THE FRIENDLY MAILMAN

                            by

                         Joe Doe




Part 1

Malcolm McFeely's pace quickened as he turned onto Mulligan Lane.  
He was glad that his route was almost over, of course, but there 
was more to it than that.  

He desperately wanted to deliver the mail to Mrs. Porter.  

Lisa Porter had been on vacation for a week, and McFeely was 
looking forward to her return.  She always greeted him with a 
warm and winning smile, was always friendly, and always invited 
him in for coffee.  

Lisa was also the hottest woman in the neighborhood.  

McFeely had reorganized his route so that her house was the last 
stop on his route.

On Monday mornings, Lisa jogged and then showered.  If McFeely 
timed it right (and he usually did), he could catch her with 
wet hair, dressed in nothing but a shortie bathrobe.

He hadn't ogled her in a week, and he was determined to catch her 
in the shower.  Hurry, hurry, hurry!  The mail must go through.

McFeely impatiently eyed the mail for the other people on Mulligan 
Lane.  Mostly junk or bills.  Screw it, it could wait till tomorrow.

He was only in his mid-50s, but what hair he had left was grey, and 
years of carrying heavy mail bags had left him somewhat stooped.  
Those along his route who thought of him as a feeble old man would 
have been astonished to see him practically sprinting down the 
lane.  There was certainly nothing feeble about his libido, and he 
was determined to catch Lisa at an optimum moment.

His fondest wish came true when, after close to a dozen rings, 
Lisa opened the door.  She was winded and dressed in nothing 
more than her short, cute, pink bathrobe.

McFeely loved the pink robe, and he loved Lisa's luscious bare 
legs.  This morning, however, his attention focused elsewhere.

On other mornings when she had been forced out of the shower, she 
had answered the door with a towel in hand.  

Part of McFeely's morning treat was watching Lisa towel dry her 
luscious, black hair.  The act of putting her hands over her 
head caused her robe to ride up even farther.  A shame, darn it, 
but what could be done?  It was just the price that had to be 
paid for the quick and efficient delivery of the U.S. mail.

However, this morning was different.  There was no towel....  

Because she had no hair!

McFeely stared in shock as the bald housewife bade him a timid good 
morning.  

When she saw the shocked look on the old postman's face, she bit 
her lip and blushed.  

"W-would you like to come in for some coffee?" she asked him 
uneasily.

The dumbfounded postman nodded.  He handed Lisa her large stack of 
mail, with her pre-read COSMO on top, and quietly entered the house.

McFeely regrouped as he watched Lisa pour coffee into the "I LOVE 
MY POSTMAN" cup that she kept for his visits.  The little pink robe 
barely covered her curvy bottom, and the long terrycloth belt was 
pulled tight enough to emphasize her luscious curves.  

The belt was clearly from another robe, since it appeared to be 
quite a bit longer than required.  It dragged slightly on the 
ground and always seemed to be catching on something.  Lisa was 
forever stepping on it.  When she became nervous or flustered, 
she would absent-mindedly tie the long, loose end to whatever 
was near....

On more than one occasion, she had gotten herself into a pickle, 
and the robe had almost been pulled off.  It hadn't happened yet, 
although she had inadvertently given the randy old mailman a few 
tantalizing glimpses.  

Each time, McFeely chuckled in a grandfatherly way and projected 
paternalistic concern as Lisa struggled to maintain her dignity.

"Oops!  Be careful there, young lady.  I think you caught your 
tail...."

He smiled as he watched the blushing young woman frantically 
struggle to avoid total exposure.

She recovered, but McFeely knew it was only a matter of time.

He watched her closely as she prepared his coffee.  There was 
always something highly erotic about being waited on by a 
barefoot and nearly naked young woman dressed only in a skimpy 
robe.

It made him feel like a Roman emperor, a sensation he enjoyed 
enormously.

Lisa was obviously nervous and self-conscious about her baldness, 
so today was even better than usual.  McFeely regarded her as 
spoiled, lazy, and over-educated (but still unbelievably naive), 
and he enjoyed watching her squirm.  He knew she regarded him as a 
harmless, sexless old codger, and, although he took full advantage 
of the situation, inside it made his blood boil.

He hesitated for a moment as he considered the best way to increase 
her unease.  

"So what's with the dome, young lady?" he chortled.  "You're as 
bald as a cue ball."

