"Oh, there she is! We've been looking for you."
Even with my head under the water from the shower I recognized the voice of now, Captain Tuggersly. Turning around I found not just her but two other women firefighters, Lieutenants Anita Warren and Phoebe Stein, standing at the entry way to the block of shower stalls. Like me at that moment, all three were stark naked.
It wasn't like I hadn't seen all their "stuff" before. It was a common women's locker room for the fire department, after all, and in Tuggersly's case I had done way more than see her anatomy. I had been forced to go down and lick the most intimate, hairy, and even disgusting parts to her satisfaction. Not that she alone had wanted or had done something sexually inappropriate to me. It had been two years since I had completed my paramedic training and joined the department as a fully-fledged member. I was even a supervisory medic now, but despite my rise in rank, the commensurate respect hadn't come along. It was just too easy for them.
I looked at Anita's smaller tits with the little erect nipples and her much wider hips framing that flaming ginger bush that matched her short, cropped head. It was a contrast to Phoebe's fake tits that were still a cup size smaller than mine along with her much denser jet black anatomical Brillo pad edged for a bikini line. While Tuggersly had required oral service between her legs, the others had vented their own little forms of sexual bullying toward me in more psychological ways.
For example, to "celebrate" my graduation from the EMT program, after I did my fitness test, Anita had taken all my clothing and my towel from the locker room and put it on the hood of an ambulance so that I had to streak past all the guys to get them.
Phoebe had been far cleverer and even more of a bitch. It was after a particularly arduous and hot patient transport, and I was wringing with sweat so into the shower I had gone. It was also the day that an 18--19-year-old explorer group was touring the department. In a stroke of what she thought was absolute hilarity she had switched the gender designation on the locker door from women to men. I was washing my hair, all soapy and eyes closed, when I heard several young male voices chuckling. Then I heard a whistle. Rinsing my head quickly and opening one eye carefully so no residual soap could get in, I saw ten happily grinning explorers getting a free show.
I'd been away from the strip club long enough that it wasn't something I was used to anymore, at least not like that, and I went knock-kneed trying to cover with both arms and hands. The happy little jerks just hooted and applauded.
No, despite my rise in rank in the department, the idea of once-a-stripper-always-a-slut seemed to still give license to anyone that wanted to pull some dirty prank on the "medic with the huge tits" as some of the newer recruits still referred to me.
Right then, what sent a creeping sensation of dread up my spine despite the warm water cascading down it, was the way they three naked women were looking me up and down and grinning. I knew there was recurrent jealousy about my body and looks that flared when they had something particularly awful in mind. Now I could tell they were on the verge of a whole new episode of fun at my expense. I folded my arms over my big tits and cocked my head incredulously.
"Why are you looking for me?"
They looked at each other and smiled then looked back at me.
"Well," said Tuggersly, "You know the chief if going to retire?"
"Yes," I said.
Everyone did. He had been around forever and at 69 he was way past overdue to make way for some new leadership.
The three naked women looked at each other again and smiled, then moved into their respective shower bays and turned on the water. Somehow the fact that they were exercising a kind of informal bullying power in the nude made it even worse than if they were dressed. It was like they were saying, "we may all be naked but you are still not on the same level."
They were right. My stripper background, my history, all the things that I had done to get off probation and into the department had gotten around and in the pecking order of the fire department, I was the littlest chicken, even if parts of me were much bigger.
"Well," said Anita, "we were thinking he needed some entertainment at the party."
"Special entertainment," clarified Phoebe, her eyes sparkling at the fun of laying this on me.
I knew where they were heading, and there was no way I was going to agree to that. There would be a ton of department personnel there and besides, I didn't entertain anymore.
"Oh no," I reacted shaking my head.
That just made them grin even more.
"Oh now, is that being a team player?" said Tuggersly.
"All we are suggesting is that you do a little dancing around for a guy that has given so much to the department." Anita was soaping her flaming bush. It had an obscene quality made even more so since she wasn't being sexual right then at all. It was like she didn't feel the need to be discreet because I didn't even matter.
To my own astonishment and horror, my nipples thickened and knobbed. I was reacting to their snobbery. Tuggersly in particular noticed and grinned.
"Looks to me like you might not be quite so opposed to doing it," said Anita in a mocking tone.
"I am!" I protested.
