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The
Search For Lost Clothes
"Are you
looking for something?"
I nearly
jumped out of my skin at the baritone
sound of a man's voice suddenly behind me.
He shone the light of his torch directly
in my face and even with my hand holding
back the glare, all I could see of him was
his shadowy silhouette. A big man and
intimidating in every respect. "Yes, I ...
um ..." I mumbled, unsure of who I was
talking to and whether I should tell him I
had lost my clothes. A foolish uncertainty
given it was patently obvious I wasn't
wearing any clothes.
"You're
new here," the man said,
matter-of-factly.
"Yes. Do
you work here?"
"Sometimes," he replied.
He kept
the beam of the torch aimed squarely into
my face.
"Are you
one of the teachers?"
"No," he
said, again not giving away
anything.
I could
feel his eyes roaming over my naked body
and I would have hidden it with both arms
except I needed one hand to keep the light
of his torch out of my eyes. "Are you the
security guard?"
"You ask
a lot of questions," he said
flatly.
I felt
awkward and didn't know what else he
expected me to say. "Do I?" I asked,
realizing after the fact it was another
question.
"There's
no security. Not yet, anyway."
I still
couldn't relax even though the mysterious
man's tone of voice had changed to be less
threatening.
"Are you
one of the students?" he asked.
"Um, no,
I'm the new librarian," I replied.
"You
are? How come you aren't wearing any
clothes?"
The
Headmistress's words about the staff not
being obliged to be naked resounded in my
mind. "Oh, that!" I shrugged and tried to
dismiss his question. There was a long,
uncomfortable pause that I felt compelled
to break. "Well, I had clothes when I
arrived today but I took them off and left
them here..."
"Where?"
he asked, urging me to turn back inside
the security guard booth and point to the
small metal desk inside.
"There,"
I said. I waved my hand generally in the
direction of the table and hoped the light
of his torch might suddenly illuminate my
lost clothes. But the desk was bare except
for the neat pile of brochures advertising
the college.
"Did you
look on the floor?"
"Yes," I
replied. It was becoming increasingly
clear my clothes had vanished
completely.
"Maybe
you didn't see them...on the
floor..."
I shot a
look back at the man when I realized what
he was suggesting. "You want me to... down
there...on my ..."
"On your
hands and knees, yes," he said.
I just
stood there like a deer caught in beam of
light before slowly finding the courage to
turn my back completely and get down onto
all fours. The wooden floor was hard on my
knees and I could feel the grit of tiny
grains of sand or something under them. My
hands too could feel the grit and I was
reluctant to crawl around and make myself
dirty. I glanced back over my shoulder at
the man hoping he could tell from my
forlorn expression that I didn't want to
do what he was telling me to do.
"Turn
around!" he said firmly.
I looked
back inside the little booth and watched
the darkened area glow brighter as he
moved closer with his torch. "There's
nothing in there," I said.
"Don't
look back!"
His tone
was commanding and I immediately did as I
was told even though I could tell by my
shadow across the floor that his torch was
now aimed at my upturned backside. It felt
incredibly embarrassing to think of how
provocative I must have looked to him. I
wanted to jump back to my feet and tell
him not to stare at me like that but
something kept me held there. It was like
I was paralyzed or suddenly turned to
stone. I discreetly moved my head, just
slightly to try and better hear what he
was doing behind me. At first there was
nothing at all to hear except for the
sound of chirping bugs and the occasional
distant bark of a dog. If I really
strained my hears I could faintly hear the
sound of traffic on the highway about a
mile down the road.
"Spread
your legs."
I
pretended not to hear him the first time
he made the demand. A sudden loud,
stinging slap of his hand on my bare
bottom caught me by surprise and I yelped
so loudly I couldn't hear him repeat the
command but knew that he'd made it again.
The place where he slapped me burned and
stung. I could almost feel the shape of
his hand print even after I shuffled my
knees apart on the dirty floor.
"You
have to do as you're told around here," he
said, his voice now calm and quieter
again.
I
couldn't say a thing. My mind was still
spinning in a dizzy haze of strange
emotions. Again I tuned my ears to the
tiniest sounds and this time, it was only
a faint sound, but it was distinct. I
could hear him unzipping his jeans and
fumbling with a belt buckle. I became
alarmed by the prospect that he might have
been preparing himself to take me from
behind. There was no doubt in my mind that
I must have looked like an easy target for
him, and I started to panic as I thought
about whether to try and flee or hold my
breath hoping that he didn't force himself
onto me.
There
was a long, anxious moment of nothing
happening. Again I focused my hearing. I
could feel my brow knotting as the
curiosity of what he might be doing set
in. It was a funny sound; a kind of a
light slapping sound. It took the best
part of a minute or two before I realize
what he was doing. He was standing behind
me, his torch shining down on me,
masturbating! I almost wanted to laugh but
at the same time I felt repulsed by the
thought of what he was doing. There was
still the fear that he might suddenly
spear me from behind, especially when I
heard his low, rhythmic grunting start to
accompany his little slapping symphony. I
dared not ask what he was doing.
I
remained nervously in my position trying
not to listen as the man's grunts and
groans became increasingly louder and more
incessant. He was very close to climaxing;
that much was sure. And then I felt
something. A sudden warmness on the
undersides of my right foot. I could
barely feel it at first but as it quickly
cooled the sensations became more
alarming. It felt like something tickling
until it crawled and slipped between my
toes. I wriggled them and my stomach
instantly turned as I felt acutely aware
of a slimy ooze of something; a stickiness
which I knew could only be one thing. His
ejaculation splattered on my foot. I
couldn't hold back my moan of disgust as a
second and then a third glob of stuff
rained down on me; the first hitting the
back of one of my thighs and quickly
trickling down to puddle in the crook of
my knee and the third stringing across my
left ankle. He was groaning and moaning
loudly now, like an animal. The slapping
sound of his hand on his cock became all I
could hear and I listened and prayed he'd
be completely spent before spraying me
with any more of his filthy spunk.
I closed
my eyes and hung my head shamefully. All I
could think about was how dirty he'd made
me feel. I tried to distract myself,
firstly thinking about being somewhere
else but then about how completely naked
and vulnerable I was. It became a pleasant
thought and I might have even started to
enjoy it except I suddenly realized I was
in total darkness again. I opened my eyes
and confirmed the fact. Even though I knew
the man had vanished as quickly as he'd
appeared I still waited a good minute or
more before I finally turned my head back
to check. Nothing. He'd gone, just as I'd
suspected, and left me feeling sticky and
soiled on my hands and knees. Humiliated
doesn't begin to describe how I
felt.
By the
time I had found my way back to the main
administration building there was only the
dim glow of light coming out of a single
room on the top floor. The cafeteria
building similarly was in total darkness
and I had no idea where the showers were.
I glanced over at the large round pond
that had been alive with the dancing
waters of a fountain when I arrived. The
water was cold but it was all there was to
clean off the mess made by the stranger
down at the security booth.
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