Lisa blushed and stared down at her bare feet as she stood in front 
of him.  "I'm so glad you came today," she said, her voice barely 
above a whisper.  "I really need to tell someone what happened.  
We've been friends for so long....  I know I can talk to you.  Oh, 
god!  It's so...so humiliating."

"Humiliating?" he, his interest piqued.  "Of course you can tell 
me, Lisa," he said kindly.  "In fact, I want you to tell me 
EVERYTHING.  Why don't you sit down?

"I'd...um...rather stand," she replied, still not making eye 
contact.

If this pretty woman wanted to stand before him, barefoot and 
head bowed, wearing nothing but a skimpy robe as she nervously 
shifted her weight from foot to foot, McFeely wasn't going to 
argue.  

Relishing the power of his situation, he brusquely fired the 
question, "So what happened to your hair?"

"They shaved my head," she said softly.  "I was in prison."

McFeely nearly choked on his coffee.  "In PRISON!  Good heavens, 
what the hell did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!  John travels so much, and I'm so lonely 
without him.  Since I speak pretty good Spanish, I decided to go 
down to Carasco, where he was working on some big oil contract.  
Of course, as soon as I got there, though, he said he had to leave 
for three days to go to the capital and meet with the government 
about the contracts."

McFeely frowned.  Although he had never met John, Lisa's 
description had convinced him her husband was a limp-dicked 
nitwit.  If McFeely had pussy like Lisa waiting at home for 
him, he wouldn't waste his time trotting around the world.

"I was bored, and I read in the paper that they were having some 
pro-democracy protests at the university a few blocks from the 
hotel," Lisa continued.  "A woman in the coffee shop said that the 
secret police were actually arresting some of the prettier coeds 
and putting them in prison, and I knew John was concerned about 
the country's human rights record, so I wanted to see if it was 
true.  I thought it might help John if I got an impartial view of 
the facts.

"I thought I'd look less like an American spy if I dressed more 
like a college student, so I switched into some cutoff blue jeans 
and sneakers.  I hesitated some about the shorts.  I hadn't worn 
them in some time, and they were very tight, but I didn't have 
anything else as appropriate.  My purse is pretty expensive-looking 
so I locked it in the hotel safe and stuffed some local currency 
into my shorts.  All my blouses were way too fancy so I went to the 
campus bookstore and bought a university t-shirt.  I hadn't judged 
the currency very well, and the only thing I could afford was one 
of those little half shirts -- like a crop-top -- that left my 
tummy bare.  It was also very small, very tight.  I thought of 
going back to the hotel, but I didn't want to miss the rally...."

"Certainly not!" McFeely interjected.  "And I think a young lady in 
those circumstances should do the best she can and buy the clothes 
she can afford."

"That's what I thought, too!"  Lisa said.  "Unfortunately it was 
cut so that I couldn't wear my bra.  By the time I stashed my bra 
and blouse in the coin locker at the bookstore, it was almost time 
for the rally."

"If there's one thing I know from my years as a postman, it's that 
it's best not to dilly-dally," McFeely said.  "I certainly hope you 
hustled your little buns over there.  I'd hate to see you tardy for 
your first day at school."

"I hurried.  Of course, I'm 26, and most of the girls who were 
protesting were younger.  But I looked pretty young, too, and 
I took one of the protest signs, to make sure that I would fit in."  

"Very sensible of you...capital idea," McFeely replied sagely.  If 
I had been there, I would have urged you to do the same.  With the 
secret police, it's best not to take any chances.  Blending in with 
the other bimb— the other young ladies was the best approach."

"Right!  But I had only been there a few minutes when the secret 
police swept through the crowd, and handcuffed me.  They thought 
I was a student."

"No!" McFeely said, feigning shock.  "I can't believe it.  Didn't 
you tell them who you were?"

"My purse was at the hotel, and I didn't have any money or ID.  
John was going to be away for a few days, and his out-of-town 
number was back at the hotel, too.  Even if I told them who I 
was, without John to verify my story, who was going to believe 
me?  I knew I had to play along until John came back."

"Quite right," McFeely said, eagerly leaning forward in his chair.  
"So what happened next?"

"It's kind of...embarrassing," Lisa said.  "I'm not sure...."

"Lisa, sometimes these things are easier if we talk about them."  
McFeely adjusted the crotch of his pants into a more comfortable 
position.  "We've been friends for some time, and you know you 
can talk to me."

