Friday Dare Club

The Friday Dare Club

A businesswoman loses her clothes

by G. Lawrence

Though I've only read a few "naked in a restaurant" stories, I always find them fun. This adventure did not happen, and I don't suggest it should happen. Things occur in this story that would never happen in real life. It's a fantasy. This entry has nudity but no sex. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

The five young businesswomen entered Saul's Bistro just before noon. Ranging from their early-20s to mid-30s, they were casually dressed for the summer weather. Four were excited about their regularly scheduled gathering. One was hesitant but resigned to fulfill her obligations.

"Okay, here we are," Tricia said, being the leader. "Once again, we meet for our monthly Friday Dare Club. As a reminder, this confidence-building exercise is sponsored by our office, and we are all expected to participate."

"What am I going to be doing?" Wendy asked, 26-years old with golden-brown hair and deep brown eyes. Her high cheekbones and button nose made her very pretty. She set her wide brim straw hat on the seat, taking off her dark sunglasses.

"Relax, Wendy, we all know it's your turn to do the big dare," Tricia said with a mirthful smirk. "We'll get to the details. We have this morning's business to conduct first."

"The dares are getting too difficult," young Cynthia complained, bleach blonde and the youngest of the group at 23.

"Being without your phone for a day is not the end of the world," Matty Henslaw said with a laugh. "You kids are so dependent on your gadgets." A 35-year-old brunette, she was the senior member of the group. The respected voice of experience.

"How do you like being barefoot for the whole day?" Cynthia shot back, the young snip savoring her revenge. Matty was not fazed.

"It's like being a cavewoman. It feels great," she replied, wiggling her toes under the table.

"Now, now, ladies, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Tricia cautioned, seeking to maintain order. "Once lunch is served, we'll review everyone's small dares for the day."

Salads were the popular fare and they shared a bottle of fine wine. The weather was warm and blue, the pedestrian traffic on Canal Street vigorous. Ocean Beach was only two blocks away, so many of those strolling along were in swimsuits and tank tops. Some carried surf boards.

"Now that Worthington Smithers has acquired the Cherry Insurance Company, there are rumors of drastic changes," Tricia continued. "Those of us in the marketing department need to be aware of our opportunities. Maybe even a promotion. At the very least, none of us want to lose our jobs."

"You and Wendy are the only ones who might get a promotion," Cynthia grouched.

"Wendy and I have the best track records," Tricia defended, 32-years old and sounding a bit jealous. "But if a promotion opens, only one of us will get it. We'll see if today's dare has an effect on that. Who wants to start?"

"When I entered the office this morning, Wendy said I needed to take off my shoes," Matty reported. "I'm not allowed any foot coverings until the close of business."

"You are lucky, cavegirl," Linda said, now 30-years old with short black hair and big gold earrings. "When I reached the office, Cynthia confiscated my car keys and said I can't use my car, or anyone else's car for the whole day. Only public transportation, and I hate those smelly buses."

"We know Matty has forbidden Cynthia to use a phone," Tricia said. "Linda wasn't easy on me, either. I'm not allowed to have my purse. No money, no credit cards. Nothing. I'm not paying for lunch today."

They laughed.

"What dare did Tricia have for you?" Matty asked Wendy. She blushed.

"Can we discuss that after we eat?" Wendy requested. "It's really embarrassing."

The ladies were intrigued, rushing to finish their meals.

"Okay, now we get to this month's big dare," Tricia announced, putting a gray gym bag on the table. "It's Wendy's turn. What are her small dares?"

"I have no shoes, so no shoes for Wendy," Matty said. Wendy took off her tennis shoes and put them in the bag, now barefoot.

"No phone, either," Cynthia said with satisfaction. Wendy put her phone in the bag.

"No cars. The bus only," Linda contributed. Wendy dug in her purse for her car keys, but Tricia stopped her.

"Don't bother, I lost my purse for the day," Tricia said. "Your purse is going in the bag, too. You may as well leave your keys in there."

"I won't have any money," Wendy worried.

