JUST LIKE OLD TIMES  

                              by 

                           Joe Doe


THE WIFE OF A UNITED STATES SENATOR RECEIVES AN UNWELCOME REMINDER 
OF A BOGUS "POSTURE STUDY" SHE PARTICIPATED IN YEARS AGO. 



Susan was not having a good day.  Her husband, Tom, was running for 
re-election to the Senate on a platform of "morale responsibility, 
morale management, and just plain old morals!"  It was an 
excruciatingly close race, but his relentless attacks on his 
opponent's character had finally narrowed the gap. 

It was definitely a bad time for Susan to be receiving nude 
photographs of herself in the mail. 

"THESE PICTURES WILL MAKE FABULOUS POSTERS, DON'T YOU THINK?  EVERY 
FRAT HOUSE IN THE STATE WILL HAVE ONE."   

The note wasn't signed, but she immediately jumped into her Porsche 
and drove back to her Alma Mater. 

Susan's Ivy League scholarship had enabled her to escape crushing 
poverty and become the first member of her family to attend 
college.  It was only after she arrived that she found out that 
the terms of her scholarship required her to participate in a 
bogus "posture study" conducted by Coach Karl Letch. 

She blushed as she remembered the way the grinning instructor had 
slowly stripped her out of the clothes her parents had scrimped 
and saved to pay for.  At 18, she had been shy and awkward, but 
undeniably beautiful.  The coach had stripped her methodically, 
relishing his power and her tearful pleas as garment after garment 
fell casually to the floor. 

She had stupidly admitted to the coach that she had never had a 
pelvic exam, which gave him a free hand in every sense of the word. 
Her hour-long exam had been detailed, intimate, and pornographic.   

And then Coach Letch had produced his camera....   

The photo session started out with "mug shots" of Susan facing 
front, side, and back.  But then she was ordered to squat, to 
bend over and put her palms flat on the floor, to get up on the 
coach's desk on all fours....  

After all these years, she still trembled slightly when flashbulbs 
went off.  The press assumed she was camera shy, but the real 
reason for her skittishness would make a far juicier story. 

The photo session had been long and degrading, and he had 
photographed her from every angle.  By the time the leering 
coach had finally unzipped his pants and ordered the flustered 
coed to her knees, she was too dazed to resist....

		**************************** 

Susan straightened her crisp blue jacket and checked her reflection 
in a window near the coach's office.  The frightened student was 
long gone, and a successful and self-confident woman had taken her 
place. 

Her entire life had been a struggle up the ladder, and she had 
finally arrived.  She had put herself through college and law 
school, eventually meeting and marrying a man whom many thought 
would be President one day.  She had, meanwhile, shed the 
awkwardness of her youth through sheer force of will and had 
used intelligence and hard work to transform herself into an 
entirely new person. 

As always, Susan's appearance was immaculate.  The confident and 
well-educated woman who stared back at her could handle any 
situation, and seeing her reflection restored her confidence.  
Her intelligence and experience allowed her to defuse any crisis, 
and this situation would be no different.   

She knocked confidently on the door and, without waiting for an 
answer, strode defiantly into the coach's office. 

The coach didn't bother to look up from the papers he was reading, 
or acknowledge her presence in any way.  It wasn't until she pulled 
up a chair that Coach Letch spoke. 

"I didn't give you permission to sit down, young lady," he said, 
curtly.  "You'll stay on your feet until I say otherwise." 

Susan felt her confidence ebb momentarily as she heard the coach's 
voice for the first time in years.  For a brief moment she was once 
again an awkward teenager, nervously standing in front of the man 
who controlled her scholarship. 

But her resolve returned as she remembered the way that this 
disgusting pervert had exploited her innocence for his twisted 
amusement.  Susan's temper flared as she recalled the coach 
complimenting her on her "perky titties" and "snappy snatch."   

How could anyone be so cruel to a sweet, innocent girl? 

