The second, mezzanine level of the college library was quiet on this dark afternoon. The sound of the heavy rain outside was all that could be heard, a rain that was quickly turning the snow into slush. A slush that this time, according to the forecast, would not freeze overnight. It was taking a while, but the deep freeze this north country was famous for had broken and it was warming up, if ever so slowly.
Tami Smithers was parked at her usual table in her usual position. One leg curled up, the other heel up on the table, her foot facing in, markers of various colors slotted between her toes. With her left hand she was grading papers from the remedial math class she tutored, selecting the appropriate marker according to her own system. Red = incorrect, Black = correct but incomplete work, Blue = correct, Green = helpful comments.
Next to these papers were a couple of textbooks. Her backpack was on the chair next to her. She worked quietly in the quiet library.
Another creature lurked nearby.
At first it was just a shadow in the stacks behind her. Watching, waiting...
It was Rosaria, tall and athletic with cropped hair, travel pouch around her waist. In wool jacket, leotard top, tights and long wool socks over her duck boots, looking like the Latina lesbian she was. She silently circled in front of the table and, when Tami looked up, she leaned across the table and kissed the big toe.
Standing back at attention she whispered, "My Queen."
Tami smiled and whispered, "In a minute."
A quick glance down told Rosaria the reason. Tami wanted to give her students' work her undivided attention. Rosaria sat down at the next table and pretended to text message on her cell phone.
A moment later Tami put the papers away, took the markers from her toes, stretched her arms back, her breasts riding high on her chest, and sighed. Rosaria's mouth almost watered at the slight scent that issued. No doubt it had been several hours since the Queen's last release.
Gracefully she removed the chair next to Tami, bent under the table, and sat cross-legged in front of her altar. It was then that Tami emitted a quick, sharp gasp. As Tami read her text with quivering hands Rosaria did what she had learned so well to do. A moment later the sudden long breaths, then the jolting hips, told her she was successful. Tami turned the page as Rosaria laved the engorged lips for a few seconds with the Queen's nectar and then gently rolled them back into her mouth. In less than a minute Tami went up again. The edge having been taken off, this one was longer, more peaceful.
Rosaria kissed the palace entrance gently, then scooted around behind to plant a kiss on the naked girl's butt. In response Tami got up on her knees, transferred one knee to the next chair and bent forward, her head over the edge of the table as she kept reading. Rosaria separated the chairs and, tall girl that she was, could sit cross-legged while reaching up to insert her tongue in a different place. Queen Tami was very considerate of her subjects and kept herself clean and well-irrigated for the benefit of those who wished to enter her palace from the rear. Now she bestowed on Rosaria yet another reward, the sound of her Queen's pleasure. "Mmmmmm..."
All the while Tami kept reading, now and then emitting an "ohh. . ." or a little gasp. Now her subject inserted fingers into her pussy so that the tongue could play off against them. And, of course, the G spot, playing off the fingers of the other hand pressing rearward against the clit. Soon Tami was shaking violently and, another gift, Rosaria sensed her laying her forehead down on the text until the spasms were over. Then with a deep breath and a slight smell of sweat, Tami, future valedictorian that she was, went back to her assigned reading for her English Literature class. That she could concentrate on it and be able to retain it afterwards was in no way taken as a sign of disinterest. It was just part of her mystique.
It was some five minutes later, when Rosaria, exploring the delights of Tami's rectum, was in the middle of enjoying Tami's fifth orgasm of the session, that Ms. Tami Smithers was approached by Sarah Wickland.
Sarah Wickland, in-law of Henry Ross, the evil college lawyer, author of Tami's freshman year torments, who had escaped outside of her reach as well as of everyone else's. Sarah Wickland, law partner of Brian Cook, whose "rent" at his Pacific coast estate had been to have all his female tenants stay naked, a sore trial for Nina West and company but just a part of everyday life for Tami. Sarah Wickland, whose clients tended to specialize in bondage and discipline, and included the Cronenberg School, and Taft McNamee and his trade in pony girls.
