she finally did it wasn't any help.

"So. Where do I sleep tonight?" She was back behind that veneer of sophistication and false cheer. I had to say this for her -- she wasn't lying, but she sure was good at evasion.

Where would she sleep? What should I say? She could have Carl's room, but that wasn't what I wanted. I didn't like thinking of her all alone in a strange house, but I didn't want to scare her away. I wanted her company. Not necessarily her love, just her company, and to comfort her if she needed it, if she'd accept that.

"Your choice. There's Carl's room, or you can sleep here with me. Just sleep, if that's what you want, I promise!" I finished with a nervous rush, before I realized that was a total tip-off, of course.

Unless... , I thought hopefully, wondering what was tugging at me. It was easy to tell myself that I was sensing a need in her, but was that just an excuse for what I really wanted?

"So, your mom is gay," Heather observed, studying her manicured nails.

Was that a warning flag? She'd never struck me as homophobic. She had to know my reputation, so it couldn't be that or this whole afternoon wouldn't have happened.

"Well, it's not that simple." Somehow I managed to keep volleying back the off-speed questions Heather was lobbing at me. "I mean, well, there's me and my brother Carl, so obviously she's -- uh -- done it with a man. Dad split when I was little, I don't even remember him, but I don't think he left 'cause she was, or is, gay. The only thing I really know about him is that he was tall. Mom says I look like him.

"The only complaint Mom ever had was when there was a problem with child support. But she understood that was 'cause he'd lost his job after he moved away. She never, ever said anything bad about him. It hurts to admit it, but I guess he didn't want anything to do with us, 'cause there's no visitation or anything.

"We've never really talked about the split, or Mom's relationship with Elaine. I was just so happy she'd found someone nothing else mattered. And personally don't think sexuality has to be gay or straight, an either-or kinda thing. Not long ago I was in love with a girl, and we made love, a little. I still am in love with her, actually, but it's not the way it was. She decided she doesn't swing that way.

"Now I'm in love with Greg. I think Mom was in love with my father. I hope so, and then something changed. Then she fell in love with Elaine, at first sight. It was kinda romantic. Maybe it's more a matter of who you fall in love with," I concluded.

"What about sex?" she asked.

She was asking me? She's seventeen and I'm not even fourteen and she's asking me? How is it I feel so much older? But then I realized, in matters of culture and couture she was my senior, but in matters erotic I had the advantage of a lot of experience. What a team we could be!

"What about it? I like it, if that's what you mean, with a boy or a girl, if it's the right boy or girl, the right time, the right place,. But I have to care about who I'm with. Not necessary be deeply in love, but really care," I explained, thinking of John, who I did really care about, and Mike, who I didn't as much. In some ways I still regretted that afternoon with him and Missy. "Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah."

That's all she said, leaving me hanging yet again.

"So. Where would you like to sleep?" I asked her.

"Can I take a bath?"

Another curve ball, but one I could read hope into.

"Sure. Let me get you towels and a washcloth." I tried not to seem too eager as I rolled off the bed.

After I gave them to her she went off to the bathroom, leaving me in a quandary. The bath was a hopeful sign, but she's also one of those very clean people. She'd showered after cheerleading practice. Maybe she takes a bath every night before bed, regardless.

Unsure what to do I dug into my stock of tee shirts and found the biggest one I had. On her it would do as a nightshirt, and then some. After I folded the covers back on my bed, so it was open and welcoming, I spread the tee shirt out for her. From there I went and opened the door to Carl's room, folded down the covers, and turned on the bedside light.

Then I went downstairs to finish cleaning things up. Mom and Elaine had already retired, I guess you could say, though it depends on how you define "retired." They like to get to bed early. As I passed their door I heard Mom's soft soprano harmonizing nicely with Elaine's alto. Elaine likes doing Mom doggy style with a strap-on, talking dirty into her ear, reaching around her to play with the breasts that had nursed me and toy with her clit at the same time. The image made me tingle.

I was just finishing downstairs, getting the dishwasher started, when I heard the tub draining. I got to the top of the stairs just as Heather headed down the hall away from me. The towel wrapped around her was a bit short, showing the bottom curve of her firm cheeks. Her hair was still pinned up, a few wet tendrils had escaped and curled sinuously around the back of her neck. She has a beautiful neck. I wanted to kiss it and lick it, and her butt, too, I confess.

I deliberately didn't wait to see whether she went to Carl's room or mine as I slipped into the bathroom.

Her clothes were neatly folded on the hamper lid, topped with her bra. Her nicely folded soft, lacey panties were the icing on the cake. I couldn't resist picking them up and pressing the crotch to my face, taking in a deep, deep breath of her warm scent, my own petals softening from the aroma.

When I went to put them back I first tried to fold them just as she'd left them, then changed my mind, leaving them in an untidy heap so she'd know I'd touched them. A lie can be a lie even if it's not spoken. Then I noticed the medicine cabinet door was ajar when I knew it hadn't been.

Lots of secrets, still, but no lies. Just like me, I think she wanted me to know she'd snooped. I gently closed it, so if she noticed she'd know that I'd noticed.

After my usual quick shower, and a thorough brushing of my teeth, I padded back to my bedroom, still drying my hair with a towel, trying not to skip eagerly. I was juicing optimistically, I told myself, rather than in anticipation.

The door to Carl's room was still open, the light on and -- sigh of relief -- the bed was still empty. My heart, and something else, gave a little hopeful leap and I went in to turn the light out. But I left the door open and the bed turned down, just in case she changed her mind.

Heather was in my bed, of course, all the way over on the far side, her damp towel draped over the back of my desk chair. I added mine to it, noticing that the tee shirt was on my desk, neatly folded. She was on her back, her breasts appetizing mounds beneath the sheet she was clutching to her chin. She'd unpinned hair and it formed a halo on her pillow.

"Hi," I greeted her shyly, closing the door behind me.

"Hi. I wasn't sure whether than shirt was for me..."

"It was. You want it?"

She thought, then gave a nervous little shake of her head. "I guess not," she whispered. It was so rare to see her suddenly shy and uncertain. I was touched.

Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, I didn't ask her if she was sure. I turned my bedside light on, turned off the overhead, and slipped under the covers beside her, the sheet cool on my tits, careful not to brush against her, intensely aware of her warmth, so close to me, and her sweet bath smells. Reaching out on my side of the bed I clicked off the light, and we lay there together in the dark, close but not touching.

I could hear her breathing.

I couldn't help remembering how Missy and I used to share our secrets, and our love, here, just the two of us together in the dark. It seemed so long ago.

I felt the covers shift a little, sensed Heather hesitantly relaxing, letting go of her death grip on the sheet, drawing her arms down, carefully avoiding any chance of touching me, probably clasping her hands over her tummy, sighing nervously. I took a deep relaxing breath myself even as I trembled with desire.

"Nobody asked me," Heather whispered.

I felt a pang, realizing she'd answered the question I'd been afraid to ask earlier, about the dance. Why wouldn't someone ask her? I wanted to ask, but that's me, always wanting to know why, until the only answer left is "because," leaving me frustrated and the person I asked embarrassed. I didn't want to do that to her.

"I'm sorry," I responded. It meant more than she could know, and seemed so feeble.

"Go to sleep." That was in her no-nonsense, sophisticated voice, the shutters between us closing again. She knew I wanted to ask another question that she didn't want to answer, a "Why?" that would hurt too much.

"Good night," I whispered softly, letting the silly, comforting line Mom had used when I was little play itself out in my mind; sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite.

Of course I didn't go to sleep, and from her breathing she wasn't having a good night. For a long time we lay there, together, silent, a few tense inches apart, side by side, in the dark, the neighbors' lights shining through the trees, casting dancing shadows on the ceiling.

Then I felt the sheet shift a little again, a movement, and the warm back of her hand brushed against the back of mine, a timid excursion. It was a simple thing for me to gently and carefully slide my palm over her palm and interlace our fingers, an electric current flowing between us. Her fingers tightened, and for a moment she gripped me so tightly it hurt. It felt as if she were clinging to a life preserver.

"What's it like to make love to a woman?" she asked softly, her grasp relaxing a little.

Another question out of left field. I thought for a moment. The truth? Of course, The Stick said. That's the rule.

"Well, it depends, on the mood, the occasion, and the woman," I answered.

Then I decided to tell an even bigger truth, take a bigger risk. "Right now, with the woman I'm with, well, I'd like it to be soft, and warm, and gentle, and sweet, and caring. So sweet and caring and good that she forgets everything else. I'd like to make love with that woman, with her, not to her, because I find her beautiful and sexy, and because I care for her, I really, really care for her.

"But I won't unless she's sure she really wants me to."

There was a long, breathless silence.

"I haven't let a boy touch me since..." She couldn't finish the thought, and didn't need to.

God! It had to have been a year. A whole year without touching, except maybe her parents, and what if they weren't the touchy-feely type?

"Do you think you, we... ?"

She couldn't bring herself to finish that question, I guess. Oh yes, very, very much, I thought, I do want to. But I didn't dare say that, afraid it might scare her away, at the same time questioning my own motives.

I had reasons I thought were good -- she was hurting, and needed to know, that after all that had happened to her, that she was still a good, beautiful, desirable person.

But she was terribly vulnerable, and I had to admit to myself that my own desires were driving me, too, my desire to be warm and close with this beautiful person, feel her soft warm body against mine, feel those wonderful waves of pleasure rushing through me.

"Could you just hold me?" There was a catch to her voice. "Would you? I just want to be held."

"Of course I can, and will." I rolled so I could reach her, across her, my hand on her shoulder to encourage her to roll toward me, so we were on our sides, face to face. I slid my other arm under her head to cushion it, and we came together, slowly, delicately, a little at a time, her arm reaching around me. My lips brushed her cheek with a butterfly kiss before we were snuggling closer, ear to ear. Our naked breasts touched, my bashful AAs introducing themselves to her lovely, generous Cs, warmth and softness to warmth and softness.

From her shoulder I slid my hand down the lush curve of her body, so much more womanly than mine, to her waist -- and oh, her skin, her body was so silky! Our feet tangled, my bony knees bumping her more rounded ones as we sorted out whose legs went where, right over left and left over right, squirming our hips closer together, but carefully not letting the sensitive parts touch.

I didn't mind, not really. I was just happy she was willing to turn to me for comfort. My heart ached for her. After a moment I drew my head back so I could look into her eyes. "Okay?" I asked.

She looked scared, but nodded, and a tear trickled down her cheek, and I drew her head to my shoulder so I could snuggle my cheek to hers again. I felt her tremble as she began to cry, and I held her close, and I cried with her, and for her, and we drew closer and closer together, physically and emotionally, both my arms around her so I could envelop her, shield her from the night and all her fears. One of her arms was tucked between us and I think maybe she was sucking her thumb, or maybe chewing on it to muffle her sobs.

The other arm was over me, around me, clinging to me, her body trembling against mine. I stroked her head, feeling the soft silkiness of her hair, the dampness from her bath, her skin soft and cool and moist against mine. Her tears flowed hot and wet where her face was buried in the valley between my shoulder and my neck. Her hair smelled faintly of bubble bath, and soap, and I wanted to taste her, to lick her tears away, but I didn't. I just held her close

I don't know how long she cried. It didn't matter.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, sniffling.

"It's all right," I assured her, pulling away to reach the tissues so she could blot her cheeks. "It's all right," I repeated, drying my own tears.

"Is it?" she asked, drawing away, looking at me hesitantly before she dipped her head and daintily blew her nose.

"Yes, of course it is," I answered, taking the used tissues and dropping them on the floor, not about to lose touch with her, handing another for her to cling to.

"Yes, it is all right. I can't tell you how much or how often I've cried in my mother's arms."

"But you're not my mother," she pointed out. "You're another girl."

"Why should that matter?" I asked, brushing a strand of hair away from her eye. "I care. That's all that matters. I care."

Her lips were right there, so close, full and ripe, slightly parted, and I just couldn't resist it, and gently, every so gently, I kissed them, my hand hovering behind her, not on her, so she could draw away if she wanted. For a moment she almost did, but then she came back, hesitantly kissing me back. When she didn't draw away, I drew her closer, again feeling her satin skin against mine, her rounder, softer breasts against my gentle hills again, her nipples pebbles against mine, and her lips warm and alive against mine. She let the kiss grow deeper, warmer, and my tongue timidly ventured out to brush her lips.

When she hesitantly broke the kiss and drew away, I was afraid that I'd upset her.

She dipped her head, whispered into my chest. "I -- uh -- used your toothbrush. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," I answered, suppressing a soft giggle, relieved when she giggled, too. "I don't mind at all."

The next kiss was hungrier, more needy, her tongue tip and mine doing a delicate dance, and she snuggled more closely against me, our legs tangling, tummy against tummy now, and she squirmed, and I squirmed, we both squirmed, just to feel how wonderful it was to be close, so close to another person, warm and soothing, with nothing between us at all.

Still kissing we tasted each other's tastes, smelled each other's smells, shared each other's sighs and breaths, the barriers slowly dissolving until we parted so we could look deeply into each other's eyes.

"I don't know how," she whispered. "What do I do?"

"Only what you want to do. Whatever you're comfortable doing. This, for example," I said, kissing her gently.

"And this." The backs of my fingers stroked her cheek, my palm her ear, the side of her neck, her shoulder, her back.

"And this," and I pressed more closely to her, cuddling my whole body against hers, skin to skin.

"And maybe this." I caressed her beautifully rounded bottom, my fingers tickling the crack, drawing us even closer together down there.

"And this." I raised my leg between hers to press against her pussy, feeling the tickling of her soft curls, the warm, humid softness of her pussy against my thigh.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Yes," I sighed as her thigh pressed against my pussy, her hand cupping my ass. I let my hips move against her leg, my lips brushing her lips as I answered, "Oh yes."

"Oh, yes!" she agreed, her breath warm on my face, letting her hips move, rubbing her crotch against my thigh, our mouths again mingling, our lips brushing with every syllable. "Oh, it feels so good. You feel so good."

"Yes," I agreed as I enjoyed the way her hand caressed my ass. "So do you. It is good, so good."

"I didn't know it could feel so good."

It was like a whole new experience, sharing her wonder. I didn't rush her, letting her set the pace, felt my own arousal climbing as her motions slowly became stronger, more urgent. It was like she was shedding her reserve in layers, exposing more and more and more of her inner self, her inner passion. Her breath was hot as her tongue traced the curves of my ear, and I returned the favor, and then she pulled back and her lips found mine, our mouths open wide, so wide, soft cries mingling, tongues and teeth tangling, until we had to break to breathe, gasping in wonder.

Our hips were working, our thighs, our pussies painting each other's flesh with scented seepings.

"Oh god!" she gasped. "Oh my god. OH OH OH OH."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," I responded to my own wonderful, surging orgasm, feeling her hot juices soaking my thigh as I flooded hers with mine and we strained and strained and strained against each other, crushing our bodies together until the crests rolled on past us, leaving us gasping, limply tangled together, once again our mouths mingling in a series of wet, sloppy kisses.

She pulled away. "I didn't know ... What have I... ?"

"Shshshsh," I soothed her, stroking her satin flesh, kissing and kissing and kissing her, tenderly, sweetly, reassuring her, sensing her exhaustion and relaxation. For the first time in who knew how long she was really relaxing. "It's all right. It's good. Sleep now," I whispered, relaxing myself. "Sleep."

And we did sleep, for a while, no longer alone, in each other's arms, in the dark, until she woke me from my own bad dream -- the one I'd been having ever since -- you know -- with her own whimpers and thrashings. Reaching back I fumbled and got the soft bedside light on to drive away the dark demons. I didn't give her time for her nightmare to get a grip on her, or mine on me. Instead I stroked her and held her, drew her head down to my bosom, insisted she take my nipple, which she did. I don't know if she was fully awake or not, but she began to nurse from me, and I held her close and tight as she set me aflame, until she relaxed again, leaving my nipple sore and swollen. I drew back, eased her onto her back.

The sheet was down to her waist after all our thrashing. I lifted myself on one elbow to look down on her, admire her. Gravity spread her breasts, her nipples were dark and appetizing in the soft light, her curves lush and feminine, her skin like velvet as I caressed her, then moved my hand up to cup the warm mound of one breast, my thumb tweaking her already alert nipple. She caught my wrist, and I thought she was going to move my hand away, but she didn't. Instead she pressed it even more firmly to her bosom.

"You are so beautiful," I whispered. "I could just eat you all up!"

She looked fearful, until I lowered my lips to hers and kissed her gently, with no tongue, her response muted, too, but warm.

"Eat you up," I repeated, looking deep into her eyes, seeing curiosity and trust replacing uncertainty and doubt. "Eat you up," I repeated, and saw what I hoped was a timid nod, her fingers touching my cheek.

So I went to her breasts to gently suckle at each of her firm, rubbery tits in turn, my hand curling around the wonderful fullness and softness of her mounds. She combed her fingers through my tangled hair, even drew my head harder to her breast as she lifted it to me, a free will offering that I gratefully accepted. She sighed her pleasure to the ceiling as I left both tits wet and shining and erect.

When I began to kiss and lick my way further down her torso she gasped but didn't try to stop me, slowly relaxing her grip on my head, letting it go even though she had to know where I was headed with this. As my tongue was plumbing the depths of the sweet socket of her navel I slid my hand down to comb my fingers through her soft bush. She raised her hands to her head, her fingers tugging through her hair, surrendering the most intimate recesses of her body to my attentions.

I scraped the gentle swell of her tummy with my teeth, making her belly muscles jump. Before tracing a tantalizing line further down her body with my tongue I let the tips of my fingers slip beneath the sheet, testing the valley where her thighs joined her body, her legs tight together. For a moment she hesitated, then with a sigh let them open just enough for me to feel the upper edge of her soft, moist folds.

Then came the awkward time, the moment when I turned and squirmed around on the bed so we were head to toe -- no, tell it like it is, no lies no equivocation -- head to crotch. I was pushing the covers down and away so she was completely exposed, totally revealed in all her beauty. For a moment her fingers cupped her sex protectively, then shyly she drew her hand away, revealing her last secrets, exposing herself completely to me.

The sight of her was enough to make the breath catch in my throat. Her breasts were full and round, her nipples stiff and aroused. She was fit, but not muscular, a nice adipose layer, a gently rounded tummy that dipped to a soft nest of curls. Her thighs were beautifully rounded, smooth as satin, her legs graceful and strong. But it was that treasure between her thighs that made my mouth water and my heart race. I was afraid she'd reject my advance, but I just had to.

To my relief it took only a gentle touch and her legs hesitantly parted more for me, and I nosed into the soft, fragrant curls, smelling her rich musk, her fresh arousal, before letting my tongue seek between the roundness of her outer lips to taste the slippery ruffles bashfully peeping from between them. She was sweet, and tangy, very slippery, full of flavor and ripe with her unique, luscious scent, the same scent I'd gotten a faint hint of from her panties.

Like gates swinging open to reveal a secret garden her thighs opened wider. She was becoming a more willing, active participant, whimpering softly from my delicate explorations. When I hesitantly raised my leg, hoping she'd accept my invitation to the dance, she shyly guided my knee over her head, my pussy blossoming above her, open to her upward gaze. She steadied me, her hands on my hips, bracing me away from her face. For a long, tantalizing, incredibly exciting moment I felt her hot breath on my crotch as she studied the landscape above her, knowing she was contemplating that last, scary step, to take her first actual taste of another girl.

She fingered me delicately. I held my own breath, even as my tongue continued to slither along her petals, tantalizing the opening to her channel, building her arousal. When I let my tongue tip tease the nose of her kitty she gasped, and at last she lifted her head, her tongue timidly tasting my seepings, not yet venturing beyond the slit that concealed my most sensitive secrets. Then, more confidently, more eagerly, she ventured further, one hand cupping first my hip, then my buttock, drawing me slowly down on her so she didn't have to hold her head up, the fingers of her other hand parting the gates to my paradise.

I could only draw the conclusion that she didn't find my taste too revolting and my warm affection for her swelled within me, along with my inner tissues.

At last she licked my moist gash, her tongue beginning its exploration of my inner folds, tasting me, really tasting me, the last of her reservations laid to rest as my own oral ministrations stirred her lust, further encouraging her. Every swipe of her hot tongue brought a fresh wave of juices to her mouth, much to my own enjoyment, while her cunt flooded, filled my mouth with her nectar. Her last fears gone, she wriggled her tongue as deeply into my cunt as she could reach, her nose buried against my ass. She licked along the inner folds far enough back to lap briefly at my anus before retreating to safer terrain. At the other end of her safari she found the pearl of my clitoris, and I let her know my pleasure with sighs and whimpers as her lips nibbled at the sensitive little berry. She was doing just fine, her instincts making any instruction from me totally unnecessary.

Together we abandoned ourselves to each other's pleasure, and our own, drinking deep, deep, deep of the wonderful flows our bodies released. Her hips lifted toward my working mouth, rolled almost as if trying to buck me off, but I rode her and rode with her, licking deep in her hole then sucking and tonguing her clit, my hands clutching her butt, my fingers prying between her buttocks seeking, finding the delicate pucker of her anus, tickling and teasing that rosebud until her thighs clamped convulsively around my head, her cunt clenching, her wails smothered in my gushing crotch. My own orgasm flooded through me -- hot, sweet, exhausting waves that lasted for ever so long, but, as always, never as long as I'd wish, her own cunt contracting rhythmically with her orgasm.

Finally, exhausted, we went limp, and I buried my whole face in her steaming pussy, drowning myself in her rich aroma before twisting to plant tender kisses on her hairy labia, the sensitive insides of her thighs, the lower reaches of her tummy. She was breathing hard and hot in my crotch, and I felt the aftershocks still rippling through her abdomen, even as mine slowly faded away.

In the end it was all I could do to get untangled and turn myself around so we were again face to face. I reached down to draw the sheet up over us both, over our heads, creating a soft, protective shelter away from the world. Then I wrapped her in my arms, drew her close, and this time I did lick her face, her cheeks, her lips, tasting my own juices mingled with the salt of her tears as she tasted her juices on me, and my tears, until we slept again, in each other's arms, our nightmares banished at least for the rest of this night.



-------

Chapter 20


I don't know what it is, but just the sight of Greg makes my toes curl, my heart do flip-flops, certain other parts of me go all warm and runny, and suddenly all's right in the world. Maybe it's 'cause he's tall, blond and gorgeous with deep blue eyes, fucks like a bunny, is smart, and kind, and willing to put up with my sexually liberated adventures.

Or maybe it's just -- what do they call 'em? -- pheromones.

It was Wednesday, so there I was, after my last class, looking at him from the doorway of the art studio, there to pose with him for Kathy. But all I really wanted to do was to jump him, even though his post-swim deposit was still seeping out of me. It's a good thing I carry a towel so I don't leave a gooey mess wherever I sit.

He and Kathy were talking and, in case you have any real doubts about which way I tilt sexually, well, at first I only had eyes for him, at least until Kathy caught sight of me and bathed me in that wonderful warm, welcoming smile of hers. Oh gosh! My favorite two squeezes looked at me in ways that left no doubt they were as happy to see me as I was to see them.

