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Subject: {ASSM} The Slumber Party
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Date: Tue, 12 Nov 2013 08:10:06 -0500
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The Slumber Party

by Ann


Friday night on a quiet suburban street. A black Volvo slowly
pulls up to park in front of a big white house. Out of the car
emerges the bookish beauty, Ann Berrybush. She looks around
nervously, but her furtive glances reveal the street to be
deserted. She takes a deep breath, and then dashes up the walk,
scurrying to the front door. There is frantic knocking. For some
reason, she is wearing a raincoat, even though the sky is clear.
She is also barefoot.

Alas, her arrival does not go unnoticed. Two teenage boys fall
off their skateboards upon catching sight of the source of the
loud rapping coming from across the street. "Look, it's that
snooty teacher chick!" one of them says.

The door opens. It is Amy, Ann's nemesis from her baby-sitting
days, but now a grown woman, so even more intimidating for the
shy intellectual. "So, you're finally here!" she said, petulant
as always.

"I did the best I could," Ann said, slipping past Amy so as to
get inside as soon as possible. "It wasn't easy, getting ready. I
mean, oh God, let's get this over with!"

"It's over when I say it's over!" Amy snapped. She gave Ann the
once over. "Stand up straight!" Ann stood ramrod-straight in her
beige raincoat, as Amy inspected her. It was as if Amy wanted her
to slow things down, to prolong the moment, so that the shame of
being barefoot in the home of one of her students could sink in
and slowly eat away her composure. Little by little her
self-possession was corroded, especially when she tried to look
at her feet and Amy barked "Eyes front!" Ann had wanted to see if
her feet were dirty, just in case she needed to apologize for
tracking dirt on Amy's carpet.

Amy tried to look down the front of Ann's raincoat, but it was
belted and buttoned too

fastidiously for even a glimpse of cleavage. Eyeing Ann
suspiciously, she asked, "Are

you properly dressed for the occasion."

"Yes, I followed the instructions on the invitation," Ann said.
"To the letter. Those photos you have of me...have insured my
complete compliance."

Amy smiled. "I didn't think you would come."

"It is only under protest, that I attend your daughter's slumber
party."

"What are you saying?" Amy asked, unbuttoning the topmost button
of Ann's raincoat. "Don't you like Amber?"

"I do. I like all my students. But it is simply inappropriate for
a teacher to socialize with one of her pupils."

Amy undid the second button. "You don't know how close you came
to the entire School Board seeing you wearing only a diaper. I
was about to address the envelopes."

Ann winced. Those photos! The terrible legacy of her losing
control of her charges, back in her baby-sitting days. She had
been only 17 at the time, but still, if those photos were made
public, there was no doubt that her teaching career would be
over. "I'll grant you that I'm late. I took it slow, for I did
not want to be stopped by the police dressed like this."

"Let's see how you are dressed. Lean forward." Amy peered down
the front of the coat, causing the demure teacher's to redden --
and Amy's eyes to light up at the vistas before her. "Shame on
you, Miss Berrybush! I think you will agree that the way you are
dressed

hardly befits your stature as a teacher."

Wracked by shame, Ann could not speak.

Amy turned away and shouted, "Amber, the entertainment has
arrived!"

"Send her down!" came the girlish voice from below.

Ann shot Amy a pleading glance.

"Come on, cheer up! Look on the bright side," said Amy as she
guided Ann toward the basement. "All teachers dream of a student
who will knock her socks off. Thanks to my daughter, you have
such a student -- and it's not only your stockings that get
knocked off in her presence, but your slip and panties as well."

"From now on I shall be more careful what I wish for," said Ann
ruefully.

"Whatever."

Her heart thumping, Ann walked alone down the stairs, with one
hand on the railing, the other atop her chest, holding the flap
of her coat tightly shut. The room into which she descended made
her eyes water, it was so brightly lit. Alighting on the bottom
step, she halted to allow her eyes to adjust to the harsh light.
Soon she could see that she was in a wood-paneled family
recreation room, with a pool table and bar, seated at which,
sipping Diet Cokes, were the notorious '7 Sisters': Amber and
Brandi, of course, and also Ashley, and Heather, plus Tiffany I,
II, and III. They were all in jeans and T-shirts.

"What's SHE doing here?" asked Ashley, coughing up her Coke.

