Sarah stood in the doorway to Mr. Leighton’s office; a corner of the large main house where the warden conducted his business.

He was diligently reading a file spread across the green-hued blotter, an antique lamp off to one side casting a dim light across the stack of papers pinned under one side of the brown cover.  She could see the name on the file.  It was her’s.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

The man looked up.  “Yes, hello Sarah.  Please, come in and close the door behind you.”

Sarah swung the heavy oak door gently behind her, careful not to rattle the plaques and awards that adorned the wall, then stepped forward until she stood dutifully in front of the large desk, her hands clasped smartly against the small of her back. She could feel the crest of the farm’s insignia, embroidered on the strip of cloth wrapped around her hips, tapping against her pubis, reminding her of her sexuality as she waited for his instructions.

“You can sit down, Sarah. We don’t need to continue the pretense in here. Nobody can see or hear us, so I want this to be an open and honest discussion.”

Sarah wasn’t surprised. Whenever the man she was going to marry wanted to speak to her in private, he often did it in here. Her assignment as one of the housemaids gave her a satisfactory cover for her often being in his office.

They had grown up together, playing games in their secret place by the creek.  As so often happens with girls, she had matured slightly earlier than him and consequently it had usually been her “games” that they played during their teen years, before she left for college; before his father became fatally ill and before Mr. Thomas Leighton was forced by circumstance to put his college plans on hold and assume the responsibilities of managing the family farm.  And when she came home from college, it had been her idea to find him, seduce him, and someday marry him.

But there had been a slight wrinkle to her plans. He was no longer the teenager she remembered. He had grown up to be a prominent citizen of the community, wiser beyond his years, managing a small correctional farm for women that had one of the highest rates of successful rehabilitation in the state, while her father, also in the state correctional farm program, had taken on the rougher cases and turned her family's plantation into a slave labor camp.  Faced with the choice being surrounded by hard-core criminals or spending her evenings at the Leighton farm, it was not surprising that she had chosen to spend most of her free time at Leighton Acres.  She loved him dearly, and she knew he loved her, too.  But still, she had been surprised when he had made his marriage proposal to her; a proposal that came with a very big hiccup.

If she were to marry him and become the mistress of the house, she would have a lot of responsibility in managing the family business.  He didn’t have time convince her of his methods, instead of the ones her father practiced. He knew she would have to experience it all for herself, to prove that she wasn't bloodthirsty like her father, so he had told her that if she wanted to marry him, she would have to learn how the farm works the hard way; as an inmate in the system.

As someone accustomed to being in the social elite, it was a very big challenge, but it was a challenge she accepted.

Now she wore the uniform of a convict, a light-colored tunic with a loincloth around her hips, the front flap of cloth embroidered with the stylized logo of Leighton Acres, identifying her as an assignee of the farm.  She had been there almost a week now, toiling with the other assignees, spending her nights amongst them in the stables instead of sleeping in the fine master bedroom in the main house.

Gently, she lowered herself in to the leather upholstery of the chair, her soft skin settling into the cold material as she straightened her tunic and pressed her knees together, more out of habit than modesty. “So, what’s on my master’s mind?” she said coyly.

He laughed. She was playing the role with gusto. “I’m glad you’re in a good mood…” he started.

“You mean there are times when I’m not?”

He paused. He realized he was heading for troubled waters.  “I mean… well, I… it was just a figure of speech.”

She smiled. “Relax. I was just having a little fun. What’s on your mind?”

He gave a smile of relief and passed a brochure to her, indicating that he wanted her to read it.

“As a state-contracted operation, we are obligated to participate in state-sponsored projects; labor pools, university studies, educational outsourcing, that sort of thing. Well, one project that’s come down from the capital is a new sociological initiative that I thought would bring some positive political clout to Leighton Acres.  It involves educational outsourcing of assignees to local schools.”

“’Educational outsourcing’? What are you talking about? What is that?”

“Basically, it’s transferring you to work in the schools as a presentation to teens; sort of a learning aid of sorts.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “A learning aid?  And what exactly would I be doing?”

“For starters, you’d be serving as a living, breathing, demonstration model for the students during lectures.”

She continued to look at him. “Doing what, exactly?”

“Well, you’d be part of the initial test group for the Program of Sexual Mores and Human Empowerment study.  It’s there in the pamphlet I handed you.”

Sarah unfolded the small rectangle of paper.  She scanned the text, then deliberately read “… and the subjects shall be nude at all times…”  She looked up at him. “And you immediately thought of me?”

“Well,” he started, choosing his words wisely, “it’s like this. As a state-run organization I’m forced to participate in a number of these things. I don’t have much choice. But what I do have is the power to choose which ones to participate in.  Believe me, compared to some of the quack programs that have come down, this is the least abhorrent of the lot, and might actually have some value in its goals.  It’s being driven by the Free Women’s Movement, as a way to liberate women from their traditional roles in society.  I thought you might appreciate their goals.” 

Sarah was familiar with the Movement. She’d written a dissertation on the origins and goals of it as part of her curriculum.  It had been well received, and had been quoted by news outlets covering the Movement.

She looked at him curiously, wondering just how much he knew about the Movement, and decided to have a bit of fun. “So what does nudity have to do with anything?”

Thomas explained. “By removing the barriers… by removing the mystique of women's bodies and allowing men to see women as something other than just sex objects… by showing women in total freedom…” he was fumbling, trying to capture their position without fully comprehending it.

Sarah smiled. “You don’t understand it at all, do you?” She giggled. “You just want me naked.”

He smiled, “Well, yeah,” he said quickly, “but I do appreciate what they’re attempting to accomplish.”

“Thomas,” she started, “the Free Women’s Movement wants to show that women are just as strong, and just as capable, as men and should have the same freedoms from social restrictions, such as the conceptulization of nudity.  I suspect that this Program is intended to reflect women’s bodies in a normalized manner; removing stigmas associated with the female form, while showing that we’re still capable of retaining our femininity – our identity – as women.  Is that what you were trying to say?”

Thomas gave her a wide-eyed look of astonishment. “Ok,” he stammered, “if that works for you, then I agree.”

She laughed. “You’re an idiot,” she said with a smile, “but you’re my idiot.  You should be glad you have me.”

“I am,” he replied sincerely, “and I’m glad you’re here to remind me of my shortcomings.”

She grinned. “Ok, so now what?”

“A representative from Stalin High will be coming by to collect you shortly.  After you’re signed out here, you’ll be driven to the school where you’ll be signed in by their staff and a receipt transmitted to me here, confirming your placement.”

Sarah pursed her lips, pouting. “You make it sound like I’m just a piece of property; like I’m being rented out.”

“You are. Convicts are the property of the state, even if the state doesn’t officially have you on its records. Sarah, that's a benefit to my choosing you for this.  If things get too rough for you there, you can give me a ring and I’ll come get you and explain that you're not an inmate and that there was some sort of mix-up.  That’s why I’m sending you to the school rather than one of the true assignees.  But please, don’t just call for me at the first sign of trouble. The farm is getting some very good compensation for our participation and if it isn't completed we'll lose the award.  There’s the business end of things to consider.”

Sarah nodded.  She understood what was at stake. It was a good business decision for the farm; the farm she would help run when this was over.

Just then, a chime gently toned that a visitor was at the front gate.  Thomas examined the visitor’s ID and typed the passcode to allow entrance onto the farm’s property.

“That’s your escort now,” he said, standing up.  Sarah lifted herself out of the leather chair as Thomas crossed around the edge of the desk and took her hand. He drew her closer and kissed her delicately on the lips.  She could smell the aroma of him, a mix of oil and leather and sweat – his own personal scent - as she felt the cold steel of handcuffs around her wrist.

She sighed. “I keep forgetting about those,” she said.

“I know.  They’re a legal requirement. I can’t have my charges wandering off unfettered on a field trip.  Fortunately, you’re a low risk.”

She smiled playfully at him as he snapped a steel ring around her other wrist. “Are you suggesting that I’m not dangerous?”

“Oh, you’re very dangerous,” he replied with a wink, “but only to me.”

"Perhaps Mr. Leighton would like to show me what happens to dangerous girls..."

Thomas paused.  She was in one of her moods.  He realized he better let her get it out of her system before she was unleashed on the unsuspecting students.

"Alright, my love," he growled tenderly.

Sarah dropped to her knees and unfastened his belt and the catch at the waist, then slid the zipper down as far as it could go.  She looked up at him with a smile as her cuffed hands felt inside the folds of cloth for the treasure hidden underneath.  It didn't take her long to find it.

Soon she was cradling his manhood in her hands, supporting the swelling tissue in her delicate fingers.  She circled the sensitive head with her thumb and forefinger and gave it a slight shake as his cock began to fill and rise. 

She ran her nails gently along the length of the shaft, encouraging the colorful tissue to its full glory, the ridges becoming pronounced as they circled around his organ.  Gently, she reached deeper into his clothing, found his scrotum, and guided it out of its hiding place beneath his shaft.  With the lightest of touches, she caressed his balls through the leathery sack, feeling them begin to pulse with excitement as she continued to tease his member, the column twisting and rising as it filled with blood.

Soon he was fully engorged. She gently stroked the warm skin, caressing his manhood with her fingers.  A slight drop of clear fluid leaked from the tip of his swollen head, and she leaned forward, still grasping his balls in her hand, and extended her tongue, licking at the sticky pre-cum.  The sensation of her tongue against the head of his shaft caused Thomas to moan, and she knew he was ready.

She opened her mouth and slid the firm rod down her throat, her lips caressing the purple veins as she took all of him in, her tongue dancing against the shaft until his head was buried deep within her throat.  She began to move her head rhythmically, sliding his cock between her soft lips as she tickled the underside of his balls with her fingertips.

She could hear his breath becoming heavier as she worked on his cock.  Playfully, she pressed his balls between her fingernails and tugged slightly, eliciting a moan of pain and pleasure from the man who had cuffed her wrists together and cast her into the prison system.

He was swaying with her movements now, settling into a rhythm as she continued to stroke his cock with her lips; her fingers pressing and tickling his balls as his breathing became deep and labored. Suddenly, she felt him pitch up onto his toes and drive himself deeper into her.

"Sarah, I..." was all he got out before he exploded in her mouth.

Unfazed, she continued to stroke his cock, draining the fluid from him as the warm goo slid down her throat.  She swallowed it hungrily, welcoming it into her body.  She loved him, and she wanted to take some of him with her when she left.

Finished and completely spent, Thomas fell back against the edge of his desk, his hands steadying him as his cock, moist and pink, disgorged itself from Sarah's mouth.  She looked up at him and smiled as she wiped at the corner of her lips, her wrists still cuffed together.

"I hope I've learned my lesson," she said huskily, "or else you may have to punish me again."

"Yes, let this be a warning to you," he said with a smile as he tucked his spent member back into his pants.

***

Sarah stood naked on the stage, arms outstretched, balancing herself on one leg with her other leg bent upwards behind her, like a figure skater.  She wondered how she must look in that position, how she must look with her pink slit peeking out from between her thighs.

The cluster of students, their faces hidden behind the framed canvas squares, worked diligently on their assignment.  The silence of the room was broken only by the rustling of their brushes and the occasional mumbled comment by the art teacher as he studied the progress of the future Rembrandts.  She closed her eyes and began to remember the morning's events.

Sarah had arrived at the school in full shackles, stumbling out of the van like a prisoner accused of black, bloody murder.  It had been her escort’s doing; claiming that he was alone and didn’t want to take any chances with her trying to escape. Sarah knew he was just playing a dominance game, but she went along with it because she knew it could be dangerous for her if he later accused her of anything.  Emerging from the government van scantily clad and wearing heavy chains, she could imagine the picture she must’ve presented to the cluster of students that had gathered around the door to the school to witness her arrival.

The whistles and catcalls had been crude, but expected, as the escort guided her past the crowd, through the doors, and into the dean’s office where she was introduced to a bookish man with a friendly, disarming smile. He explained the rules of the school – what the students were expected to do, their rewards system, tardiness bells, demerits – and had expressed his concerns about having a convicted offender wandering his hallways.  The dean admitted that he had ordered the escort to shackle her.  He had read her file sent from Leighton Acres, and that her clinical notes had stated she was prone to violence when provoked - hence the chains - but that none of her offenses were of a violent nature so he wasn't sure what to make of her.  Sarah had laughed to herself, imagining what sort of charges Thomas had put in there. 

The dean then explained the rules of the Program – that she would be naked at all times while on the school grounds, that she would be given assignments to perform during her stay, and that she would be housed at the school until the night sessions ended to afford the night school students an equal chance to examine her body. She would have a schedule for mandatory classroom visitations, and that she'd have to use the boy’s bathrooms and showers.  She could not cover herself nor refuse any requests by students to see or touch any part of her body, so long as the request was reasonable and did not pose a risk of injury to herself or to others.  She could be touched anywhere at any time by anybody, but she could not be ordered to touch another person.  Sarah saw where this was going and began to have some concerns, but she didn't really have many options.  After Sarah had acknowledged her understanding, he had ordered the escort to take her chains off.

