Section 2

He watched them pull the little garments over their heads and loosely tie the drawstrings into bows. “Very nice. Almost see-through. Let’s see the movie and see how we will look in a few hours.”

The potential public exposure made their nipples harder.

Once down and settled, Phil started ‘The Thin Man’. They giggled and laughed at the sophisticated teasing and wisecracking antics as Myrna Loy, William Powell and Maureen O’Sullivan cruised through the Dashiell Hammett mystery.

“We can do that.” Marcie declared. “If the clothes are even close to the slinky stuff in the movie, this will be great fun.”

“We have twenty-five minutes to get there. I’ll lock up the house. Hop in the truck and let’s get moving.” He said. “Rock and roll.”

For the thinly clothed girls, the potential public exposure was becoming less ‘potential’ and more real.

The truck got them to the session a bit before 3:00. Amy directed them to the stage door. “We have a full house, folks. Every discipline is represented today. The costume assistants will meet you in the green room and get you started in suits and evening gowns. Follow me.”

She led them through a maze of scenery parts and pieces of flats, to the green room. “Meet Joanne and Nancy. They will do the fittings and help you get dressed. They have the set list ready to go.”

The costumers looked the group over and laughed. “This is going to be so easy. The girls are nearly the same size as our actors. Tighten a belt, pinch a seam here and there and it will work better than we imagined. The guy looks way more sexy than our lead, not to mention he’s in better shape.” Nancy decided.

“Do you want to do the changes here or in the dressing rooms?” Joanne asked. “If you guys aren’t too modest, it will be quicker and easier to change here.”

The girls agreed to stay in the green room if there were no visitors. The costumers said that every one was in the house except them and the lighting designer. He was in the wings, testing dimmers.

“Ms Zander will keep the curtain closed until she has you four in place.” Nancy advised, “Bobby will bring up the lights when the curtain is raised. Fats Waller, Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman will be playing to set the mood.”

The first series was in clingy, fluid-like ball gowns and a fancy tuxedo, complete with top hat and cane. They were to be in the living room section of the stage.

Amy met them on the set. “Wow, I’m jealous. You look too good. The idea is that you have just come home after an evening of drinks and dancing. The set is smallish. Try to make seem large.”

“We got this, Ms Zander. Phil had us watch the old movie after lunch.” Polly said. “Put us in place and we’ll nail the mood.”

They started with Phil and Karen as dancers, frozen in mid step. Marcie was making nightcaps with Polly at the side bar, laughing at the pair of silly dancers. Amy was happy and signaled Bobby at the control board, stepping into the wings.

The footlights and follow spots were so bright the models could not see the viewers. That actually was a great help. It let them get lost in the poses. In fact, there were more than two hundred artists, faculty and administrators in attendance.

Every twenty minutes or so, Amy moved them around. Phil sitting with a cocktail, Polly with a wine glass, everyone dancing with everyone else. Toasting a fine evening with glasses raised high. They kept changing the mood, sexy, stylish, flirty, silly, mixing it up within each pose.

After five sets, Amy brought down the curtain and changed the scene to the bedroom, the morning after the night before. Nora (Marcie) and Dorothy (Karen) were found in the same bed, wearing only little tap panties and a nearly sheer bed jacket. Nick (Phil), wearing loose fitting silk pajamas, and their friend (Polly), in a shortie gown, were waking them up. Nora and Dorothy were quite thoroughly hung over.

The mood changes and expressions went from miserable agony, to surprise at the odd partnering, to pointed accusation over possible hijinks with the wrong person, to embarrassment over being in a compromising with an equally wrong bedmate. Every time Amy signaled, they changed position and mood. Laughing, grinning, raised eyebrows, faces covered in mock shame, pointed fingers, the models had a ball.

Eventually, all four wound up in the double bed, squished and twisted together. Lots of skin showed, but no naughty bits.

And, of course, Amy had taken dozens of picture from all over the set, behind the scenery, from the light rails, or the wings, always concealed from the sketching artists.

Prof. Martin appeared from nowhere on the stage. “And that, people, is a wrap.” She shouted as the curtain dropped behind her. “You have your assignments. Lets see your best stuff. Classes as usual on Monday.”

