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 2

   Monday Afternoon

   Lunch was a welcome respite from the stares and whispers.  Carl walked
with me from class, and Karen and Stephanie met me at the cafeteria door
and the three of them escorted me through the line.  We found a table and
sat together.  With Carl on one side of me, Stephanie on the other and
Karen directly across from me I felt protected.  All three of them had
endured a week of nudity, so they knew what I was going through.

   The protective formation wasn't anything new.  Carl and I had done it
for Stephanie the week before, and I had done it for Carl during his week,
so this was sort of a quid pro quo, I guess.  No matter, I was grateful,
and I told them so.

   It also made me realize I was joining a very select sorority-fraternity
of students in the Junior class who had spent a week going to school naked.
Eventually it would expand to include a significant percentage of the
class, but so far it was a very small, select group.

   It was actually shy one member, probably the one who needed it the most.

   Poor Freschetti.  He had to eat at the training table.  I could see his
hairy bulk hunched over his lunch tray, obviously suffering the jibes of
his teammates.  He was learning what it was like to be the outsider the
hard way.  Those jocks, with all their testosterone - they were pack
animals, like wolves, and could be pretty cruel.  The alpha male was
vulnerable and they took advantage of it.

   I ached for him.

   Karen, Carl, Stephanie and I talked about inconsequentials - if you
could apply that term to Freschetti - along with teachers and classes. 
Meanwhile, I was still dealing with an incredible tangle of emotions and
sensations.  I felt so vulnerable!  I was embarrassed, of course, too, but
there was another issue that was even more scary.

   I wanted to ask them if it had made them horny, but I was too ashamed.

   Oh, obviously it had made Carl horny.  Otherwise I wouldn't have gotten
all those cum showers, would I?  And Karen, I suspect, had yielded to her
horniness on the last day, letting herself be gang banged.  I was too
embarrassed to ask her, though.  I didn't really know her well, but we
shared a bond now.

   But what about Stephanie?  I'd never thought of her as a sexual person.
She was just my plump friend.  She'd never really had a boyfriend or a
date, until Carl had gotten her together with Jerry Wilson at the dance. 
Apparently things hadn't really clicked between them, because I hadn't seen
them together since, though she'd had a good time, she said.

   Of course the conversation drifted around to The Program, as we were all
now calling it, complete with capital letters.

   "Has anyone asked to feel you up yet?" Karen asked.

   I blushed.  "No," I admitted.  "Though there've been a few pats and
pinches in the hallways."

   "What will you do if they do?" Stephanie asked.  I'd never asked her
what she'd done, and I'd not seen anyone do it to her in the hallway.

   I was blushing furiously now.  "I don't know," I confessed.

   "Let them," Carl suggested.

   "You want me to?" I was a little hurt that he wasn't more possessive, I
admit.

   "It's part of the program," Karen reminded me.  "It's a not unreasonable
request."

   "Oh." I knew she was right, but still...  "I'd rather not talk about it
right now," I said, stifling that conversation and they went on to other
matters.

   Meanwhile, I was squirming inside with - well, with lust, simple lust.
Thinking about letting some boy feel me up, right there in the hallway only
stoked my horniness.  If I didn't get some relief, I was really afraid I
might do something desperate!

   Then Carl rested his hand on my thigh, and I knew he understood.  When
he hesitated, I took matters into my own hands.  Or, more accurately, I
placed them in his by spreading my legs and moving his hand up my thigh to
my crotch.

   His hand cupped my cunny, and it was all I could do to keep from leaning
against him.  Instead, I dutifully forked another bite of school ravioli
into my mouth as his fingers massaged my pussy, triggering a hot flush of
pleasure.

   Believe you me, considering the school ravioli, that was a welcome
distraction for more than one reason!

   His finger sneaked between my labia and he felt how wet I was.  Bless
him, he didn't say anything, nonchalantly answering some question from the
guy across the table from him as he worked his finger into my sopping cunt.

