The Last Straw (new 4/7)

[Somebody]

Simply excellent. Something I forgot to mention from the last chapter is I appreciate the period-appropriate norms against nudity. Back then, people believed that seeing something could hurt them. I never thought an even more ridiculous idea would come up, but today they think that _being_ seen is what hurts you, and the ones seeing you are the ones at fault.

[SixPathsKeyblader]

I wonder if perhaps Bea's behavior is slightly different from Mary's because she is considering the point that I brought up in an earlier post. I am talking about the point that Beatrice is not only stuck naked on this trip, but may also be stuck naked at home too after the trip depending on how much of her clothing she bought on the trip.

I'm also interested in Cindy's reactions, which are growing darker. Eventually, Cindy is going to say or do something important. What the results of that thing are, and whether or not they result in a naked Cindy, I don't know.

[student]

"On with the exhibition" of the unwilling exhibitionist!

[computerphoto]

I wonder if perhaps Bea's behavior is slightly different from Mary's because she is considering the point that I brought up in an earlier post. I am talking about the point that Beatrice is not only stuck naked on this trip, but may also be stuck naked at home too after the trip depending on how much of her clothing she bought on the trip.

I'm also interested in Cindy's reactions, which are growing darker. Eventually, Cindy is going to say or do something important. What the results of that thing are, and whether or not they result in a naked Cindy, I don't know.

Yeah with the amount of clothes she had with her and the amounts of suitcases she had with her, she could brought most of her summer and warm clothes with her, and most of her shoes with her.

[neverdoubted]

There is a painting by a Frenchman called "Le Défilé de L'innocence" which depicts a great empire engaging in a victory parade. The parade is based on a specific account of an ancient military conquest. Some details have been lost to history and scholars argue over whether the account describes a single event or is a composition of multiple conquests. But many of the brutal practices described were repeated enough times by multiple civilizations throughout history to give it credibility.

Around the time of the Assyrians, an ancient empire somewhere near present-day Anatolia was invaded by their northern neighbors. After repelling the incursion, they rallied their troops and engaged in a counter-incursion intended to permanently eliminate the threat. The war was costly on both sides, but following a brutal siege of a heavily fortified, seemingly impenetrable city, the empire eventually prevailed in toppling their foe.

As was common practice; to reward them for a successful campaign, the soldiers were allowed to pillage their enemies' homeland. Religious sites dedicated to false gods were desecrated. Libraries were burned to the ground. Treasuries, livestock, people, anything that could be moved, was seized.

Weapons forges were repurposed for making shackles. The young men who had fought and given their lives defending their homeland on the other side had perhaps suffered the most merciful fate. Any surviving man of fighting age who had tried to flee was labeled a coward and tortured to death in the market square. The old men of the city; politicians, scribes, religious leaders, were summarily hung or run through with spikes. It was too dangerous to bring them back and risk them spreading seditious ideas.

The boys who had been too young to engage in battle, were castrated with heated shears and fitted with permanent fetters. This special class of slave would spend the rest of their lives as eunuchs in service to their new masters.

Women deemed too old were slaughtered without a second thought. But perhaps it was the younger women and girls who suffered the worst fate of all.

As punishment for their role in supporting the losing side during the brutal conflict, they were ripped from their homes without warning and sent on a forced march to a new land. Within days of arriving at the capital, they had been permanently separated from their meager belongings, stripped of their clothes and given ceremonial baths to prepare them for participation in the upcoming event - the "Parade of the Innocents".

When the morning arrived, triumphant generals - richly adorned in their finest battle dress - led the column through the heart of the city while trumpeters blasted a joyous fanfare. Eunuch slaves drew carts heavy laden with gold, relics, and glittering jewels. The carts and the slaves would be given as tribute to the emperor.

Next came groups of mercenaries and professional soldiers. Having helped deliver victory for the empire, their own coffers were due to be filled. Marching in step, they carried fluttering banners. It was their way of advertising to young men in the crowd that to join them would bring glory and riches beyond their imagination.

