The next morning, when Carl and I walked up to the school there was the traditional gathering of boys at the North Entrance, where the girls in The Program had to strip. We watched as June Farrow, the senior girl in The Program that week, stripped and deposited her clothes in the drop for them.
She's a three sport athlete - track in the fall, basketball in the winter and softball in the spring. She's about five foot ten, and built like a goddess. If she was blushing it didn't show on her. Her skin was a rich, dark chocolate brown, all over. Her breasts are firm, her nipples a shade darker, of course. She wears her hair in a short, natural `do, and her bush is kinky, close to her mons. I had an image of her running the hurdles in her specialty, the heptathlon, and my breath caught in my throat. I wondered if the photography club had thought of trying to capture that image, that fleet beauty!
She strolled gracefully, confidently into school, her firm buttocks flexing, and then it was my turn. I felt totally inadequate following that exhibition.
I'd dressed carefully that morning, too. When he'd been in The Program, Carl had gone for efficiency, putting on no more than necessary. I wanted to make a different statement; don't judge a book by its cover. All my life I'd had the image of the demure, studious scholar. I knew now, after the homecoming dance, and especially after yesterday afternoon, that there was more to me than that.
Oh, I was wearing my usual conservative blouse and skirt. I really didn't have much choice, though I had already resolved to expand my wardrobe as soon as I had a chance. I began by unbuttoning my shirt, facing the throng, making no effort to conceal anything, even though my mouth was dry and I was trembling.
Removing my shirt, I revealed another of my recently acquired "frillies," a lace demi-cup bra that lifted my shy breasts, barely concealed my nipples. I could see the appreciation in Carl's eyes as he watched.
Folding my shirt carefully, I deposited it in the box. Then I unbuttoned my skirt and unzipped it, trying to be graceful as I did. Stepping out of it, I similarly folded it and put it in the box, leaving me in my bra, and thong panties. The turn I made to deposit the skirt gave everyone a good look at how the back of the panties disappeared between the cheeks of my ass.
Turning back to my audience, I unhooked the bra between my breasts, and opened it, feeling my nipples stiffen in the cool morning air. Shedding it, I took what I hoped was a graceful turn to the applause and whistles of the crowd.
Into the deposit box the bra went, and I was down to my panties and loafers, which could stay on, of course, but which I toed off. Hooking my thumbs in the waist of the thong, I eased it down with a wiggle of my hips. The back of it was caught in the crack of my ass as I drew the lacy dainty down, of course. It was also clinging to the sticky-wet folds of my pussy a little, finally pulling free.
Bending, I slid the panties down my thighs, and stepped out of them. Shaking them out, I folded them, and added them to the rest of my clothes in the locked drop-box. Stepping over to Carl, I asked him for his comb.
This he hadn't expected, but he dug it out and handed it to me without complaint. Using the glass in the door as a mirror, I combed and re-pony tailed my hair, then stepped over to a bench by the door. The guys sitting there gaped, and I lifted one foot to rest it on some guy's knee, displaying my cunt to all, my innards squirming as I did.
Okay, the devil made me - modest Beth - do it. What can I say?
I combed out my pussy hair right in front of their eyes, fluffing it up. Then I had another thought. Handing the comb to the guy whose knee I was using, I stretched, putting my hands behind my head, letting him comb my pussy, flinching slightly as the sharp teeth brushed my tender labia. Finishing, he patted my pussy gently, his thumb slipping between my thighs to tease the opening of my cunt, wringing a gasp from me.
I shot a glance at Carl, and the rest of the crowd. Carl licked his lips nervously, but nodded his understanding as the crowd applauded. Taking the comb back, I then returned it to Carl, brushed his cheek with my fingers, and took my book bag from him.
Sticking my feet back in my loafers, I made my way into school, the crowd following me as I made my way to my locker. I was trembling as I dialed the combination and got out the things I needed for my morning classes. A small group of guys hovered around, watching me, making me more aware of my exposure than ever.
"See you in French," Carl bade me as I got ready for chem.
"See you." I smiled at him.
Then it was off to the hustling, daily routine, maneuvering the hallways naked. Chem was nothing, but then it was French, with Mademoiselle Duclos.
It was too much to hope for a second reprieve, and I didn't get it.
"Ah, Mademoiselle Finch," Mademoiselle Duclos greeted me warmly. "If you would please just come to the front of the room, I would be most grateful."
Oh God, here we go, I thought as I obeyed, conscious of every eye in the room on me. Even my participation on the debating team hadn't prepared me for this kind of public exposure! My resolve to participate fully and willingly in all the challenges the program presented began to waver. I looked at Carl, and could see the sympathy in his gaze, and the tension.
"Up `ere, please," Mademoiselle Duclos directed, making me step up on a little platform so they could see me better, taking my books from me and putting them on her desk. "Mademoiselles and Monsieurs, today, with the beautiful and able assistance of Mademoiselle Finch, we will cover more slang vocabulary."
Blushing furiously, I managed to face the class, first folding my arms over my breasts, then clasping my hands in front of my pussy, hunching my arms over my breasts in a desperate effort to protect myself from their curious stares.
Mademoiselle Duclos said something to me in French that my dazed mind managed to translate into "Ah, you are a very beautiful young lady," or something like that. I mustered something resembling a smile for her, I think, and tried to relax, unclasping my hands and putting my arms at my sides. I took a deep breath, conscious of the movement of my ribs, the lift of my breasts as I did.
God, I felt so exposed! I shot an anxious glance at Carl, and was warmed by the sympathy and pride and desire in his return look. He gave me a quick "thumbs up" signal that helped ease my terror, if not my embarrassment.
Then Mademoiselle Duclos began to touch me - feather light touches barely brushing my skin as she named my features. My nipples stiffed to her light caress.
Her hand cupped my breast warmly, making he shiver. I'd never been touched by another woman that way. It was different from Carl's touch, but I still felt myself becoming aroused. Was she lesbian?
I didn't think so. I knew she had a boyfriend. What should I do?
"These are Mademoiselle Finch's `doudounes,' a relatively recent addition to French slang," Mademoiselle Duclos explained, moving to the white board to spell it out. "They are also known as `les n**n**s,' `les nichons,' and even `les roberts.' If I may say, Mademoiselle Finch `as lovely doudounes, by French standards, not being over amply endowed or, as the French would say, `y'a du monde au balcon,' which loosely translates as `what a pair of knockers.'"
That brought some chuckles from the class, and some flushing from the more well endowed girls as well.
"The French say that the ideal size of a woman's breast is what will fill a champagne glass. Unfortunately, I fear I am a bit too generous for that." To my astonishment, Madame Duclos proceeded to remove her blouse to reveal she wore no bra. Her breasts were larger than mine, but not a lot larger. There was more weight to them, a bit more crease beneath them, and her nipples were darker and more prominent than mine.
Someone in the back of the room whistled softly.
Goose bumps flared to life as her fingers gently stroked my soft, shy breasts again, and I blushed even brighter, if that was at all possible. I shot her a nervous glance, but she was looking at the class. I couldn't help noticing how stiff and alert her own nipples were, and wondered if she was finding this as arousing as I was.
Her hand left my breast, and moved down my torso. I shivered, and she spared me a sympathetic glance. "Are you all right?" she asked.
I nodded nervously. "I think so. It tickles. I'm - uh - not used to being touched that way."
"You are so very pretty, though, and your skin is so soft! I `ope you will let me continue?"
I summoned my courage, even as it was being assaulted by both arousal and shame, and nodded tensely.
She nodded agreeably, and went on, giving the slang term for "navel" as she touched my belly button. I balled my fists, knowing she her next target would be my pussy.
"And now, since Mademoiselle Finch might like some company...." Mademoiselle Duclos' voice trailed off as she unfastened her skirt, letting it drop to reveal her total lack of underwear. I couldn't not lean forward to look down at her.
