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Subject: {ASSM} Beth Naked in School 11/12 (f/m++++ exhib voy oral anal c)
Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2002 21:10:08 -0500
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<15th attachment, "Beth Naked in School 11.doc" begin>

"Beth Naked in School" is a continuation of the "Naked in School"
series that began with Karen Wagner's "Karen Naked in School."
You might want to start there. Then follow up with my first
contributions to the series, "Carl Naked in School," and "Carl
Naked in School - Beth's Story," before you start this tale. All
can be found in the ASSM archives.

Beth Naked in School 11/12 (f/m++++ exhib voy oral anal c)

Saturday Afternoon 

I felt incredibly naked as I stood just beyond the end-zone. I'm
still not sure whether that was because of the gaudy coat of body
paint that only drew more attention to what was beneath it,
because I was about to face a stadium full of football fans with
nothing between me and them but a thin coat of gold and scarlet
paint, or because I was right next to a very tall, very handsome
U. S. Marine in full dress uniform, who either had a bayonet in
his pocket or was very glad to see me. 

He made my nipples crinkle. 

I nervously adjusted strap of the flag support harness - you
know, one of those straps with a socket to hold the butt of a
flag staff? - I wonder what it's really called? - around my neck.
That was the only thing I was wearing, aside from my little gold
cross and my glasses, of course. Then I took the staff carrying
the school flag, surprised at how heavy it was, and slipped its
butt end into the socket that supported it. 

My first duty as Miss School Spirit was as part of the color
guard, carrying in the school banner for the national anthem,
right alongside the Marine carrying the stars and stripes. On the
other side of him was another Marine, a woman, carrying the state
flag. 

The band tootled a fanfare and we marched out on to the field,
the two Marines in their uniforms and I in my coat of scarlet and
gold paint, in step with the rum-tum-tumming of the drums. 

Even though we'd had only one quick practice, everything went
perfectly. At the fifty yard line we wheeled around in a line and
came to a halt right on the hash marks, facing the home bench,
the football team and the crowd, the band behind us, the flags
fluttering in the gentle breeze. 

I was naked on the football field, in front of the whole crowd!
Worse, the butt end of the flag staff was pressing right into my
crotch. It had rubbed me with every step and I had been made so
horny I had an almost unbearable urge to hump my pussy against
it! 

Then the band struck up "The Star Spangled Banner" and a wave of
patriotism swept over me, making me stand just a little
straighter, a little taller. Without even thinking about it I
began to sing the national anthem myself. 

And I got all misty eyed, too, I admit. 

When we finished the crowd cheered, the drums rum-tummed, we
wheeled smartly around and marched back to the end zone where I
was relieved of the flag, right on the verge of orgasming thanks
to the way it had rubbed me. 

"Here, let me take that," the Marine offered, helping lift the
harness off my neck without mussing my hair. His companion Marine
was studying me with a raised eyebrow, I noticed. Maybe she was
glad to see me, too, I thought. 

"Thank you!" I told him, glad to be relieved of the scratchy
strap. 

Wow! He was soooooo handsome! And he was looking at all of me! 

"You sang beautifully, by the way," he complimented me. "Are you
in the glee club?" 

I blushed, surprised he'd even noticed. "Me? No! The only
showering I ever do is in the sing - I mean, the only singing I
do is in the shower!" 

He laughed. "You could have fooled me! Anyway, nice singing, and
nice job with the flag, too!" 

"Thanks!" I watched him march away, my heart doing flip-flops,
and then suddenly realized I was supposed to be with the football
team for their pre-game huzzah, or whatever it was.  

They were already forming a big huddle by the time I got there
and I had to push my way through them, big, and hulking in all
their pads and everything, until I finally emerged in the center
of the crowd. 

"'bout time you got here, Finchy," Freschetti growled. 

"Are you going to waste energy trying to get my goat, or are you
going to use it to beat Eastern, Freschy?" I countered. At least
The Powers That Be let him wear full pads, protective gear and
his uniform for the game! "Let's get this show on the road!"