Yet for all the strange things she had seen in her business, Sarah was quite unprepared for what she now witnessed as she drew near. Glad to see Tami after a space of two years and, expecting that Tami, having finally trusted her, would be glad likewise, she stopped when she saw the look of orgasm on her face and, upon further viewing, the crossed legs visible behind her on the floor.
She stopped. Then she continued. She signaled behind her and another woman, a little older than Tami and strikingly beautiful, obediently emerged from the stairwell and followed her.
Not sure how she should handle this situation, Sarah smiled as she stood at the table. Tami smiled too, or tried to, while keeping her eyes determinedly open. In the clutches of orgasm the look in her eyes changed instantaneously. She was a surprised friend, a sleepy fawn, a scared child, a lost soul, a witness to a birth, the Creator of the Universe, an eager girl scout, a sprinter straining for the finish line, a proud countess, a gambler counting cards -- fear, love, death, life, redemption . . . every emotion except the one Sarah expected, shame.
"H - hi Ms. Wick - ck -lannnd," Tami said.
"Hi Tami. You just won't call me Sarah, will you? They told me I could find you here. Is this a, uh, bad time to talk?"
"N - not at all -- ohhh!"
Sarah pulled up the chair across from Tami and sat down. "I bring you greetings from Taft McNamee and his board of directors." As she spoke the other woman, in a bulky black leather coat and spiky black boots, approached but stayed standing behind her. She wore a studded collar that nicely set off the gorgeous face.
Tami looked up and nodded to her with some effort.
"This is Katie, one of the ponies from the farm. You might remember her. She was your stable mate for a short time."
Tami's head jerked a bit as she looked up again. There might have been a look of recognition but her kaleidoscope eyes made it hard to tell. "Hi."
Katie looked at Sarah, who said, "You may speak."
Katie said, "Tami, you were called 'Naked' when you were with us ponies. I have been elected to say on behalf of all of us, thanks to your bravery the lives of all ponies are greatly improved and we will always be grateful."
Had Rosaria been listening, she would have found this exchange quite arresting. But she was in another world. Tami experienced the noodlings of Rosaria's tongue in her rectum, and the fingers bringing her to another orgasm, as she continued to engage in conversation.
"Th-thank you," Queen Tami said from her throne. "H - how is M - Mr. Cook -- ohhh..."
Sarah looked down. "I'm sorry to say that Brian passed away a few months ago. He never did recover from that stroke."
Tami's body quaked on the brink but she reached around and firmly placed her hand on Rosaria's head. Rosaria understood what that meant. She withdrew her tongue and hands, even though it meant leaving Tami quivering and unsatisfied, only a few licks from orgasm.
"That m-makes me very sad," Tami said, controlling her metabolism.
"Yes," Sarah Wickland said. "It seems like the creator of our entire universe passed away."
Sarah and Tami looked at each other and then looked down as if in respectful silence. Then Tami looked up at Sarah and motioned behind her and Rosaria once again drew her fingers up front into her crotch. She inserted her tongue deep into Tami's rectum, making Tami flinch and gasp. Sarah, having watched Tami's all-fours orientation, already had figured out what Rosaria had been doing and knew that she was simply resuming her prior attentions. During this entire time Tami did not break eye contact with Sarah.
Sarah was about to instruct Katie to speak again when Tami launched into a climax, especially violent due to having been left near the peak. Tami seemed waiting for Sarah to say something but it was Sarah, ironically, who was too distracted to continue. The quaking naked student and the well-dressed lawyer looked at each other across as wide a gulf as two human beings can look. When Tami had come down again Katie spoke.
