Chapter 3: Bullies’ Gift – Traditional Dress

The sun rose on a new day, casting its golden rays upon the ominous gift bag left by her tormentors. An involuntary shiver coursed through her body as Sylvia approached, grappling with a sense of dread and morbid curiosity. With trembling hands, she lifted the lid, revealing the contents within, which promised to unravel the tapestry of her dignity even further.

Sylvia unwrapped the gift bag and discovered a note inside: “Wear these, but nothing else. These are traditional dress—crop tops and skirts. Show respect for our local culture by wearing this to school from today. Make sure you wear nothing else, not even a shoe.” However, beneath the note, Sylvia found no conventional clothing, only two spandex loops resembling belts. One loop resembled a narrow women’s belt, while the other matched the size of a men’s belt. They were already looped in a stretchable fabric, resembling a leotard pattern. She initially wondered if Matombo had forgotten to include the crop top and skirt, leaving only the belts. Then, it dawned on her that these were the crop top and skirt referred to in the note.

Sylvia comprehended the sinister intent behind their actions. The so-called ‘game’ from the night before was a grotesque spectacle of degradation and agony. Stripped of her clothing, she was coerced to bend over, becoming a target for the merciless blows of rubber canes wielded by three men taking turns. The perverse rules dictated who could deliver the most forceful blows, who could elicit a flinch from her buttocks, and who could make her jump in pain. Perfect stillness in that degrading position was the demand, with penalties imposed for any deviation, amplifying the torment.

For these three boys, it was just a game; it was a sadistic game centered on deriding her and inflicting excruciating pain. The gift she now held served a parallel purpose—its intention was not to provide cover but to lay bare and expose her body. This additional layer of humiliation was enforced by the mandate that she could not wear anything else, further compounding the degradation she was forced to endure.

She stood there in her cabin, tightly clutching two loops of fabric, suspended in a moment of profound indecision. The notion of defiantly going to the school in her own garments, rejecting the demands of those three bullies, lingered in the recesses of her thoughts. Yet, a haunting query cast its shadow—should they choose to assail her again, who would come to her defense? Aprico Island, a realm ensnared in chaos, offered no sanctuary; even seeking aid from the police was perilous for foreigners, given the government’s hostile anti-foreigner policies.

Her previous appeal to the school principal had yielded only despondency. The three men she had reported not only invaded her cabin but subjected her to their torturous ‘game,’ transforming it into an evening of unparalleled pain and humiliation. Confronted with a stark absence of alternatives, she felt compelled to acquiesce to their demands. There was no haven for her, no confidant to turn to—her humanitarian organization had departed, and all communication beyond Aprico Island was severed with the government’s severing of phone lines. Additionally, she lacked the means of transportation, as only authorized residents possessed the requisite papers.

In her isolation and vulnerability, she confronted a brutal truth: she had no recourse but to comply. Despite the impending humiliation awaiting her, submission to their degrading demand appeared the lesser evil when weighed against the grim and uncertain alternatives that lay ahead.

Against her will, Sylvia donned the so-called crop top. As she fastened the strip of spandex across her chest, an audacious revelation unfolded—barely concealing her nipples, it laid bare the entirety of her generously endowed triple D-sized breasts to the world. The delicate spandex fabric loosely clung to her ample bosom, with the nipples subtly protruding through the fabric, forming small dimples. Its precarious perch, perilously close to slipping off with every motion, heightened Sylvia’s acute awareness of her newfound and unwarranted exposure.

The meager concealment offered by the top, merely skimming over her nipples, paled in comparison to the perplexing predicament presented by the next item—the so-called skirt. Slightly broader than the top, this purported skirt was a mere 5-centimeter-wide strip, akin to the width of men’s belts, crafted from spandex fabric. It left Sylvia with an astonishingly minimal garment to veil her intimate areas. While deciding where to cover her chest was a matter of choosing the most minimal area—her nipples—on the bottom, a plethora of areas demanded coverage. Her unshaven pubic area extended wider than the loop, not to mention the expanse of her buttocks.