I almost wish I hadn't said that as about thirty or forty hands
reached out, trying to find some place to touch me, the living
symbol of School Sprit! Freschetti claimed a tit, wouldn't you
know it! They all hunched around me, pawing me, chuffing like -
like - oh, I don't know, locomotives, or maybe buffalo in rutting
season or something. 

But it was catching! I found myself pumping up and down in time
with them, chuffing right along with them. Mass hysteria is the
only way I can explain it, but I suddenly felt that I was part of
something bigger than myself. 

With a final powerful bellow the formation broke and they
scattered, leaving me shaking and excited - not aroused, excited,
like I was ready to go out and take on Eastern myself! 

Then the whistle blew, the game began, and the sky fell on us. 

I won't go into a play-by-play, but let's just say the first half
was a disaster. Eastern took the opening kick-off, marched down
the field and scored. We got the ball back on the kick-off from
them and Freschetti promptly fumbled the ball away on the first
play. 

By the end of the first quarter we were down ten points to zero.
Our defense, at least, had stiffened, but our offense was
impotent, and I use that word advisedly. During the short break
between quarters the coach gave them a pep talk, but it didn't
seem to take, because the second quarter was just more of the
same. 

When the whistle sounded ending the first half we were behind
twenty four to nothing. The team looked like whipped dogs as they
trotted off the field to the locker room. 

I was torn. I wanted to follow them and kick their lazy, careless
butts, especially Freschetti's, but I had to take part in the
half-time show. I opted for the latter, of course, hoping to have
time when it was over to somehow stimulate the football team to
greater efforts. 

The half-time show was - was - well, how would you take having to
stand on a little stage, stark naked in front of who knows how
many thousand spectators? I was feted by the band, of course, and
joined the cheerleaders in leading a cheer. I could see Carl
watching me, sense his pride and love for me as I displayed
myself, all of myself, to the crowd without shame or fear - NOT.

Then the show was over and I made a break for the locker room in
an effort to lend my encouragement to the team. I mean, how would
I look if I, their chosen Miss School Spirit, let them lose this
game?! I'd be mortified! 

I banged through the doors into a sweaty, stinking fog of raging
masculine hormones and defeatism. 

"All right, you guys, are you going to let me down? Or are you
going to kick some butt out there?" I challenged. 

They all looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. 

"What's the matter with you pussies?" I asked. "Are you going to
let those wimps walk all over you in the second half, too? How
about it? I want to hear from you. Are you?" 

"No," a few of them mumbled. 

"What's that? I can't hear you?" I cupped my hand behind my ear.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the coach grinning at me.


"No!" they said a bit louder. 

"What's that?" All the time I was scanning them, looking for
Freschetti. 

"NO!" they said louder, more together. 

"Come on, you can do better than that. Are you gonna let them
piss all over you for thirty more minutes?" I asked. 

"NO!!" they yelled. 

"WHAT???" I asked. Where the heck was Freschetti?

"NO!!!" they bellowed. 

"WHAT????" 

"NO!!!!!!!!" This time their yell practically broke my eardrums.

"That's more like it. Now, where's Freschetti?" I asked. 

"I think he's taking a piss," someone answered, gesturing. 

"'scuse me," I apologized, pushing through them toward the
pissoire or whatever the heck that room was called. I banged
through the door and found myself in a room with sinks along one
wall, urinals along another and the expected bunch of toilets at
the far end, but not a partition in the joint. Must get real
social in here at times, I thought. 

Freschetti was at a sink, doing something. I reached him just as
his hand was going to his mouth, and I knocked it down, spilling
a bunch of pills in the sink. "What the hell are you doing,
Freschetti?" 

He looked stunned to see me there, and scrambled for the pills,
but I twisted the faucet on, swirling them down the drain.
"What's this, better living through chemistry?" I asked him
sarcastically. 

"What do you know about it?" he shot back, reaching for a pill
bottle. 

I knocked it out of his hand, sending it flying, the pills
scattering into the sink to follow their brethren to do whatever
it is they did to all the bacteria in the sewage treatment plant.
The poor microbes probably either have muscles like Sylvester
Stalone or are still high. 