"He's pretty good at batting around helpless, frightened 
teenagers," she thought.  "Let's see how he does when they 
come a little bit older." 

She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't bothered to 
sit down, and she was still standing when the coach finally put 
aside his papers and began to speak. 

"It's nice to see you again, Susan," he said, cordially.  "You have 
grown into a prosperous and successful young lady, haven't you?  
You have a successful law practice, a husband in the Senate, and a 
limitless future."  

He smiled.  "Pity about the pictures, isn't it?"  It will be a 
shame to watch your life go down the toilet." 

"It's a pity that you're going to be gang-banged in jail FOREVER," 
Susan replied, sarcastically. 

"I don't think so, he replied, calmly.  "You're 33 now, which means 
I took these pictures 15 years ago.  The statute of limitations has 
expired, and, if you read the note carefully, legal eagle, you'll 
notice that I'm not blackmailing you.   Since there are no legal 
repercussions, and, since I'm tired of listening to your 
sanctimonious husband's blather about family values, I've decided 
to publish my research."   

Smiling, he spread the pictures out on his desk as she looked on in 
horror.  "You were so young and sweet-looking all those years ago," 
he said.  She felt a chill as he ran his pudgy fingers lightly over 
her naked photos.   

"Your skin was so soft and smooth," the grinning coach continued.  
"And the look on your face as you slowly stripped for me was simply 
adorable.  Of all the girls I photographed, Susan, you were my 
favorite.  You were so innocent!" 

He stopped and pointed at one of the pictures.  "Of course, you 
don't look so innocent in THIS picture, do you, Susan?  You look 
like a "Hustler" pictorial, spread out that way.  It really is 
quite shameful and indecent, especially considering how moral and 
proper your hubby is.  I can't believe he married a little whore 
like you," he said, shaking his head sadly. 

Susan, a good lawyer, bit her tongue and weighed her options.  She 
could still go to the police, but she knew that it would cost her 
husband his re-election.  Tom's moral diatribes would become a joke 
when the pictures of her scrumptious naked body began appearing 
everywhere.  Everyone would be too busy laughing or leering to hear 
her side of the story. 

Her image, accomplishments, and achievements would be instantly 
washed away.  She cringed as she imagined her male colleagues, 
interns, and neighbors secretly downloading the disgusting photos 
from the Internet. 

She would become the punch line for a national dirty joke.   

Although the note hadn't mentioned money, she had put $25,000 in 
her purse, just in case.  She was wise and wealthy enough not to 
sabotage a million dollar Senate campaign over a few thousand 
dollars. 

She reached into her purse and contemptuously threw the money on 
the desk.  "There's $25,000 now, and $25,000 more when I get the 
photos and negatives, creep.  And I will draw up a purchase 
contract that will mean jail time if you try to pull a fast one, 
you sleaze ball," she said, contemptuously. 

"My, you HAVE changed!" he said, in a patronizing tone.  "So brisk, 
so self-assured, so smart....  I'm really quite impressed."  His 
voice dripped sarcasm. 

Coach Letch picked up the money and tossed it into the wastebasket 
next to his desk.  "But I don't want your money, Susan.  I just 
want to see the look on your pretty face when the story breaks on 
Fox, CNN and MSNBC.   I'll use my VCR to record all 24 hours of the 
epic coverage," he sneered. 

"But, why?" she wailed in frustration.  "I'll be RUINED!  You have 
to listen to reason...." 

"I'm sorry, Susan, but my hands are tied," he said, sadly.  "After 
all, my research is finished."   

He paused as if considering the matter.  "I was thinking of 
continuing my studies with a series of before and after 
photographs that would show how one of my students evolved 
from adolescence to full maturity.  If the study was ongoing, 
then I couldn't publish," he said, with a lewd smile. 

"Of course, that isn't very likely.  The women I photographed all 
those years ago are successful bankers, lawyers, and businesswomen. 
How could I make women like THAT strip down like frightened little 
bunny rabbits?   

