The Vanity Project

My name was Lucy Lee and I was without doubt the hottest girl in high school. At eighteen my body had developed in beauty exponentially as I aged so had my proportions. The guys had christened me 'juicy Lucy' and though I feigned disgust, secretly I enjoyed their lustful preoccupation with my body. At 36C, my breasts were a cherished prize in my high school but no one would get their hands or even eyes on them, I was positive about that.

All the guys lusted after me and all the girls envied me and nothing happened at my school that I wasn't at the epicentre at. My long blonde hair and blue eyed All American good looks encapsulated everything the American male wanted in a woman, I was our high school's head cheerleader and for the past few years had been voted high school rear of the year and I was a dead certain to be voted queen at the senior prom. Of course some people thought that I was vain and conceited but they didn't have to live with the serious obligation of being so beautiful.

So when the society for fine arts in our school decided to approach me about a portrait for an Art expossition I was hardly surprised. I knew I'd be the star attraction at the prom anyway and all they wanted was a visual representation of my natural beauty to adorn an exhibition at the school arts show. Though I feigned modesty I was all too eager to showcase myself notwithstanding I would receive central billing at the expo. I always guarded my image cautiously and wore conservative clothing, just enough to allow people to use their imagination, never daring to show any cleavage or wear the short skirts that other girls paraded around in. Nonetheless, I could tell all the boys spent there time imagining me naked. However I knew that day would never come. No, I was a class act and the Art society suggested to me that they would certainly present me as such.

I arrived at the shoot as expressed in my new outfit. Of course I demanded that the picture not be unveiled until the exhibition, as I wanted to create an aura of mystery about my new look. My father had seen to it that Stella McCartney herself would design a gown for me, fitted exclusively to my exact measurements and my specifications. Of course I wouldn't be exposing any part of myself that I considered indecent but it was certainly a little more racy than what I usually wore. So to help maintain maximum confidentiality, only the highly promising artist Aimee would be present to portray me and only she would see the piece before the unveiling.

Years earlier I had been involved in a little skirmish with Aimee when she had deemed it unfair that I stole her boyfriend Rick but after all I was head cheerleader and as he was quarterback it was only normal that we should be the school's golden couple. She'd obviously realised by now that this was just the natural order of things and as we began the shoot she commented continuously about how ravishing I looked and about how the whole school would soon see me in a different light. She really had been gaining rave reviews for her recent artwork even if I thought it was a little odd and experimental.

She had me pose in all various ways but always with my face in shot, even if sometimes the focus seemed to be on my rear or my body. But I didn't mind that as I was dressed immaculately in my new dress. I just kept thinking how wonderful I would look immortalised in canvas forever and couldn't wait to have the whole school salivating over me.

The following day everybody in the school was talking about the picture. I truly was a goddess I thought and began discussing the idea of modelling amongst my friends and the student body at large who looked at me even more lustfully than ever. Though Aimee seemed to remain strangely quiet about the results of the depiction I was content to discuss the shoot as the unearthing of a new star. I spoke of the risky ness of my new look flirting with the idea that possibly I had gone too far. Of course I knew that my portrait was entirely tasteful but I couldn't help but to tease out details of a possible risqué nature to the piece.

The buzz generated was incredible and before I knew it the local newspapers had been invited to attend and even our local television station was sending a news crew to chronicle the event. Of course doubtlessly, the dawning of a new local artist was partially responsible for the hype but I knew deep down the whole town was looking forward to seeing the sexy cheerleader in a new light. All in a days work I thought.

The art exhibition would be called the Vanity Project, which Aimee assured me related to my otherworldly beauty rather than as I first thought a reference to my growing confidence. In fact I had sensed some hostility throughout the past week or two from my fellow students but deep down I always knew they worshipped me. How could anyone not adore me, Aimee reminded me and of course she was right. My public loved me and they were probably just too shy to look me in the eye any more.

The day of the grand unveiling finally arrived. I dressed up once more in the designer dress which I had so deliciously posed in. I was so excited as even I hadn't seen what the end product looked like though I had no doubt that I would look fabulous and wow the crowds. Aimee was conspicuous in her absence. After all she did some small part in the Art show even if I was clearly the main attraction. I met a representative from a modelling company in the foyer and she handed me her card and told me she'd be in touch. The world was my oyster.