Dumping my backpack, I wrapped myself around Greg for a tongue tangling smooch. Not one to miss a chance, his hands grabbed my naked bottom and he lifted me so I could wrap my legs around him.

He's so strong!

Kathy was surprised. "Dee! You're naked again. I thought I saw you wearing clothes this morning."

Breaking the kiss, I blushed. "Yeah, you did. Sorry I'm late, I had to see Mrs. Devers."

"You're not in trouble, are you?" she asked as Greg let me down so I could give her an equally passionate hug and kiss, only her I didn't climb like a monkey would a tree, even though she was probably almost as strong as Greg.

"No. It was Program committee business. She wants to meet with me Friday, and I've got something to do after that, so I won't be able to pose."

The meet with Devers was perfect camouflage for me and Heather to be together so she could take me for my makeover afterwards.

"Dee's naked 'cause at lunch she had to give a table of sophomores an anatomy lesson," Greg explained, starting to undress, so I helped Kathy get naked, running her tee-shirt up her trim torso and off over her head, wishing my hair would just fall into place like her short, soft brown locks did.

"What is it about sophomore boys?" I asked, giving her lovely boobs with their perky brown nipples a bit of attention.

"They're sophomoric?" Kathy asked, enjoying my tit play as she unfastened the waist of her jeans and skinned them down her long legs, sitting back on her high stool to kick free of them. She'd gone commando so my fingers got to explore her smooth pussy. She appreciatively spread her legs wider. "What were they doing?"

"Drooling over the latest tabloid pics of some celeb a paparazzi caught topless while on her honeymoon." I stroked Kathy's slit gently before turning back to Greg to run my fingers over his chest. "That's such an invasion of privacy! So I stripped to ask 'em what she's got that I haven't."

"Bigger boobs?" Greg suggested, giving my right tit a pinch that snapped it to attention. My left demanded equal time, which he happily provided, while I fondled his prick, rapidly changing it from rubbery to hard as it expanded.

"Probably silicone," I griped. "These may not be much, but they're all mine. Anyway, I showed them how more than a mouthful goes to waste. How do you want us?"

"On the dais, Greg standing, you on your knees."

"Yum!" I knelt at Greg's feet, taking a nip at one of his nipples on the way down. "Anyway, I stripped and went around the table, giving each of them a taste. They seemed to like it. I know I did."

"And how did they taste?" Greg asked.

"Well, they were quite thorough, if that's what you mean."

"You know that's not what I mean," he teased. He knows I never met a cock I wouldn't lick -- well, with a certain exception, that is, but we won't go there, okay?

I giggled and made a face up at him, fingering his dick. "Well, it left some of 'em horny so I kinda had to help relieve the pressure, you might say. Besides, I was hungry. I didn't eat much lunch."

I gave his boner a lick. "But none of 'em tasted as good as you do."

"Go for it, girl." Kathy lifted the damp cloth off her latest work. "I got this far using the photos. I need you live and up-close for the final touches."

I happily slid Greg's growing cock along my tongue toward the back of my mouth.

What Greg didn't know was that listening to the Lunch Bunch tearing into Heather had ruined my appetite. I didn't dare try to defend her. If anyone found out I'd been consorting with the enemy, or she with me, the fit would hit the shan, as we say in my family. The Bee Hive would be on their queen like hyenas on a dead zebra. My bunch would only put me in the stocks and pelt me with school lunch vegetables. Hyenas might be preferable.

Anyway, I'd finally shut the Bunch up by telling 'em we were starting to sound as nasty as the Bee Hive. That got results and left me smelling like a rose.

"Hold it just like that," Kathy said. I had Greg's dick half way to paradise. Closing my lips around his meat I steadied myself, my hands on his naked pelvis, thumbs teasing his bush. His fingers tightened in my hair and I heard him groan.

Have I mentioned that posing is hard work? We had to hold our pose for it seemed like forever, which wasn't easy. With this one, as it went on we both got hornier, while I got hungrier. My mouth filled with saliva, but I had to be careful or a careless swallow might set him off. Then the only thing to do would be to wipe off my chin and revive his hard on. That might take only a few minutes -- being the great athlete he is Greg recovers fast -- but Kathy hates interruptions.

"Tip your head back a bit, Greg. Try to look hornier."

"No problemo! You okay?" he asked me.

I bobbed my head, his cock riding with me like the lever on some old machine. "Yeff."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Kathy scolded.

I teased Greg by tonguing his dick and sucking gently, wringing another groan out of him. Then Kathy came over for a little touchy-feely, her fingers brushing my lips where they were wrapped around Greg's prick. Greg's cock gave a lurch and his hips tried to push forward but I held him off. My eyes were only inches from the soft strawberry blond puff of his bush. I saw her reach under him and I figured she was fingering his balls and braced myself for an eruption. She abandoned that before I got more than a fresh shot of pre-come on my tongue. That left me fighting the urge to swallow a flood of saliva and juice along with Greg's cock. Somehow we managed to rein ourselves in as she went back to her clay.

This was wonderful torture and I wondered how long we'd be able to hold out.

"Keep your hands up on Greg, please, Dee."

Darn! I'd tried to slip in a little pussy diddle but didn't get away with it. I was dripping on the dais.

"Put just the tips of your thumbs and index fingers back on the base of his cock. That's right. Now with the your palms flat against him, spread your fingers a bit," Kathy ordered. "That's great!"

When she's working, and inspired, she gets kinda fussy, but she is appreciative. I flexed my fingers on Greg's gut like I was playing the piano and hummed around his cock. He whimpered.

"Ohhh yeah!" Kathy sighed almost orgasmically. I got the feeling she and her clay were getting more action than me and Greg. Then Greg's fingers massaged my scalp.

Posing also left my mind free to wander. I began worrying about Heather's lack of a date. It wasn't just that she'd be stuck home alone Saturday night. If she wasn't at the dance her social status would probably go in the toilet. Okay, she was a snot, but I'd learned that on the inside she was decent but damaged goods; insecure and down on herself after what the Worm had done to her. She needed help.

"Could you perk him up a bit, please, Dee? He's going soft."

"Sorry," I mumbled around Greg. A moment of slurping was enough to distract me from Heather and revive Greg.

"Not too much!" she cautioned.

Jeeze Louise! I had to keep him hard, but if I overdid it I'd wind up with a mouthful of come. Does the expression "between a rock and a hard place" fit here?

Greg moaned.

Then I thought about Kathy and wondered if she was going to the dance. I'd been her replacement lover since Stephanie had gone off to Curtis. Kathy's straight lez, if that isn't an oxymoron. She's sweet and bright, but the dating pool for her was limited, and if you've been paying attention, you know I love her almost as much as I love Greg, and I think she loves me.

What if she asked me to the dance? What if I asked her? The idea appealed to me, but would Greg go for that?

Shit! That idea made me hornier than ever!

Then my nose began to itch -- on the inside! I screwed up my face, trying somehow to scratch it, but Kathy sighed unhappily, so I had to stop.

The itch got worse. I felt a sneeze coming on.

Shit! How could I sneeze with a mouthful of cock? What if I bit down on the "choo?" Double shit.

I sniffed. I snorted, but it only made it worse.

"I'm almost done, Dee."

I inhaled a long, gooey, really disgusting schnorfle, if that's a word. It would have been "AaaaaAAAAH!" if my mouth hadn't been full.

"Hold it!" Kathy ordered.

Let me tell you, it is really hard to "AAAAaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHHH!" with a mouth full of hard cock! As for holding it...

"Don't move!"

My head was about to explode! The fire in my snoot was so hot I thought my face was going to fall off. If Greg knew what a struggle I was waging he sure had a lot of faith in me, 'cause he didn't retreat.

"Okay, you can relax now."

Whoooosh! I yanked my head away just before I exploded like a volcano, two, three times, my ears ringing from the blasts. If he'd still been between my jaws he would have been sliced like a salami!

"Gesundheit!" someone said.

Was that Mom? My eyes were watering so much I could hardly see.

"Bless you!" someone else joined in, and I knew that was Elaine! Must be later than I thought. They were meeting me here after school for something important, but at that moment I really didn't care.

"Hi, Mrs. Walker, hi Dr. Smathers," Kathy greeted my two moms cheerily, totally unfazed by their appearance, my nasal eruptions, and the fact that they'd found me kneeling with my lips wrapped around Greg's hard on.

I was too horny to even blow my nose. Falling backwards off the dais I grabbed Greg by the hips on the way, yanking him down between my spread legs. With his eager cooperation his well lubed cock executed a high-speed docking maneuver in my swampy cunt with a sort of farty slurrrrp!

"Don't let us interrupt," Mom commented as Greg began to pound me like a pile driver -- or is that more of an anal attack?

No matter. We were rutting like animals while everyone watched. God knows, Kathy had captured us on film and canvas doing it, but this was in front of Mom and Elaine. God I loved it! I am such a PERV!

"I'm sure they'll only be a minute," Kathy assured them. "She's had his cock in her mouth for the last forty-five minutes. Maybe I should have given 'em a break a little sooner."

Ya think? Had it really been that long? My, how time flies when you're having fun! The itch in my nose had been blown to fragments by my sneeze, but the itch in my cunt had developed to near terminal levels. Greg, dealing with his own over-stimulation. proceeded to vigorously scratch all carnal itches, G-spot and clit, pecker and prostate -- drive, drive, drive, right to the edge, the edge, the edge, until I was sooooo close!

Then his rude finger found my asshole and penetrated that muscular sphincter, and that set my pussy off, KA-ZOWIE-EE-EE-EE-EE-EE! Greg's dick convulsed -- spurt, spurt, spurt, spurt, spurt. My cunt welcomed his hot cream like the pussy it was -- slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp -- and I sucked on his neck as I tried to squeeze his entire body inside me through any and all available openings as the world sort of faded away in a rainbow of colors.

When I came to my moms and Kathy were looking fondly down on me as I lay pinned under Greg.

"Hi, Mom. Hi Elaine," I greeted them giddily.

"Don't get up on our account," Mom responded dryly.

"OOoookay," I agreed, happily kneading Greg's buns, enjoying the afterglow, his cock, still inside me, reluctantly shriveling.

"I thought you're supposed to be posing," Elaine asked with a smirk.

"We did," I answered dreamily. "The pay sucks, but the fringe benefits are great."

"Maybe I'll take up modeling," Elaine mused. "I never knew it could be such fun."

If she did I didn't think she'd model with a guy. She swung more Kathy's way. Maybe she and Mom -- oooo, that was an exciting thought! I wondered if I could join in, or at least watch.

"I'm sorry," Kathy apologized. "I didn't know you were coming. Only you weren't coming, while they were ... oh dear, I'm babbling, aren't I?"

Mom laughed. "Don't apologize, Kathy. I knew perfectly well what she was up to during these afternoons with you. I like this a lot, by the way." She was admiring Kathy's work.

"Thanks."

"My moms know me, they're cool." I reluctantly let Greg ease up off me with a schlupping sound He was blushing and dripping as he reached down to help me up. He also had a hickey the size of Kilimanjaro on his neck. His sister was sure to tease him about that.

I suddenly remembered my manners. "Greg, do you remember Dr. Smathers?"

"Of course." Without thinking, he stuck his gooey hand out. Before he could yank it back Elaine took it to shake it, while he turned bright red and tried to apologize.

"I've had worse stuff on my hands," Elaine assured him. "Remember, I'm a gynecologist."

"There's a sink over there, and towels," Kathy pointed out. "I've asked for a shower in here, but doubt I'll get it before I graduate."

While it was just Greg and me cleaning each other up I asked him what he thought about Kathy going to the dance with us.

"A threesome? Sounds kinky."

I confess. I've totally corrupted him.

"Could be," I agreed suggestively, giving him a surreptitious fondling. We were still naked and I loved playing with him.

"Do you want to ask her, or should I?" he asked.

The thought of going into the dance in that gorgeous dress with a handsome lover on one arm, a beautiful one on the other, had my innards doing flips.

"You ask. That way she'll know you're okay with it."

"Tomorrow," he agreed, "when I can get her alone."

After we dressed Kathy headed off in her car while Greg and I cuddled in the back seat of Mom's car with Elaine riding shotgun. I was dying to know where we were going but didn't want to ask until after we let Greg out at his place.

"Drindy says I need to know what color your dress is so I can get you a corsage. She wants to see you in it, too."

"I'm dying to see it," Elaine put in from the front seat.

"You'll both have to wait," I answered primly, enjoying the suspense. "It's a surprise."

"It's red," Mom put in. "It is dark red. It is gorgeous, and very, very sexy," she said as we pulled up in front of Greg's house. "I'd suggest a white wrist corsage."

"Thanks, Mrs. Walker. See you tomorrow, Dee."

I grabbed him for a kiss. "See you," I assured him after a brief spit-swap. He and Drindy lived in a nice ranch house in a newer section of town. I'd visited with them, of course, had dinner there. His folks were real nice and seemed to like me, but drew the line at letting me stay the night. They're kinda traditional in that way.

"Where are we going?" I asked Mom when we pulled away.

"Elaine's house," Mom answered. "It's not far."

"Elaine's house? What happened to her apartment?"

"I moved," Elaine answered.

"You moved? What? When? Where?" I was -- what's that word I just learned? -- gobsmacked. I was gobsmacked. For as long as I'd known her she'd had a nice cozy two bedroom apartment conveniently near her office.

All of a sudden I got -- what? Maybe a little nervous? A little excited? A lot of both? Something was up, alright, something that explained the shared looks at dinner last night, the car sharing during the day. It all came together in my mind with a mighty crash and suddenly I wasn't sure how I felt about it.

"Here," Mom announced, pulling into the driveway of a suburban split level. It was huge.

"I hope you got the commission, Mom," I blurted out. Mercifully, they both laughed.

"I made sure she did," Elaine answered. "Come on, let me show you around."

I was gaping as I got out and followed them up to the door. The plantings were gorgeous, the lawn like a putting green. It was the height of suburban propriety, with white siding, black shutters flanking the windows, a big picture window looking out on the street. The attached garage was big enough for two cars. The opposite end was the split-level, as big as Mom's and my whole house -- bigger.

Elaine let us in and I was in a daze as I followed them around.

"Well, what do you think?" Elaine asked when we were back in the living room.

It was all a blur to me. I was trying to get my mind around the fact that Elaine owned this. It had four bedrooms, and four and a half baths -- counting the one out in the pool-house, that is.

Yeah it had a pool. A big one. I knew she liked to swim, so that didn't bother me.

But I could think of only one reason she'd buy a place with four bedrooms. I wasn't stupid. I knew perfectly well what was going down. I just wasn't sure how to deal with it. It was my fondest hope for Mom, but...

"Anyone need a snack? Something to drink?" Elaine asked cheerily as Mom took my hand and guided me around a coffee table to sit with her on a really comfortable sofa. It was long enough to hold a bowling alley.

"Lemonade?" I asked hopefully. My mouth was dry.

Mom requested some wine, which didn't surprise me. I could tell she was real nervous.

This room alone was as big as our living room and dining room put together. The walls were an off-white, the furniture was elegant and comfortable, the pictures on the wall tasteful. I suspected it was quality stuff. There was even a real fireplace at one end of the room, and a fake fur throw in front of it that was positively seductive.

But the whole thing didn't quite have the feel of a real home. Yet.

"So, what do you think?" Elaine asked, coming back with the drinks and a nicely made up plate of carrot and celery sticks, some chunks of cheese, a cup of dip in the center. She'd been prepared.

The lemonade cut the dust, but I still had to clear my throat as I reached for a carrot. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you."

After a swallow of wine Mom was twirling the stemmed glass between her fingers. I thought of letting her off the hook, but decided against it. I was wrestling with a swirl of emotions as I munched the carrot.

She turned half sideways toward me and took a deep breath. "Elaine has asked me -- us, that is -- to move in with her, here."

I nodded numbly, swallowing hard.

"I told her that I had to ask you," she went on nervously.

"Your bedroom would be the smaller one that looks out on the pool," Elaine put in, earning a sharp look from Mom. "It has its own bathroom and everything."

I shot her a look of my own. I do not take kindly to bribery.

"If you want it," she added lamely, suddenly unsure of herself and as nervous as Mom.

I gave her a curt nod, my mind in a terrible jumble. I knew what this meant to Mom, and I was all in favor of that. Mom had been alone long enough. Too long. And I really liked Elaine, in spite of -- or maybe even because of -- her kinks. The decision was a no-brainer, or should have been.

But suddenly I was faced with leaving the only home I'd ever known, the home I'd grown up in, that wonderful, familiar, safe, cozy place. I knew every scratch and scrape and ding, which ones were mine and which ones were Carl's. I knew the neighborhood, the yards with the friendly dogs, the holes in the fences, the back ways, the streets, the sidewalks down to the last crack, the storm drain where I'd lost my favorite ball, the places where I'd played hide'n'seek, the yards where Missy and me'd played tag.

Missy and me. Missy! Where Missy, my best and dearest friend, was just down the street, within walking distance. Where we'd had sleepovers so often that one bedroom felt just as comfortable to us as the other. It was where she'd talked me down off the garage roof, where she'd gotten help when I broke my leg, where if I called she'd come, and vice versa, and be there in minutes, where we'd walked to school together for it seemed ever.

I couldn't walk to school from here with her, or jog with her like we were. I might have to ride the bus, like Greg did! And she'd stop jogging if I wasn't there for her!

We're only a block or two from Greg, The Stick reminded me.

Shit! Whose side are you on? I asked. The Stick fell stubbornly silent.

On the other hand, I was also being presented with a dream house, complete with a pool that I would die for, and Mom's happiness.

"What about Carl?" I asked, grasping at straws to save me from having to make a decision.

"I'll ask him, too, of course," Mom said. "But he's already left home. He's in college."

She sighed. "I'm not worried about him. I'm worried about you."

"What if he says no?"

"Do you think he'll say no?"

I shook my head, knowing he wouldn't. I almost felt like crying. I knew how much such a move would mean to Mom, how much she loved Elaine. And this house -- it was light and airy and the room I'd have was at least half again as big as the one I had now and it looked down on the pool, and the bottom of the split level, under the bedrooms was a playroom, and there was a beautiful kitchen I could cook in, when I had the time.

And there was the pool, The Stick reminded me.

But on the other side I felt safe and comfortable in my old familiar little nest, the familiar neighborhood, and the nearness of the bestest friend I'd ever had.

Mom put the wine down on the coffee table and put an arm around me and cuddled me, and I rested my head on her shoulder. "You don't have to decide right now," she whispered comfortingly. "I want you to take your time, and think about it. Can you do that, please?"

I nodded. I needed someone to talk to, someone I could trust to talk sense.

"Can I have Missy over for a sleepover tonight?"

Mom gave me a big hug and kissed my head. "Of course you can."

Which was how I wound up in my own comfortable, familiar bed with my first love, skin to skin, sharing secrets under the covers like we'd done so many times in the past, talking it all out in the darkness.

Really, there wasn't much to talk out. I knew what the decision had to be. But we talked and cuddled for a long time. There was nothing sexual, no lust, just clinging to her while I cried and she cried and we cried, while she tried to comfort me, because she told me what I already knew, that there was only one possible answer. And it wasn't because of the big, beautiful house. It wasn't because of the playroom downstairs. It wasn't even because of the beautiful pool.

It was because of Mom and how much Elaine had come to mean to her -- and to me, I had to admit.

So Missy and me told each other lies about how she'd come over to see me often, and I'd come to see her often, both of us knowing it wasn't that easy since we didn't drive yet and it was clear across town, a long bike ride with lots of traffic, and I made her promise to keep jogging, that somehow we'd both jog, thinking of each other as we did.

"How soon?" she asked.

"I don't know. Soon, I s'pose. Mom'll want to put this place on the market." Just the thought of someone else living here brought another wave of tears and Missy held me close, her familiar scent wafting around me. She was warm and comforting, and I couldn't help feeling stirrings in me, but batted them back down, knowing how she felt.

"So," she asked after a long time. "I know Greg asked you. Did you find a dress for the dance yet?"

I knew she was changing the subject, and was grateful, and I started to babble. That led to the revelation that it was Heather who had helped me find the dress, which opened a whole 'nother can of worms I wished it hadn't. I felt her stiffen.

"You don't like her."

"I hate her," she admitted, pulling away from me.

"She's -- not as bad as you think."

"Oh? Worse maybe? I'm tired of being called 'slut butt' by that pack of bitches."

Shit. I couldn't blame her.

I didn't want to go into Heather's troubles, I really, really didn't, I couldn't! But somehow I had to justify myself. I didn't want this to become a wedge between Missy and me, so I tried to come up with a way to explain without revealing any secrets. It was right about then that I realized that keeping secrets was just another kind of a lie, really, and just as hard to deal with, but I couldn't break my promise to Heather.

"There are reasons she's the way she is," was all I could finally say. "Get her away from that hive of hers and she can be a nice person. It's complicated."

"What's complicated about being a vicious bitch?"

I tried changing the subject. "Did you know she doesn't have a date for the dance?"

"Serves her right."

I could feel Missy looking at me in the dark. She knew me. "Don't you dare tell me you're going to try to fix her up with someone."

"All right, I won't tell you that," I retorted sullenly.

She sighed, and drew me back against her. She knew me so well. "You know, don't you, that would be a terrible mistake?"

"How so?"

She thought a minute. "Do you remember that stupid Teen Town show we used to watch? Remember the one when Jody needed a date, only no one would ask her and everyone she asked turned her down? So her brother secretly offered to do ... what's his name, the red headed guy?"

"Murph. God I had a crush on Murph!"

"Right. And on Jody, too."

"You noticed?"

"Of course I noticed. I saw how you looked at her."

"You were jealous!" I accused her gleefully.

"No I wasn't! Well, yes I was," she admitted. "Anyway, I crushed on Jake. But that's not the point. Remember when Willis offered to do Murph's homework if he'd ask Jody out? Remember what happened?"

I remembered. "Jody found out, and..."

"And she was crushed, and hurt worse than ever, and it all turned into a horrible mess. And that's what'll happen if you so much as whisper to anyone that you'd like them to ask Heather out."

I was stubbornly silent, even though I knew she was right.

"You know she'd find out you'd asked someone to ask her, and she'd feel awful. And worse, what do you think'll happen to her if it gets around she doesn't have a date? You know the moment you ask someone, it'll get out. And don't worry, I'll keep my mouth shut."

"You think if I asked someone he'd ask her?"

I felt her shrug. "Probably, if you asked someone desperate enough. She may be a bitch, but she's pretty, and sexy..."

I thought of how she couldn't even let a guy touch her at this point.

"But you know it would all go wrong, that it's as bad as a lie. And maybe, if everyone -- meaning you -- just stops trying to help and it happens naturally, it's no harm no foul. But if you butt in, then the word will get around, and a lot of someones will be laughing at her behind her back, maybe even to her face. Much as I hate her even I don't want to see that."

Suddenly that new German word I'd learned -- Schadenfreude -- made sense to me. I felt sick just thinking of Heather being the target of it.