   I wriggled my hips a little bit, and his finger slid deeper into my hot
depths.  With my free hand, under the table, I directed his moves, pressing
on his hand to squeeze my clit as he wiggled his finger in my hole.

   Oh, it felt good!

   Was I becoming a slut?  Here I was in the school lunchroom, being
masturbated by my boyfriend!  Since the homecoming dance I was like a kid
with a new toy!  I hadn't known how good sex could feel until that Saturday
night with Carl.

   Now I wanted to feel those delicious waves of ecstasy again and again,
as often as possible.  I don't know how many times I had masturbated since
then, by myself!  Carl and I had gone to the movies again, twice, and
necked and petted up a storm then and even after school once, but we'd
still held back from Doing It, too scared to venture further down that
path.

   My lust rising, I pushed down on Carl's hand rhythmically, crushing my
clit against my pubic bone.  Carl obliged by sliding a second finger into
me, and wriggling them deep inside me.  It was all I could do to keep from
thrashing and moaning aloud as my pussy went into spasms.

   Remember that scene in the movie "When Harry Met Sally" with Meg Ryan
and Billy Crystal in the café - you know, the one where she fakes an orgasm
at the top of her lungs?  It was all I could do not to scream like she did.
But the effort not to was almost as dangerous as stifling a sneeze!  I
could have strained something important!  For a few moments my eyes went
out of focus.  When they came back in I was looking at the boy sitting
across from Carl and I realized I hadn't quite gotten away with it.

   Stirring from his paralysis, the kid shoveled in the forkful of food
that had made it half way to his mouth before my cumming, then chewed and
swallowed, desperately reaching for his milk to wash it down.  After
avoiding suffocation by ravioli, he grinned, and winked at me, while I
turned a flaming red.

   Stephanie patted me on the thigh herself, and Karen had a knowing smile
on her face!  So much for my secret orgasm!  I could only hope the whole
lunchroom didn't know.

   As my body descended from its high, Carl extracted his fingers from me,
sniffed them like a fine cigar, and then sucked my juices off them,
shooting me a sly grin as he did.  I didn't know if I wanted to punch him
or hug him, so I just gave him a nudge with my elbow as I tried to regain
my composure before heading off to my drawing class.

   Art class was my one easy course, my break from the academic day.  I
didn't have to think like I did in Chem or math, or memorize like I did in
French.  I could let my feelings take over, guiding my hands as I sketched
with charcoals or pastels.  It gave my brain a welcome respite.

   Oh, I wasn't any Rembrandt, but at least I could produce something that
resembled what I was looking at.

   Only this time, when I walked into the studio, I was surprised to see
that, instead of the usual table on the podium in the front of the art
studio, usually with a still life like some flowers or a bowl of fruit on
it, there was a wooden stool.

   I got my art smock, welcoming the opportunity to cover myself, assuming
it was a legitimate protective garment, while I studied the setup, moving
to my easel.

   Light spilled on to the podium from the skylight and the floor to
ceiling windows that formed the outside wall of the semi-circular room. 
The easels with their stools for the students, their big tablets of drawing
paper, faced the podium.

   The only other things out of place were two full-length mirrors on
stands, set so they wouldn't block any of the student's view of the stool,
but so they would reflect whatever - or whoever - was on it.

   Everything focused on that stool.

   Uh oh, I suddenly thought.  This does not look good.

   That depends on how you define "good" my evil twin argued lasciviously.

   I felt a little frisson of fear and anticipation as the other students
took their places at their easels.  They were chattering, of course, and
shooting glances at me.  It made me tug uselessly at the too short smock
that was all that was between me and them.

   It was as if they already knew what was coming

   As if I didn't!  I flinched when the teacher, Mr.  Kelly, called my
name.

   "Miss Finch, if you please?" He didn't say anything more, simply
gestured to the stool.

   Biting my lip, I took the bit between my teeth, removing my smock and
letting it drape over the stool by my easel.  Without even really thinking
about it, I toed off my loafers, and dragged my socks off, too.  How many
nudes have you seen painted wearing penny loafers and socks, after all?