"You don't need that crap," I told him. I turned him to face me
and punched him in the chest. 

Jeez he was big! It was like punching a wall. 

"What you need is in here," I said, punching his chest again.
"And here." I thumped his forehead. "And maybe down here!" I
grabbed his crotch, bruising my fingers on his protective cup for
my troubles. 

He was rocked back on his heels. Here he was, in full football
armor, being accosted by a naked, painted girl half his size. I
tried to think of some way to motivate him. Then I thought of
one. 

"You want me, Freschetti?" I asked, standing back, hands on my
naked hips, feet spread so he could see all of me in my naked,
painted glory. "You really want me? Come on, you've been after me
to get your rocks off all week. You want me?" 

He stood there and I swear he started to drool.  

"Well you'll never get me by bullying or intimidation. You'll
have to earn me, Freschetti," I told him, quailing inside even as
I said it. 

"How?" he growled. 

I pushed close to him, into his personal space. I smelled his
sweat, my naked-but-for-paint tits practically brushing his
grass-stained jersey. It gave me a crick in my neck to look up at
him. 

"You win this game, Freschetti, and you can have me. I'll fuck
you, Freschetti. I'll suck you and fuck you, but you've got to
win the game for that to happen, Freschetti. Got that? Got that?"
I asked, poking him. "I mean it! You know I don't say things I
don't mean. Do you think you're man enough to go out there and
whip their butts, Freschetti?" 

I could see a fire kindle in his eyes, could see the life coming
back into him. It was almost scary!

Then I reached for his crotch again, not that it did much good to
feel nothing but a steel cup. "You win the game, you'll be able
to put this thing in me, Freschetti. Lose and you get nothing.
Now drag your sorry ass out there, protect the goddam ball, and
win the goddam game!" 

I turned him toward the door and gave him a push and a kick. He
crashed through to the locker room like a bull on a mixture of
steroids and amphetamines - which, for all I know he may have
been - and I heard the team greet him with a feral roar and
stampede out of the locker room, their cleats on the concrete
floor sounding like the final scenes of a Schwartzenegger movie.

Then I turned and looked at myself in the mirror, a scared, naked
figure all in crimson and scarlet paint and makeup. 

I couldn't help noticing, too, that that damn flag holder had
rubbed the paint off my pussy, so I had this patch of pink right
in the middle of all that scarlet and gold. It looked like the
bulls-eye of a target! 

Ohmygod, I thought, what have I just done! 

Then I thought, we're down by twenty four points and have been
playing like turkeys. No chance they'd win the game, I told
myself. No chance. 

Besides, with the steroids he'd been taking the chances were
Freschetti couldn't get it up anyway. 

Gathering myself up, I trudged out, the tile cold and gritty with
crud from the football field under my bare feet. 

Back on the field I joined the cheerleaders just as the second
half kickoff sailed down the field and our return man gathered it
in. He cut to the right and headed down the our sideline like an
express train, thundering past me only a few feet away. A wall of
blockers in front of him took down Eastern's defenders like ducks
in a shooting gallery, and suddenly the field was open but for
one last defender - the kicker, who promptly became road-kill,
and suddenly the score was 24 to 6. 

The return man was Freschetti.

The crowd, of course, went wild, and I felt a chill even as I
bounced up and down right along with all the other Central
rooters. 

What had I done? I asked myself as they kicked the extra point,
making it 24 to 7. 

After that the game settled down, some. We held them, they held
us, until we managed a field goal in the last seconds of the
third quarter, making it 24 to 10. 

Eastern came out strong in the last quarter, driving down the
field until they turned the ball over on an interception on our
ten yard line. We drove back the other way, and I was cheering
them on with one eye on the clock, one eye on the score and one
on the field, while my heart hammered. 

We scored and got the point after, making the score 24 to 17. 

In the first half our passing game had been erratic at best, so
we didn't use one passing play on that drive. It was Freschetti
to the left, Freschetti to the right, Freschetti up the middle. 

Freschetti was playing like he was on fire. Isn't it amazing what
testosterone can do? 