After the guard unlocked the cuffs and gathered the lengths of chain in his arms, she had been told to strip.

She had never been forced to strip before, much less in front of strangers.  In her last night as a free woman she had stripped voluntarily, trying to seduce Mr. Thomas Leighton into playing one of her games; trying to let her play the naughty convict while he played warden.  That was the night he, after buckling her into the inspection stand, changed the rules and gave her a prison-style inspection, making her gag and cramp as he gave her upper and lower gastro-intestinal exams with his fingers. It was the same exam he gave to all of the convicts assigned to his farm.  It had been the single-most unpleasant experience she’d had up to that point.  She hoped nothing like that would happen here.

“Is there a problem?” the dean asked, his voice sterner now, bringing her back from her memory of that night at Leighton Acres.  She glanced up at him, the guard standing behind him, off to one side, his hand resting threateningly on the wooden baton against his hip.

“No, sir” she replied, “no problem.”  She quickly slipped off the canvas shoes she’d been given at the farm and placed them into the box indicated by the dean.

She was surprised at her nervousness. She’d never reacted this way before. She’s been naked plenty of times, particularly in unusual situations of her own doing, and always with Thomas. Maybe that was the difference now. He wasn’t there to protect her. In an office in front of two strange men, she was being forced to strip. She suddenly felt very vulnerable and alone; and very afraid.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, and reached for the hem of her tunic, lifting it up over her head.

The farm's tunic was designed to be form-fitting, with body support built in to the design. As a result, she hadn’t been issued a bra.  None of the assignees had.  Now, as she lifted her top over her shoulders, the two men got a peek at the twin ovals that capped her gently bobbing mounds. She quickly tried to cover herself with one arm as she folded the material and placed it in the box marked with her name.  She shook her hair out, using her free hand to brush it gently back into place, then reached for the flap of her loincloth.

Thomas had taught her how to fold it around her hips and between her legs. When he had first given it to her, she didn’t know what it was. Her first attempts had been comical, but with Thomas' help she had eventually figured it out and had become so proficient at wrapping it that she sometimes helped the other female prisoners with theirs. She was proud of her accomplishment.  As a garment, it was simple and effective; and comfortable once she had gotten used to having that much skin exposed.  Thomas had explained that there was a practical reason for the design as well.  While the tunic was custom-tailored to the individual wearing it, the loincloth was more generic and therefore cheaper and easier to replace as the garment became soiled or damaged.  Experience had shown Thomas that women tended to go through more bottoms than tops, so he had designed his uniforms accordingly.

Now the little strip of cloth was the only thing protecting her modesty.

She slipped the embroidered flap up through the knot just above her pubis, then began to unwrap the length of cotton from around her hips.  She had to use both hands to unfold the material, allowing her breasts to hang freely as she reached down, offering the men occasional glimpses of the sensitive teats as they swayed between her arms.  When she had finished her ministrations, she gathered the length of cotton in her hands and placed it in the box.

She had then stood completely naked before the men, stripped of every item on her body.  Shoulders back, head up, feet apart, she had put on a strong, proud visage even as she felt her blood rushing through her veins.  It was embarrassing, yes, but she had done it.

After the two men had gotten an eyeful and regained their composure, she had been given a piece of paper with a list of classrooms and the times she needed to be there. Her first assignment was Art and the room, she had been told, was on the opposite end of the school.  She knew that assignment had been intentional. Nothing like making someone take a long walk in the nude in front of a crowd of people to break her spirit. 

As she had reached for the door knob she could hear the nervous rumblings of a crowd on the other side of the office door.  She paused, summoning her strength to go through with it. The reception she had gotten as she had stepped of the bus was just a taste of what was to come. She steeled her nerves and opened the door. She knew they were there to see her.

Naked.

A low roar went up from the kids gathered conspicuously around the office. "There she is!" someone had whispered. "I heard we can do anything we want to her." "Really?" "Yeah." Then a girl's voice, "She's probably  a whore. I wouldn't touch that trash."

Most of the mob had kept their distance as she exited the office, and she had noticed more than a few of the boys adjusting the bulges in their jeans.  Most of the girls had given her the up-down look as they judged her body against their own.  Most of the crowd kept a nervous distance, but a handful moved a bit closer than she wanted. As she dropper her head and quickly walked away from the office.  A few boys fell in step behind her like cheetahs chasing a gazelle, getting close enough that she could feel their hot little breaths against her neck as they pushed their way through the energetic crowd around her.  More than once, she felt an elbow briefly brush against her breasts and she knew it wasn't by accident. The slaps and pinches against her ass were most definitely intentional.  Every touch seemed to take a little more her away.

Part of her felt like crawling into a little corner somewhere and crying. Another part told her to keep going.

And then she had realized she was lost.

She had stopped and at least two boys bumped into her bare back.  One looked at her with a nervous grin and just smiled. The other apologized and jabbed his friend.

"Could someone please tell me how to get to Room E201?" she had asked, trying to play it off like it was perfectly normal for a woman to be walking around a school naked.

"Sure," the second one said, "just go up these stairs, turn right, and its down the hall."

"Thanks," Sarah had replied.

As she had climbed the wide staircase she realized the two boys were still following her, and because of the height of the steps, their faces were right level with her ass.  The two boys giggled as they watched Sarah's twin globes rock gently back and forth with each step up the creaking wooden stairs.  She rolled her eyes and sighed, then quickly dashed up the rest of the way until she was on the landing.

The two boys clomped upwards after her, taking the stairs two at a time, the second one beating her to the top.

"So," he had started, "you have to do anything we say, right?"

"No," she had replied, setting up her defense, "there are limits."

"Well, yeah," the first one said between crooked teeth, "but pretty much we can touch you wherever we want, right?"

Sarah had sighed defeatedly, then muttered yes.

The first one looked at the second, grinned with excitement, and clamped his hands on each of her breasts.

"Ow!" she had shouted, "not so hard!" Surprised by his manhandling, she had instinctively slapped him.

The boy had stood transfixed in the hall, a look of total shock on his face even as he held her breasts in his hands. Sarah realized that she had broken one of the rules and quickly said, "Be gentle, ok?" hoping to distract them from her infringement by allowing them to continue to fondle her tits.

The boy nodded, and gently cradled them in his hands. "They're softer than I thought they would be," he commented.

The other boy nudged his partner out of the way and took his turn cradling Sarah's bare breasts. "They're warm, too." he added.

"Are we done here?" Sarah asked, "because I really need to find this class."

"Yeah, ok, whatever." They pointed in the direction of the room and melted into the sea of bodies moving down the hall.

Now, ten minutes later, she was standing naked in front of a class of students who were diligently studying every curve of her body.

She could feel their eyes as they scanned her bare flesh, like a thousand invisible hands tracing across her skin.  As she stood there, trying not to move, imagining all of those eyes on her naked body, she began to think about Thomas, and then she began to feel a familiar tingling.  She was becoming a little horny.

The teacher had told her to assume the figure skater pose because he thought it would be the greatest challenge for the students artistically, to capture the different dimensions proportionally to the angle of view.  It also gave a few of the lucky ones a very good view of her pussy; a pussy that was beginning to demand some attention.  She wondered if the male students would recognize an aroused labia. Of course they would, she thought to herself, and she tried to think of other things; things that were a less stimulating. Like the boys in the hall.

At first she had tried to keep her leg down, trying to protect her little kitty, but the professor had picked up his baton and gently tapped at her leg until she had raised it as far as she could. Now, that leg was burning from being suspended for so long, and the leg she was balancing on was beginning to tremble with fatigue.  She started to topple as the professor called for a break.

She sat on the floor and rubbed the cramps out of her aching legs as the professor walked over and handed her a bottle of water.  "You're doing well," he said complimentarily, "you should consider doing this as a vocation."

Sarah looked up at him and smiled politely, "Thanks, but I have other plans."

"Your body says otherwise."

Sarah flashed a look of horror.  Had he seen? Of course he had. How could she hide it?

"I meant in a good way," he explained, "You have a beautiful body.  Maybe if you took a look at some of the pieces, you'd feel better."

The professor helped Sarah stand up.  He seemed nice enough.  He hadn't tried anything, other than tapping at her with that baton.  At least he hadn't groped her.  He hadn't even tried to touch her directly at all, except to help her up.  That was a perfectly normal thing to do, and polite.  She began to feel less self-conscious about herself and being nude in the classroom and focused on the pieces of art spread around her.

The first one was severely lacking in talent.  The next one was just a large vagina.  The third one looked like an explosion of atomic particles and charcoal.  They were all pretty much the same level of quality and skill level.

But there was one that caught her eye.  Or rather, her body.

The boy was still working on it, shading in the curves to bring depth to her torso while adding shadows to the background.  He was smaller, with square-rimmed glasses and dark hair combed over his forehead.  He seemed to be in a trance as his hand feverishly brushed across the canvas.

The teacher whispered in Sarah's ear, "He gets like this sometimes. When the Muse hits him, she hits him hard."

Sarah looked closer at the portrait.  The boy was focused solely on the "D" shape she had made with the arch of her back and the curve of her leg, completely omitting the front part of her torso, although the shading indicated that it was indeed part of a human body. But he was doing something with the shadows behind her, almost forming another picture.

And then she saw it.  Inside the curve of her body was the profile of another person's face, the outline of her leg forming the silhouette of the other person's cheekbone.  The effect was amazing.

"Wow," she whispered to him, "that's really good."

"Thank you," the boy replied, not bothering to take his eye from the piece or slow his hand against the canvas.

The professor gently pulled at her shoulder, guiding her away from the boy. "He's here as part of a special education program.  He's been diagnosed as a savant, and art is his way of communicating with the rest of us."

Sarah glanced back at the boy, who continued to work at a feverish pace.  He was certainly determined.

Just then the bell rang and the boy dutifully put his chalk down, picked up his bookbag, and marched off to his next class as if he had completely forgotten about the portrait.   She went back to see it one last time before she, too, left for her next assignment. Inside the curve of her back was a detailed drawing of a human eye, with the rest of the facial features represented only slightly by shadows and lines.  A mystery.  She took a mental photograph of the portrait and left the room.

Out in the hall, her two friends were back.  The gap-toothed one leaned against a handrail and leered at her.  The other one sidled up to her and said, "you know, I didn't really get a good feel."

"Bug off," Sarah replied, "I have a class to attend."

"But, its a reasonable request."

"I said bug off."

Gap-tooth now walked over and asked, "Are you refusing to do what he says?  Can't you get in trouble for that?"

Sarah stopped, turned to face the two boys, dropped her arms to her sides in frustration and replied, "Fine. Go ahead and touch them."

Gap-tooth's friend stood there, raised his hands tentatively, then saw the irritated look on her face. "I... I don't think I want to. Not now. Maybe later."  He punched Gap-tooth on the shoulder and said "Come on, let's go."  Soon they had vanished into the sea of students, some of whom had lingered around during the exchange to leer at Sarah's exposed breasts before moving on to their next class.

Sarah looked at her assignment sheet. It simply said "Wood Shop". No room number, no floor number.  She looked at the sea of faces around her and said, "Excuse me, can someone tell me where the wood shop is?" Someone said "Downstairs, in the back", and Sarah was on her way.

As it turned out, Sarah discovered that the reason the Wood Shop didn’t have a classroom number was because it was it’s own stand-alone structure situated behind the main school building.  She also discovered that the Wood Shop could be a noisy place to be.

Unless a naked woman walks through the front door.

No sooner had the heavy metal door slammed shut behind her than every eye was trained in her direction, the power tools slowly cycling down as the boys – and what few girls there were - stood motionless over their various projects.  The air was filled with dust, the sunlight twinkling through the high-ceilinged rafters where cables of various sizes snaked through steel beams and screen-covered hanging lights hung like industrial stalactites. She began to feel extremely out of place amongst the helmet-clad students, their tools suspended in their gloved hands as she stood, naked and exposed, in the entranceway.

“Miss, can I see you in my office for a moment?”

Sarah turned towards the sound of the deep, booming voice as a middle-aged man with a thick beard guided her towards a small room near the doorway.  He looked exactly like she imagined a shop teacher should look. A rough hand reached out and nudged her shoulder, directing her into the teacher’s office.

“Continue your projects, I’ll be out shortly,” the man said to the living statues that dotted the shop.

The office was small, but functional.  The desk was neat and well organized.  Most certainly not what she expected from someone who works with their hands, and teaches others to work with theirs.

“I know you’re in the Program and all that, but here in Shop we have some basic safety rules. First, everyone wears goggles, gloves, and a hardhat. Second, everyone wears proper footwear and long sleeves. No exceptions.  I understand you’re not allowed to wear clothing during your visit, but I can’t have you wandering the shop floor without protective gear, and I can’t have you distracting the students.  Power tools can be dangerous things in the hands of novices and these kids are indeed novices. The last thing I need is one of them having a momentary lapse in focus and cutting their fingers off. So, I’d appreciate it if you would confine yourself to my office during the class period, ok?”

