Rosie's Magical Command: First Day Naked: (A Tale of Reluctant Exhibitionism)

by Dory Rettissi

  Rosie's Magical Command:

  First Day Naked

  (A Tale of Reluctant Exhibitionism)

  by

  Dory Rettissi

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Naked At Dinner

  Chapter One: The Magical Offer

  Chapter Two: Rosie's Instructions

  Chapter Three: Rosie's Naked Debut

  Chapter Four: The Dean's Reaction

  Chapter Five: The Private Photo Shoot

  Chapter Six: 241 Days To Go

  Prologue: Naked At Dinner

  Rosie Douglas stood, naked, in the bathroom just outside the largest campus dining hall. The thought of her nudity, of the eyes of hundreds on every inch of her exposed body made her cringe with shame and embarrassment. She crouched down, covering her jiggling breasts with her arm and hiding her bare pussy. She wasn't allowed to cover when anyone was there: she had to walk, back straight and hands at her sides, while all her classmates and the dining staff and maybe her professors too, who knows, giggled and leered at her. But in private, for a second, it was a relief to feel covered. Before she went out on display.

  She'd have to walk into the crowded dining hall, breasts and ass pussy bare and jiggling and exposed for all the world to see. If anyone asked, she had to pose: bend flirtatiously over so her breasts dangled and her ass stuck out, emphasizing her curvaceous form. How far would anyone ask her to go? If they asked, she'd have to lie back and spread her legs, or kneel on all fours and arch her back. The thought made her shudder with humiliation. Surely no one would go that far? Not in the dining hall?

  She hoped not. But if they did, she'd have to. A picture ran through her mind, a picture of herself on all fours with a huge crowd surrounding her, whistling, laughing, snapping pictures. She imagined those photos going online. She imagined herself years from now, when she could finally dress again, wondering every time she met someone if they had seen her, naked and spread and exposed.

  She felt herself moisten at the thought. Oh God no. Please no. Bad enough to make her do it. She didn't find it exciting, please don't let it be that she found it exciting. She imagined her classmates at their computers, zooming in on the high-res images of her spread pussy, noting with glee that it was wet. No no no. Don't make me like it, please. And of course that thought, that image, only made it worse. Made her wetter.

  She stood up, shook herself, tried to gather herself. No use bemoaning it. After all, she was committed. She had to do this, go absolutely bare for eight full months. If she backed out, she'd do enormous harm to five friends, whose own ordeals would be rendered meaningless. For that matter, if she backed out — if she so much as once moved to cover her tits against some drooling man who couldn't keep his eyes off them, whether at a party, in a store, in a class, anywhere — then her own suffering would be rendered meaningless. Worse than that: she would loose whatever protection she had gained against the consequences of these actions. If she followed through, then once the ordeal was over she was guaranteed a life of happiness and success. If not... then she was just some slutty chick who walked around naked and who you could see on the internet. exposed in every way possible.

  She tried to tell herself it didn't matter. She'd been nude for almost a day now. She'd been seen by hundreds if not thousands of people. Hell, given the photos people took of her, she might have been seen by millions by now. No, not that quickly. But eventually. And the way she'd posed! She thought of the photo shoot she had done, spread out, the cameras moving in to near inches away so that they could capture every detail. See the moistness that she was sure was there. She wondered if the photographers had jacked off to pictures of her exposed pussy yet. If others had. Well, if not, they would soon. Her private parts were public images, now.

  No help for it. Gotta go. Surely they wouldn't ask her to do anything too extreme, not now? She'd spread for the camera, yes, but surely the sight of a bare naked woman walking around in public was enough for her first day? People wouldn't dare ask for more. Not yet. It was only her first day.

  Her very first day: of what would be an eight month ordeal. Eight months without a stitch of clothing, except for shoes. And that damn locket. She fingered it. It didn't cover her, didn't provide even a scrap of modesty. If anything, it's dangling in her cleavage just brought eyes to her ample boobs.