"The other girls can pay the check," Tricia replied. Wendy's purse entered the sack.

"Okay then, no purse, no shoes, no phone, and no cars for Wendy until the close of business. Does everyone understand the rules?"

"We've all played this game before. No one has ever welched," Matty insisted, her authority over the group's decisions firm.

"And if someone tried to cheat, we'd get really mad. Wouldn't we, girls?" Linda said, tugging an earring.

"Really mad," young Cynthia declared with scrunched eyebrows.

"Yes, no welching," Wendy agreed, proud that she had always stood by her word.

"That's great. Then we are all onboard. Are we ready for the big dare?" Tricia asked in high spirits. She set a glass jar on the table with a folded piece of paper inside. Wendy unscrewed the lid to draw the paper out, reading slowly.

"No. No, I can't do this," Wendy protested, eyes wide.

"For one, you don't have a choice," Matty responded. "And what is it?"

"It says I need to go without my blouse and pants for the rest of the day," Wendy said, nearly frantic.

"That's hardly a big deal," Linda dismissed. "Who cares if you run around in your bra and panties? It's summer. Not much different than a bikini."

"You don't understand," Wendy whimpered, sniffling.

"What don't we understand?" Cynthia said, excited to see Wendy so dismayed.

"Tricia's dare. Her morning dare," Wendy replied.

"Yes?" three of the women questioned. Tricia was smiling, already knowing the answer.

"When I came into the office this morning, Tricia took me into the women's room," Wendy explained. "My morning dare was to take off my underwear. My bra and panties are in the bottom drawer of Tricia's desk. If I take off my pants and blouse, I'll be naked."

The women howled, pounding the table with delight.

"You see why I can't do this," Wendy insisted.

"Dear, it may be embarrassing, but you still need to do the dare," Matty maintained. "The rules are the rules, and you know that."

"Please. Please don't make me do this. I'll be humiliated," Wendy said, starting to cry.

"Let's investigate our options," Tricia suggested. "First, uphold your end of the dare by putting your shirt and pants in the bag. Then we shall see if a compromise can be reached."

"Yes, do it," Cynthia said, leering.

"It has to be done," Linda concurred, smugly pleased.

Seeing no choice, Wendy unbuttoned her blouse, slowly peeled it off, and gave it to Tricia, who accepted it with particular relish. Wendy's chest was briefly visible until she picked up the floppy straw hat, holding it against her with one hand. The slacks followed, Wendy struggling to remove them only using the other hand. Now sitting in the booth completely naked, Wendy hunched over, covering her 34C cup breasts. Tricia stuffed the pants in the gym bag, zipping it shut with a smug resolve, and set it on the floor next to her feet.

"The hat, too," Cynthia demanded with an evil grin.

"No, nothing was said about my hat. It's not in the dare," Wendy rejected, clutching it tightly.

"The hat! The hat! Give us the hat!" Cynthia and Linda chanted, stomping their feet.

"No, Wendy is correct. The hat is not mentioned in the dare," Matty determined. "Or her sunglasses. Look at the bright side, dear. Maybe no one will recognize you while you're running around the city naked."

The women laughed again, having a wonderful time at their co-worker's expense. Wendy was red-faced.

"What am I going to do?" Wendy asked, barely able to look at them.

"Having Wendy sitting at her desk in the nude could be controversial," Tricia cautioned. "I suggest that once Wendy makes it back to the office, we let her wear a towel for the rest of the day."

"How am I supposed to get back to the office without any clothes? It's ten blocks away through the middle of downtown," Wendy said.

"That will be a challenge," Tricia acknowledged. "You can also take the rest of the day off and go home. But you can't wear clothes, have a phone, use money, or take private transportation. Only the bus or subway."

"My apartment is eight miles away! Through busy streets," Wendy exclaimed. "How can I run naked through the entire town? In the middle of the day."

"A dare is a dare," Tricia answered with a frown. "We've all done our dares, and now you need to do yours. Everyone in the office knows how seriously we take our dare club. It's a sign of our commitment."

"None of you were naked in public," Wendy moaned.