The kickoff gave Eastern the ball back, of course, and they
fought back. Finally our defense stopped them on the thirty yard
line - our thirty yard line - and the field goal try was short,
the Eastern kicker still wobbly from when Freschetti had run him
down, so we got the ball back with about two minutes remaining in
the game, seventy yards to go, and one time out left. 

But our offense was tired, even I could see that. We ran two
plays and the blocking just wasn't there - on first down
Freschetti got two yards on a run, and then on the next play the
quarterback got sacked and gave that and about five more yards
back. 

The coach called our last time out, and I saw him waving me over
as the team gathered around, sucking down Gatorade and spitting
it out. One guy drank too much too fast and turned away to spew
just as I was getting there. He almost barfed on me, a fountain
of Gatorade erupting from him. 

The coach took me aside. "I don't know what you said to
Freschetti, but it sure as hell motivated him." 

What could I do but gulp, and nod. 

"Well he's still hot, but we need some blocking if we're gonna
win this game. How about it? Can you get the team up for this
last drive?" 

I wondered exactly what he meant by "get the team up," but didn't
ask for a clarification. Suddenly it was all on my shoulders. Or,
rather, on some other portion of my anatomy, you might say. 

I couldn't help but look over to where the band sat, my gaze
finding Carl. He gave me a big smile, and a thumbs up signal. 

Oh, if only he knew, I thought. But I also remembered that I had
warned him it was going to be a rough week. I'd just had no idea
exactly how rough. 

"Just tell `em what you told Freschetti," the coach pleaded. 

I told myself he had no idea what he was asking. I agonized for a
few seconds, then nodded tensely. "Okay, but you - well, believe
me, you're better off not knowing." 

He looked surprised, but stood back as I walked over to where the
team was gathered, feeling the seconds of the timeout ticking
away. I waved the water boys and assistants and whatever away,
and knelt in the center of a loose huddle, the whole team around
me. I was one naked girl in the middle of thirty some football
players. 

"Here's the deal," I began, my mouth dry, my cunt anything but.
"I'll tell you what I told Freschetti. If you win this game, I'm
the trophy. It's that simple." 

"You mean...," someone said. 

"Let's go, Red team," the referee said, ending the time out.  

"If you're not sure, ask Freschetti. The same offer I made him is
good for you. Now get your sorry asses out there and kick butt,"
I said. "Now! Hands on me! Now! One! Two! Three!" 

They pawed me. They erupted with a roar and the first string
charged back on the field with blood in their eye and fire in
their loins, you might say. 

I turned away, afraid to watch. Only I couldn't NOT watch either,
as I joined the cheerleaders in rousing the crowd. 

Once again it was Freschetti to the left, Freschetti to the
right, but not too much Freschetti up the middle, since he had to
stop the clock by running out of bounds. 

Tick - tick - tick. The clock ran down - one minute left, forty
five seconds, thirty seconds, twenty seconds. With ten seconds
left Freschetti broke left down the sideline and was hammered out
of bounds just inside the ten, a hit so hard you could hear it in
Topeka. 

For a second I was afraid he wasn't going to get up, but he did,
shaking it off, trotting back to the huddle. It was first and
goal, five seconds were left on the clock, and we were out of
time outs. 

I jittered around on the sideline at about the thirty yard line,
and then broke into a run, sprinting down the sideline, rounding
the end line to stand at the end of the field, directly under the
goal posts amidst a throng of photographers and who knows who
else. 

For some reason they all backed away from me, leaving me standing
there, alone. I was aware of cameras clicking as they snapped my
picture. The sweat had made my paint run. My hair was in ruins, a
tangle of gold and scarlet locks. I was naked as a jaybird. If I
hadn't already been beside myself with excitement even I wouldn't
have wanted to be beside me! I must have looked totally crazed. 

I must have BEEN totally crazed! 

The offense broke their huddle and came up to the line, and I
could see them suddenly stiffen at the sight of me - and I'm not
sure I'm talking only about their morale or their spines when I
say "stiffen," either. 

There I was, just beyond the end line - what they were fighting
for. The trophy. The Game Ball, so to speak. Pun intended. 