“Yes, sir”, Sarah responded, “I understand completely.”

“Thank you,” he said as he exited the office, the din of electric motors and banging hammers rushing through the open door, only to be muffled again as it closed behind him.  She heard the man bark a few orders as he waded into the ocean of noise.

Sarah looked around the tiny room.  It was surprisingly clean for a place that was so close to a continuous source of dust and grit.  Still, she didn’t want to take any chances.  She found a roll of disposable towels, peeled a few off, and set them across the seat of a cushioned chair before sitting down.

She leaned back, draping her long brown hair across the back of the chair.  It was nice to have some privacy, to be away from the constant staring of strangers.  She crossed her arms across her chest and closed her eyes, trying to nap, but the noise was too distracting.  After a few minutes she gave up, and with a groan of frustration raised herself out of the chair.

She paced around the office, looking for something to read.  The shop teacher had a few magazines and tool catalogs, but those didn’t interest her much.  Then she found the furniture advertisement.

The teacher had circled a few pieces; a table, a chair, a bookcase; all fairly simple designs. Something a novice could build with the right tools.  Obviously this was his lesson plan for the class. Her curiosity piqued, Sarah parted the small curtain covering the office’s window and peered out to watch the class build its furniture.

That’s when she saw Gap-Tooth and his friend, who were working on a near-duplicate of the table in the advertisement, except their version was longer – nearly 10 feet long by the looks of it – with thicker legs. It was a curious design. Stout and long and heavy, she wondered how the two boys would manage to get it out of the shop when they were finished with it.  She looked around at the other work areas where students were busy making shelves and planters, each one nearly identical to the one being built next to it.  Gap-Tooth and Company were the only ones making something custom.

Becoming bored with the view, she stepped back from the window and looked around the office again. A pair of leather gloves, an apron, hardhat, noise-canceling headphones, and safety goggles hung neatly above a worn set of boots. The apron would cover as much of her as the Leighton Acres uniform did; except in the back where the apron didn't reach.  She quickly decided she could handle a little rear exposure just to get out of solitary confinement in that office.  She donned the gear and opened the door.

“Anybody need a hand?” she announced, standing smartly with her hands on her hips, feet apart, head held high, and her bare legs exposed provocatively between the shop apron and the oversized boots.

Gap-Tooth and Company yelled enthusiastically as the shop teacher quickly walked over to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

“I got bored in there and decided to come out here.”

“I told you, I can’t have you…” he started.

“Look,” Sarah replied, stopping him in mid-sentence, “I know my way around a shop.  And I’m wearing all of the protective gear you required.  I’ll stay out of the way.  I just don’t want to spend the whole hour in there doing nothing. Ok?”

The man looked at her.  He didn’t like the idea of a stranger in his class to begin with, much less one that would be a distraction.

“No, I won’t have you walking around the shop,” he barked.

“Please?” she begged, "I promise I won't cause any trouble.  I grew up on a farm. I know how to use tools."

The man paused, thinking, weighing the risks.  He'd been told that she was supposed to be accessible to the students.  He offered a compromise. “Ok,” he said, “but you can only work with one team, and that team only, for the rest of the time you’re here. And that team will be…” He looked around the shop, surveying the various projects, trying to find one where she would cause the least amount of trouble.  Finally, he saw Gap-Tooth’s table. “That one, the one with the table. They’re done cutting wood and are down to the sanding and painting stage.  You shouldn’t cause too much trouble with just sandpaper.”

Sarah looked at the two boys. It wouldn’t have been her first choice out of the various groups, but at least it got her out of the office. “Ok,” she said, as she walked over to Gap-Tooth.

The two amateur carpenters looked at her, grinned to each other, then looked back at her.  They could barely contain their excitement. They had just won the lottery.

“So,” Sarah asked as she stood in front of the pair, “what are we working on here?”

“It’s a table,” Gap-Tooth said.

“Yeah,” his partner said with a laugh, “a really big table.”

“And what do you plan to do with it?” Sarah asked.

The pair laughed. “Well, it’s a table!”

“I see that,” Sarah responded slowly, “I mean, what do you plan to do with it *now*. Sand it? Stain it? What?”

“Oh,” the partner said, “we was thinking of maybe leaving it bare naked, like you!”

Sarah closed her eyes, cocked her hips to the side, and tried to contain her anger.  She couldn’t just walk away or else she’d end up right back in the office.  The words "... prone to violence when provoked..." echoed through her mind.  She exhaled through flared nostrils as the two boys laughed to each other.  She waited until their laughter subsided, then leaned in close to them, placed her clenched fists on the table and said, “Ok, geniuses, listen up. I’m here because being here is marginally better than being back in there, so we’re going to come to an agreement right here, right now. Knock off the crappy jokes and the groping and playing grab-ass with each other and focus.  I’ll work with you, but only if you’re serious about working. Otherwise, I will – and I mean it – kick both your asses before I go back into that office and you can spend the entire hour playing circle jerk with each other again. Got it?”

The two boys looked at each other, their grins dropping faster than their spirits.

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

“Fine. Now tell me what we’re building here, because it sure as hell isn’t the table that’s in the catalogue.”

Gap-Tooth looked at his partner, then to Sarah.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

“Sure,” Sarah replied automatically.

“No, seriously. Can you keep a secret.”

Sarah looked at them. She was about to be included in their inner sanctum, as shallow as it was. She leaned in closer to them and lowered her voice. “Sure. What’s going on?”

“We’re building a rack.”

“A what?”

“A rack,” his partner replied, “we started out building a table, like what's in the book, but what are we going to do with a stupid table? We live in a trailer park and the tables are all built in to the walls. We don’t need a stupid four-legged table. Besides, since we can't take it home the school would just sell it off to some dumb company like they do with all the other stuff we build.  So we decided to build something cool.”

“So we’re building a rack,” Gap-Tooth finished.

“You’re kidding me, right? A functioning rack?  Do you really think that your teacher is going to let you build something like that in here?”

“Yeah,” the partner said, “because he thinks we’re building something for a haunted house.”

“Really," Sarah looked at him, "You told him that and he believed you. Like you build this type of thing every day.”

“Yeah,” Gap-Tooth said, “we do. We make all sorts of stuff. One time we made this frame where a guy would be strapped inside, except his head came up into this box. The box had this really big vise inside so he couldn’t move. Then the frame would move but his head wouldn’t, so, umm….”

“Craaaackk!” his partner said, twisting his hands, imitating the victim’s broken neck.

Sarah looked at the two of them.  What sort of creepiness has she gotten herself into? “Are you serious? You built something that could kill somebody?”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t like that at all,” Gap-Tooth said, holding his hands out, “it was for a movie. It was just supposed to look like it would. They didn’t actually do that with it. We built it so the guy inside could slip out, but in the film it looks really scary.”

“Yeah,” the other one said, “it was pretty cool when they added the sound effects.”

Sarah looked at both of them. She still wasn’t sure if they were telling the truth. “So what movie was this for?” she asked, hoping to recognize the title.

“'Bloodcatchers 3'.  A friend of ours does some horror movies and wanted to try something big, so he asked us to make something really scary. So we did.”

Sarah’s eyes darted from one boy to the other. They stood there, waiting for her to respond. The laughing was gone. They were serious. She believed their story.

“So…”, she started, “if you’re building a rack, where are the shackles and chains? Where’s the spinning thingy?”

“Those come later, after we’ve got the axle put together.”

“The axle?”

“It’s the spinning thingy.”

“We’ve cut the wood already,” Gap-Tooth said, “we just need to put the pieces together, bolt on the struts to hold it to the table, and add the chains.”

“Say,” his partner said, “maybe you can help after all. Get up on the top here and lay down.”

“Why?” Sarah asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

“So we can measure where to put the steel locks that hold the victim.  We don’t want to make them too narrow.”

It made sense, in a sick sort of way.  Sarah climbed up onto the table, still wearing her goggles, apron, helmet, and headphones.

Gap-Tooth motioned for her to scoot down a little, so she did, causing the apron to ride up a bit but still covering her little kitten.  He then picked up a pencil and motioned for her to spread her legs until her feet were at each corner. Sarah realized that she was about to give him a show and reached down, tugging at the apron so that it covered her sex, as she obediently placed her feet at the corners.  Gap-Tooth made two marks on either side of each ankle, then moved around the corner of the table and up towards her head. 

Looking at her, he motioned for her to lift her arms up over her head, towards the other end of the table.

She knew what was coming. 'They're going to get a show eventually anyway," she thought to herself.

She released the hem of the apron and raised her arms. As she did so, the apron straps rode up, too, causing the hem of the apron to be tugged past her hips, exposing her vulva and the little trace of fur residing there.

The partner noticed it first, his eyes firmly locked on her pussy as Gap-Tooth made marks on either side of her wrists.

"Enjoying the view?" Sarah quipped.

"Huh?", the boy said, "Oh. Sorry."

"I'll let it slide.  This time." Sarah said warningly.

"I have something else I'd like to slide," Gap-Tooth replied.

Sarah quickly grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down onto the table.  With lightning speed she brought her other hand across and punched him in the ear.

"Ow!" he cried out, "What was that for?"

"I warned you, no more disgusting remarks!"

The shop teacher bellowed from across the room, "Is there a problem over there?"

In unison, Sarah and her team replied, "No; no problem."

"We're just taking some measurements," Sarah added, waving him away as she laid back down on the unfinished wood surface.

Satisfied with her answer, the teacher went back to what he was doing.

"I didn't mean nuthin' by it," Gap-Tooth said, "I meant I needed to slide the axle supports back because I underestimated the length of the person's arms."

Sarah began to think that maybe she did overreact. "I'm sorry," she said with a tinge of sorrow, "I thought you were ... being disgusting."

Gap-Tooth rubbed at his ear.  The look on his face was pitiful, like a little boy who'd just been spanked.

"Ok, look, I really am sorry," Sarah said, rolling over to face him, "I just thought... you meant... well... I tell you what, I'll owe you a favor. Anything you want, ok?"

Gap-Tooth just shook his head and turned away.

The partner looked at her and in a low whisper asked gently, "Can I sniff it?... I mean, I've heard that it kinda smells funny."

Sarah looked at him.  He wasn't being mean. "At least he asked," she thought to herself.  She sighed, then laid back down and spread her legs.

The boy placed his hands on the table and leaned over her pelvis, slowly lowering his nose to her crotch.  He took two quick whiffs, then leaned closer. She could feel his breath on her bare thighs as his nose got closer to her slit.  She closed her eyes and tried to relax.

And then she felt something brush against her slit that made her flinch, just as he pulled his head back.  "Sorry!" he said holding his hand up defensively as his other wiped at the tip of his nose, "I couldn't smell nuthin' so I got closer and I guess I got too close!"

Just then the teacher announced the 10-minute warning to begin cleaning up the project areas. The two boys got busy gathering their tools and supplies and placing them back in their bins.  Sarah rolled off the table, went into the office and took off the protective gear, then placed them on the teacher's desk.

"Everything has a place, missy," he said authoritatively.

Sarah thought to herself, "So that's how he keeps this place so tidy" as she hung the gear where it belonged.

She walked back out onto the shop area to blend in with the rest of the students.  Except now, she really was completely naked.  Gap-Tooth and his partner stayed well away from her as the rest of the class took the opportunity to study her body somewhat discreetly with the few minutes they had left in the class.

Then the bell rang, and Sarah was off to... a free period?

"Excuse me," she said to the teacher, "I don't have anything scheduled for this period. Could I stay in here?"

"If you want," he replied, "but you'll be the only one in here.  I have to go meet with the PE coach about one of the students.  Just don't touch anything that could hurt you."

"Ok," she replied.

After the man left, Sarah went over to Gap-Tooth's table.  He had left the design plans sitting on a corner, held down by a power drill.  She could see where the two boys had marked their fastening points for the restraints, and where the brace for the axle would be mounted.  She imagined what it would look like when it was finished.  And then she imagined how she would look on it, her glistening body stretched out across the sweat-stained wood, open and helpless.

Her little kitten began to purr.

She picked up the drill and got to work.

***

Her next assignment was gym class, which was a blessing because her skin was covered in sawdust and grime.  A bit of exercise wouldn't make much difference in her current state of perspiration, and then she could take a shower.

Instinctively, she entered the girl's locker-room.

"Sorry, miss," the female coach said, "but you're supposed to be using the boy's locker-room."

"Oh, right." Sarah replied, then turned and walked across the small court to the entrance of the boy's lockers.  There, she found the boys in various states of undress. There were hoots and whistles again, but most of the boys hurriedly got dressed and ran outside for roll call.  As the room emptied out, she looked around and realized she didn't have any reason to stay inside there, so she followed them out.

The group was gathering in the practice field, a grass-covered area next to the baseball stadium. Just then she heard a referee whistle and the crowd broke into a slow jog ahead of her. She fell in at the back of the back.

