Naed Revenge

My brother would kill me if he knew. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great brother, and I really love him, but he just goes batshit crazy if I touch any of his stuff. Of course, every chance I get, I go through his room. I can’t help it. He constantly begs our folks for a bedroom door lock, but Mom always adamantly refuses. A few years ago she checked his browser history, and that pretty much wrecked any chance he had of any additional privacy. It was only porn. That’s not what I’m looking for, anyway. I can check out porn on my own computer. And I know enough to clear my browsing history. But he really does acquire some interesting things. Like what I found today: a pair of night-vision goggles. Not the really expensive ones; my dad would never spring for those. But I checked the Amazon charges on our credit card bill, and they cost around $300. Dad spoils Joey way more than me. I have Mom, though.

Joey’s away with my parents, checking out a university in another state. He’s hoping to enroll there after he finishes two years at the local community college. I’m still a senior in high school. Anyway, I figured tonight would be perfect for checking out the goggles. I went to bed early and set my alarm for 1:00 a.m. When it woke me, I got up and went into his room. I had to be careful, noting the exact position of the goggles on his closet shelf. He checks these things. I even thought that when I brought them back, I should probably wipe them down to eliminate any fingerprints. I can’t even go in there wearing perfume, or when Joey comes in later, he’ll sniff the air and start yelling, “Mom, Kathy’s been in my room!”

I thought I’d walk down to the local park a few blocks away. It’s pretty lame. An area of woods with a big clearing in the center. Some benches, some picnic tables, a big brick BBQ grill and a softball field. Like I said, nothing to write home about. It was a warm, cloudless night with a sliver of a new moon.

When I got there, I noticed there was a car in the parking lot, and I knew that car. A sporty yellow number with a distinctive license plate: “FOXY” and some numbers. It belonged to Seraphina Carlo, the prettiest girl and the meanest bitch in our high school.

I hated her like everyone else did, and I had never even spoken to her. Well, I did once. I said, “Hi,” and she didn’t even glance at me. But the reason I really hate her is because of what she did to my friend Jenny. Long story short, she set her sights on Jenny’s boyfriend, Sam, and made up some vicious lies about Jenny cheating on him. He was hurt and furious and dumped Jenny. Now get this. After Sam took up with Seraphina, she dropped him within two weeks. She was never even interested him. She just wanted to see if she could fuck up Jenny’s relationship for her own amusement. About a week after Seraphina dumped him, Sam hung himself.

Now, I don’t know if he did that because of Seraphina or Jenny, some combination of the two or some other tragically misguided reason, but I definitely believe that if it weren’t for Seraphina, he’d still be alive today. I didn’t hear it myself, but I’m told that all she said when she heard what Sam had done, was, “What a pussy.”

Seraphina does actually have a few friends. You can’t be the best-looking girl in the school without a clique of hangers-on buzzing around you and hoping maybe some of your tits will rub off on them. Her friends are total bitches, too, but it is kind of helpful for the rest of us to have all the mean girls concentrated in one malignant cell.

I walked over to her car to check it out and made a wonderful discovery. The driver’s door was unlocked, the keys were in the ignition and, neatly arranged on the passenger seat, were a T-shirt, shorts, a black bra, matching panties and a pair of sandals. It looked for all the world that Seraphina was in the park. And she was bare-assed naked.

I had to be sure. I almost ran to the path that led to the clearing. I put on the goggles, and they were amazing. I really could see in the dark. When I got to the clearing, there in the middle of it was Seraphina. Like I said, the goggles were great, but we’re not talking HDTV here. I couldn’t actually tell it was her, but it had to be. What I could tell from the movement of her arm, though, was that whoever it was, she was masturbating with abandon.

As much as I wanted to stay and watch this (and with the goggles I could have gotten a lot closer before being seen), I knew what I had to do. I darted back down the path to her car. I removed the keys, pushed the door lock button and was about to throw the keys into the woods. Just before I did that and closed the door, I realized that this wouldn’t be good enough. She’d be locked out of her car naked, which would be a frightening pain in the ass, but she would be so desperate for her clothes that she wouldn’t hesitate to find a rock and smash a window to get at them.

