It’s fun to look back at innocent times, especially those during our carefree school days. This was an incident that caught me by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. Now that eight years have passed, and I have a good job with a successful company, it’s easier to talk about.
My name is Emma Walker, twenty-one years old at the time. Jenny and I had been dorm mates since our freshman year at Midville Valley in northern Indiana, a small but elite college with more math and tech students than usual. Quite a few frisky art students, too. And plenty of jocks. Midville was fairly well-known for scandalous hijinks, so nothing that happened to me was all that unusual. That didn’t make this particular situation any less embarrassing.
My roommate was a member of the women’s soccer team with long legs, sandy blond hair, and a winning grin. Guys loved her even though she was gay. I was considerably shorter and slenderly built, with gray eyes, curly brown hair, and a nice smile that also had the guys interested. I was not gay, but I was shy. And I had had a few crossover experiences, though nothing worth bragging about. During summer breaks, Jenny went home to Connecticut, her family being fabulously rich. They had grand parties in their mansions, floated around Long Island Sound on their yachts, and engaged in debauchery. The way the upper crust will do. I worked on a cattle ranch in South Dakota, riding horses and rounding up herds for branding. Yes, I was a legitimate cowgirl despite my small size, but there wasn’t much money in it. Rowdy nights in the bunkhouse singing songs and drinking rye whisky made up for the lack of pay. And no, I never slept with cowboys in the bunkhouse. That’s what the barn was for.
The first naked prank Jenny pulled on me, in our sophomore year, was simple. As I came out of the shower, she said an important package had been left for me outside the door. We had a large dorm room on the second floor, two bedrooms, a kitchenette, and a view of the quad where a statue of our college founder, French fur trader Marced DeLeon, watched over his school. Wearing only a towel, I looked out into the corridor, not seeing a package. Suddenly, Jenny yanked the towel off me, gave me a push, and locked the door, leaving me butt-naked in the hall. I knocked on the door, desperately trying to get back in. There was no response.
Cathi Menger, our neighbor a few doors down, heard the noise and came out. Laughing. Like me, she was straight, with big blue eyes and a petite figure. She raised her phone to take pictures. I begged her not to. Other heads were starting to poke out.
“I’ll have mercy on you this time, Emma,” she said in her pleasant Tennessee drawl, going back in her room to fetch me a towel. “But next time, I’m taking all the photos I want.”
I foolishly hoped there wouldn’t be a next time. Jenny eventually let me back in. I said, “Very funny,” and let the incident drop.
Encouraged by my lack of response, Jenny waited for a Wednesday night when we had the school tennis courts to ourselves. Jenny was a good player, but she couldn’t cope with my left-handed serves, which left her frustrated. I didn’t win every game, but I won most of them. And I wasn’t afraid to bask in my glory. After all, she was the female jock and I was a runt. We went into the gym, now deserted, to take showers. She rushed through hers. I generally took my time, enjoying the hot water. When I came out, Jenny was gone. And so were my clothes.
It was a dilemma. All the towels were locked up, the trash containers emptied. No newspapers or cardboard to make a skirt. I looked out, hoping Jenny was just teasing, only to find a note. See you back at the dorm, winner. Was I embarrassed? Of course, but I’d also had an on-going fascination with exhibitionism, which Jenny knew about, having seen my saved stories on the internet. I was kind of turned on but determined not to give her any satisfaction.
Creeping out of the gym, I began making my way across campus. Bare and barefoot. I could have torn up a bush to use as cover, but how pathetic would that be? As long as no one was taking photos, I’d be okay.
It was just before 10 o’clock. The student union had a movie theater, two restaurants, and a playhouse which stayed busy in the evenings. I skirted the campus center, staying close to the library and fine arts building, only to discover students suddenly pouring out of the doors! The night classes had just ended! Oh my god, I thought, I would either need to hide in the shadows for an hour on a cool night with no clothes, hoping no one would find me, or make a run for it. I took off, one hand over my boobs, the other covering my waxed pussy.
There was a lot of laughing and jokes about the naked girl dashing past them. The only photos, taken too late as I ran by, only showed my butt. And it was a very nice butt, even if I do say so myself. Round and firm. I stayed in shape. When I reached the dorm, I didn’t wait for Jenny to open the door, doubting that she would. I’d hidden a key under our neighbor’s doormat for emergencies and jumped inside just as Cathi and half a dozen dormmates were emerging with their phones. Someone had been texting them. Ten seconds earlier, they would have gotten full-frontal shots. I’d gotten lucky.
There were other incidents, but small stories aside, the big event took place during our senior year. On Halloween. I should have seen it coming, but quite frankly, I never credited Jenny with so much imagination.
“The party is at Cheryl Wyman’s. You know her,” Jenny said
“Yes, I’ve done gardening around her property,” I confirmed. “Her house is really big, and really nice.”
“Everyone is going to be in costume, and I want to win this year’s contest,” Jenny announced. “The winner gets $150.”
“What is $150 to you?” I asked. “You spend that on tips at your girl’s club.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Jenny answered. “And I need your help.”
“Me?”
“I’m going as a sheikha. I need you to be my slave girl,” she explained.
“Slave girl? What am I supposed to do as a slave girl?”
“Magic tricks.”
“I don’t know any magic tricks,” I replied.
“Don’t worry, Emma, I have all the tricks worked out,” she assured me.
The party began at seven, picking up speed at eight for the contest, and finishing around ten. As we were getting ready, Jenny delivered my costume.
