Rosie - Naked In School

Chapter 9

TUESDAY.

If our foster parents noticed we were unusually quiet at breakfast, they didn’t say anything.

We left for school together but Jasmine left me as soon as I got through the school gates. "Come on Rosie, Get yer kit off," I heard.

I’d planned this, so I hadn’t worn a bra in case I fumbled trying to get it off.

I noticed one of the other girls was doing a performance like a real stripper. I just unbuttoned my blouse and folded it up and put it in my clothes box. Then my skirt and finally my knickers (except I didn’t fold them.) I made it as slow as possible, even without the bra.

"Can I feel your tits?" Did he HAVE to call them that?

"Okay." I grabbed his hand and pleaded with him. "Please don’t hurt me."

It isn’t me, I told myself again and again. I think it might have been easier if he HADN’T been gentle. I couldn’t help but feel the sensations he was creating in my breasts and I knew it was wrong. Even more so, because they were nice sensations.

Somebody else asked me to put my legs apart so he could feel my pussy.

Luckily, he wasn’t so gentle and I was able to stop thinking about my breasts becoming so sensitive. I deliberately DIDN’T ask him to be gentler.

I was startled a bit when he slipped a finger inside me and I felt myself clench my muscles against him. The feeling was, I don’t know how to describe it. It sent something like a shiver through me, but a nice shiver.

"God, you’re tight. You don’t wanna fuck do you?"

If I’d actually begun to like what he was doing with his finger, that brought me back to reality. This was legalised abuse and I wasn’t enjoying it.

I actually felt guilty for allowing myself that moment of pleasure.

I had to remember, this isn’t me. It’s just my body they are abusing.

Then the bell went and thankfully I could go off to lessons.

We had History first, we were going through the American Civil War this term. I’d passed History, so I didn’t really need to be in this class, but if I was back for the term I had to be "properly" back for a full timetable, whether I needed it or not.

Then it was out into the corridor for more UNReasonable Requests. The first one was to play with my nipples. I was determined NOT to let him get me aroused, so I closed my eyes and started counting sheep, literally, like when you are trying to get to sleep and can’t.

The second one was harder. "Can you sit down so I can play with your pussy, please?"

I still didn’t understand the point of saying "please" when we couldn’t really refuse much anyway, but I sat down.

The trouble was, he was better than the boy had been this morning. I decided that closing my eyes was NOT helping. Opening them and looking around me to keep reminding myself I was in school and being abused, not being made love to. Even that didn’t stop me from breathing hard by the time the bell went.

Geography was next. It was a lesson I really enjoy, and even more this time as it took my mind off being naked and everything.

The lesson overran by a couple of minutes, which was great as everyone had to rush to their next lessons and there was almost no time for Requests. One boy had spent a minute of so, prodding his finger in my vagina, to no real effect, when the bell went again.

So far I was surviving my first "touching day". But as I was only about a quarter of the way through the first of four "touching days" that wasn’t saying a lot.

I had double PE next. We were playing basketball and I noticed how a lot of the boys would keep "accidentally" brushing against me, but compared to requests it was nothing.

Normally Jasmine and I were timetabled for PE together, but she was excused today as she’d twisted her ankle, so she was in the library.

If basketball had been nothing, the showers were far from nothing. I had to shower with the boys, of course (that makes it sound so NORMAL!). I tried not to look below their faces, so I could see that none of them were looking above my neck.

"Can we help to shower you?" a couple of them asked.

I was going to say No, when a third said, "It is a Reasonable Request."

So I was standing in a stream of warm water (not really nice and hot like at home) and four or five boys were all around me, supposedly washing me, but really just using it as an excuse to rub me all over. I mean, they mostly ignored my arms and back, and lower legs, but my breasts and thighs and vagina were being washed over and over again. One of them even stuck a finger in my bottom. Revolting. How could that excite anyone?

I found if I pretended I was somewhere else, I could sort of detach myself and just let them get on with it. I picked happy memories to concentrate on which made it easier.

The only problem was, I was smiling, and I heard one of them say, "She’s really enjoying this."

Fear not those who can hurt the body, I told myself.