She was shaved down there, as bare as a baby! Her puffy labia were totally exposed!
I was still dealing with this when her finger brushed into my pubic hair. "This is, how you might say, `pussy' and we French would say `chatte' which is, of course, `cat' en Francaise, or pussy," she finished brightly. "As you can see, I have no `air, and I `ave wondered, should it still be called chatte?"
"But beneath the `air is the same and, in polite company it might be called `Noune.'" She spelled it out on the board, giving me a brief respite, pronouncing it `noonn.' "That is to say, the `vulva.'"
I shivered again. I felt like I was under a microscope, despite her shared display. The class was studying my most intimate secrets. It was mortifying, but what was even more mortifying, I could feel myself becoming more and more physically aroused. I shot Carl an anxious look, and I could see he knew what I was feeling. He looked pained, and stimulated, and shifted awkwardly in his seat. I saw him reach down, and knew he was adjusting his hardon in his jeans, but I couldn't help wondering if it was because of me, or Mademoiselle Duclos with her more mature beauty, her fuller breasts, or perhaps her exposed vulva.
"There are other words," Mademoiselle Duclos went on, writing on the board - I couldn't help turning and watching her. Her bottom was firm and round.
"These include `con,' `conne,' is the feminine form, of course. Then there is `connard' and, similarly in feminine `connarde.' These are used as insults when referring to a man. If you wanted to insult a woman and call her a `bitch' or maybe even - ah, what is the word? - cunt? - you would call her `connasse' and there is no masculine form of this word."
She returned to my side, bending down. "Please, move your feet apart a little?" she asked sweetly. "Merci."
Then she got even more personal, as I fought the urge to squirm. Her fingers parted my pubic hair, revealing my slit, and I saw the boys in the class practically drooling, while some of the girls blushed, and others stared. She could have done this on herself, after all!
"This is called, if the man knows the woman extremely well, `cramouille' meaning `wet slit.'" If `e does not know her it is, of course, a vile insult."
I WAS wet, and I wanted to die!
"And," Mademoiselle Duclos went on inexorably, "if we part these lovely lips, which, I might add, are indeed delightfully wet," She paused, and I actually felt her spreading my labia open! " `ere we find the little man in the hood, the clitoris, non? In French this is called `clito,' making it easy to remember. That is, of course, a feminine noun. A woman who has a good lover would not hesitate to ask `im to `leche-moi le clito,' or `lick my clitoris.' The man might respond to such a request by `descendre a la cave' or as you might say, descending to the basement."
Thinking of what Carl had done to me after the dance, I was blushing beet red by now, and I could see Carl turning scarlet and trying to sink down under his desk! Just the memory of that orgasm was enough to make my pussy weep.
"As you might suspect," she went on, stroking her own bare pussy, "a man doing some - ah - what is that word that I am seeking? -you know, exploring caves...."
"Spelunking?" Carl offered impulsively.
"Ah, mais oui, zat is the word I seek," Mademoiselle Duclos agreed gaily. "A man who has, as we say `scendre a la cave' finds the experience even more delightful when ze woman `as shaved, as I have, because the flesh is clean and our little friend `ere is more easily accessible."
Then Mademoiselle Duclos touched my clitoris and I thought I was going to collapse. I reacted! Of course I reacted. I was already hot as a firecracker and I went off! I flinched, gasped, whimpered softly deep in my throat as the muscles in my abdomen went into orgasmic spasms.
"Ah, Mademoiselle Finch, she is `aving what we sometimes call `le petite mort,' the `little death,'" Mademoiselle Duclos observed with delight, and perhaps a touch of envy. "What you would call `coming' or an orgasm."
I wanted to DIE.
Die! Die! DIE!
But what a way to go. All I could do was stand there while my cunt spasmed and a flush spread up my torso, waves of pleasure sweeping through me while everyone watched. I could see Carl's fists, balled on his desktop as he suffered with me. At least, I assume he was suffering, but I could be wrong.
The rest of the class, what little was left, was a blur. I became a mannequin in Mademoiselle Duclos' hands, shifting numbly as she posed me, letting the class see my ass, making me bend over, spreading the cheeks of my ass to expose my rear hole, her finger tickling me as I discovered an unexpected erogenous zone there.
When the bell rang I numbly gathered up my books and made my way blindly to the door, the other students avoiding me, whispering about me.
Then, out in the hallway, Carl was with me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. I leaned into him, burying my head against his shoulder, shivering.
"You were beautiful, and brave," he complimented me.
"It was humiliating." I couldn't forget how I'd come, right there, in front of the whole class.
He chuckled. "Now you know how I felt the first time I asked for relief, and every time after that, in fact."
I managed a sympathetic smile up at him. "I hadn't thought of it that way," I admitted, managing a deep breath. "And now that that's over I don't see how it could get worse," I observed hopefully, conscious of the eyes flicking over me as we walked to math, my bare flank pressed against his clothed one, my juices drying on my pussy.
He gave me a squeeze. "You get more used to it." Then he laughed. "Of course, they say you can get used to hanging if you hang long enough."
I managed a weak chuckle. "Very funny. I wonder what can happen to me next?"
Next was math, with Freschetti, and I quickly found out how it could get worse.
"Uh, Miss Gallison, I'd like some relief," the hairy hulk announced as he walked into the room, right at the last minute, as usual. "And I'd like some help?"
Oh God, no, I thought.
"Are there any volunteers?" Miss Gallison asked.
Believe you me, I did NOT have to sit on my hands to keep them down on THAT question! I heard a few joints pop as hands went up, some of the more unselective girls nobly throwing themselves into the breach at the chance to fondle the star fullback, no matter that he had a weeny weeny.
"I'd prefer Beth Finch," Freschetti announced before some other willing victim could be chosen.
I wanted to crawl under my DESK and die. Die, DIE, DIE!
Again.
"Miss Finch?" Miss Gallison asked. "It seems a reasonable request."
Oh, yeah, right, I thought. I considered trying to argue my way out of it, and thought I might get a sympathetic hearing from Miss Gallison.
Then I remembered the goals of the program, and sucked up my courage, deciding to face the challenge instead. "Yes, Miss Gallison," I agreed, seeing Carl react out of the corner of my eye. I tried to give him a reassuring look as I stood and went to where Freschetti stood to one side of Miss Gallison's desk.
Now, you've got to know the back story to understand what I was going through, so you really should read Carl's account of his week naked in school.
In a nutshell, Freschetti was the school's star running back and big jock on campus. He had tried to embarrass Carl when Carl had been taking classes naked, only to be humiliated himself when Miss Gallison made him drop his trousers to reveal what I assume is one of the least impressive dicks in school.
After that he'd harassed Carl, until the powers that be had warned him off with the threat of suspension. This request of his had to be a way of getting back at Carl through me. I had to stand up to him, to refuse to be humiliated by this Neanderthal jerk.
Even so, getting back to the matter at hand, or soon to be IN hand, I did not foresee anything good coming out of this encounter. Freschetti smirked down at me, his hands on his hips.
Putting on my best "in your face" face, I looked up at him, and curled my fingers around his little pecker.
"How about on your knees," he suggested, and I swear I heard him softly add the word "bitch" to the request.
I'd done that for Carl, willingly, happily masturbating him until he'd cum on my blouse and skirt, even my face. I'd worn Carl's cum as a badge of honor and love. However, I was not about to let Freschetti shower me with his cum! Coming from this ape it would be a mark of shame and humiliation.
Without really thinking about it, still holding his dick in the fingers of my right hand, I cupped Freschetti's balls in my left, and squeezed - not gently, either. "Not even in your dreams," I answered, very softly, in a tone that left no doubt that I was ready to bring him to HIS knees if necessary.
Freschetti paled visibly, and gulped, his sneer fading, and I relaxed my hold on his balls, but kept them in my grasp as I began to massage his cock.