"Oh no, she must have forgotten to assign us all the homework,
and now she's tracking us down!" said Heather, her voice
quavering with fear.

"Bloodhound! Bloodhound! Don't you ever let up?" said Brandi.

"Relax girls," said Amber. "Behold our guest of honor: our prim
and proper teacher!"

"How could you invite HER?" Tiffany the First whispered, loud
enough for Ann to hear. "Our party is RUINED."

'Au contraire, she'll be the life of the party, you'll see!"
Amber leapt off the bar stool and skipped over to Ann, who stood
in the center of the room with her arms to the side. "It was
Mom's idea, to invite her. Miss Berrybush, allow me to take your
coat. Brandi, could you give me a hand?"

"I'd thought you'd never ask!" giggled Brandi.

After undoing all the buttons, the two girls stepped behind her.

"OK, on the count of three. One, two...three!" Each pulled the
coat off Ann's shoulders

by grabbing an epaulet. Its front fell open, revealing a Burberry
plaid lining, The bulky coat slid slowly down her arms and
crumpled onto to the floor behind her bare feet.

"Omigosh!" cried Ashley, Heather, and the Tiffanies in unison as
they burst into laughter.

"Yes my friends, behold our distinguished teacher. I informed her
that our party wasn't formal, but I think she might have gone a
little too far in the other extreme."

"Shame on you, Miss Berrybush!" all the girls screeched.

Ann closed her eyes as the humiliation swept through her. She had
no need to look down to see what was making her students so
giddy. She knew exactly what she had been wearing under her
raincoat. White cotton underpants, so proper as to be poignant,
the way they rose up all the way to her navel, as if yearning for
propriety, for a decorum which, by their very nature as an
article of underwear, would forever be denied to them.
Accompanying her dignity-striving but pathos-inducing panties was
a matching white floral lace bra, in nylon. Miss Berrybush's bra
was as voluminous as her panties, yet unlike her underpants its
spaciousness was dictated by necessity, not modesty, for even
with reams of fabric the teacher's breasts were barely covered.
And that was it. For that was what the invitation had demanded.
The invitation she had received along with the Polaroid of her
17-year-old-self laid out of the floor and clad only in a puffy
white diaper.

Now she felt the sharp sting of her students' laughter as she
stood before them in her oh-so-proper bra and panties. In fact,
all three Tiffanies were on the floor, so overcome with hilarity
by the revelation that their teacher's sense of propriety
extended all the way down to her underwear, yet at the same time
-- somehow -- this same teacher had let herself be talked into
arriving at a teenage girl's slumber party wearing only her
prudish undergarments. Though Tiffany II -- the most sensitive of
the three Tiffanies -- saw sheer pathos in this plaintive
reaching out for decorum where none was to be had, so the sight
of her teacher pulled at her heartstrings even as it tickled her
funnybone.

"How funny she looks!" screeched Heather, who had jumped off her
stool and was

doing a little jig -- one of the cheerleading moves that she was
always practicing -- as she pointed at her once-feared teacher,
who was now trying to cover her underwear with her hands. But all
the girls felt like dancing, for when your teacher is wearing
only her underwear, ANYTHING seems possible; in fact, one becomes
positively drunk with possibility. This would be one party where
intoxicants were superfluous, thanks to the presence of a
bra-and-pantied Ann Berrybush.

"Tee hee! Look! Cotton panties!!" said Brandi.

"This is great!" said Ashley, standing up and rubbing her hands
together to help discharge the overwhelming excitement. "Amber, I
know you've told us of the funny things you and Brandi have done
to Miss Berrybush, but to be honest, I thought you were
exaggerating."

"This is nothing!" said Amber. "You should hear about how funny
my mom used to make her look. Miss Berrybush was her baby-sitter,
you know. She has tons of stories about the pranks they did to
her." She began a litany of Ann's baby-sitting humiliations, as
Ann stood there, red-faced, her humiliation enhanced by the way
that the girls talked among themselves, ignoring her, as if she
were a mere ornament, a living mannequin. "I feel so humiliated,"
she thought. "If only I could become a tiny, pea-sized person
right now and slip through one of the cracks in the linoleum. Oh,
what a poor role model I am for these little urchins! But then
again, just because I'm not dressed in a fashion commensurate
with my intellect, it is surely illogical to assume that my IQ
has suddenly dropped 100 points, merely because I happen to be my
underwear. I can still be their teacher, no matter what I'm
wearing -- or not wearing. Best then to ignore their laughter and
jibes and attempt to carry on rational discourse, to remind them
that, despite appearances, the rules of civilization still
apply."

