Chapter 20: Truth or Consequences
The five girls remaining in the dressing room were still giggling over Danny’s humiliation when Molly reappeared. Her appearance had a sobering effect, and, true to form, Molly brought them back to reality.
“Okay,” Molly said with authority, “Linda, Nancy, Carlene—come with me. And Carlene, I’d like you to lose the dress, stockings, and heels. Just slip back into your volleyball uniform. No shoes. Just the top and shorts.” She tossed a volleyball toward her. “And bring this.”
A puzzled and apprehensive Carlene grudgingly began stripping off her clothes at Molly's behest.
“Linda, Nancy,” Molly continued, “you two can take off your stockings and put your heels back on. That means you’ll be in your can-can dresses—and nothing underneath. Too bad you tossed your panties into the crowd earlier.” She giggled to herself.
The two girls shared a sheepish glance, remembering their enforced striptease, then reluctantly did as told. Now partially redressed, the trio was ushered out of the dressing room and toward the stage.
As they approached, the scene before them painted a clear picture of what awaited: Karen was tied up naked with a beach ball clutched between her knees, Danny stood naked and hairless under the spotlight with his hands on his head, and Sally and Cindy were nude and serving cocktails.
The ninety guests were having a merry old time, and all eyes were now on the new threesome, as it appeared a fresh scene was about to unfold.
Molly led Carlene to a spot beside Karen. “You’ll stay right here,” she instructed. The scantily clad Carlene stood anxiously, holding her volleyball at her side.
Then she guided Linda and Nancy onto a low white platform roughly a foot high and six feet long. Its surface was dotted with several small circular air vents. The girls stood atop it, wobbling slightly in their heels, facing their enraptured audience.
Molly produced a pair of handcuffs and clasped one end on Linda’s right wrist and the other on Nancy’s left. She then pulled out a second pair of handcuffs and pulled Linda’s left wrist behind her back and cuffed it to Nancy’s right wrist, which was also pulled behind her back. The two distraught girls were well secured, and the party guests were looking on in curious excitement.
Molly retreated to the side of the stage, and Tommy stood up from his table.
“Folks, we’re going to play a little game,” Tommy announced. “Let’s call it ‘Truth or Consequences.’ I’ll be quizzing Linda and Nancy, our lovely contestants. They’ll have thirty seconds to answer each question. They can consult each other, but if they get the question wrong, they'll pay the consequences." He grinned devilishly. "If they get it
right, Carlene will have to remove an article of clothing of her choice. Oh, and as a bonus, Karen and Danny would perform a naked dance for our entertainment.”
The fivesome collectively slumped their shoulders and dropped their heads, no doubt aware of their inevitable forthcoming humiliation.
“Danny,” Tommy added, “if you could kindly remove the beach ball from Karen’s legs, please. Then resume your position.”
Danny obeyed, crouching awkwardly to pry the ball from between Karen’s trembling thighs. Karen, though still tied up, would now have the freedom to dance, if necessary.
Tommy clapped his hands together. “Let’s begin. First question: Who was the first president of the United States?”
Carlene, Danny and Karen all had anguished looks on their faces, while Linda and Nancy simultaneously blurted out, “George Washington.”
“You are correct! You are smarter than I thought,” said Tommy. “The rest of you, you know what the consequences are. Karen and Danny, we'll start with you.”
Upbeat music burst from the speakers, and the two naked unfortunates reluctantly started dancing. The audience laughed uproariously at the comical sight, especially at the bouncing, hairless genitals of the thoroughly humiliated Danny.
Karen was somewhat restricted with her hands tied above her head, but she dutifully shook her hips from side to side, creating a salacious scene.
The song faded out after about two minutes, and the two red-faced participants were mercifully allowed to stop dancing.
But Danny’s time in the limelight wasn’t quite finished. It seems that during his performance, when the spotlight zeroed in on his genitals, he lowered his hands from his head to cover up his source of embarrassment. The maneuver was not lost on Molly, who had stepped forward from her position at the side of the stage.
“Danny!” she yelled at him, feigning agitation with her hands on her hips, “Didn’t I tell you to keep your hands on your head?”