"We bear a gift for you." She looked to Sarah, who said, "Tami, your trials while you were trying to prove that you had been falsely corralled made a great impression on the farm and indeed on the entire pony girl culture. You were tested by Taft and his board and did not betray your parents even while the tail you were wearing was being made to press against your ovaries. Taft had told me that this was the maximum level of pain that any master was allowed to inflict in his or her pony, equivalent to a man being hit in the testicles. Further neurocerebral research shows that is incorrect. In fact, the pain you underwent is more equivalent to a man having his testicles placed in a vise and gradually tightened until they rupture.
"This discovery, as well as your example, had quite an effect on the pony farm directors, particularly the men. It forced a change in the pony system. As you know, it is an entirely voluntary and humane enterprise. Key to this is the new model of tail. We would like you to have one."
Katie, drawing from a bag hitherto concealed within her coat, brought out a highly polished wooden shaft about a foot long with a beautiful, multi-colored tail of what looked like horsehair about twice the length of the shaft, and carefully draped it across the table.
"UHH!!" It was Rosaria's strangled scream, issuing from behind Tami.
Tami, eyes wide open, moved forward a bit and Rosaria fell backward to the floor. The naked girl quickly leaped back and picked Rosaria up, without much effort hefting the tall young woman and sitting her on the table. Rosaria had her hand to her mouth and was in tears. Sarah and Katie looked upon all of this with puzzlement and alarm.
Rosaria put her head against Tami's breasts as Tami held her head close. "I'm sorry, Ro." She looked up to Katie. "It's not your fault, Katie... Let me see." Rosaria tentatively stuck out her bruised tongue. "Looks O.K. Don't worry." Again, Tami held Rosaria against her breasts. Then looked up. "Sorry for the interruption. Seeing this... thing... well it was, like, a shock. My anus contracted."
"I should have asked her to take her tongue out first," Sarah said. "I'll never forget what Figvee said to me. 'Her rectal tone is amazing'."
Tami smiled as if she should feel she was being complimented. Meanwhile Rosaria disengaged from Tami's embrace and said, "I think... bleahhh... I think I'll be all right. Her thphincter is tho thexy."
She giggled which gave everyone else permission to laugh, including Katie.
Tami took the tail into both hands. "This was the most humungo thing that was ever in my butt," she said objectively. And that was saying a lot. "I was so totally impaled, like a specimen of a butterfly."
Sarah brought forth a little remote and pushed a button. Amazingly, the wood was not wood, it was a convincing plastic imitation. In Tami's hands the tail began sinuously twisting, like a snake. The naked girl gasped and then, after a long moment, started to giggle. "This is so weird!"
"Tails used to be for pain," Sarah said. Now they're for pleasure. The protrusion you see coming out now is designed to rub against the G spot and various other places in the vaginal wall through gentle pressure on the rectal wall. Now masters control their ponies not through punishment but by withholding the reward of orgasm."
"Reinforcement, rather than punishment," Tami said. "Or I think. I'm trying to remember back to that Intro Psych course I took."
"Precisely. And reinforcement is a more powerful motivator. Our ponies have become orgasm addicts, and to get their reward they will do things for their masters that they didn't in the past. Everybody wins."
Tami looked at the tail in her hands again, apparently deep in thought.
"It is yours, Naked," Katie said, "whether you want to use it, or just keep it as a token of our affection and gratitude."
Tami smiled. "'Naked'?"
"That is how I remember you."
"Your pony name was never officially changed, so that's how you still appear in the farm records," Sarah said. "Of course, your status is listed as 'released from contract'."
Katie said, "I remember how you wrote that call for help on that post-it and reached around with your toes to put it on the stable door."
Tami said, "I thought you were sleeping."
Katie smiled. "We real ponies are more aware than you think."
Sarah said, "Katie is quite an intelligent woman. She and her master have become a professional writing team, writing in technical journals, in the field of heuristics, I think."
"Ohmigod... Amazing!" Tami enthused. "I took a course that last year. Wow. I feel like I should get your autograph."
Katie said, "I even wrote a story about you. It's about how you got into clothes again."