Amy rushed into the green room before the models were dressed for the public. The girls were totally naked and Phil had on only his boxer briefs. They reacted with no small degree of surprise when Amy asked if they could do another hour or so in the regular studio.

Phil huddled with his very-aware-of-being-naked housemates for a second and announced their conclusion as Polly, Karen and Marcie pulled on their sundresses, “Tonight and tomorrow we were planning to move the girls into new quarters. We can and will do it if you can get some volunteers with cars or a truck to help us move their things.” He said firmly, “Otherwise we have to have some time to take care of our lives outside the studio.” He put on his shorts and shirt, waiting for an answer.

Joanne looked at Nancy and came to an unspoken agreement. “I have an S-10 and Nancy has a Volvo wagon. We’ll help if you will let us sit in. It’s only fair. You got to see us work. Turnabout is a good thing.”

The models looked at each other and came to an accord, conversing with eyebrows alone. “We be in the changing room by 7:00.” Karen said. “See you there.”

Amy pumped her fist in the air. “Great. Thank you. Come as you are.” She rushed out to tell Marian that the evening session was a go. “I’ll get my class and help you spread the word to the chosen few. The models will be in the studio in twenty minutes.”

Prof. Martin pointed to a group of guys. She shouted, “Barry. David. Jason. Will you three be good guys and help Bobby the lighting designer shut down the theatre? I need to get back to the studio quickly.” They jumped to the task, eager to see what the back stage area looked like up close. She remembered to thank them nicely.

Her shout was loud enough to alert the select staff and chosen all-stars to the upcoming evening session. A couple of dozen women and girls slowly drifted to the exits. Amy caught up with the four models in the parking lot. “There are sandwiches and snacks in the red cooler in the changing room. Drinks are in the blue one.”

“Thanks, Amy.” Marcie said. “What will we be wearing?”

“Just what you have on now. Phil will be in shorts only. Props will be the bench and ottoman.” Amy made it easy and hard. “We’ll wait and play it off the cuff. There will be more than the usual group and you will be ‘posing in the round’.”

“Can I ask a question or two?”

“Sure, Phil, ask away”

“Are we the only models this semester and are we the central theme of every end-of-year show this spring?”

Amy blanched and whispered, “Yes and Yes. And if a single word of this gets out, Prof. Martin will hang me by my toes in the main lobby after she bites my head off. This vow of silence applies to you two also, Nancy and Joanne. Your Director is Prof. Martin’s brother-in-law.”

“Thank you for the straight answer. We promise not to slack off or take advantage. You’ll always get our best effort, especially now that we know how much is riding on it.” Marcie vowed.

“I never doubt it. See you in the studio.” She went out to gather her class.

Phil told the costumers, “You can follow us to the Art Department or crowd into my truck. Turn your phones off and leave them with ours in the dressing room. They are strictly forbidden. If an instructor hears a ring, chime or song, you will be escorted to the door and shot outside so your lifeblood will not stain the floor. Blood spatter is so hard to clean.”

“Can we bring our costume sketchbooks?” Joanne asked, “That is what we do.”

“No one will have a problem there. If you’re happy with your drawings, show them to Amy.” Phil answered.

“I’d like to take figure drawing as one of my design electives.” Nancy said. “It might be more fun than landscaping.”

“We’re outta here. There is a sandwich calling my name.” Karen squealed as she bolted for the door. The exodus to the studio began with a jostling, jiggling foot race. Phil decided that he really liked those sundresses. Really. A lot.

He made quick pass through his house, grabbing the pink and yellow versions of the sundress and a shaving kit. He gave a dress each to Nancy and Joanne. “Put these on when we get there. It gets pretty warm in the studio. You will be more comfortable in these.”

For some reason, neither costumer objected to changing clothes. “Do you think they will fit OK?” Joanne wondered. “We are a few inches taller and at least a cup size bigger up top.”

“They might fit. Mine is kinda blousy. But it will be short-ish on you both.”

“Karen is right.” Marcie giggled madly. “Sitting politely is not an option. Plainly speaking, your asses will show for the world to appreciate.”