Danny, now completely unnerved to be the center of attention, replied, “S-sorry.”
“Well, ‘sorry’ is not going to cut it, I’m afraid.”
Molly was flourishing in her role, much like an actress in a play. She pulled a sturdy, wooden chair to the front of the stage and sat down.
With the crook of her index finger, she motioned to the beleaguered Danny. “Come here, little boy.”
Danny, now with a pitiful look of distress on his face, made the naked walk of shame, stopping in front of her, eyes downcast.
“Little boys who misbehave need to be punished,” Molly said sternly, her voice carrying through the room. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Danny’s blush deepened. “I-I’m sorry; it won’t happen again.” The audience tittered.
“Do you see any reason why I shouldn’t take you over my knee right now and spank your little bottom?”
Outright laughter emanated from the audience. Danny, who wasn’t laughing, was at a loss for words.
“I thought not,” continued Molly.
To the delight of the audience—none more so than Tommy, who clearly hadn’t expected this unscripted display from his girlfriend—Molly rose to her feet, took hold of Danny’s right elbow, and, with a fluid motion, sat back down and pulled him over her lap. His feet dangled nearly a foot above the stage, his backside now fully presented to the captivated crowd.
Molly proceeded to spank the miserable Danny’s hindquarters, steadily and authoritatively. What began as playful punishment quickly became a spectacle of dominance. She fed off the hooting and hollering from the crowd, and she increased the speed and the force of her slaps, until she heard the whimpering from her wretched victim.
She stopped and stared at her target in amazement—and, it should be noted, a certain amount of admiration—as it turned redder by the second, until it was almost glowing.
Satisfied, she lifted him to his feet—wobbly, red-faced, and utterly humiliated.
“That’ll be all,” she declared, her voice calm and authoritative.
And with a theatrical flourish, she sent him on his way with one last, resounding slap to his thoroughly chastised rear end.
Danny, his face now crimson, waddled back to his place on the far side of the stage—smarting not just from the sting on his backside, but even more from the sharp sting of humiliation.
Tommy had to wait a fair amount of time for the noise to subside. “Okay, let’s see, where were we?” he asked rhetorically, as he wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. “By the way, thank you, Molly, that was quite entertaining.” Molly smiled and winked at her appreciative boyfriend. "Now, let's get on with question number two," continued Tommy.
Tommy was fully aware that another consequence still loomed. He stole a glance at Carlene and took quiet pleasure in the look of relief on her face. But, of course, her reprieve would be short-lived.
"Oh, I almost forgot—Carlene, you have an important decision to make. Which article of clothing would you like to part with?"
"Please, Tommy, I..."
"Why don't you surprise us," he cut in brightly. "And give us your sexiest striptease dance while you take it off and twirl it to your audience. You can set the volleyball down during your performance."
Tommy pointed to his friend in the balcony. The old tune "The Stripper" by David Rose appropriately blared from the stereo.
Carlene froze for a beat. But the eyes were on her, the music had started, and there was no escape. Slowly, she set the volleyball down, and while the audience roared, she began to move—hips gyrating, hands teasing the hem of her sports bra. With visible reluctance, she slid one arm out of the strap, then the other.
For a second, she just stood there, clutching the bra against her chest. Then, with a shaky breath, she pulled it over her head. Her hands trembled as she held it, uncertain, before she gave it a half-hearted twirl and tossed it into the crowd, where a grinning guest caught it midair.
The crowd was reveling in the moment—cheering, laughing, nudging each other with gleeful disbelief. The guest who caught the bra held it aloft like a prize, further fueling the commotion.
Carlene crossed her arms tightly over her chest the moment the bra left her fingers. Her face was flushed deep red—cheeks, ears, even down her neck. She stood frozen, dazed and defenseless, like someone caught in a nightmare where they'd shown up to school naked—only this wasn’t a dream. This was real. And every eye in the room was on her.
Meanwhile, Tommy watched from the sidelines, grinning ear to ear as Carlene squirmed beneath the lights. He toyed with the idea of making her drop her hands, but thought better of it—for now. Her full exposure, he knew, was only a matter of time.