"That's your bad luck," Tricia replied.

"We need to get back to work," Matty said, getting up and paying the bill. Cynthia and Linda got ready to leave, too.

"We'll see you later, princess," Cynthia said, gawking with unbridled glee. Linda seemed no less thrilled, loving the way Wendy was squirming. Matty was a bit more mature, though showing little sympathy. They strolled out of the restaurant without a care in the world.

"I'll be along in a minute," Tricia called after them.

When the other three ladies had left, Tricia squeezed into the booth closer to Wendy.

"Matty wrote this dare for us last year," Tricia confided, "but I was lucky enough to find it in the pile and sneak it into the jar. That's how I knew to get your underwear away from you this morning."

"You did this to me on purpose?" Wendy asked.

"I spoke with Mr. Bedlow. He says we're both up for the same promotion, and I need an edge," Tricia confessed. "You are my friend, but sometimes friendship isn't enough. I'm sorry. I really am. When I get the promotion, I'll find a way to make this up to you. I promise."

Tricia gave Wendy a kiss on the cheek, slid out of the booth, and walked away carrying the gray gym bag. Wendy was left in the restaurant with nothing but her hat and dark sunglasses, wondering what to do. Patrons were looking towards her, sensing something was wrong without knowing exactly what.

"May I get anything else for you?" the waiter asked, his eyebrows going up when he discovered his customer sitting alone naked.

"Yes," Wendy answered. "You can get me better friends."

* * * * * *

I can't go back to the office like this, Wendy thought. I won't get a towel until reaching my desk, assuming those bitches even give me one. I would need to walk up Canal Street to Broadway, go past the subway station, cross over to the office complex, and enter through the main lobby. How will I get past security without my ID badge? Not to mention riding up to the 16th floor in a crowded elevator. Two dozen co-workers will be in the office waiting for me, forewarned that I'm naked, laughing and mocking. She could just imagine everyone raising their phones, taking pictures, and posting them on the marketing department website. Which is exactly what Tricia wanted.

Wendy snuck out of the booth to enter the women's restroom hoping no one would notice. Several did, but nothing was said. She paused to look in the mirror. 5'6 with perky tits, a nice round ass, and a trimmed bush. In the harsh bathroom light, her hair looked more gold than brown. She still had her swimmer's physique from college. She hadn't dated in several months, having broken up with her long-time boyfriend, but knew any man would want her. Hopefully not today.

The beach, she concluded. It's not far, and I have my hat. I can walk along the surf, reach lower Madison Street, and try to make it home from there. Maybe a bus driver will have mercy and let me ride for free. My landlady has a spare key to my apartment. After business hours, I can take an Uber back to the office and reclaim my stuff. And then I'll start plotting revenge.

Okay, let's do this, she decided, taking a deep breath. She stepped out into the hall, bumping into two middle-aged women. They looked surprised.

"Can we help you, dear?" one asked, leaning back for a better look.

"No thank you, ma'am. Just taking a walk," Wendy answered, using her straw hat for cover.

Going out through the restaurant wasn't going to work. It was too crowded, and she'd be out on Canal Street at the height of lunchtime. She turned in the other direction, walking through the kitchen, and went out the rear door into the alley. Surprisingly, the cooks barely noticed her. She was glad they kept the floors clean except for the occasional puddle of spilled juices.

It was two blocks to Ocean Beach. The sidewalks were swarming with shoppers and diners, but she could use the cluttered alley part of the way. Hopefully no one would see her. Once on the beach, nudity was not unknown. Not approved of, but perhaps less of an issue, merely embarrassing. She just needed to get there.

The path was quiet, at first. The weather warm and pleasant. But a problem appeared. Two homeless men had pitched a cardboard tent against a brick wall. One looked up and saw her, his eyes going wide. Before Wendy could retreat, the other one saw her, too.

"What's this?" the taller man said, approaching as Wendy wondered what to do. "Missy, why are you naked?"

"Fred, who do you have there?" his buddy asked, crawling out of the box. Both were unshaven, dressed in ratty clothes, and smelled bad.