So, over the chatter of the girls, Ann said, "Young ladies, could
one of you hang up my coat for me please? It's a Burberry you
know, very expensive."

The room feel silent. Amber looked at her in surprise. "Where are
your priorities?" she asked. "You are standing before us in just
your UNDERWEAR, and thanks to the photos my mom has of you, we
can do anything we want to you. And yet your only concern is that
your raincoat might get dirty! Are you really that shallow?"

More gales of laughter, stirring up a fresh wave of shame that
blazed through her body. "Amber, you may have me at a
disadvantage, but I am still your guest, so I expect all the
rules of party etiquette to be observed."

Realizing that she must this challenge to her authority must be
nipped in the bud, Amber said, "Brandi, please take care of
Berrybush's Burberry." Amber's best friend scooped up the puddled
garment and compressed it into a ball. Ann reached out and
grabbed the coat.

"No, you'll wrinkle it!"

The two began to tug it back and forth. Tiny tearing sounds could
soon be heard.
"No you don't, Brandi," Ann scolded. "I need this coat to drive
home."

"You will drive home in your underwear," announced Amber. "If
you're lucky."

Brandi yanked the coat away and ran up the stairs. Ann was
tempted to follow her, but dreaded encountering Amy dressed like
this. Recalling the course she took in teaching college, 'The
Psychology of Pranksters,' she reasoned that if she did not give
chase, then Brandi would tire of her game with the coat. Best
then to bite her lip and do nothing. Let the girls have their
fun. Be a good sport and all that. After all, they have now all
seen her in her underwear, so the worst was over.

Brandi returned, now empty handed. "Don't worry, your coat's
outside. We will play 'hide and seek' with it later."

"I hope you found a great hiding place," Amber laughed. "It will
be funny to watch Miss Berrybush in a berry bush, searching for
her coat, her pantied bottom sticking out and catching the
moonlight."

Brandi could not contain her excitement. "I put it the dog
house," she said. "Daisy's on top of it right now. Miss Berrybush
might manage to get it back, but I wouldn't be surprised if she
lost her bra and panties in the process."

"Yes, Daisy has taken to tearing off Miss Berrybush's clothes
like a duck to water. Her training in this area has surpassed my
wildest expectations. But Brandi, you've just spilled the beans!
So much for hide and seek. We will have to find some other funny
games to play with our teacher."

"How about 'State capitols!'" the teacher said hopefully.

Ignoring her, Amber walked over to Ann and with both hands
reached down toward the front waistband of her panties.

"Young lady, you're invading my personal space," Ann reminded
her, as she put up hands, blocking any further approach.

"Miss Berrybush, you have two choices: resist, and Brandi and I
will catfight you. If that happens, you will lose your bra and
panties in about two seconds. Or, you can stand still

with your arms to the side and let us play our funny games. The
choice is yours."

The situation facing Miss Berrybush was a grim one indeed. She
knew that if she tried to fight back, she would soon end up
stripped naked. On the other hand, the shame of standing there in
her underwear while the girls played with her as if she were a
life-sized doll, would be unbearable. Nevertheless, the latter
course -- cooperation -- could end up teaching the girls a
valuable lesson, for if she were keep her head about her and
impress the girls with her intellect, then she would demonstrate
to them that it was not appearances that matter when evaluating a
fellow human being, but the degree to which she or he lives up to
the shining standards of rationality. Yes, she would turn this
embarrassing situation into something positive by using it a
teaching tool, so that the girls will emerge from this slumber
party with a reverence for reason and a disdain for those who
judge others merely on the basis of appearances -- a pedagogic
triumph that any teacher would give up her cache of chalk in
order to experience!