It wasn't very hard, and it didn't respond much to my milking. It took some work, but I finally extracted a few convulsions and a trickle of semen from him. Then I remembered something I'd read recently about athletes and the side effects of the anabolic steroids some of them used to bulk up on.
Better living through chemistry indeed!
"Better lay off the steroids," I suggested softly, so only he could hear me, dropping his quickly shriveling dick. I wiped my hands on his hairy belly. "They'll ruin your sex life." I got some pleasure from the look of shock that crossed his face. I could only marvel at his stupidity. Why would anyone take something without researching what it would do to him?
I didn't start to tremble until I was back seated at my desk and he had gone to the back of the room where he sat. Then I put my head in my hands for a moment. After I'd composed myself, looking over my shoulder at Carl, I managed a smile, and he gave me discrete "thumbs up" sign, and a grin that made me feel warm.
The only other unexpected encounter of the regular school day came in the washroom after lunch. Stephanie, the school's star flute player and my new and best friend, except for Carl, of course, had gone with me and we were washing our hands together after using the toilet. She'd been in the program only the week before, you remember, so she understood what I was going through. So I was totally caught off guard by her question.
"Have you ever had sex with another girl?" she asked suddenly, looking at me in the mirror, pinking up as she did.
Somehow I stifled my first reaction, which would have been a shocked "No!" "Uh, no," I answered, tempted to tell her how I'd lost my virginity to Carl only the day before.
"Oh." She looked disappointed, and I remembered how the relationship we'd tried to set up with a guy at the dance for her hadn't seemed to jell.
I met her gaze in the mirror. "Stephanie, are you gay?" I asked bluntly.
She looked like she wanted to cry. "I don't know," she admitted miserably. "I can't seem to - to get - interested in boys."
"That doesn't mean anything," I assured her. "Maybe you haven't met the right boy yet." I finished washing my hands and went for a paper towel.
Stephanie followed me. "But, when I look at you, like that...." Her voice trailed off.
I managed to keep wiping my hands, though they were already dry. When they were steady again, I tossed the towel in the waste container, and instinctively reached down to scoop up three more that had missed the target. I hate litter. When I was steady, I turned to face her. "You get turned on?" I asked softly.
Fighting tears, she nodded her head. "I'm sorry," she blurted, and I felt my own heart breaking for her. "You're so beautiful!"
"No! Don't apologize!" I urged her. "I'm flattered!" I realized that I loved Stephanie.
Oh, not exactly THAT way, but I did love her. She was sweet and kind and, like I've said, a marvelous musician, for which I envied her more than a little.
"You are?" She sounded dubious.
I nodded, and put a hand on her arm. "I am," I answered sincerely. "Have you talked with Miss Gallison about it? She'd give you the straight skinny. She's nice."
Stephanie shook her head. "I don't know her."
"I could introduce you, if you want," I offered.
She shook her head again.
"Have you ever made love to a woman?" I asked.
"No," she answered gloomily, turning toward the mirrors, those horrible things that never lie. "Who'd want me?"
I studied her reflection as she studied herself in the mirror. She was fairly tall - well, taller than I am, with a big frame, and a little on the heavy side. She had lost weight, and I knew she was on a diet and exercise program, but she'd never be fashion model skinny.
"I would," I answered, "if I were a guy, or gay." It was a shock to realize that I meant it! That was how much I loved her.
"Would you really?" She was still dubious.
"I would," I answered firmly, thinking of all the reasons I felt the way I did about her. "You're smart, you're talented. You have lovely eyes, and a beautiful complexion. I love your dimples when you smile, and your laugh. And you're the kindest, sweetest person I know. Except for Carl," I added loyally.
"I don't even know that I'm gay, for sure," she said softly, twisting her hands. "I only know I've never felt like this - like I do about you - ever before, with anyone."
"Would you like to touch me?" I asked softly.
There, I was willingly offering to let someone other than Carl touch my naked body. Only with a person I'd never have thought it would happen.
"Could I?" she asked timidly.
I nodded. "Uh huh," I agreed, my own heart racing. I remembered seeing how Karen had done it in the hallway, and put my hands up behind my head, spreading my feet slightly. I saw my reflection in the mirror, and realized just how exposed I was by that pose, how accessible and vulnerable.
Vulnerable. There was that word again. I shivered.
Then Stephanie's fingers shyly touched my tit, and it stiffened, and I felt warmed by it. Her hand cupped my breast, and I saw her own breathing quicken as she tested its warmth and softness. "You're so beautiful," she said softly.
I blushed, feeling my own juices stirring from her touch, and had to tell myself that it was only a logical physical response to the stimulus. No different than how my own body responded when I masturbated and fantasized.
"May I kiss you?" Stephanie asked timidly. Then someone came in the door and she jerked her hand away from me.
"We're going to be late for class," I announced loudly. "Where are you headed next?"
"Uh, gym," she answered.
"Oh, that's right, you and Carl have gym together, don't you." I led her out the door to the crowded hallway. "I'm going in that direction."
She shot me a grateful glance and we walked together.
She paused outside the locker room door, looking around, but the hall was emptying quickly. "Look, I'm sorry if I - I don't want to ruin our friendship."
"You did nothing of the kind," I assured her. Then I drew a deep breath. "Look, if you'd - well, if you'd like to - take a test drive - well, I think, maybe, I - I might be willing. Let me think about it."
She looked like she was about to burst into tears again. "Really?"
"Let me think about it," I repeated, wondering what was getting into me. "I do love you," I admitted, rising on my tip toes to give her a kiss on the cheek, surprised at how soft it was, and how warm and, well, yes, sweet, even. It wasn't more than I'd seen other girls do, so no one would have wondered about it if they'd seen it, but they might have wondered at the stiffness of my nipples.
"I do love you," I repeated. "I don't think I love you THAT way, but - well, let me think about it. Now, I've got to rush - I'm modeling in art again today. I'll see you later, maybe after band practice?"
"Later," she said gratefully as I turned away. I felt her watching me as I walked away toward the art studio, my mind racing. Would I do it? Could I do it?
The questions circled in my mind as I posed again, the class sketching me, portraying my breasts, my curves and flesh, even my pussy, using their charcoals and pencils and pastels. During the first break, I made it a point to visit with Kathy, the girl who had concentrated all her efforts on my cunt the day before.
She hadn't changed her focus, and my latest pose had involved my thighs being spread wide in her direction, giving her a perfect view of my pussy. In spite of all my efforts, posing had aroused me again, so the inner petals of my cunt were engorged, visible, a delicate ruffle in the soft, fuzzy, brown nest of my bush.
What she was doing was beautiful, I had to admit. Oh, I'd done a bit of exploration with a hand mirror once, studying myself so I knew what was there, but she was finding beauty there that gave me a new appreciation of my - my crotch!
She added some shading, softening it with a stroke of her thumb across my vulva - I mean, the drawing of my vulva. I shivered at the sight.
"It would look even better without the hair," she observed softly.
The suggestion rattled me, remembering how Mademoiselle Duclos shaved her pubic area. I wanted to ask Kathy if she was gay, but couldn't bring myself to do it. I thought of - of pressing my lips to what she was picturing, of licking it, and blushed, a hot feeling sweeping through me, and returned to the podium for my next pose before the break was even officially over.
Thinking of Stephanie, I tried to tell myself that being gay wasn't the end of the world, but couldn't quite buy it. Oh, Stephanie knew as well as I did that being gay wasn't the end of the world. But I also knew that when you're fifteen facing a discovery like that - well, it looms like a mountain.
For one thing, there are pockets of homophobia in the most liberal schools. Then, too, it so restricts your choices for - ah - sexual interaction, at a time when your hormones are really running rampant. And how would her parents react? What of the future - a family, children?