McFeely laughed inwardly as he watched her nervously run her hand 
over her bald head.  There was something unspeakably delightful 
about watching this woman squirm like a fish on a hook.  Outwardly, 
though, he maintained his look of concern.

"I had to wait in a cell with the other girls.  I was the third one 
they picked.  They took me into a room with the warden and three 
other guards -– two males and a matron.  Then they s-searched me."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you mean," McFeely said, shaking 
his head in mock confusion.  "Did the room have a metal detector?"

"No."

"How could they search you?" he queried.  "It would seem to me that 
they would need to make sure that you didn't have any contraband 
hidden in your clothing or concealed on your person.  If they 
didn't have a metal detector, how could they do that?  And, of 
course, there's the issue of drugs.  Those are even easier to 
conceal.  A young lady could hide those a lot of places.  How on 
earth could they...."

"They...um...searched my clothes," Lisa said.

McFeely realized what had happened, but was determined to make the 
blushing woman in front of him relate every humiliating detail.  
"How could they have searched your clothes?" he said, scratching 
his head.  "You could have concealed drugs in a seam, or an inside 
pocket.  There's no way they could have searched you effectively, 
unless...."

He enjoyed watching Lisa squirm through the awkward silence that 
followed.

"They made me...give them my clothes."   

"I don't understand.  How could you give them your clothes?  You 
were wearing them."


HOW INDEED?  IN PART 2, MR. MCFEELY'S CONFUSION IS ABATED, AND HIS 
CURIOSITY (AND, I HOPE, YOURS AS WELL) IS FULLY AND COMPLETELY 
SATISFIED.

		******************************

Part 2

Lisa's voice cracked with emotion.  "I had to-to take my clothes 
off."

"Good heavens!" McFeely said, fully exploiting the dramatic 
possibilities of his discovery.  "But you said the warden 
was there.  And two male guards.  If you took your clothes 
off....  Well, they didn't stay in the room, did they?"

"Yes," she said softly.  "I had to strip in front of them."

"Let me see," he said, as if trying to reconstruct a puzzle.  "You 
said you were wearing tennis shoes and socks.  Those were the first 
things you removed?"

Lisa nodded, too mortified to speak.  An enormously entertained 
McFeely pressed on.  

"Let's see -– that would leave you with a half shirt and shorts.  
Did the shorts have pockets?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"I imagine that must have created something of a problem," he said, 
relishing the drama.  "Here you are, a well-educated American girl, 
innocent of any crime, a victim of circumstance.  Indeed, with your 
husband being such an important oil big shot, I'm sure if the 
warden had met you at a party, in your elegant little cocktail 
dress, he would have fawned all over you, and flattered you, and 
tried to win your favor.  It's obvious that you're a woman of 
wealth and power.  Mistaken identity or not, the idea of you being 
ordered to drop your drawers by some low-level civil service flunky 
like the warden is too absurd to contemplate.

"Still," he added, as if judiciously weighing a supreme court 
decision, "the pants did have pockets, didn't they?  They did 
need to be searched, and it would certainly be more efficient 
to search them if they were, say, lying on a table.  As a 
purely practical matter, ordering you to hand them over would 
be the best approach.  So what DID happen?"

McFeely smiled as Lisa nervously toyed with knot of her robe, as if 
reliving the moment when her pants were at stake.  It was obvious 
that McFeely's interrogation was a strain.  

And McFeely was determined to make it last as long as possible.

"They ordered me to...I had to...to g-give them my pants," Lisa 
finally admitted.

"I see.  You had to had to take them off, then?  In front of the 
warden?  Tell me, did you unzip them while you were facing him, 
or did you turn your back?"

"I faced him.  I guess I should have turned around."

"Don't blame yourself, Lisa," he patronized.  "That's why we're 
reviewing this in detail, so you can think things through more 
clearly.  Did you remove your pants fast or slow?  Was there a 
snap?"

"Slow.  I had to fumble with the snap, because my fingers were 
trembling."  

"I see.  And the zipper?  You pulled it down...slowly?"

"Yes, slowly.  I didn't want to take them off.  I had to.  It was 
the law."

"Of course it was, and a fine law it is, too," McFeely said.  
"After all, it's important that young ladies such as yourself 
not be permitted to smuggle contraband into a correctional 
institution.  The law is there to protect you and, perhaps 
in this case, to teach you a lesson."