The grass felt good under her feet; soft and forgiving as she listened to the plodding of the herd in front of her.  The sky was clear and the sun was warm, with just a touch of morning coolness in the air.  She was enjoying the unrestricted freedom of movement, though she would've appreciated at least a little support for certain parts of her anatomy.  Still, it was a pleasant day for a run.  She picked up her pace and began passing some of the other students, who picked up their pace in an effort to keep up with her. Soon she was leading a small flock of gasping, red-faced teens, collecting more of them as she made her way towards the front.

"Impressive!" the male coach said to the panting crowd as it slowed in front of him, "Looks like some of you found some inspiration this morning!"

Sarah smiled as the students in the group coughed and gasped.

"Ok, today is the Mile Run. Girls will go first, followed by the boys. Go ahead and start your stretches. You have 10 minutes."  The coach then walked over to Sarah and pulled her aside. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"It's ok. I like running. I ran Track for four years in school. 200, 400, and 400 meter relays," she replied with a smile, wiping her brow with her wrist, "I don't mind running the mile with the class." 

"Ok, its your decision," he replied, then called out to the female coach, "Coach Faye, can you please get the model some protective gear?"

The model?  Sarah smiled.

Coach Faye soon returned with a couple of bright red tops. "Courtesy of the track team," she said approvingly, "They're last year's singlets, but they're clean.  I brought a couple of different sizes because I wasn't sure if you were a B or a C cup."

"Thanks," Sarah said, slipping a jog bra over her shoulders, "this fits fine."  Looking at the logo on the front, she quipped, "It reminds me of my competitive days."

"You used to race?"

"Yeah, I ran 200, 400, and the relays."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "What school did you run for?"

"Ascension. Four years ago."

The coach looked like she had just been struck by lightning. "I know you!", she exclaimed, "You beat me in the finals!"

Sarah's mouth dropped open.  Any hope she had of anonymity - of keeping her modesty intact while prancing around naked - was now gone.  "Shhh! Please!", she begged, "It's not what it seems..."

"Look,"  Coach Faye replied, holding up her hand and stopping Sarah in mid-sentence, "I don't know what circumstances in life led you here, or what crime you committed that led to your sentence to a correctional facility, but right now all I care about is running. Ok?"

Sarah nodded. "Thanks, and please don't tell anyone my full name. It's bad enough that I have to go around naked but I really don't want people to know who I am. I'd like to sort of remain generic and faceless for the next few days. Ok?"

Coach Faye smiled. "Deal.  But I want a rematch."

Sarah smiled and nodded.

Coach Faye looked at Sarah's feet. "Now about shoes, I might have something. We have some leftovers from last season."

"I'd rather run barefoot, if its alright," Sarah said, "I'd rather have rough soles and dirty feet than blisters from new shoes."

Coach Faye laughed, then pointed out that the girls were about to start their run test.  Sarah trotted over and joined them.

"Wrong group!" someone shouted.  Sarah realized that whomever it was, was right. She'd be running with the boys.

When the boys lined up the girls had finished the first turn and the faster ones were well down the back straightaway heading for Turn Three.  Sarah tried to line up near the back of the pack, but the pack kept moving back with her.  She might have been wearing a top, but she was still bare-assed.  That made her a very attractive view for whomever was behind her, and all of the boys wanted to be behind her. She gave up and stayed put as the pack settled to the rear; now a good ways back from the starting line.

"I guess we have some people that want to overachieve and go the extra mile!" the coach joked, "Ok, on your mark! Get set! Go!"

Sarah launched herself into a brisk run, testing the pack of boys to see who could keep up. Most of them did through the first turn, but then the crowd began to taper off as stragglers fell farther behind.

Suddenly someone was beside her, speaking effortlessly.

"Nice day for a run," he said.

"Yes. Yes it is," Sarah replied between strides.

"You look like you've done this before," the boy said.

"I have. Four Years. Third In. State."

"I figured it was something like that. You move very gracefully."

"Thank you," she answered with a smile.  That was the first time someone had told her that.

"But the question is, are you fast?"

"Fast enough. To beat. You."

The boy laughed at the challenge. "Ok, first one to the finish line wins. Loser gets a spanking."

Sarah thought for a moment. "I can't. Win that bet. I'm not. Allowed. To touch. A student."

The boy glanced at her and said, "Then it sucks to be you," and started sprinting out ahead of her.

Sarah muttered under her breath and started sprinting too, leaving the pack of boys huffing and puffing as they tried to keep up, the firm globes of her ass racing ahead of them.

It took four laps around the track to complete a mile, and the boy had a considerable lead half-way through the second lap.  He was out of Turn Two going into the back straightaway by the time Sarah crossed the Start/Finish line.  The two coaches sat in the bleachers keeping record on clipboards as the runners clicked off the turns, now forming one long continuous line of puffing red-faced figures.  The boy saw his lead over Sarah and settled into a steady pace, but when Sarah passed beyond his peripheral vision, she picked up her stride.

Coach Faye noticed her change of pace almost immediately.  It was a good track strategy for longer races.  She nudged the male coach and said "She's racing somebody."  He grunted and replied, "Must be the Jenkins kid. He's always trying to show off."

Sarah was mid-way through Turn Two as the boy - Jenkins - exited Turn Three.  As she hit the back straightaway she went into a full sprint.  She had made steady progress and was reeling him in, one step at a time.  He still hadn't seen her, but she could see him, because of the angles they were running.  As he came out of Turn Four going into the front straight, he looked down towards Turn Two, expecting to see her in the menagerie of sloppy runners.  He was almost across the line before he realized she wasn't there.  That could only mean one thing. She was in the turn behind him.

He took a quick glance over his shoulder. Sarah had clicked through the straights in amazing speed, and was through the apex of Turn Three, no longer in a sprint but still matching his pace.  As he kept looking over his shoulder, he drifted off his line and collided with a slower runner.  He stumbled as the other runner fell off into the grass alongside the track.

Now Sarah was exiting Turn Four.

"She's going to catch him!" Coach Faye exclaimed, "She's going to take him!"

"Wow.  Look at her go," the other coach replied.

Sarah heard their exchange. Encouraged by their words, she broke into a sprint again, using the straightaway as her own personal drag strip, then slowing into a cruise as she whipped through the first two turns again.

She caught him at the mid-way point on the back stretch.

His head was up, his face reddened with exertion as she came up on him on the outside. She pumped her arms furiously, her hair streaming behind her as she silently drew even with him.  Her bare feet had allowed her to run quietly, only the sound of her breathing giving her presence away.  He turned and looked at her as she began to gain a step on him.

Now they were in Turn Three of the final lap with Sarah on the outside.  For every step he took on the inside, she had take more to make up for the difference in distance.  He had a two-step advantage as they came out of Turn Four.

Now they were in the straightaway with the boy nursing a slight lead.  The two coaches jumped up like they were at a track meet. "C'mon, Sarah!" Coach Faye shouted enthusiastically.

Sarah could see the Finish line.  The boy - Jenkins - saw it, too, and broke into his final kick. Sarah launched herself into her final kick as well.

That's when her legs shut down.

There was nothing left in her.  Her body had given her all it had to give.  It was done.

Jenkins crossed the line 1.78 seconds ahead of her. He had won.  Now he was winding down, his legs absorbing his speed as he came to a halt and stepped off the track.

Sarah coasted fluidly as her momentum carried her past the two coaches watching in the bleachers.  Coach Faye quickly got up and began to descend from the stands, followed casually by the male coach.

"That was quite a race," Jenkins said, his hands on his hips, "where'd you learn to run like that?"

Sarah's hands were on her knees, her breathing coming in ragged clumps as strands of her hair clung to her sweat-slicked neck and shoulders.  She took a few more gasps and replied, "School. Same as you."

"Mr. Jenkins," Coach Faye said as she approached the pair, "would you excuse us for a moment please?"

The boy grunted and moved off to welcome the other finishers as they crossed the line.  One girl, the second to cross the line, even gave him a quick peck as she exited the track.

"That was impressive," Coach Faye said in a low whisper, "you ran like there was something at stake."

"There was."

"And what would that be," the coach replied, fishing for information.

Sarah looked at her. She couldn't tell her the truth.  At least not the whole truth. But she could tell one piece of it.

"I wanted to prove that women are just as capable of accomplishing things as men.  We can push hard, too.  When people see a man struggle to finish a race, when he's burned every ounce of energy and is about to collapse but he somehow finds the strength to keep going, they say 'Look, he's really laying it out there. What a hero!' But when a woman does the same thing, when she's pushed herself so hard that she's practically delirious, they say 'Stop the race! It's too hard for her!'.  I wanted to prove something, and I thought, what better time than against an arrogant boy in front of an entire class?  They are the future; he is the future. That's the whole point of the Program, isn't it? To show that women are just as capable?  That they can push themselves beyond the limits the same as men, without losing their gender identity?"

Coach Faye looked at the spent runner who now stood gasping in front of her, the sun glistening  against her skin, a bead of moisture sliding down Sarah's lean belly to collect in the small triangle of fur between her thighs.  The coach realized that Sarah was right, that somehow by running bare-assed and nearly beating the fastest male runner in the class, Sarah had proven her strength without sacrificing her femininity.

"Ok, you sold me," she replied, "but I still think you're holding something back."  Coach Faye started to move off at a slow trot, then called back over her shoulder, "And I want that rematch!"

Sarah smiled and began to move, shaking the fatigue out of her legs.

Jenkins came back over. "You should take a cool-down lap," he said, nodding towards the far end of the track, "C'mon."

Sarah sighed and followed him.

As they reached the end of the straight-away, Jenkins turned off and headed behind the bleachers. "Time for me to cash in on our little wager," he said.

Sarah obediently followed him behind the stands. "Do we really have to do this?" she asked, hoping he would change his mind.

"Yeah, we do. I won fair and square.  Here - put your hands on the top of this fence and stick your butt out."

Sarah moaned her displeasure, but did as she was instructed, placing her hands on the top rail of a waist-high chain-link fence.  Suddenly she felt a smack on her upturned rump.

"Ow!" she cried out.

"Shhh!" the boy warned, "you don't want an audience do you?"  He straightened up. "Or do you?" he added wickedly.

"No!" Sarah said, "it's bad enough being spanked on my bare skin without having a crowd standing around watching."  She paused, collected herself, and said resignedly, "Ok. Go ahead."

"Now, get that ass out there, nice and high. That's it."

Smack!

"Ow!" she said in a low whisper.

"Count them out!"

Smack!

Sarah stifled a cry. "Two."

Smack!

"Three!" she spat.

Smack!

"Four!"

Suddenly a girl's voice called out, "What's going on here?"

Sarah turned in shock. It was the girl Jenkins had kissed at the line.

"Just collecting a bet, Chastity," the boy replied, "she lost and now she has to pay up."

"You'll lose more than just a bet!" the girl said angrily, "I come over and find you with a half-naked whore under the bleachers?!"

"Relax, ok? It's just a spanking.  I wasn't going to do anything. You know you're the love of my life."

"I better be," Chastity replied, calming slightly as she surveyed Sarah's upturned ass. "How many more does she have to go?"

"We hadn't really agreed on a number, so I was just going to go until I got tired."

Sarah turned her head to face the boy as she held her position against the fence. "The hell you were!  Ten is all you get, and we're at four right now."

Chastity looked at the woman, then turned to the boy. "Can I get a few swats in?"

"Sure," the boy said, stepping aside as Chastity moved into position.

Smack!

Sarah winced. "Five!"

Smack!

"Six!", she hissed.

Smack!

"Seven!"

Smack!

Sarah thought her knees were going to buckle as the girl's palm landed forcefully against her reddening skin. "Eight!"

Smack!

Sarah's breath whistled through her teeth. "Nine!"

One more to go.

"You know, whore," Chastity said coyly, pausing her abuse of the helpless woman, "this might be a good opportunity for me to show my dear boyfriend a thing or two about how to please a lady."

Sarah's head whipped around in shock.   Keeping her hands on the fence, Sarah turned to the girl and said, "I'm not a whore!"

"Maybe, maybe not, but you'll do," the girl replied.  "Now, spread your legs apart. C'mon. Wider," she said as Sarah's bare feet shuffled against the pavement.  "Pay attention, James. I'm doing this for your benefit."

Suddenly, Sarah felt the girl's hands against her crotch, her fingers wrapping neatly around Sarah's mound of Venus. "Hmm," the girl intoned, "now just relax and this will go so much easier for you."

Sarah remembered that she was supposed to be a demonstration model; a living lesson aid to allow the students to explore their sexuality.  She dipped her head between her outstretched arms as Chastity continued to fondle Sarah's exposed genitals, the girl's fingers expertly stroking and massaging Sarah's labial lips. "Hmmm," the girl whispered, "does that feel good?  Hmm? Yes, I'm sure it does." 

Sarah closed her eyes and let herself go.  Soon she could feel the familiar tingling between her legs, her body responding to the girl's caresses.  The fingers were gently stroking and tickling her pussy as her little kitten began to purr.  The purr soon turned into a growl, demanding some attention; the same demanding itch she'd felt in the wood shop when she was studying the rack.  The rack that she hoped to be stretched across,  naked and sweating, helpless at the hands of ...