I sympathized with Stephanie, and wondered if I could Do It with her, or not, or if Doing It would even resolve the issue for her. Carl had done it - licked me there, pressed his face into my pussy, probing me with his tongue, his lips suckling on my clit. I remembered the orgasm he'd given me - the best ever up until that time - and felt my pussy soften and swell at the memory.
Afterwards we'd kissed, and I'd tasted and smelled my own juices on his lips and cheeks, on his breath, and it had been so erotic!
It was an arousing memory, to say the least!
Could I do that with Stephanie? The thought gave me goose bumps all over, and I hoped the people sketching me couldn't see them. Then I saw Kate looking at me intently, and knew that at least one of them could see my cunt's response to these musings, and felt a blush warming my skin. My fingers twitched with the urge to stroke my own pussy, to bring myself off, but I managed to hold my pose.
I realized then that, when you were naked, it was virtually impossible to hide even what you were thinking. Oh, sure, a boy's lust was obvious, but even a girl's moods and arousal were obvious, if you knew what to look for - stiffened nipples, distended inner petals to her cunt, blushes and goose bumps, little bits of body language like a touch to her breast, one thigh pressing against the other.
Another lesson from The Program for me to file away in my oh-so analytical fashion. I'd started a notebook last night, and knew I'd have to add this observation to it tonight.
"Time," Mr. Kelly announced, to my relief, and I broke the pose, turning my back on the class and stretching luxuriously, working out the kinks, and the sexual arousal.
"Oh! Please remember that pose, Miss Finch!" Mr. Kelly ordered in the middle of my stretch. "We'll assume that pose when we return from our break."
We? I thought. Who's we? That's ME up there naked, you twit, not you.
But I remembered it anyway, and tried to duplicate it when the break was over. Mr. Kelly helped, shifting my arms a little, pushing my hips slightly to one side, then forward with his hand on my butt.
I'm still not sure whether it was easier facing the class or with my back to them, with them sketching me from behind. I had no mirror, so I couldn't see what I looked like - until I saw what they'd done. It was a flattering pose, with my arms stretching up and out, my back arched, my bottom tight. It made me look taller!
The girl who had been sketching my pussy had concentrated - you guess it - on my butt. Again, she created a thing of beauty - a few graceful strokes of her charcoal this time, rather than the pastels she'd used for my cunt.
It was the last pose of the class, and then it was off to history, and then I had to pose for the photography club after school.
Which, along with what happened later, deserves a chapter of its own!
Okay, if I hear one more person, male or female, of any age, say to me, naked or not, "let's go into the darkroom and see what develops," I am going to punch him or her in the nose!
No jury in the world would convict me.
"Hi, Beth, let's go in the darkroom and see what develops," was the greeting I got from every one of the eight boys in the photography club as they joined me, one by one, by the soccer field. The three girls who were club members winced and groaned, having heard it themselves more than once, they assured me.
Yes, I was the first one there. Didn't I tell you of my obsessive compulsive habit of always being early?
There I was standing self-consciously in front of the home team bench on the main soccer field, feeling the afternoon breeze stroke my naked body with insolent little fingers. Maybe, if you stay naked long enough, you finally become no more aware of that than you are of the touch of clothing. If so, then I haven't been naked long enough yet. I could even feel the breeze toying with my pubic hair.
While we waited for the club's adviser the kids fiddled with their cameras - adjusting this and fixing that, polishing lenses and loading film. They were as geeky a bunch as those in the computer club - some of them did both, in fact.
Finally the adviser, Mr. Kelly, my art teacher, came trotting up, festooned with several cameras himself. "All ready then, are we? Where should we start?"
Not in the darkroom, I thought to myself. Anyplace but that!
"How about the goal net?" Albert Ballantine suggested. He was a sophomore, a kind of big, pudgy guy who I'd thought of as a possible date for Stephanie, until earlier today. Now I wasn't as sure.
"Why not the benches here?" Jimmy Dirk suggested. He was in my math class, a little squirt, not even as tall as me, with pimples. For some reason he had his shirt unbuttoned halfway to his waist. Like anyone was really interested in his sunken chest!
Mr. Kelly made a time out gesture with his hands. "Wait. What's the first thing we need to decide?"
"What sort of pictures we want to take," Julie Shay answered.
"Right," Mr. Kelly agreed. "What's our theme? Since our model is nude, portraiture is obviously - well, not eliminated, but improbable, a waste of resources, you could say. Are we interested in cheesecake? Glamour shots? Perhaps erotica? Are we going for posed shots, or candids?"
"Planning our session in advance determines everything, remember?" he went on. "Everything from the equipment and film we use to the backgrounds, props, the poses - everything!"
"How about smut?" Jimmy Dirk suggested with a smirk, ostentatiously scratching his belly. His shirt was completely unbuttoned now. It was not an improvement.
"Pornography is always an option with a willing nude model," Mr. Kelly agreed calmly. "But it is better accomplished with more than one model."
I nailed Jimmy Dirk with my best glare and an underhanded grabbing and squeezing motion with my left hand before he could volunteer and he froze before he had his hand half way up. He'd seen what I'd done to Freschetti, much to my relief.
"When you have a model, how can pictures be candid?" Julie asked.
"Oh, that's easy enough. Just ask the model to perform some regular tasks and snap away," Mr. Kelly explained. "For example, since we're here on a soccer field, Miss Finch, why don't you, uh, kick that soccer ball around?" he suggested, indicating one that had been left under a bench.
I frowned. "I'm not much a soccer player," I confessed.
"Just play with it a little," he explained. "You can pick it up, bounce it, kick it - whatever you want. Oh, and take off your shoes, please, to give a more natural look.
"Since we're taking action shots, what should our choice of film be?" he went on to the photographer wannabes.
Julie was first with the answer again. "Fast film, so we can use the fastest shutter speeds possible without sacrificing the depth of field we gain with high f stops."
"Right!" Mr. Kelly agreed eagerly.
Kicking off my loafers left me naked but for the usual gold chain around my neck with the simple gold cross. Totally self-conscious, I bent to dig the ball out from under the bench. Picking it up, I tried to bounce it and it hit my foot, and of course it got away from me and I had to chase it down.
Handling it awkwardly, I tried to ignore the cameras being focused on me. Dropping the ball on the grass I kicked it the way I'd seen soccer players doing it, sort of nudging it around the field. The grass was cold under my bare feet. The breeze was playing with my tits and my pussy. My tits were jiggling, and I was waving my arms to keep my balance. Cameras were all around me, snapping away.
I was intensely aware of my exposure.
I was doing pretty well until I accidentally stepped on the ball instead of kicking it. Twisting my ankle, I went flying, legs all akimbo and landed hard on my butt while the ball scooted away from me.
The cameras kept right on clicking as, wincing, I got up and rubbed my bruised bottom, brushing grass clippings off it, then limped after the ball, my ankle complaining. Picking up the ball I walked back, tossing it lamely in the air for some semblance of action for them.
"How about if she plays goalie," Jimmy suggested snidely. "She could sit in the goal with her legs spread and we could try to score."
I decided I could develop a real dislike for that horny little twerp.
"I think that's enough of the athletic candids," Mr. Kelly countered, taking the ball from me and putting it back under the bench. "We'll have June Farrow for that tomorrow, remember."
That announcement was greeted with whistles from the boys.
"And Mr. Freschetti will join us as well for some beefcake," Mr. Kelly added, with a wink to the girls, who did not look thrilled. "Now, why don't we try some poses on the benches here? Now, do we want artistic or cheesecake shots, and who can tell me the primary difference between them?"
Julie raised her hand. "Well, the goal of cheesecake photography is displaying the sexuality of the subject," she suggested.
"But isn't the sexuality of the subject an important element of artistic figure studies as well?" Albert asked.
Julie looked thoughtful. "I guess so."
"Any other ideas?" the teacher asked.
I wished I knew just so I could raise my hand and end the silence, but I didn't. Besides, I wasn't part of the club, I was their model.