Sylvia carefully adjusted the spandex strip to rest precisely at the level of her buttocks, where her anus was located. She pondered if this positioning might provide some semblance of coverage to the sensitive area. The notion occurred to her that if she were to bend over, her buttocks would naturally part, exposing her anus to anyone nearby. The thin attempt at modesty that Sylvia sought to establish seemed ineffective given the awkward and impractical design of the garment.

The front of this supposed skirt presented Sylvia with an equally confusing predicament. As she weighed her options, she wrestled with the choice of either lifting it slightly, revealing the crevice of her vulva with her plump and wide pubic mounds concealing the folds of her labia, or pulling it down, exposing all the pubic mounds above her vulva crack and her unshaven pubic hair. The scant amount of fabric left her precariously perched between the two extremes of immodesty, a delicate balancing act that vividly underscored the absurdity of her situation.

As Sylvia dealt with the clothing challenge, the thought of shaving briefly crossed her mind. However, the absence of a razor and her deeply ingrained modesty, developed over a lifetime, stopped her from considering it. This mindset originated from the teachings of her late mother in Sylvia’s early years. Her mother believed that only individuals like prostitutes or those intentionally revealing their private areas in public would opt to shave. According to her mother, if a bikini couldn’t properly cover natural pubic hair, then that bikini was too small.

Luckily for Sylvia, her natural pubic hair formed a tidy, perfect triangle on her pubic mounds. The rest of her body, with its alabaster skin, looked as pure and clean as possible—hairless, except for a small amount under her armpits. As a result, Sylvia had never felt the need to shave. It seemed ironic that, with this small piece of cloth masquerading as a skirt, the unshaven areas, typically considered a symbol of her modesty, unintentionally became a focal point.

In the end, Sylvia chose to cover her vulva crevice while revealing her unshaven pubic hair above the so-called skirt. She pulled the 5-centimeter strip downward as much as possible, positioning it where her upper thigh met her hips, highlighting the vulva crevice nestled between two plump mounds. She felt self-conscious about most of the triangle of her pubic hair being exposed above the fabric, but she had no other option. The fabric was too narrow, and if she pulled it up to cover her pubic hair, her vulva crevice would be visible underneath.

As Sylvia painstakingly navigated through the challenging task of putting on—or, to be more precise, struggling to put on—her outfit, the harsh reality of the situation started to dawn on her. The realization hit her that she was now compelled to venture outside her cabin in a state of almost complete nudity. There was no alternative. The nervousness consumed her; her hands trembled, and her legs weakened under the weight of anxiety.

Sylvia, a strikingly beautiful white woman with a voluptuous body and generously endowed with large breasts, cautiously stepped out of her cabin, adorned in those scandalous two pieces of so-called clothing. The streets, already abuzz with vibrant activity and adorned with the rich hues of the local culture, served as a bustling backdrop to her silent ordeal. The atmosphere was alive with the animated chatter of dark-skinned locals, their colorful clothing creating a vivid tapestry against the backdrop of the earthy surroundings.

Aware of the gaze of the locals, Sylvia felt a rising blush on her cheeks, her fair skin standing out amidst the rich diversity of dark complexions. The cacophony of the lively street intensified her sense of vulnerability, making her efforts to minimize the spectacle an uphill battle against the relentless scrutiny of the public eye in this unfamiliar and vibrant African setting.

Determined to downplay the unintentional spectacle she had become, Sylvia quickened her steps, almost breaking into a jog. However, the brisk movement seemed to conspire against the feeble efforts of her skimpy top, struggling to conceal her ample assets. The fabric threatened to unveil her nipples, the large breasts bouncing with an inadvertent rhythm, drawing attention amidst the lively street scenes.

Simultaneously, the bottom strip perilously clung to her upper thighs, revealing her hairy vulva from the front and leaving the entirety of her buttocks exposed from the back. The locals, going about their daily activities, couldn’t help but cast curious glances her way, their dark eyes widening with surprise at the unusual sight. The vibrant marketplace echoed with a mix of languages, creating a symphony of sounds that surrounded Sylvia’s silent ordeal.

In the midst of the bustling activity, Sylvia came to a momentary halt to readjust her precarious attire – two flimsy strips of spandex that seemed determined to defy their intended purpose. She couldn’t help but notice the curious glances from the locals, their eyes widening at the sight of the scantily clad white woman.