The linemen stood for a moment, the quarterback came up behind
the center, looked at me as I stood there, naked but for runny
paint, arms akimbo, feet shoulder width apart, then he turned to
call some numbers, first to one side, then the other - what was
he doing? Changing the play? 

I knew enough football by now to know that the smart play would
be a run outside, where there was at least some small chance of
getting out of bounds to stop the clock for one more play. 

Some linemen shifted slightly. The offensive backfield did
something. At another barked command the linemen went down in
their stance, literally snarling. 

"HUT! HUT! HUT!" The ball was snapped and all hell broke loose,
bodies crashing into bodies. It was the closest I'd ever been to
the action, and until then I hadn't really realized how violent
football was. 

A gap opened, and through it came Freschetti, right up the
middle, right toward me, head down, both arms wrapped around the
ball. The defensive backfield closed in on him and he smashed
into them three yards from the goal line. His legs churning he
shook off one man, then another, knocked a third a good four
yards away. With two men trying to drag him down he powered his
way forward, turf flying from his cleats, to fall with an
earthshaking crash with half the ball across the goal line. 

TOUCHDOWN! The crowd shrieked! The team fell on Freschetti and
for a moment I thought they were going to crush him, but they
managed to come to their senses. 

There was no time left on the clock, and we were one point short
of a win! 

"Touchdown! Please stay off the field! Please stay off the field!
The game is not over until the conversion is attempted," the
announcer on the PA system called. 

The conversion? Oh, the point after, of course. My heart skipped
a beat. If they kicked it we'd tie Eastern. We always kicked the
point after! We had a soccer player for  a kicker who could put
the ball through the eye of a needle from the forty yard line! 

A tie. That would be a good thing! It wasn't a win, of course,
but it wasn't a loss, either, and it meant I'd be off the hook,
didn't it? 

The quarterback looked to the sidelines. 

The coach was holding up his hands, with two fingers up on each
of them. 

The kicker stayed on the sidelines. 

They were going to go for two points. It was win or lose. No tie.


I was dying inside. I didn't know what I wanted to happen. If we
didn't make it, I'd be saved from - from - well, a fate some
might see as being worse than death. 

But we'd lose! I was Miss School Spirit! What kind of a failure
would I be if we lost the game? 

I held my ground, just beyond the end line, right in the center
under the goalposts, hands on my hips, all that I was offering on
full display one last time. 

It was like everything went into slow motion. The quarterback
came up to the line, bent behind the center. I saw the ball get
snapped, saw blockers crash into each other right on the line of
scrimmage. It was like titans clashing. The ground shook. The
battle swayed toward me, away from me, toward me again, bodies
locked together, straining. Growling and grunting filled the air
along with clots of grass and dirt. The defense fell back,
stiffened There was a huge impact, bodies collapsing in a heap.
Whistles blew, then suddenly silence and stillness. 

Officials moved in and began trying to untangle the pile on the
goal line. 

No signal had been given! No one knew what had happened for the
longest time! 

Then suddenly one of the guys in the striped shirts stepped back
and threw his arms up. 

At the bottom of the heap was Freschetti, still clutching the
ball, just over the goal line. 

We'd WON! The Central bench and stands emptied in a mad scramble,
and Freschetti found himself at the bottom of another pile as his
own players mobbed him. 

Drained, I slumped, exhausted as if I'd been the one to score the
final points. I turned away, only to hear someone call "Finchy!
Beth! Beth Finch!!" 

I turned, and Freschetti was advancing on me! For a second I
almost panicked, thinking he was going to claim his trophy right
then and there. Only .... 

Only, he was holding the football out to me! He was giving me the
game ball? 

"This is yours," he said, handing it to me. "And so's this, come
on, guys!" 

Before I knew it I was swept up on to their shoulders, above the
crowd jamming the field, trying to tear down the goal posts. 

I felt like I was flying as they carried me overhead. They
carried me around the field on their shoulders while the band
played joyously and the crowed cheered wildly. I held the ball
high, proudly, as they swept me along all the way around the
field, the people in the stands cheering wildly as I passed. 