"Okay, it's kind of subtle, but with cheesecake and glamour photography, and beefcake and all erotic photography, the goal is to establish personal contact between the model and the audience," Mr. Kelly explained. "For example - uh - stretch out on the bench, Miss Finch, on your side, please."
I did, the bench cold against my naked hip, and I rested on one elbow, folding an arm self-consciously across my breasts, my leg bent to conceal my pussy. Even now, on the second day in The Program, I had this instinct to cover myself.
"Now, an artistic nude," Mr. Kelly went on, "usually will not show the model's face in detail, perhaps not at all. You might take a picture from the back, for example, concentrating on the curved line of her hip, buttocks and legs. Or the model might look at the ground, pensively, never smiling."
He directed the class around me to show them what he was talking about. His hand stroked my hip and ass, my leg. I stayed still, remembering the lessons learned from my art class modeling, in spite of the shiver his touch gave me.
Then they moved around in front of me. "A cheesecake shot, on the other hand, virtually always shows the model's face, and usually she, or he, is looking directly into the camera, making eye contact with the audience, with an expression that invites some sort of response. Look this way, please, Miss Finch," he directed, focusing on me with his own camera. "Now smile in a friendly fashion."
I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly fashion. Staring into the camera made me much more intensely aware of his scrutiny.
"Lick your lips, please," he added.
I licked my lips.
"But doesn't erotic photography show more, too?" Albert pointed out.
"That depends on the market," Mr. Kelly answered.
"Today's market shows much more," Albert pointed out, his hands fiddling nervously with his camera. "Magazines today show everything - pubic hair...." He gulped, sweating. "Everything!"
"Indeed," Mr. Kelly agreed. "Why don't you raise your leg, Miss Finch, and move your arm to reveal your breasts."
I tried to figure out just what he meant, lifting my leg, exposing my pussy.
"Cup your breast, too," the teacher suggested. "Play with your nipple. Tilt your head down and look sultry."
I blushed, and tried to comply, wondering what "sultry" was, feeling the air on my pussy, pinching my nipple, my hand cupping my modest breast, offering it to them. I tried to look like what's her name, Humphrey Bogart's girlfriend in "To Have and To Have Not" as I did, but only felt foolish.
The cameras clicked, flashes winking at me.
"Very good, Miss Finch. And class, remember, when working in bright sunlight, either to set your flashes to fill in the shadows, to reduce the contrast, or use a reflector to do the same thing," Mr. Kelly went on.
"Now, one of the tricks to posing a woman is to shoot from an angle that shows one breast in profile. And the nipple should be stimulated so that it is erect. One way to accomplish that is to rub it with an ice cube. Lacking that, tactile manipulation, combined, perhaps, with some fantasizing by the model can accomplish the same effect. Miss Finch, if you please."
I tilted my body. Lacking an ice cube, I pinched my nipples and fantasized about Carl toying with me. My nipples were not the only parts of my body that reacted. I felt my pussy flush and blossom.
The session went on, much faster than in art class, of course. I followed directions as they shot picture after picture of me. It wasn't possible, of course, to look directly at each camera, so I chose first one of them and then another, deliberately avoiding Jimmy Dirk's smirking, drooling attention as much as I could.
"Show us some pink," he ordered at last.
"Some pink?" I asked, puzzled.
"Cunt," he explained. "Spread your pussy."
I blushed brighter, looking at Mr. Kelly for some protection, but he just indicated I should continue.
I reached for my pussy, spreading the lips, feeling the air strike deeper into my damp slit. Jimmy got down to get a good angle on my exposure, moving into what I can only describe as a gynecological close up. I was mortified, but tried to comply as the requests became more and more provocative.
I could hear the band practicing on a distant field, and thought of Carl, how he'd marched so naked during the homecoming game, standing out from the group even more by marching alone to "Dot the `i'" during the half time show. I remembered how proud I'd been of him, his bravery, and it stirred me to try to comply with the photography club's requests.
"Play with yourself," Jimmy suggested. "Get a finger in there!"
And I did. I slid my finger into my hot cunt, while cameras recorded every bit of my exposure, my wantonness. Sitting on the end of one bench, my legs spread wide, leaning back on one hand, I masturbated my gaping cunt while they all clicked away, even the girls.
Then I was ordered on to my knees, reaching under my body to spread my pussy again, while they took pictures of my naked ass, my open slit. I even toyed with my asshole, at Jimmy's request again.
They had me sprawl on the grass, legs spread, knees raised, pinching my breasts as I humped my hips as if I was welcoming a lover. I spread my pussy with both hands, displaying all my glistening pink cunt to them, remembering how Kate had found beauty in my so private folds.
I even managed a back-bend, my body arched, my pussy prominent, until my back gave way and I tumbled again to the grass.
Mr. Kelly checked his watch as I got to my feet and tried to brush off the grass clippings and dirt. "We have about fifteen minutes more. Why don't we let Miss Finch shower off in that time," he suggested.
"Can we take pictures of her in the shower?" Jimmy asked eagerly.
"I don't see any reason why not," he agreed.
So that's how I found myself in the shower room of the boys' locker room - it was more open than the girls' shower - while the photography club snapped pictures. Starting at the top, in the usually organized way I do things, I soaped my hair, soaped my face and then my torso, my breasts and back, turning as I did.
I was soooo aware of the feel of my body under my hands! Much more than when I washed at home, or even after gym class. My nipples were stiff little buttons, slick with soap. I washed my ass, between the cheeks, my soapy finger again toying with my anus, until I even sneaked the tip of it in a teensy bit, driven by that mad, evil twin of mine to explore this unexpected erogenous zone.
I slid soapy hands over my pussy, down my thighs and legs, bending and turning, giving them a look at every angle of my bathing. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, I toyed with my clit, slipped a finger up into my cunt.
I tried to be subtle about it, but I masturbated there in the shower, right in front of the photography club, until I came with a delicious rush, my cunny spasming around my finger, a flush blossoming on my body as I pinched my tit.
And all the time they were taking pictures of me. Each of them had reloaded at least twice, and they captured every inch of me, as I came, as I rinsed off the soap, the grass that had been clinging to me swirling down the drain.
Flash. Flash. Flash. The lights sparked and sparked, catching me from every angle as I dried myself.
I had NO secrets.
I was mortified. Mortified!
I was also still incredibly turned on from stimulating myself, from all the attention.
"Very good, and thank you, Miss Finch. After we've developed and printed contact sheets we'll be picking the best shots to put up on the club's Web site," Mr. Kelly announced cheerily. "And I have some great shots in my digital camera that will be up by tomorrow morning, so be sure to log on, and tell your friends about it!"
I shuddered inwardly, realizing that by tomorrow the whole world, the whole, complete world would see me! People not only in my own home town but in England and France, Russia and China, San Francisco and New York and Australia would be looking at me! The concept was almost impossible to grasp. Talk about exposure!
Finally I was outside the north entrance to reclaim my clothes. I dressed in front of a dwindling crowd, while Carl waited patiently, and then took my books, and my hand, and we walked homeward.
After what had happened, I felt a bit silly, even uncomfortable, walking home with Carl with my clothes on, even my undies. But try as I might, I couldn't quite get my nerve up to stop and strip naked, right there on the street. And when Carl told me he had stuff to do for his mom, so we couldn't go to his house, or mine, I was really bummed out, still burning with the arousal from my posing.
As I made my way up the driveway to my house I was worr - well, terrified, actually - that maybe Carl was only making an excuse because he didn't want me anymore, only to be shaken out of my thoughts when the kid from next door appeared.
"You said you'd meet me in your back yard today and show me more, remember?" he pointed out irritably.
I remembered how I'd stood in my window the night before. "I'm sorry, I had something after school. I'd forgotten about inviting you over. Uh, would you like to do it now?"
"Uh huh!" Eager didn't begin to describe his expression.