As Sylvia adjusted her attire, she could feel the curious gazes of the locals on her exposed body. The vibrant colors of the market stalls surrounded her, and the diverse sounds of conversation filled the air. The tops of her breasts peeked out from the skimpy top, while the bottom loop of her skirt failed to cover her womanhood and instead revealed her hairy vulva.

Sylvia’s frantic hands reached and tugged at the skimpy fabric covering her curves, trying to find some form of modesty amidst the bustling street scene. She delicately adjusted the skimpy top, ensuring it covered her exposed nipples. Simultaneously, she tugged at the bottom loop, attempting to find the delicate balance that would provide adequate coverage to her vulva crevice. The spandex fabric was thin and barely there, clinging uncomfortably to Sylvia’s body as she attempted to cover herself. Her fingers brushed against her skin, feeling too exposed and vulnerable in the skimpy outfit.

The locals, engaged in their daily routines, paused momentarily to witness this unexpected scene – a beautiful white woman struggling with her attire amidst the rhythm of African life. Sylvia, with fair skin standing out against the vibrant hues of the surroundings, continued her efforts to maintain a semblance of modesty in this unfamiliar cultural setting, her actions inadvertently becoming a fleeting spectacle in the midst of the lively African street.

Sylvia’s cheeks turned a bright red as she heard the mocking words of the onlookers. Their eyes glinted with amusement and disdain; their mouths twisted into smirks as they openly mocked her. “Hey, woman, that’s not going to cover anything. If you want to show off your body, just walk naked, hehehe...” The words stung, and Sylvia’s face flushed red with shame.

A woman’s voice rang out, not so discreetly for everyone to hear. “Look at that white trash; someone should whip her and teach her a lesson in morality!” Each step was a step closer to the threshold of shame, a gauntlet of humiliation that Sylvia reluctantly traversed. The weight of shame threatened to buckle her resolve, and she teetered on the brink of tears, her instinct urging her to crouch down and hide from the world.

Sylvia’s heart raced as she frantically tried to maintain some semblance of modesty with her meager coverings. Every step was a delicate dance, teetering between speed and the preservation of what little dignity clung to her inadequate garments. She couldn’t help but instinctively move her arms to shield herself, only to quickly pull them back in embarrassment as she realized how futile it was - drawing even more attention to her precarious state. The thin fabric clung desperately to her body, revealing every curve and dip, causing her cheeks to burn with humiliation. Sylvia felt like a circus performer on a tightrope, trying desperately not to stumble and expose herself to the world.

As Sylvia made her way through the public eye, she couldn’t shake the awareness that the scrutinizing gazes around her might misinterpret her as a provocateur, deliberately exposing herself for their scrutiny. The paradoxical nature of her attire, a mere semblance to adhere to public decency, accentuated the potential legal implications of nudity—a stark contrast to the laws of the Western world.

The delicate fabric Sylvia was compelled to wear would have amounted to an offense in many other countries, emphasizing the irony that on Aprico Island, where the presence of law enforcement was scarce, it remained legally acceptable. Nevertheless, this legal leniency did little to dispel the unspoken judgments that seemed to linger in the air.

The sun overhead cast a warm glow on the bustling streets filled with dark-skinned locals, engaging in the ebb and flow of daily life. Sylvia, with her fair skin and voluptuous figure, stood out amid the vibrant tapestry of the African landscape. The rhythmic sounds of conversations and the vibrant colors of market stalls added to the lively backdrop, creating a scene that juxtaposed the legality of her attire with the unspoken societal norms.

Sylvia pressed on, endeavoring to combat the rising embarrassment that surged within her. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t escape the jeering, lewd comments, and lingering stares that seemed to shadow her every step. Periodically, she found herself adjusting her top, fervently attempting to reclaim a semblance of modesty by covering her exposed nipples. Simultaneously, she made subtle amendments to the bottom strip, ensuring it stayed in place to conceal her public crevice. The journey continued until she finally arrived at her school, and a fleeting sense of relief washed over her.