He smiled as Lisa stared at her feet like a naughty schoolgirl.  
"Yes, sir," she said meekly.

"You said the shorts were tight.  Did you have to wiggle out of 
them?" he inquired.

"Y-yes," she replied.

"That must have given them quite a chuckle.  Of course, I imagine 
it must have been something of a struggle for you, keeping your 
panties on while wiggling out of your tight shorts.  You WERE 
wearing panties, weren't you?"  

Lisa looked up.  "Of course," she replied, slightly indignant.

"It would serve you better to remember that I'm trying to help you, 
young lady," he scolded.  "This little story of yours would be all 
the rage if I decided to share it with people on my route.  I 
expect you to mind your manners and answer my questions without 
attitude."

"Yes, sir.  I'm s-sorry.  Please don't tell anyone....  Please?"  
She again dropped her eyes and shifted her voice into a more 
subservient tone.

"Good," he said, relishing his authority.  "What type of panties 
were they?"

"Stretch cotton bikinis," she replied. 

"I see," he said thoughtfully.  "And, during the downward descent 
of your shorts, was there a moment -- I want to phrase this 
delicately -- when your panties slipped a little, and the warden 
and his men were permitted to see, shall we say, a few stray blades 
of grass...?"

"I tried to keep my p-panties up!  But it was so hard.  I couldn't 
help it."

"Of course you couldn't," he said sympathetically.  "Of course you 
might have chosen looser shorts or more sensible underwear.  You 
could have been more careful.  I'm not saying that EVERYTHING that 
happened to you from this point on was your fault...not exactly.  
Still, one wonders if the warden might well have taken the time to 
learn your story, if you had presented yourself as a decent and 
upstanding young lady.  Of course, by flashing yourself at him, I 
suppose you forfeited any subsequent right to privacy, didn't you?  
In fact, after that disgusting little display, I'd be surprised if 
he didn't make you turn over your t-shirt and panties, too."

"He did," Lisa said softly.

"Good for him," McFeely blurted.  "And he was thoroughly justified, 
wasn't he?"

"I suppose."  

"There's no supposing about it.  You were an apparent criminal.  
Was he right to strip you naked?"

"Y-yes...."

"Yes, what?"

Y-yes, sir, he was right to-to strip me...n-naked."

"Tell me, did you have any drugs or weapons taped to your body?"

"Of course not!" Lisa shot back.

"How could he know that?" McFeely said, closing in for the kill.  
"How could he be sure, given your scandalous dress, and your 
lascivious striptease?  I'm your friend, Lisa, and if I had 
been there I would have ripped the shirt off you myself."

"I-I g-guess you're right."  Her voice was tinged with defeat.

"Of course I'm right," he said triumphantly.  "Did you turn your 
back when you took off your shirt?"

"Yes, sir."  

"Did they order you to turn around?"

"Yes, sir."  

She instinctively crossed her arms in front of her breasts.  
McFeely doggedly pressed on, determined to make her relive 
each moment of the unveiling of her ripe little titties.

"Is that how you covered yourself, Lisa?" he asked gently.  
"Did you you cross your arms in front of your tits?"

"Yes, sir," she said.

"And how am I supposed to know if you have any contraband taped to 
them, young lady, if they are hidden behind your arms?  It would 
seem to me that anyone with an IQ higher than, say, a chimpanzee 
would understand the importance of keeping your arms at your side.  
You're a little thick sometimes, aren't you, Lisa?"

"I-I guess so," she said sheepishly.

"Did the warden order you to drop your arms?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then do it," he said flatly.

She was still wearing the robe, so dropping her arms exposed 
nothing.  Indeed, raising her arms had caused her robe to ride 
up slightly, and by dropping her arms she was actually covering 
a bit more of her enticing thighs.

But McFeely knew that psychologically her arms offered her a 
powerful defense, one that he was determined to strip away.

He smiled as the blushing young woman dropped her arms to her sides.

"Now let's see.  We're almost done, but not quite.  We still have 
the matter of your panties.  Tell me: what color were they?"

"White, with little colored balloons," she said.

"Balloons?" he chuckled.  "They sound more like a little girl's 
underpants than a grown woman's panties," he taunted.  "How 
appropriate.  So tell me, did you WANT to give the warden 
your cute little underpants?"

Lisa bit her lip and shook her head, "No, sir."