Oh, well, what was one more young kid looking at me, considering my photography session. "What about your mom?"
"She's not home," he answered quickly. "We can go to my house."
"Okay, come on," I agreed, wondering how I could show him more than I already had.
"I - uh - invited some friends over," he confessed.
I felt even worse for having been late. "I'm really sorry, I should have told you yesterday I'd be late. Are they angry?"
"Naw," he assured me, opening the gate to his back yard. "We played computer games. I told `em you looked like Lara Croft in Tomb Raider."
"Well, you're not going to get any credit for truth in advertising," I scolded him.
"It won't matter, once you take your clothes off," he assured me.
I had to admit, this kid did have a talent for cutting straight to the chase. "Why don't we do it in the back yard," I suggested.
"Okay, great!" he agreed. "Hey, guys, come on out. Beth's here! Would you like a soda or something? This is Pete, and Max, and Phil and Steve and Charlie."
"That'd be nice," I agreed as five kids about Larry's age, maybe ten or eleven, tumbled out of the house.
"Make yourself at home. I'll get drinks," Larry offered.
"You're not naked," one of them protested - Pete, I think.
"I just got home from school," I pointed out, putting my book bag on the patio table.
"You gonna get naked?" another asked.
"That's why I'm here," I admitted.
"Well, hurry up!" another urged.
I decided to tease them a little, they were so eager. I toyed with a button on my shirt. "I don't know, it doesn't seem fair that I have to get naked and you don't."
"I'm not gonna get naked!" Pete argued.
"Why not?" I asked.
"It's embarrassing!"
"You're Phil?" I asked. He was a handsome little kid with a shock of black hair.
"I'm Max," he countered.
"Sorry. Well, how do you think I feel?" I asked, having loosened one button and playing with the next one.
"Here you are," Larry said, offering me a bottle of soda.
"Thanks." Still under the influence of all my posing, I kicked off my loafers and strolled languidly around on the grass, savoring the fizzy sweetness of the drink. "I think it's only fair if I get naked you should." I looked coyly at them.
"Aww, I don't know," Charlie, a red head answered nervously.
"Are you guys chicken?" I asked, my shirt open enough to show my bra now.
"I'm not chicken!" Steve argued.
Ah, testosterone. I love it, I thought. "I dare you to get naked." I stripped off my shirt and draped it over a lawn chair.
"Y-y-y-you dare us?" Larry asked.
"I double dare you," I challenged, unzipping my skirt.
For a long moment there was a tense silence. "Last one naked is a rotten egg," Charlie shot out, pinking up as he tore at his clothes.
Well, I wasn't a rotten egg, since I did have a head start, but in less than a minute they were all shining naked in the bright sun, all pink and white.
"Nyah, you're the rotten egg," Charlie teased a blushing Steve.
"Now what're we gonna do?" Larry asked.
"What do you want to do?" I asked, feeling free again, now that I was naked. I noticed their little peckers were sticking out eagerly. They didn't have any pubic hair yet, but the hormones were obviously working anyway.
"Let's see you!" Steve challenged.
I put my hands on my hips, facing them, my feet apart. "Look away," I said, feeling a sense of power over them.
Charlie bent over to look at my crotch. "You've got hair down there."
"Yes, I do," I admitted. "You'll grow hair down there, too, in a year or two or three, and under your arms."
"You don't have hair under your arms," Charlie pointed out.
I raised my arms and turned sideways to them. "I shave under my arms, though I don't have very much there anyway."
"Can we touch?" Steve asked.
There was one of the requests I'd been dreading, but who better to begin with than these kids? "Okay," I agreed. "Yeah, you can touch."
I turned back toward them and put my hands behind my head, the way Karen had. They touched my breasts, and Steve even explored my crotch, while I fought down shivers. "But no tickling," I cautioned.
The moment I said it I realized it was a mistake.
"No tickling? You mean like this?" And Charlie gave my ribs a quick tickle.
"Yow!" I giggled, dropping my arm defensively. "I said no tickling."
"You mean like this?" Larry countered, going for my flank.
I was swarmed under, giggling and squirming as the little rascals tickled me. We went down in a heap, and it reminded me of a litter of puppies grammy's dog had had when I'd been about four, clambering all over me as they tried to lick my face.
We rolled and tumbled on the grass. I tickled them, they tickled me, and each other, reducing us all to helpless giggles. It didn't end until we were left gasping, aching from laughter in a tangle of naked arms and legs and bodies.
The funny thing was, it wasn't sexual, really. Oh, I was aroused, and they were as well, but for them it was all innocent fun, I think. It was bare skin against bare skin, even though their little peckers were stiff. They didn't try to ravish me or anything. It was sensual, and joyous, a celebration of youth and innocence and life, not wicked or lascivious.
By the time we got untangled it was late and I had to go home. I didn't even bother to dress, just popped out the gate from Larry's back yard and in the gate to ours, giving anyone who might be on the street a flashing glimpse of me naked.
Mom's eyebrows went up when I walked in the kitchen door with my clothes over my arm and my book bag in my hand. "Have a good day?" she asked.
"It had its moments. I'm going to take a shower."
"Your father will be home in about half an hour. Are you going to dress for dinner?"
I got a tingle at the idea of a naked dinner. "Only if you insist on it."
"Makes no difference to me," she answered with a smile.
I paused in the doorway and looked back over my shoulder at her. "What about daddy?"
Her eyes twinkled as she eyed my naked back. "Oh, I don't think he'll mind."
"That's good." I bounded up the stairs, feeling good about myself. Maybe I'd go over to Carl's tonight, after supper, too.
I had a couple of ideas that I could use his help on.
"I'm going over to Carl's for a little while," I announced cheerily from the living room doorway.
Daddy looked up from his newspaper and his eyebrows soared into his hairline. "Like that?"
I looked down at myself, and I do mean My Self, unadorned (but for my usual little gold cross and chain) from head to toe. "Uh huh!"
"Have a nice time, dear," my mother responded with a smile, looking up from her knitting. "Don't be late."
"Nine o'clock, I promise," I assured her.
Daddy was turning pink again. He was holding the newspaper in his lap. "Naked, on the streets?"
"It's part of the program, dear," my mother explained patiently.
Daddy frumped. "Oh, well. Is your homework done?"
"Yes, daddy."
"Uhm, well, uhm - be careful," he urged.
"Yes, daddy," I agreed soothingly.
"And don't be late!" he ordered, trying to be stern.
"No, daddy. Nine o'clock."
"Nine o'clock," he agreed.
I turned to go, and hesitated with my hand on the knob, summoning my courage. My heart racing, I opened the front door and stepped out into the evening air, naked.
It was a little cool, but not bad. My nipples stiffened at the insolent touch of the breeze. Mr. Magruder was out across the street and did a double take.
"Hi, Mr. Magruder," I greeted him with a cheery wave.
"Hi, Beth," he responded. "Part of The Program, huh?"
"Yeah," I admitted as I reached the sidewalk. "See you later."
"See you later."
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked down the street. The sun was low in the west, a big orange ball. A car went by and the driver honked and waved, so I waved back.
Oh, gosh I was naked! On the street! I couldn't believe I was doing this, but I was. Even after two days naked in school, two days of posing for the drawing class, an afternoon of posing for the photography club, and a roll on the grass with the neighbor kid and his friends, and even naked at the dinner table with mom and daddy, this was - well, it was just Something Else Again!
The sidewalk was cold and gritty under my bare feet, and I had to be careful of pebbles and stuff. I suddenly realized my fists were clenched and my arms stiff with tension and I had to force myself to relax.
I reached the corner, and turned toward Carl's house. More cars went by and I managed to avoid cringing and ducking for cover. I remembered how Carl had talked about how sensuous it was to be naked outside, and understood better than ever now. It was so -so - intimate to have the air touching me all over out there in public!