Ann dropped her arms to her sides. Immediately Amber reached down
with both hands and grabbed the front waistband of Ann's panties.
Slowly she pulled the elastic toward her, causing Ann to feel a
draft all the way down her lower abdomen. Ann's fingers curled,
poised to wring Amber's neck, as she and Amber's eyes met.
Amber's eyes had a look of defiance, as if daring Ann to resist.
But instead of pushing Amber away, the underwear-clad teacher
clasped her hands behind her back. After shooting Ann a
triumphant glance, Amber peered down into the gap between Ann's
stretched out underpants and her body.

"Look Brandi! And Ashley and Heather and the Tiffanies. Look down
here. What word comes to mind?"

All the girls rushed forward to gaze down their teacher's
panties.

"Hairybush! Hairybush! Our teacher is Miss Hairybush!" screeched
Brandi, while Ashley and Heather pretended to vomit down the
front of the pulled-out panties.

"You are all very ill-mannered young women! And could one of you
please inform me: what game is this?" Ann asked, truly curious.

"Brandi, get a ruler. No, a yardstick. We are going to see how
far your underpants will stretch," Amber proposed.

"No, we should stretch them in the rear. And instead of pulling
them away from her, we should pull them UP," suggested Ashley.

"Maybe we could break the record for the world's longest wedgie!"
said Heather.

"Yes, we could use the stairs. There are seven of us, so we could
stand on every other step. Miss Berrybush will stand on the
bottom-most step, with her back to us. The one closest to her
will pull up her panty waistband, stretching it until she can
hand it over to the next person, farther up the stairs. The first
"relay wedgie," with the top of the stairs as the finish line!"
said Ashley.

"Cool!" chimed the Tiffanies.

"When we finish. I'll call my mom, for she will want to see how
funny Ann looks, with the waistband of her underpants extending
all the way up the stairs," said Amber.

"But don't you think they'll rip before they get that high?"
inquired Ann.

"But that's the beauty of it, why it's a game," explained Amber.
"Just as in a relay race, the runner who drops the baton is
disqualified, so whoever who tears your panties before handing
them off to the next person up the stairs -- will be penalized."

"How?" asked Brandi.

"Whoever does the ripping, won't be allowed to see the funny
pictures my mom has of Miss Berrybush when she was young!"

Recoiling from that prospect, Ann took a great step back from the
girls. The sudden move caused her panty waistband to slip from
Amber's hands and snap back painfully against Ann's tummy.

"Ouch! That does it! I'm leaving!" Ann said, utterly disgusted.
"Our agreement was, if I were to come to your party dressed like
this, then your mom would burn the photos, without anyone else
seeing them. If you are going to renege, the deal's off!"

"Then your underwear's off! Girls, GET HER!"

The girls charged. The basement reverberated with the clamor of
battle, with screams and curses, as fists, elbows, and kicks flew
in all directions. Taking advantage of the uncoordinated nature
of the schoolgirls' attack, the much taller teacher reached down
and grabbed the battlefield's berserker -- Brandi -- by the
wrists, and then, by swinging her around and around, she swatted
the other girls to away. Six of the Seven Sisters tumbled upon
the plush carpet, and when they quickly rose to their feet they
were knocked down again like pins in a bowling alley as Ann let
go of Brandi and sent her hurling in their direction. Ann started
to dash toward their stairs, but on came the second wave. This
time it was as coordinated as a Greek phalanx. As the Tiffanies
blocked the stairs, Heather and Ashley went for the panty elastic
crossing just above each hip, causing Ann to bring down her arms
to defend her right and left flank, which in turn created an
opening in Ann's rear that Amber immediately exploited by jumping
up and popping open Ann's bra.

Her loosened bra whipping back and forth across her back, Ann
counter-attacked, elbowing and kicking her way out of her
encirclement. Bypassing the steps, she tried to get on the stairs
by grabbing the railing from the side and pulling herself over
it. As she reached up, grabbed the banister, and began to hoist
herself, for an instant it seemed like she would make it, that
she would escape with only minor damage: her bra undone in the
back and her underpants still intact, only pulled down slightly
to reveal the topmost parting of her tremulous globes of flesh.
Now atop the banister, she flipped her right leg over -- kicking
back one of the Tiffanies in the process -- and was about to
bring over her left leg and alight on the stairs, when Brandi,
jumping up from the basement floor alongside the stairway,
grabbed her ankle, arresting her so that she straddled the
railing. Amber, bounding up the stairs, grabbed her other ankle,
leaving Ann one third of the way up the stairs in her underwear,
athwart the banister, with her legs spread apart by two of her
students. Leaning forward, she grabbed the banister like a rope,
and by putting one hand top the other, in iterative fashion, she
hoped should could pull herself up the stairs, despite the two
girls clinging to her feet. Stretched along the railing,
shivering at the feel of the smooth wood against her chin and
neck, wood that parting her bra-covered cleavage and tickled her
tummy before running down the front of her panties to part her
thighs, she wiggled her way upwards, but every time she pulled
herself forward, those two ragamuffins Amber & Brandi jerked her
back. "Oh no, not again!" she thought, recalling with a cringe
the last time she had ridden up and down a railing against her
will, the 'Chinese Handcuffs Incident' from her baby-sitting days
[see 'The Misadventures of Ann the Babysitter' by Tommy
Effenheimer].