With a subtle gesture toward his friend, the music cut out.
“Thank you, Carlene,” he said. “That was...thoroughly entertaining! And with a little luck, maybe that’s as far as you’ll have to go.”
He turned back to the platform. "Now, let's get back to the game. Here you go girls, question number two: Who won baseball’s World Series in 2019?"
Linda and Nancy exchanged panicked glances. Sports wasn’t their strong suit. They conferred with each other, and Nancy took a stab at it.
“The…Dallas Cowboys?” Nancy ventured.
Tommy groaned mockingly “No, not quite,” countered Tommy. “Wrong team, wrong sport. The answer was the Washington Nationals. I’m afraid you’ll have to pay the consequences.”
Molly, remote in hand, turned a knob on her remote control to the 25-mph setting. Suddenly, jets of air blasted upward through the vents beneath Linda and Nancy.
The result was instantaneous chaos.
Their skirts flew up over their waists, exposing their nakedness. The girls, in a panic, struggled mightily. With their arms useless behind their backs, they tried to grab their hems using only one available hand each. The result was an uncoordinated tug-of-war, as each one’s attempt to fix her own skirt only hiked up the other’s.
The crowd was beside itself. The girls shrieked and flailed, their dresses flapping out of control. The scene played out for nearly two minutes, while the audience roared with unbridled laughter.
Finally, Molly turned the knob back to zero. Their skirts fluttered down, leaving the girls panting and red with embarrassment.
Tommy wiped his eyes, still laughing. “Next question! What country does the King of England reside in?”
Linda and Nancy, neither of which was the brightest of the stars, furrowed their brows in thought, while the other three turned their heads and rolled their eyes, recognizing their fate.
“It’s not a trick question,” Tommy added helpfully.
"Uh...England?" guessed Linda tentatively.
Tommy clapped. “Brilliant! Karen and Danny—it’s showtime!”
On cue, the dance music resumed, and the unwilling duo dutifully entertained their energetic audience with their humiliating naked dancing. Karen gave it her all despite her tied hands. Danny, his bum still smarting from Molly's spanking, kept his elbows high as instructed, doing his best to maintain rhythm as the guests whooped and whistled.
"Excellent!" shouted Tommy when the music ended.
The blushing dancers hung their heads in shame, while their admirers gave them a mock standing ovation.
Tommy turned toward Carlene again, licking his lips with anticipation.
“Thank you for patiently waiting, Carlene,” he purred. "Have you decided which article of clothing you're going to remove?"
Of course, there was no verbal response—how could there be? Carlene, of course, stood in nothing but the spandex boy shorts of her volleyball uniform.
Carlene stood motionless. And then, as if move her along, “The Stripper” blared once again from the stereo.
To the delight of the crowd, Carlene took a deep breath, swayed her hips halfheartedly and began tugging at the waistband of her shorts. The fabric clung stubbornly to her skin, forcing her to wiggle them down inch by inch. She kept her eyes averted as she bent slightly, revealing more than she wanted with every movement. When the shorts finally slipped past her thighs and fell to her ankles, she stepped out of them quickly and tossed them forward, not even bothering to watch where they landed.
Now exposed, she froze for a moment, then instinctively struck a pose one would expect from someone who was completely naked against her will in front of a large audience: arms folded inward—crossing one arm tightly over her bare chest, the other hand cupped protectively between her legs. Her knees bent slightly, shoulders hunched, trying to make herself smaller, invisible—anything but what she was.
Her cheeks were ablaze—an almost painful shade of red that crept down her neck. She stared at the floor, jaw clenched, barely breathing as the roar of the audience thundered in her ears.
Tommy drank in her humiliation. He let the moment linger, allowing cameras to flash as Carlene squirmed miserably beneath the spotlight.
Then, mercifully—or perhaps not—he broke his silence.
“Pick up your volleyball!” he commanded over the pulsing music.
Carlene, knowing resistance was pointless, stood and held the ball over her crotch, using her elbows to shield her breasts as best as possible. For a moment or two, Tommy allowed her that last bit of semi-dignity.
Then he gave his next command.
“Now take the ball with both hands and hold it high above your head.”