As if she read my mind, Missy drew me even closer, pressing me against her soft, warm body. "Dee, you've got to get over this idea that you can solve all the problems of the world. You tried to help me and look how that turned out."

"It turned out alright in the end," I pointed out.

"Just barely. What do you think will happen if Heather's 'hive' as you call it finds out she's been cozy with you?"

I hadn't told Missy just how cozy we'd been, but I saw her point.

"And do you really think the Lunch Bunch won't take it out on you, if they find out?" she continued.

I sighed. Missy was talking sense, for a change. "Okay, I'll butt out. You're right -- for a change."

"Thanks a lot," she said giving me a giggle and a hug. "Now, let's get some sleep."

"Do you have a date?" I dared ask.

"Yep."

"Who???"

"You'll see," she answered smugly. "Now go to sleep!"

For a time I worried about Heather, but admitted to myself that Missy was right. I couldn't do anything.

Missy's warmth cuddled up to me finally overcame that and I found myself thinking of a new home, with two Moms who were always together for me, and my own swimming pool, and I slept.



-------

Chapter 21


Friday afternoon it was full steam ahead with my makeover with Heather at the helm. Could this be the birth of a whole new Me? Could I learn to like this, reclining in a beautician's chair, experts fussing over me? Beyond the front window of the shop I watched the parade of passing humanity. As he tried to keep the traffic flowing a mall cop gave me a nice smile, which I returned. I do like a man in uniform.

Oh, did I forget to mention I was naked? I suppose that's hardly newsworthy, though I may make the paper again. I did spot a photographer from the local daily shooting over the heads, between the hands holding digital cameras and cell phones. The Minute Spa, in whose chair I rested, was getting coverage well beyond word-of-mouth. The term "going viral" comes to mind.

When I had walked in the door with Heather I was dressed. The spa was a new venture by her long-time beautician, Alphonse, and she'd sensed an opportunity. After greeting him with the mandatory air kiss she struck a deal; my hair and nails (all twenty) in exchange for my being naked in the shop's front window -- a live model, very much in the flesh -- on which he could demonstrate his shop's artistry.

Considering Heather's coup at the thrift shop and this deal I think she's already well on her way to an MBA. I've learned that her dad is a highly respected labor lawyer and trouble-shooter who travels a lot, while her mom is very active in the local social scene, charitable fund raising, Habitat for Humanity, hospital volunteer, and yada yada yada.

Now, if only they had more time for their daughter.

Alphonse, a short, slightly chubby man with slicked back black hair and eyebrows as carefully groomed as his little mustache, had rubbed his hands, jumped with glee, all but clicking his heels, and here I was. Running this place with the efficiency of a while-U-wait oil change garage he had Henri, a slender, debonair hair stylist with a French accent and lots of curly black hair -- both on his head and in the gap of his macho black satin shirt -- preparing to shampoo my mop. At the same time, two lovely manicurists with multiple piercings and adorable dos -- one blonde, the other brunette -- were doing things to my cuticles.

Word of my exposure had quickly spread and as the crowd grew Alphonse was so grateful he volunteered his cosmetologist's services as well. After a brief consultation with him, accompanied by the laying of hands on my face and body, she promised to return when the others had finished their parts. My youthful complexion saved me from exfoliation, but I was promised makeup lessons -- complete with free samples -- and a Brazilian wax job. Oh my. I'd shaved down there to be a more attractive lure to The Worm, but it was growing out and stubbly and it itched.

I relaxed, a warm spray of water flowing back over my hair into a portable sink behind my head.

The transformation from Tomboy Dee to Glamorous Dee (in my dreams) had actually begun last night, but only after I'd endured a lecture from Doctor Elaine. It turns out I should have had my ears pierced weeks ago instead of just two days before I needed it. When I vowed that I would wear the ruby earrings even if I had to stab myself with a rusty nail she caved. But before she'd needled me -- literally -- she gave me cotton swabs and a small bottle of peroxide for my purse, and dire warnings that if my ears started to bother me I was to change to studs immediately.

Closet sadist that she is, the good doctor didn't bother with painkillers, not even a numbing ice cube.

Like that bothered you, The Stick muttered, knowing me all too well.

I argued that I wasn't a masochist, just a risk taker who deserved to suffer the consequences. That shut The Stick up, leaving my mind free to wander as Henri began his wizardry on my hair.

The piercing had merely capped off a busy Thursday. Breakfast had started out with hugs and happy tears as I'd told Mom of course I wanted her to accept Elaine's invitation. Following a huge stack of French toast, Missy and I set off on our morning jog. It was getting easier, and we took turns challenging each other while we reminisced about all the times we'd walked to school together, trying to get used to the idea that soon it would end, knowing at least we still had school together. She shyly asked if she could rejoin our Lunch Bunch. I told her of course, that it was fine with me and I couldn't believe anyone else would object.

Then at school, fresh from my after-jog shower, Kathy Powers greeted me with what quickly turned into a flagrantly lesbian PDA, telling me, between kisses that Greg had asked her to the dance with me, a ménage a trois she called it.

French is such a sexy language!

Only a cocked-eyebrow glare from Mrs. Devers kept us from 69-ing right there on the parquet. We limited ourselves to passionate promises of post-dance diversions -- or should that be perversions?

Just the thought of me dancing with her and Greg had me flowing all morning.

Then, on the way to lunch, Heather lured me into a stall in the girls' room to tell me that she and Mongo -- I mean Matt -- Mozilla were going to the dance! Smothering a squeal of joy, I hugged her, acknowledging to myself how right Missy had been, glad I'd had nothing to do with it! I refrained from asking who had asked whom.

As a result of that Heather went AWOL from lunch with the Hive, hoping the dress she'd spotted for herself was still on the rack. Meanwhile the Lunch Bunch unanimously accepted Missy as a rejoining member, then proceeded to grumble at the gossip that Heather was a shoo-in for Homecoming Queen. I toyed with my lunch, secretly pleased. The Hive, sans Heather, was smirking triumphantly as if they'd already been crowned themselves. Well, even if they were part of the Queen's court, basking in her reflected glory, their shit still stunk.

After our post-lunch swim Greg and I celebrated, as usual, with an enthusiastic wrestling match on the shower floor, vowing to make it a dance Kathy would never forget. By the end of classes I was still on such a high that even swimming practice wind sprints couldn't get me down. Greg's rising testosterone levels were having the expected effect on his musculature, but no way would I quit trying to beat him.

It was after homework, supper and exciting planning about the move that the good doctor gave me the needle. Then I'd slept with my new studs in, cotton balls taped in place to keep from bleeding on my pillow.

Now here I was making the transformation to The New Dee in full view of the public. A caterpillar had the modesty to hide in a chrysalis, but not me. I wished I could scratch the building itch in my crotch but with the manicurists holding my hands I couldn't even pinch my tits! At least my long legs were free, so I wriggled them against each other in a very sexy way, to the pleasure of my pussy and my audience.

Of course I was drawing visitors into the shop. That was the whole point of this exercise. Thanks to Heather's smart phone and a nearby quick print store my image graced fliers for men to take home to their wives or girlfriends, or so they said. Among the women coming in to scope the place out was a member of Heather's Hive. The sweet child, she just had to stop by to whisper in my ear, something about putting lipstick on a pig. I will find a way to draw their stingers.

What the whispering bitch didn't know was that Heather herself was being pampered in a back booth by her own team of specialists. From here the two of us would slip away to my house for a final fitting of The Dress, the Hive none the wiser.

Our meeting with Mrs. Devers before coming here had provided the perfect excuse for us being seen together in the halls without setting tongues wagging. The meeting brought its own surprise when Devers told us that a week after tomorrow's Homecoming dance the "School Spirit" statue was to be unveiled. Never one to miss an opportunity (it's an election year) our congressman, the mayor, and the head of the School Board would be among the dignitaries and there'd be speeches and refreshments. Since my brother's GF, Beth Finch, had modeled for the statue during her week Naked in School, The Powers That Be wanted a student representative of The Program to give a few remarks.

Naturally I, as Chair of the Naked in School Program Advisory Committee, had been volunteered, to give my speech in Program Uniform. Oh well.

The only downside was the damper this put on my hopes for Mom's usual birthday "surprise" party for me. I tried to tell myself that Elaine's proposal and a new home complete with a pool was enough of a treat, but still, I'd miss the ice cream and cake and other stuff.

The Stick scolded me for being greedy. I told her I wasn't greedy, I was horny.

But getting back to the Devers meeting, looming large were the Worm's legal hearings. He'd lawyered up, of course, but the judge had imposed a gag order. Mrs. Devers said she expected to have more news at Monday's full committee meeting. Just the mention of the Worm by his real name was enough to make me wince, while Heather suddenly became engrossed in her split ends. I wondered how she lived with her dark secrets and wished I could hug her.

When the three of us finally got to the Monday agenda, I told Mrs. Devers and Heather that I felt The Program needed a positive spin. Under "New Business" they agreed with me that using the Program for discipline had to stop, as well as spankings for program violations. Mrs. Devers pointed out for that for TPTB to agree to that we'd have to suggest viable alternatives.

Aye there's the rub, I thought. I could only hope the committee could come up with ideas.

She also said it might require a change to the rules at the national level.

Ugh! But, since the Federal Office Of Social Awareness, still had to answer for the Worm's presence in our school maybe that would give us some leverage. What would happen, I wondered, if the congressman found out about the creep.

At that point, mercifully, the luxurious feel of Henri's sensuous fingers working on my scalp brought me back to my present situation. OOooo that felt good! The last time someone else had washed my hair was when I talked Missy into some crazy idea to dye my hair pink. Fortunately Mom had intervened before lasting damage had been done. I also had a vague memory of being in the tub with Mom, her hands all warm and slippery and soapy and loving all over my body while I played in the water.

When the manicurists transferred their attention to my feet I admired their work on my fingernails. Thanks to Heather providing a leftover swatch of fabric they now matched my dress. Note to self -- a fashion maven is a valuable ally.

The shampoo rinsed away, Henri's fingers worked conditioner into my scalp. "The shape of your skull is a thing of beauty," Henri murmured in my ear. "You've got lovely hair. I've had women pay me a fortune trying to get your natural shading."

For a moment he sounded like he came from someplace around New York. I could have sworn he'd had a French accent when I'd first met him. I wondered if his gayness was also a put-on.

Oh, who cared! His fingers felt soooo gooooooood, and with my hands free I could pinch my naked nips for my enjoyment and that of my audience before stretching my arms wide, feeling deliciously wicked at being in full view. My writhing interrupted the pedicurists' play with my little piggies and I wondered if Greg would like some mutual toe sucking sometime. The thought would have had me creaming in my rompers, had I been wearing any.

"I hope you can tame my hair, Henry," I murmured, deliberately pronouncing it "Henry."

"No problem, mademoiselle," he assured me, his accent suddenly reappearing as he tipped my head back to rinse the conditioner off. "I've applied a rinse to bring out zee [sic] lovely shadings. Zen [sic], some shaping. Wis [sic] your ahcteevuh [sic] and atheletic [sic] lifestyle we need to create somesing [sic] easy and carefree while we shape it to flatter your lahvuhlee [sic] face. You 'ave wonnerfuluh [sic] cheekbones, and a strong jaw which should be framed just zo. [sic]"

You get the idea, so I'll quit trying to convey his accent here.

As he said this his fingers stroked my cheeks, lips and chin, and my skepticism about his gayness and Frenchness solidified. If he was French, I was the Pope. When he wasn't fondling my noggin his hands showed quite an interest in my bare shoulders, neck, and chest. I hoped he was enjoying this as much as I was. His comb began dancing through my hair as his scissors snick-snick-snicked.

By the time he was combing things out, fluffing me up with a drier as he did, the nail experts finished my toes. Ooo boy! That meant I was about to get waxed. I didn't really need it -- the dress didn't show THAT much, and my already light bush had been shaved before I took on the Worm -- but what the heck, it was free and Greg and Kathy might appreciate it.

Me? Would I enjoy it? Enjoy which, the process, or the result? Both, of course, don't be silly!

The cosmetologist was back and I told her I was more than ready for a new experience. "Have fun while you're playing down there," I encouraged her, feeling totally wanton.

"Oh, do not worry, I plan to," she assured me, her singsong words precise, slightly accented. She was a little bit of a thing, very pretty, dusky-skinned, a caste dot on her forehead, a jeweled ring in one nostril. Her lush ebony hair thumbed around her shoulders.

I discovered the chair had features that put a gynecological examination table to shame as she spread my legs and drew a stool up between them. I looked down along my body to where her ringed fingers -- slender, graceful and elaborately manicured -- stroked my pussy's stubble.

"It is a little short, but adequate, I think. There will be a little pain involved. Would you like something for it?"

"Oh no! I want the full experience!"

"Good!" she responded. "I think, maybe you are a wicked, wicked girl?"

I sighed. "I suppose." It would depend on how you defined "wicked," I thought.

After a moment of powdering me with tantalizing pats she spread something warm on my skin Down There, a ways away from my pussy proper.

Press, press, press. She palpated me much the way Doctor Elaine had at my first pelvic exam.

"So, you are a bad girl?" She was tugging on something sticking to my flesh.

"Oh yes!" I agreed.

RRRIIIIIIPPPPPP! AHHHHHHHhhhhhh, it stung so good! Not sharp, not harsh, a nice burning feeling.

"Yes, I am," I admitted, a little breathless from the surprise of it.

Her palm pressed where she'd just ripped the hair out by its roots, easing the burn, soothing my skin, then moving away.

"A naughty girl." Warmth again, on the other side.

Press, press, press.

"It is to always pull against the grain, to remove every hair."

RRIIIIPPPP! It sounded a bit like Velcro parting. Ahhhhhhhhh, it stung so goooood. Again her palm soothed the sting.

I looked past her, out the window. The teen crowd dominated. Some guys were bug-eyed and gaping, others licked their lips. The girls winced, and whispered and giggled to each other.

"You are enjoying this, are you not?" the cosmetician asked. This time I lifted my head to watch as she carefully used what looked like a tongue depressor to spread the warm wax on my flesh, closer to my pussy.

"Oh yes," I confessed, before drawing another breath of anticipation. She stretched something white -- fabric? -- on the wax, pressed it down, then delicately peeled the end of it back, and took a good grip on it.

"Shame on you!" she scolded pertly.

RIIIIPPPPP. She yanked the strip of wax off, taking my hair with it, then quickly pressed her warm palm on me to soothe the sting away.

Shame on me indeed. Strip by strip she was getting closer and closer to the heart of my playground, first one side, then the other, a strip at a time. Personally, I was edging closer and closer to release. I knew I was juicing, knew she could smell it, that the people beyond the window could see it as she kept my legs spread wide, wide, wide.

"Next to last one," she promised.

"Oh please," I whispered.

RIIIIPPPP! AhhhahAHHHHHHH oooooooooo, her warm hand close, so close to my clit!

"One more time," she warned.

Oh yes, please. One more time, just one more time, please, mmmmmmm.

Warm, warm, warm, soft warmth on my pussy, my pussy, my pussy. Oh wow! This time even as far back as between my cheeks, even on my asshole.

Pressure.

Tugging, lifting on my tender flesh. A pull...

RIIIIPPPPPPP! AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AAAAHHHHHHHHHH YEEesssssssssss. Eeeeeeeeee!

Her palm covered my oozing twat, a finger touching my winking butt pucker! "Now some soothing lotion," she explained.

Oh yeah!

I suppose some women might find her very personal attention unprofessional. As far as I was concerned she was a sorceress and I wondered if maybe the spa owner had found her when he rubbed an old oil lamp or uncorked an exotic bottle.

Her warm hands spread a soothing salve over my newly naked flesh, tickling my anus before cupping my clenching pussy. One strong, slender finger subtly invaded my slit, my hips rising to meet her as she pressed my swollen clit against my pubic arch and rubbed gently.

I came in a shower of sparks.

"Mademoiselle?" Henri gently un-reclined the chair as I returned from Never-Never Land. As the leg-rests settled so I was sitting up he held a hand mirror in front of me, my eyes slowly focusing on my reflection.

Oh MY!

Think Jamie Lee Curtis. Instead of my usual unruly pom-pom, my hair rested obediently, a few feathery wisps down over my forehead. I'd never realized my hair was made up of so many different shades of blonde.

The cosmetologist came in on the other side of me, wheeling her little table into place over my lap. It carried an intimidating array of cosmetics and a lighted mirror so I could watch what she did.

"Now, it is to be very, very simple," she explained in her sing-song accent, applying something to my face with a soft, damp sponge. "This is a base. You have such lovely skin you need very little. There. Next we bring out the beautiful blue of your eyes with some eye shadow on your eyelids, and just a touch of eyeliner."

A light brushing of eye shadow on my lids, followed with carefully drawn eyeliner and my eyes suddenly seemed larger and glowed like sapphires. Wow!

"A little mascara to enhance your very light eyelashes," she added, doing something with a funny little sort of a brush, and my eyes were nicely framed.

"Now, a very light touch of blush on your cheeks to enhanced your cheekbones."

The feathery touch of a soft brush whisking on my cheeks left behind a gentle cloud to darken my skin a shade and the whole shape of my face seemed to change.

"And to make your lips look a little more full and enticing, so your man will want to taste them."

I watched as she carefully painted my lips to match my nails and my new dress, finishing it off with a gloss before leaning back and studying me critically. Henri delicately shifted a few strands of hair on my forehead, teased locks around behind my ears -- my ears with little gold studs where tomorrow rubies would dangle.

Oh gosh. I mentally combined this with the dress and jewelry. This was going to take some getting used to! I could only hope that Greg would realize that beneath the war paint and glitz I was still just the same old me.

"Remember," the cosmetician said, handing me a package with the paints and powders she'd used on me, "less is more. For daily use you need nothing. Wash your face with gentle soap. To remove your makeup, cold cream. Save this for special occasions, and use a very light touch. You are exquisite!"

I wondered if she gave all of her customers a feather light kiss before wheeling her little table away. I licked my lips. Had I felt a touch of tongue?

Then Henri was back, handing me a plastic bag holding bottles of shampoo, conditioner and rinse, a comb and brush. His fingers plucked at his handiwork, brushed my temple. "Magnifique! Use these regularly, especially after swimming, especially the conditioner. Combing it as it dries will keep everything under control. And now, your amie -- your friend -- awaits you by the back door so you can evade your many admirers."

His wave indicated the spectators beyond the window. More to avoid any lurking Hive members, I thought, getting dressed quickly. I followed him past the booths. Heather looked as perfect as ever, and gawked appreciatively at my transformation before we made our escape to my house for the dress fitting, where she even gave me a brief dance lesson.

-------

By Saturday evening I had the feeling that the only thing that was under control was my hair. I was up in my room, Mom fussing about me. My heart was racing. I was tingling. Mom had helped with my makeup. As Henri had predicted, my hair was obedient even after a shower. The dress, what there was of it, flowed over my body, exposing strategic bits of epidermis. My breasts were rising and falling with every nervous breath, my nipples stiff points beneath the soft material. With one foot forward the slit in the skirt parted to expose my flesh all the way up to the wing of my pelvis. Maybe the wax job had been a wise idea. When I sat I'd be easily accessible to Greg and Kathy, should they care to take advantage of me.

Oh I hoped they would.

Even in my low heels I was inches taller than Mom, who was peeking over my shoulder! Was I ever going to stop growing? I had a mad urge to shake my hands out and work my shoulders as if I were about to launch myself into the pool.

"Oh Mom, please don't cry!" I pleaded when I saw her tearing up again as she looked at my reflection. "If you cry then I'll cry and ruin my makeup!"

SNUFFF. "Sorry."

Turning, I hugged her, carefully. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, sweetie. Have a wonderful time tonight."

It was a cautious, chaste, delicate hug, both of us afraid of disrupting my fragile balance or smudging my carefully applied makeup. Even so I was intensely aware of her hands on my bare back, and I thought of how it would feel dancing with Greg or Kathy. Yum!

Then the sound of the doorbell threatened to shatter me into a million glittering pieces.

"Let me go first," she ordered. "Wait 'til I'm downstairs."

"Yes'm." As she went out I heard Elaine getting the door. I lurked in my room, holding my breath, listening to her greet our visitors, hearing Mom join in, enthusiastic "ooos" and "aaaahs" from both my moms as they admired my dates' finery.

Stand tall! The Stick ordered.

Closing my eyes I stood tall, took a deep breath -- the kind of breath I took before taking the first step of my approach for a dive, in through the nose, out through the mouth -- out and out and out, sending with it all the nerves and tension, leaving me calm and focused, every sense alert, totally in command.

My steps steady, I went to the top of the stairs, paused, then descended, carefully, one hand on the banister, the other lifting my long skirt so I didn't trip on it. The Stick reminded me that I was very tall, I was very sexy, I was very beautiful, and that I was going to my first dance with my lovers of many months.

I know, my life was all out of order -- the dance should have come first, then the lovers -- but it was my life and I wouldn't trade it for anyone else's.

Oh My God! They were so beautiful. His preppy trimmed hair shimmering like gold Greg was tall and handsome in a white dinner jacket, black slacks, ruffled white shirt, a cummerbund and bow tie that almost matched the blue of his eyes, eyes that said it all as he took me in, his pupils dilating with admiration.

My own eyes had to be big as saucers. Kathy was just as beautiful as Greg, her lush brown hair with its reddish highlights framing her lovely strong face, her brown eyes sparkling, her smile greeting me as warmly as a hug. She wore slacks, black, loose and flowing, her shirt was a creamy satin, the first button fastening between her lovely breasts. With no ruffles or fussy stuff to spoil the view her nipples were shadows through the silken material.

The long sleeves were loose around her long arms, the cuffs closed with silver cuff links. Her necklace was artsy, silver, a naked girl dangling by her carefully pointed toes from a fine silver chain, her head tilted back to look ahead, every inch of her reaching for the shadowy cleft between Kathy's breasts. I was willing to bet she'd designed it herself, perhaps even made it herself. The diver's hair was touched with gold and I flattered myself thinking I might be the model.

They both looked good enough to eat, and I was looking forward to doing exactly that before the night was out. From the way they were looking at me I was on their menu as well. I felt like they had gathered me into their arms before I even left the stairs. A camera flashed, flashed again as I took the last step down and went first to Greg for a kiss and a hug, then to Kathy for her kiss and hug. He smelled warm and masculine, she sweetly musky, and I knew as I blinked back tears that I was the luckiest girl in the universe.

Greg, already wearing a bright red carnation on his lapel had flowers for both me and Kathy. For me he had a white carnation wrist corsage and a kiss, his lips warm and exciting. Then he handed me a dark red carnation for me to pin on Kathy. Not about to miss the opportunity I made it a point to get a feel of her warm, firm breast, tweaking her nipple to greater stiffness as I pinned the flower to her shirt. Her lips were just as warm and exciting as Greg's.

Oh my! My pussy was already drooling and my heart was racing.

"You know I want to paint you in that dress don't you," Kathy teased with a twinkle in her eye, "as well as out of it, of course."

I flushed at the thought, and saw Greg's trousers tent excitingly.