Back and forth Ann jerked, her pantied crotch rubbing against the
banister, its pristine white cotton fraying from the friction.
Attempting to crawl up for the umpteenth time, Ann happened to
look down and back and felt a surge of shame upon discovering
that the front of her panties was now so threadbare that tufts of
dark pubic hair were peeking out through the loosened cotton
weave. Seized by an overwhelming desire to conceal her torn
underwear, she let go of the railing to bring her hands down her
pubic area, which was now framed -- rather than concealed -- by
her panties, but before she could cover herself she slid back,
down the railing, faster and faster -- for she had failed to take
into account the slipperiness of her panty crotch, which was all
juiced up thanks to the relentless impress of the banister
between her legs and of the similarly piercing shame between her
ears. So crushing was her feeling of disgrace that it was as if
the walls were closing in on her, immobilizing her, hemming her
in on all sides, a pressure cooker melting her down, reducing her
power of agency until it amounted to nothing more than the
ability to secrete a few dribbles down her thighs -- yet at the
same times that little trickle gave her the greatest possible
pleasure, as if it were liquid gold that was spurting out of her.
Her panties sheared by the hardness of the wood, her mind seared
by the disgrace of her predicament, Ann was on the verge of
orgasm -- big time, so close that she could feel the ululations
of ecstasy tickling her throat as if they were already lined up
in her larynx, primed to burst forth like the rat-tat-tat of a
machine gun, awaiting only the pull of the trigger. But her duty
as a teacher demanded that the trigger must not be pulled, that
she fight this swelling pleasure with all her might. And restrain
herself she did, rather than abandon herself to her bestial
impulses in front of her students. She might have triumphed had
not the girls pulled her to the bottom of the banister, whereupon
Brandi came up from behind and spied a tiny hole near the top of
Ann's underpants, just below the waistband, a small tear caused
by the teacher's obsessive hitching up of her elastic to maximize
the coverage that her panties provided. Now Ann's inordinate
modesty would prove her undoing, for, just as the tongue cannot
resist probing a lose tooth, Brandi, drawn to this chink in her
teacher's armor as Ann lay before her, thrust her forefinger into
the aperture in the white cotton expanse, crooked her finger to
form a hook, and, holding up Ann's waistband with her other hand,
pulled her inserted finger downward. The cotton seat of Ann's
panties parted from the waistband like the shower curtain ripping
downward in the film 'Psycho,' unveiling Ann's bare bottom in all
its plump but taut glory. The sound of the tear -- followed by
the rush of air across her now-naked derriere -- caused the
anguished teacher to scream with ecstasy and thrash about, now
totally unhinged by sexual climax. Then, swooning, she tipped
over, falling from her perch on the banister and crumpling into a
heap on the floor.

Over Ann's low moaning roared a voice from the top of the stairs.
"What's coming off down there?" yelled Amy.

"Nothing, mom. Miss Berrybush just lost the seat of her panties!"
reassured Amy.

"Shame on you, Miss Berrybush!" Amy scolded. "Girls, be sure to
play nice. Run along to the other side of the room and give your
teacher a chance to collect herself. Meanwhile, why don't you
think up a new game."

Amber's brow furrowed. "Like what?"

"I don't know -- maybe 'pin the panty shred on the teacher.' Like
'pin the tail on the donkey,' only your job is to sew Miss
Berrybush's panties back together. While blindfolded."