They finally put me down and gathered around me as the band
struck up the Alma Mater, and we all sang, and we all got misty
eyed again. Then the song was over and with a final cheer the mob
began to break up, the football team heading for the locker room.
Freschetti hesitated, looking at me, then gave me a casual wave
and turned away. 

I felt like I was being shredded inside! I knew I owed him - I
owed all of them! 

I knew what I had to do, and the thought terrified me and aroused
me all at the same time. 

"You were wonderful!" Carl exulted, grabbing me, kissing me. We
got body paint on his band uniform. 

"Thanks," I said breathlessly, handing him the game ball. "Here,
keep this for me, would you?" 

"Sure, but...." 

"I've - I've got something I have to do," I told him. "I made a
promise. Tell my folks not to worry, I'll be home later." 

"But...." 

"I'll see you and Steph later, too," I assured him. "I've got to
go. I'll tell you about it later." 

My heart was aching for him, and also racing with - well, call it
fear for lack of a better term - as I turned away and trotted
after the football team to the locker room. 

I'd never broken a promise in my life, and I wasn't going to
start now.  

When I reached the locker room door, I hesitated. The noises
filtering through the door were - well, intimidating is too mild
a word. Testosterone laden comes to mind. Primitive. Feral. 

This, I thought, must be how Daniel felt just before he was
thrown into the lions' den.

I stood outside the door a moment, paralyzed by fear - all but my
pussy, that is, which was, well, frothing at the mouth, so to
speak, if you get my meaning. 

Stiffening my resolve, I pulled the door open, and as I stepped
inside I was engulfed by the noise and a wave of sweaty,
testosterone laden air thick enough to swim through. 

The door swung shut behind me with a thud that drew all eyes, and
the silence that followed was deafening. I was the center of
attention for the biggest gathering of naked and semi-naked guys
I had ever seen in my short, but lately adventuresome life. 

There was muscle,

and hair,

and cocks everywhere! 

Oh My! 

How many guys were on the football team, anyway? I didn't even
know. I knew it was eleven to a side on the field, and there were
offensive and defensive specialists, but I also knew some guys
played both ways. In a moment of panic I tried to count, and
realized with surprise that there were a couple of cheerleaders
here, too. Naked, of course. 

Then Freschetti was in front of me, stripped of his jersey and
pants and pads, down to his - his jock strap or whatever that
thing was - his protective cup. 

"Hi," he greeted me softly. "What do you want?" 

I started to say "I made a promise," but then didn't. 

Instead I said, "I need to get this paint off. It is really
starting to itch. Can I shower with you guys?" 

One of the cheerleaders giggled. 

Needless to say, the cheerleaders and I were surrounded by naked
football players the moment we were in the showers. It was one
big, tiled room, of course, with shower heads spaced around the
walls flooding us all with steaming water. 

I didn't need to lift a finger. There were more willing hands
bathing me than there was space on me. It was the only time
anything more than a handful in the tit department would not have
gone to waste, but only because more than one hand was trying to
get a grip there, and they were big, strong, horny hands. 

What could I do but surrender to the situation? Soapy hands were
everywhere on me, lathering my hair, my neck, my throat, my back,
my arms, my breasts, my ass, my pussy, my thighs and legs, even
my face. I was turned and pushed, massaged and probed. I
abandoned my reservations, my inhibitions, my very soul, along
with my whole body, to the sensuous, sexual stimulation. 

My body paint went down the drain in a surreal swirl of scarlet
and gold. 

At some point I was swept off my feet, but I didn't fall,  dozens
of hands holding my arms, supporting my back, my ass, spreading
my legs. And a cock entered me - the first cock other than Carl's
to penetrate me, and I moaned, afraid, ashamed, aroused as I was
fucked right then and there, for all to see. 

It was Freschetti, of course. I could feel his dinky little dick,
and discovered that when it was aroused it was a respectable
size, and that he knew how to wield it to good effect. 

Like I'd said so long ago, when Carl had been doing his naked
week, it's not how much you have but how you use it that counts.