“What is this?” I asked, holding a strange bundle in my hands.
“Genuine silk,” Jenny responded.
“Pajamas?”
“It’s an Arabian slave girl outfit. Her generous mistress wants her to have silk clothes,” Jenny explained.
It wasn’t the worst costume of all time, but close. A long-sleeved red gown open down the front to my navel, which showed a lot of cleavage, with purple pantaloons. The leggings were so wide they were hard to walk in, especially having gold slippers with curled toes. I stepped just inside my bedroom door and started to undress.
“No underwear,” Jenny called out.
“What?”
“Your underwear will show through the costume. No socks, either.”
What the hell? I wondered. What is Jenny up to? But I let the thought go, stripping naked to put on the silk hangings. Afterall, what could happen at a big party filled with people?
Quite frankly, the silk felt really sexy. I feared being embarrassed by a possible arousal as it rubbed against my most sensitive parts, especially without my bra.
“You look terrific. How about me?” Jenny asked as I emerged into our living room.
She did look great, like a perfect One Thousand and One Nights female sheik. The costume probably cost $1,000.
“You look better than me,” I grumbled.
“I’ll drive. Leave your purse and phone here,” she instructed at the last minute.
“My purse?” I asked.
“You won’t be needing any money,” she pointed out.
Questions began to occur to me. Jenny wanted me to leave everything in the dorm room. I could have taken my phone and left it in the car, but I didn’t think of that. Or was I curious about the game Jenny was seeking to play? Maybe a dangerous game. Curiosity got the better of me. At least, that’s what I told myself later.
We drove to Cheryl’s meandering ranch house in a quiet suburb on the other side of campus. The five-mile drive only took a few minutes. To make a little money, I’d done odd jobs around her yard, planting roses and landscaping. Cheryl wanted a large green lawn for volleyball with lush bushes lining the perimeter. There was a pool yard surrounded by a wire screen. A two-story garage had a basketball hoop above the driveway.
“Welcome,” Cheryl greeted at the front door, taking a step back to give my lush costume a closer inspection. The open shirt showed everything from my neck down, almost exposing my boobs. She was wearing a Good Witch of the North gown from the Wizard of Oz. Very fancy with flowing skirts and a gold crown.
At thirty-three, Cheryl was twelve years older than I, tall with long reddish-gold hair and crafty green eyes. Her ex-husband was a successful attorney, and from what everyone said, she had out-lawyered him in the divorce. We exchanged smiles, being well-acquainted, but there had never been any special attraction between us. She was a sophisticated bisexual lady; I was just a leggy kid.
The large living room already had twenty guests in costumes. I saw Han Solo, Marilyn Monroe, and Rafael the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Beyond them was a giant dining room with crystal chandeliers, seating for sixteen. But the chairs were pulled back, leaving the table open for a buffet. I recognized two friends, Beth Harper and Annie Jackson, sisters of the Delta Mu sorority. I was in a math study group with them, having a talent for numbers. They were pretty, vivacious, and dressed as Downton Abby house servants, with slate gray dresses and long white aprons.
“Odd costumes,” I remarked.
“Cheryl has us helping out tonight, but we’re still guests,” Beth explained, her blue eyes looking me over.
“Gosh, Emma. You’re hardly one to make fun of anyone’s costume,” Annie added with a brown-eyed stare. “Are you even wearing underwear under that thing?”
I resisted an urge to cover up, knowing the fabric didn’t show through that much. The pantaloons were big and baggy. Just walking in them was hard when the floppy leggings got caught under my slippered feet. She was teasing. Or was she trying to bluff me into a confession?
“I am an Arabian slave girl who performs tricks with a magic lamp,” I announced.
“We don’t see a magic lamp,” Beth said, my hands empty.
“Jenny still has it,” I answered.
“We’ll see how much magic gets performed,” Beth responded, reaching for my elastic waistband and snapping it against my stomach. I cried ‘ouch’ as they went back to work.
Jenny and I took a quick tour of the house, seeing ghosts, spiderwebs, and skeleton decorations before going to the bar, ordering Squirrel Nut craft beer. I had Jenny on one side, an old gentleman dressed as Merlin on the other.
“Make it 24 ounces for my friend,” Jenny ordered from the bartender, indicating a huge frosted mug.
“Twenty-four?” I asked.
“It’s a party, girlfriend. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” she promised. “Besides, you’re not driving home, are you?”
That seemed true enough, though at the time, I didn’t know how true. More guests arrived, getting the total between forty and fifty. It was an elegant affair, with rich outfits and prominent attendees, not just motley college students. One couple arrived as Gene Kelly in a late 1920s tuxedo and Cyd Charisse in a sheer green flapper outfit dripping in pearls. Two more college acquaintances came outfitted as World War I fighter pilots. They looked really dashing with leather jackets, heavy goggles, and jaunty scarves. There were antique pistols holstered on their belts. Would they be taking prisoners?
Jenny was sure to greet everyone with big smiles and hugs. I tended to stay quiet, only speaking when someone asked me a question. I saw Gwen Stansbury dressed in a delectable Tinker Bell costume showing plenty of bosom. Jack and Mike, two jocks from the Sigma fraternity, were in 1890s police uniforms with leather boots, nightsticks, and handcuffs. Mindy Roberts looked sexy as hell in a Red Sonja outfit, complete with long red hair and a genuine sword. Several of the guests were Cheryl’s business associates and old college chums.