"Great. Tiffany I and II, help our teacher to her feet and lead
her over there, so she stands facing the corner. Brandi, we need
a blindfold."

"Her bra should do the trick," said Brandi. As Ann rose onto her
tottering feet, Brandi obliterated her dignity further by
reaching over and slipping her unfastened bra off her shoulders.

Regaining consciousness, Ann instinctively crossed her arms over
her suddenly bare chest, assigning to each hand the job that her
bra-cups had just abdicated. It helped that she was leaning
forward against the wall, so at least the girls won't be trying
to sneak a peak of her boobs through her splayed fingers. True,
the rear of her panties had been torn away, but she could hear
talk of a needle and thread, so it sounded like the girls were
sorry about what happened and were trying to make amends. Best of
all, thanks to her facing the wall, no one could see the tattered
front of her panties. Ann winced as she looked down. Though her
waistband was still intact, things went rapidly downhill as one
went south. Where once opacity ruled, there was now the emblem of
her sex in all its ignominy, spanned by only a thread or two of
white cotton, a few pathetic strands of coverage that left
nothing to the imagination. It made her shudder, to think that
her students might see her like this. By hook or by crook, she
must find a way to stay facing the wall until this wild and
uncivilized slumber party was over! Maybe the sight of her
standing here against the wall, bare-assed in her torn panties,
would be entertainment enough for the girls, and they would leave
her alone.

But here came Heather, blindfolded with what looked like her
missing bra, zigzagging toward her with a sewing needle extended.
Faced the prospect of being pricked in her still-bare derriere,
or her turning around to protest and thereby increasing the
likelihood of her students seeing what showed through the front
of her ripped panties and thus possibly inflicting emotional
damage on the innocent children, Ann tried a third option:
reaching back, she grabbed the panty flap draping the rear of her
thighs, flipped it upward, and tucked it under her waistband,
thereby re-attaching the seat of her panties to the elastic
without recourse to a needle and thread (having had her underwear
torn many times throughout her high school and college years, Ann
was an old hand at this trick). Then she stepped to the side,
just in time for Heather to poke the wood-paneled wall.

"Did I get her?" Heather asked, lifting up her bra-blindfold.

"Not quite," said a disappointed Amber. "Miss Berrybush, you
cheated! You weren't supposed to move!"

"Girls, I have had just about enough of your mindless,
inexhaustible, endlessly repetitive assaults on my dignity!"
proclaimed Ann.

"Party-pooper! Party-pooper!" screamed Brandi.

"It's not my job to be liked," Ann reminded them as she continued
to face the wall. "It's my job to help you be smart."

"Well, at least we're not always ending up in our underwear.
Despite all your brain power, I don't see you overcoming your
tendency towards scant clothing," Amber shot back.

"Look at her, pressing herself against the wall. What is it
between her and wood, anyway?" Brandi remarked.

"Mom says that she once saw Miss Berrybush with her legs wrapped
around a tree and --"

"Amber! I will have you know, that I have had a little, a little
accident, up front, and therefore I need to go somewhere private
and repair things."

"Only if you win the next game. Girls, are the chairs set up?"

"You bet!" the 3 Tiffanies chimed.

Ann looked over her shoulder and saw 6 metal chairs in the a
circle. On the bar was a boom box. "Oh no, not musical chairs!"
she thought. "Maybe they want me to control the music, given my
classical music training. Let's hope so."

"Mom!" Amber screamed. "Could you get down here and run the
music, so we can all play musical chairs." Amy was down the
stairs in a flash. She giggled at the sight of the once-proud
teacher reduced to a pair of torn panties.

"What did you say, my dear?" Amy asked her daughter.

"We need you to umpire a party game."

"What game is that? 'Shred the teacher's panties'?"

"No, musical chairs. Come on Mom, stop fooling around and let's
get going. Miss Berrybush, if you don't play, you can't win, and
if you don't win, we'll never give you moment's peace to make
your repairs."

After placing her right hand over the front of her panties and
her left over her boobs, Ann took a deep breath, then swung
around, facing the girls for the first time since she fell off
the banister. Once again laughter shook the room as she scurried
over to join the circle of girls concentric to the circle of
chairs. Amber signaled her mom, and the music began. The girls --
along with their teacher -- began to march in a circle. Ann
winced when she immediately recognized the stately second
movement from Beethoven's 7th Symphony.