"Ah," Chastity murmured encouragingly, "There it is. Give me some juice.  There's a good girl."

Sarah jumped as Chastity slipped a finger between the folds of her sex, tickling the little clit that had come out from its little hiding place.

"Now, James," Chastity said, sounding like a schoolteacher giving a lecture, "as you can see, I've brought this little whore into a state of arousal.  The folds of her labia minora, normally hidden behind the labia majora, have become inflamed and are now highly sensitive."  To prove her point Chastity stroked the little flap of tissue, teasing it, causing Sarah to buckle slightly against the fence.  "This means that she's ready to accept her mate.  Or in her case any swinging dick.  In this position, she would be entered like an animal, which is what she is; something to be dominated by the male of the species. Would you care to give her a poke?"

"Chastity, I told you it was nothing," the boy said.

"No?  Then why the bulge in your shorts?"

James looked away.

"Or maybe you'd prefer to take her anally?  Let's see what's hiding behind those little ass cheeks you enjoyed spanking so much."

Chastity viciously grabbed Sarah's twin mounds of muscle and spread them painfully apart, exposing the tiny hole in her valley.  Dipping her index finger into Sarah's well-oiled sex, she began to smear some of Sarah's natural juices around the puckered opening of her anus.  Sarah moaned as the girl continued to stroke her exposed pussy and anus, preparing her for intrusion; the girl's finger pressing demandingly as she worked the oils into the crevices.

"Please," Sarah begged, "please don't do this."

"Quiet, whore," Chastity spat angrily, "Now James, let's see if you know how to take a woman from behind."

"Chastity, I..."

"Do it!" The girl reached out and grabbed at his shorts, yanking them down, exposing his fully erect cock. "I said, do it!"

Obediently, James took a step forward, his shaft throbbing with arousal in the cool air, pointing in the direction of Sarah's upturned ass.

"No! Please!" Sarah said, twisting her hips away, "Don't do this. Not this.  I... I have somebody!  Somebody I love very much.  Please!"

James paused, unsure of what to do, his cock telling him to fuck her while his brain told him not to.

"Do it!" Chastity barked.

Sarah began to cry. "No, please!  I know I'm supposed to let you touch me wherever you want, but please don't do this.  Please.  Not this; like I'm nothing.  I'm not a whore. I'm a person just like you. Don't take that from me. Don't take my humanity from me!"

James stepped back, realized what he was about to do, and quickly pulled his shorts back up.  Chastity, too, realized what she was about to do; what she was encouraging someone to do to another human being.  The two students exchanged looks, their eyes wide with shock. James quickly turned and ran off as Chastity stood motionless, staring at the half-naked woman poised against the fence with her legs spread wide.  Chastity gasped "Oh, god..."  as Sarah slowly turned and lowered herself down, collapsing, her back resting against the metal links.  Sarah hugged her knees to her chest, her hands covering her face as an involuntary shiver racked her body.

"I'm sorry," Chastity begged, "I'm really sorry. I don't know what came over me. I don't... "  She paused, studying the woman curled against the fence. "I was just really angry.  I mean, I thought you... and James... Please don't be mad with me.  I'm not like that. That wasn't me. I would never do that...  I promise. I won't ever do that. To you or to anybody."

Sarah sniffed, then looked the girl straight in the eyes. "What you were about to do... that's how people end up in prison."

Chastity felt her heart nearly leap out of her chest.  It was so easy; so easy to lose control.  Just one moment could have changed her life forever.  And then... She could've wound up in the system, too. That could've been her bracing herself against the fence while a strange boy got ready to plow her from behind.

"I'm so sorry," Chastity cried, bending over to hug Sarah's head, "I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be angry with me. Please!"

The girl was starting to become hysterical.  "Shhh," Sarah whispered as she comforted the girl, each of them hugging the other, "someone might hear.  It's ok, it's ok. I forgive you, ok? I forgive you."

After awhile, after both of them had cried themselves out, they both got up, sniffling and red-eyed, and began to walk back towards the lockers.  Chastity offered Sarah the hem of her shirt to wipe her eyes. Sarah laughed. "Thanks. That's one of the drawbacks of this assignment. No tissues."

Chastity sniffed then giggled slightly, then said, "So, what's it like? In prison I mean."

"It depends on the crime, I guess. For me, it's not as bad as for some.  I was lucky and got a good placement. The overseer doesn't believe in extreme corporal punishment.  There's still the restraints and whippings for infractions, but if you do as you're told things go smoothly. It's a fair system if you're willing to accept it.  The harder cases get it worse at the other places."

Chastity nodded her understanding. "So, what did you do?  I mean, to be sent...  What...?"

"My crime?  Nothing. I'm completely innocent," Sarah replied with a smile.

Chastity laughed at the old joke.

***

James was waiting outside the entrance to the girl's locker-room as Chastity and Sarah entered the courtyard.  He looked sheepishly at Sarah.  "Hey, I just wanted to say..." he started.

"It's ok, James.  I know."

"Thanks," he said, then shifted his gaze to Chastity. "I have a little problem."

Sarah noticed it first. "I'd say its a big problem."

Then Chastity noticed it.  He was still erect.

James' hands fluttered against his crotch.  "I can't go into the showers like this."

"The cold water might do you good," Sarah replied with a snicker.

James' discomfort was obvious.  He was becoming angry. "Well I can't go into the showers with my clothes on, now can I."

Chastity looked at him coyly. "Would you like to meet me under the bleachers, Mr. Jenkins?"

"I would, believe me I would, but there's no time. We're gonna be late to our next class and if I get any more demerits, I'm off the team."

Chastity looked at Sarah and shrugged her shoulders. 

"I'll see what I can do," Sarah said, turning to James, "C'mon and stay close."  She grabbed the waistband of James' shorts and tugged him towards the boy's lockers as Chastity turned and went into hers.

Inside, most of the boys were finishing their showers or were already dressed, leaving James and Sarah as the last ones in.  As they entered the main dressing area, Sarah spotted a music system; the digital read-out showing the name of the artist and the song.  Apparently the coach used it to pump up the team for competition.  She scrolled through the music listing.  Coach was a classic rock man.  Then she found what she was looking for.  Joe Cocker was ready for his air time.

"Perfect," Sarah said as she pressed "Play".

The instrumental intro kicked on, the horns blaring their announcement that something special was about to happen.  The music was wired into the room's intercoms, and when combined with the natural sound amplifier of the showers, made the place sound like a concert hall.  "Gotta love the coaches," she said to herself.  She knew the tune well. She had used it often with Thomas.  It was "You Can Leave Your Hat On."

Sarah began to sway, twisting her hips to the rhythm of the piano as the gravelly voice of the classic singer uttered the first lyrics.  Whenever the brass horns belted their accents over the melody, she would snap and turn to one boy after another, her hands waving around his face and torso without actually touching him.  She spun, reached under the hem of her racing top and lifted it over her head, then tossed it to James.  A shout went up in the locker-room as more boys gathered around the twisting, graceful form that moved from one boy to the other, her body lithe and free as she shook her hair out and let it settle back around her face.  Arms outstretched, she swayed gently, the taut muscles of her tummy rippling beneath her skin, moving to the ebb and flow of the music.

James stood riveted to the floor.

Sarah's hips swayed seductively, the lines of muscles in her firm thighs standing out proud and strong as her hands rolled upward like twin serpents mesmerized by a snake charmer.  So, too, the boys stood mesmerized by the woman who now charmed them.

Sarah smiled as the crowd began to bob to the rhythm. She laughed and became more bold, encouraging the boys to dance and pantomime the words with her.  She bounced and shivered and waved and let herself escape into total freedom.

The music began to reach its climax. Sarah spun in place, twirling like ballerina before dropping to a split, bringing her legs in, then lifting her toes up, dancing in mid-air.  As the music faded she extended her legs, spread them wide, and bent forward with her hands out in front towards James.

The song over, she arched her back and extended her hands towards James, her legs still stretched wide on the floor.

She crooked a finger towards the boy, indicating for him to come closer.  As James shuffled up to her, she raised her hands, letting him pick her up as she rubbed her nude body against his barely-clothed one.

James wasn't the only one sporting a woody.

Just as Sarah had planned. 

She whispered to him, "They can't really mock you when they're in the same situation."

He looked around at the other nervous boys who were trying to hide their erections, and smiled.  "You're a clever girl," he said.

***

James showered quickly and got dressed, trying to make it to his next class before the tardiness bell rang.  Sarah dawdled, the warm spray feeling good against her bare shoulders, the water washing away the day's sins.  She leaned her head forward, her hair flowing down in a waterfall as the drops fell away and splattered on the floor.

Then she heard the alarm ring.

She was late to her next assignment. Shit!

She quickly shut off the faucet, grabbed a towel, and patted the water off her body.  She stumbled clumsily through the room, rubbing the towel vigorously against her hair as she looked around for her assignment sheet.  Someone had tacked it onto the bulletin board so everyone would know where she would be and when, guaranteeing that she would have an audience at her next performance.

And the class was ... Biology.

"Lucky me," Sarah muttered to herself sarcastically.

She raced quickly out of the room, across the courtyard, and into the school proper.  The classroom was on the second floor and she took the stairs two at a time, her legs heavy and screaming with fatigue from the mile run she had completed.  Her eyes scanned the numbers posted next to the door, counting down when they should've been counting up.

Shit!

She reversed course.

She found the right room, cracked the door open, and peeked inside.

The professor was looking directly at her.  In fact, the whole class was.

Busted.

Red-faced, Sarah slowly entered the room, scanned the cluster of desks for an empty seat, and tried to make herself as small as she possibly could.

"It's no use hiding," the professor said, "Come on up. You're the star attraction today."

"Great," Sarah replied sardonically, as she went and stood next to the professor.

"Now, class," the professor started, "It's not often we have the opportunity to use a real live model to demonstrate the various parts of the human body, so we're going to skip ahead a bit and cover some new material."  He turned to Sarah and said, "Please, miss, stand up straight, arms down, palms forward, feet shoulder-width apart."

Sarah assumed the pose as she was instructed.

"Thank you," he said, then turned to the class, "Now, as you can see, the human body is generally symmetrical in construction, with a few minor variances.  For example, on the model we have today you can see that both of her breasts are approximately of the same size and shape, with the nipple placed in the same location here and here."

Sarah flinched slightly as the teacher's baton tapped against her breasts, the rod poking at the soft skin, pressing into her nipples.

"However, upon closer inspection, we see that the left breast is not truly duplicative.  This is common for all humans and is not a sign of abnormality.  In fact, it is not uncommon for a woman's left breast to be a full cup size smaller than the right breast. Our model is fortunate in that her differences are barely noticeable.  Now, because she's nearly perfect, I'm going to give everyone an opportunity to come up here and examine her breasts, first one and then the other, to get a better understanding of what I'm talking about."

Sarah fought to maintain her pose as one by one, each of the students filed up, examined each of Sarah's breasts, and returned to their seats.  Sarah noticed that all of the boys had erections in their pants. One of the boys turned to the professor and said, "Can I touch them?"

"Certainly.  That's why she's here.  Feel free to examine her as much as you'd like, but don't take too much time because I have a lot of material to cover."

The boy smiled and reached a hand out to pat at her tit as Sarah stood frozen, her hands down and open, helpless to cover herself.  He slapped at the soft flesh softly, watching it bounce, the soft nipple swaying in the air.

"You'll notice," the professor intoned to the boy, "how pliable the breast is.  There's a fair amount of give to it.  This is to protect it against damage from the newborn as it sucks.  Tug on the nipple, there."

The boy did as he was told, pinching the pert nub between his fingers, then pulling at it.  Sarah pursed her lips, trying to keep silent, as the boy played with her sensitive teat.

"The newborn will often be nursing while almost asleep, and thus the female body has adapted to allow for the child's movement."

Finally, the professor told the boy to sit back down.

"Ok, so we've examined the practical aspect of the female breast. We know that its main function is to feed offspring, and it is wonderfully constructed for that function.  But, it has another purpose.  As we've discussed before, humans are highly sexualized animals.  Our penises are disproportionately large for our body size, and our females are the only ones to have enlarged breasts even when they are not with child.  That's because the female breast serves as a secondary sex organ, and is often seen as a sign of fertility.  But, the size of the breast itself does not indicate fertility nor the capacity to feed.  Still, it is taken that way in popular culture.  Miss, please turn to the side."

Sarah did as she was told, turning so that she presented a side profile to the class.

The professor pulled out a cloth measuring tape, similar to what a tailor would use, and knelt on the floor at her feet.  He quickly stretched the tape along the length of her legs and called out a number.  He then measured the length of her arms and called out that number as well. Next, he measured the length of her torso and called out the measurement to the class.  Finally, he measured the height of her breasts, from the bottom curve to midway up her chest.

"Can somebody calculate the ratio of breast height to the length of the body parts we just measured?"

A couple of students gave an answer, settling on one after some discussion.

