Exposed Pt. 2: Bad Thing Happens

Preface: Everyone in this story is over the age of eighteen. The first chapter (Part 1) describes what actually happened - I explore the neighborhood naked, and I am not caught.

This chapter (Part 2), and all subsequent chapters, describe the traumatic events that could have transpired had I been caught. Apparently it's fun to think about being humiliated and used.

Part 2 -

I was home from college for the summer. My parents were away for the night, and I was horny. I went outside into our quiet, suburban neighborhood in nothing but socks and sneakers. I am hiding, naked, in the Smith's driveway, behind the Smith's automobiles. It is dark, aside from the moonlight.

I am enjoying the feeling of public nudity. The thrill of being naked, and the risk of being caught. I feel so wicked, and so perverse. The feeling is in defiance of the innocent and impeccable reputation that I have built. I'm being bad, and I like it.

I am somewhere I shouldn't be; doing something that I shouldn't do.

I feel for my cock and balls. They feel so obscene and corrupt, being exposed to the night air. I am lost, absorbed in my depravity.

The dog bark comes from some nearby location. A location that seems dangerously close. I can't locate the dog in the dark night. Then I hear voices. Holy shit!

I move from between the cars to the front of one car. I am now crouched between the car and the garage, trying to separate myself from the approaching sounds. I try to maintain stealth, peering around the car to assess my increasingly-dire situation. The dog is standing at the other end of the car, straining against its leash. It's the Smith's German Shephard, Max. Max commences barking, loud barking.

Mr. Smith is pulling hard on the leash, "What is it Max? You probably just smell a squirrel. Let's go buddy."

Mrs. Smith stands beside him, looking only mildly concerned. "Max, honey, shush. Bruce, let's get him inside before he disturbs the neighbors."

Mr. Smith seems unconcerned, and he appears willing to let Max enjoy practicing his hunting instinct. To Max, it's not a game - he is stalking prey.

I push up against the cold car, hoping desperately to remain undetected. The dog wasn't to be dissuaded - he must have had my scent. I circled further around the vehicle as Max approached - trying to maintain distance between us. In my new position I spotted Mrs. Smith standing only ten feet from me. She hadn't noticed me yet.

The dog kept closing. I prayed that Mr. Smith would give up. That was not the case. I thought about running. However, what would happen if Mr. Smith let Max go. There was no reason for him not to. He would be justified in letting Max get his prey, especially when the prey turned out to be someone skulking naked around his house.

I heard a loud gasp. Mrs. Smith stood with her hand over her mouth. She was obviously appalled by what she now determined was a naked man in her driveway. "Billy, is that you? What on Earth are you doing?"

I was frozen in place. I covered my crotch, giving myself what little protection I could. The next thing that I sensed was Max sniffing my leg, growling. Mr. Smith still held Max at the extent of the leash. "What in the fuck are you doing Billy? Why are you naked? Just what in the fuck is going on here?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My mind was working frantically to concoct some plausible lie. Struggling for something to say, my mind raced for words...'I was being chased', 'I was forced to do this on a dare', 'a mugger stole my clothing'.

I just shook my head, mouth agape, unable to fabricate a convincing lie. Mr. Smith held out Max's leash, and Mrs. Smith moved close and took the leash. The whole time Max was within striking distance. He was snarling, and baring his teeth.

Mr. Smith grabbed me by my ear and pulled me up into a standing position. My first reaction was to pull free from his grasp, but I was just so panicked. I was resigned to receiving some form of punishment; I feared that fighting back or trying to escape would only lead to something worse than whatever Mr. Smith currently had in mind.

Mr. Smith marched me up their back walkway, towards their house. He mounted the concrete stairs, pulling me behind him. He opened their screen door and pushed me inside. Mrs. Smith followed us so that Max was always in a position to enforce their intentions. Mr. Smith finally released me and I stood naked under the glaring fluorescent lights of their kitchen. Both hands were cupped over my genitals.

"Okay, you fucking little pervert. Spit it out. What were you doing in our driveway?" I searched for a response. I had long abandoned hope of contriving a plausible lie. Now, I was simply trying to account for my intentions... why I wanted to run around the neighborhood naked. "I, um... just thought that it would be fun to...", my words escaped me.