It was almost as if Beethoven himself was watching her make a
complete spectacle of herself. "The Leonard Bernstein recording,"
she thought. "From late in his career. God, he really takes it
slow. Come up Lenny, pick up the tempo, it's not a funeral
march!" Even worse than the too-slowing pacing was that fact that
this piece always reminded her of the time she lost her skirt at
the outdoor concert. Nevertheless, since it was a composition
with which she was quite familiar, she had a great advantage over
the children, for unlike them she knew where in the score
Beethoven had written in the rests; as a result, whenever the
music stopped -- as it did frequently -- Ann knew better than
waste her energy diving for the seat, given that the music would
almost immediately start up again. So when Amy finally did
interrupt the music, she was primed to pounce. The only problem
was that Brandi, who marched in front of her, would on occasion
spin around and, marching backward now, try to slap Ann's hands
away from the body parts they were clasping. But by grasping
herself tightly Ann managed to preserve her modesty, what little
of it remained.

Brandi had just turned her back toward Ann again when the music
suddenly halted. Ann

threw herself bottom first toward the closest seat, with Brandi &
Amber's rear ends converging on the same chair. All three were
hip to hip, trying to squeeze into the seat simultaneously. The
crush of Brandi to her right and Amber to her left caused Ann to
pop upward like a cork -- yet the friction of the panties against
the two girls' jeans arrested their ascent, preventing the
threadbare unmentionables from rising along with their owner. So
adamantly did her two students wedge themselves between Ann and
the chair -- between Ann on the one side of the wedge and her
panties & the chair together on the other side -- that Ann,
thrust upward, burst completely through the front of her
underpants and, falling forward, landed face down on the floor,
stark naked, as the whole room exploded in cheers and laughter.
The mortified teacher tried to crawl away, but the shame of it
all sent a new orgasm sweeping across her body like a prairie
fire. The pleasure was so overwhelming that she began a great
swan-dive into unconsciousness bliss. First her hands and knees
went all wobbly, preventing her escape. Then her face hit the
floor, yet, since she was still on her knees, her bottom stayed
upthrust. Much to the amusement of the group, she passed out in
that position.

The next thing she knew Ann found herself slumped on a chair, the
room now in darkness, save for a spotlight shining upon her.
Slowly her eyes adjusted to the blinding light, allowing her to
detect the Seven Sisters and Amy, all seated before her, like a
theatre audience. For a blissful few seconds Ann forgot she was
naked, but then it all came back to her, and she recoiled with
shame, bringing up her legs and pressing her thighs tightly
together and wrapping her arms round her knees.

"Just one more game," said Amy. If you win, I'll help you get
dressed and you will be free to go. Will you play?"

"It appears that I have nothing left you can take from me. The
only thing I have left is my reason, and you can't touch that, no
matter what you do to me."

"Whatever," said Amy. "If you are as incorrigibly rational, as
deeply logocentric as you claim, then you should be able to
follow a few simple rules --"

"Reason is not just about following rules. That's a common
misconception. It is also about knowing when to seek the
exception to the rule."

"Spoken like a true teacher, waving the banner of education to
the bitter end. Even naked, you can't resist lecturing us about
reason. Well, the rational thing for you to do is to cooperate
with us and play this one last game."

"I see. My predicament is akin to Pascal's, when he made his
Wager about God. I have nothing left to lose, and everything to
gain."

"Whatever."

"I'm in."

"Good. The game is called 'Poor Pussy.'"

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Just listen, damn you! You will designated 'Poor Pussy.' The
rest of us will sit on the floor around you. You kneel in front
of the first player and meow three times:

'Meow-meow-meow.' The player before whom you kneel must stroke
your head, saying, without smiling, "Poor Pussy, poor pussy, poor
poor pussy." You must try to make the player laugh in every way
you can, by expression, by voice, by action, etc. If the player
smiles, you win, but if she can resist smiling despite all your
efforts, then you must pass on to the next player. The game
continues with the same Pussy, until someone is forced to laugh."

Ann's face lit up. "Gee, they have been laughing at me, nonstop,
all evening. It should be the easiest thing in the world, to make
one of them laugh now," she thought, giddy at the prospect of
finally escaping Amy & Amber's crazed funhouse.