At the bar, I suddenly felt something cold splashing me.
“What the hell was that?” I shouted, jumping back.
“Sorry, I spilled my beer,” Jenny apologized. “Look, your shirt sleeve is soaked, and it’s on the flap, too.”
“I need to dry this,” I complained, shaking the sleeve as people scattered.
“Don’t do that. Come over here,” Jenny insisted, taking me into the glistening chef’s kitchen. There were only two cooks, both elderly and not busy. No elaborate meals were being prepared, only party food. Beth and Annie looked in from the doorway, having heard the commotion.
“Take off the blouse,” Jenny instructed.
“I can’t do that. I’m not wearing a bra,” I protested.
“It needs to be scrubbed before the stains set in,” she insisted.
“Do you have another shirt for me?”
“You don’t need a shirt at the moment. This red dish towel is good enough.”
It wasn’t much of a cover, but held with one hand, it hid most of my chest. The parts that needed hiding.
“Okay, but I get dressed again the moment it’s dry,” I reluctantly agreed, for I couldn’t wear the wet thing as it was. The lady kitchen helper ran soap over the outfit and hung it on a chair near the oven, putting a bowl underneath to catch the drippings. Now topless, all I had left were the pantaloons and slippers. My bare back and shoulders were embarrassing. I noticed Beth and Annie giggling.
Following more meet and greets, and getting plenty of amused stares, Jenny and I wandered out on the broad flagstone patio. There were oak trees, benches, and a smoldering firepit. A three-quarter moon hung in a blue sky, the temperature mild. Everyone else was still in the house making introductions.
“Need to pee?” Jenny asked, knowing I’d had two of those giant beers. Far more than I was accustomed to.
“Really bad, but every time I check the bathrooms, they’re filled with girls working on their makeup.”
“Go here,” Jenny suggested.
“Here? On the patio?”
“No, not on the patio. Out there. Squat down in the bushes against the back wall.”
She pointed across the broad green lawn, now growing dark with the sun having set. Trees lined the cinderblock wall adjoining the alley. It was about thirty yards away, the wide field freshly mowed. There were bushes down the left side along the pool yard fence.
“No one will see you,” Jenny urged, reading my thoughts.
“Okay. I really need to go,” I agreed, opening a small wooden gate separating the patio from the lawn. Jenny stopped me at the last second.
“Wait, those silk shoes aren’t made for the damp grass,” Jenny warned. “You need to take them off.”
It was true that the gold slippers appeared vulnerable to wet vegetation. I took them off.
“The pants, too,” Jenny added.
“The pants!” I gasped almost too loudly.
“You’ll never be able to pee wearing those things. You’ll piss all over the leggings.”
“I’d be naked.”
“I’ll hold them for you. Come on, it’s a dare. You like dares,” Jenny chided. “I’ve seen your favorites on that erotic website.”
It was true. I loved ENF stories where the characters found themselves in embarrassing predicaments. Naked and squirming, afraid of being discovered. Just thinking about it had me growing moist.
Jenny saw me hesitating but said nothing. Waiting.
“Okay,” I finally agreed, moving along the inside of the white picket fence where the scraggily hedges gave me cover from the house. Jenny followed on the patio side.
Taking a deep breath, I peeled the bulky pantaloons down and stepped out, feeling relieved of the weight. Jenny reached through the bushes. I balled up the pantaloons and handed them over. And then she snatched the towel away, too. I was standing totally nude in someone’s backyard.
“Jenny!” I protested.
“Think of it as an adventure,” she responded.
Without another word, I walked down the left side along the pool yard fence. The field was getting a little too much light from the shining moon. The darkened patio helped. All I saw was a red glow from the firepit.
I stopped near the trees at the back of the lot. Having no clothes, I did not need to worry about a zipper. The coolness felt good on my bare skin as I blissfully bent down and relieved myself. The wall was high for security purposes, with only one strong gate. Securely locked. The entire estate actually had good protection, a necessary precaution for wealthy people in troubled times.
As I gratefully finished, I glanced back toward the house. Several couples had emerged on the patio to smoke. I noticed a stout man dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac, with a black cloak and sword. How he lit his cigarette without burning his nose was a mystery. And I saw science major Martin Hemmings as Superman. 6’3 with a powerful chest, he looked fabulous in blue tights, red trunks, tall red boots, and a cape. His deep blue eyes and chiseled jaw were perfect. I wondered if I could get him to rescue me.
I rushed along the poolside hedges, reached the white picket fence, and crept up opposite where Jenny was standing at the edge of the patio.
“Jenny, I’m here,” I whispered through the bushes.
“A successful mission?” she asked.
“Yes. I need my clothes back,” I said, hunkered down in my naked state.
“What do you mean?” she questioned.
“I need my pants. My shirt, too, if it’s dry.”
“Emma, I offered to hold your clothes for you,” Jenny answered. “I never promised to give them back.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It means you’re not getting your clothes back,” she casually answered. “They aren’t even your clothes. I was the one who bought them. They are my clothes.”
It hit me right away. Her plot. The craftiness. I felt anger, and betrayal. She had set me up to be humiliated. And I was incredibly turned on, feeling a distinct dampness. I ducked low so she wouldn’t detect my growing arousal.
“What do you want?” I whimpered. I didn’t really feel like whimpering but wanted to feed her ego.
“I want to win the costume contest, and I will, if you promise to do what I say.”