"Take you for instance.  You're the wife of a United States 
Senator.  It's absurd to expect you to strip down BUTT naked, 
right here in my office, and spread your legs for the camera.  
You're professional, successful woman at the peak of her career.  
I can't expect you to cavort around naked like some feckless bimbo." 

"I would have to pose you the same way as last time, which means 
that dignity and modesty would be impossible.  You would have to 
bend, and spread, and caper around while I relentlessly put you 
through your paces."   

The coach smiled as Susan nervously clutched her elegant jacket 
tightly closed.  "You know, I do still have my old camera and 
plenty of flashbulbs."   

Susan shuddered as she imagined the flashbulbs illuminating her 
naked form.  This couldn't be happening to her! 

"But the photos would only be half the story," the coach continued. 
"I have detailed notes from your old pelvic exam, and I would need 
to examine you the EXACT same way for purposes of comparison.  
Imagine...the wife of a United States Senator spread out on my 
desk like a two-bit whore while I slid on my rubber glove.  Can 
you imagine anything more absurd?" he asked, rhetorically. 

"I know you didn't like the enema bag 15 years ago, Susan, and I 
don't expect that you'd like it any better now, although I promise 
that I'll warm up the rectal thermometer this time," he chuckled. 

"But the water will still be chilly...oh, so dreadfully chilly.  
Poor Susan!  I'm afraid you're going to have to hold it for a full 
thirty minutes, despite the cramps.  But don't worry, Susan.  I'll 
stay here the whole time, and hold your hand, and mop your furrowed 
brow.  And, after half an hour, you can trot down the hall like a 
good little girl and use the potty."   

He paused and toyed with the pen on his desk.  "Of course, I would 
need you to use your awesome legal skills to draw up an affidavit 
that explained that you were doing this of your own free will and 
that you weren't coerced in any way.  I wouldn't want you strutting 
in here with the police shouting about 'blackmail' again, like 
Perry Mason with PMS."  

Coach Letch looked approvingly at the nervous woman who was 
awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot in front of his desk.  
Susan was biting her lower lip and looking at the floor.  Her 
hands were behind her back, and her fingers twisted nervously 
while he looked her up and down. 

He smiled as she awkwardly fidgeted like a naughty girl standing 
in front of the principal's desk. 

In her frightened, doe-like eyes, he saw the tears of a young girl 
petrified that she would disappoint.  Susan couldn't lose her 
scholarship!  Susan had to get straight-As!  Susan couldn't cost 
her husband his re-election!   

After all these years, she would still do anything to maintain the 
image of perfection she had worked so relentlessly to build.  Susan 
was, after all, the perfect student and the perfect wife. 

Coach Letch smiled.  Susan was also the perfect victim. 

"Why don't you let down your hair, Susie...shake it loose for me?  
You used to wear your hair loose in the old days, and I think it 
was much softer that way." 

Susan hated being called "Susie," but she knew better than to 
argue.  With agonizing slowness, Susie unpinned her hair.  Coach 
Letch let out a small whistle as she shook her head, and her long 
blonde locks cascaded down her back. 

She swallowed hard as he took out his old camera and an ancient 
box of flashbulbs and set them on the desk.  It was hard for her 
to believe that the object of her nightmares was once again 
sitting, with his camera, just a few feet in front of her.  

"You know what comes next, don't you Susie?  Now, don't be shy." 

He smiled as the frightened and awkward girl in front of him 
nervously began to remove her expensive jacket.  She was blushing 
furiously now, and her quivering fingers could barely undo the 
elegant buttons.  After she finally managed to remove the jacket, 
she began carefully folding the expensive garment. 

"No, Susie, don't bother with that," he chided.  "Just drop your 
things on the floor -- the same way you did LAST time...." 