Carlene winced. There was no escape. With agonizing slowness, she lifted the ball skyward, she raised the ball skyward, exposing every inch of her statuesque, six-foot frame to the roaring crowd.
“Higher! Stretch those arms, girl!" shouted Tommy. "Now shake those hips!”
Now fully extended and fully shamed, Carlene gave a token sway to the beat until the music finally faded out.
“Hold that pose,” Tommy instructed.
Then he turned back to Linda and Nancy.
“Okay, ladies. Just two questions left. Answer them right, and we'll have three naked dancers, while you walk away with your dignity. Get them wrong? Well, then you’ll look back fondly on your can-can routine.”
He gave a wicked grin.
“Okay, next question. How do you spell ‘embarrassed?’”
The Final Jeopardy theme trickled through the speakers as Linda and Nancy whispered anxiously. There was a bit of bickering before Nancy, in a frustrated huff, said, “Just let me do it!”
The music stopped and Nancy, in deep thought, articulated, “I-M-B-E-R-I-S-T.”
Tommy gasped in mock astonishment. “Oh, I’m sorry, girls," giggled Tommy. "It actually starts with an 'E,' then...well, let's just say you weren't very close. Too bad. Okay, get ready girls, here we go!”
Linda gave Nancy the evil eye while Molly cranked the blower dial to 50 mph.
With a loud whoosh, the dresses of Linda and Nancy exploded upward to their armpits, exposing their breasts for all to see. The stunned girls let out shrieks as they fought against the upward wind, helplessly tugging at their flying dresses.
The audience howled with laughter, eyes locked on the frantic spectacle. Linda and Nancy were in a full-blown panic, clawing at their dresses as the wind roared around them. But it was no use—the gusts held the fabric high, leaving them fully exposed and helpless for several agonizing seconds.
Finally, Molly shut off the blower, and the dresses flopped back down. The girls gasped and clutched at the fabric, humiliated.
Tommy waited for the noise to wane before continuing. “Last question,” said Tommy, grinning. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that you’ll be standing completely naked against you will in front of ninety people in the next minute or so. Now, the question is, just how would that make you feel?”
The girls looked like they might cry. Although she was reasonably certain it wouldn’t do her any good, Linda gave an answer.
“Embarrassed?” she said meekly.
Tommy shook his head. “Oh, sorry, once again, wrong answer. The correct response was
humiliated. Molly, would you help these ladies out of their restraints please?”
Molly stepped forward and released the handcuffs holding the girls in place. Then she stepped back, waiting with anticipation.
“Girls,” Tommy said cheerfully. “I’d like you to hold your hands high in the air and leave them there until Molly or I tell you to put them down.”
The two young ladies, with considerable trepidation, raised their arms high above their heads.
Molly smiled and twisted the dial again—this time to 65 mph.
In an instant, the dresses caught the air, billowed up their bodies, past their breasts, over their heads—and kept going, right past their outstretched arms. With a final flutter, the dresses dropped behind them, landing at the feet of an astonished Karen.
The girls’ pubic hairs were blowing in the wind, and their long hair blew skyward, like something out of a cartoon. The guests were on their feet, screaming with laughter and disbelief.
After allowing the bizarre scene to play out for a minute, Tommy gave Molly the nod to cut off the blowers. Linda and Nancy stood panting, teary-eyed and naked on the platform, hair wild and faces flushed.
“Okay, girls,” said Molly sweetly, “you’re free to go help Cindy and Sally serve cocktails. Thanks so much for the entertainment.”
With their heads down and faces burning, Linda and Nancy made the shameful naked walk to join their equally exposed friends in their humiliating roles.
Meanwhile, Tommy had more in store for the embattled Carlene. She had played no small role in his humiliation years ago, and he had no intention of going easy on her.
“Carlene,” he called out, “you can set the ball down now.”
With visible relief, Carlene set the volleyball down at her feet and immediately folded back into her "cover-up" pose. Her breaths came shallow, and she dared not look up.
“I’d like you to get down on all fours now,” Tommy said evenly.
Carlene flinched. The words landed like a slap. Feeling the tightening in her throat, she hesitated—then slowly lowered herself onto her hands and knees, her movements stiff with dread.