As much as that was hard to understand, I evaluated my options. Getting over the fence into the alley would be hard, and then what? Run around a wealthy suburban neighborhood naked while trying to get back to the dorm? Five miles away? On a Halloween party night with the whole city on the streets?
Cheryl’s driveway lit up as four guys in X-Men costumes came out to shoot basketballs in the hoop mounted on the garage. Ice Man, Nightcrawler, Wolverine, and Cyclops. I guessed the driveway gate was probably locked, too. It had been when I worked for her. Getting into the pool yard was pointless; there would be no way to get out. There was only one escape route, right through the middle of the house past fifty people. I had to give Jenny credit; this was so much cleverer than I could have imagined.
“Please, Jenny, if you—” I began to beg.
The patio lights came on brightly. More guests emerged from the house. Someone threw a flammable object into the firepit, causing it to flare into bright yellow flames. I heard music and bantering. Some were speculating about the costume contest.
“Oh, did I mention that I asked Cheryl to turn on the patio lights?” Jenny asked with a smirk.
What could I do? I was totally naked, hiding in the backyard as the party was getting rowdy.
“Okay, you’ve got me,” I admitted, scrunched down in the grass as far as I could. I was tempted to rub myself, but that would only make everything worse.
“Do you promise to help me win the contest? On my terms?” she questioned.
“Yes, I promise. Now give me my clothes back.”
“Emma, you are not getting your clothes back. Not tonight. That was never going to happen. Now wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I looked up to see her walking toward the house. As she passed the firepit, she threw my pants and slippers into the flames. I had no doubt the shirt would be next.
I knelt there in what little darkness remained, for anyone looking closely through the hedge would see me. It was so embarrassing. Tricked out of my clothes by my mischievous roommate at a Halloween party attended by fifty guests. Many of them prominent business people. And fellow students. Beth and Annie. Mindy and Marla. The fraternity guys. Superman Martin. They would likely take pictures. I would be laughed at for the rest of my senior year. Mocked. Ridiculed. I started to get wet again, which caused my heart to pound. It was one thing to be the only one naked at a costume party, but being aroused in front of all those people would be a humiliating disaster.
Jenny returned, and I didn’t like what I saw. She was wearing a 17th-century pirate outfit. A brown cotton shirt and pants, leather vest with brass buttons, leather boots, and a cutlass on her belt. She was carrying chains. Not modern chains like seen in a bondage parlor, but old-fashioned iron shackles.
“I am not letting you put those on me,” I objected, scooting backward.
“Emma, it’s time to be realistic,” Jenny replied. “I am a buccaneer on the Spanish Main, and you are the daughter of a duke who I have captured. I’m holding you for ransom so your father will pay up. And look at the alternative. You were gullible enough to have your costume stolen at a big party. A total ENF geek. If you make a run for it, they might not even let you out of the house. And what would you do out on the street? Hitchhike back to the dorms? Naked? As my prisoner, you’ll be an accessory to my costume. We can claim you are brave and daring, doing a favor for a friend. People might laugh at you, but they won’t call you a fool.”
She had a point. Or did she? What the hell was I thinking? And what choice did I have?
“Come on, Emma, you know you want this,” Jenny whispered. “It’s your exhibitionist dream. Naked at a party, and it’s not your fault. Everyone will blame me.”
It sort of made sense, so I didn’t need to think about it very long, turning around on my knees and putting my hands behind my back. I felt the manacles lock on my wrists. They were tight but not painful, having some sort of padded lining. Jenny was so considerate. She added cuffs to each ankle with 8” of chain between. Enough to walk but not run. She added a leather collar with a black leash, getting me on my feet. I hunched a bit, knees pressed together. My boobs and bare pussy were completely exposed. I could not remember ever feeling so vulnerable.
“I have a ball gag if you start to panic,” she kindly offered.
“Not yet. Do I have a safe word?”
“If it gets too much for you, say, ‘I’m a cum-eating pirate slut’ and I’ll remove the cuffs. But you’re still not getting your clothes back. I burned them.”
She led me to the low picket gate by the leash, not needing to pull hard. I was following easily enough, having no choice.
“Ready?” she said, taking a last-minute pause, thoroughly enjoying herself.
“You can still change your mind,” I mumbled.
“No, I’ve been planning this for weeks. There’s no turning back. But don’t worry, my little minx, you’re going to get something out of this, too.”
“Like what?”
“Just help me win the contest and you’ll see,” she replied.
We entered the patio, a dozen costumed spectators staring at me in astonishment. It was kind of thrilling, but I kept the face of a defeated slave and tried not to let anyone see the growing reaction in my loins. I considered asking Jenny to come up with a solution for that, but realized she’d just as likely take advantage. I made no statements as more guests came to see the chained prisoner. Cheryl had made everyone check their phones at the door, but that wouldn’t stop anyone from retrieving them and taking pictures.
By the time we reached the fire pit, we had twenty spectators. Turning back and forth while hunched over did me no good, for it just exposed me to a different group of voyeurs each time. Annie and Beth charged out of the house filled with excited energy.
“What the hell, Emma?” Annie said, standing before me. I shrunk back as she basked in my humiliation.
“I am part of Jenny’s costume,” I defended.
“You’re fucking naked! Totally fucking naked!” Annie shouted, as if anyone at the party didn’t already know. “Are those real chains? Are you really chained?”
She went behind me and grabbed my ass, making me jump. The chains stretched but kept me trapped. She gave my butt cheek a hard slap loud enough to be heard by everyone. Our audience laughed.