"That's about average for a healthy young female.  Often, women who fall into that ratio think that they are undersized and will seek out surgical enhancements.  The truth of the matter is that the ratio you just gave is far larger than any other non-pregnant female of other species.  Who here thinks our model's breasts are too large?"

The class laughed.

Sarah blushed.

"Ok," the professor said with a smile, "So, we know that the female breast is a secondary sex organ.  Now, who here thinks that they can make our model reach sexual arousal just by playing with her breasts?"

Several hands shot into the air.

"Jones, would you care to give it a try?"

A boy with horn-rimmed glasses and chubby cheeks quickly slid from behind his desk and walked up to the front of the room. 

Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. Oh god!

The boy stood in front of her and tentatively reached a hand out towards her naked body. Sarah tried not to make eye contact with him, fighting to remain still, her heart thumping a mile a minute.  She felt his finger against the outside curve of her bosom, a sort of clumsy poking motion, like a shopper testing the firmness of a piece of meat.  She glanced down to find the boy staring intensely at her soft mounds of flesh, raising his other hand to cup them both in his palms as the dark ovals peeked from between his young fingers.  He squeezed, pushed, and lifted her tits, nearly shoving her off-balance in the process. Sarah felt humiliated. And annoyed.  He continued to cup and roll her flesh until, finally, the teacher stopped him.

"Does she appear to be enjoying your manipulation of her breasts?"

"I don't know. She isn't saying anything."

"Did you check her labia for arousal?  The class will recall that is usually a sure sign of sexual preparedness."

The boy quickly checked between her thighs, like a plumber checking a drain plug.

"I don't see anything," he reported.

The girls in the class tried to stifle their laughter at his obvious inexperience.

The teacher turned to the rest of the class. "Would someone else like to take Mr. Jones' place?"

Sarah thought she was going to die of embarrassment. How long was the teacher going to keep subjecting her to this?

Just then, not bothering for a name to be called, a lone figure got up from a desk in the back of the room and started walking towards the front, his eyes never leaving the figure of the naked woman on the stage.

Sarah recognized him. It was the boy that had done the portrait. It was the savant.

"Now, Charlie," the teacher said, "wait your turn."

Sarah turned and said softly, "No.  Let him come."

The boy strode down the aisle, his arms at this sides, walking with a deliberate gait until he was standing directly in front of her.  He looked up at her, at the body of the beautiful woman on display in front of him.  Waiting.

Sarah knew.  She smiled, then drew one leg up behind her and arched her back while balancing with the other.  It hurt like hell to do it, but she didn't mind the pain.  She closed her eyes and exhaled, settling into an inner peace.

The boy drew himself closer and slowly stretched his hand out, as if wanting to touch her but afraid that he might break the magic; wanting to preserve the moment forever.

Sarah stayed motionless, feeling just the slightest of touches as the boy delicately traced a line along the side of her arms, starting with her elbow and moving down the pit of her shoulder and curve of her breast, across the lattice of her ribs, along her taut tummy, and stopping at her bare hip.  She opened her eyes slightly as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Standing there, holding a pose as the artist studied her body, Sarah felt incredibly beautiful.

She knew the thoughts that were flowing through his mind; his wonderfully cross-wired mind. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to take him and kiss him and show him her gratitude at his masterpiece, but she knew that if she moved everything would be lost. There was no way to preserve an emotion; only the image.  The same emotion he had tried to capture earlier that day; the image she now saw in her mind. It was his face that lurked in the shadows of her body. It was his eye. The eye; the window to the soul.

She inhaled, then let her breath escape slowly across her lips.  She felt like she was bathed in adoration, like a goddess with her acolyte, and shivered with pleasure.  She didn't try to stop it.  It was perfect. It was love.

Then, her leg could support her no longer and she began to wobble.

The boy froze as she slowly brought her leg down, watching as the goddess transformed herself back into her human form.  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

Sarah tilted her head knowingly at him and smiled.  He didn't need to say a word.  She understood everything.  She felt his love, and his frustrations.  She saw the beauty and the tragedy mixed into one; the tragic beauty that was him.

Nobody spoke or moved as Charlie stepped back and returned to his little spot at the back of the room.  Sarah never took her eyes off of him.  She knew she would never be loved like that again. 

The teacher stared at her, at the savant, at the interaction between model and artist. The intellectual, the teacher, was rendered mute; his mouth agape.  He had witnessed something unexpectedly beautiful and powerful and simple. Something that couldn't be covered by a textbook; an exchange of love and respect between two people caught in a moment without a single word ever being said.

The silence in the class was deafening.

And then the bell rang.

The students automatically started collecting their things as the teacher sat frozen at his lectern.  His brain was still comprehending what he had just witnessed.  It wasn't until Sarah touched him on the arm that he snapped out of his vapor lock.  "Are you ok?" she asked gently.

"Yes," he said, coughing and clearing his throat, "I'm uh... just a little... I'm fine. Fine." He called out to the escaping students, "Class, read chapters 6 and 8 for our lecture tomorrow!  There will be a quiz!"

***

The school day was over; the students released from their bonds and into the open world of freedom.  Unfortunately, Sarah was not. She did, however, have about two hours to kill before the night school started.  And even if there was nobody watching her, she still was not permitted to wear clothing.

With nothing to do and nowhere to go, she went exploring, wandering the recently-vacated halls of the school.  Now, with no fear of being molested, she took her time, memorizing the class numbers and orienting herself with the various locations of the classes she had yet to visit.

That's when she caught the whiff of peppers, onions, garlic, and other spices drifting down the hall.  Her stomach growled with hunger. She was starving.  She hadn't eaten all day.  It wasn't like she had brought anything with her. She soon discovered the location of the teacher's lounge, and in that lounge she discovered a refrigerator containing one plastic-wrapped sandwich marked "Bill".  She knew it was wrong to steal someone's food, but it was just a simple sandwich and she was hungry.  "Well, Bill," she said to the bread, "pleased to meet you. My name is Sarah. I think we'll be getting along wonderfully together."

Finding a large bottle of juice, also named "Bill", she poured a bit into a paper cup and prepared to dine on her little banquet.

Just then, the male coach burst into the room, causing Sarah to nearly jump out of her skin.  "Oh, sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you.  I just came for... oh.  I see you've found it already."

Sarah paused in mid-bite, a chunk of bread caught incriminatingly between her jaws.

"Hmm!" she moaned through the bread, then quickly chewed the mass and tucked it against her teeth, trying to keep it from falling out. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically, "Please don't report me!  I was hungry and didn't have any money for the machine.  I haven't eaten since dawn this morning.  I promise I'll make it up to you somehow.  I don't..."

"They didn't give you any lunch?" he replied, interrupting her, astonished that the school wouldn't provide a meal for her.

Sarah shook her head as she swallowed the gooey mass of food. "Nobody told me anything."

"Well, then," Bill replied, "I guess you needed it more than I did. I could miss a few meals anyway."

Sarah smiled. "That's very kind of you," she said graciously.

Bill nodded and turned to leave, then said, "Oh, by the way, that was some great running you did earlier.  I'm sure the Jenkins kid won't forget how he almost got bested by a girl.  I understand you did some racing a few years back."

"Yes. Did Coach Faye tell you?", Sarah asked, fearful that her secret had been outed.

"Just that you had raced against her once. If you're interested, the track team is about to have practice in about twenty minutes.  Feel free to sit in the bleachers and watch.  Maybe you can tell us what we're missing."

Sarah nodded as Bill turned to leave.  The door hadn't even finished closing before she had another bite in her mouth.

***

Sarah found her red elastic top, washed and folded neatly, that the coaches had left on the bleacher seat for her, along with a couple of soft towels.  Sarah smiled. They had anticipated her coming to watch; an athlete's addiction.  Sarah placed a folded towel on the aluminum bench and sat down, the soft cloth feeling good against her bare ass.  She propped her feet up on the other towel comfortably and watched as Chastity led the girl's track team through its warm-ups.

Coach Faye saw her and waved.  Then, she sent the team on a slow lap around the stadium before walking up the bleachers to where Sarah sat lounging.

"Thanks for the towels," Sarah said.

"No problem. I figured it'd be more comfortable for you and would still be within the rules," the coach replied. "I also thought you might want to take a few laps, to prepare for our rematch.  Like I said, I'm not here to judge you.  I'm just interested in the running."

Sarah smiled, waited a second, and said, "Would it help if I told you how I came to be here?"

"It wouldn't help because I wouldn't care.  But if you think it would help you, go ahead."

Sarah paused, trying to decide where to start.

"Ok," she began, "you last saw me at the finals, so I'll start there.  Well, my father ran a farm, and next door there was this boy..."

Coach Faye smiled conspiratorially, anticipating where this was going. "Go on."

"Well, I got accepted into college and this boy was accepted also.  Except, I went and he didn't. His father took ill and the boy had to stay and work the farm.  Well, this was about the time that the market collapsed, too, and threatened to take this boy's farm - and my family's farm - away.  Well, my father decided to explore other means of revenue and offered up his property to the state as a penal farm in exchange for guaranteed contract payments.  It was the only way he could keep me in school.  Now, the boy saw this opportunity and pursued it as well, except he saw people as inherently good.  I didn't believe him at first - that criminals could be good people deep down inside. After all, if they were good they wouldn't be in prison, right?"

Faye nodded.

"So," Sarah continued, "after I graduated I came home.  My father's place was dark and scary and horrible, but to me, it was ok because these were bad people and the whippings and the beatings were the only way to control them.  And, I accepted that philosophy. I became a bit of an advocate..."  She paused, trying to think of the right thing to say, then deciding to skip ahead.  "So, I went to this boy's farm, except he wasn't a boy any longer, of course.  He was now the warden.  And he did things differently than my father.  And he was good and kind and fair. He was... is... everything I've ever wanted. He is the love of my life."

Sarah paused, thinking of Thomas.

Coach Faye looked at her quizzically, trying to put the pieces together.

"You're in love with your warden?"

"No; well yes. I'm in love with him, he loves me, and he's a warden," Sarah said, wondering how long it would take for Faye to straighten it out,  "And he sent me here."

"What do you mean he sent you here?  If he loves you, why would he send you on this awful assignment instead of one of the other girls?"

Sarah leaned forward, and said in a hushed tone. "Because we didn't want to send a real inmate."

Faye was stunned.  The realization of what Sarah was saying smacked her like a brick.  She just sat there, her face locked in an expression of utter shock. Her mouth opened and closed twice before any words came out. "You mean you're not... you're not actually... he sent his fiancée to walk around naked and be treated like a convict and you agreed to do it?"

"Shhh!" Sarah urged, "Don't tell anybody."

Faye looked around. The students were on the far side of the track, well out of earshot. "And all day long you've been letting people see you... touch you... while you were pretending to be... you went along with this... this charade?"

Sarah nodded. "It's been a most educational day for me."

Coach Faye gasped, trying to take it all in. Finally, she shook her head. "No, I don't believe it.  It's too fantastic.  I think you're lying. You're probably running some sort of scam and that's why you're in prison."

"Call him if you don't believe me. His number is..."

Faye had already whipped out her phone and dialed the directory, ignoring the numbers Sarah was giving her. "Leighton Acres, please," she said curtly.

There was a buzz. "Leighton Acres. How may I direct your call?"

"Can I speak with the warden please? This is regarding Sarah, whom you sent to Stalin High this morning."  A pause. "Thank you."

Sarah could barely contain her excitement as the deep voice of Thomas Leighton came through the earpiece.  "This is Thomas Leighton."

"Hello, sir. This is Coach Faye at Stalin High.  I'm sitting in the bleachers with one of your inmates, and... yes, it's Sarah.  Could you describe her please?"

Sarah could only hear bits and pieces as Faye turned to face her, the earpiece buzzing as Thomas' voice scratched "... brown hair, hazel eyes, and full of mischief.  She's probably caused quite a bit of trouble at that school today. My apologies, but I assure you that she'll be dealt with appropriately upon her return."

"Thomas!" Sarah shouted.

"Sarah?" A tinny chuckle echoed through the phone. "Coach, can I speak to her for a moment?"

"Hi, Thomas," Sarah said, pressing the phone close against her face, hugging the small box like a child with a favorite toy, "I've missed you so much today. So, so much.  But, I've learned a lot. I think I've made some progress here.  Any chance you could arrange to hold me over here a day or two more, my love?"

Faye shook her head in disbelief.  Did Sarah just ask for extra prison time?

"Sarah," the metallic voice said, "it could be dangerous. The novelty will wear off and they'll get more bold.  Is there someone there you can trust to protect you?"

"Yes," Sarah replied, "and she's right here.  Here, talk to her. I'm handing the phone back to her now."

Coach Faye took the phone from Sarah's excited fingers. "Hello?"

"Coach Faye?  Hi, I'm sure by now you've figured out that Sarah isn't really in the prison system. She's not a convict and has never broken any laws. She's working under deep cover and I would appreciate it if you would do everything in your ability to assist her and see to it that she comes back to me safe and sound.  As far as I know, right now only you, her, and myself know about this.  If she trusts you, then I do, too."