He shook his head, "Where are your parents?" I told him that my parents were out for the evening.

He shook his head, "Well, I should tell them about your little shenanigans." I begged him, "Please Mr. Smith. I've never done this before. I'll never do it again. Please just let me go." He responded, "Maybe I should just call the police."

I begged him not to call the police. "I'm so sorry Mr. Smith. Please don't call the police. I'm so sorry."

His angry demeaner changed to something else. It was a look of determination. Mr. Smith looked away from me, "Shirley, go get my camera - the Polaroid." Mrs. Smith dropped Max's leash and left the room. Max seemed to be calm, accepting that his owners had let me into the house, and I no longer posed a threat.

Mrs. Smith returned and handed her husband a bulky, plastic camera. Mr. Smith pushed a button and the camera body expanded. He raised the camera so that he could look through the viewfinder. I heard the click. The bright flash discharged, the camera made a whirring sound, and an instant-print card emerged from the front.

Mr. Smith pulled the card from the camera. He shook the card and watched as an image appeared. I could not see what he was looking at, but I knew what he had captured. An image of me standing in his kitchen, naked save for my hands that covered my shriveled privates.

"Okay. Hands at your sides." I was dumbstruck. Mr. Smith repeated his order, "Hands by your side." After only a short delay, he repeated, "I'm not going to ask again... place your hands at your sides."

I moved my hands from my crotch, and now my arms were at my sides. "Smile Billy" was all that he said. He pushed the camera button again, and another photo emerged. He repeated this process until he had four photographs of me standing naked under the bright lights of his kitchen.

Mrs. Smith stood back witnessing my humiliation. She didn't seem interested, nor intimidated. I've know her for about ten years. I was supposed to be the 'good boy', and here I was trapped naked in her kitchen - a little fucking pervert.

"You can go now." Mr. Smith pointed towards the front door. I looked at Mrs. Smith, not knowing what to expect from her. She simply fixed her face in a stern sneer, shaking her head slightly. I walked to the front door. I opened the heavy door, and then pushed the screen door outward. I stepped into the night, naked in public, once again.

I looked around for traffic and pedestrians. Seeing none, I cautiously stepped into the center of their front stoop. The screen door swept shut behind me with a gentle whir. Mr. Smith quickly slammed the heavy wooden door shut. As a final act of spite, he turned on the bright lights that illuminated his front entrance.

The front of his house was ablaze with intense light. It was like standing on stage with a spotlight, except I was naked. I ran home as fast as I could.

I waited several days, expecting Mr. and Mrs. Smith to show up at my parents' home. I braced for my parents utter shock and disappointment. I had been such a fine son. This would totally ruin my reputation, and my parents would forever be ashamed of me.

It took several days before something happened. Our doorbell rang, and I heard my mother greeting Mr. Smith. My mother invited him in. I was upstairs, and I stood at the top of the stairs eavesdropping. Mr. Smith was his usual, congenial self.

He started, "Well, Ginny, I have come to ask for a favor. Shirley and I are in need of some assistance. We're hosting a party this Saturday night, and we've decided to do our own catering. Your son, Billy, is such a great joy. Shirly and I hoped that perhaps Billy could help to serve our guests. I hope that I'm not out-of-place in asking for such a favor."

Mr. Smith continued, "We would pay him, of course. What he would have to do is rather simple, and I know that my wife finds him to be such a gentleman. Do you think that he would be willing to help us?" My mom's response indicated that she found the idea completely delightful. She called for me.

I cautiously mounted the stairs and walked into our front living room. Mr. Smith stood there with a big smile. It felt as if my body was vibrating with nervous energy. The last time that I stood before Mr. Smith I was so completely exposed, and vulnerable. I still felt vulnerable knowing that he could divulge my perverted behavior at any time of his choosing.

"Hello Billy. I have a favor to ask, and your mother says that you might be amenable to helping us. Would you be available to help Mrs. Smith and I host a party this Saturday night? We would pay you, of course."