Tommy stepped forward, his tone calm but cutting. “You treated me like your little pet in the gym hallway,” he said. “Now it’s your turn. Let me hear you bark.”
Carlene froze in her place, unable to do his bidding. "P-please, Tommy, I..."
"That doesn't sound like a doggie. I want to hear you bark, just like a dog."
"Arf," she tried, lamely.
"Not good enough. Louder!"
"ARF!" she shouted.
"Better. Let me hear that three times, nice and loud."
"ARF! ARF! ARF!" Carlene was becoming teary-eyed in her mortification.
"That's a good little doggie. Now here's what you're going to do. I want you to crawl across the stage like the dog you are, back and forth until I tell you to stop. And I want you to lean down and roll your volleyball with your nose as you go. The ball is your friend; do not lose track of it. And every time you get back to your home base—that would be where you are right now—I want you to stop, face the audience and bark as loud as you can, three times. ARF! ARF! ARF!, then start crawling all over again. Got it?"
The only response from the utterly miserable Carlene was a halfhearted nod.
"Oh, and one other thing..." Tommy was thinking on the fly and had a brainstorm. "Since dogs like to lick their balls, and you obviously can't do that, here's what I'd like you to do: Every time you get to the other side of the stage, I'm going to let you lick Danny's little balls."
Tommy waited for the subsequent outburst from the crowd to fade. He looked at Danny, whose grim expression was similar to Carlene's.
"And I'm not talking about a little tap with your tongue. Spend some time there, like you're giving him a thorough cleaning. His balls are baby smooth, so you don't have to worry about getting any hairs in your mouth.
"When you're done licking you can put them in your mouth. His nut sack is pretty small, so you should be able to fit it all. Roll his little balls around with your tongue while you're sucking on them."
There was a short period of silence while Tommy gave Carlene time to digest her latest disgrace. He broke the silence by clapping his hands together.
"What are you waiting for—let's go, little doggie!" shouted Tommy.
Much to her degradation, the naked Carlene began crawling on her hands and knees across the stage. Her hindquarters seemed to rise higher in the air as she leaned her head down to nudge the volleyball with her nose. It was a bizarre sight, one that created considerable hoopla from her audience.
For Tommy, it was delicious revenge as he recalled his humiliation at the hands of Carlene in his grammar school gymnasium, especially in the hallway. He recalled how he was on his knees on the bare floor, his head wedged between Carlene's strong thighs, and how helpless he was when she slowly lowered his underpants down his legs. He afforded himself a smile as he witnessed her comeuppance.
When Carlene reached the opposite side of the stage, the volleyball stopped at Danny's feet. She knew what she had to do.
With a deep, burning shame, she eyed her target: the smooth, somewhat undersized testicles of the naked, apprehensive eighteen-year-old before her. Holding on to his ankles for support, Carlene, much to the enjoyment of the ninety spectators, opened her mouth and began caressing Danny's balls with her tongue. With Tommy’s directions echoing in her mind, she reluctantly devoted herself to the loathsome chore. Covering the entire circumference of the young man's scrotum—even inadvertently touching his perineum, much to her revulsion—she made sure to avoid a reproach from Tommy, by, in his words, performing a "thorough cleaning."
She followed by enveloping his entire sac in her mouth.
Danny, miserable while enduring the servitude from a beautiful naked woman, fought against what would be a natural reaction to Carlene's maddening assault on his senses. At least temporarily he was successful, as he gritted his teeth against the mounting arousal. Just as his resolve began to fray, the girl below him finally discontinued her unrelenting stimulation.
Carlene then dutifully began nudging the volleyball with her nose toward the other side of the stage. Upon arriving there, the crimson-faced Carlene looked up at her audience and yelped, "ARF! ARF! ARF!" before turning around and embarking on her humiliating ordeal all over again.
Basking in his satisfaction, Tommy settled into his seat and ordered another cocktail from the naked, perpetually blushing Cindy. As he sipped, his thoughts turned to what he considered the final stroke of retribution: the complete and utter humiliation of Sister Ruth and Miss Richards.