She reluctantly dropped the expensive jacket onto the dirty floor 
and began to awkwardly take off her shoes.  The chair was just a 
few inches away, and it would have been easier if she had been 
able to sit down, but she knew better than to ask permission. 

She hadn't been allowed to sit down when she took off her sneakers 
all those years ago.  Why should she be allowed to sit down to take 
off her Guccis now? 

"That certainly is a lovely silk blouse you have on, Susie," he 
said, admiringly.  "It's a pity you're going to have to take it 
off." 

She said nothing, but, once again with trembling fingers, struggled 
with her buttons.  He smiled as she removed the blouse, revealing 
the lacy pink slip underneath.   

She was wearing more clothes than she had in the past, but he knew 
it would be worth the wait. 

"Now the skirt, I think, Susie.  It's time to show me those pretty 
legs of yours once again." 

Susan reached behind her, unzipped her skirt, and let it drop in a 
pool around her ankles.  She awkwardly stepped out of it and moved 
slightly to one side to avoid standing directly on the small pile 
of luxurious clothing that was quickly forming at her feet. 

She decided not to wait for the next command.  Grabbing the hem of 
her slip, she pulled the delicate garment over her head and stood 
in only her bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. 

Coach Letch let out a small whistle.  "That sure is some getup, 
Susie.  Maybe later I'll let you slip on some of those fancy 
frillies, and we can do some Victoria's Secret shots, too.  Won't 
that be fun, Susie?" he snickered. 

She remained silent, but awkwardly crossed her hands in front of 
her crotch.  "I'm NOT a bimbo!" she desperately said to herself.  
"No matter what this man makes me do, I'm still the same person.  
I'm still an intelligent, successful, independent career woman -- 
NOT a bimbo." 

"Why don't you slide those expensive stockings down those long, 
pretty legs, Susie?  You can sit in the chair, if that makes it 
easier.  But I want you to put your feet in the air like a model, 
so I can watch you roll the stockings down those beautiful stems 
of yours." 

Susan awkwardly obeyed, putting her foot on the edge of his desk as 
she rolled first one and then the other stocking down her shapely 
legs.  She casually tossed the carefully rolled stockings into the 
heap of discarded clothes on the floor, stood up, and removed her 
garter belt. 

She once again nervously crossed her hands in front of her as she 
stood before her tormenter in just her lacy pink bra and panties.  
He said nothing, but leaned back in his chair and smiled, relishing 
his absolute authority over his squirming victim. 

"Could I keep my bra and panties on, sir?  You can still s-see 
my...posture if I keep my underwear on.  Please, sir!" she whined.  
Please don't strip me bare naked!" 

The coach smiled indulgently.  "We went all through this last time, 
Susie.  The pictures I'm going to take of you require you to remove 
ALL of your clothes.   And that means 'top AND bottom,' young 
lady!"

His tone was wonderfully patronizing. 

"I'm surprised that you seriously thought I might let you keep your 
cute little undies, Susie.  They're much fancier than they were 
last time, and I'm sure that they are much more expensive.  But you 
had to hand them over THEN, and you have to hand them over NOW.   

"You were never the brightest bulb on the tree, Susie, and I can 
see THAT hasn't changed," he chuckled.  "Now, quit stalling, and 
show nice Coach Letch those pretty little country girl jugs of 
yours." 

"I'm not a bimbo...I'm not a bimbo!" she repeated to herself, trying 
desperately to use the positive reaffirmations she had employed for 
years.  She reluctantly turned her back and unclasped her bra.   

"Still modest after all these years, Susie?  I would think you 
wouldn't have any modesty left after those pictures I took.  
Remember, I've seen every square inch of you."   

Silent, she shrugged her bra off and dropped it onto the floor, her 
face crimson with shame. 

"And I'm going to see every square inch of you again," he added. 

Even though her back was turned, Susan stood hunched over in 
humiliation, with her arms across her bare chest.  Coach Letch 
smiled as he recalled seeing the frightened, tearful teenager 
in exactly the same pose years ago. 