  She breathed in and breathed out, calming herself, but aware, as she did it, of how her chest heaved. She prepared to walk out into the crowd. She wiped away a tear, and headed out.

  God, how had she gotten into this mess?

  Chapter One: The Magical Offer

  It had all began a few weeks before the start of her senior year of college when Rosie Douglas had gotten a letter from a woman named Frances Brock. Even before googling, Rosie knew that Ms. Brock had once been one of the most successful CEOs in the country, although she was now retired and had been for some years — she was over 100 years old, after all. Rosie was a business major, and Ms. Brock had been an idol of hers since she'd heard about her. The letter said that Rosie and five of her friends, who had been the top-achieving girls at an exclusive New England prep school (and had stayed friends over the years since graduation, even as they had all gone off to different colleges) were invited to dine with Ms. Brock the weekend before school restarted. The dinner would be held at The Garden, the most upscale restaurant in the midsize city where their prep school had been located. Rosie texted her friends, and they had all agreed that of course they would go.

  Further, each had been sent a puzzling follow-up envelope. It contained copies of six letters, each on official stationary. The first letter was from an attorney at an exclusive New York law firm, and it simply certified the authenticity of the other five letters, and invited a phone call to confirm that. (Rosie called the firm, and they confirmed that the other five letters were genuine, but said they didn't know anything beyond that; they were simply guarantors against identity fraud.) The other five letters were from five famous, successful women, all the same age as Frances Brock. Indeed, like Ms. Brock, all of them were graduates of the same prep school that Rosie Douglas and her friends had attended. Each of the five letters stated that the offer that Ms. Brock was going to make, however strange it might sound, was genuine; and that a similar offer had been made to them decades before, when they were seniors in college, and that their acceptance of it was the key to their successful career. Further googling indicated that each of the five had died over the past three years (like Ms. Brock, all had been over 100), the most recent a week before the invitation had been sent.

  It was all very puzzling, and Rosie called up her best friend, pre-med Miranda Lawson, who was also invited to the dinner to discuss what it could possibly be.

  "Maybe we're going to be initiated into some sort of exclusive sorority?" suggested Miranda.

  "But why would they be so desperate to prove that it's legit?" asked Rosie. "If it was just that, who'd doubt it? We know such things exist and that that's how people get ahead."

  "But what else could it be?" asked Miranda.

  "Only one way to find out," said Rosie.

  So one Sunday evening Rosie and Miranda made their way to The Garden, where she was ushered into a small, private room separate from the main dining area. Already present were four of their prep-school friends: Elsa Erickson, who was studying literature; Christie Bishop, a talented actress who was planning to act full-time after graduation; Beverley Rowe, a journalism major who wanted to be a reporter; and Lindsey Casey, a pre-law major. Rosie had seen all of them freque
ntly over the summer, and so simply smiled and nodded hello, saving her attention for the person she didn't know, an elderly woman she recognized as Frances Brock. She introduced herself, shook Ms. Brock's hand, and then they sat down. After they had ordered and the waiter had left, Ms. Brock cleared her throat.

  "I hope," she said, "that the letters you received have convinced you that this offer, which I know will sound very strange, is genuine."

  All the young women nodded. "But," said Rosie, "we don't have any idea what you're about to offer us."

  "Of course not," said Ms. Brock. "But since it will sound incredible, I wanted to make sure you'd believe me." She picked up an old wooden box that was beside her table-setting, and passed it around the table. "Please take one each." Inside the box were five ancient-looking silver lockets, intricately decorated, each with a modern chain to wear it on. As far as Rosie could tell, they were all identical. She took one and passed the box on. The last person to get the box was Beverley, and there was no locket left for her; but then Ms. Brock reached up, undid a clasp, and took off an identical locket from her own neck and handed it to Beverley. All six gazed at the lockets, puzzled.

