Girlfriend in Control

Years ago when I was in college I was home visiting my folks over the summer. They had gone out for the whole day and evening and I had their place to myself. My girlfriend at the time (who was at home with her folks in another city) thought it was great, and that I should feel free to "expose" myself to new opportunities while they were out. My folks have a screened-in pool and a secluded backyard so I was pretty sure what she had in mind (and since I am a somewhat-reluctant exhibitionist, I was hoping she had some good suggestions).

As soon as they left I called her from my folks' portable phone (this was before cellphones) and she told me to strip, which I did gladly. She had come up with a list of activities for me, which basically consisted of me doing things around the house naked. It was easy to get the mail because the mailbox is just outside the front door, so all I had to do was lean out the front door--there was a low wall in front of the door so even in bright daylight the odds of being seen were very slight. She had me spend time in front of the open fridge so I could feel the cold on my naked body, and she had me frequently look at the pile of clothes I had stripped off (and other clothes) to remind me that I wasn't allowed to cover myself with any of it. She kept reminding me that I would do whatever she told me to do, and that she was sitting at her home comfortably dressed while I was running around naked, and how I would remain that way for as long as she wanted me to. With every reminder I was getting more turned on, which of course was why I was agreeing to it.

However, as the afternoon drew on, she told me to grab a bathing suit and towel and head out to the pool. The towel I understood but the suit didn't make sense since she had seemed intent on keeping me nude. I grabbed my favorite pair of trunks and a towel and walked towards the back door that led to the patio and pool area. Once I slipped the suit on she asked if it felt good to be covered again, since I had been kept "bare-assed naked" (she used that phrase a lot that day) for several hours at that point. I said it did, that I had been embarrassed being kept unclothed so the suit felt wonderful.

I opened the door and stepped on to the patio. As I did she told me to keep the door to the house open. Casually, she asked if there were any other towels or any clothes out on the patio. I looked around and told her no, that the only clothes out there was my suit and the only towel was the one in my hand (the patio was basically empty except for some patio furniture).

"I guess that means there are no clothes on the patio, since that suit is going back in the house," she said with a laugh.

I told her I wasn't sure what she meant (of course I was, I just was so turned on my mind was turned off).

"Quit stalling," she replied. "The suit is coming off now, naked boy. Let's go, strip it off."

I tried pleading for a moment, but she said nothing. In my state it never occurred to me to say I would do it and then not (since she never would have known), so I gave-in: I untied the suit, pulling it off my hips (and over my erection), down my legs and then off my feet. I was standing naked on my folks' patio with my suit in one hand and the towel in the other. I told her when it was done.

"So you're now outside bare-assed naked with your only covering in your hands?" she asked/observed. "Well, then toss them both back into the house. First, the towel, please."

I did so, tossing the towel a few feet inside the door.

"Now, the suit. But, before you toss it, look at it. Remember how good it felt when it was covering you, how you weren't naked for the first time all day. And the last time all day. Now toss it in the house, and close the door."

All of her dirty talk was turning me on to a near breaking point, and so I did as she commanded (because, let's face it, at this point they were commands that I was dutifully obeying), shutting the door after the suit was safely back in the house.

"I can't believe you thought I'd let you tan and swim with your bathing suit on," she commented. "Doesn't seem like much fun for me. Here I am, in my house with my family all around, and I'm perfectly covered and decent. What good would it be for you to be covered and decent? My family keeps walking by and saying hi--can you imagine if your family could see you now? By the way, do you mind if I tell my family that I am keeping you stark naked, and that I have you outside without a shred of covering in sight?"

I begged her not to. My heart was pounding in my chest. There was little chance anyone could see me, but that didn't matter. She was right, having the suit on had been wonderful. I had loved what she was doing to me at first, but I had begun to feel like I had been naked for long enough. Stripping me of the bathing suit had been incredibly disheartening. The idea that the suit was only on the other side of the door was almost too much to bare (pardon the pun).

"This was a great idea," she continued. "I see a lot more time with you in this attire when we get back to school. Maybe I'll keep you naked whenever you are in your dorm room. Wouldn't that be fun to study like that? Me, dressed in comfy sweats and you dressed in, well, nothing. Maybe we can invite a few of the girls from my dorm over for a study break? Wouldn't that be great? You could serve us drinks and food while we watch you in your birthday suit."