"Now comes the moment of truth, Susie.  I know girls hate having to 
drop their underpants in front of the doctor, but this is for your 
own good.  Pull down your undies and throw them on the pile." 

She nervously brushed away a tear as she inserted her fingers into 
the waistband of her expensive pink panties.  Down, down, down they 
went, until at last they lay in a discarded heap at her feet.  She 
swallowed and then reluctantly stepped out of her last shred of 
clothing. 

"I'm NAKED!" she told herself.  "I'm absolutely, stark NAKED!  I'm 
one of the most successful lawyers in the country, and the wife of 
a United States Senator....  And I'm standing stark NAKED in some 
flunky gym coach's office." 

Naked as the day she was born!  Coach Letch took a moment to admire 
what he laughingly referred to as the "Congressional Moon" before 
issuing his next command. 

"You know what comes next, don't you, Susie?" he taunted.  "Don't 
make me say it.  Just be a good girl, and do what you're supposed 
to." 

Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, stretched her arms out in a 
"T," and slowly turned around.... 

He whistled as her nakedness came fully into view.  "You keep 
yourself in excellent shape, young lady.  Your hips are a tad 
fuller, and your face is a bit wiser-looking.  And it seems that 
you've trimmed your pubic hair a bit.  But, otherwise, you are as 
hot as you were 15 years ago." 

The humiliated woman closed her eyes and clenched her teeth as he 
issued his humiliating appraisal.  She was proud of her figure, but 
he was grading her like a slab of well-aged beef. 

Her education, experience, and sophistication had been stripped 
away.  In just a few brief minutes in front of his desk, she had 
been transformed into the epitome of everything she hated.  

After all of these years, Susie was once again nothing but a hot, 
helpless little bimbo.   

He circled the naked, blushing woman in a slow circle and looked her 
over critically.   

"Very nice...very nice indeed," he said, as she blushed helplessly 
in front of him. 

He carefully adjusted her hair on her shoulders.  Then he teasingly 
ran his hand down her back and over her shapely bottom. 

She gasped as she felt his fingers work their way into the wetness 
between her legs. 

"My, you are all hot and sticky down there, aren't you, Susie?  
After all these years, stripping for me still makes you frisky, 
doesn't it?" 

He leaned in close and whispered into her ear as he continued to 
work his fingers in and out of her.   "I have lots of women I could 
have called back, Susan.  One of my former students is a network 
news anchor, a couple of others models or movie actresses.  I will 
get to them eventually, but you're the first one I called." 

He paused and smiled.  "You were always my favorite, Susie." 

Then he pushed her a few feet forward and unceremoniously bent her 
over the desk.  She gasped as she felt him roughly kick her feet 
apart. 

And she flinched when she saw him unzip his pants.... 

"Please, Coach, please use a condom!  Tom had a vasectomy three 
years ago!  I'm not on birth control, and, with his political 
views, there's just no way I can go to an abortion clinic." 

"Then I guess you'll just have to carry the little bastard to term, 
Susie," he sneered, as he teased her moistness with the head of his 
prick. 

Her hands formed helpless fists of frustration as her nemesis 
entered her from behind.  "I'm not a bimbo; I'm not a bimbo," she 
said softly to herself, as her orgasm began to wash over her. 

"Oh, but you ARE a bimbo, Susie," he said, correcting her.  "Forget 
about your fancy degrees and expensive house; you're nothing but a 
helpless little bimbo for me to enjoy, Susie.  And enjoy you I 
shall."  He pushed himself deep inside her. 

Susie looked back over her shoulder at Coach Letch with an 
expression that told him she knew it was true.  In her large, 
frightened eyes, he saw a lifetime of confusion, helplessness, 
desperation, and humiliation.  Susie WAS just another bimbo....   

Coach smiled.  The French were correct, in this at least: the more 
things changed, the more they stayed the same....



Edited by C. Lakewood