Yet, Sylvia’s fleeting relief quickly dissipated, as she realized a whole day awaited her—teaching in front of her students, which included the three boys, the bullies, who compelled her to attend school in this degrading attire. A voice in her head persisted with a stark reminder, “You have no choice, Sylvia. Obey, go along, if you wish to avoid enduring torturous pain once again.”

The school appeared on the horizon like a sanctuary, offering respite from the relentless scrutiny of the streets. Hurrying through the entrance of Aprico Island Reform School, Sylvia sought solace within the embrace of its familiar walls.

Sylvia stepped into her classroom, the vivid African sunlight streaming through the open windows. The room was empty for now, devoid of the lively chatter and laughter that usually filled the air when her students congregated in the schoolyard. The anticipation of their arrival lingered, as she knew they would soon trickle in, engrossed in their spirited games before the 9 am bell heralded the start of the first class.

The desks neatly arranged, the chalkboard waiting to be filled with lessons, Sylvia took a moment to absorb the vibrant colors of the classroom. The posters on the walls depicted scenes of local life, the rich tapestry of the African landscape, and the diverse faces of the dark-skinned locals. As a beautiful white woman with a voluptuous body and large breasts, Sylvia stood in stark contrast against this backdrop, her fair skin making her a visual focal point.

The quiet before the storm enveloped the room, punctuated only by the distant sounds of teens playing outside. Sylvia, a foreign presence in this lively African setting, felt a mixture of nervousness and trepidation. She wondered how her appearance with only two pieces of narrow spandex loop around her nearly naked body, would be received by her students.

In the hush of her classroom, she dreaded the entrance of her students—a group of sixteen boys, all in their late teens, designated as delinquents and directed to this reform school. Despite their involvement in numerous crimes driven by the harsh realities of poverty, their intentions were not inherently malevolent. In the context of less modern societies, where individuals often grow up shielded from life’s complexities, these young men retained a degree of naivety.

In her third week, even though it was only her third day at the reform school, she found comfort in connecting with the boys and girls in her neighborhood. They were incredibly friendly, pure, and naive, often addressing her with the affectionate term “auntie.” These youngsters were untarnished by the anti-foreign and anti-white sentiments prevalent among most adults on the island. This sentiment was justifiably rooted in the brutal colonial history and unjustifiably fueled by the current government propaganda.

In the intricate tapestry of Sylvia’s evolving perceptions, the once-clear image of these teens, her students, underwent a profound transformation, marred by a harrowing experience at the hands of three among them. The veneer of naivety cracked to reveal a harsh reality—they were the architects of violence, the ominous label ‘the bullies’ casting a dark shadow over their collective identity. This revelation left an indelible mark on Sylvia’s understanding, a sobering acknowledgment that innocence often cloaked malevolence. Yet, amidst this disconcerting revelation, the remainder of the group retained their unblemished innocence in Sylvia’s eyes, preserving the sanctity of her perspective.

However, a pivotal moment loomed on the horizon—a calculated act poised to challenge preconceptions and redefine the dynamics within the room. Sylvia, ensnared in a coercive choice driven by fear of repercussions from the bullies, stood as a 32-year-old white woman, her nude body draped in two slender strips of fabric.

Sylvia was aware, her students, oblivious to the backstory, were left to interpret the tableau before them. What would they, local African boys in their teens, make of this 32-year-old white woman standing before them in this audacious attire? Would they perceive her as a promiscuous exhibitionist, a spectacle for their amusement? Would their treatment of her change, marked by a shift from respect to objectification?

Sylvia grappled with a cascade of thoughts and worries. Her awareness of her own alluring physique—voluptuous and curvy form—intensified the complexity of the situation. Would they reduce her to a sexual object, casting aside the respect she had previously garnered? The weight of these thoughts pressed upon her as she stood there, a tableau of vulnerability and coercion.

The minutes ticked away, each one carrying the burden of an impending encounter that could reshape perceptions. Beyond the closed door, her students gathered outside, enjoying the fleeting moments of freedom before the bell heralded the return to routine.

Lost in contemplation, Sylvia pondered her next steps when her students, including her the three bullies, filed into the classroom. Their jeers and lewd comments echoed through the air, further deepening the pit of humiliation Sylvia found herself in.