Leaving my two moms standing in the doorway with their arms around each other, we made our way to Kathy's festively decorated "art-mobile" as she called it. She'd cleaned the back out, freeing up the back seat, but it still carried the lush scent I always associated with her -- oil paints, solvents and other art supplies. Greg and I snuggled in the back seat, my head on his shoulder, while Kathy drove, retracing the route to Greg's house to put me on display there. Drindy had made it quite clear she would retaliate in unspeakable ways if she didn't get to see me in my dress, and his parents wanted to see us all together as well.

Drindy's dark eyes got big as dinner plates as she took us in. Her saucy ponytails were a coppery red this time. Greg's parents, a contrast of Nordic blond and Hispanic bronze, got misty-eyed as they took pictures of the three of us, promising to share them.

From there it was off to school through the dusk, where we had to park a ways from the door because the lot was almost full, arriving fashionably late for our grand entrance, just as Heather had suggested.

As we headed toward the entrance, arm in arm, you have to visualize this. I was wearing a drop-dead gorgeous, incredibly sexy gown -- accessorized with rubies, no less -- flanked by two of the most beautiful and beautifully dressed people you could possibly imagine. With each of us being close to six feet tall we could only be described as imposing.

Holy shit!

I am Dee Walker, I reminded myself. Not that long ago I climbed trees, jumped off garage roofs with nothing more than a blanket or umbrella for a parachute, took flying leaps off playground swings. I still swam in the 14-and-under age group, still tried to perform impossible flights of grace and beauty off the springboard. I regularly walked this school's halls naked, planted my bare butt on a towel during classes, shared lunch and laughs with my friends.

That was the real me. All of this was decoration, a facade, an artificial creation. I remembered thinking how Heather was outfitting me like this was a military campaign and suddenly realized if I wasn't careful that's exactly what it would be. Heather had given me the weapons to prove that we could out-compete the Hive on their own superficial playing field, saying to them "get over yourselves, get down off your fucking high horses, we're just as good as you are."

The Stick quickly brought me down to earth by reminding me that we were here to have a good time, not start a war. The Stick was right. We were going to party with our friends, and dance, and when it was all over we'd relax in each other's arms with nothing between us, so we could show our love for each other without reservation.

My stride lengthened, the slit in my dress exposing what I have been led to believe is an awesome pair of legs. As we emerged from the darkness, approaching the smokers hanging around outside the laughter and wisecracks joined the smoke from their cigarettes, spiraling up to vanish into the silence of the night. All eyes on us, the group parted like the Red Sea.

I guess we made an impression.

We greeted them casually and almost reflexively two of them opened the doors wide so we could march through three abreast.

The lobby was jammed by other late arrivers, chatting, checking each other out. After greeting the Lunch Bunch and their dates, and blushingly basking in their admiration, I saw Missy, with Bud Lacey the former Tweedle Dumber. So that was her mysterious date! She pursed her lips in a silent whistle at the sight of me, then smiled. For a moment I was afraid she was going to break into applause so I gave her a silly grin and goofy curtsey before we came together in a warm hug. She was adorable, and good enough to eat, too, but I didn't say that.

"You are awesome!" she exclaimed, pushing me away at arm's length. "Do you have anything on under that?"

""Not even perfume. You like it?" I turned around in front of her, oh so aware of my near exposure.

"Are those real rubies?"

"Synthetic," I whispered. "You look gorgeous!"

Missy blushed prettily.

I'd seen probably a hundred dresses like it during my own dress hunt, but hers was custom designed, fitted to flatter her figure. The top was black velvet. The full skirt, white taffeta with a few glittering sequins, came to mid-calf on her. The scoop neckline had obviously been adjusted to meet her mom's conservative standards.

I couldn't resist tweaking her dress. It demanded a push-up bra, but that would have provided too inspiring a display to pass her mom's inspection. A little tug here, a run of my finger along the top edge there, a discrete little boost to her boobs accomplished almost the same thing, exposing more of Missy's yummy chest. She giggled, while Bud Lacey tried to take in both me and his date's newly enhanced charms.

"Hi, Bud, you look very nice," I greeted him, plucking a bit of lint from his lapel before giving him a chaste hug. He cleaned up well, but I didn't say that. He bobbed his head bashfully. His tux was probably borrowed, a bit short at the sleeves and cuffs, the jacket a sort of electric blue that matched the cummerbund and tie. His brown hair had the same rebellious streak mine did before Henri had tamed it, so he'd greased it down. He was clean and clean-shaven, smelled nice and seemed totally smitten by Missy, as well he should be.

Of Cagney, his former partner in slobbiness, there was no sign. Probably he hadn't been able to get close enough to a girl to ask her to the dance. We'd make sure the clean-up squad got their hands on him when it was his turn in The Program so he didn't miss fun like this.

I turned back to Missy. "How come everyone's hanging around out here?"

She grimaced. "Oh, you know." She waved vaguely in the direction of the gym, which was dimly lighted and admittedly a bit intimidating. Then I saw a couple of the Bees buzzing around just inside the door, playing Fashion Police, whispering and wrinkling their noses disdainfully at those who did not meet their lofty standards, which seemed to consist of endless yards of gauzy frills and clouds of glitter, with heels so high they tottered.

I was taller than them without the stilts.

They were escorted, as you might expect, by jocks looking uncomfortable in their tuxes. I saw no sign of Heather or Matt, but figured them to be even more fashionably late than us.

Kathy and Greg rejoined me and we linked arms, forming a sort of flying wedge with me taking the point. "Follow us," I suggested to Missy, Bud and the Lunch Bunch and their dates, leading the way, standing tall, head high.

I swear, I heard eyeballs popping and jaws dropping as we marched through the doorway, arm in arm in arm, a cumulative eighteen feet of glamour leading the charge.

And integrity -- don't forget integrity, The Stick put in.

Missy and Bud, the Lunch Bunch and others, each just as gorgeous in their own way, followed us, also arm in arm, and I had a fleeting memory of that crazy march of the middle school sex ed class to our full-frontal display in the lunchroom. The Fashion Police fell back, apparently stunned by our onslaught. Or maybe it was just because I had dates of opposite sexes flanking me. I'd heard of same sex couples attending dances in the recent years, but suspected we were the first threesome.

I gloated. Eat your hearts out you poor heterosexuals -- or should that be monosexuals? -- I get the best of both worlds.

Even though it was pushing the season the gym was a jungle of Halloween orange and black. Somehow the decorations, flying witches and gauzy ghosts drifting overhead, had a familiar style. I'd never before seen crepe paper, helium balloons and Halloween cutouts used so creatively and shot Kathy a look.

"Are you responsible for this?" I asked her.

"I had a lot of help," she replied, her dimples showing. "The concept is mine. Heather supplied the volunteers, and gave them strict orders to follow my directions. Without her they'd never have listened to me and we'd have had more of the same-old same-old."

I smiled back at her. "Heather does have her good points."

"She does. I'd like to capture her on canvas, or even just a sketch pad. Last year I asked her to pose for me, but she turned me down."

If by "pose" Kathy meant nude, which I suspected she did, I knew Heather had her reasons. I wondered if my presence at such a session might ease her mind.

I led the way to a table big enough to take all of us and we circled our wagons, performing introductions where needed. I knew Fran's date, Walter Miflin, the sophomore rep on the committee. Fran was wearing a billowing strapless gown that never would have passed muster with the Fashion Police but looked smashing on her. She had the bust to carry it off -- literally. Of course, Fran's robust build alone made her the target of the Hive's scorn, the jerks.

While the guys went for refreshments, we ladies swapped gossip. It was an open secret that Heather had Homecoming Queen locked up. Someone suggested that it should be me instead, but I easily deflected that by pointing out it always went to a senior. The guys had returned and the band was tuning up when there was a flurry of action at the main entrance, members of the Hive regrouping to welcome Heather and Matt to the dance.

She was gorgeous, of course. In a white dress of Grecian simplicity, her hair tastefully arranged up, nice dangling earrings and matching necklace (real diamonds?) she made the rest of the Hive look dowdy. Kathy and I shared a look and she knew that I knew that she was already scheming to enlist Heather to model for a statue of Aphrodite. Beside her Matt was a six-foot-two hunk of gorgeous masculinity, an Adonis for Kathy to incorporate into her art.

Hmmm. Maybe Greg and I could be Cupid and Psyche? We'd do that for her in a minute if we were invited.

I don't know if it was deliberate or not, but Heather led her entourage to a neighboring table, greeting me warmly, so I quickly stood to return the favor, complete with hugs and air kisses and mutual admiration as if she'd never seen me in the dress she'd altered for me.

Then it was Matt I hugged -- what a muscular armful! I left a little smudge of lipstick on his cheek. The look he gave me intrigued me. It was as if he was somehow measuring me. Greg and Kathy had both risen with me so we could all exchange polite hugs and flattering words. The handshake Matt gave Greg went on a moment too long, and I smothered a grin, betting that the test of strength had been pretty much a draw -- men and their testosterone!

Everyone else at my table and Heather's somehow managed a mutual snub.

Ah well, Rome wasn't built in a day, I thought. But if ever there was a chance to break ground toward burying the hatchet this was it. Heather obviously felt the same, so we did our best with courtesy but no undue displays of affection. I managed a softly whispered "thank you" in her ear, and her embrace tightened. I didn't dare kiss her the way I wanted to, of course, but she knew what I was feeling for her.

Then the student band's drummer rattled off a sort of fanfare capped with a cymbals clash so we resumed our seats and Mrs. Devers took the microphone to welcome us all to the dance, point out the fire exits, and announce the Homecoming Queen.

When Heather got up to answer the call, I didn't hesitate to give her a warm congratulatory hug. Matt escorted her to the stage, draped her with the mandatory sash, bestowed the crown upon her with a dutiful kiss, then stood by applauding her with the rest of the crowd. She got teary eyed and I don't think it was just acting. I saw him take her hand and give it a supportive squeeze.

"Thank you," she began, her voice breathy and a little choked up, her mouth a bit close to the microphone. "I'm honored. And now it is my responsibility and pleasure to name my court."

From listening to the gossip I'd learned that the Queen usually chose two senior girls. If she followed protocol, which I hoped she would, they'd probably be members of her Hive. To my everlasting relief that's exactly what she did, naming her two greatest sycophants. She shot me an apologetic look while the chosen were squealing for joy and prancing up to the applause of the crowd, while there were world record eye-rolls at our table. I gave Heather a very relieved nod and smile and a discrete thumbs ups where only she could see.

Then Heather and Matt took the floor for the first dance, an actual waltz, soon to be joined by her court, while the rest of us respectfully watched from the sidelines. Matt and Heather were both superb ballroom dancers -- why was I not surprised? -- and appeared to really enjoy themselves, while the honored courtiers struggled not to disgrace themselves.

As I was sitting there I felt hands invade my dress from both sides and tried to play the prim virgin, keeping my legs together, but couldn't manage it for more than about thirty seconds. Blushing furiously -- yes, even after all I've done in the past I still blush -- I let my legs slip apart as Greg's and Kathy's fingers slipped up along my naked thighs toward my defenseless and hairless pussy. They both reached their goal at the same time and there was a playful tussle for my grotto until I fended them both off, all three of us snickering while the whole table looked on, knowing darn well had had been going on.

Oh, it was going to be a good night!

Once social formalities had been dispensed with the rest of us finally got to venture out on the dance floor. I danced the first slow dance with Greg, pressing my whole body against his, feeling his hard-on impatiently poking me. Then there was a fast dance and we drew Kathy up to dance with us, each of us doing our best to be as suggestive as possible -- which is pretty darned suggestive, given that my dress kept showing flashes of my wax job. The Goth crowd was out in force, dressed as ghoulishly as ever, multiple and extraordinarily intimate piercing on full display. One couple had even linked their nipple rings with a silver chain.

I wondered who was the master and who the slave, or if that even applied.

As Heather had predicted, there were at least three couples who'd come to the dance in the style of Beth and Carl. The Naked in School Program left nothing to the imagination, which I had to admit was not always flattering. Only when things got a little too carnal did the chaperones step in, but I saw more than one girl, naked or not, wind up with her date's cream on her tummy. In a way I felt my titillating display was more erotic than full blown nudity. I certainly felt glamorous, and I enjoyed the anticipation of what was to come after the ball was over.

Also, there's something ludicrous, and possibly painful, about a hard-on flapping wildly around. There are times, I mused, when maybe the rule about "naked at all school functions" should be relaxed.

Then it was another slow dance and Greg willingly yielded this one to Kathy. I snuggled into her warm embrace, our thighs interlacing, and she slipped a hand inside the slit of my skirt to cup my naked ass and press me even closer to her. I squirmed against her just to feel her breasts beneath the satin of her blouse. I was deliciously aware of the key tucked safely away in the purse dangling at my hip, a promise of things to come. For now it was enough that it was the three of us enjoying each other's company and the company of our friends around the table.

During the next set I got to dance with Matt. He was very strong and sure, and thanks to his lead I learned I could really dance. We weren't pasted together in the usual slow dance make-out session, so we actually talked a bit. When I slipped at one point and called him "Mongo" instead of Matt and apologized he laughed and said he didn't really mind. "It's certainly preferable to Mozilla the Gorilla," he explained, dipping me, to my surprise. "What's going on between you and Heather?"

I almost lost the rhythm of the dance he was guiding me through. "Nothing. Why?"

He shrugged. "She seems different around you. More relaxed."

"Well, we're getting to know each other, working together on committee stuff."

"Mmmm hmmmm, I suppose."

I tried to deflect him. "Why'd you wait so long to ask her to the dance?"

"Let's just say this is a date of convenience for both of us and leave it at that, shall we?"

With that he drew me closer and swirled me around the floor as the music drew to an end, leaving me giddy and wondering what secrets he had as he walked me back to the table. Greg thanked Heather for the dance they'd shared, and I think both of us were glad to be back together with Kathy for the next round of hard rock.

At one point late in the evening Fran's date began pitching peanuts across the table at Missy's cleavage while we all laughed hysterically, especially Missy. Bud then took it upon himself to return the favor, aiming at Fran's much more impressive gulf, which she obligingly expanded by tugging the stop of her dress down another two inches. Mrs. Devers stepped in before it became a full-fledged food fight, but she did it very nicely, snatching one nut out of mid-air and eating it before waving a warning finger. By then things were winding down, so Greg and Kathy and I took to the floor for one last slow dance together, reluctant to call it a night here.

Our arms around each other, we shared kisses all around, a little frustrated that we couldn't seem to work out a way to be as close as we wanted. As the music came to an end it became obvious that it was time to take our leave of the gym and find a more private setting.

I hadn't told them, but I had just the place waiting for us.



-------

Chapter 22

With a good bit of giggling and tickling and poking and pushing all three of us crammed in the front of Kathy's beloved old minivan, better known for its exotic paint job as the Art Mobile. I hiked up my dress and crawled to the center, mooning everyone in the parking lot in the process, and planted my naked butt on the center console, straddling the stick-shift. Greg took shotgun, thoughtfully draping his left arm around my shoulders so his hand could keep my tit warm. Then he got all friendly with my naked hip trying to latch his safety belt. I didn't have one, but I figured we were wedged in so tightly that the airbags going off would either open the mini-van like a can of biscuits or stuff all three of us into the back. When Kathy started the motor the shift lever slapped around between my naked thighs, making me gasp. When she went for reverse the shift split my twat and crushed my clit. I almost went right through the roof. That shift shaft was COLD!

Kathy grinned at me, giving the lever an additional tug to make sure it was engaged. "Sorry."

"Woo HOO! I'm not!" I answered, the vibrations stirring me into a froth as she backed up.

"Hey, I can't compete with a rod like that!" Greg complained.

"Who sez?" My right hand found the ridge of his hard-on, making sure he was also properly engaged. There was a distinct wet spot where the tip of his prod was trying to drill its way out of his pants. I gave it a pat and started working on his fly. "Poor baby. You've been hiding in there all night. Here, I'll let you out to play."

"Now I'm jealous," Kathy complained so I obediently burrowed the fingers of my left hand in her humid crotch. I already knew she was without panties. During the dance we'd all been most accommodating during our under-the-table explorations, but they'd zipped up before we left. I, of course, had no fly to zip.

Now I wrapped my hand around Greg's cock, which was standing up in his lap like a second stick shift, and dug deep into Kathy's pussy. Lacking a safety belt, I decided to hold on to both of them for dear life. They didn't seem to mind, but when we lurched to a stop at the exit Greg winced and Kathy let out a whoop of her own.

"Easy down there or I'll wreck us! Where are we going?"

"Head toward Greg's," I answered, working with both hands to keep their engines running. "I'll direct you from there."

"To where?" he asked.

"Paradise."

His left arm was still wrapped around my neck so he could play with my tits. With the Art Mobile in third the shift was out of the way so his right hand occupied my swampy crotch and he proceeded to insert two fingers into my slot. When Kathy shifted into fourth the lever drove his fingers even deeper, sending the transmission's vibes straight to my G spot. I thought Wow! This could be habit forming.

Fifteen minutes and several exciting and probably unnecessary shifts later -- I sent us around a couple of extra blocks so I could enjoy them -- I had Kathy turn into Elaine's driveway.

"Where are we?" Greg asked as he extracted his soggy hand from me and licked his fingers.

I guess that's why he calls me his sweetie pie.

"My soon to be new home," I answered. The porch light was on, the rest of the house dark.

Kathy and Greg looked at me, and I explained my life changes as I nudged Greg to get out of the car. As I untangled myself I almost wound up fucking the shifter. Oooo that knob looked interesting! I could only think that with the motor running it would be a heckuva vibrator. I wondered if the owners' manual included safe sex instructions. I could just see it -- use a sanitary wipe or condom before inserting knob in cunt.

Someday I was gonna try that!

A wiggle of my hips and my dress slithered back into place as I led the way up the front walk, un-slinging my purse and digging out the key. When I unlocked the door and flipped on the inside light the first thing we saw was a banner.

WELCOME HOME DEE!

That gave me a thrill! My new home!

"The house is ours for tonight," I explained, "within limits. Elaine is home with Mom. They're on call if we need them."

"I think we'll be just fine by ourselves," Greg assured me, closing the front door and snapping the dead-bolt before moving up behind me. His hand went to the base of my spine and I felt the buzz of the dress's short zipper going down between my butt-cheeks. During one slow dance he'd done it so he could explore my ass, but I'd made him zip it back up. Now his breath was hot on my neck and I wasn't about to discourage him as his finger played in my crack.

My purse hit the floor with a thump as I tilted my head so his lips could nibble at the side of my throat, his tongue teasing the dangling ruby earring, making my sore lobe throb while delicious shivers swept through my whole body. Not about to be left out, Kathy mounted a frontal assault, pushing the dress off my shoulders, baring my breasts. Gravity took over, the dress slithering down my long legs to puddle around my ankles. Stepping out of it and my shoes left me nude, except for my jewelry. I felt wickedly decadent.

Greg's jacket went flying in one direction, his clip-on bow tie in another, his cummerbund in a third as I worked on Kathy's shirt buttons. By the time Greg's shirt had followed his jacket and he was working on his pants I had Kathy's top back off her shoulders, the cufflinks loose so she could get her arms out of the sleeves, baring her to her waist.

I took possession of her soft, warm breasts, pinching her nipples while she was unfastening her slacks to let them fall. Just like that she was as naked as I was and we embraced, hot satin skin to hot satin skin, lips to lips, tongues to tongues. My hands were roaming up and down her well muscled back, her skin so soft and smooth, feeling her angel bones, tracing the line of her spine down to the cleft of her ass, her breasts warm cushions against my modestly developed chest.

Greg was behind me, just as naked, noshing on the side of my neck, his hard cock at my ass, his hands gripping my hips. We'd had hours of foreplay at the dance and all three of us were more than ready. We sank slowly to the parquet floor just inside the front door. Clinging to Kathy, I kissed and licked my way down her, my hands squeezing her firm boobs to make them stick up more, nipping at her upstanding nipples, then licking lower on her torso as she stretched out on her back, spreading her legs wide.

Leaning lower, I deliberately offered Greg my ass, my aroused twat begging to be penetrated. As I dove face first into Kathy's juicy crotch he proceeded to shove his cock deep into my hungry cunt, stuffing me deliciously full with one smooth thrust. Reaching around me his hands captured my breasts, pinching and twisting my nipples as he cuddled against my back. Kathy jammed her crotch up in my face so I sent my tongue wriggling as deep inside her as it would reach, slurping up her sweet juices. With my nose buried in the top edge of her slit I was engulfed in her horny scent.

Greg let go of my breasts and slid his hands down my torso to dig into my crotch to fondle my pussy, twiddling my clit while fucking me mercilessly. Kathy's hands pulled my face into her cunt while I grabbed her strong ass, my fingers digging deep in her butt crack.

There was no chance of holding back the tide. Greg was hunched over me, a stud covering his willing bitch, driving hard into me, his hands playing a mad tune on my slippery folds, teasing my piss hole, diddling my clit. I was devouring Kathy's musky twat, drowning in her fluids.

The only sounds in the empty house were our moans and the sticky slurping sounds of carnal love. I shuddered, my mouth still working on Kathy's clit, fingers playing with both Kathy's cunt and her anus. Her hands on the back of my head shoved my face even harder into her crotch. Drinking from her gushing twat I felt my own orgasm rising like a tsunami. Her body tensed, her tummy muscles rippling, cunt clenching as she came and that was all it took to set off my own coming. At the same time Greg tried to run me through with his cock, thick hot spurts of his jizz flooding me, his hands clamped hard on my hips so I couldn't escape his thrust.

As if I wanted to! I felt his overflow spilling from me to splatter down on cold, hard floor.

Memo to self: mop the floor.

For a too-short eternity we strained against each other before finally collapsing, panting and drained. I slithered up along Kathy's body, my way well greased by sweat and come, to lie on top of her, Greg riding my back. We lay on the floor, a gooey, panting sandwich of come coated flesh, Kathy caressing my face, Greg hugging us both, his withering dick drooling on my ass.

For a long time we just lay there, breathing in unison, then someone gave a sudden twitch and I realized I'd actually dozed off for a minute. With a groan Kathy stirred, toppling me and Greg to one side. Rolling on my back between them I shared Kathy's juices around with sloppy kisses. Snuggled between them it hardly seemed fair that I should be the center of their attention when they meant so much to me. But then I thought, maybe I'd given as good as I'd got. I hugged them both fiercely, doing my best to share the afterglow, kissing first one then the other, murmuring sweet nothings to them both.

"Hungry," Greg finally grunted, and I realized my own stomach was protesting mightily. Peanuts and punch weren't enough to sustain this much fun.

"Food in fridge," I answered as we struggled to get untangled. The rubies tugging painfully at my recently pierced earlobes reminded me to grab my purse so I could switch to the studs that were in it. Leaving our discarded clothes behind we shambled naked into the kitchen and sat around the table, scarfing down the goodies Elaine had thoughtfully left for us, getting all sloppy so we could lick it off each other. With Kathy's help I managed to get rid of the rubies while I was mentally thanking Heather for making me the belle of the ball.

"How soon are you moving in here?" Kathy asked, sucking pizza grease and tomato sauce off her fingers while Greg nuked three more slices.