"A girl invading our territory, Elias," Fred answered. "A naked girl."

Wendy tried to go around the large man but was stopped. She tried again. He squeezed her back against a dumpster, blocking her escape. He reeked of alcohol.

"Most whores don't come looking for us, do they, Fred?" Elias said. "What are you charging, honey? It better not be much. Trespassing our alley ain't free."

Both pushed forward with big smiles, hemming her in. Wendy looked around, not seeing anyone else. She was on her own.

"What do you think, Elias? Ain't she a pretty one?" Fred asked, pawing her bare arm. His breath was foul. His grimy fingers felt like sandpaper.

"That she is, that she is. But not perfect," Elias said. "We should find a collar for her. Something to prevent her from wandering off."

"Will a leather belt do the job?" Fred replied, starting to take his off. "If not, we can still smack that nice pink ass with it. What do you think, little darlin'? Need your ass smacked?"

There were more laughs. Wendy tried not to panic, seeking a way out. She considered giving the taller one a knee in the balls and running, but if it didn't work, things could go bad. She needed a plan.

"Good afternoon, esteemed sirs," Wendy said, trying to sound confident. "Can I interest you in a magazine subscription? We have sports, news events, and women's fashions. Do you like my outfit?"

"What?" Fred said, stepping back.

"We have a hundred titles, good sir. Perhaps you like auto mechanics?" Wendy offered. "We also have publications on economics and international affairs. Perhaps you would like to read an article on personal hygiene?"

"Got no use for magazines, but I love your outfit," Fred said, starting to reach for her again. Wendy kept her hat pulled up, hoping he wouldn't grab it.

"Will you tell that to my boss? He's filming my sales pitch for our website," Wendy requested, turning as if someone was standing behind her. The two bums looked, too.

That was her chance, and Wendy wasted no time, slipping between them and running for the mouth of the alley. The grimy asphalt was rough on her bare feet but she didn't care. Only speed mattered. She breathed a sigh of relief when they didn't follow.

Wendy found that Front Street was busy, too, but not like Canal Street. The block was filled with parking garages and phone stores. Wendy stood back in a niche, hat held up, waiting for a chance to cross. And then she made her move. Cars honked as she scurried before them. She tried to smile, as if it was all just a joke, jaywalking from the alley. Several of the drivers slammed on their brakes and waved. A woman frowned, shaking her finger. Thankfully, the dark sunglasses obscured her face.

The last segment of alley ran behind restaurants. It needed to be kept clean to avoid health inspectors, so there was less muck under her bare feet. A young Hispanic dishwasher saw her as he was dumping trash, giving a big toothful grin. A weary middle-aged cook pouring grease into a recycling container was so startled he spilled the sludge on his pants.

"Sorry," Wendy mumbled as she ran past.

"Come back any time!" the cook happily shouted after her.

She reached the end of the alley, finding the wide boardwalk in front of her. Sunbathers, skateboarders, bicyclists, and joggers were everywhere. There was a volleyball net. Weightlifters. Yoga mats. Vendors were selling hot dogs and suntan lotion. Wendy knew a naked woman running past them would attract plenty of attention, but that couldn't be helped. She stepped out, seeing startled expressions, and started her run.

"Looking good there, babe," a tall college guy whistled.

"Show-off," his girlfriend hissed.

"Keep it on the beach, young lady," a burly police officer warned, pointing toward the water.

Wendy kept going, one hand holding the hat, the other covering her curly brown bush. She had almost reached the sand when two powerful arms stopped her.

"Wendy? What is this?" the handsome young man asked.

Oh, my God, Wendy realized. It's Brad. Her ex-boyfriend. What are the odds? Then she realized the odds weren't so bad. The real estate office where he worked was only a block away.

"Hello, Brad. Nice day," Wendy mumbled, trying to break free.

People were gathering, taking pictures with their phones. Wendy was fixed in the middle of the boardwalk for everyone to see. Her bare body, long legs, exposed butt, and torso only covered by a straw hat. As she struggled, the sunglasses were starting to fall off.