“Hey, Mrs. Sylvia, what’s up? We like your new dress. WOW...” one of her students remarked with an Aprico accent. Another chimed in, “Mrs. Sylvia see your bottom fat, fat bottom woman...” The cruelest of comments followed – “She’s hairy, man ... see those hair...” The words hung heavily, an assault on her dignity that left her yearning to retreat beneath the sanctuary of the teacher’s table. Sylvia’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, the color creeping up her face like a rising tide. Her body, clad in nothing but two strips of fabric, stood exposed and vulnerable in front of her students. She could feel their eyes, filled with judgement and lust, boring into her skin, but she knew that she had no choice.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Sylvia steeled herself to face the classroom. “Boys, please be quiet,” Sylvia implored, attempting to command some modicum of authority. “This is a gift from Matumbo, Gambe, and Marimba. This is your traditional dress, right?” The instantaneous eruption of loud laughter from the students served as a stark reminder of her naivety. Despite their mocking jeers, Sylvia adopted a facade of ignorance, opting to play the fool rather than yield to the burden of her humiliation. It may not have been a rational response, but her mind seemed to guide her in this direction, as though the mere insistence on the adequacy of those two small fabric pieces could transform them into legitimate clothing in the eyes of others. It was akin to asserting happiness – as if by claiming it, others would perceive one as happy even in the midst of sorrow. Yet, this situation differed significantly; one cannot assert to be dressed without actually donning proper attire.

As the taunts continued, the atmosphere in the classroom became increasingly charged. Sylvia tried to maintain composure, her attempts to carry on with the lesson futile against the backdrop of her indecent attire. The implications of her predicament were more profound than she had initially grasped. The students reveled in the spectacle of surreal tableau in front of their eyes, their teacher, beautiful white female teacher, with curvy body, stood there virtually naked in front of the class trying to teach them, asking them to open their English textbook. As hard as Sylvia tried, she couldn’t escape reality, entangled in a web of ridicule.

Sylvia’s cheeks blazed with a vivid hue, a clear manifestation of the intense embarrassment waging war within her. The desire to disclose the truth gnawed at her, wishing to convey that this daring ensemble was not a personal choice but the unfortunate consequence of coercion. However, the formidable fear of the relentless bullies, who had subjected her to harrowing ordeals on two separate occasions, quashed the courage needed to articulate this truth.

Despite the burning urge to set the record straight, Sylvia found herself silenced by trepidation. The echoes of jeers and giggles reverberated around her, creating a tumultuous environment that heightened her anxiety. In a desperate bid to shield herself from further humiliation, she mustered the limited courage she possessed. Her only recourse was to attempt to drown out the derisive laughter and commence her class, a task that seemed insurmountable given the circumstances.

With a tremor in her voice, she pleaded with her students, “Please, be quiet. Let’s turn our attention to Chapter 7, shall we?” The tone of the teacher’s plea carried a note of vulnerability, as if beseeching for a semblance of normalcy in the face of an overwhelmingly awkward situation.

In the midst of a scorching wave of embarrassment, Sylvia bravely confronted the daunting task of teaching in a classroom filled with 16 students. The vibrant African setting, teeming with dark-skinned local boys, provided a stark backdrop to the scene. As a strikingly beautiful white woman with a voluptuous body and generously endowed breasts, Sylvia stood out amidst the predominantly dark complexions surrounding her.

Her attempts to navigate this awkward scenario were evident in the improvised “traditional cloth” that clung to her body. This makeshift garment, resembling a delicate shield, struggled to provide even meager coverage. It only covered her nipples and pubic crevice, with the majority of her body remained exposed to the probing eyes of her students.

The classroom, a microcosm of African diversity, became a stage for this peculiar spectacle. The contrast between Sylvia’s fair skin and the darker hues of her surroundings intensified the awkwardness of the situation. The students, a mix of curiosity and restrained amusement, observed every move Sylvia made. Their collective gaze, like a spotlight, focused on the unconventional attire that draped her form.

In the room filled with 16 students, their faces displayed a spectrum of emotions from awkward curiosity to visible discomfort. Their furtive glances at Sylvia created an atmosphere charged with unspoken tension. It was evident that they found themselves immersed in an unusual spectacle—an English lesson unfolding before their eyes, delivered by a beautiful white woman with very large breasts, draped in a state of near-nudity.

