Only One Naked Page 3

  She hoped he liked her knickers. They were a favourite pair, pink floral lace. She could feel that they had settled into the cleft of her behind, leaving the lower part of each cheek exposed for his pleasure.

  She paused halfway through pulling the encyclopedia off the shelf. The pose felt sexy and pert and she wanted him to have time to enjoy it. She pretended to read the name of the book squeezed in next to the encyclopedia. This left Mr. Wilson free to devour her with his eyes. Without looking down, she said, “You must be awfully knowledgeable by now, Mr. Wilson, reading all these books.”

  “You would think so, wouldn't you? But I'm not what you would call a serious historian. Besides, book knowledge isn't everything.”

  “That's true. Experience is important too, isn't it?”

  “Well, I've got more than my fair share of that,” he laughed. “I've knocked about a bit, believe you me.”

  “I haven't,” she said sadly.

  “No, I can tell. You're a fresh as a spring flower.”

  There was a tremor in his voice. Smirking to herself, Maisie hauled the encyclopedia into her arms. It was far bigger and heavier than she had realized. Making her way down the stepladder, she overbalanced.

  Mr. Wilson was there in a flash, planting his hands on her waist. And just for a moment, before she steadied herself, the front of his trousers was under her skirt, touching her behind.

  Immediately, her head blazed with lurid images. She saw Mr. Wilson reaching into his neatly-pressed trousers and pulling out a cock as shiny as a toffee apple. She pictured him pressing the toffee apple into her mouth, then pulling down the back of her lace panties to rub it against her eager bottom. She shook her head, dizzily.

  “Whoops-a-daisy,” he said.

  “Thanks, Mr. Wilson! I'm really ever so sorry! How clumsy of me!”

  “I do hope you didn't sprain anything?” He was holding her tenderly by the elbow.

  Maisie was completely fine. But she took the hint and sat back on the stepladder to rub one of her ankles, frowning.

  He lifted the suspect ankle and squeezed it with his thumbs, looking along the expanse of her bare leg as he did so.

  “I'm no sawbones, but I'd say this is a fine, healthy limb.” Mr. Wilson smiled at her, then cleared his throat. “Actually, while I've got you here, captive as it were, I was wondering if I could ask the most enormous favour?”

  Get on your knees, you ginger tart, she imagined him saying.

  “I'm having a small party this Saturday. Just a few old friends. Drinks and snacks. I'd very much like you to come.”

  Maisie jerked her foot away and stood up. She couldn't have been any more astonished if he'd put his hand up her panties.

  That was that. He'd ruined their private game. Trashed the delicate fantasy world they had erected. Let in … reality.

  A few old friends. She could picture it. Cardigans, white hair, blood pressure pills, conversation full of such electrifying topics as pensions, osteoporosis and ballroom dancing. Pass the loaded pistol to the left.

  “That's ever so sweet of you, Mr. Wilson, but I'm busy on Saturday.”

  She thrust the encyclopedia at him.

  Bang goes my sexy bookseller routine, she thought once she had returned to her desk. She began writing prices in a stack of paperbacks. Her sharp pencil inflicted deep gouges. It's all his fault. He broke the rules, silly old fart.

  “What a shame,” said Mr Wilson, following her. “Are you sure you can't squeeze us in? It would only be for the first part of the evening. We pack it in early, we oldies. You could go on to your other date afterwards.” He frowned at her, cutting in before she could refuse. “Look, Maisie, let me be frank. I might have … well, I did … sort of boast about you to a couple of my friends. Nothing indiscreet,” he added hastily, “just how I'd met this most fascinating and unusual young girl. Everyone's dying to meet you. Now, if you don't show up, they'll think you're a figment of my imagination. You don't want everyone to think I've gone completely gaga, do you? You wouldn't want your best customer consigned to the loony bin?”

  Fascinating and unusual? She couldn't stop a smile from playing around the corners of her lips.

  “Maybe I could drop by for a few minutes.”

  “Smashing,” he beamed. “I'm sure I can trust you to wear something that will knock their socks off.”

  “I'm sure.”

  “Here.” He handed her the encyclopedia. “You can put this back.”