"Who is that?" someone in the crowd asked. "Is this a publicity stunt?"

"I think she's a TV star," someone else said. "I don't remember her name."

"What's your name, honey? We want to tag your photos," a woman requested.

Wendy desperately tried to escape Brad's grasp, but he was too strong. The grip on her arms too tight. Tagging her photos was the last thing she wanted, and he knew that.

"You're on quite an adventure, aren't you?" he said, taunting her. "And here we broke up because I thought you were too boring."

"Please let me go, Brad. They are all looking at me," Wendy quietly pleaded.

"You wouldn't be doing this if you didn't want the attention."

"That's not what this is about," she disagreed.

"This adventure of yours shouldn't go unheralded. Shall I tell them your name? Wendy Carlyle of that incredibly stuffy insurance company. Are you still shuffling paperwork for those damn pinheads?"

"Yes, I'm still an assistant," she confirmed.

"Even with your graduate degree in marketing? That's always been your problem, hasn't it? You never step up to claim what's yours. No guts, no glory. But you're in your glory now, aren't you? Naked in public for hundreds to stare at. Is it turning you on?"

"Hey, mister, you're blocking our view," a young man complained. "And we still don't know her name. How can we tag her without her name?"

"Shall we let them tag you?" Brad asked in a sinister whisper.

"Please, Brad. Please," Wendy begged.

"Tell you what. Let's go back in the alley. You can give me a blowjob for old times' sake, and I'll keep your secret," he offered.

"What? Oh, no. They'll follow us. They'll see everything," Wendy said, beginning to cry. Her knees went weak as she slid to the ground. The mirthful grin disappeared from Brad's face.

"Is this part of the act?" a middle-aged woman asked, angling for a better photo.

"Good, I can finally see her tits," the young man said, camera up. With a frown, Brad scooped Wendy in his arms, carrying her toward the beach.

"Hey, wait, we're not done," someone protested.

"Out of my way, you motherfucking ghouls," Brad demanded, pushing through the mob. He was a big guy. No one wanted to get in his way.

As they neared the water, Brad saw an unattended umbrella and set her down. There was a water bottle nearby that he stole.

"Wendy, I'm so sorry. It was a joke. A bad joke. I thought you were on a lark," Brad apologized. "What's going on?"

"My co-workers are playing a mean trick on me," she explained between sniffles. "I thought they were my friends."

"Let me put my shirt on you. We'll get you out of here," Brad said.

"No, I can't. It's a dare, and I gave my word," Wendy answered. "You know how important my word is."

"You don't have to be ridiculous about it."

"A promise is a promise. And I'll make you another promise. I'm going to get even with those goddamn bitches for this. Every last one of them."

Brad laughed. "I have no doubt of that. How can I help?"

"You've already helped. Thank you."

"Am I forgiven? For scaring you like that?"

Wendy pulled him down for a deep, passionate kiss, feeling his manhood bulge in the short pants. "Still want that blowjob?" she asked.

"Yes, but I don't want to be arrested for public indecency," he answered, finding it hard to resist those big beautiful brown eyes. His hand slipped down her belly into the fur. She was growing moist. Panting. He needed to back off before things got out of control.

"How about a date this weekend? It's been too long," he asked.

"I would like that," Wendy agreed, giving him another kiss.

"Excuse me, youngsters, but that's my umbrella, and you're making out on my blanket," a wrinkled old man said, appearing above them. "As for you, young lady, I suggest you put your bathing suit back on."

They jumped up, embarrassed but laughing, and fled toward the surf.

"You should be back at work," Wendy said. "I'll be okay now."

"You're totally naked on a crowded beach miles from home. You won't let me give you money or my phone. How are you going to be okay?"

"Sometimes we just need to persevere. Tricia thought this would weaken me. Maybe break me. I'm going to prove her wrong. I am stronger and smarter than that bitch can ever hope to be, and when I'm ready, I'll take that treacherous whore down."

"Wow, why did I ever think you were too dull?" Brad said, pulling her close for a final kiss. "If you give me another chance, I'll try to do better. Let's find a way to make this work."