Ann climbed down from her chair and kneeled on the floor, her
hands assuming the canonical position over her breasts and loins.
Her nemeses approached en masse and sat around her, with Amber
facing Ann.

"Amber you might as well go first. Ann?"

"Meow -- Meow -- Meow" was said so half-heartedly that a smidgen
of a smile lapped the edges of Amber's mouth like ripples on the
shores of a lake.

"Piece of cake," Ann thought, staring into Amber's eyes. "She's
always saying how funny I look. For once, the ridiculousness of
my appearance will redound to my benefit!"

It was time for Amber to pet Ann's head and say, "Poor pussy."
But just then Amy interrupted the proceedings. "I was just
thinking of all the fun I had with Ann when we were young. Like
the time when, as a girl, my mom hired her to help clear out our
attic. She wore these cute little overalls. Well, it was not long
before my brothers and I had cut her straps and stole those
overalls, forcing her to finish the job in just her white T-shirt
and cute little flowered underpants."

Ann blushed. "Amy, this is hardly the time to go into all that.
On with the game!"

"She was a great camp counselor, too. Just before the first night
we stole her pajamas,

so she had to sleep from then on in her underwear. From that day
forth, as soon as she fell asleep, we would sneak in and roll her
bed out the door and push it to the boy's end of the camp, so she
would always wake up to find herself in a public place wearing
only her underwear."

"Yes, well, that's ancient history. Come on, the game's afoot!"

"Oh, we had so much fun with her when she was in high school. Not
just when she was baby-sitting for us, either. Though I was only
10, my brothers and I would drop in on her while she was changing
classes. It used to drive us crazy, how everything she wore
matched, so we tried to get her to loosen up a little -- by
loosening her waistbands and bra-straps, undoing a zipper here
and a snap there, to be precise. Oh how we loved embarrassing her
in front of her friends. So many happy memories. Making sure her
hotel room had a two-way mirror, during the field trip to
Washington DC. Wrapping her naked body in cellophane, backstage
at the senior talent show, just before the curtain rose. Ruining
her college interview by loosening the seams of her navy suit.
Arranging it so that she received her high school diploma while
stark naked under her gown -- and then off course depriving her
of the aforementioned gown, right at center stage. Always, she
struggled to maintain her dignity under the most trying
circumstances."

"I wanna play 'Poor Pussy'!" Ann whined, jumping up and down.

"She begged us to 'Give me my dignity,' but did we listen? No, it
was just too much fun.

Better than any drug. The sight of Ann in one of her nice ruffled
blouses, tucked into her white underpants, is something I will
never tire of. Total exhilaration. So after college, when she
moved back to our community, I made sure she continued her ascent
of the Everest of Shame, now as a teacher. I made sure her
classroom was well stocked with magnets to tear away her zippers,
hooks to catch her hems and buttons, acid to dissolve away the
seat of her skirt and slip, glue to rip away whatever was left of
her outer clothes, itching powder to put in her pantyhose, and
power suction devices to tear off her underwear. And of course
video cameras to record it all. But the greatest weapon in my
arsenal, with which I fight my permanent revolution against
decorum, my endless war against Ann's dignity, is Amber, my
daughter, whom I adopted for the sole purpose of continuing the
tradition I begun back in your baby-sitting days. In fact, your
humiliations have barely begun."

Crushed like a grape by that revelation, Ann burst into tears,
weeping so profusely that it was impossible to laugh at her, or
even smile. She was such a pathetic sight that all the girls took
were able to take turns saying 'Poor pussy' to her, without any
of them even coming close to a smile. In fact, Tiffany II started
crying along with her teacher. By the time Ann stopped being
lachrymose, the game was over, and she had lost. She was not
going anywhere.

Amy gave Ann a devilish grin, her eyes flashing with the same
evil glint that Ann had known since Amy was a 10-year-old.
"Tricked ya!" she whispered.

"You mean you won't let me get dressed and leave?" Ann asked,
wiping away a tear.

"No. The night's young. The girls will need more wholesome
entertainment from their noble teacher. If this were a Western,
right now the camera would pull back until we see you from an
aerial shot, a lone speck, stranded in Shame Valley."

"You mean 'Death Valley,'" Ann corrected her, pedantic to the
end.

"Whatever."




The End

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