“Nice tits,” Superman observed, not needing X-ray vision.
“That’s a smooth pussy,” fraternity guy Mike mentioned.
Beth took the leash and led me through the sliding glass door into the house, stopping at the long banquet table where food was laid out on a black and orange cloth. I saw chicken wings. Potato salad. Macaroni. All kinds of cheeses. Ten bottles of fine wine.
“What are you going to do with your prisoner?” Beth asked as the room grew crowded.
“Sell her,” Jenny answered, getting a round of guffaws.
“An auction?” one of the men asked, giving me the eye. It was Frank LaBreau, a good-looking scholar whom I knew from my French literature class. I prayed he wouldn’t share photos with our study group.
“Yes, an auction,” Jenny confirmed. I nudged her with my shoulder. She leaned over.
“Listen carefully, friend,” I whispered with a furrowed brow. “If you sell me to a creep, your life is over.”
“We’ll need to see about that,” she smugly answered. “Unless you want to use your safe word?”
She had me. There was no way I was saying ‘I am a cum-eating pirate slut,’ in front of this crowd. That was never going to happen.
I paused to consider my situation. I was totally nude at a large Halloween party, chained hand and foot, and I’d promised to help Jenny win her damn contest. A promise I took seriously regardless of how it had been coerced. The bigger problem was that I was getting very stimulated, my arousal hidden as I pressed against the table. If I was drawn back into the middle of the room, my glistening excitement would be obvious to everyone. The most mortifying experience I could imagine. It was causing me to scrunch over in distress.
“Jenny, may I examine your slave?” our hostess suddenly asked, pushing forward.
“Of course, Cher,” Jenny agreed, for it was her house. What else could she say? Cheryl squeezed close to me. So close that my dripping excitement was hidden in the folds of her dress. She took hold of the leash and dragged me into a rear hall. Then down to a bedroom on the left. She pushed me back on the king-size bed and closed the door.
“You have a problem, don’t you?” she grinned, leaning over, her devilish green eyes taking in everything as I lay helplessly before her.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I answered, the excitement having subsided enough to claim innocence.
“Do you really want to walk around out there with a wet pussy? Half my guests have recovered their cameras.”
She knew. There was no hiding it.
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t help it,” I replied, genuinely whimpering.
“I will help you, but I get a favor in return. A big favor.”
“What? What favor?”
“We’ll talk about that another day, but I know you’ll keep your word if you say yes.”
It wasn’t like I had a lot of options. Whatever Cheryl wanted couldn’t possibly be as bad as the alternative.
“Yes, you can have what you want if you help me now,” I begged. It was the perfect answer. Her eyes lit up with greedy glee.
“Lay back,” she ordered.
When I moved to the center of the bed, she uncuffed the chain between my ankles and used her own chains to cuff my legs wide apart to her bedposts. I was totally under her control.
“Do you have a safe word?” she asked, sitting next to me while beginning to stroke my thighs. She spread a yellow cream on her hands and started to work my slit, which needed little help. Before long, she had me panting.
“Safe word?” she asked again.
“No,” I lied, finding it hard to breathe, for it was too embarrassing to confess.
Cheryl really knew what she was doing. Maybe because she was older, or more experienced, or just talented. I was writhing under her touch, silently begging for release. I couldn’t remember ever being so turned on.
“Do you like this?” she whispered, relishing in her complete dominance.
God, did I like it, but I couldn’t speak. My body was twisting against the restraints. Powerless. Arching. When the orgasm finally exploded, I gushed on her bed sheet. She stood up with studious satisfaction.
“Emma, you are a hell of a lot of fun,” she sighed, going into the bathroom. She came back with a wet towel, wiping away the traces of my shame.
“Are you going to let me go now?” I questioned.
“Let you go? Oh, no. Dear lord, no, that was never my intention,” she replied with a smug grin. “You came great. That was impressive. But you’re a lusty young woman, and I can tell, a very vigorous one. Coming once won’t save you from embarrassment. We need to exhaust you.”
She went to the door and waved to someone in the hall. A moment later, Beth and Annie entered still wearing their maids’ outfits. They saw me chained to the bed and snickered.
“Ladies, our beloved friend Emma must not be allowed to embarrass herself with an unwanted orgasm during the party,” Cheryl instructed. “She has come once. Make sure she can’t come again.”
And with that, Cheryl left the bedroom and closed the door. Beth and Annie climbed on the bed, their hands all over me. My legs, tits, shoulders and thighs. Rubbing my crotch. No part of me was sacred.
“How many times can we make her come?” Annie speculated.
“Two or three, at least. But we don’t have much time,” Beth explained. “We’ll need to make her come every few minutes.”
“Me, first,” Annie declared, bending over to wrap her luscious lips around my clit. With my legs chained to the bedposts and hands cuffed underneath me, I could barely move.
Truthfully, I had not been with many women. Almost none. And they hadn’t been so particularly bold. I asked Beth to put Cheryl’s gag in my mouth, unable to bear their eager attention, for I feared my moans would be heard all over the house. My entire body was struggling against the chains that would not give.
I came, not so hard as the first time, and then the girls went back to work. Perhaps in more relaxed circumstances, it would have been easier to come a third time, but I was feeling such intense excitement every muscle was bursting with tension. When the third finally came, I dropped back in exhaustion.
“Number four?” Beth asked.
“Oh, god, please no,” I muttered, spitting out the gag. “I promise. I’ll never come again.”