"We should talk about it when I'm wearing clothes," she replied. "Or when you aren't."

"I like the second idea more," he agreed. He started to walk up the beach towards the boardwalk, paused, and turned to look back.

"Wendy? A bit of advice," he said. "You have so much power hiding inside you. Don't be afraid to use it."

And then he strutted away happier than he'd been in months. Wendy went down to the water's edge, keeping the hat over her chest and a hand down covering her bush. Only her butt was visible, and who doesn't like a nice round butt?

Wendy passed people lying in the sun on their big towels, splashing in the waves, throwing frisbees, and sharing soft drinks under floppy hats and sunglasses. It was an ordinary day at the beach for hundreds, and even more were watching from restaurants and condos overlooking the sand. A few curious eyes turned to give her an extra glance, but not so many as she might have figured. This isn't so bad, she thought, so long as no one can see my tits.

And then there was more trouble. Big trouble. A busy group up ahead occupied a large section of the beach. Some were dressed for the summer weather, others wore khaki shorts and blue shirts. They were working, not hanging out. She saw tents, large reflective screens, and metal tracks laid down. A camera crew. Audio booms. Makeup tables. A wardrobe manager. Wendy had been in marketing long enough to recognize a commercial being filmed when she saw one.

What to do? The boardwalk was even more crowded than usual with curious onlookers watching the crew doing set-ups. Possibly three hundred spectators loitering behind yellow barriers. There was no way she could walk through them without someone making a fuss over a naked woman, hat or no hat.

The water, she decided. I can walk into the surf, wade past the film site, and get back up on the beach farther down. This will work to my advantage. Everyone is here, not down on lower Madison Street. She stepped into the surf, buffeted by strong waves, until she was chest deep, holding her hat above her head.

All was going well. Ten more minutes was all she needed. She looked up, seeing two female models posing on a makeshift platform decorated with fake palm trees and Japanese lanterns. A middle-aged director wearing a fedora was giving instructions, looking frustrated. The three-man camera crew stayed in close. Assistants lingered in the rear, awaiting orders. And a distinguished man in an expensive brown suit was hovering over all of them, observing. Pointing. Whispering orders. He was likely the client. Wendy knew some clients liked to be hands-on, making sure they got what they were paying for. And she approved. Why put out so much money and not see your vision brought to life? That's what she would want if she was in charge.

"Young woman, out of there!" Wendy heard a lifeguard shout. She looked up. There were two of them, and a security guard.

"This area is restricted for another two hours," the lifeguard said. "Out of the water now or we'll have to arrest you."

"I'll be gone in another minute," Wendy answered, hunching down.

"Come out now. I won't ask again. You're holding up production," the security guard insisted. Wendy saw activity on the film site had halted except for the camera crew. Maybe they were looking for bonus footage of a pretty woman? Wendy was sure they didn't know the pretty woman was naked.

Okay, she decided. I'll just need to own this. She put the straw hat on her head, adjusted the sunglasses, and walked up from the surf to the beach directly into the glare of the set's reflective light fixtures as the ocean water ran down her luscious curves. Her long golden-brown hair shimmered in the bright sunlight. She made no effort to cover herself. There were audible gasps. Stares. Murmuring. Wendy didn't let anything distract her, proceeding with a confidence that her pounding heart didn't feel. She made no grand gestures. No cute smirks. She was just an attractive woman emerging from the water in all her natural glory.

"Carl, keep shooting! Keep shooting! Get this! Goddamn! Get all of this!" the director shouted. The camera crew needed no orders, keeping fully focused on their new subject. Wendy paused, trying to make sense of the director's wild hand gestures. There was a great deal of excitement.

"That was wonderful. Wonderful!" the director complimented, running up to her. "No one has shot a scene this hot since Blake Edwards was filming Bo Derek. Okay, everyone, reset. We're going to shoot it again. I want every angle." The crew jumped into action.

"Young woman, I am Daniel Spaulding. Have you heard of me?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. I love your work," Wendy replied, for Spaulding was an icon in the industry.