"You know, Lisa, there are times when little girls HAVE to give up 
their underpants," he patronized.  "Suppose it was time for your 
bath, and it was my duty to scrub you down.  You'd have to take 
your underpants off then, wouldn't you?"

"I-I-I....  Y-yes, s-sir," she admitted.

"Of course you would," he said, warming to his lecture.  "Or 
suppose I took you to the doctor, and I had to stay in the 
examining room.  You'd have to hand your underpants over then, 
wouldn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes.  And suppose I needed to spank you?  Little girls who are 
disrespectful of their mail carriers need to have their underpants 
pulled down so that they really learn their lesson."

Lisa's eyes went wide, her expression was panicked, and her mouth 
formed an "O."  Her hands flew to her bottom. 

McFeely now understood why Lisa insisted on standing.  "Had a taste 
of the strap, has she?" he thought.  "It's high time and long 
overdue."  

He made a mental note of the spanking and moved on.

"Let me try to picture this.  You're naked, and the warden and the 
guards are watching."  McFeely's brow was wrinkled in concentration. 
"I understand that they were able to search your clothes.  But how 
could they be sure that you weren't carrying drugs or weapons?  I 
mean, obviously you weren't -– I know that you're an honest and 
upstanding citizen.  But they wouldn't know that, would they?  
Indeed, I'd think they'd view you as a political subversive and 
would want to humiliate you as much as possible.  Even naked, how 
could they be SURE you didn't have any contraband?"

After another long pause, Lisa responded.  "They searched...inside 
me."

"INSIDE you?  What do you mean?  I think this would be clearer if 
you were a little more specific."

"They made me kneel on a table, and spread my legs, and put my 
head down on the table," Lisa said.  "Then the matron stuck her 
fingers...inside me.  Inside my vagina and...my r-rectum."

"I see.  And what was the Warden doing during all of this?"

"He was watching!  He was looking at me and making jokes."

"What sort of jokes?" 

"'Why is it rebels always have such tight coños?'  He thought that 
was funny."

"What's a coño?"

"A vagina...a pussy."

"Ah.  Were you probed for a long time?"

"Long enough for me to...well, long enough.  Then, when it was 
over, they gave me a filthy old rag to wear, and...they-they cut 
all my hair off."

"Was it a nice barbershop, at least?"

"Hardly!" Lisa spat.  She ground her teeth in anger.  "They locked 
our heads in stocks.  They put a bucket underneath us, so they 
could catch our hair.  You don't know how terrible it is to look 
down into a big bucket of black hair, while the matron jokes about 
how much cash she'll get for yours.  I had to watch my beautiful 
hair float down and land in the bucket below -– already half full 
of other women's hair.  A couple of minutes and I was as bald as 
a doorknob."

"Oh dear," McFeely said.  "So it wasn't a very nice prison, then?"

"It was dreadful!" she cried out.  "They chained us together and 
marched us out barefoot, to work in the fields.  And we had to 
work hard or they punished us with a switch!  I even ended up 
scrubbing floors in the hotel that John and I were staying at."

"Excuse me.  Did you say they used the switch on you?"

"Um...yes."  Lisa realized that perhap she had said too much.   

"I was wondering, because I didn't see any marks on your hands," 
McFeely said, once again feigning confusion.

"They didn't use it on hands," she said reluctantly.  

"On your feet, then?" he asked.

"No, sir."

"Where else?" he asked innocently.  

"They spanked our...bottoms."  Lisa was once again too embarrassed 
to make eye contact.    

Not satisfied, McFeely pressed on.  "That really doesn't make 
sense.  A switch, if employed properly, would have to be used 
on bare skin, so as to make sure the strokes were administered 
correctly and crisscross only as intended."

Lisa nodded, and McFeely leaned back with a smile.

"So they did take proper care in these matters, to make sure the 
stripes were laid on smartly?"

"Yes, sir," she said.  "Ve-ry smartly."

McFeely's heart raced as the blushing Lisa began nervously tying 
the end of her sash to the frame of the chair next to her. 

He had her on the run, in every sense of the word.  She was 
desperate not to explain, and, as she wiggled and squirmed, 
she pulled the knot tighter...and tighter.

"I'm sorry, Lisa, but now I'm really confused," he said, apparently 
befuddled.  "You said the stripes were laid on smartly.  But how 
could that be, if they couldn't even see where the strokes were 
landing?"  It would seem impossible to administer a truly exemplary 
punishment across the seat of your prison uniform."