How this had gone from some dares she had for me while home alone to a small CFNM party at my dorm was beyond me, although the fact I hadn't come yet from the sheer thought of it said a lot about the stamina of my 20-year-old self. But I was cracking. There was no way I could avoid coming if I kept standing there naked, and I didn't want to come yet since it would have broken the euphoria. I decided to put my suit back on (but not tell her about it)--that way whatever she said or told me to do I could handle without too much embarrassment. I approached the door so that I could quietly open it, reach in, and grab the suit.

Except the damn door knob wouldn't turn.

My heart almost stopped. I tried it again. Nothing. I turned the knob with all my strength, figuring I'd find a way to fix the door if I broke the damn thing.

The door didn't even budge, and by then I was no longer quiet about it.

"Hey, John, what are you doing?" she asked.

I told her nothing, that I was just overcome with embarrassment about being naked outside and needed to take a deep breath.

"Oh," she said, "that's funny, because it sounded like you were struggling with something more than your continued nudity. Like, maybe you tried opening the door... and it wouldn't open."

I said nothing.

"John," she continued, "did the door lock? Are you locked outside?"

I kept staring at the door.

Her voice had lost a bit of its edge as she began to realize that our fun was becoming much more serious.

"John, are you still there?"

I said yeah, I was here. And finally, I said yeah, the door must have locked when I closed it. I couldn't speak my next thought. So she did it for me.

"And now you are locked outside. In your birthday suit," she added, as though I needed the clarification. She sounded concerned. But then she figured it was part of the game.

"You're not really outside, are you?"

I told her I was.

"The door isn't really locked, is it?"

Again, affirmative.

"John, are you... are you really naked?"

I looked down. I wanted to tell her no, that I wasn't, that I'd been faking the whole thing, that I'd been wearing boxers the whole time, or that I hadn't stripped off the bathing suit. I wanted to tell her anything--anything but the truth: That I was (in her words) bare-assed naked, locked out of the house (since all the other doors and windows were locked), and that I was going to have to stay that way for the seven hours or so until my folks came home and found me that way. A proposition that I decided was more horrible than jumping in the pool, submerging to the bottom, and staying there until hell froze over.

Finally, I told her yup, I'm very, very naked. I asked her if she remembered how we joked anytime we heard of someone forgetting to take their key when they went to the shower and getting locked out in their bathrobe. I told her that was me... minus the bathrobe.

I couldn't believe it. The whole thing had started safe and innocent, and I think we were both turned on by what she had been making me do (not like I wasn't a very willing participant). But this... this was bad. I had no choice. There was no one to call to come and help me. I couldn't even call my folks and ask them to come home... and more than that, I couldn't face them when they did.

I told her I didn't know what I was going to do. The prospect of my folks finding me like this (many hours from now), and me having to explain how it happened, was impossible to imagine. They would never let me live it down, the story would get out to the rest of our family, and forever I would have to pay for this in one way or another. They might even get really angry. They might decide I was too immature for college (somehow I worked myself up to thinking they would stop paying tuition, even though that was blatantly ridiculous).

My girlfriend hadn't spoken for a minute; finally, I heard her take a breath. (I would later learn that she had quietly brought herself to orgasm sitting alone in her kitchen when she finally accepted it was really true: I was really naked, really locked out, and really, really embarrassed.)

"Can I ask you something?" she said. "Can I tell Sara?"

Sara was her best friend, whose room was down the hall from hers at school. I asked her why she needed to tell Sara.

"I love you," she said. "But I have to tell someone about this. I stripped you naked. I threatened you with more naked time back at school. That was all fun ([for her, I thought]). But this. I got my boyfriend naked outside his house. And now, that same boyfriend is locked outside. Locked outside naked."

No, I told her, that would be as bad as my family finding out, since Sara would tell everyone at school. Then again (I did not verbalize this) if my girlfriend and I ever broke up, it would make the rounds at school anyway. No, I said more firmly, we need to figure out a plan for me.

"Because you're locked outside naked," she confirmed. She seemed to enjoy reminding me. "Are there any spare keys to your house around, maybe under a mat or in a plant near a door?"