Faye looked at Sarah, "Uh, yes sir. Thank you.  I'll make sure she's ok. Thank you for your confidence."

"Thank you, Coach," Thomas replied, "Just one thing. I really meant it when I said she could be mischievous, but I'm sure you'll find that out sooner or later, if you haven't already."

"Thomas!" Sarah shouted again, "Wait 'til I get back!"

***

The fading sun brought the chill of the night and Sarah was not clothed.  She waved goodbye to Coach Faye - her new confidant - and went inside the school.

The night students would be arriving soon and Sarah wanted to be ready.  Her assignment sheet said "Criminal Justice" and listed the auditorium as the meeting place.

Sarah was surprised to find someone already in the auditorium so early.

“Hello,” she said loudly to the figure at the far end of the cavernous room, her voice carrying across the vast expanse of the auditorium as she walked down the gently-sloping aisle.

The man turned to her.  He was older, dark-skinned with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick moustache.   He had been hunched over a large crate sitting on the stage, digging around inside it, but straightened up and turned when he heard Sarah’s voice.

“Whoa,” he said with surprise at the sight of the naked woman coming towards him, then caught himself, “Sorry. Instinctive reaction.” He extended his hand. “Joe Smith.”

Sarah laughed. “That’s ok. Sarah.”

“Just ‘Sarah’?”

“Yeah. Just ‘Sarah’.”

“Pleased to meet you, ‘Just Sarah’,” he said with a wink.

The man was jovial and seemed friendly. “I was told I’d have a model for tonight’s class so I figured I’d take the opportunity to demonstrate some various holds and restraints.”  He reached into the box and pulled out a long chain, dark and rusty, about 6 feet long, with 4 heavy shackles trailing from shorter lengths of chain. “Slave chain.  Used during the 18th century.  It’s on loan from the history museum.  I have a buddy that curates there and he let me borrow it for tonight’s class.” He looked at Sarah, his gaze shifting up and down the length of her body, taking her measurements. “Damn things weigh a ton. I guess I'll leave them on the table. They would probably break your bones.” He laughed nervously.

He set the chain down and reached back into the box, then pulled out a set of handcuffs and set them on the table.  The chrome rings were soon joined by a length of thick rope, leather cuffs, straps, a metal collar, a heavy belt with straps at the hips, a telescoping pole with a hoop on the end, and panty hose. He then set the now-empty box on the floor and began to arrange the various restraints on the table; a sort of display of human captivity.

“I’m sure, as a convict, you’ve seen most of these before,” he said.

“Yes,” Sarah said, “Yes I have. And a few you don’t have in that box.”

“Really? Like what?”

Sarah smiled and shook her head. She didn’t want to elaborate on the games she and Thomas had played at their secret spot at the creek.  Just thinking about it made her little kitten start to purr.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

He looked at her and said, in a serious tone, “You should know, I’m a licensed law enforcement officer. Since you're a convict,  I don’t have to ask your permission before I use these on you, but I will anyway.  Is there anything here you don’t want me to use?”

Sarah was surprised, first that he was bothering to tell her that he intended to cuff her, and second, that he was giving her an opportunity to object.

She looked at the items on the table.  Most seemed harmless enough.  But there was one restraint she’d never seen before, a metal collar with a small silver oval attached to it.  “What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s a shock collar.”

“Oh,” Sarah replied, instinctively reaching for her throat at the thought of it around her neck, “does it hurt?”

“Yes, it’s designed to be strong enough to take down very large, angry people.  It’s considered a more humane way of controlling a prisoner riot than the use of guns and gas.”

“Then, not that one,” she said.

The man smiled and nodded. “I’ll just leave it out as a static display, then.”

***

Sarah peeked at the crowd from her hiding place offstage.  Most of the audience seemed to be men, with just a few women, and definitely not your typical high school student demographic. These were fully grown adults, healthy, and fit.

These were future cops.

Officer Joe Smith stood at the podium, speaking to the people spread before him like Moses delivering his sermon to the masses.  And his eleventh commandment was “Thou Shalt Control The Situation”.

“There are several ways to control the situation.  We’ve already discussed the psychological methods.  Tonight we’re going to see some of the physical methods that you may find yourself having to use to control a person who does not want to be controlled.  Sarah, would you please come out here?”

Sarah exhaled nervously, then stepped out onto the stage.

A low murmur rose up from the group as she walked over to the podium, her naked body on parade.

As soon as she was within arm’s reach of Officer Smith, he reached out, grabbed her arm, and spun her so that her back was to him. In a flash, he had the handcuffs snapped around her wrists and was pushing her to the ground.  Sarah collapsed almost immediately. She opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it.

“As you can see,” he began, Sarah’s naked form sprawled beneath him, “handcuffs can be very effective control devices.  When used with the element of surprise, you can control almost anyone smaller and weaker than you.  Let’s go through that again, in slow motion.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handcuff key, unlocked the bracelets, and politely helped her up.

Sarah shot him a dirty look.

He grinned.

“Ok, come at me again, slowly.”

Sarah did, trying to walk threateningly even though she knew what was coming.

“What you want to do,” he said, “is keep your cuffs hidden, so that the perpetrator doesn’t see you deploying them.  You want to maintain that element of surprise, or else the level of resistance by your target is going to increase exponentially. Reach with your other hand and grab their arm near the elbow. You can usually find a good hold there because it’s all bone, very little muscle, and no bone in the human body is bigger than your hand, other than the skull.  If you go for the shoulder, there’s a chance they will spin out of it because you can’t wrap your fingers as well.  Also, by grabbing their arms near the elbow, you now have a good idea of where their wrist is and that’s going to be your first target.” He walked through the series of moves, grabbing Sarah’s arm, spinning her around, and slapping the first cuff on. “Now you’re on your way, but the perpetrator can still escape. You absolutely have to get that second cuff on.” He slapped the second bracelet around Sarah’s other wrist. “Once you have both of them on, what you want to do is collapse their knee with yours, to remove their platform, then apply pressure to the center of the cuff chain with one hand, while using your other hand to push on their necks.  Never try to use the shoulder. You won’t be able to grip it.  You’ll find that most people will comply once you have them by the neck.  Then, you just push them down to the ground.”

Again, Sarah ended up in a heap on the stage floor.

Officer Joe Smith helped his annoyed assistant up, but left the handcuffs on.

"In addition to the handcuffs, we're seeing an increased use of belly shackles," he said, lifting a length of chain from the table. "The shackles attach around the waist and ankles, limiting the convict's ability to kick and run. The older shackles will have wrist restraints built into the chain around the belly, keeping the prisoner's hands secured to the midsection.  This particular model is designed to be used in concert with the handcuffs."

He spun Sara around, her back to the audience, showing the handcuffs and her pert ass at the same time.  He quickly wrapped the chain around her waist, running it through a link in the handcuffs, then locked her ankles into the dangling manacles, leaving her unable to do much more than shuffle.

“Now there’s a new device that’s being introduced to police squads, which has actually been in use by animal control teams for many years.”  He reached over and pulled out a cylinder about the size of a portable umbrella.  He stuck his hand out and in a flash it extended to its maximum range, a narrow length of metal with a plastic hoop on the end. It was fairly intimidating. “Recent legislation has approved the use of this device on humans, and it makes a good equalizer for policemen who find themselves having to deal with individuals who are larger and stronger.”

Suddenly the noose was around Sarah’s throat. She was knocked off balance and pulled to the floor, unable to brace herself for the impact.  A loud thud reverberated through the auditorium as she fell hard against the wood, her hands cuffed behind her back, her head pinned to the end of the pole.  She tried to speak, to protest against the mistreatment, but the noose cut off her attempts to do anything more than gurgle.

“The beauty of this device is that your attacker can’t reach you as long as you can hold onto the pole. If your attacker rushes you, you simply get pushed away.  You can also use it to push your attacker away, or anywhere you need that person to go.” The officer lifted her up by the loop around her neck and began to swing the pole, causing Sarah to stumble awkwardly across the floor as he directed her from one side of the stage to the other, her naked body trapped in the device, her arms cuffed behind her, completely helpless to resist as she was paraded around the stage.  Her breasts bobbed gently with every step, the dark ovals swaying with her movement as she shuffled across the wooden floor.

She understood how it felt to be a convict on her father's farm.

Then she felt the noose tighten, constricting her airway.  Slowly she began to sink to the floor; the man guiding her down until she was once again sprawled out beneath him.  She gagged on her own tongue as she lay helpless and naked, fighting for every breath. Even though she was prone on the floor, the noose continued to tighten. She could feel the loop digging deeper into her neck, her windpipe being garroted by the man holding the pole. An inhuman rasping noise came from her mouth and she could hear her own blood roaring through her ears like a freight train.  Sarah began to black out. She was dying.  The officer was squeezing the life out of her body and nobody was stopping him.

“No matter how angry your attacker may be, once you constrict his airway, he’ll stop fighting.  His entire attention will be focused on one thing and one thing only; breathing.  Works on animals; works on humans.”

Then her world went black.

Suddenly the pressure was released from her throat and she could breathe again.

She lay there, sputtering, trying to convince herself that she was still alive.  She rolled over onto her chest, pulling her legs under her as she gulped the life-sustaining oxygen.

She felt a strong hand cup her armpit, lifting her up.  Her toes scuttled along the floor, her feet finding their way under her body, trying to support her weight.  Then, she was standing, looking into the sea of faces that watched as she swayed clumsily, her arms cuffed behind her, her vision blurred by the tears in her eyes.

She felt a tug on her wrist and it was free of the cruel metal bracelet. She could hear the metal chain jingling as he released the other cuffs.  Instinctively, Sarah brought her arms to the front of her body and began to rub where the metal had dug into her hands.

“It’s important that, once you’ve established your dominance, you maintain it. Never give the other person an even chance. They are not your equals. You want to be in charge every time.”  The officer wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her off the stage. “Let’s give a round of applause to our demonstration model,” he said as she shuffled back, tiny and small and broken, away from the audience.

She had to get away. She had to find help.  Sarah pressed her weight against the stage door and stumbled out of the back of the auditorium and into the teacher's parking zone.

Coach Faye was there to catch her as she started to faint.

“Sarah!  Oh, Sarah!”  Faye gathered the naked body of the young woman in her arms and cradled her.  “What happened to you?"  Sarah wrapped her arms around herself as she leaned against Faye.  The coach patted at the distraught woman’s face, wiping the tears from her eyes as Sarah cried silently in the dark, asphalt-covered lot. 

Sarah nuzzled against the warmth of Faye’s jacket and croaked softly, “I want to go home.  Please. I just want to go home…”

***

Two months later, Sarah stood on the very stage where she had almost died.

The auditorium was packed with people who had come to hear her speak about what she had learned during her time as a demonstration model in the public education system.  She had become a celebrity after publishing her treatise on crime and society; a treatise that challenged the conventional philosophy of state security.

"I was brought to the school like an animal, shackled and chained, for the single purpose of making me appear dangerous and something to be feared.  I was forced to walk the longest path possible through the school in the most embarrassing way possible. I was poked, prodded, pinched, humiliated, and nearly raped.  And when I thought the worst was over, I was nearly killed by a system that sold an ideology of fear to the people it was supposed to serve."

"But with the bad came the good. I was clothed, fed, and treated kindly by people who had no reason to be kind to me.  And most of all, I experienced the single greatest intense love by someone who's name I did not know, and who did not know me, and who was shunned by a majority of the student population who saw him as less than a human being because he was - and still is - different.  The portrait he drew of me, in just the hour he had to draw it - now hangs in the foyer of Leighton Acres, in full view of every visitor that comes to our facility. Agent, reporter, student, and inmate all see the beauty of his work, because if you believe life can be beautiful, you will make it beautiful."

An outburst of applause indicated support for her message.  She waited politely for it to subside before continuing.

"I do not blame Sgt. Joe Smith for nearly killing me.  He did not mean anything malicious by his actions.  He was improperly trained in the instruments he was given, and I stood by him at his hearing because I saw the goodness in him.  I firmly believe that if I had not supported him at his darkest moment, then the system would have failed him and sent a good man to a bad place.  He was simply part of a system that was broken; a system that placed a premium on fear for its own political gains. I am happy to report that Sgt. Smith is now Captain Smith, responsible for the integration of my father's farm with Leighton Acres.  As for the instrument that nearly killed me, I have since successfully worked to have the Choke Pole removed from the inventory of police forces in this state.  It is a brutal and unnecessary piece of equipment that our leaders - the ones who treat people the worst - have unleashed on those they deem to be beneath them."

She told them of that fateful night when she had stumbled semi-conscious into the parking lot. She could have died if Faye had not been there. Faye had seen the marks and suspected what had happened.  Coach Bill had performed the trauma care himself; using his knowledge to keep the veins in her neck from collapsing and shutting off the blood flow to her brain.  Even today, she doesn't remember much about it. One moment she's in the auditorium, next she's in the hospital with Bill, Faye, and Thomas standing over her and a tube sticking out of her neck.