  That Saturday, Maisie stepped out of a taxi and walked up a cobbled garden path, between overflowing baskets of geraniums and pansies, to the door of Mr. Wilson's bijou cottage, which stood in one of the oldest parts of town almost in the shadow of the Medieval abbey.

  It was a wonderful summer's evening, warm and still. Remembering Mr. Wilson's words and encouraged by the weather, she had decided to give everyone a cheap thrill by wearing a g-string and no bra under a short backless dress of turquoise chiffon with thin shoulder-straps. It was a nice dress, but you had to be careful where you stood as the flimsy material was see-through in certain lights. Her plan was to make a brief appearance, look pretty and then go.

  Mr. Wilson was delighted.

  “Hello, Maisie. My, you do look ravishing.” He stepped aside to let her in, then placed a hand on her bare back to guide her towards a tall, thin, smiling woman with lots of wavy auburn hair. She was very elegant and in her early fifties. “I'd like you to meet my wife.”

  He didn't mention her Christian name, so Maisie said, “Hello, Mrs. Wilson.”

  “Maisie, lovely to meet you at last. You're even prettier than I'd imagined.”

  It was oddly disconcerting, the thought of Mrs. Wilson imagining her, but Maisie smiled her thanks.

  Mrs. Wilson's hand joined Mr. Wilson's on Maisie's back, and all three moved into the lounge. It was a surprisingly spacious room with French windows opening onto a walled garden full of evening sun. Two other couples were enjoying drinks. Colin and Shirley were smiling, bashful, and a little overweight. Roger and Maddy were noisy and silly. They were all in their early to middle fifties.

  “Now we're all here ...” said Roger. He stood up and thrust a small, brightly-coloured parcel towards Derek. “Happy birthday, old man. We clubbed together to get you something no relic your age should be without.”

  It turned out to be some kind of gizmo for measuring blood pressure. Everyone laughed. Maisie joined in faintly. Even though the gift was supposed to be ironic and there was no way she could have known that it was Mr. Wilson's birthday, she felt embarrassed to have arrived empty-handed. Especially as she was planning on leaving early too.

  Mrs. Wilson called everyone into the garden. Maisie's eyes lit up. There was champagne and a table of exquisite canapés. Soon she was happily licking caviare off her fingers and half-listening to Roger, who was a fount of scandalous anecdotes and racing tips. The abbey's steeple towered overhead, spreading a restful air over the pretty garden with its orderly flower-beds and mature shrubs. Blackbirds sang, and scattered gracefully every time another champagne cork popped. She forgot all about going.

  Eventually, Mrs. Wilson decided some music would be nice, and they drifted back into the lounge, even though the sun still shone outside and the blackbirds sang sweetly. After some debate, she selected a CD of film and TV soundtracks which meant nothing to Maisie but which were apparently old favourites. The scores were lush and lively, mixing strings, drums and electric instruments.

  “Derek, why don't you show everyone what I got you?”

  A moment later, Mr Wilson returned, brandishing a new, high-end digital camera.

  “It's the kind professionals use,” he said. “It's going to completely transform our holiday snaps, I can promise you that.”

  “You can turn that big lens on me any time,” said Maddy with a pout.

  “I shouldn't, Derek,” said Roger. “You might break it.”

  “Oh, Roger!” exclaimed Shirley.

  “I know,” cried Mrs. Wilson,
with a jingle of expensive jewellery. “Why don't you take a photo of Maisie?”

  Maisie was sitting on a low stool by Mrs. Wilson's feet. Mr. Wilson pointed the lens at her and she smiled for the camera, but Mrs. Wilson wasn't happy.

  “No, no,” she patted Maisie smartly on the shoulder, “do it properly. Go over by the window.”

  Everyone looked excited, so with a wry grin Maisie stood up and moved into the warm patch of evening sun. Mrs. Wilson jumped up and frowned at her critically, then made her twist slightly to one side, hands on hips. Maisie noted a change in their expressions. Her dress, she guessed, has just gone transparent.

  Yes, with the sun shining in from behind, they would see the shape of her breasts, the darker circles of her nipples, the curves of her waist and thighs, the narrow triangle of her thong.

  Once again, she was exposing herself to a bunch of strangers – inadvertently, this time. The thought made her nipples stiffen against the fabric of her dress.