“We’ll see about that,” Beth replied.
“Emma, just so you know,” Annie said, suddenly serious. “We think you’re awesomely brave to be doing this. We never imagined you could be so daring. It’s really sexy.”
“We’ve been texting our Delta sisters,” Beth mentioned. “If you ever want to attend our parties, let us know. You can even wear clothes.”
The Deltas were a very classy sorority. Being seen with them at events toward the end of my senior year wouldn’t hurt my job prospects. Hey, wait! What the fuck? I’m naked at a party under the total power of several aggressive women and I’m thinking about job interviews? The ideas that will go through a gal’s head!
“We should get her a guy,” Beth suddenly announced.
“A guy?” Annie asked.
“She’s straight, after all. At least, she was. Let’s get a cock for her,” Beth suggested. “Would you like that, Emma? Who should we get?”
I needed to think for a moment. Would any guy from the party walk in, find me chained to the bed helpless and naked, and fuck me? If I was a guy, the answer would be yes.
“Can I speak to Frank?” I requested.
“Speak to him?” Beth laughed.
“I have a question,” I responded.
The girls disappeared. A few minutes later, Frank sheepishly entered, pushing the door closed. We’d had many lunches together but never dated.
“I’m in a really vulnerable spot, Frank,” I needlessly said. “Please don’t share photos of me with our study group. If you promise not to, you can fuck me.”
He seemed a little perturbed, sitting on the bed while making a careful study. His eyes roamed with desire, but also with hesitation. He started to reach for my tits, his fingers close. Then he pulled back with a sigh.
“I would love to fuck you, Em,” he finally said. “I’ve wanted to for a long time. But I won’t blackmail you. If you don’t want any photos shared, I won’t share them. You don’t need to offer your body.”
Goddamn, my juices were flowing again. How could that be after what the girls did?
“Frank, lean close. Let me whisper,” I urged. He bent over, listening but not touching. “You’re a good guy. I appreciate that. But a girl needs her fantasy. Now threaten to share my photos with the whole world and fuck the shit out of me.”
It took no more than that. He grinned like a demon, tore off his clothes, and went at me like a beast!
“I’ll show your photos to everyone!” he shouted, his thick cock pounding hard. “Your tits. Your pussy. All of you! I’ll build websites. Post them on bulletin boards. Hand out flyers on street corners. I’ll make t-shirts of you sucking dick!”
Oh, god, I was coming so hard my eyes rolled back in my head. And he didn’t let up, pushing in and back with forceful thrusts. When he finally came, I screamed, coming at the same moment. Without doubt, it was heard all over the house.
By the time my senses returned, Frank had unlatched my ankles. He’d found a bottle of water, letting me take slow sips.
“Good enough?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“If that’s in one of our French literature books, I need to study more,” I replied. He grinned, got dressed, and left the room. Beth and Annie returned, very smug.
With my hands still chained behind me, Annie led me back into the living room on my leash. There was a round of applause. A finely dressed middle-aged man in a Zorro outfit came up to me. He had a black suit, long cape, and sombrero. He removed the mask.
“Young woman, you’re certainly pushing the envelope,” he said with raised eyebrows.
“My friend wants to win the contest,” I tried to explain, standing before him naked and chained. “That means I must be a slave.”
“Youngster, my name is Jeremy Longstrand. Of Happenstance Media,” he introduced, reaching to shake hands before catching himself. An elegant woman came up, taking his arm. “This is my wife, Amanda.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I acknowledged. “Though this is a little awkward.”
“Do you go to parties like this often?” Amanda asked, giving me a thorough inspection.
“No, this is kind of new,” I self-consciously responded.
“You’re a senior? Graduating in June?” Mr. Longstrand inquired.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“Your major?”
“Digital media.”
He reached into his vest pocket to take out a business card, then realized I had no free hands to take it. Or a pocket.
“I’ll leave my card with Cheryl,” he said. “Happenstance is always looking for new talent. Young men and women willing to put it all out there for a cause. Let’s arrange an interview.”
“Yes, sir. I would like that,” I agreed, having no idea at the time where that would go.
Not everyone was pleased with my costume. Matty Turlock, a fine arts major, came up with a swagger, holding a mug of Cat Swipe Ale as I stood near the bar. Though generally a good-looking woman, she was wearing a rather boring Galinda costume. Her flirting had been falling flat. I guessed she’d been drinking more than I had.
“Think you’re pretty cute, don’t you?” she jealously scoffed.
“Cute isn’t how I’d describe it,” I replied, unable to hide anything.
“No real guy is going to sleep with a pathetic loser like you. Are you trying for one of the lesbians?” she sneered, standing close.
“Women aren’t my first choice, but I try to be open-minded,” I flippantly answered.
“Laugh this off, you naked bitch,” Matty spat, throwing the ale on me. I ducked a bit of it, but plenty ran down my neck and belly into my slit. I jumped back, unable to wipe the ale off with my hands bound behind me. Matty shook the last few drops on my head.
“What do you say now, whore?” she demanded.
I was tempted to yell at the drunken fuck, though unable to defend myself, it wasn’t a good time to start a fight. I didn’t need to.
“Hey, Matty, got a moment?” Jenny said, turning her around. And then a right cross to the jaw decked her.
Matty flew back against the bar, just barely missing me, and landed on her ass. She looked stunned. When Matty tried to get up, Jenny shoved her back with her foot.