My mother was looking at me expectantly. Of course she expected me to accept the offer. I saw Mr. Smith reach into his sport coat pocket. He moved his hand just slightly, displaying a small handful of cards. My eyes shot open. He was holding the incriminating photographs, the ones that showed me standing naked in his kitchen. My mother noted my reaction, and looked back at Mr. Smith in confusion. He acted quickly and hid the cards before my mother could see them.

I understood his message. I stammered, "Um, I can help you Saturday". My mother just smiled, so proud that I had been asked to help, and even happier that I had agreed. Mr. Smith in return, "Okay. Billy I will see you at 5 p. m. on Saturday. Just wear a nice shirt and pants; nothing fancy. See you then. Thanks again Ginny." He left.

Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Smith intended this minor task to be my penance. I could only hope.

Saturday I dressed in my khakis and a white polo shirt. It's the outfit that my mother suggested, stating, "This is a smart outfit. You will look so handsome serving food at the party. I'm so glad that you agreed to do this for the Smiths. Have fun, and be polite."

I walked around the corner to the Smith's house. Mrs. Smith opened her front door and invited me in. Instinctively, I still regarded her with deference, both because of her adult stature, as well as the fact that she had seen me naked. I feared that she now regarded me as a deviant.

I didn't know how to overcome the awkwardness, so I said nothing. She gave no indication that she was thinking anything out-of-the-ordinary. Could it be that they wished to put my misbehavior behind us? Oh, I really hoped so.

She directed me to set out her finest china and decorative glassware on the dining room table. Then, she instructed me on cutting up fruit for the punchbowl. Mr. Smith entered the kitchen, "Well, hello Billy. Shirley here has some rather exciting tasks laid out for you today. I think that you will enjoy the party."

Our interaction was interrupted when Tammy Smith suddenly entered the kitchen. Tammy was their eighteen-year-old daughter. "Oh, hey Billy. I didn't know that you were in mom's art class. I thought that it was an adult, night class, or something."

Now I was really confused, but I responded instinctively, "Oh hey Tammy. I'm just supposed to be helping your mom and dad with serving some food." We exchanged a few more comments about her college plans for next year. I snuck a look at her tight jeans as she walked away.

Tammy and I had attended high school together, her a year behind me. I had been tempted to ask her to the prom, but she was dating the quarterback. It was kind of thrilling to be around her in her home. It was an unexpected level of intimacy to share this space with Tammy. She was really cute.

Over the next half-hour I could hear Mr. and Mrs. Smith open the front door and welcome their guests. From the kitchen I could hear the guests' voices, but I could not discern their individual identities. I simply stood in the kitchen awaiting direction.

Mr. Smith entered the kitchen, directing me to follow him.

We walked into the hallway, up the stairs, and into a bedroom. He cleared his throat, and looked directly into my eyes, "Listen carefully. You will do whatever I ask of you tonight. Shirley was pretty upset because of your little stunt the other night. I assured her that we would punish you. I promised her that if you learned your lesson, we wouldn't need to call the police." I gulped.

He looked stern, "Now please take your clothes off, and put on that robe. Take off everything." He pointed to a bathrobe laying on the nearby bed. "Then, come back downstairs, and I will meet you in the kitchen."

His command was so direct, and so unexpected. I cocked my head, "What? What do you want me to do?" He took something out of his jacket pocket and flung it on the bed. When it landed I saw the picture of me, standing naked in their kitchen.

"Don't test me Billy. If you don't do as I ask, I will show this to your parents. I may also show it to the police. Don't forget that I have several of these pictures. Now be a good boy and do as I say."

After a few moments pondering my nightmarish fate, I did as he asked. Only five minutes later I stood naked once again in the Smith's kitchen, save for the flimsy bathrobe. Mrs. Smith entered and motioned for me to follow her. She didn't seem the least bit surprised to see me in the bathrobe. She led me out to their large living room.

The room was full of people, all sitting in chairs and looking at me as if they were anticipating my arrival. Mrs. Smith guided me to a stool and instructed me to sit. When I sat, the robe spread open such that I had to grab the sides and cinch them together. Otherwise, the robe would have been splayed open, putting my manhood on display.

I gave the room a cursory scan. I was able to identify familiar faces, including Mrs. Johannsen, Mr. Wiley, and Mrs. Collins. Mrs. Johannsen was the mother of Alice, a girl that graduated high school with me. Mr. Wiley was the local florist. Mrs. Collins was my best-friend's mom.