"We're not sure. Mom's got to get the house ready to be listed, and there's a bunch of junk to pack and move."

"We can use the Art Mobile," she offered.

"I'll help with muscle," Greg added.

I looked at them, my eyes stinging, "Thanks, guys. You're the greatest."

"Now she's going to get all mushy on us," Kathy teased.

"I like mush," Greg argued. "So, do we get a tour?"

After tidying the kitchen I showed them around. My first impression had been it was a mansion compared to where I lived, but I revised that downwards as I showed them around. Sure, it felt big compared to what I was used to, a two-story box, according to Mom built in the 1940s. This was a split-level from the '70s, the living room, kitchen, dining room on one level. Flipping the proper switch next to the sliding back doors turned on the pool's underwater lights, making it glow like a giant sapphire in the night. Too tempting to pass up, we splashed right in, our submerged bodies a wavery pale green as we sluiced off the juices and indulged in a bit of aquatic snuggling. Warm skin in a cool pool feels incredibly sexy.

Elaine had thought of everything. There was a pile of soft towels waiting for us beside the door. Drying off, we made our way back inside the house to continue the tour, back to the entrance hall where the split-level began.

"What's down there?" Kathy asked when I led them past the short flight of steps to the lower level.

"Playroom," I answered. "It's off limits tonight."

In my head I translated that as "for mature participants only," though I had a pretty good idea about some of what was in there.

"Ooooo, sounds tantalizing," Greg said lecherously.

"I'm more interested in the bedroom," Kathy responded as we headed up.

"So'm I!" I agreed, taking Greg by his dick so he wouldn't stray. It's nice that men come with a handle. It makes it easy for us to steer them.

Upstairs there were four bedrooms and two full baths.

"Elaine said we can use the master bedroom, but we have to change the sheets in the morning, whether they need it or not."

"They will," Greg promised as we poked our heads into what was going to be my room.

"You men," Kathy snorted. "All you think of is sex."

Back in the hall I giggled, wrapping an arm around her waist so we were hip-to-hip. Naked skin just demands touching. "And you don't?"

"Well, yeah, I do," she admitted, "especially when I'm around you, or Steph."

"You miss her, don't you." I gave her an extra squeeze. I didn't mind that I wasn't her first love.

"Yeah, I do. Oh wow! Look at this!"

"This" was the only bedroom really ready for use. Elaine had customized and furnished it to her specifications. Most of it was occupied by a king-sized bed under a section of dropped ceiling. As we cleared away the spread and sprawled out I didn't point out the decoratively camouflaged anchor points on the head and foot boards. However, nothing could hide the overhead mirror with its surrounding track lights.

"This is pretty neat," Greg commented, playing with a remote that controlled practically everything in the room, including gauzy curtains that swept around the bed to turn it into a cozy refuge.

Leaving the curtains open, he dialed down the ceiling lights, dialed up the track lights, and there we were, reflected in the overhead mirror, all naked skin, breasts and nipples, cunts and cock on display. I slipped my arms under their necks and drew them into a snuggle. They rolled toward me and it was wonderful, feeling them against me, watching as Kathy played with my tits and Greg groped my pussy, his cock slowly expanding in my hand.

"Your moms are pretty cool, letting us use this," Greg observed.

"They're the best," I agreed.

"They're kinky," Kathy pointed out.

I shivered a little, remembering the Sunday in the park. "Sometimes Elaine gets a little carried away," I admitted.

"She's a dom."

I nodded. "Usually, but I think they switch sometimes."

Kathy relinquished her grip on my boob to roll over and check out the bedside table. "I wonder what's in here. I bet they've got some interesting toys."

My moms hadn't said anything about keeping out of there, so I didn't worry about her burrowing into the drawer. It was so cool, watching myself, my free hand playing with Greg's hard cock. His meat was so hot, the skin soft over the hard core, the head spongy. I spread a glittering blob of pre-come around, making him all slippery and very appetizing. I wished I could figure out a way to watch myself sucking it. There was a flat-screen on the wall at the foot of the bed. A web cam came to mind, and I wondered if Elaine had thought of that.

"Look at this!" Kathy held up a double-ended dildo bigger around than Greg's dork and probably three times as long, with a section in the middle that let her bend it into a horse-shoe shape. "There's lube, too."

Greg's finger was exploring my eagerly salivating pussy. I purred, my hips beginning to hump a little. In the mirror we watched Kathy lube up one end of the toy, spread her legs and begin slowly working it into herself, the lips of her cunt straining around its bulk. God, that was totally hot! Once she had it sunk all the way in she lay back, holding the free end straight up, a monster fake cock jutting up from her groin.

"How do I look?"

"Horny," Greg answered.

"Ready to fuck," I added, my twat giving a hungry twitch.

"Isn't that what I said? " Greg asked. "But this is my hole," he added, working a second finger into my pussy.

I was entertaining incredibly wicked thoughts. I squeezed his dick. "I do have other openings available," I pointed out with a perverted giggle.

"Huh?" Greg said innocently.

Kathy knew exactly what I was thinking. "You are a total perv!"

"Takes one to know one," I retorted.

"Guilty as charged," she agreed easily, using both hands to fuck herself with the dildo. "You wanna use the other end of this in door number one?"

"I'd love to," I admitted. "It looks a bit big for door number two."

"Hey, what about me?" Greg asked, obviously not following Kathy's and my train of thought.

"Don't worry, you get door number two! Just follow my lead -- or rather, my tail -- and you'll be well on your way to being just as much a perv as I am," I explained, turning my head to give him a juicy, very suggestive kiss without disturbing my grip on his cock or his hand on my pussy.

We were playing a wicked game, of course, teasing ourselves to peak horniness. Kathy and I knew damn well what we were leading up to, and Greg was catching on. I could feel his cock getting even harder while we watched Kathy fondling the fake cock jutting from her crotch. Bringing her legs up toward her shoulders, she let us see her finger tickling the dusky pucker of her own asshole.

That, along with the sight of Kathy's plastic prick and Greg's fleshy one had my body preparing itself for their dual assault. I gave Greg's cock a reassuring squeeze.

"I've got just the place for this," I told him, my voice husky with lust. Reaching down with my other hand I drew his fingers out of my pussy and guided them further back to scratch my itching asshole. "Back here."

"You'll need this," Kathy pointed out, putting the tube of lube on my tummy after coating the half of the prod she was offering me.

"Lemme mount up on Kathy," I told Greg, handing him the lubricant. "Then use this on your cock and my ass."

"You sure?"

"Oh yeah," I assured him, rolling over and getting up on my knees to straddle Kathy.

As much as we'd already done, this was new territory for him, but he was a willing pupil. Reaching down, I guided the dildo to my cunt and gingerly worked my way down on it before I lay forward on Kathy. It was so big, cool at first, making my cunt clutch at it until it warmed it up. Kathy and I were face to face.

"Hi," she greeted me softly.

"Hi." We kissed. "I love you."

"And I love you," she assured me.

I squirmed happily on top of her before lifting my head to look at Greg. "I love you, too, Greg. Now hurry up with that lube."

Still a bit dubious, Greg got to his knees. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Trust me, you won't." I was already panting a little. Shit! I couldn't watch in the mirror! Fuck! Maybe next time I'd figure out a way to be on the bottom.

"You've done this before?"

"There isn't much I haven't done before," I answered vaguely. After all, I had been buggered by my own brother while he ate his GF out -- compensation, they'd called it for some debt I'd owed. I was also remembering the sweet pain of the big butt plug Judy Liu had stuffed into me at her sleepover. A double penetration, or DP, was a first for me, but I didn't tell him that. I'd seen it done in a dirty video. It had probably carried a warning, something like "these are trained professionals, on a closed course, don't try this at home yada yada yada."

Like I was going to let that stop me!

"Like this?" he asked, poking timidly at my bung.

"Don't be prissy. Put lots of that goop on your longest finger and work it into me, real deep. Then use two fingers to get me to loosen up a bit," I instructed. "The only rule to remember is that anything that's been up my ass does NOT go in anywhere else before being thoroughly washed."

Encouraged, he got bolder about greasing up my shit-chute.

"Oooooyeah! Stick 'em in deep as you can reach, and twist 'em around," I said with a gasp. "Shit that feels good. Can you feel Kathy in me from the front?"

"It feels so tight! You think I'll fit?"

"We'll manage. I bet you'll love how tight it is. Oh, that feels so good with Kathy stuffing my pussy and your fingers in my ass. I want more! Grease your cock up good, and go for it," I ordered. "Don't be bashful."

As if he could be, after all this build-up! I felt a warm nudge at my back door and did my best to open it for him. "Ahhhhh yes, push hard -- harder." I groaned in joy as he wedged my sphincter open. "Yes, yes, yes. Push, push, push!"

"It's tight!"

Oh shit! It began to sting -- a good sting -- as he stretched me with his cock. "It's s'posed to be tight. Oh god that feels good."

"Oh, Dee," Kathy groaned, her hips working, the dildo stirring in her cunt and mine. I kissed her hungrily as Greg slowly worked his cock into my back door. I felt more and more full as he slipped it in, my sphincter clutching at it.

He was grunting with the effort. "Jeez! It's different. It's like hot velvet in there!"

"So full!" I gasped. "I'm so full!"

"I'm only halfway in!"

"All the way, Greg! All the way! Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! Fuck me! Both of you, fuck the shit out of me! Lemme have it! Ohshit, I love you both so much!"

Getting into the spirit of things, Greg buried the full length of his cock in my ass, his hips jammed against my butt, while Kathy kept humping her tool deep in my pussy, our clits and tits getting crushed between us, along with the barrier between my cunt and asshole. Jesus it felt good. Squashed like a bug between them I could barely wriggle but it didn't matter. Greg was fucking my ass, slow short strokes at first, steadily getting longer, faster, harder. I was clutching at Kathy, trying not to claw her as she humped the dildo up into me, stirring it in her own pussy as she did. Her arms were around both Greg and me, clutching us together like iron bands. Her hips and mine were all we could move, working against each other, but it was enough. I took everything they had to offer, and did my best to smother Kathy with my kisses while Greg was now ruthlessly humping my butt, his breath panting hot in my ear, and I was getting closer and closer to coming -- and coming -- and coming

OHSHIT! Suddenly Greg was stuffed full depth in me, his cock giving me a hot come enema, while under me Kathy's pelvis was grinding and grinding against mine, hard, and she was trying to suck my tongue out of my head, and both of them were coming like volcanoes.

Meanwhile I was blazing like a campfire, melting from my own orgasm. I was a Hershey bar between graham crackers, Greg's come the sweet molten marshmallow filling of our carnal s'more, to strain a vulgar metaphor beyond all reasonable limits. My rectum milked him dry while my cunt clutched and clutched at Kathy's dildo. I wriggled as best I could to get it to stir in her pussy and mine until finally all three of us went limp with exhaustion.

Eventually my body rebelled and crapped out Greg's shrinking pecker and he rolled off me. Aching, I lifted myself off Kathy's untiring dildo so I could pull it out of her and drop it on the floor by the bed. This time we had Kathy in the middle for a long, loving snuggle. She didn't seem to mind Greg playing with one of her tits while I held the other. She combed my sexy new do with gentle fingers.

Finally, struggling to stay awake, we staggered into the master bath to shower away the fruits of our debauchery before shambling back to bed. Fortunately it was big enough we could pretty much avoid the sodden patch. Greg dialed down the lights and I cuddled him while Kathy spooned against my back.

And yes, in the morning, after breakfast, we changed the sheets. I also remembered to sponge up the evidence from the entryway -- the word "copious" came to mind -- before we headed out. I don't know what Greg told his family, or Kathy hers, but my moms got the uncensored version. Their own sheets were already in the drier by the time I got home, and Mom was moving carefully, so I didn't need to ask how their night had been. I slept most of Sunday, except for homework and getting organized for my committee meeting the next afternoon.

-------

"Madam Chairman, before you formally open the meeting I have two announcements I'd like to make."

I'd expected Mrs. Devers would have something to say and politely yielded the floor to her, wondering what she had up her sleeve this time. Not that she had a sleeve. None of us had sleeves on, or anything else. I'd set the dress code by doffing my duds at the door as a symbolic gesture and the others had followed suit -- or should that be "un-suit?"

Sorry, after the weekend I was still a little giddy.

Sitting at the head of the conference table I had already organized the papers in front of me while the others had been chatting, Mike and 'Retta playing table hockey using pencils and the cap off a water bottle. It being the second time I chaired the committee, and this time being prepared for it, I was more confident. But that was before Mrs. Devers dropped her bombshells.

"We have two issues," she announced. "They don't need to be formally taken up by the committee, but they both bear on The Program, and they're both related."

She took a deep breath, and all I could think was, damn she looked good! I'd hesitate to use the term "girlish" to describe breasts that had suckled two children, but hers were that firm, with only a little more sag than Kathy's boobs, and her nipples could only be described as succulent. Lucky kids, too young to appreciate it. Well, actually, I suppose they did, but not the way I would.

Pay attention to what she's saying, not her tits! The Stick reminded me sternly. You had your fun over the weekend. Now it's time to get serious.

Yes'm, I thought back at her.

"While we and the authorities have tried to keep a lid on the arrest of our former Program Coordinator, naturally there have been rumors, to put it mildly," Mrs. Devers began. "We'd hoped they'd die down, but they haven't."

Heather and I exchanged a look at the mention of the Worm. If we'd known what was coming we both might have dived under the table

"Unfortunately, this is stirring up some old problems. While community support for The Program has generally been good, there have always been those who would like nothing more than for it to go away. Certain religious organizations are uncomfortable, to put it mildly, and not all parents are supportive of their children walking the halls naked, or seeing others in that state. Some, those that can afford it, have taken to home-schooling them or chosen private institutions. But that doesn't stop them, and others, from raising hell at every school board meeting. Worthington's arrest has only given them more ammunition.

"We can expect demonstrations, and more attention. While the survival of The Program is not your responsibility, I felt you'd want to be aware of what's happening."

I joined the others in nodding in agreement. I was remembering the anonymous phone calls I'd gotten. There'd been more than one. I could see this whole thing turning into a really ugly mess. When The Program was first put in place there had been protests. Over time they'd faded, but I bet the picket signs were being polished up for another turn.

Mrs. Devers may have said it wasn't our worry but my mind immediately turned to what we could do to blunt their attack.

"That's the first issue," she went on. "The second is Worthington himself. The District Attorney is trying his damnedest to keep the case from going to trial. If it does, even in a closed court, the repercussions could be severe, particularly on individuals who would have to testify against him."

I'd already learned that in our system of justice the accused -- in this case the Worm -- has the right to face his accuser -- in this case, me -- in a court of law. The thought made me feel sick. I never, ever, wanted to be in the same room with that heap of slime again, let alone be cross-examined by his attorney. I broke out in a cold sweat, thinking of the coals I could be raked over -- my performance in the Sex Ed class in middle school, my flagrant display in the park. I'd become a poster child for The Program, not always in a positive light. It's some kind of miracle I didn't already have a target painted on my naked ass.

Everyone was looking at me. I hate clichés, but I was probably white as a sheet.

Mrs. Devers continued. "We hoped other victims would come out to make the case against him so intimidating he'd cop a plea and go quietly off to jail. That hasn't happened, and now his lawyer is making noises that he was entrapped."

That made me so mad I had to bite my tongue. I could feel myself turning from white to red. Blue was probably going to be next, but Mrs. Devers distracted me by continuing.

"As it stands now we know of only two victims."

Oh joy. The other one had to be Peggy, and I ached for her. I'd let myself be burned at the stake before I let them hurt her! Only I couldn't see anything I could possibly do to protect her. Shit!

"There have to be others," Mrs. Devers went on. "We need someone, anyone, to come forward -- more than one someone, if possible -- and if they have specifics about the abuse they suffered, so much the better. As juveniles they're fairly safe from their names becoming public, especially if it avoids a trial. As adults it isn't so easy, but either way we need their statements."

"How old is a juvenile?" Heather asked softly, studying a lock of her hair as if a split end had had the nerve to put in an appearance there.

I felt for her. She had to know that simple question raised a red flag.

"It doesn't matter how old they are now," Mrs. Devers answered. Did she deliberately avoid looking at Heather? "Anyone sixteen and under at the time the offense was committed is treated as a juvenile."

I breathed a small sigh of relief. Peggy and I were both underage. But Heather had her driver's license. Shit! She might not have age as a shield. I half expected her to faint right then and there, but she's made of stern stuff and didn't even flinch, though at least one split end met a cruel fate.

"If you know anyone who might have been a victim, try to get them to come see me. As far as the school goes I can promise total confidentiality."

Yeah, right, I thought. Some promise. Being seen going into her office anytime was enough to set tongues wagging.

"As for the legal system," she went on, "the judge is a stickler for protecting victims of sex crimes, especially juveniles. So are Child Protective Services and the District Attorney. Violating gag orders gets lawyers jailed, even disbarred. It would be a closed court, no spectators. But, reporters being reporters..."

Not finishing that thought, she took a deep breath. "What we need is a case so strong they don't dare go to court. To do that we need your help. That's all I have to say, Madam Chairman. Thank you."

And there I was, shuffling my papers, my mind in turmoil. Mercifully, I had an agenda in front of me, a gavel at hand, and Robert's Rules to guide my path. Gaveling the meeting to order, I asked Mike to read the minutes of the last meeting while I scrawled a note, folded it, and fired it across Mrs. Devers's bow to Heather. The vice principal cocked an eyebrow at me but made no move to intercept it.

Heather read it, looked unhappy, but nodded. She knew darn well why I wanted her to ask me if I needed a ride home.

After the minutes were approved it was on to old business. Mrs. Devers reported that TPTB were trying to figure out who should provide towels for program participants. Housekeeping, the nurse's office and athletics had been quick to come up with excuses. Asking kids to bring in their own towels was discussed, but that would spoil the joyous surprise of their first day in The Program.

Note to self: Add that stupid "surprise" to our agenda at some point. Eliminating that bit of idiocy might even resolve the towel issue as well.

Devers said she'd keep pushing the issue. Meanwhile, to cover the matter, so to speak, she was bringing in hand towels from her own linen closet, taking them home to wash them at night.

So! That explained the fancy "D" monogram Fran had planted her ample ass on at lunch. Frankly she needed a bigger towel, and I'd told her I'd bring one for her. Had I known it was her turn I would have done it today.

Yeah, it was Fran's week in The Program. We Lunch Bunchers were doing our best to keep the bullies at bay, Tweedle Dumb in particular, but even Fran admitted she was a big target. I was glad she had a good sense of humor.

Heather made a motion for the committee to express its gratitude to Mrs. Devers for her generous gesture regarding the towels. Matt seconded it and it passed unanimously.

This was kinda fun! As I got more into it my worries receded a little.

From there we moved on to new business. I opened the discussion on the use of The Program for discipline. After batting it around we all pretty much agreed it had to go, but 'Retta Jones, she of the magnificent chocolate rack, pointed out it might be a useful learning experience for anyone bullying someone who was in The Program. Last year her boobs had attracted abuse, both verbal and physical, and the Worm, of course, had been no help. Her argument that giving a bully a taste of his own medicine made sense, but that only added another twist to the issue without suggesting a solution.

So, I did what any good leader does -- I asked 'Retta to form a sub-committee of three to explore the options and report back at our next meeting.

That triggered a discussion of whether we could go outside the committee proper to form such a sub-committee. Mrs. Devers, speaking for the school administration, didn't have an objection, but Robert's Rules, as we read them, didn't allow it, and we decided it was best to keep this to ourselves anyway. So we were stuck with it. With only eight of us to draw from I could see this getting overwhelming if we had too many sub-committees.

Even so, the corporal punishment issue got the same treatment. Matt Mozilla actually volunteered to chair that sub-committee, having been on the receiving end of a sound public spanking from the Worm -- with his bare hand, just to make it nice and personal, I'm sure -- for some alleged program violation. What a shit that man was!

It was left up to 'Retta and Matt to choose their committee members.

With no other new business we adjourned and I banged the gavel down.

"Can I give you a ride home, Dee?" Trust Heather to hold on to the ball I'd tossed her at the beginning of the meeting, and now run with it, even though I knew she didn't want to.

"Yeah, thanks. I usually jog, but I'm still getting over the weekend, I guess."

Frankly, I was still sore, and I'm not talking about my earlobes.

"Me, too."

Dressed again, and with our book bags, we walked to her car, both lost in thought. I don't know about her, but I was tired of trying to hide our friendship, if that's what it was. I deliberately gave her a friendly hip bump.

"What was that for?"

"For chairing the dance. It was fabulous, and Kathy told me what you did for her on the decorations. And think of it as a Homecoming Queen congratulations bump, too. You deserved it, and I'm really happy for you," I said with a smile. She smiled, bumped me back, and things were okay, for now, at least. She drove me home and I asked her in for a snack, though we both knew there was more to it than that.

"I hear you're moving?" she asked, washing her hands at the sink as I hauled out milk and cookies -- chocolate chip.

"Yeah. Just across town. Don't know for sure when yet." I sat down across the table from her and for a while we ate in silence. Shit! I had her here, right where I wanted her, and I didn't know what to say. C'mon, Stick, how about a little inspiration here?

Patience, The Stick responded unhelpfully.

Shit! I hate silence.

Exactly, The Stick answered.

"Matt is gay, you know," Heather said when the silence had stretched to the breaking point.

Once again she'd come at me from an unexpected direction.

"Uh, I didn't know that." My instant thought was, what a waste. Here he is, every girl's wet dream, and he walks the other side of the street. Damn!

Not that I cared, I reminded myself. After all, I have Greg, and Matt is graduating this year.

But still...

"The perfect date," Heather mused, holding a lock of hair so close her eyes crossed. "Here I am, a girl who can't stand a boy touching me, dating a guy who couldn't care less about touching me."

Yeah, I know, they'd touched when they'd danced, but they hadn't danced that close, and she hadn't danced with anyone else -- I'd watched -- and I knew she didn't mean touching THAT way. I thought it was nice he'd cared enough to ask her to the dance, if he had. Maybe she'd asked him. "He's in the closet?"

She shrugged, dropping her hair. "He's just discreet. It's no big deal. We've done it before. Keeps the homophobes guessing. I'm useful cover for him and it makes me look good to be dating a hunk like him. Works out well for both of us. I dated the quarterback, before..."

Not needing to ask "before what?" I nodded and silence descended again. The slow drip of the faucet was driving me nuts so I went over and jiggled it to make it stop.

She sighed. "Fuck! I'd like to wring that scrawny motherfucker's fucking neck!"

I sat down again, slowly, a little surprised by her language.

We both knew she wasn't talking about Matt.

"What'm I going to do? I know what I should do, but what am I going to do? How can I do it without coming across as the slut of the ages?"

I reached out and took her hand. I somehow knew she had to work through this herself. I couldn't tell her what to do. I wanted to tell her that it was the perfect chance to redeem herself in her own eyes, knowing how much she regretted not blowing the whistle on him in the first place. But that wouldn't be fair. I could only hope she'd see that for herself.

I finally had to say something. "Well, first of all, it wasn't your fault, so you're not a slut."