   Feeling like some kind of marionette, I made my way to the front of the
room, stepping up on the podium.  The stool came up to my belly button, so
I had to sort of climb up on it.  It was one of those swivel thingies, so
it tried to turn with me as I managed to squirm my ass on the cold, hard
seat.  Bracing my feet on the rungs, I hunched there self-consciously.

   "That's not a very attractive pose," Mr.  Kelly observed dryly, stroking
his little goatee.

   I blushed.  "I'm sorry.  How do you want me?"

   "Why don't you try standing on the floor, and just bracing yourself
against the stool," he suggested.

   Awkwardly I climbed off the stool and tried to follow his directions,
but with the stool hitting me just below the small of my back, it didn't
work very well.

   "Hmmm," he mused.  "Let's try this." He dragged over a low riser, as if
he'd anticipated the problem.  With that under my feet (and getting on it
gave him a very good look at my charms) I was raised just enough so the
seat of the stool was even with my butt.

   "Now, lean back on your hands," he suggested, "and perhaps raise one
foot to the bottom rung on the stool."

   I tried to follow his directions, my eye caught by my reflection in one
of the mirrors.

   I was so naked!  Not even shoes, only that simple gold cross, and my
glasses, of course.  My nipples were hard little points on my perky breasts
- that's how Carl liked to describe them - perky - usually just before his
lips closed around one of my aching titties.

   The thought gave me a rush in spite of myself.  Oh, God!  Everyone was
looking at me, all the girls, all the boys.  I had no secrets from them. 
The boys were all staring at my cunt - the angle of my leg did nothing to
hide it from half the class, of course, since they surrounded me.

   "Arch your back a little," the Mr.  Kelly suggested, his hand warm on my
spine as he pushed gently there.  "Move this foot a little this way."

   He exposed me even more.

   "Straighten this leg." His hand was hot on my thigh.

   "Let's let your hair down," he suggested, extracting my pony tail from
the scrunchy.  His hands spread my hair over my shoulders, and I wished it
were long enough to cover my breasts, but it wasn't.

   "We can turn you a little this way, so the light will be better on your
breasts," he went on, his hands on my shoulders as he adjusted my pose.

   His hands stroked the upper slope of my left breast, then the underside
of that shy mound.  "Let's turn your head a bit more to the left," he went
on, touching my chin.  "And lower it, just a little.  Look right into the
mirror there.  No, don't smile, just relax.  Think of something serious,
perhaps."

   There I was, a different angle from my first view of myself in the other
mirror.  The sun spilled down over my soft, smooth skin, showing the curves
and texture.  The hair on my arms glinted in the bright light, while my
bush was in shadow.  My legs looked longer, more graceful than I'd ever
thought of them.  With my chin lowered, my direct stare, I realized I
looked almost sultry.

   "Oh, one other thing.  You won't need these," the Mr.  Kelly pointed
out, gently removing my glasses.

   Let me clue you in to something.  If you want to make someone who wears
glasses feel totally exposed and incredibly vulnerable, just take their
glasses.  Suddenly there's no glass between them and the world, no
invisible shield.

   Worse, it means they can't see what may be coming at them.

   I flinched, and gasped, but managed to contain myself.  Suddenly the
world was a blur.  I couldn't really see my reflection in the mirror, only
a vague shape within the rectangular frame.  I knew everyone in the room
was looking at me, only I couldn't see their expressions.  Their faces were
only amorphous blobs.

   I felt totally, totally, totally exposed, and incredibly helpless. 
Inside I was wracked by that gut knotting feeling of excitement and fear
you get on a thrill ride.  For a moment I was afraid I was going to pee,
and wouldn't that have been the ultimate last straw?

   "There." The Mr.  Kelly turned to the class.  "This is a timed exercise
to enhance your sketching skills.  You'll have ten minutes with this pose,
then we'll let Miss Finch rest for a few minutes and try another pose. 
What we want is to capture the essence of her in as few strokes as
possible. Notice the light and shading, here, and here."