Tami looked at her a long time. A thoughtful, faraway look.
Sensing the visit had run its course, Sarah said, "Tami, here's my card. I gave it to you on a previous occasion but, um, you didn't exactly have a place to put it. Don't be a stranger. And of course here's the remote."
And with that, Sarah and Katie said their goodbyes and left. Rosaria went back to Tami's embrace and they sat there for a long time, in the quiet library mezzanine with the wind and the slushy rain pounding away outside.
In the Student Union, along the wall farthest from the snack bar, at one of those tables that were usually empty, seven young women, of various styles of dress, their winter coats draped on their chairs, sat silently as papers were distributed.
Another meeting of the Tami Lickers.
They had tried other, more dignified names, such as The Priestesses of the Temple, or The Queen's Court, but none had stuck. As a kind of code they had shortened the painfully obvious name to "the TL's".
Georgene spoke. "This shows the full clitoris. As you can see, it's not just the 'man in the boat'."
"Tami refers to it in the feminine," Myra, a scholarly-looking black girl in glasses and a granny dress, said.
"That's a good idea... But as you can see, it's actually a pretty big structure. The clit is like the tip of the iceberg. The bottom of it is the G spot. You can feel it yourself."
"Actually I hate poking around in there, at least in my own," Marianne said.
"I know... But the important thing is, when you get into Tami's front chamber, try to feel the G spot -- it's like bifurcated."
"I've felt it, when I licked her on Tuesday," Jeane said. "It's like two little grapes, almost, connected by a stem."
Georgene said, "The important thing is, don't be too poky. Tami responds well to stroking that's gentle. As she gets excited you will feel the two 'grapes', like, get a little firmer and more prominent. Tongue the clit at the same time. I haven't experimented a great deal, and actually I haven't licked her all week."
"Poor baby," said Marianne in a pitying voice.
"Yeah I know, I've just been so damn busy. I only see her when she's outside walking to classes."
"Then just do her there!" said Spica, a freshman in a punk hairdo and outfit.
"You KNOW she won't let you do that," Marianne said.
Barbara, a grad student who was about 30, spoke to Spica in her usual slow and thoughtful manner. "The administration tolerates what we do, because they know Tami needs it. But Tami doesn't want to cause them embarrassment and all kinds of other problems by the sight of her being licked in public. That's why we have to find her in semi-private spots like her library table."
"I think Rosaria's finding her there now," Marianne said. "At least that's what she told me she was going to do."
"Jen McIntyre was in town, I hear," Spica said.
"Really? Man I've been out of touch," Georgene said. Jen, foremother of the TL's and a bottomless spring of useful information, was quite a celebrity to this bunch.
"She had to leave though," Spica said.
"Damn, we'd like to talk to her about some pointers," Marianne said.
"Next time I see Tami I'll try to get Jen's cell phone... Well, getting back to the G-spot, has anyone found whether alternate clit and G-spot strokes work better?"
Spica said, "I did simultaneous licks and strokes yesterday and she came and came and came."
"That's what Tami does," Marianne said.
"I counted 17 times," Spica added.
This met with calls of "Brag! Brag! Brag!"
"Just don't tell her. Tami really hates it when people count," Jeane said.
"Why is that?" Marianne looked at Barbara.
Barbara thought for a second and said, "I don't know."
"When you really get into it, you lose count yourself," Teresa said. "You're in such another world, just you and her."
There was a general murmur of agreement. Except for Melissa, a blonde girl who looked like a model and was new to the club. She sat silently on the side and was taking this all in. She looked at the handout and studied it intently.
She spoke up. "I wonder how that feels like," she said, "to come so many times, like that?"
Marianne said, "I actually asked her that once. She said it was like being lifted up into the sky, and looking down on all of life from above."
"Strange," Jeane said.
"I kind of feel like I'm up there with her at times," Georgene said.
"It's what it's all about," Marianne said.
Spica said, "That's not how my own orgasm feels."