  She didn't let on that she knew. It would only have spoiled their fun and made her more embarrassed. Besides, technically, she wasn't doing anything wrong. She was fully clothed. The fault lay in the design of the dress, not her. And, given that her audience was a group of senior citizens, it wasn't like she had to worry about things getting out of hand.

  Mr. Wilson clicked away, while Mrs. Wilson asked Maisie to adopt different poses. She was obviously a frustrated creative director. Just when Maisie thought things might wind down, Mrs. Wilson said, “Now for a double portrait. Colin, you're up.”

  He looked keen but agonizingly shy. Shirley gave him an encouraging shove. He stumbled to his feet, then stood awkwardly beside Maisie, blushing.

  “What a statuesque male,” said Roger, and everyone laughed.

  “Maisie, be a dear and drape yourself over the hunky Colin, would you?” Mrs. Wilson's instructions were greeting with cheers and claps. Swept along by the general enthusiasm, Maisie leaned against him, back arched, one knee raised and bent. The pose exaggerated her curves and revealed almost all of one lovely thigh. The clapping became louder. The camera flashed.

  “Make sure I get a copy of that one,” shouted Roger.

  Shirley bustled into Colin's place. She was giggling so much, she practically had to be held upright. Laughter being infectious, Maisie found herself chuckling too.

  “Isn't Maisie a wonderful sport?” Mrs Wilson said appreciatively. “I wonder if she would pose in her underwear?”

  There were loud cheers, then deafening silence as everyone waited for the answer.

  “But Mrs. Wilson …” Maisie was shocked. What underwear? As everyone in the room probably knew by now, she was only wearing a thong. If she took off the dress, she would be all but naked.

  “Yes, Maisie?”

  “Um ...” She hesitated, afraid that raising these objections would draw even more attention to how under-dressed she was.

  “If you're worried about your modesty,” Mrs. Wilson said indulgently, “I'm sure we can work around that. And think what a marvellous birthday present it would be for Derek.”

  Roger hummed 'Happy Birthday to You' and everyone applauded. Maisie had suspected arriving without a present would come back to haunt her, and now it had. She was starting to feel slightly flushed and out of her depth, but, after enjoying all that champagne and caviare, she felt a strong desire to please her hosts if she possibly good.

  She glanced at Mr. Wilson. He raised his eyebrows helplessly, as though to say Mrs. Wilson were a law unto herself.

  Well, Mrs. Wilson was right about one thing. It would make a nice birthday present.

  With a resigned smile that evoked cries of celebration, she turned her back on them and pushed down her shoulder straps. As quickly as she could, she slid the dress off her hips. The room went quiet as they caught a glimpse of one breast. Then something like an awed hush fell as her nearly nude bottom emerged from its cloud of chiffon.

  As soon as her feet were free of the dress, Mrs. Wilson swooped like a hawk and carried it off, folding it triumphantly over her arm. Maisie covered her breasts with her hands. Suddenly very conscious of her bottom, she was about to face the room again when Mrs. Wilson stopped her.

  “What a pretty thong.” She turned Maisie slightly so everyone could have another good look at her backside. “Isn't that a pretty thong, everyone?”

  “Amazing how it stays on,” said Maddy.

  They discussed who should be photographed with Maisie next. Her heart plummeted when Roger stepped forward.

  With so much on show, she didn't think she would be up to striking a pose. No matter – Roger took charge, swinging her around so that she was in profile and then hugging her tightly from behind. Something nudged against her buttocks. It didn't feel very big, but it was definitely there.

  “Smile, Maisie,” said Mrs. Wilson, “unless you want me to come over there and tickle you.”

  Maisie instantly grinned for all that her life was worth. As soon as the snap was taken, Maddy jumped up to join her husband. “A merry threesome!” she said, winking. Mrs. Wilson took charge this time, getting Maisie to face front with the couple on either side of her.

  “You'll have to crowd them in a bit,” said Mr. Wilson. “I can't get them all in frame without making them look tiny.”

  Roger seized the opportunity to stand behind Maisie and press himself against her bottom again, but Mrs. Wilson still wasn't satisfied. “Maisie, can you put one arm around Maddy, so she can cuddle up?”