Lisa examined her toes as she inadvertently added yet another knot 
to her belt.

After a long pause, she spoke.  "They didn't spank my uniform; they 
spanked me," she confessed.  "They took a switch to...to my bare 
fanny....  

"So that's why you're not sitting down.  Well, I hope it had the 
salutary effect of modifying your bad behavior."

Lisa nodded.  Unburdened, she began to undo the myriad of knots 
around the chair.

"Stop fiddling with that belt, girl," he said crossly.  "If you 
don't stand still, I might cut a switch myself."

Lisa immediately dropped the knot, and once again stared at her 
bare feet.  McFeely smiled.

"Now, when you were scrubbing floors, did anyone at the hotel 
recognize you?  Is that how you regained your freedom?"

"No.  I mean, I recognized them, but not the other way around.  I 
was bald, and my arms and legs were in shackles.  I got one of the 
bellmen to send word to John about me.  The man remembered me, 
because he was old, and I had had quite a few bags for him to carry 
up to my room.  He thought it was pretty funny that I was scrubbing 
the lobby.  I had to bribe him to get him to take a note to John."

"How did you bribe him, Lisa?" McFeely pressed.  "Did you give him 
money?"

"I didn't have any money."

"Did you promise to give him money, if he helped you?" 

"I tried, but he didn't want money.  He wanted something else."

"What did he want?" 

"I need to go to the bathroom."  Lisa reached over and began 
undoing the first knot.

"Do you see that birch tree, young lady?" McFeely said sternly.  
"If you don't stop fiddling and answer my questions, I will 
march you outside and cut myself a switch that will keep you 
dancing for a week."  

"I have to go to the bathroom," she squeaked.

"Then you had better answer my questions," he shot back.  "What 
did the bellman want?  Did he want you to do something?"

"I...I'd rather not say," she said.

"You started this, and it will be better for you if we finish it.  
The old bellman wanted you to do something, something you're 
ashamed of.  Was it some sort of sex act?"

Lisa nodded.

"What sort of sex act?" he asked.  "Tell me you didn't have 
unprotected intercourse with the bellman!  Are you pregnant?  
Are you carrying his child?"  

"No.  H-he used my mouth." 

"I see.  You gave him a blow job," McFeely said.  "You got down on 
your knees, and you sucked him off like a 10 peso puta.  Of course. 
What choice did you have?  You were only doing what you needed to 
do.  You shouldn't be ashamed."  

"Thank you.  Thank you for understanding." 

"Of course.  And thank YOU for trusting me," McFeely said, his 
voice oozing kindness and concern.  "You've been through a lot.  
"Now hurry up and go to the bathroom.  Run quick like a bunny.  
Hurry up...spit-spat...before I change my mind."

Lisa squealed and raced across the kitchen, her troubles at the 
prison momentarily forgotten.

She raced, but her robe, tied firmly to the frame of the chair, 
did not.

McFeely smiled as Lisa's robe slid right off her body onto the 
floor.

Her nipples were pink and pointy, her skin soft and smooth.  

And it was obvious that the prison had shaved her below as well as 
above. 

Delightful!

McFeely watched as Lisa frantically and ineffectively tried to undo 
the knots.  He watched and smiled, but did not help.  He was too 
busy enjoying the sight of the red welts across her scrumptious 
bottom.

The stripes started at the very tops of her thighs and continued up 
at half inch intervals until the tops of her buttocks.  He smiled 
approvingly as he noted the solid welt in the crease between her 
butt and thighs -– a vital "sit-down" spot that would keep her 
squirming for some time.  He admired the craftsmanship of those 
prison guards.

As he watched her bottom wave in the air during her desperate 
struggle, McFeely fantasized that he was the one taking the 
switch to Lisa's squirming, quivering bottom.

At last she just gave up and, mortified, raced up the stairs, 
leaving her robe behind.

Safely inside her bedroom, Lisa hastily got the vibrator from her 
dresser drawer and went to work, gently tracing her fingers over 
her switched bottom as she skimmed the buzzing tormenter expertly 
over her crotch and mentally repeated the humiliating interview 
Mr. McFeely had just put her through.

She gasped as she felt the approach of her fourth orgasm of the day. 



Edited by C. Lakewood