Shit, Alex and I have been friends since kindergarten. I have been in Mrs. Collins' home innumerable times. She was almost like a second mother to me.

Mrs. Smith sat, and another woman arose from her seat. It was Miss Alberts, my high school art teacher. I wasn't much of an artist in high school, but I took her classes; mostly to avoid other, more objectionable classes. She was a young teacher, and she fueled the fantasies of many of the high-school boys.

Miss Alberts began, "Well class, I want to thank Shirley and Bruce Smith for inviting us into their home today. I especially want to thank them for providing us with a live-art model. This is such a rare treat."

She turned. I followed her line of sight to both of the Smith's daughters, Tammy and Barbara. I had not noticed them standing in the corner of the room. Miss Alberts continued, "Barbara and Tammy, I am also glad that you could join us today. I told your mother that you were among such talented student. Seeing as you are home, you might-as-well join our class for the evening."

I was stunned to see Barbara and Tammy. Barbara was the Smith's other daughter. She was a senior in college, and home for the summer just like me. Barbara had simply been the sexiest girl when she attended our high school, every boy dreamed of her.

Miss Alberts looked pleased to be surrounded by eager student. "Today will be such a thrill for everyone. A live model is a wonderful treat. When in college, I learned of the value of drawing the human form without the visual interference of clothing."

She continued her erudite lecture, "All of the great masters, Botticelli, Michelangelo, Giorgioni; they were all well respected for their depictions of the nude form. Depicting the nude form allows painters to demonstrate technical mastery over form and movement. I never expected for us to be able to draw nudes in our night course, but here we are." She clasped her hands together in joy.

Miss Alberts walked up and touched me lightly on my shoulder, "Billy, it's so nice to see you again. I have so few opportunities to interact with my students after they graduate. When Mr. Smith told me that you had volunteered to be our live model today I was so excited."

I sat dumbfounded. I think that Miss Alberts might have actually believed her little aphorisms. There was absolutely nothing virtuous in having a bunch of people gather together to look at my naked body. It was preposterous to think that I would volunteer to sit naked before my neighbors. Art or not, this was fucking ridiculous.

Miss Alberts sensed my anxiety, mistaking it for nervousness, "Billy, I know that this may seem a bit scary at first. But, the human body is nothing to be ashamed of. You just relax and let me guide you. You will do just fine."

She addressed the class, "Now students, today we are going to do simple, pencil sketches. I would like for you to focus on contour and shading. I will be walking around and providing guidance. I suggest a thirty-minute sketch session, and then we will give our model a short break. Finally, we will finish with another, thirty-minute session. Let's begin."

I looked around the small living room. In addition to Miss Alberts and the four members of the Smith family, there were four other individuals. I recognized Mrs. Johannsen, Mr. Wiley, and Mrs. Collins. I did not recognize the one remaining woman. Both Barbara and Tammy sat down behind their easels, and looked at me with mischievous smiles. Mr. Wiley looked at me, nodded slightly, and gave an evil wink.

Miss Alberts prompted me, "Okay, Billy, now is the time to disrobe." I hesitated, trying to discern the most likely ramifications of my pending exposure. Mr. Smith cleared his throat. I was growing accustomed to his veiled threats.

Miss Alberts walked up behind me and gently lifted the collar of my robe. She whispered with her breathy voice, "There's nothing to be embarrassed about Billy. The human body is a wonderful creation, and we are all artists here today." Everyone stared at me in eager anticipation. Both Tammy and Barbara looked delighted.

How did I come to this? It was almost as if Miss Alberts was getting some revenge - she had to be aware that all of her male students were staring at her body in her tight sweaters and skirts, mentally undressing her. Well, she was actually undressing me!

I rotated on the stool so that my back was to the others. With Miss Albert's assistance I slid the robe off of my shoulders and let it fall.

Miss Alberts laid her hands gently on my shoulders. I felt a tingle and shuttered just a bit, but the feeling resonated unexpectedly in my groin. My only thought at this time was 'please don't get hard'.