When the bell went for end of final period for the morning, I quickly grabbed my towel and dried myself, then raced to the dining hall.

Our half hour free time without Requests started from the bell, so I wasn’t risking getting a Request on the way.

The others were all chatting away about the morning they’d had. I just stayed quiet.

After lunch was the worst time of day. A whole half hour of Requests. The proggies stayed together as a group, which made it a bit easier.

I found the easiest things was to just lie on the table and let them get on with it and try to think of other things, but still keeping a bit of an eye on them for my own protection.

It was made easier for me because one of the other girls in the Program was masturbating the boys and making them come all over her face. Disgusting. How could she want to do that? Even the other girl in the Program turned her nose up at that, and she’d just let a boy lick her vagina until SHE came.

Then she turned and watched her boyfriend, who was in the program with her this week, by pure chance, have sex with one of the girls who wasn’t in the program. And it didn’t even bother her.

One boy asked me to masturbate him, but I said No. I knew I could say No to that as Mrs. Chaplain had told us we could. In one of the earliest Program weeks, they’d thought they had to do that, so the girls ended up giving hand jobs (as she called it) all the time, like unpaid Prostitutes, so they’d made a ruling that a girl didn’t have to say yes to that any more than she had to say yes to oral sex.

I felt enough like an unpaid prostitute as it was, so I was thankful that there was at least something I could say No to.

The first lesson after lunch was social studies. Of all the hypocrisy, it was talking about sexual abuse and rape. What do they think the Program is if it isn’t sexual abuse? I just tuned out. That Shelley woman was sitting in on the class but didn’t say anything. I got the feeling she was only there to watch me, probably checking on all the victims, sorry participants.

Then I remembered what happened to her sister. How could she support a Program that did that to her sister? Come to that, how could her sister have anything to do with it either?

I spent between classes on my back on a bench, with fingers up my vagina and someone licking my nipples. The latter might even have felt nice under different circumstances.

It was Biology again after that, and it was a good lesson. That is, they DIDN’T use me as a prop. That has become my definition of a good lesson. In fact it was no different to any "normal" lesson. It struck me later that I didn’t even notice I was naked any more unless there was something to draw my attention to it.

Between lessons, of course, there was. More fingers and I was beginning to feel sore. Well, past BEGINNING to feel sore to be honest.

The final lesson of the afternoon was English. It was okay except at the end when we were being given homework. Mr. Delaney asked for suggestions for the essay to be written overnight and one of the boys looked at me and said, "What about What I’d like to do to Rosie?"

I heard them all laugh and thought, What’s so funny about dreaming up ways to make me feel even worse?

The worst thing was, I saw Jasmine laughing too, though she stopped when she noticed I’d seen her. How could SHE think it funny?

To my amazement he said, "Okay."

"What about us girls?"

"Well, those of you who are lesbian or bisexual will find it easy. Those of you who are not will have to pretend you are, the same as any homosexual boys will have to write as if they were heterosexual."

Then he turned to me, "You’re excused this homework, Rosie."

The class laughed at that. I glad someone thought it was funny.

I reminded myself for the umpteenth time, it was just my body they could do what they liked with. That made me feel better and I ran out to get dressed.

Shelley was standing in the corridor near the clothes boxes and I noticed her looking at me again.

Thankful to be back in some clothes, I walked home with a sense of relief.

Then I remembered I was supposed to walk home with Jasmine in case her ankle played up. Tough, I thought. The way she laughed at me.

She came in, hobbling, about quarter of an hour later. "Rosie. I’m sorry I laughed, but it just seemed so stupid."

"Yeah, like the damned Program," I shouted as I stormed out of the room pushing past her. I actually swore I was so angry. As I ran upstairs to my room, I yelled, "And don’t forget, you’ve got to write it too. See how funny you think that is."

"What’s up between you two?" asked our foster Mum, when they came back from their pensioners club and we were sitting down for dinner.

I glared at Jasmine, daring her to say anything.

"Just a bad day at school." I said. "Nothing much. But I’m going up for an early night."

Jasmine came into my room again later, but I pretended I was asleep.