Walking into the grand assembly hall I noticed that a huge curtain was draped across an entire wall of the building. Undoubtedly my beautiful form lay behind the curtains and I hovered with excitement around the gallery waiting for my big moment. The news teams all took turns interviewing me and I couldn't resist expressing my confidence about how much every one would just glorify my artistic display. Though some of the more cynical reporters raised eyebrows as I spoke I knew I'd win them over after the unveiling.

Finally the moment arrived. At exactly 15:00 the mayor arrived to draw the curtains and officially open the exhibition. The large crowd that had assembled around held their breath in excitement. I stood back to hear the applause, as I was unable to get a good chance to see the piece because too many people were in my way. When the curtain was drawn there was firstly a moment of dead silence. My beauty must have temporarily stunned the crowded I imagined, waiting for the praise to flow. Then voices of discord broke from the crowd.

"Ugh, she's hideous!" cried one.

"That's the worst body I've ever seen in my life," exclaimed

another.

Suddenly I realised something was up. Why didn't they adore me? I struggled my way through the crowd to get a look at the picture. As I advanced the crowd began to change their initial revulsion to one of laughter. Just what had gone wrong I thought frantically. And then as I burst through the front of the crowd I was confronted with a ghastly image. The picture was of me all right apart from one vast difference. She had somehow forgotten to paint in my clothes. My face had been transplanted perfectly onto someone else's body and by the looks of it, a body that no woman could possibly be proud of. The breasts were flat and gravity had certainly taken its toll on them and the side of my rear displayed a huge round ass with cellulite covering every inch of it. My hands were arched back behind me neck as my smile beamed confidently outwards. What was more, the pubic hair was thick, dark and furry quite unlike my own exquisitely trimmed blonde mane. I looked both smutty and ridiculous as I pouted my lips in a deferential pose towards my audience.

"Look! There she is, who would have thought she had such an ugly

figure?" called out a female onlooker as my presence became known to the gallery.

"I'm surprised she had the courage to show her face here!" shouted another.

"It's not her face that's the problem!" someone yelled out to which everyone broke out in uproarious laughter.

"I knew it, she's not even a real blonde," exclaimed the voice of one of the highschool's football team.

"I'll say, she has enough wool there to knit a sweater," responded one of the older male voices.

I was devastated as the mood of the crowd alternated between hilarity and repulsion. I could see the scout from the model agency recoil in horror at the body image on display. The boys from my class, who for so long had lusted after what lay behind my clothes were both appalled and enthralled by the ridiculousness of the scene. I could almost sense in their eyes that I had in fact betrayed them for wasting their lascivious thoughts on me over all these years. I must admit the quality of the piece was frighteningly realistic even if my body was betrayed. I would have thought it was real was I not the grinning idiot on full frontal display. My fellow cheerleaders were embarrassed to be associated with me and failed to make any eye contact with me. I tried to protest my innocence proclaiming the picture to be falsified but after all the campaigning that I made during the past few weeks about my new raunchier image no one would believe me. Also, as I had been intimately secretive with my private parts over the years, even showering in my swimming outfits after cheerleader practice. Furthermore, the elusive Aimee who had so fiendishly misrepresented my beauty was nowhere to be seen.

"We always thought you were a bit weird, showering in private but I guess now we know why!" said Becky placing me further into the mire.

"Oh my Gawd, like, we're totally going to have to dump her wrinkly ass from the squad now!" said another one.

"Totally!"

As the crowd began to dissipate I realised my reputation for exquisite beauty would forever be lost unless I embraced some dramatic action. I stood before the crowd and addressed them once more.

"Please, my body is picture perfect, that isn't me up there, you must believe me!" I begged the audience who treated my pleas with nothing but disdain.

"Why should we believe you?" voiced the crowd expectantly.

"Because, I'm beautiful. I've always been beautiful!" I replied desperately, receiving nothing but groans from the audience.