"I will never forget the people I met at this school, and I hope that they will never forget me, or the lessons that they learned from me, because I sincerely wish that they someday become leaders and make their world beautiful."

More applause as Sarah glanced around the audience, searching for one person in particular. She found her, and signaled for the crowd to settle.

"And finally, I have one debt that I would like to pay, if she will indulge me.  Dean Faye, you said you wanted a rematch, so I'm going to give you your race.  Right now!"

With that, Sarah turned and leaped off the stage, ran up the aisle and grabbed the track coach's hand.  The woman resisted, of course, but was soon encouraged by the people around her.  Soon a flood of people were filing out of the auditorium, following the two women towards the track.

"It's a nice day for a run!" Sarah said laughingly.

"I'm not dressed to run!" Faye shouted back, but her protests were for naught, for there was no turning back against the crush of people sweeping her along.

The crowd flowed up into the stands as the two runners made their way to the Start/Finish line. Sarah, well dressed in blouse and jacket, began to strip off her clothes.  Faye watched as Sarah's shoes, skirt, hose, panties and bra were quickly discarded and neatly folded on the bench.  Sarah stood there completely naked, hands on hips, the sun shining against her bare skin as she waited.  Faye looked at her, incredulous. 

"You don't expect me to strip, do you?", she asked.

Sarah smiled and replied, "I don't care what circumstances brought you here. All I care about is the running."

Faye started laughing. 

"Maybe we should get some protective gear," Sarah said, looking at the boy and girl walking towards them, each holding a folded towel in their hands.  It was James and Chastity.  Like an attendant at a duel, James stood next to Sarah and extended his towel. She reached forward and accepted his offering - a dark blue and yellow racing top.  Sarah turned her back to the coach and put it on. When she turned back around, Faye saw "Ascension" printed neatly across the front. "Be true to your school," Sarah chirped. Chastity extended her offering towards her coach, a singlet in the Stalin school colors with "Stallions" scripted across the silhouette of a charging horse.

"Well?" Sarah asked the woman.

"I'm a respected member of the faculty, I can't..."

"And I am an executive director on the board.  Don't try to pull rank on me," Sarah replied with a wry grin.

Faye looked back at the stands, now filled with people. "I can't..."

"Faye, how often do you get a rematch against a former adversary in front of an enthusiastic crowd of cheering fans?  Besides, we both know they won't even look at you, because I'm prettier."

Faye smiled and kicked off her shoes, stripped off her track suit, t-shirt, bra and panties and put on the skimpy top of the school's track uniform.  She felt odd being naked from the waist down, but she tried to ignore her lack of clothing by focusing on the task at hand.

"Get ready for an ass-kicking, sister," Faye said tauntingly as she began to stretch, the lines of muscle in her bare legs dancing in the sunlight.  Coaching had kept her in racing trim.

"If you're going to kick my ass, you'll have to be behind me to do it," Sarah replied, extending one leg out and feeling the pull on her hamstrings, "I'd try to kick yours, but its so pale I'd go blind from the glare."

"Hey!" Faye said, patting her own ass cheeks, "I'll have you know I still have firm buns, hun. You're starting to look a little loose in the caboose."

Sarah bent over in a faux stretch, giving the crowd a good view of her sex nestled between the globes of her ass, then slapped at the muscle of her rump, drawing claps and cheers from the excited crowd.  She spanked her upturned muscles again triumphantly. "Loose?  Not  a jiggle!  I can bring it day long, sister!  All day!"

***

Torches rolled up black smoke, adding to the sinister stains on the darkened beams overhead, the flickering light reflecting off the sweat-slicked body of the woman stretched out on the rack.

In the post-industrial apocalypse, when the oil had run out, the cities became the domains of the fortunate few who controlled the water.  Where there was water, there was life.  And where there was life, there was power.  Old friends became enemies, and old enemies spilled blood.  The war machine needed to be fed.

A low moan escaped from the woman's lips.  They had been working on her for hours, trying to break her, trying to get her to confess. She was strong, but even the strong have their breaking point.

"Stretch her again," a voice commanded.

A robed figured approached the windlass of the machine.  Heavy chains ran from the axle to the cuffs around the woman's wrists, her ankles secured to the foot of the device by heavy metal rings.  Her legs were spread wide, offering her captors unrestricted access to her most sensitive areas.

A bony hand, yellowed with disease, pushed against the spoke, drawing the chain up further onto the windlass. A pawl set into the side of the wheel clacked twice, then slipped into position, preventing the axle from spinning back.

The woman moaned again as her body was stretched, her lean tummy rippling with pain as she gasped and choked, fresh sweat streaming between her breasts, collecting in the furrow of her belly before disappearing into her exposed slit.  Her breasts, drawn tight against her chest by the exertion on her body, heaved with her panting, the puckered nipples pointing upwards towards the soot-stained beams.

"I see no reason to stretch her more.  Use the hot irons."

The robed figure turned and reached towards a glower brazier, the handles of several lengths of raw black metal extending out toward him.  He pulled on a heavy leather gauntlet, stoked the fire within the glowing furnace, and selected his instrument of torture.

The woman cried out in fear as the robed figure turned towards her.  She tugged at the bonds around her wrists, trying desperately to pull herself free.  It was no use. She was securely bound, allowing her no movement whatsoever.

Her torturer held the iron above her face, letting her see the heat that radiated from the tip, the metal yellowing slightly as he passed the rod downwards, above the length of her body.  She quivered as the iron passed over her, waiting for it to drop and sear her skin.

Finally, the hooded figure stood at the end of the rack, the iron rod descending slowly towards the captured sole of her foot.  She shivered as she felt the heat of the iron's approach.  The rod lightly touched the instep and a thin swirl of smoke curled upwards, carrying with it the smell of burning flesh.

She screamed.

"Again."

The figure nodded and lowered the rod, drawing another line across the woman's foot as she howled with pain, her back arching as much as the tension on her body would allow.  Then, mercifully, she collapsed and fell silent.

Cold water revived her.

"Who do you work for?!" a voice commanded.

She tried to speak, her voice cracked and broken through lips she could not bring together.

"Use the stones."

The robed figure turned back towards the brazier and replaced the iron rod, now a dull black.  He grabbed a metal hook hanging from the side of the small furnace and carefully fit it into a recess in the top of the smoldering canister, then slowly lifted the top of it out of the glowing stand and placed it on the table between the condemned woman's wide-forked thighs.

Still wearing the thick leather gloves, he selected a stone from within the bowl and prepared to insert it into her body.

She could only watch as the fire-hot orb descended on the inflamed lips of her pussy.  She twitched and flinched as the stone nuzzled against the opening of her snatch, then, suddenly he pressed it against her sex and it was inside her.

She screamed anew, mewling and howling as the hot stone cooked the lining of her tunnel. Every muscle in her body stood out, dancing and twisting as she shuddered, gasped, and finally collapsed on the deck; her energy completely spent. Sweat matted her hair as she lay panting in the flickering light.

The man reached for another stone.

"I... I work for my mistress... I am a simple house slave..."

"Liar!"

The torturer moved to apply the stone.

"No!" the woman begged, "No, please.  I... I will confess!"

The man paused, then placed the stone back into the bucket; keeping the arsenal handy in case they should be needed.

"Speak!"

"I am sent from Lothar, to collect information.  I am to be rewarded well for my efforts, when Lothar has captured your city, killed your army, and enslaved the cur bitch that is my mistress!"

"Stupid wench. You are in no position to be rewarded. Slay her."

The robed man nodded and reached for a fresh rod from the brazier.  The tip glowed menacingly as he held it over her outstretched body. He then pressed it firmly, mercilessly, against her chest.  Soon her screaming subsided as the life ebbed from her body in an expanding pool of blood.

"Annnnd cut!  Great scene, Sarah."

The dead woman smiled as the figure hovering over her flipped his hood back.  "That was intense!", Gap-Tooth exclaimed.

"Yeah, its going great!" his partner said from off-camera, unclipping the microphone from his shirt.

Sarah smiled as Gap-Tooth’s partner released the catch on the windlass, the axle spinning freely as the pressure was relieved on her arms and chest.  She lay there for a moment, recovering from the stress placed on her body. “Barney,” she asked, “would you mind undoing my cuffs?”

“Sure,” Gap-Tooth’s partner said as Gap-Tooth moved to unlock the manacles around Sarah’s legs.

Once freed of her bonds, she drew her legs up into a V, her feet laying flat against the damp wood of the table.  She sighed and pulled herself up with a groan, bracing herself on her elbows.  Covering her mound of Venus with her hand, she squeezed her Kegel muscles and caught the stone as it plopped out from her slit.  “Hey Barney,” she said with a mischievous grin, tossing the stone to him, “Now you can smell me all you want.”

Gap-Tooth started laughing as Barney held the stone up to his nose. “I still don't smell anything,” he replied.

Sarah swung her legs over the edge of the table and sat there, watching as the small film crew dismantled the set. Gap-Tooth switched off the plastic brazier and picked it up with one hand.  Barney retrieved the smoke-maker rod and drained the gas out of it.  They had been filming all night and Sarah was exhausted.  As she sat there languidly, the film crew had to work at breakneck speed; they only had a few hours to break everything down and pack it up before the school opened and the Kingdom of the Magyar became the Wood Shop again.

Faye walked over and handed Sarah a towel, saying “I can’t believe you talked me into letting them do this.”

Sarah winked, wiped the fake blood off her torso, and said, “I had a promise to keep. And besides, sometimes we have to suffer for art.”

Faye laughed. “You have no shame."  In a lowered voice, she added, "There at the end it almost looked like you came.”

Sarah flashed a mischievous grin.

Faye gasped. “You did! Oh, you little tramp…”

“Thomas did warn you,” Sarah said as she began wiping at the oil and sweat that coated her body. “Hey, maybe you should try it.  I’ll see if the boys can work you into the script. After all, you owe me for letting you win our race.”

“Hey, I won that fair and square!” Faye replied.

Sarah slipped a robe over her nude body, not bothering to respond.

Faye paused. “I did win it, right?”

Sarah started walking away.

“Hey!” Faye called out to the departing woman, “I won that race! Right?!”

Sarah raised her hand and continued to walk away. “Whatever!”

***

A lone figure sat in the bleachers, a red dot in a sea of parallel grey lines set against a sky of grey clouds, watching the long line of runners as they trudged around the track.  A clipboard was balanced on his knee and a whistle hung around his neck.  He was focused on the chronometer on his hand, recording the numbers as the runners crossed the line painted on the rubber mat.  It was old-fashioned, but he didn't trust the new timing chips.

"Hello?"

The coach turned towards the sound of the woman's voice. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Hi. I'm here about the coaching position?"

"Huh?  What coaching position?"

"I understand that the school is looking for a new head track coach?"

"There must be some mistake. I'm the head track coach!"

The woman stepped closer, slowly climbing the steps. "You are?"

"Yes," Coach Bill said, becoming slightly concerned, "I think you've been misinformed."

"No, I'm pretty sure I know who I'm talking to. Do you?"

Bill held his hand up to his forehead, blocking the glare as the woman lifted her sunglasses. Suddenly the expression on his face changed. "Sarah!"

She laughed and came rushing up the stairs as fast as she could in heels, the narrow shoes clanging against the reverberating metal slats.  He extended his hand towards her as she squealed with excitement and raced up towards him. As she reached the last step, she ignored his proffered handshake and gave him a big hug instead, squeezing him hard.

Bill laughed. "Well, it's good to see you, too!"

Sarah turned and kissed him on the cheek. "Did I have you fooled?"

He laughed again. "Yes. I figured either you were confused or I was fired, and neither option was very appealing."

Sarah pulled back, still smiling. "So, should I tell the board you accepted their offer?"

"Offer? What offer?"

Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope.  "This one.  This is an offer to make you the supervisor of athletics for the entire district. We need a good man to run the show, Bill; someone who can see past upbringing and teach these kids about values like respect, honesty, and fairness.  We need someone who can shape our future leaders and keep scholastic athletics from becoming just another commercial venture for shoe companies and event promoters.  We need someone who knows what sports really is about; someone of integrity who knows that leaders have a responsibility to look out for the welfare of others.  We need you."

Bill looked at her, fighting to control his emotions.

"Could I still coach?"

"Not the students directly. But you'll be teaching the teachers that teach them. Besides, you'll be plenty busy getting things straightened out.  At least for this season."

Bill turned and watched the line of runners as they continued to circle the track.  Sarah could see the wheels turning in his mind as he weighed his options.  "Don't cut that corner!" he shouted to a shuffling figure who's head dropped with guilt.

Sarah knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

"Bill," she pleaded, "I'll keep the position open a bit longer, to give you time to think about it, but I'll need to have it filled by the second quarter in order to meet deadline."

He smiled. She knew him well.  "Thanks."

Sarah nodded and looked him in the eye. "Thanks for saving my life."

A grin pulled at Bill's mouth. "I couldn't let you die. You still owe me a sandwich."

***