Instead, I used the keys to open the trunk. It was empty and pristine. You really could have eaten off the floor. Then I collected her clothes and sandals from the passenger seat and dropped them in the trunk but held back the t-shirt. I made sure again that the car was locked, put her keys in the trunk, too, and slammed it shut. Then I hustled back into the trees some yards from the path, settled down on a convenient tree stump and waited for the fun to begin.

While I sat there, I pulled out my trusty Swiss Army Knife, cut four long strips from the shirt and stuffed the remaining material in my fanny pack. I folded the strips neatly and placed two in each pocket of my shorts. I knew I had left Seraphina a possible out. If she was willing to smash a window, and if the car had a trunk release button, and if she had any reason to suspect that everything she needed was in the trunk (and if she weren’t such a clueless bimbo), she might at least try that. I figured she had a better chance of winning tomorrow’s Powerball drawing. I was right.

It was almost an hour before Seraphina came back down the path. She must have had a really grand time. She moved with supreme confidence, head high, chest out and arms swinging at her sides. I almost laughed out loud when I realized that she had only seconds of that confidence left. I hoped she still had some orgasms left in her, though. She was going to need those.

Now, I have to tell you that I’m not a mean person. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything really mean to anyone in my whole life. But this? This was different. It was as if the reigning queen of high school evil had been delivered into my hands by a just and benevolent God.

As she approached the car, I moved over to the path for an unobstructed view. She walked up and grabbed the door handle. I could feel the shock wave from here. Her hand went to her mouth, and her gasp was audible. Then she tried to cover her breasts and her hairless pussy. That was funny. Less than a minute ago, she couldn’t have cared less, but now she felt a whole lot more exposed. She stood there frozen with fear. I gave her another minute and came sauntering into the parking lot, heading toward the sidewalk and paying her no attention. She had crouched down next to the car, and just as I reached the park entrance with it’s sole streetlight, she called, “You. Wait.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got to help me.”

“What do you need?”

“Someone stole my clothes.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to drive home naked. That’s not the end of the world.”

“You don’t understand. They took my keys, too, and the car is locked!”

“Ah, you must be the naked girl in the park.”

“You saw me?”

“Did I ever. I’ve been in there all evening, trying out my brother’s new night-vision goggles.” I held them up. “They’re amazing. Those were some awesome orgasms, by the way.” (I was taking a chance here, but I assumed that there were more than one.)

“You were spying on me?”

“Of course not! I was sitting on a bench in a public park, playing with these goggles, and some naked girl came waltzing into what looked to be centerfield and started masturbating like a zoo monkey. Spying? Please.” (I don’t like telling lies and rarely do so, and even when I do, they’re mostly of the “No-that-dress-doesn’t-make-your-ass-look-fat” variety. But right now they were coming easily to me.)

“Come here.”

“No, you come here,” I said. “There’s more light over here.” She gave me an angry look but rose and walked over to me, still trying to cover herself.

“Do you live around here?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can I go home with you and borrow some clothes?”

“Of course. Come on.” I stepped out onto the sidewalk and headed in the exact opposite direction from my house.

“Wait, you need to give me some of your clothes.”

“What?”

“Could I just have your bra and panties?”

“You expect me to strip off right here in the street. I’m not some cheap slut.” I smiled at her obvious discomfort and said, “Besides, I’m not wearing a bra or panties.”

“Then you should just give me your clothes.” I stared at her in disbelief.

“Look,” she said, “I’m not trying to be a bitch or anything, but if a car goes by and sees you naked, they’re probably not even going to notice much, but I could have people slamming on their brakes and jumping out of their cars. I could be raped!” God, she was making this so easy for me. The world really would be a better place if this girl were dead. And cremated just to make sure. And had her ashes scattered in about three different oceans to really be on the safe side. But then, she’s the kind of person you’d hate even after she was dead.

“You know, ‘bitch’ isn’t precisely the word I would have used. And don’t worry. If someone tries to rape you, I’ll help.” The ambiguity of those statements was wasted on her. “You know,” I continued, “I don’t think I want to help you after all. Why don’t you just wander around the streets naked, praying that the cops find you before the rapists? And hoping that they’re not one and the same. After the cops book you for indecent exposure, your parents can bail you out tomorrow morning. Oh, wait, it’s early Saturday. Monday morning then.”