"Well, you are working for me now. You are exactly what this scene needs. This is what I need you to do."

For the next two hours, Wendy walked into the surf, walked out, and walked in again. Naked the entire time but for her straw hat and sunglasses. The enthusiasm on the set was electric, and completely professional. She was seated at the makeup table for highlighting. Lotions were applied to her skin. A female assistant trimmed the edges of her bush. Aides gave her Acqua Panna water. Fans crept close, asking for autographs, only to be chased away by security. The boisterous crowd watching the film shoot tripled in size.

The distinguished man in the brown suit came forward toward the end of the day. He was tall and lean, about 65-years old, with a serious demeanor.

"I must say, you arrived in the nick of time. This wasn't going well," he said. "My name is Worthington Smithers, and these people are making a commercial for my latest acquisition. May I ask who you are?"

Wendy was stunned. She knew all about Smithers' latest acquisition.

"Sir, my name is Wendy Carlyle," she said. "I work for the Cherry Insurance Company. In your marketing department."

"And you've come here like this? Naked? On a public beach in broad daylight?"

"Yes, sir," Wendy confessed, convinced she was about to be fired.

"And you've done this to support our advertising campaign?" Smithers exclaimed. "Young lady, your dedication is extraordinary. Stupendous! Please, let me shake your hand."

Smithers did more than shake her hand, he embraced her naked body with a huge hug, but it wasn't sexual. It was an expression of deep appreciation.

"Dan! Dan!" Smithers called out to the director. "This young lady works for me. Will you be able to you use her in the commercial?"

"Use her? Hell, Mr. Smithers, if you want, we can build the whole damn campaign around her," Dan replied. "No one has ever seen an all-American girl so... all-American."

Wendy was stunned, still not sure how to take the situation. She was standing naked in front of two very important men, a film crew, a thousand spectators, and she was the star of the show.

* * * * * *

As the crew began packing their equipment at the end of a long day, Smithers took Wendy to a boardwalk bistro, ordering a lobster dinner and a $500 bottle of champagne. His personal security gave them plenty of privacy.

"Standford? A graduate degree?" Smithers inquired.

"Yes, sir."

"Can you tell me why Cherry's outreach is underperforming so badly? In confidence, of course."

Wendy spent the next two hours discussing marketing plans, demographics, media, new technology, and problems with aging managers stuck in their ways. Smithers couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Not just the beautiful body that she refused to cover, but her vivid intelligence. He loved the way she dissected each issue with the clarity of a scientist, expressing herself with unwavering confidence. Her youthful energy and drive were enthralling.

"Bedlow is an old veteran of the insurance business," Smithers said. "I don't dismiss his experience, but what our new marketing department needs is a woman like you. Enterprising. Daring. Willing to put everything on the line. I want you heading our new campaign. Pick your own staff. Whatever you were making, it's nothing compared to what you'll make now."

"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down," Wendy promised.

"Can I get you some clothes? A ride back to the office?" Smithers offered.

"No, sir. I've sworn not to wear clothes until the end of business today, and I'm only riding the bus. If you could loan me a bus token, that would be great."

"Only the bus? To promote the city's public transportation? That's brilliant," Smithers complimented. "Dan! How about making a quick public service announcement? We'll film Wendy going back to the office on the bus to show how we're supporting the community."

"Works for me," Dan agreed, waving to his crew.

Wendy boarded the downtown bus followed by Smithers and half a dozen film makers. Dan was issuing instructions. Wendy was stationed at the front of the bus near the driver, her butt on full display.

"Are you a movie star?" the bus driver asked.

"Marketing assistant," Wendy replied.

"If you can't afford clothes, they should pay you better," the bus driver suggested.

They reached the office complex, disembarking in the plaza. The film crew wrapped up their day and said fond goodbyes.

"Wendy, you were terrific," Dan complimented, taking her hands. "Contact me if you want more work. If you want to wear clothes, that would be okay, too."

"Thank you, Mr. Spaulding. Working with you has been an honor," she said.