“Got a present for you, Matt,” Annie offered, standing over her. She poured a glass of beer on her head, took one from Beth, and poured that one, too. It became popular. Four or five more guests joined in with Matty sputtering from the cold brew.
“Drag this trash out,” Jenny said to Jack and Mike.
The two burly Sigma fraternity brothers hauled Matty through the front door, across the lawn, and hurled her onto the sidewalk.
“Don’t let us see you again,” Mike warned. “Not anywhere. Unless you want to be a naked dancer at our frat house.”
Cheryl rushed over, drew my dripping body into the kitchen, and found towels. Beth and Annie helped, looking distressed. A crowd gathered just outside, watching. Jenny was there a moment later.
“Girl, I’m really sorry about this. Really sorry,” she apologized. “Let’s call this off.”
She had an old-fashioned key ready to remove the manacles. I looked at the curious mob. The incident had made them angry. And sympathetic. Several very attractive young men seemed ready to provide comfort in my moment of need.
“Let’s not let one jealous cow ruin the evening,” I replied. Needless to say, many were shocked. Especially Jenny. And then there were smiles.
“We’ll do this without the handcuffs,” Jenny compromised, taking them off. I rubbed my wrists but made no effort to cover myself. I was getting to like the attention, though I didn’t want to be obvious. I did squirm a bit and touched my leather collar, hoping to look embarrassed.
“Time for the contest,” Cheryl announced, giving me an insightful glance.
The area in the den before the giant TV screen was used for judging. The couches and chairs were quickly filled. Some sat on the floor before the make-shift stage while others stood along the back wall. Six of the fifty guests had formally entered the contest, their costumes costing more than I made in a month creating graphic designs.
As everyone finally settled in, Darla Hemmings strode on the small stage wearing white silks and a veil. I realized she was the Dutch courtesan known as Mata Hari, executed by the French during World War I as a spy. She had a gold cap with feathers, a thick draping necklace, and armbands. As soft music played in the background, she swayed back and forth, gradually losing one piece of silk after another, tossing them into the crowd with a flourish. We all leaned forward when her luscious breasts were exposed. Finally, only a slender wrap was left, delicately hanging around her hips. We could see the shadow of her unshaved bush below the fabric. She motioned as if to remove it. Paused. Motioned again. The room was silent. Expectant. I felt myself getting aroused again.
And then the music ended. She laughed, tightened the wrap so it wouldn’t fall off, and left the stage with a wave. Her fans cheered.
Darrel Jeppers appeared as a zombie. Not especially original, but the gross outfit was superb. Clearly the work of an expert. He swayed from side to side, snorting and pawing. He may have been a rotting zombie, but he kept a positive outlook. There was imminent death in his eyes with a gentle smile. The makeup must have taken three hours to apply.
Lester Jasper was a bodybuilder and wrestler, one of the best in the state. And a giant, with a massive chest, Popeye arms, and legs like tree trunks. On this night, he was wearing a blond wig, tight trunks, an upper body harness, and heavy boots, carrying a power sword and round shield. He was He-Man, right out of the cartoon shows. He looked every inch the part. Sadly, other than standing there looking magnificent, he didn’t have anything to do. He really needed She-Ra to balance the presentation, but no She-Ra was available. He stepped down to light applause.
Gwen Stansbury danced across the stage in her green Tinker Bell costume, the shimmering material barely covering her assets. And at some angles, not covering them at all. She was well-endowed, but not so busty as to look awkward. Her smile lit the room, her red wings fluttering and tiny ballet shoes kicking. There seemed to be a nearly imperceptible halo surrounding her, though how that was managed I couldn’t guess. She was so sexy that half the guys in the room wanted to rip the wings off her and fuck her right there on the stage.
Lin Phillips, a fellow student from my computer lab, appeared as Albert Einstein with a stringy gray wig and long white coat. Makeup gave him a big nose. Crazy eyes made him look like a mad scientist from an old movie. Everyone wondered what the hell he was trying to do. And then he began explaining E = mc2. In German. It was almost bizarre enough to win the contest, but not quite.
When it was her turn, Jenny took me up, making sure everyone could see everything, and told a wild story about her pirate ship capturing my father’s convoy after a great sea battle. She made lewd comments about sharing her prisoner with the lusting crew during the voyage over. Chained naked hanging from the yardarm. Scrubbing the deck on my hands and knees while a cat-o’-nine-tails swatted my ass. Bound below decks for their pleasure, begging for mercy. The audience laughed even if the stories sounded lame. I hung back, being a disgraced prop. It wasn’t my job to put on a show.
Jenny did not get her wish. Gwen won first place for her Tinker Bell costume. Zombie Darrel got second. Jenny took third, probably because her leather jacket was really cool and she had the dashing charisma of a pirate rebel.
“Everyone, get fresh drinks, and then the auction!” Jenny declared in high spirits, having won $75.
“Come on, hasn’t this gone far enough?” I asked as she drew me to a corner. She had a glass of bourbon on ice with a straw, letting me take sips.
“Hell, Emm, all you’ve done is walk around looking like a victim. Every girl feels sorry for you. Even some of the guys. I’m doing all the work,” Jenny insisted.
“You’re the one wearing all the clothes,” I chastised.
“Yes, but I suspect you’re the one having the most fun.”
It was true, so I said nothing.
As Jenny was preparing for the auction, Annie and Beth tracked me down. A husky woman in early middle-age accompanied them dressed like a female Leonardo DaVinci.