  Maisie needed both her arms for covering her chest. But thinking she'd be able to keep herself decent for a short while with one hand, she agreed. Unfortunately, as soon as she threw her arm around Maddy's back, Maddy reacted, slapping her own palm on Maisie's breast. Maisie gasped in surprise, and Mr. Wilson duly caught the moment on camera.

  “You don't mind, do you?” Maddy giggled. “It's just a piece of fun!”

  The shameful truth was, Maisie could feel her whole body responding sexually in a way that appalled her. The feeling rose from her groin, through the pit of her stomach, all the way up to her vocal cords. It made her sick and light-headed. Why? She didn't even find any of these people attractive, except for Mr. Wilson just a little bit. It was the situation. Being the only one naked. Not that she was entirely naked, thank God.

  Maddy seemed to be enjoying herself too. Mr. Wilson had lowered his camera, but Maddy kept her hand on Maisie's breast. She'd adjusted her grip so that the nipple was now between her bony fingers, where she could tweak it at will. Maisie had a moment of relief as Roger stepped away from behind her. Then she felt Maddy's remaining hand snaking around her back and up under her armpit. It pushed under her elbow to cup her other breast.

  “How's that?” Maddy asked Mrs. Wilson.

  “Splendid,” Mrs. Wilson grinned. “Maisie, you can drop that arm now.”

  It didn't occur to her to argue. Her willpower had drained away. She felt hot, soft and pliable. Letting her arm flop to her side, she stood there with her exposed breasts in Maddy's hands. Apparently forgetting that she was supposed to be covering them, Maddy fondled them instead, her thumbs stroking the pale, pointed nipples. The camera flashed repeatedly.

  “Let's make this next one all girls,” said Mrs. Wilson. She came and stood next to Maisie. Her thumb hooked itself casually in the front of Maisie's thong. Maddy, meanwhile, was still playing with Maisie's breasts. Mr. Wilson clicked away.

  Suddenly, Maddy took away both hands, letting Maisie's breasts bounce free, firm and keen. Maisie's arms were around Maddy and Mrs. Wilson, so it was impossible to cover up again. Everyone clapped and laughed, pointing at Maisie's shocked face, and she found herself laughing as well. Then, while the camera continued to click and whir, Maddy took a firm grip on the waist of Maisie's thong and pushed down. Mrs Wilson did the same on her side. Colin's and Shirley's faces lit up in expectation.

  For a fraction of a second, the triangular front clung to Maisie's pussy. Then it sprang free and the thong was halfway d
own her thighs. She gasped, but it was too late.

  They won't stop until they see me nude, she thought. And I can't stand up to them, I haven't got it in me.

  Maddy and Mrs. Wilson stunned her. They were both easily old enough to be her mother, but there was nothing motherly about the way they were behaving. They were completely merciless in stripping and groping her. She wasn't a person with feelings. She was just a bouncy young body for them to exploit.

  Maisie resigned herself to being – once again – the only one naked. She didn't resist as the thong was pushed down past her knees. She even gave a sexy little jiggle to make it drop to the floor.

  She was now completely bare. Mrs. Wilson rested her hand on Maisie's bald mound, perilously close to her swelling pussy. Maddy's fingers stroked her bottom.

  Making a strangulated noise in his throat, Mr. Wilson lurched down on one knee. Maisie assumed he was going for a low-angled shot. To her surprise, he toppled forward on his face.

  He curled up on his side, clutching his chest.

  It dawned on her that he was having a heart attack. Freeing herself from the ladies' grasp, she scampered forward and knelt down beside him. Mr. Wilson's face was contused with pain. She looked up at the others as they gathered round. “Mrs. Wilson, does Mr. Wilson have any medication?”

  “No, no, nothing like this has ever ….” Mrs. Wilson was teetering, ready to keel over too.

  “Maddy, help Mrs. Wilson, will you? Shirley, put a cushion under Mr. Wilson's head. One of you phone for an ambulance.” Maisie took a desperate glance around. Nothing was happening. It was as though she were rattling out instructions to a bunch of waxworks. Roger was staring at her, still enthralled by her bare body.

  Giving up on them, Maisie ran to the telephone in the hall. The operator said, “The ambulance is on its way. Please hold the line while we take your details.”

  “Um, okay – ” Maisie could picture herself standing there, stark naked, still answering questions when the paramedics pounded on the door.