   His fingers gently stroked the slope and curves of my breasts, coaxing a
shiver from me.

   But, except for that tiny tremor, I didn't move.  I held my pose, even
as inside I felt like I was in danger of melting down into a puddle.

   I couldn't see the class, but I could hear them.  Pencils and charcoals
whispered on the sketch pads.  I could sense the concentration of my
classmates as they tried to capture "my essence," whatever that was.

   Whatever it was, it was probably visible, exposed, exhibited, on
display. It was all there, all of me.  Nothing hidden.  My back was arched,
presenting my naked breasts to them, my nipples stiff, my chest heaving
with every breath.  My thighs were parted, displaying my still virgin
cleft, and I could feel my pussy seeping with horniness.  Air was touching
me all over, and I could feel the sunlight on my shoulders and my breasts.

   I remembered how Carl had described the experience as "sensuous." It
was. It was as if every nerve had suddenly become hyper-sensitive.  I was
more conscious of temperature and touch, but even my hearing and my sense
of smell seemed heightened.  I could hear every pass of charcoal or pencil
over the sketch pads, the rustle as arms moved, the soft squeak of a
sneaker on the floor.  There was a mingling of smells in the art room -
paper, and paints, the musty scent of clay.

   The musk of my own pussy.

   Someone sighed, and there was the rubbing of an eraser.  A stool or an
easel creaked.

   The air caressed my naked body, and for a moment I could almost feel the
eyes of the class stroking my naked skin.

   The clock ticked.

   "All right, time's up," Mr.  Kelly announced.

   With a sigh, I relaxed and stood, shifting and stretching.  I was still
without my glasses half blind, of course, but I looked beyond the class,
through the windows at the sun drenched lawn outside.  There was a shifting
pattern of people shaped blobs on the sidewalk, and I realized I was
visible to anyone who passed by.

   Who were these people, walking by, seeing me naked?  Were they looking?
I couldn't tell.

   It made me think of Karen walking the streets naked.  Would I do that?

   I shivered, rubbing my arms, then let Mr.  Kelly pose me again, feeling
his hands on me as he adjusted my torso, my arms, my legs, my neck and
head.

   I was simply a mannequin, like one of those posable dolls of wood and
wire sculptors use.  He'd push and I'd move.  He had me leaning back, left
hand on the stool, both feet on the floor, spread for stability, my body
arched, the other arm extended upward as if I were reaching for the sky,
looking upwards, and he told me to hold that pose.

   Again I froze, conscious of my total exposure.  The way my feet were
spread I had absolutely no secrets, of course.  Even so, my mind wandered
as the class sketched me.

   It was going to be a memorable week, I realized now.  Even with my
experience of shopping the mall naked, walking the street naked one time,
and going to the dance naked, this week was going to have a huge impact on
me.

   I was becoming more and more aware than ever of my body, and what it was
feeling.

   I was becoming more and more aware, too, of the effect my nudity had on
others.  I could sense the desire of the boys in the class as they sketched
me.  I thought of their hands wandering over my flesh, touching me
intimately, and realized the inevitability of my emergence as a sensuous
woman.  Carl had awakened my sexuality, and I knew I was going to want to
explore this exciting new facet of my life.

   I thought of a sculptor, molding me in clay, and it seemed as if I could
almost feel his hands on my own flesh, as if I was clay in his hands.

   Scientific detachment was being overwhelmed.  The dispassionate
scientist was becoming passionate.

   I replayed the lunchroom conversation.  What should I do if someone
asked to feel me up in the hallway?

   "Let them," Carl had said.  "It's part of the program."

   I would, I knew now.  I would, and I would do more, before the week was
out.  Much more.

   But first I had to make it through this class.  After the second pose,
during my brief break, I walked around the room, naked, of course,
stretching out the kinks, and sneaking glances at some of the sketches that
had been done of me.