The sad fact was that over the past couple of years the colocation of humiliation, submission, and arousal had become so psychologically entangled that even if my logical brain was saying no to something offensive and embarrassing, my body was contradictorily reacting. That is what these arrogant and insistent bitches were keying in on now.
"She'll do it," said Phoebe with such assurance that I felt my grip on control slip slightly. It didn't help and, in fact, it only made the compulsion so much more when I noticed that she was talking to the others and referring to me in the third person. It was like in her mind, I didn't even have a say.
"No," I said. It didn't sound as forceful or definite as I had hoped.
The three of them looked at me and smiled in the most condescending manner.
............................................................................................................................................................
I must have said no at least ten times. Most recently it was that very night as I was handed the brand new firefighter bunker gear of a helmet, coat, suspendered pants, boots... and nothing else. I was being expected to "gear up" like some firefighter stripper fantasy. To put it all on with NOTHING under and then take it all off.
"I only ever danced topless," I appealed to the three women who stood there completely dressed and smiling like it was already a done deal.
It was true. Totally, the club where I had worked was topless only. As I have shared before, going all nude was a big step down in terms of how a "dancer" was categorized.
Now, wearing a g string, I was being ordered to take that next downward step. With a sense of utter helplessness and humiliation I reached down as they smugly looked on and unsnapped the side clips. The stretchy little undergarment popped free and dropped away with my last bit of personal defense revealing my pussy and the little landing strip of hair above it. Now all nude, I stepped into the suspendered pants and boots. Hearing a snicker of laughter, I looked up. It was Phoebe.
"What?" I asked.
"You owe me a dollar," Phoebe said to Anita.
I looked confused, standing there stark naked with the pants around my knees.
"She bet you'd take it off without arguing," explained Tuggersly with a grin.
"Yeah," said Phoebe striking another humiliating blow. "When I saw how you had done your makeup for tonight, I said oh, we've totally got her."
At the mention of Totally, all three broke up in laughter.
"Good one," said Anita.
Unable to reply, I squatted down grabbed the pants and pulled them up to cover myself to the waist before fixing the suspender straps over my erect nipples and areola. They were right, and sadly enough, I knew it. That evening knowing I was going to dance topless, at least then I just thought it would be topless, I had just reflexively done my "work" makeup in the manner that had been habit for years. Smokey around the eyes, hot pink lipstick, it was the go to from my days dancing under the muted red and blue light for leering men. Picking up the jacket I slipped it on and latched the front eyelets. The only thing different aside from not having a critical g string was that I had pulled my hair back and up in a casual twist, the style that I wore now everyday on the ambulance. Otherwise, I was back in dancer mode, or more accurately to my present shame, in stripper mode. I put the helmet on my head and clicked down a visor that obscured my face. Now completely covered, I looked like any other short, slim firefighter in gear that didn't really fit. Seeing the smiles of expectation and mocking on the other women's faces, I knew that illusion was going to be short lived.
It was confirmed when Tuggersly said with a slight chuckle, "Okay, showtime."
Following them we walked out into what was normally used as the big briefing room that was also used for CPR training or other big or ceremonial presentations. I don't know what I had expected but to my grave despair, I saw that the place was packed, and almost all were people I either worked with, had trained within the department.
A few, I couldn't help noting, were people who already had intimate knowledge of me in one form or another. At one end of the room sat the outgoing Chief Murphy. He was old, like everyone had emphasized and was lounging back in a big leather chair that had been given to him by the department. On either side were varied artifacts from his career, including several old, warped helmets and tired looking leather helmet patches showing his ranks changes from firefighter, to lieutenant, to captain, to various ascendancies of chiefdom. From what I could see, his pink face already had that drunken flushed quality that was confirmed by half empty glass of Irish whiskey in his hand.
Before I could contemplate it further, Tuggersly looked off toward the side and lifted her hand to twirl an extended finger in the air. It was the cue for music and someone started a kind of hyped up rocking number that almost screamed strip club. The crowd reacted, and it was obvious that the word was out that they had gotten some adult entertainment for the Chief's send off and that now was the time for that to begin. Deep down, I cringed at how I knew they would react when they realized the entertainment was me.
For a second I contemplated turning and running out of there. I wanted to. I wanted to shout, I'm not letting you reduce me to this disempowering objectification. I could have physically, I knew that. But somewhere during my journey at the department, something had happened to me that made it impossible.