Wendy waved to the large crowd that had gathered, still wearing the hat on her head. Her new trademark. Though she did cover her bits with one hand. Smithers followed her into the building, waving aside the security officials. They had a private ride up the elevator to the 16th floor.

"I can't stay long," Smithers apologized. "My board of directors is preparing to buy Rabbit's Feet National Bank. We'll want to combine operations with Cherry Insurance."

"We can build a campaign for that," Wendy suggested.

"I'm sure you can," Smithers confidently replied.

"What should I tell my boss?" Wendy asked.

"Bedlow?"

"Yes, Mr. Bedlow."

"Miss Carlyle, you don't work for Homer Bedlow anymore. He works for you."

They entered the Cherry Insurance offices together, a tall trim older man in an expensive suit and Wendy, totally naked except for her hat, which she was wearing.

"What is this?" Bedlow asked, rushing to see what the commotion was.

"Hello, Homer," Smithers said, shaking his hand. "I am Worthington Smithers, the new owner of your company."

Everyone was on their feet. Wendy saw Tricia, Matty, Linda, and Cynthia staring in stunned disbelief. No one was taking pictures.

"Miss Carlyle and I are planning our new campaign," Smithers said. "Her energy, dedication, and brilliance have impressed me deeply. She is the new director of marketing for Cherry Insurance. You will obey her as you would obey me. My deputies will be here next week to reorganize the department. Thank you for your cooperation."

Smithers put a reassuring hand on Wendy's shoulder, whispered encouragement, and headed back for the elevator.

The room was silent. Hardly able to grasp what they had just heard. Matty rushed forward with a towel, wrapping it around Wendy's naked body. Wendy almost tossed the towel aside, having embraced her victorious nudity, but decided to stay covered. For the moment.

"I have been authorized to pick my own staff for a major campaign," Wendy said. "We are merging with Rabbit's Feet Financial to form a new conglomerate. Have your suggestions on my desk first thing Monday morning. Mr. Bedlow, I'll be needing your office. Please move your things to the bullpen."

It was the end of the day. Matty got her shoes back. Cynthia retrieved her phone. Linda found her car keys. Tricia was given her purse. The bag containing Wendy's clothes was put in her new office, but she wasn't in a hurry to get dressed with so much else to do. Nor were the employees in a hurry to leave. If a major campaign was being planned, no one wanted to be left out.

"We're sorry for what we did," Matty apologized, speaking for all four when they entered Wendy's office. It was cluttered with marketing reports. "You know we're good at our jobs. We'd like to help."

Wendy looked up from her computer, already developing a national advertising campaign. It was exciting.

"I can't make any promises," Wendy replied. "Most of the employees are coming back Monday morning, but anyone expecting to work for me will be here tomorrow ready to go."

"On Saturday?" Cynthia asked.

"That's right. I don't have time to screw around with lazy staff members. We're going to hit the ground running. Are you onboard or not?"

"We'll be here," Tricia responded.

"Yes, we'll all be here," Matty agreed, the women gratefully nodding.

"That's good. Arrive an hour early," Wendy ordered. "And be naked."

"Naked?" all four said.

"Mr. Smithers is very big on nudity," Wendy fibbed, for Smithers had never said any such thing. "He believes it inspires creativity and teamwork. Expect to be naked for the entire day. Tricia, as my assistant, you'll be naked for the entire week. There are errands to run. Reports to be gathered. We'll post your nude photos on the company website to prove your dedication. Unless you'd rather not. In that case--"

"No. No, we're dedicated," Tricia assured her. "Aren't we, girls?"

"Yes, we are. We are dedicated," Linda agreed.

"We'll be naked as long as you want," Cynthia said.

"That's good. I'm glad to have such good friends on my team," Wendy praised. "When you arrive, lock your clothes in your cars and come in through the lobby. I'll have security pass you through screening without your employee identifications."

"Thank you, Wendy. Thank you for giving us this chance," Linda gushed.

"You'll need to call me Miss Carlyle from now on," Wendy corrected. "I'll see you in the morning. All of you."