“I hope you keep your bushes groomed. ‘Commando’ is the rule and you will be flashing twats with every step.” Polly added with a grin. “Phil will like that.”

“For your information, we shave our twats bare.” Nancy bragged. With no awareness of a decision, the costumers were now figure drawing models.

Phil cracked up. “In that case, I am wishing for gale-force wind.”

They chatted about the fit until Phil parked by the door to the studio. They resumed the footrace to the changing room. He found no reason to dislike the dresses. He carried the kit and entered last.

Inside, the crazy crew munched the food prepared by the art minions and sipped bottled water.

“We only have five minutes to get changed. It will take that long to get Joanne’s tits into the dress. Better start now.” Nancy said, as she began to disrobe. Joanne was a button behind her. Phil stripped completely in front of the drama girls, putting nothing back on except his gym shorts.

The models had to help the costumers stuff their tits into the smallish bodice. “Is it me, or is having naked costumers mildly comical?” He asked the room. “Who is the costume assistant and who is the model?”

Both of the naked girls stared at him. “You’re packing pretty large there yourself, smarty pants. We did get the hooters corralled, but if either of us sneezes, these dresses will give it up.” Joanne admitted. “I’m just a ‘C’ but this is a size small.”

Karen warned them. “According to Amy, if it gets out, it stays out. One false move and she will put you and your boobs on the platform.”

“Trust her words. I went from a frumpy art student to a naked slave girl with her hands bound behind her back to having a touch-free orgasm in front of my classmates in one two-hour session about twenty five hours ago. It can happen.”

“We can just say ‘no’, can’t we?” Nancy was suddenly shy. “We see partly dressed actors a lot. Most of them know that modesty takes time, something we don’t have much of between scenes. We, on the other hand, are always dressed, long sleeves, aprons full of sewing and fabric repair tools, the whole nine yards. Joanne and I stripping down in your green room is not normal.”

“I see normal going down the tubes. Thirty seconds ago we were naked. In high school, Nancy and I were mere Drama Club nerds. No social life, no dates, just scripts, costume drawings and living in the wings around the kids who were bold enough to be onstage.”

“That was as close to show business as we could get. Stage fright is killer.”

“Posing in the studio on the other side of that door is sort of the same. One minute, you are in a little bubble world, populated by the other models, the next minute you are in a crowd of people staring at you, then you blank it all out, then you are in a fantasy zone somewhere else entirely, and then you are back to being naked or barely dressed in public.” Marcie explained. “We blush so often, the artists must use tons of red.”

“And sometimes you are embarrassed beyond belief to be there, but incredibly excited at the same time. It is only OK to be naked on the platform if it’s not your choice, if someone makes you strip naked, if they are making you do something you want desperately to do but are terribly afraid to do.” Karen admitted. “You’ll soon see for yourselves.”

“I’ve never been not naked on that platform. And there was never a moment when I was not extremely aware of it. No escaping it. I was a naked slave girl from the beginning.” Polly started to pant softly. “I don’t think I was acting. I think I liked being forced to show my body to Phil and the girls. Naked and embarrassed and humiliated and excited and hot all at once is crazy and confusing.”

Phil covered the two yards to Polly and took her dress off. “There. Now you are naked and that is how you will stay until I say otherwise. You are my little naked slave in fact. This is no act.” He cupped her boobs and reached down to her pussy and fingered her clit until she was wet.

He left her there and moved to Joanne and Nancy. With a bit more effort, Phil removed their tighter sundresses. They did not resist as he pulled the clothing over their heads. He fondled them until they also were wet and blushing. “I’m glad you decided to pose naked with us for the next few hours. You won’t get used to being exposed in public, but that’s the thrill. I will certainly your enjoy exposure. You have very sexy tits.”

Phil opened the studio door and with a huge grin, said to Amy, “We’re ready for our close-up, Ms deMille.” The costumers were frozen in their tracks, helpless. Polly went into her obedient submissive persona, not that she was ever far from it.

Phil assumed the imperious Roman attitude and grinned at Karen and Marcie. “These three are our props this evening, perhaps our playthings. Watch the clock at the back of the room. We’ll do whatever we want and switch poses every half hour until they make us stop.”