“Emma, this is Dr. Darlene Harrison,” Annie introduced. “She has a job for you.”
“A job?” I asked.
“Darlene heads the Artists in Residence program at Bellows Art Academy. Down on 4th Street and Madison,” Beth explained. “We volunteered you for her classes. You won’t let us down, will you?”
“Let you down doing what?” I questioned, uneasy with their suppressed grins.
“Nude model,” Annie answered.
I stepped back, caught off-guard. Dr. Harrison smiled and held up her phone, taking several photos.
“You’re right, girls. She has classic lines,” the professor said. “Have you done any modeling, Emma?”
“No, ma’am,” I replied. “And I’m not looking to pose naked in public now.”
“It pays $300 per session. For 90 minutes,” she tempted.
“How much did you say?” I asked.
“$300,” she confirmed. “Twice a week until the end of the semester.”
“What time are the classes?” I requested without needing to think about it. $300 was more than I made in a week at the newspaper. The art teacher and I shook hands on the deal before she went to speak with Cheryl.
“You won’t need to be afraid of posing,” Beth assured me. “There are only fifteen students per class. Mostly women. Annie and I will be there every night to support you. With our sorority sisters.”
“And we’ll bring frat guys, too,” Annie added with a wink.
It was time for the auction. A crowd gathered in the living room. Jenny had me stand on the fireplace hearth for better visibility.
“Har! I am selling my slave that my crew may return to the Spanish Main for more prizes,” Jenny said in a hearty pirate voice. “Her ransom will go to charity. But she is not to be sexually exploited! At least, not in a public place. Slave, beg for mercy.”
I looked at her, astonished. She poked me.
“Masters and mistresses … I … plead … nothing! Do your worst!” I responded.
Many laughed.
“We, of the Delta House, bid $500 for this slave,” Beth loudly declared. “And if anyone bids against us, don’t expect to get laid again this semester.”
Many guys shuffled. I had the best bait in the world, but they knew the Deltas were capable of peer pressure beyond their own orbit.
$600!” Mike bid, feeling the Deltas didn’t have so much influence. The Sigmas were a jock house with plenty of groupies.
“Mike, what the hell? Are you fucking nuts?” Jack warned, glancing around.
“We don’t need sorority girls to get laid,” Mike said.
“If we screw with the Deltas, we’ll be poison. At parties. Concerts. Sports events,” Jack explained. “Every cheerleader in the school will declare us off-limits. You won’t get laid again until you’re forty.”
Mike looked around the room at the frowning women, seeing it was true.
“I withdraw my bid,” he conceded.
“The Deltas have the highest bid,” Jenny declared. “Going once. Going twice. Sold to the Delta sorority sisters.”
Wow, I thought. Sold to a bunch of frisky college women with few boundaries. What did it mean? The party began to break up as I was surrounded by eager mistresses.
“What do you expect, ladies?” I asked Beth.
“Don’t worry, little sparrow. We didn’t want the fraternity guys to have you,” she answered. “It would set a bad precedent.”
“We’ll let you help at the next naked car wash,” Annie promised.
“Naked?” I questioned.
“Most of us will have bikinis, but you won’t need to worry about that,” Beth answered with a giggle.
Nude in a driveway? With a bucket of soap and a hose? Scrubbing cars while a hundred people watched? It sounded like fun. And arousing. Which all the sisters noticed.
“You’ll need another treatment soon,” Annie whispered. She was right. I’d been getting wet for the last half hour despite every effort to stay calm.
The departing guests moved out to the front lawn. Jenny approached with a tall young woman on her arm. Miss Georgia Dyson, a junior accounting executive with London Insurance. A company she hoped to get a job interview with.
“Girl, you did great,” Jenny said, kissing me on the cheek. “I just want everyone to know that if you weren’t my most special roommate, I’d have fucked you about twenty times tonight. You are so damn hot it’s sinful.”
“Thanks, Jenny. It’s nice to be wanted,” I answered, getting a good laugh.
She began to walk away. I raised a hand.
“Are we going home now? I need clothes,” I said.
“Not we. I have a date,” Jenny replied with an annoying grin. “And I already told you, you’re not getting any clothes tonight. Not from me. And hopefully not from anyone else.”
I looked around at the grinning faces filled with conspiracy. I would have been really mad if it hadn’t been the best night of my life.
“What am I going to do? I can’t walk back to campus like this,” I complained.
“Ask the girls. They bought you,” Jenny responded, disappearing into the darkness.
“We bought you, but we’re willing to loan you out,” Annie said with a sly smile. And I soon realized what she meant.
“Need a ride?” Frank said, reaching to take my hand.
I began to remember Jenny saying the evening would have something in it for me, and I finally understood what she meant. I’d been offered an interview with a terrific company. Posing nude at the art academy would triple my income. And I had a sexy guy waiting to give me a ride. Hopefully several rides. My roommate was truly devious.
Epilogue:
My exhibitionist adventures did not end after that Halloween night, though I always sought to appear modest, as if I was the victim of these embarrassing exposures. In the months that followed, the Delta sisters proved very dear friends, though they had an uncomfortable habit of stripping me in public situations, claiming I was still their property. It was never my intention to be the celebrity centerpiece of their fundraisers, though I did raise an awful lot of money for charity. There were also personal opportunities, including one where I met my future husband, a voyeur and collaborator. Cheryl Wyman called in her big favor that June just after graduation, but that’s another story.