No, I told her, no spare keys. And then I realized that wasn't exactly true. When I was younger my folks were close with one of our neighbors: Mrs. Lawson, who had a daughter a couple years older than me. She a cool mid-40s lady who always asked how you were doing and typically had a great sense of humor. Mrs. Lawson and my mom had given each other their spare keys years earlier. I explained this all to my girlfriend.

"Is she still close with your folks?" she asked.

I said I didn't think so.

"Would she still have the key?" my girlfriend asked.

I told her I couldn't ask because I didn't remember their phone number.

"Well, is she home?" my girlfriend wanted to know.

I didn't know, I explained, since their house was diagonally across the street from ours. And why did it matter, I asked, since I was stuck in the back of the house...

"Maybe you should check if she's home," she suggested. "Can you see her house from the side of yours?"

Which is what found me, 20 seconds later, peeled flat against the side of my folks' house, staring diagonally across the street, trying to see if Mrs. Lawson was home (their was no Mr. Lawson, not in a long time). It felt odd using the house to cover myself.

The lights were on in their kitchen. The sun had been getting lower by that point and that much I could make out. I was fairly sure I could see a figure working by the kitchen window, but I wasn't positive.

Okay, I told my girlfriend, somebody is home. But how can I attract their attention to get them come over?

"You could move to the front of your house and try jumping up and down," my girlfriend suggested, the mirth in her voice barely contained. "Oh wow, I would love to see that. That would get the attention of most of the neighborhood, probably. Hey, do you know you've been naked for like five hours? Except for those two minutes you had your suit on. Whatever happened to that suit?"

She had left being sympathetic and was back to enjoying my predicament. I was still stuck, though, still naked, and still locked out. I stupidly asked my girlfriend so what next?

"It sounds like you're streaking the neighborhood," she said.

I didn't follow.

"You're at your house, locked out, bare-assed naked. Staying there means having your folks find you sometime tomorrow ([it would late that night, but she was going for dramatic]). Or, you could streak across the street, and see if cool Mrs. Lawson might help a nice naked boy from the neighborhood get back in to his little house so he might be able to cover his little naked tushy. Hell, "she continued, "Mrs. Lawson might even loan you some covering... though I'd really prefer if she didn't."

What am I supposed to, I asked her, run up and ring the bell?

"Yup, and when she asks who is it, tell her you're a Jehovah's Witness who lost his pamphlets when he lost his clothes."

I told my girlfriend at least some good would come from leaving the house: The portable's reception was already stretched to its limit, and I wouldn't be able to take the phone with. She wouldn't be able to join me for this exciting and terrifying part of my exposure.

"That's fine," she said. "I think I'll call Sara to check in. Oh, I can't wait 'till we get back to school. Your dorm room will have so much more space once we get rid of all your around the dorm clothes. Isn't it great, "she concluded, "you're gonna get to spend the next school year mostly naked?" Although she was mostly kidding (I hoped) she was clearly enjoying the idea.

"Run carefully," she said. "You wouldn't want to trip and fall, in your outfit." And with that, she hung up.

I clicked the phone off and dropped it in the grass. I couldn't tell if I felt more naked without her voice relishing the experience, but I certainly wasn't relishing what I was about to have to do.

Looking down, I found two large leaves (ironically from a fig tree). I held one in front of me and one behind me. Taking one last deep breath, I took off running, which was difficult with my arms fixed trying to cover me and my bare feet encountering every rock and stick in my folks' side garden. I broke through to their front yard and realized the sun was not so low that someone looking around would not notice a stark naked man running into the street. I thought about Mrs. Lawson and prayed she still had the key, and that she might give me some clothes, and that she would keep the incident to herself. As I crossed into her front yard I thought I heard a horn honk, but there was absolutely no way I was going to turn and look.

Seconds later I found myself out of breath on the Lawson's front stoop. I dropped the leaves to ring the bell, then proceeded to cover myself with my hands.

"Who is it?" I heard through the front door.

I responded with Mrs. Lawson, it's John from across the street. I knew Mrs. Lawson had a good sense of humor, and that she would undoubtedly get a big kick out of the situation.

Unfortunately, I didn't really realize how good that sense of humor could be until I heard the next sentence.

"Oh, is it that very naked neighbor of mine I just saw streaking across the street? Because I had really been hoping to see more of him."

And with that the door opened, and I realized my exposure was far from over.