She shot me a dubiously grateful look.

"You're not! This is NOT your fault!" I was wrestling with some way to convince her to do what she knew she had had to do.

"What should I do?" she repeated. "I'm open to suggestions. No, that's not fair. You're the one who walked into the dragon's den and took his fire when I should have. I owe you."

"There's no 'owe' here. We're in it together," I assured her. She had to know she wasn't alone in this. Something that she'd just said niggled in the back of my head. "We need to tell someone."

"Like who? Who could I trust? Not Devers. She's a good person, but I can't put her in that position. The law says she'd have to turn me in."

I didn't think that was what the law said, exactly, but I didn't argue.

"There's something else you need to know." She dug into her book bag and came out with a book about the size of a thick paperback, only hardcover, white leather with a little brass lock -- a very ladylike book.

"When I was five years old, on my first day of school, my Grammy gave me my first diary. She's given me a new one every year since, on the first day of school."

She dropped it on the table. "I started this one the first day of school last year. It's been burning a hole in my bookshelf all summer. I had it with me today 'cause I was afraid the new cleaning lady might snoop."

"Shit! What's in it?"

"Everything."

"All of it?" I asked, almost holding my breath.

"All of it."

"Like... ?" I felt like I was walking a tight-rope.

"Like -- all of it. Like what he did to me, thirty-seven fucking times between September and June. What he did. When he did it. How he did it. Where he did it. Every time he did it. In detail. It got so I knew every fucking pimple on that motherfucker's ugly body, right down to the fucking mole on his fucking dick, well enough to draw a picture. So I did. Even that's in there."

Motherfucker. She'd said motherfucker before. That she wanted to wring that motherfucker's scrawny neck! That's what she'd said! Maybe I had a lever.

"No shit?!"

"No shit." She fingered the book, staring at it.

My mind was racing. "Just a minute ago you said you want to wring his neck."

"I still do. So?" She looked at me, eyes suddenly very, very sharp. She knew I had an idea. What she didn't know was that she'd handed me the key to unlocking her, and her diary -- I hoped -- and locking the Worm up for good. But she might pay a steep price.

I took a deep breath. "So, you've got his neck right there in your hands right now. All you have to do is squeeze."

"Huh?"

She wasn't usually this dense. I put it down to stress.

I pointed at the diary. "What you have, right there, will put him away for a good, long time. Maybe forever."

I knew that what I said next could tip her one way or the other, so I took a leap into the unknown. When have I ever turned down a chance for that? I leaned closer to her. "It's the evidence Mrs. Devers was talking about. Think about it. It's proof! Show that and he'll have to go for a plea bargain, 'cause any jury in the world would hang him, if they could."

She turned white, her pupils dilating into tunnels that went straight into her mind. I swear I could see the wheels turning inside her skull.

"Everyone would see my diary," she whispered fearfully.

"Maybe not," I suggested. "Maybe just the few who need to see it, and only the parts they need to see."

"But it's all mixed together," she argued. "All the stuff I felt, everything I did all last year..."

"Everything that HE did!" I reminded her. "TO YOU!"

I was so upset with the Worm, so excited to be this close to nailing his worthless hide to the wall it was all I could do to keep from pounding on the table. It'd probably have scared the shit out of Heather if I had.

I could feel her teetering on the brink. I gave another nudge. "This is our chance to put that animal where he can never ever do it to anyone, ever again."

I could see she was still wavering. I could understand where she was coming from. I've never been the diary type, but I knew if I'd kept a record of all my feelings and thoughts the last thing in the world I'd want is for anyone else to see them.

But in this case, thinking of having to face the Worm in court, that he might get off...

Feeling like a total shit, I gave the screw one more turn. "I hate to think I might have gone through what I did with that motherfucking bastard for nothing."

Even as I said it I felt my heart stop. I'd gone too far, ruined our friendship forever just as it had started to take root. She was frozen, icy white. I couldn't tell if she was angry, or disgusted, or scared, or what.

But I'd said it, and it couldn't be un-said.

She looked at her diary again, then at me, and I knew I'd won, and what it might have cost me.

I know, I know. I've said I hate to lose, and I couldn't even calculate what losing this time would have cost. But I wished I hadn't won this way.

"You don't play fair, you know that?"

"I know," I admitted unhappily, looking down at the cookies, blinking back tears, no longer hungry. "I'm sorry."

"So! What do I need to do?" she asked after a long silence, and I started breathing again. There was a fire in her that I suspected had been damped down to embers for the last year by the unspeakable things that had been done to her.

Where to start? How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time, said The Stick.

"The first thing we need to do is we need to tell your parents." I emphasized the "we." She had to know she wasn't alone, that I'd be right there with her all the way.

"Do I have to?" she asked plaintively.

"We have to! I'm sorry, but it's got to be done. They've got to hear it from us before the shit hits the fan, which it probably will, or they'll never be able to forgive us -- forgive you. It would burn inside them forever if you don't confide in them. They're your parents. They love you more than anything else in the world."

God, I hoped I was right about that!

"When?"

"Are they home now?" They often weren't, and I couldn't help hoping they weren't today, that we could put this off.

No such luck. She looked at the clock. "Mom is. Daddy will be, in half an hour or so."

Daddy. She called him daddy. What must it be like to have someone to call that?

Shaking off the thought, I got the same feeling I did when I took that first step of my approach to a dive off the high-board -- the deadly calm and concentration of being committed to action, confident it would come out right, oblivious to all the other possible outcomes.

"Then we do it now, before we lose our nerve. But we need backup," I added, digging out my cell, praying she'd be available.

"Who?"

"Someone I'd trust with our lives, someone who's already familiar with the situation and will know how to handle it. Trust me!"

I speed-dialed Ms. Andrews -- I'd asked Elaine to show me how to add speed dial numbers, and that was one of the first, right after Greg's. I could only pray she could meet us at Heather's house.

How do you tell someone their daughter's been raped? Ms. Andrews would know. We needed professional help. We -- especially Heather and her parents -- needed all the professional help we could get. [DF1]



-------

Chapter 23


Thank God Ms. Andrews accompanied us into Heather's house or I don't know what might have happened. We let the trained professional open the conversation, as in, like "Now, try to remain calm. Heather has something very important she needs to tell you," which, of course, turned her parents pasty white right from the "now try to remain calm."

As it was, after the initial shock, anger, and tears had been dealt with I was relieved to be shoved out the door so Heather and her family could undergo a crash therapy session. God bless Ms. Andrews.

Considering the way I'd twisted Heather's arm I doubted she ever wanted to see me again anyway.

Shit! How could I have been so cruel?

It had to be done, The Stick kept reminding me.

That didn't make me feel any better. When I got home. Mom said the same thing while I cried on her shoulder. Even from her it didn't help. I kept asking myself why do I do these things, how can I do these things?

To which The Stick invariably replied unhelpfully with "What else could you do?"

Sometime in the middle of the night I finally crawled out of Mom's bed and went downstairs so she could get some sleep. I wound up watching a Law and Order SVU marathon. Since they can wrap up a case in an hour I figured maybe I could get some tips from them that might help me get my life back to what passes for normal.

Then, too, watching Mariska Hargitay is a welcome distraction. If I had time for a fantasy life she'd have a starring role. Think of her in a black bustier -- and nothing else -- a whip in her hand, Mom and Elaine at her mercy! Yum!

But right now I just wanted this whole thing over with.

Now!

Does it surprise you to learn that I am not noted for my patience?

Probably not.

Anyway, the whole situation explains the avenging-angel mind-set that had me sprinting through what was supposed to be my Tuesday morning jog with Missy.

"Wouldja -- puff -- slow down! Sheesh! Puff. What's -- puff -- what's got -- puff -- you -- puff -- so stoked?"

"Stuff," I answered vaguely, slowing to what felt like a snail's-pace trot.

"What stuff?"

It was stuff I couldn't share with her, even under a triple-cross-your-heart-and-swear-to-die promise to not tell anyone. Fortunately Missy was in love, so it wasn't hard to get her gushing about Saturday night's amorous activities. After returning home in time to meet her mom's curfew, she and her date, the formerly hygienically challenged Bud Lacey, had enjoyed some snacks and cozy moments on her family's living-room sofa. With her mom lurking, of course, they'd been limited to a bit of discreet necking and petting and whispered sweet nothings, but the dance plus that was enough to get her hormones foaming. I just hoped she'd keep them under better control than she had in middle school.

The rest of the way to school I managed to keep my pace in check so I didn't run her into the ground, but it wasn't easy. I was fighting adrenalin, no sleep, and five hours of Law and Order SVU. Determined and ready to smite the enemy I had a plan. My mind, drawing all the elements together, kept trying to push my feet faster so I could get to it sooner.

Element one: Heather's dad was ready to lynch the Worm. However, since he was a highly respected lawyer I was sure he would instead use his legal clout. He was probably already kicking the DA's ass to get the wheels of justice turning faster.

Element two: The same person who'd escorted me to the rapist had also escorted Heather to the same person for the same purpose more than once. While he hadn't taken part he had to have known what was going on inside that closed room.

Element three: Watching L & O SVU had suggested a way I could use that knowledge to stoke the engine turning the wheels so they'd grind the Worm to a pulp even sooner and more thoroughly.

Element four: It being Tweedle Dumb's week in The Program, finding him wouldn't be hard. I still didn't understand why that creep hadn't been busted for escorting me to the Worm's burrow. Maybe it was a lack of evidence. I was going to change that.

But first had to get him alone.

No problem. Rumor had it that so far he'd been too shy to seek relief in front of any of his classes, so I figured he had to be stroking his salami in private, contrary to Program regulations. With the Lunch Bunch providing intelligence and his skanky reputation keeping innocent bystanders at bay I caught him red handed, you might say, by sneaking up behind him in a bathroom stall.

I waited 'til he was in mid-come before I knocked him off-stride by calling him on a Program Violation. The way he flinched it was a miracle he didn't uproot his Schwanz -- and yeah, that's German. It's pronounced "shvahntz," it's vulgar, and it means just what you think it does.

"What? I'm usin' the girls' room like I'm s'posed to!"

"True. But you're not supposed to be using it for that." I pointed to his grip on his suddenly sagging equipment, which was drooling morosely into a wad of toilet paper. He hastily dropped both dick and wad, but I caught the evidence before it hit the toilet bowl and waved it in front of him like a warning flag.

"Naughty, naughty. You're depriving your classmates of their entertainment. That's a spanking offense." I had an image of him over Mrs. Devers's knee, with her practicing her blistering forehand on his ugly butt. The image was so tempting it almost had me rethinking what the committee's position should be on corporal punishment.

But that had to wait. I had different plans for him. He and his dick both drooped. The hygiene squad was very thorough. Having been given The Treatment by them only the day before he was still a skank but at least he didn't stink. "But I might be inclined to ignore the program violation if you cooperate," I offered.

"Cooperate? What? How?"

There were so many holes in this scheme I could have drained spaghetti with it, but I was counting on keeping him off balance. I was also trading on the fact that I was in a battle of wits with an unarmed man.

From what I'd heard from Heather last night I was sure Tweedle Dumb was going to be moved up on the DA's "to do" list. But I'd prefer that before Cagney was dragged out of class, kicking and screaming, he'd be down at the station house, rolling over on the Worm in exchange for a lighter sentence. To do that I needed to scare the shit out of the stupid turd.

I know, that's not the kind of cop talk you'll hear even on cable TV. Blame it on my temper mixed in with a Law and Order overdose.

I was also counting on the fact that over the years he'd fallen a bit behind, grade-wise, held back by a school and foster system determined to get him literate before he started drawing social security.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen," he admitted, scratching his shaggy head like a spaniel. Well, no, that's not right. He did use his fore-paw rather than a hind leg. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You knew what the Worm was going to do to me when you took me to that room."

"I didn't do nothin' but what he told me to do."

That wasn't quite the answer I wanted.

"But you knew why he wanted me and what he was going to do. And what did you get in return?"

That was a shot in the dark, but it worked.

"He gave me pichers," he admitted, instead of denying everything. "But I didn't get none of you."

Pictures?! I wouldn't put it past him to be selling them. Shit!

But then, how dumb could these guys be? Not only did the DA have Heather's diary in hand by now, Cagney could provide graphic evidence. Feeling sick to my stomach, I didn't ask pictures of what or who, or what he'd done with 'em, but went on like a hard-ass detective.

"You ever stop to think what Worthington has already told the cops? Wanna bet the DA already knows you helped the Worm commit felony rape? That creep is probably already trying to trade your ass for a lighter sentence. The DA's questioned you once. I don't know why he hasn't already busted your worthless butt, but I bet he will soon. He's probably working on a warrant right now."

Tweedle Dumb was starting to sweat. "I didn't do nothin'!"

It was time for his reality check. He was in deep doo-doo and needed to know just how deep it was.

"Yes you did. You knew what was going to happen to me. That makes you an accessory," I said, carefully drawing on my late night TV tutoring while making it very personal. But with this moron I knew I was going have to hit him upside the head with a two by four to get my point across.

"It's called 'aiding and abetting in commission of a felony, ' and rape is a very serious felony, and you're as guilty as can be," I went on ruthlessly. "That means you'll be treated the same as if you did the crime. We're not talking shoplifting or shaking down some kid for his lunch money. We're talking RAPE, which is right up there with murder.

"So we're not talking a few months in county jail. At eighteen you're old enough to be charged as an adult. That is not handled in juvenile court, where you might only get boot camp. They'll try you as an adult, and you'll go to state prison, not some cushy juvie facility. You could go to prison for a very long, hard time.

"Think! You're young enough to be real attractive to the horny lifers behind those bars. Your ass will be their playground. Those butt fuckers love fresh young meat. Worse, since a lot of 'em suffered from abuse as children themselves they hate child abusers. When they find out that's what you're in for they won't know or care whether you did it or just helped. You'll be lucky if you get out of there alive."

I shook my head woefully. Watching his balls try to crawl out of sight was very satisfying.

"But," I went on more optimistically, "if you turn yourself in to the DA and cooperate by telling him what you know about you-know-who and what he did and who he did it to -- maybe even show him some of the 'pichers' -- the DA might offer to go easy on you, let you plead to a lesser charge, maybe even offer time in minimum security where you could get your GED and be out in a year or two.

"If it were me, I'd hand myself over to the DA real quick, before the cops came to get me. Cops don't like child rapists either. They've got kids of their own." I crossed my fingers as I slandered our fine constabulary. "Shit happens. You might even meet with an accident on the way to jail. But you'd better work fast. They're probably already on their way here. If you can bring a lawyer along, so much the better. With your history I bet you already know one."

He'd gone from red to white. I could smell the insulation burning between his ears.

"Why're you telling me this?"

"Because I want to make sure that son-of-a-bitch pays for what he did to me, even if means you get off easy."

The bell rang. I studied the wad of TP with disgust. "It's time to go."

Even he was smart enough to know I didn't mean to class. I dropped the tattle-tale TP into the toilet, gave the flush lever a hard kick. Serenaded by rushing water, I washed his scum off my hands at the sink and went on my way, leaving His Dumbness to contemplate his options. Even if he didn't take my advice right away I was sure he'd get caught. Now that I'd spelled out in words of one syllable exactly what he was facing I was confident he'd be anxious to cut a deal.

Surprisingly, from there Tuesday went on pretty much as usual, except Heather wasn't in school. "Some kind of flu" was the story. There was speculation that she'd had a hot weekend with Mongo and was suffering a delayed reaction. But Heather was right about Matt. He was discreet, responding to questions with a knowing smile that could be interpreted any way that floated your boat.

I didn't see Tweedle Dumb again, either, which was a hopeful sign. Maybe he'd taken my advice.

At swimming practice Greg wondered why I was so distracted. I told him it was "female troubles," which had him worrying he'd somehow damaged me.

Men! Why to they always assume it's about them?

Still keyed up, I stayed after practice to work on my diving and it was a disaster. Over and over I got that "uh-oh, this is going to hurt" feeling as I left the end of the board, and I was usually right. I'd strain muscles trying to save the dive. I'd be over long, my calves whip-lashing the water, or I'd be short and my thighs would catch it. Water hits back hard enough to raise bruises. Belly-flops from high enough have been known to cause serious internal damage, but I avoided those ... usually.

Coach was very patient. I tried to tell myself I was distracted, but by the time I called it quits I felt like I'd been worked over with a baseball bat and was starting to buy into his assessment that I'd simply outgrown the sport.

Shit!

At home that night I cooked dinner for Mom and Elaine, put liniment on my bruises, and tried to concentrate on my homework. All the time I was waiting for my cell to ring, worrying about Heather, not daring to call her. I hoped she was okay. At last exhaustion caught up with me and, after falling asleep at my desk and banging my head, I managed to stagger to my bed. At some point Mom must have come in and drawn the covers over me, but I didn't remember it.

The next day, having done what I could, I didn't push Missy on the run. I was too sore anyway. Classes and lunch went reasonably well. Tweedle Dumb was absent again, which gave me hope, but Heather was out, too, which worried me.

Then at the closing bell I was called to Mrs. Devers's office. It being Wednesday that put a kink into my scheduled modeling session with Greg and Kathy, so I hoped to make it quick, thinking Devers wanted to give me some suggestions about what I should say at Saturday's dedication of the "Spirit" statue. Instead I found Heather waiting for me, looking what was, for her, very second hand -- unkempt hair, no makeup, dark circles under eyes that looked like they were bleeding.

My body went on high alert. I wanted to reach for her, while thinking that I was about to be consigned to her scrap heap. Somehow I managed to respond to a gesture from Devers and shut the door behind me, cutting off the racket in the hall. The next thing I knew Heather was wrapped around me, tears flowing like a river, and for the longest time all I could do was stand there, and hold her, and soothe her. When I looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Devers through my own tears the vice principal had a sweet, sad smile on her face.

When Heather started to run down and drew back a little, tried to talk, choking out "I'm sorry" I grabbed her by the ears and shut her up with a full-bore, no-holds-barred kiss, tasting her tears and her snot, contributing my own secretions to the mix as I did. Once we broke the first big smack I kept telling her that I was the one who was sorry, that it was all right, all between gentler kisses and lots of tears, stroking her hair.

Eventually we settled in chairs across from Mrs. Devers, holding hands, Heather choking up whenever she tried to say anything.

"She spent yesterday at the District Attorney's office," Mrs. Devers explained while Heather soaked a solid stream of tissues between the box on the desk and the wastebasket. "She tells me there have been developments that she thought you'd like to know."

"I'm just glad to know she's okay."

"She told me what you did."

"I didn't do anything," I protested.

"Did too!" Heather snorted out.

"I didn't! You did what you knew you had to do."

"And I suppose the three other girls turning up aren't your fault either?" Mrs. Devers asked.

"What three other girls? I don't know what you're talking about!"

"'cause of you, and Daddy, I talked 'em into coming with me." Heather snuffled. "I knew he'd done it to them, too."

That meant three more families for Ms. Andrews to try to piece back together. Shit.

"I had nothing to do with that!" I protested.

"Did too!" Heather insisted. "You started it!"

Mrs. Devers interrupted before it turned into one of those silly "did-didn't" squabbles.

"And I suppose you had nothing to do with Mr. Cagney turning up at the DA's office yesterday about the same time a couple of policemen showed up in the school office looking for him?" She cocked a skeptical eyebrow at me.

"Uh." I sought a way to shift the blame, but couldn't, so I went for distraction, not that Devers would fall for that. "How's your mom and dad taking it?" I asked Heather.

She was down to sniffles. "Mom cries a lot and doesn't want to let me out of her sight. She's out in the parking lot right now, so I can't stay long. I just wanted to tell Mrs. Devers and you what was going on.

"Daddy's got the DA on the warpath. Daddy, he's furious, but not with me, or with you. He's pushing the DA hard, telling him to keep all our names out of the news while making sure <<choke>> -- you-know-who -- <<choke>> gets what's coming to him." <<SNUFF>>

"Daddy also says he's going to turn most of his cases over to his partners, right away, so he won't be traveling so much, at least for a little while. That'll be nice." She managed a tearful smile.

"I didn't..." I trailed off. I didn't know what to say. Apparently I'd succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.

"Dee, you dropped a pebble into the pond and the waves are still spreading," Mrs. Devers said softly. "Thank you."

"She th -- th -- thr -- thr -- threw a whole fucking rock!" Heather stuttered, on the verge of tears again.

"She does make waves, doesn't she?" Mrs. Devers allowed wryly.

All I could do was hang my head and tie my fingers into knots in my lap.

"Dee." Mrs. Devers said it so softly I lifted my head. "The DA tells me that the rock you've thrown will sink Worthington for good. He won't dare let it go to a trial. He'll take whatever the DA offers, no fuss, no bother. Mr. Cagney will probably get juvenile boot camp in spite of his age. It'll do him good. There's hope for that boy."

Her smile was gentle "It needed to be done."

I nodded reluctantly.

"But I'm glad you're not gloating," she concluded.

"I don't want anyone to know it was me," I whispered. I'm not entirely sure why I felt like that, but I did. I just wanted to go back to being me. "And I'm sorry I was so mean to Heather. It's just -- I was so mad that he might get away with it! I am sorry, Heather, I really, really am. Can you forgive me?"

Her head wobbled, I think it was a yes. "You were right. You did what you had to do, giving me the push I needed. I owe you." She snuffed again. "I gotta go."

She got up and reached for me, and I got up to welcome her hug. With her warm softness in my arms all I could think was, oh please, not that damned "I owe you" thing again. Coercing her the way I had was probably one of the most selfish and cruel things I'd ever done in my life.

Mrs. Devers broke into the love-fest. "As far as I'm concerned, all this stops right here. There'll be rumors, there always are, but we'll do our best to shut them down. The DA feels the same." She sighed. "But, this won't be the end of it. There are bound to be repercussions, plus we'll need to do something to make sure something like this doesn't happen again. But that doesn't concern you. That's my problem, and the school's."

I nodded, and looked at the clock. "C'n I go now? I'm s'posed to be modeling for Kathy." All I wanted at the moment was to get out of there and lose myself in the sexy and distracting limbo of posing with Greg.

As we headed for the door I managed to thank them for letting me know what had happened. Before I opened it Heather gave me another hug and a kiss. "Thank you. We need to talk."

I nodded, and escaped, a little dazed. I wondered if maybe she'd like a sleep-over talk. That seemed like a good idea, even if it resulted in nothing more than a soothing snuggle. I made a quick stop at the nearest bathroom to wash my face with cold water and pull myself together.

At the studio Greg and Kathy were waiting patiently for me, already in their skin. I was surprised to see Henry Carver and his seeing-eye dog Dity with them. He was naked, too. Nice bod!

"Sorry I'm late, I was with Devers," I explained, dropping my backpack and quickly stripping before I greeted them all, insisting on full hugs, even with Dity, her bristly German-shepherd fur warm and scratchy against my bare tits as she licked my face, probably after the salt of my tears. Henry's hands wandered over me and I wondered what it was like for him, "seeing" me that way.

"Program stuff?" Greg asked after a long, sweet kiss and strong embrace.

"In a manner of speaking. How do you want us?" I asked Kathy, deliberately deflecting any more questions.