"Well of course it would be different," Barbara said. "If you have thirty or more orgasms a day, you develop a different perspective."
"Oh gosh -- you think she has that many?" Spica said.
Barbara shrugged. "Just an estimate, between us and what she does at home."
"I'm surprised Rod isn't dead by now," Jeane laughed.
"What about her nipples?" Melissa asked.
"Gentle rubbing between the fingers, after you start the buildup," Georgene said.
"Can I suck them?"
"Of course, she responds well to that, even a little mild biting. But watch where you are. It can't be too public. That's why it's best to work from below."
"What if somebody comes by? What if they want to talk to her?"
"Just continue. She can converse through an orgasm. She doesn't want you to stop. It's hard to explain, but she kind of feels that asking us to stop would be impolite to us."
"She's very considerate. I would hate to have my Tami licking interrupted."
"A very good, kind Queen," said Marianne, with equal parts of whimsy and seriousness.
After a brief lull, Georgene brought out a little plastic box. "O.K., let's get the beat."
Spica started snapping her fingers in rhythm. Others followed, some trying to push the beat faster, others trying to slow it down, but all snapping more or less together. Far across the room, some guys at a table looked over momentarily.
"O.K., stop." Then Georgene pushed a button on the box. It was a metronome. Tick - tick - tick - tick -
"Shoot. Too fast again," Jeane said.
This was part of the training they gave themselves. The metronome was set to tick every 0.8 seconds -- the length between orgasmic contractions, according to what they'd read. They knew that, by licking just ahead of the beat, they could extend Tami's orgasms by a few spasms. So predicting the next spasm was key.
After the business of the meeting was over they got back to regular small talk.
"I got a dress code letter yesterday," Jeane said.
"Oh God. The crackdown continues," Barbara said. "What did you do? Show a bit of ankle?"
"I had on a pink tee and they must have seen my navel poking out," Jeane said. "All this, under my coat that was probably open for a few seconds. That was the part they underlined, anyway."
She was referring to the campus dress code, which this year was starting to be actually enforced. It was an old dreary document prohibiting bare midriffs, backless or strapless tops, torn jeans, very short shorts, and the like. Any student seen violating it would get an intracampus note with the relevant provision underlined.
"Last week I took off my shoes in the library and they dinged me. I couldn't believe it," Spica said.
"Were you wearing socks?"
"No."
"Well there you have it. Is that a big deal to wear socks?" Marianne said.
"Claudia got dinged for wearing a tube top -- under a shirt!"
"Was the shirt open?"
"Well yes."
"All she has to do is keep it closed. Her own fault."
"Remember back in October on that nice day when they dinged Roger because he was playing frisbee in bare feet on the grass?"
"That was ridiculous."
"If they enforce the no flip-flops part when the weather gets warm, there will be a massive revolt."
"I don't think they'd be that stupid."
"Well what did you expect? This is still basically a conservative Baptist college. Us, and Congi, we're practically the only exceptions."
The conversation was halted by the approaching sound of bare soles on the cold tile, and the clip-clop of boots. It was Tami and Gretchen with sodas, Tami also with a hero sandwich. Gretchen was toting an umbrella and her overcoat and boots were wet. Tami's hair was disheveled and wet but her skin was already almost dry, just a few drops on the small of her back.
"Guten tag," Tami said, placing her soda and hero down. As she stood there she stretched and sighed, apparently unconscious of the near-swoon that the TL's underwent upon seeing her tan, concave tummy and navel.
The TL's worshipped Tami's body, had made drawings of it, taken pictures of various parts of it (with Tami's permission), knew every naked inch in detail, inside and out. Jeane, whose proclivities were in that direction, even had pet names for each of Tami's toes. Other common nicknames for her various body parts were "nubs" (nipples), "forest" (pubic hair), "winkie" (anus), "slopes" (the bottom curves of her breasts), "knob" (cervix), and "vault" (rectum). Tami's body was not only their place of worship but also their playground. As Spica once inartfully but enthusiastically put it, her pussy was their soccer field, her cervix was their monkey bars, her anus the slide into the play shed, her rectum the shed itself, her pussy lips the ropes. Her clit and G-spot together were the see-saw. The TL's celebrated Tami and in so doing celebrated themselves, the beauty and strength and capacities of the human female.