I was sensitive to that touch, and that seemed to heighten all my other senses. The air smelled sweeter, the birds were louder, I could hear the sounds of televisions on in some of the houses, a radio playing, a kid practicing piano. The color of the sky was more intense and I saw shadings there I had no words for.
Everything was just - well, it was just MORE.
My heart speeded up again as I went up the walk to Carl's door, and I realized I should have called. What if he wasn't there, or he was seeing someone else?
I almost turned back, but then I scolded myself for lacking faith in him, and rang the doorbell. I was surprised, and a little relieved when Mrs. Walker answered the door in the nude. Carl's family was continuing even after his time in The Program had ended.
"My, don't you look nice. Carl is upstairs," she explained as she let me in. "I assume that's who you came to see."
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Walker, thank you."
"Why don't you go up. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you," she assured me.
"Can I watch this time?" Carl's sister asked eagerly. She was as naked as her mother, and I swear her breasts had grown since the last time I'd seen her nude only a few days ago. She was maturing fast, physically, at least.
"No, you may not, young lady," Mrs. Walker answered firmly. "You leave them in peace. Have you finished your homework?"
"No," Dee admitted sulkily, tramping up the stair ahead of me. "Hey, dork, your cunt's here to see you," she announced as she passed Carl's door.
"Dee!" Mrs. Walker snapped from the bottom of the stairs. "That's fifty cents, and an apology!"
"I'll put money in the jar later. I'm sorry," the girl apologized insincerely, her door slamming behind her.
But I really didn't mind, I understood how she felt. Besides, the exchange had reminded me of something I wanted to talk to Carl about, too. "Hi, are you busy?"
"Hey, hi," he greeted me. He was naked, too, and his cock rose to greet me, and he got that look in his eyes that made me go all warm and runny. I scolded myself for ever doubting him. "Just doing some extra credit stuff for math is all. What brings you over? You could have called."
"Not for this I couldn't," I argued, plunking myself down in his lap, careful to let his cock slip up between my thighs. After tickling it's pink cap, teasing a quick gush of pre-cum out of it, I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him to me, loving the feel of his skin against mine.
"I guess not," he agreed after we'd kissed for a long time. He cupped my naked tit and toyed with my nipple. "Should I close the door?"
"Mmmm, maybe," I agreed coyly. "I need your help on something."
"What's that?" he asked as he eased me off his lap and went to shut his door.
I nibbled my lip. "Do you have scissors that are good for cutting hair, and a razor?"
"A razor? Sure, I used an electric one. And my mom cuts my hair, you know that."
"That will do fine," I assured him.
"In the bathroom," he said, opening his door again and leading the way.
"We can do it in here," I said, closing the bathroom door behind me as he got his razor and a pair of barber scissors out.
"Do what?"
Sometimes for a smart boy he can be kind of stupid. I sat down on the toilet seat and spread my legs, combing my fingers through my shy little bush of brown. "Didn't Mademoiselle Duclos say something about how it's nicer for the boy if the girl has shaved her - uhm - `chatte'?"
Carl turned pink. "You mean...."
"I thought about trying to do it myself," I explained demurely, "but it's really hard to see, so I thought, maybe you'd like to help me?"
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped. "Sure!"
I leaned back against the toilet tank, and scooched my butt forward so my pussy was beyond the toilet bowl, spreading my legs. "If you move the wastebasket under me you can catch my hairs in it," I suggested.
There was kind of an awkward moment while he got the wastebasket in place.
"Careful not to cut me," I cautioned as he knelt between my spread legs and moved in with the long, pointy pair of scissors.
"I will be," he assured me softly, his fingers toying with my pussy. He gripped some of my hair, angled the scissors carefully, and - snip - the first cut was made.
Instead of letting the hairs drop, he carefully set them on the edge of the bathtub. "I'm going to save those," he said, with a bashful grin.
"Can I have some for my scrapbook?" I asked, touched that he'd thought of that.
Snip. He added another clutch of hairs beside the first. "Sure. Those are for you."
I loved the feel as he slowly clipped my pussy hair as short as he could, careful not to pinch me in the scissors, letting the rest of the clippings drop into the wastebasket.
It only took a few minutes for him to give me a real short cut down there, since I didn't have very much to begin with. I brushed myself with my fingers, feeling the bristles, and giggled. "Now the razor," I said.
"Now the razor," he agreed with a grin, and it buzzed to life.
When he touched me with it the vibrations when through me like an electric shock, I tell you! I'd sort of anticipated that, looked forward to it, even, but when it came I almost squealed. He started at the top, and the razor rasped as it chewed away at the stubble, the vibrations drilling through me.
He began at the top, but stopped short of the top of my slit and went down the side. I spread my legs wide, and he pushed my labia over, first to one side, then the other so he could get close to my thighs. He saved the center part and the little bit just above my slit for last, teasing me on purpose, I think, because he grinned up at me as he moved the razor downwards at last at the very upper part of my slit - right toward where my clit lurked so shyly.
"Ooooohhhhhhhh," I moaned as the vibrations of the razor got stronger. Then they faded as he carefully finished the lower part of my labia. I felt cheated. He'd left a little patch of bristles right above my cunny.
But then he moved back up on me again, and this time lingered right at the upper edge of my pussy, and I spread my legs wider apart than ever as he worked the buzzing razor lower and lower.
Until he was right over my clit, my labia vibrating like mad against that nervy little button.
Oh, wow! I tell you! It was like being plugged into the power grid! I finally had to push the razor away so I could catch my breath.
"How's that?" he asked.
"Do you have a hand mirror?"
"Sure." He gave it to me and I held it so I could see better.
I looked like a baby down there. My inner labia were sticking out, obviously aroused. I petted myself, fascinated by the smoothness of it. It was really sensitive!
"How about some aftershave?" he asked, getting down a bottle of lotion.
I giggled. "Okay, sure!"
He poured some in his hand and spread it between his palms, and began to smear it on, the scent filling the little bathroom.
"WOW! That stings!" I yelped.
"Oh, sorry," he stopped, but I grabbed his hand.
"NO, don't stop! Do it some more!" I liked it, but didn't have the nerve to say that to him. I think he could tell anyway.
"Uh - okay," he agreed.
I hissed as he rubbed more of the astringent lotion onto my sensitive pussy, making my crotch burn. Daringly, I reached down and spread my labia so some got on my clit, and I thought I'd caught fire down there.
"Wow! That burns! Wash it off!" I pleaded desperately.
And my sweetie did just that, in the best way possible! Instead of going for a washrag, he just, well, leaned into the job in the most personal fashion. I thought the after shave stuff must taste pretty awful, but he didn't seem to mind. The touch of his warm tongue bathing my clit was all it took to put out one fire and start another. I threw my legs wide and grabbed his ears and tried to stuff his head right inside me!
It didn't take him long before he got an even better idea and decided to hose me down instead. He pulled away, got to his knees and came toward me with his cock, sinking that deep into my more than ready cunny. Oh wow! I mean, like he just filled me up with that lovely hardon of his.
The only trouble was, the toilet wasn't exactly the most comfortable connubial bed, if you know what I mean, not that I didn't want to get fully plundered. So I wrapped my arms around his neck, and my legs around his waist. "How about we finish this in your room," I suggested.
He straightened up, and I went with him, hanging on him, keeping his cock in me.
"You could get off, you know," he suggested, grunting.
I giggled. "No! Giddyup!" I dug my heels into his back.
"But what about Dee?" he asked, struggling to his feet.
"She's in her room," I answered, steadying us with a hand on the wall while he got his balance and opened the bathroom door.
"Uhmph!" he grunted.
Don't let anyone tell you swimmers aren't strong! He'd told me about the weight training the coach had him do, and it paid off right then. He got to his feet and turned toward the door, banging it open and lurching down the hall with me hanging on him like a monkey on a tree, his dick still socketed in me.