  "These," said Ms. Brock, "are magic lockets."

  Lindsey snorted.

  "I thought we agreed," said Ms. Brock, "that you accepted the offer as genuine."

  Lindsey, no doubt thinking of the prestige of the women who had written those letters (to say nothing of Ms. Brock herself), fell silent.

  "My five friends and I were given these lockets more than eighty years ago," said Ms. Brock. "We were given instructions, the same instructions that I am going to give to you. We followed the instructions, and as a result were among the six most successful women of our generation. We each lived a long time, but now, as I am the last one left, it is my job to pass on the lockets to a set of young women. Having talked to the faculty and administration at your prep school, and followed up with some discrete inquiries at your respective colleges, I have decided that the lockets should be passed on to the six of you. Follow the instructions, wear the lockets, and each of you will be as successful in your careers and happy in your relationships as my friends and I were."

  There was silence at the table as the six young women took this in. They looked at each other. None of them could quite believe in the idea of a set of magical lockets. But it had been vouched for by six of the most successful women in the country. Why would they lie?

  "Don't be afraid," put in Ms. Brock, "about looking foolish if you believe. I suspect the main barrier for each of you will be the fear that the others will think you're silly to accept this. But you know in your hearts that it's true."

  "Okay, so say we believe you," said Elsa. "What instructions are we talking about?"

  "I won't lie to you," said Ms. Brock. "They will be difficult. Challenging. Different for every one of you, of course. All I can say about them is that, however hard they seem, they won't impact your lives or careers negatively in the long run. If, that is, you all do them. If any of you back out, or even deviate in any way from the instructions, then all the good fortune is canceled for everyone. No one can break any of the rules, not even once. It's all or nothing."

  "And one more condition," added Ms. Brock. "You can't tell anyone about this. You can't tell them you're doing whatever it is that you are required to do because of a magic locket. Now or later. Only you six can know about this. Until, that is, many decades from now, when all but one of you are dead; then you must pass the lockets on, and explain the conditions, as I am doing."

  "You still haven't explained what sort of challenges they are," Christie pointed out.

  Ms. Brock grinned — somewhat wickedly, Rosie thought. "You're right dear. Well, of course I don't know precisely. As I said, it differs for everybody. But let's just say that whatever power has enchanted this locket has a lewd imagination." The six women exchanged apprehensive looks at that. But they had decided before coming to dinner that they would do whatever was asked, so Rosie looked at the locket in her hand, breathed deeply, and asked Ms. Brock, "What do we do now?"

  "When I tell you to, put on the locket," said Ms. Brock. "Then leave it on, whatever else the instructions might say. Don't take it off, ever, to sleep, in the shower, or for any other reason, until you're ready to pass it on to someone else. Now, if you open the locket, you'll see it's empty." Each of the girls opened their lockets and, indeed, each had nothing inside. "All right, put them on now." Each of the girls did so. "Wear them for precisely a month. Then, at—" Ms. Brock checked her watch. "—precisely 8:07 on September 15, look inside. A small slip of paper with instructions on it will be inside it. Read it at once, without delay — many instructions will require you to start right away, and a delay could constitute breaking the instructions. Whatever you have to do, it will take a while, certainly. Don't expect it to be done in a week or a month. But none should take more than seven or eight months — through graduation, I'd say. Just read the paper and follow the instructions. It's as simple as that."

  She looked around. "You may not like what you have to do. You may find that what one of the others has to do sounds easier to you. Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. But you all have to do whatever task you, personally, are given. And remember," said Ms. Brock, "nothing you do will harm the course of your life. You will all be successful in your careers and in your relationships — with anything you do — despite whatever strange actions the locket asks you to do. Wildly successful. So whatever, uh, notoriety you might gain from this won't harm you." She gave another wicked grin. "Unless, of course, one of you chickens out or messes up the instructions. Even once. Then all bets are off, the bad consequences are on your head, and who knows what will happen."