After Tami stretched, Myra said, "Your forest is beautiful. I like that color."
Tami looked down and slightly parted her legs. "Thanks. It's called 'plum', according to the box."
"Wow, did you get every single hair? Even the ones near your winkie?" Spica asked.
"I sure did," Tami said with pride. She turned around and bent over, spreading her butt cheeks, cheerfully displaying the last hairs on her perineum. They were plum color, every single one. Further down, a space of clear, tanned skin, then the darker brown skin around her much-photographed anus.
"Beautiful job."
"Thanks, it took a long time," Tami said as she turned back around, again not seeming to notice the near-swoon of her audience. Or perhaps having gotten used to it.
Tami and Gretchen pulled up chairs. Tami got right to work pigging out. As she did, a couple of the TL's leaned over and kissed her on the forehead as she smiled through munches.
Sessu, an architecture major from Japan, walked by. He waved to the TL's and bent down to kiss Tami's knee. "My Queen," he said, smiling good-naturedly, then walked on. No male had tried to become a TL, it being unspokenly clear that Tami, faithful to her husband, would never accept it. It was a standing joke that the Queen's male subjects were restricted to kissing her on the knees, though in fact friendly hugs and kisses on her cheeks (the cheeks of her face, that is) were permitted as with anyone.
Tami practically inhaled the sandwich. As she was finishing she said, "Sorry Gretchen, about that class report."
"What?"
"That joke about the guns. I was trying to put you at ease but it was stupid."
"Oh... Well that's O.K." Gretchen was glad she hadn't had to bring it up herself. She had been really quite embarrassed by the presentation, more than she expected, and Tami's little joke hadn't helped. She decided to add, "Apology accepted."
"What's this about?" Marianne said.
"Nothing," Gretchen said.
Some more small talk. Seeing a book half-out of Spica's bookbag, Jeane said, "What is that?"
"The Kama Sutra," Spica said. "It's an Indian book of sex positions."
Gretchen looked at Tami and rolled her eyes.
Looking at the pretzeled couple on the cover, Barbara said, "How could you possibly do that without throwing your back out?"
"Well you old folks have to worry about that," Spica teased.
"It looks painful to me," Jeane said. "Tom and I tried something like that once and I almost broke his dick off."
Talking about sex again. What girls do when they're together, at least some girls. Gretchen politely excused herself.
"I'll catch up with you," Tami said.
After Gretchen left, Marianne said, "It's more like an athletic event than making love," looking at the cover.
Barbara said, "Call me old-fashioned, but there's no getting around the fact that missionary is the most intimate position."
"I think it's when we go down on each other," Jeane said. "He looks up at me, and I look up at him."
Some thoughful silence. Then Barbara said, "What do you think, Tami? What's the most intimate position?"
Tami thought, leaned back on her chair sipping her soda, then swung her foot up onto the table, wiggling her toes slowly in thought. Playing with the straw, she said, "Anal sex."
"Akkk," Myra said. "That's painful."
"It takes some practice," Tami said.
"How can you say that's the most intimate?" Myra said.
"Because you're opening yourself up to him totally, surrendering your body to him, above and beyond what nature intended, a place not designed to accept a penis."
That thought stilled the conversation for a bit. Then Tami said, "I have to go. Auf wiedersehen."
"Bye, Queen," Marianne said.
Tami smiled and stood up. After tossing her empty soda into the waste can with a breast-jiggling jump shot, she gave them a royal bow, then grabbed her bookbag and walked out with a relaxed, upright pace that was decidedly queen-like and regal.