“I’ll tell the cops I caught you stealing my clothes from the car, and you ran away and left me naked.”

“You’re unbelievable. There are a couple of serious problems with that story. One, what were your clothes doing in the car and not covering your naked ass in the first place? And two, these goggles have an embedded, high-definition, video camera,” I lied. “The cops are not only going to love the masturbation scenes, but I imagine that your credibility will take a lethal hit, too.” She glanced at the goggles like she meant to grab them. I wasn’t worried. I was bigger than her and an avid soccer and tennis player. She looked like the heaviest thing she’d ever lifted was a plastic dildo.

“Please, you’ve got to help me. My parents can never know about this. I’m their whole world. This would kill them.”

“Listen, Seraphina . . . “

“How do you know my name?”

“We go to the same fucking high school. Now let me explain to you exactly how this is going to work. For the next couple of hours, you’re going to do everything I tell you to do. After that, if you have been thoroughly obedient, I’ll take you to my house, give you some clothes and get you home. But if I detect even the slightest hint of resistance or hesitation, I walk. I totally mean it, Seraphina. Do you fucking understand?”

She said, “But . . . .” I held up a finger. “Yes, I understand.”

We walked along in silence for a while. I heard her softly crying and was moved to colossal indifference. It was getting a little busier now since were we were approaching the outskirts of the town. Several cars passed us and lit up Seraphina with their lights. Most of them slowed, but none stopped. If she made a move to run into the shadows, I restrained her. When she made a move to cover herself, I slapped her hands away. We reached an intersection with a streetlight on every corner, flooding it with light. “Go out into the center of the intersection, lay down on your back, spread you legs and masturbate until you come.”

“What? I could get run over!” (That wouldn’t have been my primary reservation about masturbating in the middle of an intersection, but who nows how Seraphina’s mind works? If indeed it works at all.)

“It’s a four-way stop and very well-lit. Bear in mind than that the sooner you come, the less likely it is that you’ll be seen. And don’t even think about faking it. Remember, I know what your orgasms look like.” She glared at me but decided it was best not to say any more. She lay down in the middle of the intersection and began to masturbate. Within minutes I could tell that she was actually getting into it.

And I must have been living right: within about a minute, cars pulled up at all four corners and bathed the intersection with even more light. It looked like high noon in Phoenix. The occupants of the cars just sat there and watched as her hips rose repeatedly in response to the ministrations of her fingers. I suppose it would have been just too much to wish for had one of the drivers lowered a window and called out, “Seraphina, is that you?” When she came she screamed so loudly I thought it would peel the paint off the cars. Then she just lay there as, one by one, the cars slowly accelerated and crept past her. And I had it all on video on my phone.

When she could get up, she walked over to me in a daze. I said, “I’m really, really sorry, Seraphina. I didn’t mean for you to enjoy that so much. I got great video, though.”

A few blocks farther along was a convenience store with a couple of cars out front. I saw two young guys inside talking to the cashier. We went in, and their heads swiveled around like three startled owls.

I said, “Hi. My friend wants to buy a dildo. Do you carry them in extra large?”

“Lady,” the cashier said, “we don’t carry them in any size. We’re a convenience store.”

“Well, what could be more convenient than a dildo? Never mind. Maybe we can find something that will pass for a dildo. Got any thermos bottles?” Seraphina began to sway on her feet a little, and I grabbed her arm to steady her. “No? Maybe we’ll just get you a bottle of Coke. From what I’ve heard about you, you won’t even need a bottle opener.” She looked like she was about to faint. “Okay, forget that. I guess you’re just going to have to let your fingers do the walking.” She actually seemed relieved.

“Hop up on the checkout counter and face us.” I helped her onto the counter, looked at the cashier and said, “You may want to pop around here for a better view.” He didn’t have to be asked twice. They all stood there speechless, staring up at her. I said, “Now, she’s going to masturbate for you momentarily, but you guys look kind of young. No offense, but I think maybe you need an an anatomy lesson first.” They nodded in unison.

