All of my stories are based on something. Some are based in a real event, others, such as this one, are based on something I’ve seen or read. In this case, the first bit is self explanatory; it is based on reading stories on sites such as these! The girl, however, is based on a photograph I found on the internet. It is a magazine scan. I don’t know which but I would put money on it being a British magazine of the 1970s or 80s. Censorship was quite strict in the UK in those days and some magazines thrived by producing material that was erotic, kinky even, but not explicit. (Curiously spanking, thrashing a naked girls buttock purple, was tolerated, whereas loving conventional consenting sex was not -- which says it all about censorship! ;-)
Well, this picture was of a schoolgirl forced to perform stretching exercises naked, outdoors, in front of a large group of seated, clothed men and women (who I think where meant to be her school teachers). She was a genuine red-head, just as described in this story, who blushed like a beetroot. The scene was obviously staged, but the girls red face betrayed her true feelings, giving the picture a rare authenticity that is absent from so much modern porn.
He finished reading the story. Yes it had been fun, quite titillating, but maybe predictable.
A bit too far fetched, too. How often do you manage to catch a gorgeously attractive young woman doing something wrong under circumstances where you can blackmail her? And what is the probability that she would rather become you sex toy than lose her job or be prosecuted for stealing or whatever it usually is? Not bloody likely, he thought!
How, he wondered, would he really go about getting a young attractive girl to act out his fantasy without first having to stumble upon her breaking the law in some totally implausible way? There needed to be a simpler, easier way, he thought. Well...offer her money. They do say everyone has their price. How much money would a girl want in order to show herself naked? What about walking stark naked through a city centre? It would be interesting to be rich, would it not? To have enough money to stop a woman in the street and say ‘Please will you take off your clothes?’ She would probably call you a pervert and threatened to call the Police. No, the correct approach would be, "How would you like to earn £200?" Then hint it involves a bit of ‘modelling’. If she hasn’t left, ask if she’d walk down the street naked for £200. "You must be joking! No way!" is the likely response. So, ask her how much. "Not for a thousand pounds!". You fetch out £1000... well, you see where this is going. If you really are rich, then you can buy mostly anything you want, he supposed.
But, he wasn’t rich. Besides, he wasn’t quite sure if that would really appeal to him. Who would be exploiting who? A thousand pounds for a quick streak? And who would do it? Only someone brazen one brazen enough who was satisfied with the price.
No, it wasn’t.... right.
There were lots of sites on the internet with young models parading about naked in public. Sure, he’d seen plenty. At first they were quite titillating but after a while he got bored with the endless repetition. The models even looked the same. Same hair, same ‘landing strip’ trim, same navel piercing, same tattoos. They were all white, suntanned, 20 year olds with shoulder length brunette hair, ideal bodies and big smiles on their faces. Smiles... what was there to smile about? Well, they were having fun and being well paid and clearly some of them were used to being naked, being professional models. It was the unsuspecting onlookers who were embarrassed.
No, it wouldn’t do. It was all backward! There was no sexual element for him at all....
His fantasy would have to be.... Different.
Very different.
He thought about getting ‘his’ girl to walk down the street naked. There is no way she would want to do this. It would cause her the most extreme embarrassment. Not only at the time, of course, but afterwards when people found out. People who knew her, family, friends and work colleagues. She would be afraid of being arrested, of being on the news, of being in the newspapers.
Yes, but the walk itself? Surely embarrassment wasn’t the word. He frowned in concentration. Humiliation, yes; that was it. Ritual, public humiliation.
So, what had this young beauty done to deserve such a fate? Well, absolutely nothing other than to get his attention. She was the typical ‘girl next door’. Not that she wasn’t pretty, far from it. She lacked a certain glamour, perhaps because she didn’t realise how attractive she was, and maybe didn’t make the best of herself. She was young, shy, a little naïve, and sweet. Probably a virgin, too, he presumed.
She was a slender, pale skinned, red haired girl. Her hair was medium length and flicked in a style that he didn’t particularly like, but she was a genuine red head, he was certain, with a bush of bright red pubes, probably untrimmed. Well, he hoped so.
Yes, he wanted this naïve young girl to endure the fear, the humiliation, the gut wrenching terror of having to walk naked through the busy streets of his local town completely naked.
No, not completely naked. She will wear shoes. He liked the idea of shoes. Women’s shoes were designed to accentuate the body, to emphasise the length of a woman’s legs, to make her pelvis tip forward, making her legs and bum shapelier. A naked woman was just naked, natural if you like, but a naked woman in shoes was sexual.
How would she feel? Terrified, yes, especially at first, but what about after a few minutes, when she realised that no would attack her? He’d seen enough of those internet videos to know that confronted by a naked woman most people either pretend not to see, or amazingly really don’t notice, or look away, or watch in silence. The girl is almost never stopped, or spoken to. Some men whistle and shout approval, from a distance. Approval - what will our innocent, flame-haired beauty feel after the first few minutes of terror have subsided and she is being given whistles of approval by all those young attractive men? How will she feel when she realises that she is getting a lot of very positive attention and nothing bad is happening to her? Surely all women want to be admired and adored, don’t they?