   With such short poses, they were barely sketches, of course.  Some had
concentrated on catching me in just a few lines, while others had a bit
more detail.  One boy had concentrated on my breasts, rather than trying to
sketch all of me.

   One of the girls, Kathy, had focused on my pussy, sketching in the
ruffles of my inner lips, distended by their arousal so they showed in the
heart of my delicate bush.  As I studied her work, she smiled secretly at
me, and something in the look she gave me made me prickle.  Her tongue
traced her lips oh so very delicately.

   I blushed, surprised by my own libidinous reaction to her obvious
interest.

   I was surprised, too, at the beauty she had brought out, turning my
inner labia into the petals of a sensuous flower.  It gave me something
more to think about as I returned to the podium.

   I had two more poses to endure.  By the time I was done I was exhausted.
Posing is hard work!

   When the class ended and I was about to leave, Mr.  Kelly pulled me
aside.  "Miss Finch, I do have another request for you."

   I trembled, wondering what could be next.

   "The photography club meets tomorrow afternoon, and they need a live
model," he continued.  "A reasonable request, wouldn't you say?"

   I shivered at the feelings that raced through me, and I felt my nipples
stiffening even more.  I'd just finished posing for drawing class, and now
I was being asked to pose for the photography club?  The thought of cameras
being focused on me terrified me.  And aroused me.  "Yessir," I agreed
shyly.

   "Meet us on the soccer field," he went on.

   The soccer field?  Outdoors, in the open?  I shivered at the thought,
remembering that clothes weren't allowed during extracurricular activities,
either.  "Yessir," I agreed, wondering what was happening to me, how I
could be looking forward to something almost as much as I dreaded it.

   I fled to the library.  I was excused from gym this term because I was
prepping for the PSATs that might earn me a Merit Scholarship.  Needless to
say, I didn't get much prepping done as I wrestled with what was happening
to me.

   My last class, American History, could only be suffered through.  Not
because I was "exhibit A" but because Mr.  Witherspoon was about ninety
zillion years old, and the dullest teacher on the faculty.  His lectures
could put a speed freak to sleep.

   For a moment I was reviewing my CPR training, the way he reacted when I
walked in the room.  I guess I was the first student in The Program that
he'd had.  He dropped a bunch of papers.  Then he dropped his glasses and
couldn't find them, until I helped.  And then I helped him with his papers.
And then when he went to erase the white board the eraser went flying, and
- well, you get the idea.

   He mumbled his way through the lecture, stumbling even more than usual.
He kept looking at me, and licking his lips, and he was sweating.  I
wondered if he was even capable of getting a hardon.  Finally the bell rang
and we were free!

   I dashed for my clothes.  Carl, bless his sweet heart, was there to
greet me.  Handing him my book bag, I dug into the pile of clothes, and
slowed down, thinking hard.

   I'd come to some conclusions as I'd posed for drawing class, and
afterwards, and had come to the conclusion that this week was going to be,
like, a major turning point for me.  No way could I go through a week of
being naked in school without that!

   It had led to the conclusion that there was a major issue that had to be
Dealt With, and the time had come to Deal With It.

   Fighting the urge to cover myself, I dressed slowly and carefully,
balancing on first one foot, then the other as I, I hoped gracefully, I
drew on my delicate, lacy panties and smoothed them on my hips, tugging
them up snugly against my pussy, even smoothing them against it with my
fingers before I reached for my similarly dainty bra and drew it on,
turning to give Carl the most advantageous view as I hooked it.

   Needless to say, there were other boys there avidly ogling me as I
dressed, but Carl was my target, and I did my best to make sure he knew it.

   Judging by the lump in his jeans, he did.

   Once dressed, I tucked my arm through his, drawing it against my breast,
wondering if he could feel me trembling.  "Let's go someplace private," I
suggested softly.

   "How about my house?" he suggested, obviously getting the idea that
something, other than his cock, was definitely Up.

   I squeezed his arm more firmly against my tit.  "Sounds perfect."