"Oh yeah, than why have you been such a prude for your whole life!" shouted one bemused onlooker.

"OH I'LL SHOW YOU, I'LL SHOW YOU ALL!" I screamed back in a frenzy of mixed up emotion not sure what recourse I had.

Everyone once more gathered round sensing something sensational was going to happen. Before I could gather my thoughts only one thought sprang to mind. If they could see me how I truly was they would know that picture was a fake but how could I accomplish this. In front of the tumultuous gathering I flipped off my red high-heeled shoes, as anticipation levels of the multitude rose exponentially. Adrenaline pumping through my veins I reached behind my back and ripped open the zip down my back.

I suddenly found I couldn't undress myself quickly enough. I had to show my splendour once more to the world and only the shedding of my vestments could attest to that. I pulled the straps off my shoulder and waited as the dress slipped down my shoulders, exposing my blue old-fashioned brazier. Clearly my bust-line could only surpass that shown on the photograph I thought to myself. The dress continued down past my waist exposing my matching blue cotton panties. I was a little embarrassed at my choice of underwear though I could hardly have foretold I'd have been stripping in front of all these people when I was getting dressed that morning.

I could hear ripples of laughter from the crowd. It was different to the mocking toned laughter of before. Whilst some were laughing at my outdated matching blue bra and panties, I could sense disquiet in the air, like people were embarrassed at what I was doing. Reduced to my underwear I thought momentarily I had proved my point. No one could fill a bra as perfectly as this I tried to explain to the animated congregation. And despite the fullness of my toned behind shaping majestically into my panties nobody believed my posterior wasn't full of cellulite or indeed that my pubic hair wasn't so infinitely dark and hairy.

"That doesn't prove anything," shouted one male voice.

"Yeah, like, those old fashioned panties and bra could hide anything behind them," said Becky, verbalizing everything that I feared the crowd was thinking.

I hysterically played out my options once more, debating whether or not to persist. I could sense the growing expectation of the crowd for me to conitnue. My classmates, fellow cheerleaders, town notables all seemingly goading me forward to prove once and for all that I was a prototypical picture of perfection.

The only problem was in no way did I feel in the least way inclined to go any further. Unfortunately the brazier did suggest through its size and design that it could have been stuffed to prop up my figure. Nonetheless I noticed that some of the males began salivating at my body once more anticipating more. They had already seen more of me now than any of them could possibly have imagined but deep down I knew I owed it to the town to continue and in a frenetic out of control moment, I reached behind my back unhooked the clasps for my bra and felt the straps slid from my shoulders. I crossed my arms across my chest all too aware how the atmosphere around me had reached fever pitch. There was no turning back now I thought, sensing the spectator's lust for more. I paused momentarily wondering why I was doing this. After all, I was a conservative girl but alas once more my ego took over and I stretched my hands out in the air revealing for the first time my spectacular bosom.

The crowd cheered wildly at my outrageous parade and finally I felt the love from the masses that I had for so long craved. I could sense a passion intensify inside me. Amidst, the thunderous roars of appreciation I felt strangely compelled to continue. As if all common sense had long vacated my mind, I dug my two thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slightly bending my knees I pulled the cotton material down my legs until I felt them lifeless at my ankles. I stepped forth, at once exposing my entire nude form to all and sundry, the magnitude of what I had done up to this point having temporarily escaped me. The crowd began chanting 'juicy Lucy, and for 30 seconds I stood posing in various styles as the lascivious crowd feasted on my beautiful naked form, my unclothed body gaining more attention than I ever had anticipated. I had long since forgotten my hitherto strict inhibitions when I saw in the front row of the gaping mob a photographer capturing my every move. It was Aimee.