"On the stage, female superior," she answered.

"Goody!" I liked being on top. "But I'm gonna need some foreplay," I apologized. Used to be I'd get wet just thinking about fucking Greg. The change worried me.

"So do I," Greg agreed.

"Suits me," Kathy agreed, getting her stuff ready, uncovering the rough clay preliminary work.

As Greg and I re-familiarized ourselves with each other's erogenous zones I wondered how this was going to work out. Sure, there were two guys and two girls, but Kathy was gay, Greg was straight, and I was bi. I had no idea what Henry's orientation was. What if he was gay and put a move on Greg? How would Greg deal with that? We could spend hours debating who would to what with whom.

Then I reminded myself that we were here to pose for Kathy's project, and Henry was presumably here to help her, so probably nothing would happen.

In a pig's eye! The Stick retorted, reminding me how Henry "saw" his models.

Oh boy! That thought, plus Greg's fingers and kisses, got my juices flowing.

"You two about ready?" Henry asked.

Of course! He couldn't see how Greg was doing, which was just fine and upstanding.

"Just about," I assured him, "but I need a taste."

If you think that by now I had any reservations about being watched -- well, where have you been? I went down on my knees, fingered Greg's increasingly happy pecker and slipped it into my warm mouth, loving the taste of his swelling meat. Even if we were on the fifty yard line at the Rose Bowl game during half-time I'd take his dick in any opening he wanted, and love it. I have no shame.

Greg's fingers combed through my new hairdo and he sighed as his prick continued to expand to fill my mouth from my lips to the back of my throat.

"Not too much!" Kathy warned, and I knew what she meant.

"Shit!" Greg grunted as I reluctantly drew away.

"Come on, lover, it's going to be interesting to see how long we can make this last," I said as he lay back on the stage-like platform draped artistically with a white sheet. I straddled him, about to settle myself on his more than ready cock when Kathy stopped me.

Now it was my turn to groan as Kathy and Henry both came over. Their hands were warm as they guided our moves. I looked down as Kathy lifted Greg's hard-on. Henry's touch in the small of my back moved me forward over it. To get my arms out of their way I put my hands behind my head. I was up on my knees, hovering over Greg's lap. My tits were so hard they hurt.

Dity was off to one side, grinning and panting as she watched, the bitch.

Wouldn't you know it? Both Henry and Kathy were touching both my pussy and Greg's cock, as they aligned things. Kathy's eyes were inches away from my crotch. Working strictly by touch, of course, Henry was guiding Kathy's fingers as they both explored my hungry crotch and Greg's dork. Greg was panting a little, the head of his pecker just barely touching my inner petals, while Henry had a hand under my butt, keeping me from impaling myself on it.

"You guys are driving us crazy!" I protested.

Henry shushed me as his fingers and Kathy's explored where Greg and I were touching. They had a delicacy that was positively maddening! Henry's fingers read surfaces as subtle as Braille, to say nothing of my lips, my ears, my tits, my pussy, even my nostrils when he wanted to "see" me. Now they were tracing where the head of Greg's hard-on tickled the weeping folds of my pussy.

Someone touched my clit and I flinched like I'd grabbed a hot wire.

"Sorry," Kathy apologized.

"You are not!" I scolded.

She giggled. "Well, no, not really."

"Shush!" Henry scolded us both.

"Jesus Christ!" Greg swore. "Hurry up, would you?"

That made me giggle, which made me quiver, which tickled my pink and I thought I was going to melt down into a puddle.

Then, with Kathy on my right, and Henry on my left, they gently eased me down using touches where my thighs met my pelvis, at the same time guiding Greg's dork at a snail's pace into my ravenous twat. All I could do was arch my back and roll my head, my fingers interlaced behind my skull as my cunt was forced to accept Greg's penetration excruciatingly slowly. At one point Henry shifted the palm of Kathy's hand low on my tummy and pressed down on it. Could she actually feel Greg's cock working its way up into my gut? Jeez! This was a whole new form of voyeurism and exhibitionism!

What were they doing?

I knew. I knew from the first time Henry had helped her this way, using his own blindness developed skills as a teaching tool. He was making sure Kathy understood, both visually and tangibly, how Greg and I fitted together. She would take away the touch memory and transfer it to the cool, moist clay of her statue. It was part of the reason her sculptures were so incredibly lifelike. I knew, too, that she was applying the same lessons to her paintings and drawings.

I gave a deep sigh when I was finally fully seated on Greg's cock. Or perhaps that should be that Greg was fully seated within me?

No matter. I was exquisitely filled, his thick, long rod stretching my hot, wet cunt, his cock intimately embraced by my warm flesh. We were as one.

One of the things I loved about being astride him this way was how deeply he penetrated, the head of his cock nudging the tender mound of my cervix, its little crater the very gate to my womb. When he came -- oh, just sooner or later he HAD to come -- I knew I'd feel the hot injection of his semen deep, deep, deep inside me, like lava. It was all I could do to keep from lifting and settling to stroke an eruption from him and trigger my own coming. It wouldn't take much. Just a little...

"Okay, Dee, you can bring your arms down. Let your hands just rest on your thighs," Kathy ordered, a hand on my naked thigh to immobilize me, and I realized I'd had my eyes closed for I don't know how long as I'd fought the urge to bring us off. I wondered if Henry, being blind, experienced sex this way. Undistracted by sight he'd be able to concentrate completely on the feel of how his body meshed with a woman's, listening to the sighs and groans, smelling the lush, musky scent of unbridled lust. Maybe I should try it blindfolded sometime.

"And Greg, you bring your hands up to Dee's tits," Henry suggested. "When he does, Dee, you lean into him just a bit, let him support you."

Meanwhile, Henry's hands were moving over my ribs, tracing the line of my body, straightening my spine with a feathery touch. Ah God this all felt sooo gooooood! Greg's hands were warm and strong as they cupped the soft, shy mounds of my breasts, my nipples boring into his palms. I swear I could even feel the roughness of his finger and palm prints on my tender skin.

It was the most natural thing in the world for me to tip my head back a little, as if I were gazing off into the distance. Beyond the gauzy curtains I saw the shadows of people walking past the windows. Closing my eyes I abandoned myself totally to the experience. My pussy, gently pulsating, contracting around Greg's cock, was the only muscle moving. I fantasized that I could even feel the pulse of the veins in his cock until our hearts were beating as one.

"How long do you think you can hold it?" Kathy asked, her voice receding as she went to her clay.

"Forever, I wish, but I can't speak for Greg."

"Forever won't happen," Greg grunted, his gut muscles clenching.

Men! They're so impatient!

"What if I start to go soft? What should I do?"

I tightened and relaxed my cunt. "Does that help?"

"Jesus yes!" he gasped.

"Go easy," Henry cautioned. The blind sculptor was still right beside us and I felt his fingers stroking the satin skin just above my pussy. "You're very smooth here, just a faint sign of bristle. What did you do?"

"I got waxed last Friday, before the Homecoming dance. I'm told I'll need another waxing in two or three weeks, maybe."

"You sound like you're looking forward to it," Greg said.

"Yeah, I am. Maybe next time you can watch," I offered with a soft giggled. "Even help."

I felt his reaction inside me and knew the idea appealed to him.

"Doesn't it hurt?" he asked.

"Oooyeah," I agreed, remembering that wonderful sting as the hairs were uprooted. "But in a nice way. The cosmetician made me come at the end."

"I wish I'd been there to help." He is such a sweetie!

"So," Kathy said, "have you decided what you're going to say at the unveiling of Henry's statue?"

"You heard about that, huh?" I welcomed the distraction, since it took the edge off my arousal. "Are you going to be there?"

"Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world. Henry came all the way from Chicago to be here."

Of course he'd be there. He was the sculptor, but I couldn't help wondering -- if Henry could make it from Chicago, maybe Carl could from Palo Alto? Or even Beth from Cambridge? I couldn't help asking her who else might be there Saturday.

"I can't say for sure," Kathy answered, sounding distracted, and my hopes wilted.

I so wanted to see Carl, and Beth. They knew what I'd been going through, thanks to email and chat, even phone calls. They'd both offered to come home, but Mom and I insisted they should concentrate on their studies. Both of them were carrying tough schedules, while Carl was also on the swimming team. Beth had joined a singing group and was modeling for the art classes in addition to her pre-med stuff. That meant waiting until they got Christmas vacation. What a party that would be!

I still had no idea whether Mom had her usual birthday surprise brewing or not. What with everything that had happened and now planning the move in with Elaine she couldn't possibly have had the time.

But then I realized that Kathy hadn't definitely said that Carl and Beth wouldn't be here to see the statue of Beth unveiled, only that she "couldn't say" and I felt my hopes revive a little. And she'd hesitated before she'd answered. Maybe... ?

"So, what are you going to say at the unveiling?" Greg asked, wriggling a little, distracting me from more immediate concerns. Feeling him start to soften I squirmed delicately to stimulate his cock.

"I'm not sure yet," I admitted. "Something about The Program, of course."

"Of course," Kathy agreed. "Weren't you one of the first to grow up in a Program household, so to speak?"

Okay, time out for a moment. How bizarre was this? There I am, my boyfriend's cock docked in my twat, struggling to hold off my own orgasm while keeping him hard enough but not too hard, and we're discussing my youth with a brother who had been running around school naked, one of the first of any generation to be so -- uh -- honored, and I'm trying to come up with an idea for a speech in two days.

Fuck! Talk about multi-tasking!

"I hadn't thought of that. I guess you could say so. Carl was in that first group to be naked in school with Karen Wagner, so yeah."

"What was it like for you, the first time you saw him naked?" Henry asked. He was back by Kathy, helping guide her fingers as she shaped the clay that showed me and Greg en flagrant.

"It was -- like wow!" I admitted. I remembered how I'd deviled him that first time Beth had come by to ask if he'd like to go for a walk with her. Carl and I had struck a deal that he had to stay naked until bedtime, and I refused to let him off the hook. He was ready to kill me, but a little birdie later told me they'd kissed, right there on the street -- him naked her dressed.

I'd been such a tease!

I remembered, too, the first time I'd been naked in front of him -- it was my idea -- and then with Mom naked, too. It had been so exciting to feel the air touching me all over, knowing he was seeing all of me, my silly little nipples trying to bulge like real tits, the hairless cleft of my childish little pussy hiding shyly between my naked thighs. And I was seeing his incredible dick, knowing that someday some guy with one like it, maybe even bigger, would stick his up inside me, just like Greg's was now. I remember how the idea had scared me and excited me and made me feel things I'd never felt before.

Of course back then I really had no idea just how wonderful it would feel.

I groaned.

"What's the matter?"

"I wanna come. Please can I come now?" I was concentrating so hard on holding my orgasm off I was squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth.

"Wait, just a moment," Henry answered. "Kathy, quick, we need to wash our hands. We need to feel this."

I heard the sink water running.

What?!

Then I jerked. Oh my God! Now they were touching me! They were going to FEEL me come?

Holy shit!

"Go for it," Kathy said softly, her breath hot on my ear, her warm hand at my crotch.

That was all it took. That lit my fuse. I had to move, Kathy's hand riding along, her fingers right where Greg's prick vanished inside me. Leaning forward a little for better leverage, I rose. She had her other hand on my butt, a finger rudely invading the crack of my ass, prodding my asshole.

Did you know that artists, especially sculptors, have very strong hands? Well, my butt can now testify that they do. There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to hold back this orgasm, and I sure as hell didn't want to.

I slammed back down on Greg -- again -- and again -- hammer blows that struck sparks from my clit.

Henry and Kathy were just as involved in our coming as it was possible to get without being inside us. Greg rose like the tide, lifting me, Henry's hands on my belly and back, steadying me as I rode my lover, my stallion a bucking bronco between my gripping thighs. His hot come pumped up into me and our artist/spectators were full participants, feeling the spasms driving Greg's every jet into the welcoming clenching of my cunt. Henry had to be feeling my tummy convulsing, the hot orgasmic flush blossoming up my torso, while Greg's cock pulsed and pulsed repeatedly against Kathy's fingers, his hot cream swiftly overwhelming my stuffed cunt, a thick paste spilling down to soak his bush.

I was rigid, every muscle straining, oblivious to everything but my coming. I didn't have a clue what I was going to say at the unveiling, or who was going to be there, or even if I was going to have a birthday party, and frankly I didn't give a shit.



-------

Chapter 24


I followed Mrs. Devers out the main school doors and down the steps into the early afternoon sun, trailed by a line of Very Important People. We were lined up in the order we were going to speak, Mrs. Devers to welcome our guests and do introductions, then me, then the President of the Student Council (none other than Matt Mozilla), the high school Principal, the Superintendent of Schools, the President of the School Board and the Mayor. Bringing up the rear was our congressman, who was up for reelection -- read into my choice of words or his position in line what you will.

They, of course, were all in their best business formal attire -- jackets and ties, Mrs. Devers in her finest blouse and pants suit. I was representing the Naked in School Program, so you can safely assume how I was dressed -- or, rather, not dressed. The studs in my recently pierced ears didn't come close to covering even my lobes, let alone the interesting bits further south.

As choreographed, cool grass under my bare feet, we filed along a line of folding chairs facing the overflow audience of students, faculty, staff, parents and towns-people -- and TV cameras! -- on the school's front lawn. We were greeted with polite applause, mixed with some murmurs at the sight of me. If anyone was there to see a naked girl it was easy enough. I'm tall, so I already stand out, and since my Brazilian wax job hadn't even started to grow out I had no secrets.

None.

To one side, on a granite pedestal set up on some steps, on which students were certain to congregate, was the shrouded form of the statue soon to be unveiled.

You'd think I'd be used to being naked in public by now, but for some reason I felt like I was in that old "naked in school" nightmare. And to top it off, I was about give a speech, only I had no idea what I was going to say.

SHeeiitt! Talk about cold sweat. Only I could cram the two most common school nightmares -- naked in school and unprepared for class -- into one real live occasion.

Then, when I turned to face the throng to take my seat, there, in the front row along with Mom, Elaine and dignitaries' entourages, is my brother Carl, next to his GF Beth, and next to her is their very good bud Stephanie, who was clinging lovingly to her girlfriend Kathy's arm! Where had they come from?

I went down like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Fortunately the chair was under me.

Mom and Elaine, of course, I'd expected. But Carl was supposed to be at Stanford and Beth at Harvard! And Steph was supposed to be in Philadelphia at the Curtis Institute!

That I didn't pee right then and there with the whole world watching was some kind of a miracle.

You will be relieved to know I kept my knees together, quickly tilting my long legs at a modest and ladylike angle, managing to sit up straight. It was as much to avoid panic-induced urination as to preserve what little modesty I had. Desperate for any distraction, I wondered how they had sneaked into town under my nose, Carl from Palo Alto and Beth all the way from Boston.

More to the point, they had to have come in yesterday. Beth looked entirely too fresh to have endured a red-eye from Boston, and both looked very smug. Where had Mom hidden away my favorite older brother and his wonderful squeeze? And Kathy hadn't let slip that Stephanie was going to be here either! Those sneaks!!

It was the greatest birthday surprise ever!

Then it occurred to me -- I had made it ridiculously easy for them. I'd gone to Heather's for a strategy session and some pillow talk after school yesterday, instead of going home, so they'd had virtually all day to perform their magic. I bet Carl and Beth hadn't even needed to slip out of our house before I got home this morning. Those two fuck bunnies had simply spent last night at Beth's house, in her bed, making up for lost time.

Now here they were, with all these other people, to see me give the leadoff speech at the dedication of The Spirit of Central High statue.

Once I figured out what I was going to say, that is.

Which I'd better do right quick.

Talk about an adrenalin overdose!

Oh, and do not try this at home. I'm a trained professional screwball on a closed course.

My mind was racing like a squirrel in a cage while Mrs. Devers welcomed the spectators and various dignitaries. I bet if she knew I was about to give a speech I didn't have she would have peed in her pants.

Which would be more embarrassing, I wondered -- wetting one's pants or peeing in the nude, the golden flow sparkling in the sun for all to see.

Desperately I dragged my thoughts back to what I could say. Devers had given me suggestions, of course, most strongly about what NOT to say -- that is, anything that might in any way rake up memories of our recently departed, unlamented and perverted Program Supervisor, AKA the Worm.

Others had chimed in with their own suggestions. The Chairman of the Board of Education had even taken the trouble to write a speech for me. He must have flunked public speaking, if he'd ever taken the class. It was so awful I'd thrown it away, figuring anything I came up with had to be better. Now I wished I hadn't. At least it would have given me something to say.

I'd had lots of ideas of my own. Trouble was I hadn't found the time to write them down.

Shit!

Then I realized Mrs. Devers had introduced me and I was cleared for take-off. At least I'd had sense enough to put a towel down in advance so I wasn't peeling my ass off the folding chair like a Post It.

There wasn't even a podium for me to hide behind, just a microphone on a pole. I took a moment to raise the mike to my altitude. The flexible stalk that held it made a metallic fart that rattled the speakers. My perverse brain couldn't help thinking that using the mike as a dildo would produce some really interesting noises.

After titters and polite applause the crowd waited breathlessly. I saw Mrs. Devers break out in a sweat when she saw I didn't even have a three-by-five card to speak from, or hide behind.

Naked and unashamed, I prayed for The Stick to some up with something inspiring.

Her only advice was to stand tall, take my time, and start simple!

Gee thanks! I cleared my throat nervously.

"Good afternoon." My voice echoed back at me from the building, consonants popping, so I backed away from the microphone.

That's simple enough. Now what?

From The Stick, only silence. Oh well, I guess I'd better introduce myself and go from there.

"As Mrs. Devers said, my name is Diane Walker, and, as chair of the Naked in School Student Advisory Committee I'm honored to welcome you here on behalf of the Naked in School Program of Central High. I particularly want to express my thanks to Mrs. Devers for inviting me to speak on behalf of the Naked in School Program, which was recently expanded to include faculty and staff. I also want to thank all those who have preceded us in the Program, one of whom was my brother, who I'm overjoyed to see here today, even if he does have clothes on while I don't."

Titters from the audience.

Stop babbling, The Stick scolded.

"Oh, and if any of you care to join me, please feel free to strip. I'd welcome the company."

That got a chuckle from the sympathetic crowd, but no one got up and started to undress. Carl's grin and nod made my titties pucker and warmed me right to my toes! I spread my arms to indicate myself, the sun and the air playing their usual naughty games with the parts of me they didn't always get to toy with. My tits welcomed the attention, as did my pussy and my ass. I savored the attention of the crowd, too, their looks confirming what The Stick kept telling me; that I am Tall, I am Beautiful, I am Sexy.

Now all I had to do was sound intelligent.

Oh well, three outta four ain't bad.

"This is what being naked in school is all about," I began. "What I mean to say is, it is not about sex -- well, not JUST about sex. What teenager won't explore and experiment with sex? Getting us naked only makes it easier."

Laughter.

I drew a deep breath and mentally shuffled some of the ideas about The Program that I'd been toying with.

"More important, it gives us the opportunity to learn about the differences between the sexes, in the raw, as it should be, without evasions, without beating about the bush, so to speak."

Another laugh from the audience, even a smattering of applause.

"Pun not intended," I added, blushing furiously when I realized how that had sounded, triggering a bigger laugh.

I told myself it was time to get serious.

"Truly, The Naked in School Program is not just about sex. As I've learned from my own time in the Program, being naked strips us of all pretense, reduces each of us to a common denominator, levels the playing field. When we're naked there's no way to tell who is rich or who is poor, who belongs to this clique or that gang -- although with boys I guess some religious affiliations might be inferred."

I blushed again with the chuckles, and hurried on.

"Stripping away all that textile, that facade, reveals us as we are, as God made us. Can I say 'God' here?" I asked Mrs. Devers.

Reassured by her nod and nervous smile I plunged on into the unknown, still not sure where I was going with this.

"Be it fat, thin, tall, short, black, white, red, brown or yellow, able or disabled, gay, straight or simply confused, stripped down to our skin we can see that we all have the same parts.

"What I mean is that girls have the girl parts and boys have the boy parts."

Snickers.

"Usually."

Chuckles.

"I have heard it sometimes gets a little mixed up, but haven't seen that for myself yet."

That brought a full laugh! I was starting to feel like I was a stand-up comic. Not what I intended!

"Anyway, this is the way we come into the world. It is us, and there is nothing shameful or lewd about it."

I turned around slowly, modeling my skin for them before reaching for the microphone stand to steady myself.

"Being naked in school reveals us for what we are -- human -- nothing more and nothing less. Oh sure, some are prettier than others, and until we get used to it I guess we all think we look kinda funny naked. But once we get past that we're forced look deeper and discover that true beauty comes from within, that it truly shows in the way we treat each other.

"I admit, those who've not yet been naked in school sometimes try to take advantage of Program participants, to make fun of us. But once they find themselves in The Program, exposed to others, well, for them it is a humbling experience, a powerful reality check.

"After a week of walking the halls and going to class like this we get used to being naked. By the end of the week we no longer feel that we're a curiosity. By then we've come to accept ourselves and others as we are, and those not naked come to accept us as we are."

I was on a roll and sucked in some air, building for the big finish, whatever that was going to be.

"No one comes out of the Naked in School Program unchanged, not even those who, for whatever reason, do not participate, since they see those of us who do take part as we really are.

"With the Naked in School Program there are no secrets. We are all changed. I like to think that we are all better for the experience, but I'm not going to speak for others. I'll leave them to speak for themselves."

I drew another deep breath, wondering where the hell to go from here, and found myself asking that question out loud.

"So, why am I standing here in my birthday suit, talking to you about the Naked in School Program? Isn't this supposed to be the unveiling of The Spirit of Central High statue?"

Suddenly, like I'd been struck by lightning, I knew where I was going, and heaved a mental sigh of relief. I didn't realize until that moment that I'd started softly, even timidly, but bit by bit I'd gotten more confident, a little louder and stronger, and now I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

Something about me must have changed. Mrs. Devers looked relieved, which was nothing compared to what I was feeling; the end was suddenly in sight. I was tingling all over.

Don't rush! The Stick cautioned. Speak slowly and clearly!

"I'm standing here because if it were not for the Naked in School Program, this statue would not even exist," I explained emphatically. If I'd had a podium I would have pounded on it.

Pause! Timing is everything, The Stick reminded me.

I thought about how I'd learned to wait after leaving the end of the diving board until it was just the right time, the time to seize the moment, to execute the dive itself, the time to pike or tuck or twist.

I was in the air. There wasn't a sound from the audience. They were waiting, for me!

Softly now, The Stick cautioned. You've got 'em right where you want them. Make them really LISTEN.

"Because," I began softly and seriously, cuddling up to the microphone, "this statue is a symbol, an example of what The Naked in School Program does for Central High, does for all of us, students, faculty, administration, parents, families and siblings, even the community."

A little louder now, The Stick urged.

I drew back a bit from the mike. "The young lady who modeled for this statue is here today. As a junior she was a pioneering participant in the Naked in School Program's first year. She is, by nature, quiet and modest. Before she entered The Program most of her peers thought of her as a bit of a nerd, and she'll admit she was, and probably still is.