She rotated my body so that the group had a view of my profile. They could only see my side. In my mind I assessed my vulnerability - yes, I was fully naked, but in this position all of my manhood was shielded from view. She gently pulled my shoulders back, improving my posture. She lifted my chin and directed my gaze up and into the distance.

The leg closest to the class was bent, with my foot resting on the stool's footrest. The other leg was extended. I was confident that my penis was fully sheltered from view. The most that they could see was the side of my ass.

Next, she positioned my arms, with one straight down, and the other with a hand resting on my thigh. She then stood back and assessed my pose. My penis was exposed, but only Miss Alberts could view it. I was relieved that her gaze never seemed to drop to my crotch. Maybe this would be less harrowing than I feared.

She finally spoke, "Okay, students. This is our first pose. Please begin your sketches." I breathed a sigh of relief. I had survived the initial shock, and perhaps it would soon be over without more traumatic effects.

After about ten minutes, Barbara raised her hand, "Miss Alberts, is it okay if I get a closer look at the model? I can't seem to make out the detail from here." Tammy, her sister, giggled. Miss Alberts nodded, and Barbara approached. She walked up with her sketch pad, pretending to capture some elusive detail.

Everyone seemed focused on their own drawings. Barbara waved her hand, beckoning her sister to join her, "Tammy, can you help me with this? Why can't I get this shading right?" They both stood close and pretended to stare at Barbara's sketch pad. Then, they walked around to my front. There was no way for me to cover my penis without shifting my pose.

The girls held up the sketch pad as if comparing the drawing to my body, but their eyes continued to shift to my penis. I felt a tingle in my loins.

I watched as Barbara held her cupped hand up to Tammy's ear and whispered something. They surveyed the room, finding that no one seemed to be concerned with their actions. Barbara gently flipped to a fresh page in her sketchbook.

Next, she drew something and showed it to her sister. Her pencil moved some more as she added something to her drawing. They both stifled their laughter. Both girls looked at me, as Barbara rotated her sketchpad so that I could see its image. It was a crude stick figure with huge cock and balls.

Tammy placed her hand on Barbara's shoulder and whispered something. Barbara smirked. She took an eraser to her drawing. Finally, she put moved her pencil on the sketchpad to draw some additional detail.

Tammy could barely contain her mirth as Barbara turned her sketchpad to face me once again. I almost choked. The large, comical cock and balls had been erased and replaced with two tiny spheres, and what was obviously the depiction of a small, limp penis.

Miss Alberts finally noticed their impish behavior, "Okay ladies, I think that you need to sit back down. Class, we have about fifteen minutes left."

I tolerated fifteen more minutes of humiliating exposure. Miss Alberts finally called break, "Okay class, it's break time. Why don't you all get some of Bruce and Shirley's delightful refreshments while Billy takes a well-deserved break. Let's regroup in thirty minutes."

Both Mrs. Johannsen and Mrs. Collins asked Mr. Smith for directions to the powder room. The woman whom I did not recognize asked Mr. Smith whether it would be okay for her to use the upstairs restroom. He graciously gave her permission. She wandered off in search of the restroom.

I decided that I needed some separation, and so I headed back upstairs to the bedroom that contained my clothing.

I stood in the sparse bedroom ruminating on the circumstances that led to my current condition. I heard a door open further down the hallway. The door to my room was slightly ajar and I noticed the mysterious woman walk by. She must have noticed me as well, because the door to the room was gently nudged open. She entered.

"Well hello Billy. So good to see you again, and in such fine form", she purred with a knowing look. "Hi", I squeaked. She looked at me quizzingly, "You don't remember me, do you?" I could only manage, "No ma'am. I don't".

"Well that's all for the better." She walked confidently over to where I was standing. Without hesitation, she reached her delicate hand in between the folds of my robe. Pushing the light fabric aside, she immediately found her target.

The commanding woman cupped my balls. Her actions simply stunned me. I couldn't move or speak. She gently fondled my balls. I moaned and her eyebrows lifted.

She moved to my shaft and I gasped. If I hadn't recently seen the movie 'The Graduate' I would have had absolutely no point of reference for my situation. I didn't ask for it, and I wasn't sure that I wanted it, but I wasn't prepared to stop her.