I was glad Freschetti was first. He'd earned it fairly. He was
bruised and battered, a cut on his cheek still oozing blood. 

I was a puppet, a toy, a sexual plaything. I was nothing more
than a receptacle for his cock, shower water pouring down on me,
sluicing away the last of the paint and soap as Freschetti fucked
me, quick and hard. I heard one of the cheerleaders wailing as
she, presumably, got the same treatment I was getting. I joined
in, turning her cries into a duet as I came, and I felt
Freschetti spraying my cunt with his cum before he withdrew. 

"Come one, let's get her out of here and on the table," someone
suggested, and I was swept out of the steaming shower room into
the cold, drafty locker room, then into another space that
smelled of liniment. 

"Cold!" I protested, and towels were roughly rubbing me down,
drying me, making my skin tingle. 

How strange that they'd be that considerate, I thought!

I was put on some sort of a table. I stared at the ceiling with
its fluorescent lights, deliberately not seeing the eager,
ravenous faces staring down at my naked, accessible body, aware
of the hands all over my bare flesh. Hands pinched and squeezed
my tits, stroked my thighs, my ribs, my legs. My legs where being
spread in a vee, and with no warning, another cock sank into my
already sodden cunt.

I tried to imagine it was Carl doing this to me; an attempt at
fidelity of a sort, I guess, but it didn't work. 

Someone turned my head, and a cock was presented to my mouth. I
willingly accepted it and sucked on it as he fucked my face. I
gagged a little at first, but soon learned to suppress that,
tasting this anonymous meat as it stroked my tongue, filled my
head with its musky scent. He didn't last long and I choked at
first, then managed to gulp his hot, salty cum down, even as some
spilled from my lips, drooling down my face. The cock in my cunt
spasmed and I felt hot semen filling me. Then that cock was gone
and another replaced it before I could twitch, and my mouth was
filled again as well, this cock shorter, fatter, wiry hairs
tickling my nose with every stroke. 

I was cumming, too, I think. It's hard to remember. I felt so
totally detached from it all. My mind just went somewhere else, I
guess, trying to escape. I wasn't hurting, or scared, I just
wasn't really there as they used my body for their pleasure. 

But the scary thing is, my body was enjoying it, and some of that
was spilling into my consciousness. My body was ablaze, reacting
with pure animal pleasure to this mating orgy. I was cumming,
endless waves of orgasmic pleasure bathing me until my muscles
were too exhausted to contract with their orgasmic pulsations and
just sort of relaxed into a flaccid state of happy acceptance. 

After uncounted cocks in my cunt I was empty for a moment, and
then my legs were pressed further up, folding me, and I felt
something poking at my asshole. I tried to summon some
resistance, but couldn't, and my body accepted, even seemed to
welcome the intrusion as my virgin ass was plundered, and a new
wave of perverted pleasure ravaged whatever conscience I had
left. 

My mouth accepted cock after cock, too, sucking down hot, salty
loads. I felt hot spatters on my naked tits and belly and
realized some of them must even be masturbating over me, spraying
me with their cum. 

I couldn't help thinking that I was going to need another shower,
and I would have giggled if my mouth hadn't been full of cock. As
it was it was all I could do to keep breathing. 

And somewhere, way back in the little corner of my mind that was
still sane, a voice kept asking, "What have I done? What have I
done? What have I done?" 

Eventually it ended, of course, and my mind returned from that
never-never land it had fled to, and I knew full well what I had
done, and that I had done it willingly. I was being helped off
the table, aware of aches and bruises, cum drying sticky on my
breasts and belly, oozing from my swamped pussy and ass, crusty
on my cheeks and around my mouth. My pussy felt raw, my rectum
ached and my throat was sore. 

"Come on, Beth, let's get you cleaned up." It was the
cheerleaders helping me. If I looked as used as they did I must
have been a real sight! 

"Thanks," I responded, grateful for their support, my legs
rubbery. 

I was aware of a few looks from football players pulling on their
clothes as we made our way from the train ring room through the
locker area to the showers. For a long time I just stood under
the hot spray, letting it steam the aches out of me as it sluiced
away the evidence of my debauchery. 