Surely any attractive young girl would love to be the centre of so much.... Lust? To know she was the cause of these men’s enthusiastic whistles of approval? Would she become turned on? In a comfortable situation, where she was in control, maybe she would. But against the fear and humiliation of being forced to walk naked in public, would she be able to overcome this and become sexually aroused? He thought about the videos of the models he’d seen. Do they look aroused? Not really, they looked like they were out shopping, that is why he disliked their pictures so much.
He imagined how different it would be with his girl. Time to stop fantasising and time to make thing happen, he decided!
He didn’t really have a plan, but he had decided to make a start. He had never seen her with a boyfriend. That didn’t mean she had never had one, but they were clearly not queuing up. So, maybe she would be probably a bit naïve about men, then. How would he describe her personality? He new she was quiet, shy, even. Maybe timid, maybe easy to manipulate? He thought for a long moment. "Submissive", he said out loud. He jumped up and slipped his shoes on. Suddenly he knew how to get this girl to walk naked through the streets.
The only real way that would work and the only way that would satisfy him. It would take time and patience. First he would win her friendship, then her trust. She would become his lover, but much more than that. He decided the secret was to establish the ground rules early on. He would introduce her to his little fantasies; let her get used to them. She would learn to delight in acting out for him, in pleasing him. Little things, at first, such as wearing no underwear with her skirt or ‘accidentally’ forgetting to close the blinds when she changed. Slowly but surely, one day, she would walk down the street naked.
So, it was simple; she would do it because he would ask her to do it. She would want to please him, and she would have too much too lose...
Slipping out the front door he walked briskly down the road towards her house. Slightly to his surprise he almost bumped into her as she came out of her garden gate. "Hello trouble" he said. It was the first time he’d ever spoken to her and those were the first words to enter his head. "My name is Susan, actually" she said, and smiled. Already he knew her name and she had smiled at him; he had a really good feeling about this. He smiled back...
He stopped the car at the junction where the main shopping street started. It was pedestrianised, a row of concrete posts marking the start of the paved area stretching a couple of hundred yards past maybe two dozen shop fronts, before joining another road at the bottom of a slight hill. A small town on a quiet weekday, it wasn’t so busy, but there were maybe 60 people or so in the street. She opened the door and, after an obvious pause to take a deep breath, swung her bare legs out of the car and stood up. It was not a very cold day, although a little windy, but she had her arms huddled tightly around her long white raincoat. Straight away she attracted attention. She was attractive, obviously, distinctive with her shoulder length red hair. But what was incongruous to the passers by was that she was wearing high heeled shoes, which were mostly straps. Not unusual for dancing maybe, but just a little out of place in a shopping street, as was her long white coat and she seemed to be showing rather a lot of bare legs. Maybe a few bystanders speculated to themselves that she must have a very short skirt on, for the hem not to be visible beneath her coat. More unusual still was the way she stood still on the spot looking nervously at the ground in front of her, not moving as the car pulled away.
The driver would take a series of left turns until he arrived at the bottom of the street, where he would park opposite the posts blocking off the pedestrian area from traffic. He got out and walked up the street a little way. There was an uninspiring sculpture in a small semi-circular flower bed against the side of one building near the end of the street. Unnoticed by anyone else, he took up a vantage point by stepping onto the low wall that surrounded it, and wait patiently in the shadows, his palm recorder ready in his hand.
The girl raised her head and looked down the street. She saw the car parked at the bottom, a mere 200 yards away, maybe less. Knowing this is the signal; she unfolds her arms and begins to loosen her belt. Her hands are visibly shaking to anyone who is watching closely. Most passers by will not be. They will be doing just that, passing by and paying her no heed, but several people, especially a few men who are want to admire attractive women, will have noticed her and be watching with interest. They will maybe be curious as to what she is wearing under her coat. Or why, indeed, she chooses to remove it in the middle of the street. They will not be disappointed.
Having undone the belt, she slides one hand underneath to grasp the edge and takes the visible edge with her other hand. She pauses for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. She certainly will have attracted someone’s attention by now. What is she doing?
Maybe she knows to well the danger of hesitating too long, of allowing herself to think. Biting her bottom lip and closing her eyes, she pulls the coat open and slips it over her shoulders. As it slips free she gathers it up in one hand and tosses it gently onto one of the posts. She is now quite naked.
Fighting the urge to snatch back her coat and run, she opens her eye and fixing her gaze on the ground a few feet ahead of her, begins to walk steadily down the shopping street. She hears someone shout, someone make some comment, but she has blocked them out. She is conscious only of the sudden change in the background noise. People have stopped talking. Suddenly the bottom of the street seems a million miles away and her heart is hammering in her chest. Her skin feels the prickle of the autumn chill, yet her head feels hot enough to burst, she feels her face flush... hot and red.