“Okay, open your legs and spread your pussy.” After she complied, I said, “Guys, these are the labia majora. Hers are kind of on the puffy side.” I traced them with my finger. “And these are the labia minora. You probably just call them ‘pussy lips.’ I took each in succession between a thumb and forefinger and waggled them a bit. Now here is the urethral opening. The pee hole. Don’t ever try to stick anything in there. Below that we have the vagina, the thing you’re always so desperately searching for.” I slid a couple of fingers in and out. “And up here is the hood that covers the clitoris. Let’s pull it back back a little, and, voilá, you can see her clit.” I swirled my finger around it. “You really, really need to learn to pay attention to this. Any questions?” They shook their heads; they had been struck dumb.

“Oh, one more thing. This fatty little mound up here where the pubic hair used to be? That’s the mons pubis, often called the ‘mound of Venus.’ It doesn’t do that much other than structurally. Looks nice on her, though.” I patted it a few times. At this point a low moan sounded as she shuddered through an orgasm. I reached up and held her leg. “Damn, girl, you’re really getting out ahead of your skis. Now you have to regroup and show these guys a proper, masturbatory orgasm.”

She stood there with a thousand-yard stare but slowly began to rub her clit with one hand and penetrate her vagina with the fingers of the other. I said, “Sure you don’t want that Coke bottle?” When her orgasm finally arrived, she screamed and fell into my arms. I gave her a few minutes to recover, then gently set her down and led her toward the door, looking back over my shoulder and saying, “Thus endeth the lesson.”

Just before we reached the door, the cashier said, “Seraphina?”

She wheeled around in horror, and he said, “We go to the same high school. You’re hot.” She bolted into the parking lot. As she stood there fighting off a wave of nausea, I said, “Boy, has he got a story to tell.”

She said, “Why? Why are you doing this to me?” I just smirked and said, “All will be revealed in good time. Anyway, you should be proud of yourself. You just performed a real public service in there. I’ll tell you what, though. I promise there’ll be no more involuntary masturbation.”

We walked on and eventually came to an all-night diner. I was surprised when she headed inside without even being instructed to do so. I said, “Hungry?”

“I just assumed you were going to make me go in. I don’t have any money, anyway.”

“My treat.”

We took a seat without attracting any comments in the surprisingly busy diner. After a young woman took our order, I pulled Seraphina to her feet, led her to the jukebox, handed her a couple of quarters and said, “Play something you like.” When the songs she selected began to play, I led her to a small, empty dance floor in the center of the room and loudly announced, “This is my best friend, Seraphina Carlo, and she really wants to dance naked for you.”

And dance she did. She was damned good. The way she moved her hips and ass, bounced her tits around and kept turning about to thrust her vulva at as many diners as possible was wildly erotic. She held the room spellbound, myself included, until the meal came and she returned to our table to enthusiastic applause.

I said, “You’re having way too much fun.”

“No, I’m not. But I know when I’m beaten. I just want to do whatever you say, get this over with and get home. I didn’t want to look like a douche out there, and I know I can dance sexy, so why not do it right?”

I sat silently for moment, marveling at her. Maybe she really would die soon. She definitely had a terminal case of vanity. I pictured her being dragged into a dungeon by terrorists, and just as they’re about to make a video of her being tortured, she says, “Can I fix my hair first?”

“Please,” she begged, “when will this end?”

I said, “Oh, it’s not much farther. We live over my father’s appliance store not far from here. I have to call a friend to meet us and drive you home. Do you know Jenny Simmons?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’ll probably recognize her. I’m going to step outside and call her. I despise people who make calls inside a restaurant.”

I woke up a groggy Jenny, but when I explained what was going on, she clicked into high gear and couldn’t get here fast enough. She was in the parking lot in 15 minutes. When I brought Seraphina out to meet her, all of the blood drained from Seraphina’s face. She had recognized Jenny and looked terrified. It was all she could do to mumble a tentative, “Hi.”

“Okay,” I said, “keep walking three blocks to the stoplight, turn right on the four-lane main drag and keep walking. We’ll be slowly following you, enjoying the show and throwing a little more light on your spectacular ass. We’ll let you know when to stop.” She did as she was told. Jenny didn’t have much to say as we followed along, but she seemed transfixed by seeing the only person in the world that she truly hated coerced into walking down the street naked. After several blocks on the main street, I told Jenny to pass Seraphina and park at the curb just ahead of her. We got out of the car.