Eventually, with the help of the cheerleaders, I was reasonably
presentable. I'd even washed inside, courtesy of a nozzle on a
flexible hose, flushing about a gallon of cum from my tender
cunt. 

"Thanks, you guys," I said to the cheerleaders. "If it hadn't
been for you - well, I'm not sure I would have survived that!" 

One of them giggled. "It's our pleasure." 

"You guys are okay!" I told them, no longer seeing them as the
mindless bimbos I'd thought they were. 

"So are you, Beth," the non-giggly one said - Alice, her name
was, I remembered. "Any time you want to try out for the squad,
you're more than welcome." 

I was flattered. "Thanks, but I don't really think I have the
qualifications," I admitted as I stood before them, drying myself
off. 

Alice looked a little frustrated. "It takes something other than
big tits, you know!" 

"Oh! I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," I assured her hastily.

"Well, you can sure take it in the sex department," the other one
pointed out. 

"Thanks," I answered, blushing, "but it takes more than that,
too. Your routines are - well, they're more than I can handle,
all those lifts and flips and stuff! You guys are awesome!" 

They looked pleased. "Thanks!" 

The noise in the locker room had faded. "It sounds like the
animals have left," Alice observed. "Ready to go?" 

I shook my head. "You guys go ahead. I want to - well, I need to
settle my nerves a bit." 

I really was afraid of what I'd face when I left. What was Carl
thinking? And what about my family? 

I was left with only a dripping shower to keep me company.
Someone had left a comb by one of the sinks and I used it to sort
out my de-moussed hair. The dye job had survived, of course, so I
still had scarlet and gold stripes running from my forehead to
the nape of my neck. I was going to look pretty weird for the
next month or two while it grew out. 

"Finchy? Uh - I mean, Beth?" 

I froze at the sight of Freschetti in the doorway. He was
dressed. 

"You're okay," he told me. "You're aces with me!" 

I felt a little teary eyed at the change in him. Coming from him
that was high praise. "Thanks. You're okay, too, Freschetti." 

"Thanks." He gave me little wave, and disappeared, and I went
back to untangling my hair, and my feelings. 

"Hi!" 

I froze at the sound of Carl's voice, then resumed combing my
hair. "Hi," I said softly, my heart beating fast, conscious of my
unpainted nudity, noticing how my raised arms lifted my shy
breasts. There were shadowy bruises on their soft whiteness and
my nipples were tender, inflamed. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, moving closer, but still holding back.

I nodded, not meeting his eyes in the mirror. "Yeah." 

Then I couldn't take it any longer and turned to him and
practically threw myself at him, clinging to him, burying my
cheek against his chest, hearing the thump-thump thump-thump of
his heart. For a moment my own heart stopped as he hesitated,
then his arms went around me, wrapping my naked body up against
him, squeezing me tight, tight, tight! 

For a long time we just clung to each other, his hands stroking
my naked back as I savored his strength, immersing myself in the
scent of him, the feel of his body against mine, the sound of his
heartbeat. 

"Now you can say it," I said softly, my heart fluttering. "Now
you can say it." 

Did he know what I meant? I held my breath. 

"I love you," he said softly. 

He knew what I meant! I felt ashamed for ever doubting him. 

"I love you, Beth Finch," he said, kissing the top of my head as
he cuddled me. "I love you, I love you, I love you." 

I blinked back tears of joy and relief as I squeezed him tighter
than ever. Even after all this he could say it, and I could tell
that he meant it. 

"I love you, too. But right now I'm too tired and sore to prove
to you how much." 

He chuckled, and gave me a squeeze, and we kissed tenderly. "We
have plenty of time to show each other that later," he assured
me. "Now, let's get you home." 

Arms around each other we pushed out into the late afternoon
sunlight, my bare body as close against his clothed one as I
could get. 

"Will you come to church with me tomorrow?" I asked. "I - I'll be
naked." 

He gave me a squeeze. "What time should I get there?" 

I gave him a squeeze back. "Come to my house about 8:30. And
could you wear your jacket and tie?" 

"Of course." 


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