She now has the full attention of the street. Some people look away in disgust, or embarrassment, others are grinning, maybe out of enjoyment, maybe for the same reason. A few connoisseurs are enjoying this unexpected treat. They take care to fully appreciate details that would escape those who had succumbed to the urge to look away. She was young, pretty, and slender. Obviously a genuine red-head, her red tresses were matched by her even brighter thatch of red curls. As if part of a matching theme her face was flushed red, a blush which extended down her neck and onto her chest. Her breast were not large, but where pert and firm. They danced gently in sympathy to her walk as she had her hands swinging freely by her sides. Her nipples were firmed and engorged, the pink of her areola flushing to red at the tips. Maybe the very observant would notice the hint of reddening of the tantalising glimpse of pink lips visible beneath her curls, or even the way they glistened?
She had walked maybe a quarter of the way down the street, perhaps 30 seconds. It would seem like an age. The bottom of the street would seem as far away as ever. People around her would be growing in confidence and she would be becoming more aware of them. Lifting her eyes up she would meet the stares of leering, grinning men, watching her every move. She would quickly return her gaze to the floor and quicken her pace, feeling more vulnerable and naked than ever, if that were possible.
Those behind her who care to watch closely, and there will now surely be a few, will enjoy the sceptical of the rear view of her long legs and firm rounded bottom.
From his vantage point he can see her approaching, maybe 50 yards away. He will have her in his cameras viewfinder. He enjoys watching her breasts. They jiggle erotically now she has quickened her pace, each one giving an extra little bob in turn as the heel of the opposing shoe clicks on the pavement. She is breathing heavily, too, her chest, and breasts, visibly rising and falling and she takes deep breaths, but whether out of exertion or panic, he can not tell.
Only 200 yards, but that is nearly a two minute walk, an eternity for a naked girl to be in a public place. Her initial anguish about stripping naked has passed, to be replaced by the fear of.... Of what exactly? Of the unknown, maybe. Looking up she can see the car, it still seems a long way away. She can see him watching her, videoing her. She can see many other eyes on her naked body. Someone whistles, a wolf whistle, someone else shouts something intelligible, but clearly meant to indicate interest: Sexual interest.
She feels strange. She has never walked such a distance with her breast free to move. She has resisted the strong temptation to hold them, keeping her arms by her sides as she was instructed to do. She finds the sensation, a little uncomfortable, but not completely unpleasant. She is very conscious of her nipples, as they feel so... sensitive. She tries to ignore the sensation, as she does the sensation between her legs. A familiar sensation, but unwelcome right now, in this scary place. She closes her eyes for a moment and tries to shut out what is happening around her, but it only makes the feelings in her own body more intense.
Still another 50 yards to go, maybe another 30 seconds, she increases her pace a little, but finds it magnifies the sensations she is experiences. The sensations of her bouncing breasts, the sensations within her moist sex as she strides in those high shoes, the prickle of the cold air on her skin, the gaze of the onlookers, the growing tingling between her legs. She opens her eyes wide with the sudden panic of the realisation of what is happening to her. Those keenly watching her progress would see her clasp her arms across her breasts and her crotch and with an expression of panic on her face struggle to run the last 20 yards in her high heels., believing she had lost her nerve.
He would arrive at the car a few seconds after her and he pulled away quickly, hoping no one would take the registration. Secretly delighted he turned to chastise her for chickening out on the last 20 yards. She was lying back in the seat, still naked and making no attempt to cover herself or get her clothes from the back seat. One hand was between her legs and the other across her chest, cupping one of her breasts. She let out a series of gasps as she thrust her hips against her own hand. She couldn’t even wait for me, he thought, as she threw her head back, her eyes glazed as she arched her back.
Of course, she had failed to do as she agreed; she didn’t walk the full length of the street. He would be angry, but not too angry. So, she would have to do it again of course, in a different street. Maybe she will have to walk a bit further next time. Maybe he will have to find a busier street.
Somehow, he didn’t think he would have to work on her quite so hard to persuade her, next time.
So, he had achieved his goal. He had publicly humiliated his victim in order to satisfy his own sexually perverted fantasy. He no longer had use of her and could simply abandon her. Cruel, yes. Very cruel. She would be completely devastated when the full enormity of how she had been used became apparent to her. He would say this to himself, trying to believe it.
But life is not quite so simple. She may appear naïve, but it is not just social skills that are being tested, here. Human desire doesn’t need the players in the game to understand what is happening to them, they play along never-the-less. She may not be fully aware of the bait cast to him when she acted out his most secret, his most revered of fantasies and acted them out so well, but hooked he would be. Strange, sometimes, is the bond between people, but he was surely bound.
Strange, sometimes, how our perceptions of events can be... twisted?
She was unlikely to abandon him quite yet.