As Sylvia navigated the lesson with determination in her strained voice, the air crackled with a palpable awareness among the students. They were grappling with the unique dynamics of the situation, trying to reconcile the expected decorum of a classroom with the unexpected exposure of their educator.

Out of blue, interrupting her explanation of English sentence from the textbook, “Hey, Mrs. Sylvia, you forgot to shave this morning,” jeered one of the students, cruelly pointing to her unshorn pubic mound. A tide of embarrassment washed over Sylvia, her face aflame with a deep crimson hue. The echoes of laughter, loud and mocking, reverberated within the confines of the classroom, amplifying her humiliation.

In a reflexive motion, Sylvia’s left hand instinctively descended to her crotch, driven by an immediate need to shield the unshaven triangle of her pubic mounds situated just above the narrow strip of fabric masquerading as a skirt. In a momentary lapse of conscious thought, she unwittingly pulled the skirt upward, intending to conceal her hairy pubic mound, yet unaware of the unintended consequence.

As her skirt ascended, the lower part of her pubic region, encompassing the hip where her thighs met her curvaceous hip, along with her wide and plump pubic mounds, which was notably broader than the typical women, became exposed for all the African boys in the room to witness. This inadvertent revelation unfolded in a vulnerable moment, laying bare the most private aspect of Sylvia’s anatomy, the crevice of her vulva, that she had not intended to showcase.

The raucous laughter echoed through the room, a cacophony of crude remarks reverberating off the walls. “Wow, Mrs. Sylvia wants to show us her pussy!” The comment hung in the air, fueling an uproar that seemed to intensify with each passing moment. The students, their expressions ranging from amusement to visible discomfort, cast furtive glances at Sylvia, who was desperately attempting to regain control of a situation that had spiraled into a chaotic spectacle.

Caught in the crossfire of inappropriate comments, Sylvia’s cheeks burned with a deep hue of embarrassment. The unintended exposure had unleashed a wave of humiliation upon her, and she felt the weight of every jeer and giggle pressing upon her like a suffocating force. The room, previously a space of learning, had transformed into a theater of mockery.

In response to the unwarranted attention, Sylvia yanked down her skirt, hoping to shield her pubic mounds from the collective gaze. However, in her haste, the fabric descended too low, once again exposing her plump and wide vulva to the unabated scrutiny of her students. The room erupted with renewed laughter, crude remarks persisting like an unwelcome chorus. “Wow ... wee, look at that,” the comments continued, pushing Sylvia further into the depths of humiliation.

‘Yes, Mrs. Sylvia, keep it there, keep the skirt on your thighs!” The taunts, though cruel, persisted, amplifying the emotional turmoil within Sylvia. Fighting back tears, she gathered every ounce of strength to adjust her skirt, attempting to salvage whatever remained of her dignity. Her movements were strained, her hands trembling as she endeavored to position the fabric strategically in front of her pubic crevice.

The room, now lingering in a surreal atmosphere of laughter, giggles, comments, and whispered conversations, had become a battleground for Sylvia’s struggle against the onslaught of shame. The students, 16 boys, each with their unique reactions, were unwitting spectators to a scene that transcended the boundaries of appropriateness.

Following that tumultuous moment, an urge gnawed at Sylvia, compelling her to shield her intimate parts with her hands. However, she resisted, acknowledging that such an act would only escalate the ongoing degradation. Within the confines of her mind, Sylvia grappled with the notion that, perhaps, embracing a sense of normalcy—no matter how vulnerable it made her appear—was the least humiliating option. It was a precarious tightrope walk between the desire to shield herself from further embarrassment and the recognition that doing so might inadvertently amplify the mockery surrounding her.

Sylvia found herself at the epicenter of an unexpected maelstrom, the room now echoing with a cacophony of laughter and crude comments. The students, captivated by the spectacle before them, wore expressions of curiosity and amusement, their gaze fixated on the exposed body of their teacher. She, unlike the previous teachers, was a beautiful white woman with a body that seemed straight out of the internet—ample melon-sized breasts, curvaceous hips, a sight they had only encountered on the internet until now.