Her hand glided up and down my shaft with practiced dexterity. I could feel the pressure in my groin, as my body tried to force more blood into my cock. It felt so hard, and it wanted more... more pressure, more stimulation, more...

She removed her hand from my penis. She placed her hands on the lapels of my robe and spread the robe open. She simply stared at my body, lowering her gaze down to my throbbing cock. "Oh, how glorious. Now that would surely excite our little art class", she snickered. And then she was gone.

I waited until my erection subsided. I covered myself with my flimsy robe and descended the stairs.

The group was taking their seats. Before Miss Alberts could assume command, Mr. Wiley interrupted. "Oh, Miss Alberts. I actually have prior experience drawing the nude form. Would you mind if I arranged young Billy in a pose that I've found to be particularly engaging? I think that the class might find the pose very expressive."

Miss Alberts agreed. Mr. Wiley approached me as I stood by the stool. He pushed the stool to the side. I had my back to the class, hoping to shield my more vulnerable parts for the final session.

Without ceremony, Mr. Wiley grabbed the collar of the robe, lifted and spread the fabric so that it hovered above my body. He slid the robe down and off of my arms. I stood naked before him.

He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around so that I was facing the room. Now, he was the only obstacle preventing my full-frontal exposure to the other students. He pushed me back so that my ass cheeks were resting on the edge of the stool. Next, he grabbed my hips and turned my body slightly to the left.

He told me to cross my arms across my chest. Finally, he gently tapped my chin so that he could direct my face to the right. I was now staring directly at Tammy and Barbara, who were seated and fully observant of Mr. Wiley's manipulation of my naked body.

Before resuming his seat, Mr. Wiley did something that was so utterly horrifying. He placed his open palm under my testicles and tapped them. When he patted my penis he calmly stated, "Okay, there we go. Everything seems to be laying naturally." He took my robe with him as he returned to his seat.

I looked at Barbara who simply sat there with her mouth agape. She seemed to be equally shocked at Mr. Wiley groping my privates. Then it changed, her eyebrows rose and she gave me a depraved smile. I wanted to tell her that I was offended by Mr. Wiley's fondle, but I just sat there in my assigned pose.

When Mr. Wiley walked back to his seat I remained leaning against the stool. My cock and balls were just resting there, on display.

This final session of the class felt like the longest period of my life. I tried to dissociate myself from my situation. How agonizing. Finally, Miss Alberts called the session to an end. I looked around for my robe. It was nowhere to be seen.

All of the art students, save Mr. Wiley, rapidly approached. They casually surrounded me and offered their most sincere appreciation for my modeling efforts. I stood there, unable to cover my body. It seemed too incongruent to cover my privates with my hands after having been previously so exposed.

Mr. Wiley approached finally, and I saw that he was holding my robe. What the fuck was he doing? Was he so oblivious to my vulnerable situation, or was he intentionally prolonging my torment?

"Let's get a group picture", suggested Mr. Smith. Before I could step aside, he said, "Oh Billy, you need to be in the picture as well. Today wouldn't have been so special without you!" The scheming prick. He grabbed the robe from Mr. Wiley's hand and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. No one seemed aware of the cruelness of his action.

Miss Alberts assumed a position next to me and put her arm around my shoulders. The seeming normalcy of her actions were in shocking opposition to the reality. This young teacher was pressed up against a naked young man who had been her high-school pupil just over a year ago.

Before I could fully assimilate this paradox, Mr. Wiley sidled up next to me and wrapped his arm around my hips. All of the remaining women assumed positions in a line adjacent to ours. Mr. Smith continued to capture images on his Polaroid camera.

When we finally disbanded, all of the artists approached Mr. Smith and collected their individual photographs. He looked so content handing the polaroid pictures to everyone. He fucking handed images to his daughters, Barbara and Tammy! Who in the hell would provide their daughters with naked pictures of their childhood friend?

I desperately wanted to ask Mr. Smith whether we were 'even'. I assumed that he had exacted is revenge, and that I was free to resume my normal life without threat of his continued harassment. I didn't ask, because I wanted the answer to be 'yes', and I dreaded hearing what he might be contemplating.

I walked up the stairs, naked. I dressed and left without any further interaction.