"But being naked in school stripped away that facade to reveal her true beauty and the strength within her, reveal it to herself and to us all."

I saw Beth blush prettily. It wasn't physical modesty on her part, she's just not one who likes a lot of attention, even though she is now a self-confessed exhibitionist. Right now, wearing a modest blouse and a demure knee-length pleated skirt, she looked what I supposed was the perfect example of an Ivy League undergrad at an occasion like this.

Though I was willing to bet she didn't have a stitch on under them.

"During her week in The Program, among many other things, she modeled nude for her art class. One of the students in that class, Henry Carver, a senior at the time, conceived this beautiful and inspirational work of art." I gestured at the shrouded statue. "Since graduating Henry has earned an impressive reputation as a local artist and art teacher -- when he's not off studying and making his mark in Paris, or Chicago, or New York, that is."

Now a conversational tone, The Stick prompted.

"Incidentally, those of you who do not know him might be surprised to learn that Henry Carver is blind, has been since birth."

The silence resulting from that remark was followed by some murmurs and whispers. I saw Henry, seated off to one side, tilt his head, nodding, smiling his lop-sided smile, his opaque dark glasses catching the sunlight, his hand lightly on the harness worn by his guide dog Aphrodite as she lay beside his chair. She yawned and panted, her pink tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.

"If you're wondering how he does it, Henry 'sees' with his hands -- his sense of touch. That is why sculpture is Henry's medium. What his hand's 'see' -- inside and out -- they sculpt, though he also uses his other senses -- hearing, smell, even taste as he studies his subject.

"I leave the creative process, and what it means for his models, to your imaginations. I'll just say that I've been there, done that, and I can tell you it is an awesome experience."

I looked up at the statue on its granite pedestal. I'd seen the original clay model, so I knew what was under the sheet. It was Beth, of course, her likeness, as Henry saw her, cast in bronze, life-sized, nude, stretching up on tiptoe, reaching up, seeming almost to touch the sky.

Gosh it was beautiful -- she was beautiful, is beautiful!

"My point is, this statue, Henry's work, shows the power of the human spirit to overcome any obstacle. When you see this statue you'll know that, while he may be blind, Henry's 'vision' knows no limits, that 'handicapped' is not a word that applies to him, that he sees deeper, with more sensitivity, than most sighted artists."

Louder now The Stick urged.

"Overcoming her shyness and modesty, the student who posed for this statue embraced the Naked in School Program boldly, with grace and courage that still inspires all of us, within the program and without."

Big breath! The Stick said.

"When you see Henry's creation, The Spirit of Central High, know this!"

Louder yet! The Stick urged. You're Carl blowing "charge" on his trombone. Better yet, a whole brass band!

I sucked in a breath like I was about to swim fifty meters under water, and took a step back from the microphone rather than risk blasting it.

"Nothing could possibly represent The Spirit of Central High better than this statue, better than the artist who created it does, better than the model who posed for it does."

Don't shout. Bring it from the gut! The Stick commanded. Open your throat and let it roar!

"Know that this statue embodies the spirit that The Naked in School Program inspires in us all, not just us students, not just the administration, the faculty and staff of the school, but in the whole community. It is a spirit that should not, cannot, will not be denied!"

Even before I finished speaking half the audience was on their feet applauding and I'd had to work to be heard over them.

I didn't need The Stick to tell me I'd just ripped the entry of a really fine speech.

"Thank you."

Stepping down to a standing ovation I went straight to Carl and wrapped myself around him, tears and the tension flowing out of me as he held me close, the applause washing over me. Mom was patting me, so I turned to her and welcomed her hug as well, then Elaine's, Stephanie's and Kathy's, Greg's longest and strongest of all, and then someone made room for me among my family and friends so I could collapse into a seat, clutching at Greg's hand, pressing his arm against my left breast, receiving congratulatory pats from Greg's parents behind me, from the Finch family and others nearby, vaguely aware of the next speaker, Matt Mozilla as student council prez, mumbling something about having a hard act to follow, even as he smiled at me.

Well, I thought triumphantly, grinning back at him, that's what they get for letting me go first.

It was the big people's turn now, and I was glad to sit with my family and friends, listening with half an ear to the other speakers doing their thing while wondering where that had all come from, and what was yet to come today.

I knew there was going to be a party. For a change Mom had admitted it, handing me a guest list because she wanted to ask me if there was anyone special I wanted on it. Of course there was and I made my additions, but as to the details of the party itself, Mom was about as informative as a politician at a press conference.

In preparation for the one thing that I knew would happen at the party I'd had to talk with my one very special guest, because she had an important assignment. That was where Friday afternoon and evening had gone. It had taken some convincing, with some outside assistance from Ms. Andrews, before Heather and her parents had finally agreed they should all come to the party. Then, at night, under the covers, I'd talked Heather into doing something at the party that I knew only she should do.

The speeches went on much too long, especially the congressman's campaign speech, but we finally got to the unveiling itself, with Henry pulling the shroud away to reveal Beth in all her naked glory. There were the expected ooos and aaahhs and applause, followed by mingling and congratulations. Mom and Elaine cut out right away, but we young folks had to wait while Beth posed for pictures -- naked of course -- beside her bronze likeness, until we finally dragged her away.

I was right, by the way. The only thing she'd had on was blouse, skirt, and shoes. She didn't bother to put them back on when we left.

But before I could make my escape, Mrs. Devers cornered me.

"Did you know what you were going to say when you got up there?"

I laughed nervously. "Didn't have a clue."

Frowning, she shook her head slowly. "Don't you ever do that to me again!"

"Didn't I do okay?" I asked fearfully.

"You need to ask? You were great!" Her smile was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

I blushed. "Thanks."

"But I hope you know you fired a shot right across the bow of some people who'd just as soon see The Program sunk right where it is."

"Huh?"

"You'll see. Now get out of here and enjoy your birthday party."

Impulsively, I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug. For a moment she hesitated, then returned it, a little stiffly, and I realized I'd get her in trouble in some circles for her embracing a naked 9th-grade student.

Fuck 'em, I thought.

"Thank you," I whispered in her ear before making my escape, trying not to show the effect she had on me.

-------

Half an hour later, sitting next to Heather on the pool steps, I was soothing my stinging ass in Elaine's swimming pool while the post-spanking part of the party went on around us.

My theory in choosing Heather to deliver my birthday spanking was that it would be mutually therapeutic. She'd vent some of her anger and I'd atone for the guilt I still felt for being so mean to her. She'd delivered fourteen strokes plus one to grow on with gusto. Maybe suggesting she think of the Worm as she delivered them had been a mistake. She'd sure vented, and I felt really atoned, I'll tell you.

I KNOW it's not logical, but I still felt guilty. Over the last few days I'd discussed it with Mom, even with Ms. Andrews. Both of them had said I'd done the right thing, that it had to be done. Once again I'd found myself on the horns of one of those strange beasts, a dilemma. This one actually had a name -- "do the ends justify the means?"

It turns out there's rarely a clear answer to that one.

Ah well. What's done is done. Heather didn't seem to hold it against me. I shifted to let the water circulate between me and the gritty concrete steps. The cool pool felt good on my blistered buns.

As the two of us loafed in our own little corner on the pool steps a water fight raged beyond us. We were both feeling better, in an endorphin rush sort of way. I have to admit, the whole scene, me bent over her lap while her hand whacked by butt while everyone watched, had left me turned on.

There was no shortage of attractive bodies to choose from, but proximity breeds lust and she was the closest at the moment. Besides enjoying her company I was very conscious of the heat radiating from her warm, curvaceous body. I kept telling myself she was off-limits, distracting myself by watching the melee of splashing and dunking -- and necking and feeling. It was the biggest birthday party I'd ever had. Counting those who could make it out of the Dirty Dozen, the committee, my lunch bunch, and all their dates, Carl and Beth, Steph and Kathy, plus Mom and Elaine, Beth's parents -- even Heather's mom and dad -- there had to be thirty people there.

I knew most of them, of course, except some of the dates. They were all conforming to the dress code for my party -- which was naked -- even the parents, and under the cover of splashes and waves most were taking advantage of total epidermal access.

"So, what now?" Heather asked pensively.

I shrugged. "We go on, I guess."

I knew what she meant, but she was the one who had to say it. Last night we'd only snuggled and slept, and it had been good. But we both remembered that once before -- after the Great Dress hunt -- we had made long, sweet, passionate love as only two girls -- women -- can make love.

Oh hell, to be honest I'd seduced her. I tried to blame it on a moment of weakness on our parts, both for her, and for me, too, I guess, but I'd initiated it.

Shit. Maybe she should have doubled the spanking.

"I mean, what's between us?" she ventured.

I spotted Judy Liu on the diving board and wondered if she knew what she was doing and waved to catch her eye. "Be careful, Judy!"

Judy flipped me the bird, of course. Careful wasn't in her vocabulary any more than it was in mine. But maybe she listened to me. The little sprite tested the spring of the board instead of just flinging herself off it.

"Don't you want me?" Heather asked timidly.

I looked at her, and knew she saw the tears the glistening in my eyes. "Of course I want you. I'll always want you. But I'm not your type, and you know it."

I guess I was beginning to distinguish between love and lust. I couldn't honestly tell her I loved her, not the way I did Greg or Missy, though by God I did lust after her. Who wouldn't lust after her? Most boys got hard-ons just looking at her.

The only trouble was, the nice guys were intimidated by her beauty and her rep as a "popular girl." They assumed they didn't have a chance with her since she'd dated the star quarterback until last year, then Matt Mozilla, running back and all around hunk extraordinaire -- and closeted gay.

Except the dumb jocks and testosterone-addled jerks, of course, who would make a pass at anything with tits. All those bozos wanted was to put another notch on their gun, so to speak, the pricks. She knew they only wanted her for the one thing she wasn't about to surrender. Even after The Worm had stolen it from her she tried to cling to her virginity and respectability and she was too smart to fall into that trap.

As I watched, holding my breath with worry, Judy took a run up the diving board, a hop, and stopped dead at the end, killing the board's bounce with a gymnast's skill, peering down at the water.

And in case you're puzzled why boys would go for girls with such a bitchy reputation as Heather and the Hive had developed, the Hive's venom was directed at other girls. Most guys were oblivious to that. All they saw was tits and ass.

"You're dumping me."

That hurt! I put my arm around her and drew her close, her warmth and softness stirring me. As I watched, Judy ran, took flight off the end of the diving board and performed a surprisingly good front flip. Good thing she's not a diver, I thought fleetingly, or she'd be real competition, especially given my current slump.

"No. I'm letting you go," I countered, "setting you free. I'll always be your friend. I'll do anything for you, but you need a guy. I'm not the lover for you, and you know it."

This was feeling very similar to when me and Missy had broken up. But if I carried on with Heather it could end just as painfully as that had. I never wanted that to happen again. I wanted to stop this before it started. I couldn't let myself love her the way I'd loved Missy, the way I loved Greg.

"I'm not disgusted with what we did! It was ... it was wonderful," she admitted awkwardly.

"I know that. It felt good -- great, in fact. But be honest -- would you be doing it with me because you really want me, or because you feel you owe me? That wouldn't be right." I was doing my best to let her down gently. For me it felt, well, painful, like maybe a bad wax job on my emotions.

"What if I just need someone to feel close to? What if I need a cuddle, and someone to share things with that I can't share with anyone else?"

Shit. She had me there. How could I turn her away?

What I wanted to say was that she didn't play fair, but that only reminded me of what I'd done to her, and I crumbled.

"Of course you can come to me -- to my bed, even. But you need to find a guy," I urged.

"Like anyone will have me. You're the only one who understands." She sounded like she felt like she was damaged goods.

"Not necessarily," I answered, catching sight of John Patterson -- I mean John Finch, now -- on the fringe of the crowd. He was a bit young for her, in some ways, but in terms of grim experience he was far advanced. Also, he was date-less tonight, as was Heather. Maybe...

Oh hell. I curled up, wrapping my arms around my folded legs, pressing my head to my knees.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her arm around my bony hunched back.

"Nothing."

I was just so tired of feeling I had to fix things -- fix people -- all the time -- Missy back in middle school, and Peggy, and Heather, and the Worm and now the Program...

Mercifully, she didn't flinch away, but just held me, warm and comforting, her head on my shoulder, until I unwound again, feeling much better thanks to her.

"You okay?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Wanna go mix?" she asked, with a nod to the rest of the pool, the battle having ended in something more erotic -- no, romantic, I guess you could say, couples coupling, small groups talking.

"You go ahead," I answered, and watched as she waded and swam, pausing here and there to chat with people, with what I had come to think of as her game-face on, the persona she donned that hid the pain lingering from what the Worm had done to her.

She was a good person, and strong, so I felt better, confident she'd mend.

Finally stirred by the dinner call, I put on my own game face. Being the guest of honor, I was at the head of the head table, with Greg beside me on one side, Carl on the other, which helped a lot, and I shed my gloom as we all shared pizza and sodas and what-have-you. I'd reached the burp point when a monster sheet cake was born out on to the table accompanied by a "Happy Birthday" fanfare from Terrell Ford on his electronic keyboard thingy.

Kathy was busy with her video camera as the cake was set down in front of me.

A circle of fourteen candles cast a lovely light over the beautiful decoration. The top of the cake was swimming pool blue, complete with ripples, with a rim of white icing. In the middle of the circle of candles was a swimmer midway in splashing her way from one end of the cake to the other -- doing the butterfly, of course -- her spray made of more white icing. Naturally she was naked, her body, her bare buns pink against the blue water, her short hair blonde. There was a diving board made out of chocolate at one end, starting blocks -- also chocolate -- at the other.

There were enough calories in front of me to fuel the whole swimming team for a month.

Above the swimmer was a rainbow arch of letters, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY," with my name in an arc below her. The whole gang sang "Happy Birthday," backed up by Terrell on his electronic keyboard and Stephanie on her flute, with Beth and Bill Harris leading the vocals, harmonizing.

All I could do was sit there and blush, and tear up. It was after I'd made my wish (it's a secret) and blown out the candles and we were finishing our cake and ice cream -- a tub of rocky road, my favorite -- that Terrell and Stephanie excused themselves to huddle by his keyboard. Some of the younger kids had left by the time the two of them started jamming together and Greg asked me to dance, leaving everyone else to clear the tables.

I felt so spoiled! I was in his arms, snuggled against him and we danced as the sun went down in a blaze of glory, just the two of us, naked skin to naked skin. Since we were without the clothes it was better than the homecoming dance. I kinda wished I at least had my jewelry on. The idea of rubies -- even synthetic ones -- set in silver on bare skin is so erotic, so decadent!

Oh, and in case you're wondering, it's always been a standing order at my parties -- no presents. As far as I was concerned, the party was the present, though sometimes some small things were sneaked in, like Missy's little gift at the last party, the one she couldn't be at.

Tonight the music was the special thing. I don't know how Terrell and Stephanie did it without having rehearsed or anything. Maybe it's just 'cause they're so talented, or they only did songs they both knew. Terrell's keyboard was a monster thing with two keyboards and more buttons and knobs and switches than the space shuttle. He could make it sound like a whole orchestra, including drums, while Stephanie's flute soared like a lark.

I lost myself in Greg's arms as we moved with the music, only vaguely aware of Kathy on the perimeter, the red eye of the video camera on us every minute, others joining us on the deck as cleanup was completed.

Then, unexpectedly, Greg passed me on to Carl and I found myself in my brother's strong, loving, warm embrace. It was such a joy to have him home, even if only for a day or two. I pressed myself against him, breathing in his scent, feeling his skin against mine, his irrepressible cock expressing its hunger for me, his sister. I knew it had no conscience, that it wanted the one hole we'd never let it invade, our one taboo.

Then Carl stepped aside and I found myself in Mr. McKenzie's arms, Heather's dad! His hairy body was bristly against mine, his grip strong and sure, his blocky cock just as insolent.

"I can't thank you enough for what you did for Heather, for us all," he said softly as he swept me around the deck. He really knew how to dance, his lead so strong and sure my feet seemed to hardly touch the deck, somehow knowing where to go without my telling them.

"I didn't..."

"You did more than you know. You showed me what I almost lost," he countered, "what is truly important in this world. Thank you."

Then he was gone, and Stephanie had taken his place, her big plushy body filling my arms and I pressed myself against her softness, her massive breasts warm pillows for me to snuggle into, her naked thighs and mine brushing.

"Kathy tells me you've been taking good care of her," Steph murmured as we danced cheek-to-cheek, body to body.

I had to confess it had been my pleasure.

"I'm sure it was," she twinkled, giving me a squeeze, "and I expect you to keep up the good work!"

I felt myself blushing, but before I could say anything she was away and it was John Patterson -- uh, Finch -- holding me. He was lean, and not as tall as me, young and a little clumsy, and nervous as we danced.

"Thank you," was all he said and then he was away, and it was Judy Liu taking his place -- and I'd thought she'd left!

"You looked pretty good off the diving board," I told her.

The little imp just had to pinch my butt. "Wouldja teach me how to dive?" she asked, tipping her head back to look up at me from her less than five feet, her dark eyes sparkling, her smile as mischievous as ever.

"Oh! You want to learn? I thought gymnastics was your thing."

"Wouldja?" she asked. "I'm serious."

"I'll try," I agreed.

"Thanks! Mom's here. I gotta go! Have a nice party."

And then she was away and it was Bud Lacey, Missy's date, waltzing me around. He didn't dance very well, and didn't say anything, but he did smell nice, and I could feel his horniness, of course.

Then he was gone and it was Missy herself, and we didn't need to say anything as we danced like we had up in my room one time. Only now it was better, since we weren't wearing pajamas or trying to figure out whose arm went where and stumbling over each other's feet.

I was getting a little dizzy when Mike Collins took Missy's place. Mike, the first guy I'd ever had in me, and his pecker did its best to find a nest within me again, but he didn't let it, tucking it up along my tummy where it was like a rolling pin between us.

By this time the sun was down and the party was down to us big kids -- over fourteen -- and the adults. Terrell kept playing, smiling softly as he watched us dance, his big black hands caressing the double keyboards like he was making love to it. I wondered if he and Judy Liu still had a thing going or not. Too bad she'd had to leave. I loved seeing them together, the contrast, she a petite but muscular oriental doll, while he was a gentle mountain of a man.

Stephanie had put her flute away and she and Kathy were in each other's arms, moving to the music in a very erotic lesbian dance. With nothing to insert, it made vertical conjugation easier. They were unabashedly humping each other, and I saw them tensing up, shivering. I found myself wishing there was some way I could fulfill my horizontal desire vertically as Greg gathered me in again.

There was a fire dancing in the outdoor fireplace. Heather and John were sitting on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, holding hands and talking. Beth and Carl were sharing a chaise, and Heather's folks were just as cozy in another -- he was a big man, stocky and fit, a bit hairy -- while she was as gently rounded and ladylike as her daughter, and just as well groomed. As I sneaked a peak past Greg's shoulder I saw him mount her, saw her guide his cock into herself. Catching sight of me, she gave a wicked wink, mouthing "thank you" at me as her hips rose to welcome his thrust. Then her mouth gaped open and her eyes glazed over as he began fucking her.

I mentally returned to our dancing, if you could call it that. By now we were barely moving, our arms around each other and we were pressed together from mouths to toes. I was in an erotic cloud, pressing my body against his, loving the feel of his hard dick against my tummy, sharing our breaths, hands stroking bare skin.

Engulfed as I was in a sensuous fog I was only vaguely aware of Greg backing up, drawing me with him.

Then there were hands touching and guiding us. When he started to ease backwards away from me I was held back so he could lie down on his back on one of the sturdy chaises with its plushy cushions, his lovely, lovely hard cock standing proud from his groin. Since I was already nearly delirious with desire, it took only a moment for the friends and lovers around me to get me to straddle him so they could aim his hard-on up into my more than ready cunt.

Oh my gosh!

They pressed down on my shoulders and I happily sank down on him, down on him, down on him, until I was full, full, full. I sighed from the depths of my soul and for a time just stayed there, savoring the sensation of being stuffed with his dick, my nipples so hard they hurt, my cunt gripping his dork. Finding his wrists I guided his hands to my breasts, leaned into his grip.

It was Beth on one side of me, Heather on the other who took Greg's hands away from my boobs, then gently urged me forward to lie down on him, his prick levering within me, my clit striking fire between our pubic bones, his bush scratchy against my waxed pubes. I was kissing him again, his arms tight around me, mine under his shoulders, our tongues dueling, lips and teeth working when I felt fingers -- not his! -- exploring my ass, stroking the crack, probing, teasing my butt-hole, so close to where his cock was socketed in my twat.

Ohmygosh!

A finger coated with something cool and very slippery invaded me back there, drilling deep, deep, deep, triggering an absolutely exquisite itch and I could only groan into Greg's mouth at the sensation. The finger went away, but only long enough for two to come back, slick and gooey, working their way far into my ass, stretching my sphincter as they twisted and turned inside me.

I knew they could only be lubing me up, but for what? Or maybe that should be whom? I remembered how, after the dance, as I'd ridden Greg, Kathy had buggered me with her double-ended dildo, but knew this was going to be different, if only because we had spectators and no dildo can really compare to a living cock.

And who was watching, how many were there? Whose hands were on me, on Greg as we coupled there? Missy and Beth were there, but who else? There were Heather and her parents, and Missy's date, Bud Lacey, and John Finch, and Carl, and...

 ... and then I stopped caring. The fingers having left my ass, something bigger, bulkier was nuzzling at me. There was a warm body leaning over me as the pressure at my bung slowly built.

"Relax, Sis." Carl's breath was hot in my ear before he straightened up again and began to work his cock into my tail, someone helping, guiding it, someone else holding my cheeks apart, making it a team effort.

Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. It was Carl! He'd buggered me once before, while Beth had eaten me out, but now here I was, trapped between the two most favorite men in my life! I willed my body to accept it, making like I was trying to poop to open that gate for him. His hot, hard cock slowly stretched me open, worked its way inside, pushing deeper and deeper, stretching me wide, shoving all before it, stuffing me fuller than I had ever been in my entire life.

Wrenching my mouth away from Greg's I gasped, whimpered, groaned. Oh, it was so unbelievably good to be so full! With my head turned, Greg was panting in my ear, and I found myself looking into Heather's eyes only inches away. She moved in and kissed me warmly, deeply, softly. "I love you," she whispered before going away.

Her kiss was followed by more brief, sweet, loving kisses and soft words from Stephanie, Kathy, Mom, and Elaine as Greg managed to wiggle enough to squirm his dick in and out of my tightly pinched cunt while Carl slowly pistoned in my ass. I was mashed between them, their cocks tugging and twisting and stirring my innards.

It seemed like everyone was stroking and petting me, involving my whole body in this one wonderful carnal embrace. I didn't have to do anything, they were doing it all for me. All I could do was go along for the ride, and what a ride it was. I'd never felt so loved in my entire life! I was swept along in an orgasm that went on, and on, and on into the night. [DF1]


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The End
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Posted:  2012-02-13
Last Modified: 2012-12-02 / 08:12:46 am
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