At that moment the reality of the situation began flashing through my mind. The image behind me was transformed into a single caption. I turned around in disbelief at what I had done, reading the caption "THE VANITY PROJECT". As I stood there still naked. Aimee joined me in front of the audience and began to explain the conceit behind her artwork. As she spoke, she placed her hand on my head and slowly rolled her fingers down my nude form. She talked about her theory that vanity corrupts the morals of even the most conservative person. As her conceit became more apparent, she cupped my naked breasts in her hand.s My outlandish and naughty strip had proved this premise perfectly. Every word she spoke sent me further and further into humiliation. Standing next to the erudite eccentric artist I no longer wished to flaunt my exposed body to the mob. As Aimee spoke, their appreciation of me, turned once more back to ridicule. I had been duped due to vanity out of my clothes, my veil of decency shattered as a result of my narcissism. For a second time I was a laughing stock. People no longer dazed by my splendour began to capture my naked form on their cameras as I cringed uncontrollably before them. I crossed my left leg in front of my right and placed one arm across my breasts and the other across my pussy in a last gasp attempt to redeem some pride. But it was too late for that as Aimee playfully slapped my bottom and the throngs of people visibly revelled in my newfound humility. The laughter boomed around the gallery at which I was the living, breathing and bare butt naked pseudo-exhibition. Encircled by a crowd I had nowhere to turn and looked longingly at Aimee for some respite.

My clothes had long ago been swept away by the once adoring crowd, now they tossed my underwear around irreverently amongst themselves. The crowd were in full appreciation of Aimee in as much as they derided me. I could see the news crew panning between us, my meekness and vulnerability contrasting sharply with her cold calculated self-assured manner. The small press corps that gathered began asking more questions to both Aimee and me. I didn't know where to turn and there was no escape through the swollen crowd as yet.

"Why did you choose Lucy as your guinea pig, Aimee?" they asked sardonically as if I wasn't even standing there.

"Oh she was an obvious choice. I don't think anyone else could so easily have been manipulated," she replied to deafening applause from the crowd.

"And how about you Lucy, how do you feel knowing you're a victim of your own vanity and been so completely and publicly humiliated in front of all your peers and your towns folk?" asked another reporter.

How could I respond to that I thought, as my body grew more crimson under the continuous effervescent gaze. Aimee decided to answer for me, as I stood defeated next to her. She took my right hand away from my breasts and held it high as if we had just completed some epic journey together. My body was limp and had lost all sense of control.

"Can't you see how she's feeling? Look at her mighty heaving breasts. See how the nipples stand forth proud and erect as if to stand in attention even if the subject herself has been coerced and disgraced," she answered with such definition that the educated amongst the audience applauded rapturously whilst the majority gasped in exasperation that the whole experience was turning me on. Aimee patted my bare bottom like I was her plaything.

This new act propelled my humiliation to new inconceivable heights. Why had my body become so aroused, I pondered realising I had never quite experienced anything like this in my life. Aimee ran her free hand across my chest grazing underneath the cup of my breasts, further titillating my awakened emotions. She continued to course her fingers downwards, stopping at my navel to make yet another announcement.

"I also wanted to demonstrate how those who once profess modesty are really the greatest exhibitionists of us all."

As she spoke she repositioned the hand that had been covering my pussy down to my side. My hand had grown moistened as it rested over my vagina, which had begun to secrete orgasmic juices, deferential to my plight. I didn't think things could get any worse, I was wrong.

"Examine how my creations' body squirms, in a vain attempt to repress her deepest desires," Aimee noted, concisely describing my ever developing yearning to satisfy my primitive needs.

It felt like my body was on fire, as my appetite grew insatiable. Almost like my physical actions were no longer under my own control, my hand ran along my thighs until it reached my moistened pussy. I was mortified, why couldn't I stop? But the lust inside me beckoned me forward, my mind transfixed on sexual satisfaction.

"See how the exhibitionist has evolved. Ladies and gentlemen, I would stipulate that this is the first honest act in this young lady's entire life," Aimee decried.

She was probably right but as I began to masturbate in front of all those assembled I really didn't care. If only all these people weren't watching me I thought, though deep down I knew I had never experienced such intense pleasure. The males couldn't believe what they were watching. Me, the local bombshell, pleasuring herself before their very eyes. The more I thought about it, the more furious my assault on my body continued. Finally and in front of my stunned audience I finally revelled in the most extreme orgasm of my life. As I moaned in pleasure I could see the flashes of the cameras capture my eyes as they rolled back in my head.