Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Beth Naked in School

   by peregrinf

   Copyright(c) 2010 by peregrinf

   ------ Description: Part 3 of the Carl NIS series.  It is best to read
Carl NIS first, then Carl NIS - Beth's Story second, then this one.  Beth
helped Carl being naked in school, and now it is her turn.  What will he
do? She's not as shy, now, and isn't about to be bullied.  But what a pep
rally, and after the football game.
Codes: mf ff cons rom reluc les het span gang 1st oral mastrb pett exhib
voy teach sch

   ------

   Chapter 11

   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 training 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."