"Mom! They're doing it in the hallway now!" his sister Dee protested, popping out of her room to see what the commotion was.
"Just leave them alone, dear," his mother called from downstairs. "Carl, please do it in your bedroom, not in the hallway."
I buried my mouth in Carl's shoulder to stifle my giggles at the way Dee was looking at us. By wiggling my eyebrows and rolling my eyes I tried to tell her to follow us. Bright as a button, she caught on and trailed us into Carl's room, softly closing the door behind herself.
Not knowing Dee was there, Carl didn't mess around, he basically fell onto the bed with me underneath him, the springs protesting mightily.
I let out a whoop that was probably heard in Toledo! For a second I thought he was going to run me through! Then he began to pump me and I spread myself wide, humping my hips up, aided by the recoil of the bed springs while he went at me like a pile driver, our bodies clapping carnal applause.
I looked over at Dee, who was standing back by the door, eyes as big as saucers, watching her brother's cock piston in and out of me. She had one hand jammed into her crotch, and was pinching her little tittie with the other - did I mention she was naked, too? I guess I did. Anyway, her little titties were stiff as pencil erasers, and her fingers were real busy in her hairless little quim.
Okay, I admit it, it gave me a real kick to know we were being watched by his barely pubescent sister! I mean, she was seeing the Whole Thing, up close and very personally. I kissed Carl and he kissed me, and kept right on humping until I started to cum like gangbusters.
Then Carl dug in and shoved deep and I felt him cumming in me and I clutched his clenching butt cheeks as he unloaded his cream into my spasming cunt as I answered his cumming with one of my own.
Finally he ran down, and I ran down and we sort of went all limp. Dee let out a moan and slid down to sit on the floor with a thump, her legs spraddled wide, catching Carl's attention as she did.
"Dee!" he hissed, "what're you doing in here?"
I giggled, soothing Carl with a touch. "It's all right. I sort of invited her," I admitted.
"You did?!"
"Uh, yeah." I suddenly was afraid I'd really upset him. "I just thought - well, I'm not sure what I thought. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Oh, God," he moaned, rolling off me, his dick slurping out of my naked pussy as he sprawled on his back, putting his arm across his eyes. "My own sister!"
I sort of waved Dee out of the room and she gathered herself up and slipped out quietly. "She's gone," I assured him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
"My own sister!" he protested again.
"Would it have been better if it had been a stranger?" I teased, rolling toward him to snuggle him, sliding my hand down to cup his sticky dick.
"Anyone but my sister!" he complained. "Except maybe my mom," he added.
I wrestled with my reservations, but decided this was as good a time as any to broach the idea I'd had. "Speaking of strangers, you know that community service project we're supposed to do this year?" I asked.
He frowned at me. "What's that got to do with anything?"
I toyed with his sticky dick. "Have you found one yet?"
"No," he admitted. "Have you?"
"No, but I have an idea of something we could do together," I answered.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Well, you know they're extending The Program into Middle School next year?"
"Uh huh," he agreed warily.
"And you know how eager your sister was to - uh - watch us - uh -do It?"
"Uh huh," he agreed even more warily. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?"
Well, he is a high honors student, after all, like I told you. I knew he'd catch on without me having to spell it out for him. "Uh huh," I answered. "We could help out with their sex ed classes as part of a preparatory program for them."
He said, "Oh God!" and closed his eyes.
His cock said "Oh God" too.
Well, not in so many words, but the idea sure did appeal to his libido, judging by the way his dick's tumescent reaction. I had to admit, my own pussy was steaming at the thought. When it comes to sex, well, I don't know about adults, not being one yet, but teenage glands do not react rationally, they really don't!
I sort of slid over him, my head on his chest, looking down at his hardon, still sticky with my juices and his cum as I milked it slowly.
"We could serve as models for the anatomy lessons," I explained.
"And?" he asked.
I moved my head down to his nice, flat tummy, closer to his dick. "And, well, maybe show them out to masturbate." I pumped my hand on his cock like I was demonstrating, and it responded nicely.
"And?"
I slipped my head lower, my mouth watering at the thought of what I was about to do. He'd eaten me out, more than once, but never once had he asked me to suck his cock. "And, well...."
And I did it, I kissed his cock, just the tip at first, my tongue teasing it, tasting his seepings and my juices. "And maybe show them some foreplay." I let my mouth slide down farther on his hot hardon.
"And?" He was sounding kind of choked now.
I slid his cock out of my mouth. "And other stuff," I answered, before sliding my mouth around his cock and farther down on it, until it rubbed against the back of my tongue.
"Oh God," he moaned, his hands stroking my hair.
"Mmmmmm," I purred, making love to his cock with my mouth.
"You're crazy," he sighed as I sucked his cock, sliding my head up and down, up and down on his flat stomach, sliding his cock farther to the back of my mouth with every stroke. I got up on my knees so I could do it better, crouching over him like a predator. I moved to straddle his legs, and eased my pussy down toward his feet, hoping I could get his toes into it.
He held my head, and his hips began to hump, and I DID manage to get his toes in my crotch and began rubbing my pussy against them. I was drooling wave after wave of spit down his dick and I tried to swallow his cock head, fighting my gag reflex until I finally got past it, risking needing to be Heimliched, except extraction was easy since his dick was still attached, of course, so that wasn't really a worry now, was it?
And Carl is so sweet! Oh, not that way! I mean, he actually warned me that he was about to cum! Not that I was about to miss the chance to taste his cum, you understand, but he gave me the chance!
I clamped down on him like a sucker fish or something instead, fucking myself on his toes as I did. I felt his cock pulsate, even felt the first spurt shoot along it and into my mouth, and he flooded me with this thick, gooey stuff that tasted a little salty was all, and I swallowed it down until he was all done and I was sucking on a shrinking dick and my own cumming was fading away to aftershocks.
"Mmmmmmm," I purred, spitting him out, sliding up along him to lie on top of him. I kissed him with my cummy lips, and he tasted himself out of my mouth.
"So," I said at last. "What do you think?"
"About what?" he asked dopily.
I really think someone had it right when they said God gave man a brain and a dick but not enough blood to run them both at the same time!
"About my community service project idea," I said.
"I think The Program has made you crazy," he answered, stroking my naked back.
"Crazy in love with you," I countered. "That's a good thing."
"Mmmmmm," he agreed.
I nibbled at his lips. "But will you do it?"
He thought a minute, and I knew what he was thinking, and maybe I was thinking the same thing, because the idea did scare me a little bit. Well, more than a little bit. If the idea hadn't come out of my own mouth, and if I hadn't been snuggled on top of my sweetie, I would have freaked out completely. I mean, I'm a girl who never auditioned for a school play because of my stage fright, and here I was thinking of putting on a sex show for a bunch of middle schoolers!
I can only say that my Evil Twin must have taken over my body. Now that I'd come out with the idea I could see just how crazy it was anyway. Crazy enough that I probably didn't need to worry about it ever happening, in fact. Who in their right mind would let a couple of horny high school juniors do a show-and-tell for middle schoolers about sex?!?!
Nobody, right?
Right?
Right???
"Why don't you ask The Powers That Be," he suggested. "If you can get them to go along with this crazy idea - well, I guess maybe I might."
"Okay, I will," I agreed, praying the idea would never get past first base, wondering who I'd have to ask. I'd have to start with my adviser, I thought, who happened to be Mademoiselle Duclos, and right then I suddenly realized I might just be in deep doo-doo, because, as we all know, she is an enthusiastic supporter of The Program, as you might have gathered already.
And then, of course, I'd have to ask the coordinator of The Program, and that was none other than the biology teacher who, in front of Karen's whole class, no less, had stripped and taken a butt plug up the rear during her little sex ed session!
The doo-doo was getting deeper by the minute, so I decided to stop thinking about it and dragged Carl off to the shower so we could clean up, and then he walked me home - and both of us were naked!