Marcie looked the props over, lifting a tit here, slapping a bubble butt there. “Clasp your hands behind your backs and follow me.”

Karen peeped out the door. “It’s a full house. The show must go on.”

Marcie led the troupe through the door, followed by Polly, Joanne, Nancy and Karen. Phil exited last and closed the door. The naked girls were moving automatons, eyes staring at the girl ahead, afraid to see the people in the room. Nancy was wondering how they got into this impossible situation. Joanne’s mind was silently chanting, Oh-My-God. What is happening? Over and over. Returning to the changing room never entered their minds.

Marcie led them to and onto the platform. Phil made Polly take the submissive posture on her knees, facing the room full of astonished artists and observers. He placed the embarrassed Joanne and Nancy in the same posture on either side of Polly. He took up a position, legs apart, behind and in the middle of the line of submissive naked girls. Gripping her hair with both hands, he pulled the little slave girl’s head back until she was looking straight up. At his gesture, Marcie treated Joanne the same. Karen and Nancy completed the set. He commanded the girls, “Do not move a muscle.”

To the spellbound Amy, Phil said, “We change in thirty minutes. Go!” Trances broken, everyone began to draw, sketch and work clay in frenzy. The people behind the display rushed around to get a better vantage point.

Marian whispered to Amy, “Did you plan this? If so, it’s brilliant. It’s also insane good.”

“No. It’s all their doing. I have no idea why the girls from the Drama Department are here. I think the inmates are running the asylum and doing a fine job.”

“I’m OK with it. You have trained them well. Give me a sketch book and let’s be artists for a while.”

At the half-hour break, Phil had the naked costumers get down on their hands and knees, butt to butt, side ways to the house. He put Polly on their backs, face up. Her head was at the back of Nancy’s neck, with her feet on Joanne’s shoulders. The props had become a coffee table. He pushed the bench into a spot parallel to the human table and took a seat in the middle. The two girls in dresses sat on either side.

“May we have three coffee cups?” he asked a random cutie in the crowd. She leapt up and ran to the lounge, returning with three mugs. He thought she looked familiar.

“Thank you.” He smiled at the reddening student. He shamelessly checked her out: Easily as tall as him, black curly hair, brown eyes, same body size as Polly, but much longer. The little dress would fit around with no problem, but even pulled down to her areolas, the sundress would barely cover her twat. Perfect.

Phil sat one mug on Polly’s stomach, one between her titties and the other directly on her pubic mound. “Don’t let them fall.” He cautioned her, and then sat up straight, arms crossed. “You sit, legs together, hands in your laps.” He instructed the girls at his sides.

To Amy, he said again, “Go.” The assembled artists, as before, were ensorcelled by the models behavior. The spell broken, they went to work. The only sounds came from the hands of the audience. All might not have been on the media.

Marian glanced at her sister and her husband, the theatrical director. Sheila was about to swoon and Fred had eyes as big as eyes get. Both were breathing in gasps. My irresistible-force-of-nature sister has met her equal, the professor thought; I want to audit her next Taoist Philosophy class.

Phil let this pose go for 45 minutes, the extra time because the pose was rather complicated. “Break!” He called the coffee girl up. “Will you be a dear and get the coolers from the changing room? We will take our refreshment here.” Coffee Girl nodded and teleported to the door. First came the snack cooler. Another lap brought the drinks. CG waited for more instructions. He let her wait.

Phil motioned Marcie and Karen to stand and stretch. “Last chance for a potty stop, girls. Better fuel up. Polly, Nancy and Joanne, please rise. Take a seat on the bench and have some food. Drink water with a little Gatorade. You need it. Mistress Karen or Mistress Marcie will lead you to the little slave girl’s room if you ask politely.”

“What is your name? Are you first or second year?” His attention was back on the tall girl. He remembered why she was familiar. She was a seldom-seem gopher at his interview.

“Emily.” She spoke so softly, Phil could barely hear. “Soph. Skipped ninth grade. Hated basketball. Uniform too skimpy.” She was babbling, trembling from head to foot. Phil got the impression she was deathly afraid he would make her stay, perhaps equally afraid he wouldn’t find her pleasing enough. He decided for her.