  Chapter Two: Rosie's Instructions

  The six women talked frequently over the next month. Each took turns being skeptical, and wondering if anything would happen at all. But eventually they all agreed that they did believe Ms. Brock (and her five recently-deceased associates); and that, in the harsh world they were going to graduate into in the spring, they couldn't pass up any chance to ensure themselves a successful life. It's not like success was easy to come by! So they agreed that at the appointed time (each set an alarm, so as not to forget) they would read the piece of paper, and do whatever (each shuddered at the thought) was written there. They reminded each other that any of them breaking the rules would mess things up for everybody, and so they all agreed that they each had to be strict.

  Rosie went off to college, moved into her dorm, and got into the swing of classes. It looked like it was going to be a good year, and she was enjoying her subjects. A few times a day she would finger the locket (which she wore under her shirt, to avoid any questions) and wonder what she might have to do. Visions of having to flash strangers or even (she shuddered at the thought) have anal sex crossed through her mind. But strangely, on the morning of the 15th itself, she hardly thought about it. That night, she was sitting in her dorm room with a few friends — her roommate Jill, Jill's boyfriend John, John's roommate Mike, and Tyler, a cousin of Mike's who was visiting for a few days from out of town, when her alarm went off.

  "Everything ok?" asked her roommate.

  "Hmm? Yes, fine. Just... give me a minute," said Rosie. She crossed the room, and the other four carried on their conversation without giving it much thought. Rosie opened the locket. There was, indeed, a piece of paper there. Rosie breathed in sharply: it had been empty when she put it on, and she hadn't taken the locket off in a month. This, surely, testified to its magical powers. Newly confident of the promise, Rosie unfolded the piece of paper, and read the words on it:

  Strip, right now. Stay entirely naked, except for this locket and your shoes, from now until graduation. Do not cover yourself more than you would if you were clothed, with your hands or bags or anything else. Show yourself and pose for anyone who asks. If you stay naked through graduation, your task is complete.

  Rosie took a sharp, sudden breath. Naked? She t
hought. Her first instinct was not to do it. But she thought about the testimony of the six successful women, about the piece of paper materializing in it, and (above all) about her promise to her friends. How would she feel if they all stripped and she didn't? Then it would all be for nothing.

  She blushed furiously. God, why did there have to be boys here! Maybe...

  But she couldn't delay. She took off her shoes and socks (even though shoes were permitted, it was a way to break into it slowly. She glanced over; none of the four were looking at her. Well, bare feet weren't uncommon. Jill and John had their own shoes off.

  She began unbuttoning her shirt, moving as slowly as she thought she could and still be doing something that counted as stripping right away. She pulled it off, and folded it carefully —anything to delay her fate for a second or two — and put it on the chair. She shivered slightly, although it wasn't cold.

  At that point, Tyler, who Rosie hardly knew, happened to glance over. His eyes popped, but he didn't say anything.

  Blushing even more deeply, and biting her lip, Rosie unbuttoned her jeans, and slipped them down over her hips, and pulled her legs out one by one. She began folding them, too. Now she was standing just in her bra and panties.

  By now the other three had noticed Tyler staring and had turned towards her. Jill gave an awkward little laugh. She said, "Uh, Rosie dear, if you want to change, you might go in the bedroom? We do have opposite-sex company, you know."

  Rosie didn't respond. Her breathing had become tighter, but she didn't dare stop. Going as slowly as she could without stopping, she reached around behind her and unhooked her bra. She had never thought of herself as having particularly large breasts, although they were bigger than average — she was a 35D — but right now she felt their size keenly as they jiggled slightly. The tightness of the bra released — usually a relief, but not now! — she felt the open air on them. She turned her back on the others. She couldn't keep facing away, not for long, but she needed the slight privacy she gained facing the wall. She could feel their stares as she reached up and, with tension in every limb, hooked her thumbs into her panties and pulled them off.