He found Amy in the crowd, glanced at Emily and raised an eyebrow. Amy shrugged. Phil signaled likewise to Beth, Dana and Rachael getting the same ‘I don’t know’ response.

He found Lanie. She grinned and nodded. Phil looked at Emily, then at Polly. His raised brows again asked Lanie the question. Her smile and nod answered it. He found Prof. Martin, glanced toward the tall clay sculptor, cocked his head to the side and made the ‘questioning brows’ motion.

Marian Martin had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She nodded vigorously. This guy is something else, she mused, wondering just how he found the quiet, shy girls, and then so quickly and easily bent them any way he wanted. She could detect no malice or abuse or force. But he radiated playful sexy mischief all over the place. Marian was sure he was going to get that tall girl to do something outrageous.

He picked up the pink dress, jumped off the platform and led Emily to the changing room. On the way, he told Marcie, “We will be back in thirty. Have the slaves clear the stage and then resume the proper position toward the class. Move the bench to the rear. The next pose will be very long.”

That was also a sign to the artists that they had thirty minutes to finish their preliminary drawings, keep working or grab a snack and bathroom break themselves.

Fred and Sheila wandered over to Marian and Amy. “Are either of you orchestrating this masquerade?” he asked.

“I got them started a few weeks ago. They always seemed to role play different characters to overcome shyness.” Amy said, “Now, they use the situation we present and create their own characters.”

“They did Nick and Nora better than the actors we have in the show.” Fred admitted. “Even Sheila was impressed and she does not impress easily.”

“Did you set this production up? They suck the audience into the scene and do not let go.”

“No, my sister. Neither Amy nor I had anything to do with this other than to ask them to come pose for a late session.”

“Kidnapping your two costume techs was their idea and a complete surprise to both Marian and me.” Amy shrugged.

Fred said with a chuckle. “I know those girls. It had to be quite a surprise to them, too”

They poured some coffee and wandered around the crowded studio looking at the results of the session so far. “They are certainly inspiring the students to turn out excellent work.” Dana said they approached her group.

“That they do.” Prof. Martin agreed. “What they do with Emily is the next mystery.”

Amy laughed, “Your guess is as useless as mine. Lanie gave Phil the reins. He will probably use them.”

In the ‘green room’, Phil asked, “Are you a painter or a sculptor?”

“Sculptor. I am in Lanie’s classes.”

“At my initial interview, you were helping and wearing a paint spattered smock and glasses. Like Polly. Why?” He began to undress her as he continued to question the blushing, quaking sophomore. First went the baggy pants. When they dropped to her ankles, he knelt and lifted one leg, then the other, removing her sneakers and socks as he stepped her out of her pants.

“The smock was borrowed because mine was saturated with clay. I’m wearing contact lenses today.”

“Are you afraid?” He was unbuttoning her shirt.

“Yes.” He was pulling her shirt off to join her pants on a chair. The socks were stuffed into her shoes.

“Tell me why. Were you afraid you would be chosen or afraid you wouldn’t?”

“I was afraid you would make be naked with the other girls, and afraid you wouldn’t think me pretty enough to chose.”

He unfastened her front closure bra. “Excellent tits. You don’t need the bra. Never wear one again.” He gave her some room. “Take your panties off and put them on the chair. You won’t need those for a while.”

Beet red from her face to her cherry colored nipples, she did as she was told.

“The figure drawers do not like strap marks. Neither do I.” Phil kept the pressure up. “So, if I sent you back to your seat, it would mean rejection and disappointment, things you have suffered before. I’m guessing you didn’t have much of a social life because you are taller and smarter than most of your peers.”

“Yes, sir.” She was getting a little submissive. What was it with these girls? When did he get to a place where this was a legitimate question?

“And if I chose you, it would mean validation of your desirability as a woman. But if chosen, you would join the other girls on the platform, most likely exposed to the public in your naked humiliation and embarrassment. Approval at a very high price.” He looked at her hard. “Never doubt that you are beautiful. You will be proud. You want to do as I tell you.”

Section 3 »