Groaning oxen pulled more carts which were filled with exotic wares and piled high with grain. Flower petals rained down as citizens along the route erupted in spontaneous celebrations. There would be other conflicts. But for now, the war's end heralded a time of peace and prosperity for the victors.

But to the defeated peoples, the few surviving women and girls who were the only remnants of a once proud and thriving realm, this parade sent a very different message. The women had helped their husbands and even sent their sons to fight and die for the cause. The girls may have truly been innocent. But they had been swept up nonetheless and would now bear the punishment of their kinsmen's failure for the rest of their lives.

Stripped and paraded through town, just ahead of the livestock, the message to them could not have been clearer. They only had one job in this new empire - and it did not require them to wear clothes or any other fine adornments. Their bodies were needed as vessels, to incubate the next generation and rapidly replenish the numbers of able-bodied soldiers that their failed incursion had depleted.

It only took a couple of soldiers to watch over the large group of frightened, naked women and girls. Royalty were typically the most dangerous among them - and the most stubborn. But reliable methods had already been employed to subdue the troublemakers. The former queen received one such treatment.

Too unruly to control with mere threats, she had been fitted with a special mask; a solid, iron sphere which rendered her speechless and blind. Since she was not in her usual, royal robes, and you couldn't see her head at all, she could have been anyone. But the queen's crown had been melted into the top of her mask. And being dragged along by a heavy chain at the very front of the procession made it easy to guess who the stumbling, naked wretch was.

Her two daughters, the former princesses, were also naked and had been fitted into special, iron frames. The frames placed them in even more humiliating, subjugated poses. Their former lives of luxury made them unsuited to the task of carrying such heavy loads. But with their bodies bent at the waist and their heads forced into a bow, they waddled along behind their mother. Smaller, silver crowns adorned their heads and marked them as former members of the now disbanded monarchy.

The royal court, members of prominent houses, nobles, and young women of high standing, came next. They were all completely naked. An iron bar encircling their necks held their arms straight out to either side to ensure they could not cover themselves at all. This group of helpless, frightened, naked ladies-in-waiting followed their former leaders in a tight pack while insults rained down on them from all directions.

Commoners made up the bulk of the procession. There was no need to guard them or put them in irons. Born to be followers, they came peacefully and without protest.

The emperor would take the queen and both princesses to be in his personal harem. The rest of the women would be distributed as gifts to loyal supporters of the empire. There, they would be bred continually - expected to bear as many sons as possible. Some were already pregnant from the journey to the capital.

Girls would serve as maids or servants in prominent houses until they came of age. This new sub-class, all completely naked as they went about their duties on estates and around town, would be easy to recognize as serving punishment for their role in the war.

Each son a woman bore would earn her another strip of cloth. Not until she had enough to make a full outfit would her debt to society be considered repaid. Even then, she would never be allowed to marry or even taste freedom in this new land. But the sons she bore and raised would be full citizens. And in that way, at least their bloodline would not be extinguished.

When I entered the closest installation - a tour of the ancient civilizations upon which modern, Western society and culture are built - and saw a painting of a Roman victory parade, the first thing I thought of was my naked stepsister.

Much like the girls in the Frenchman's painting, she had been yanked out of her routine by a hostile force and dragged away from everything she owned in an abrupt, life-changing moment. And now, dressed in nothing but the scrap of string I had given her to fix her hair, she was padding silently behind me in her own, personal, humiliation parade.

Moving deeper into the gallery, I perused the mixture of paintings and sculptures - some authentic, but most, adequate replicas.

If not for my previous experience with Mary, it would have offended me how thoroughly everyone ignored me. I might as well have been invisible for all the attention I received. But it's just the sort of thing a person must get used to when they have a beautiful, bashful, utterly naked girl following them around.

Many of the sculptures, modeled after the classic style of antiquity, were nude, or nearly so. In that respect, Bea fit right in. It took an incredible level of self-control to stop and study the art rather than turn around and gawk at the naked teen behind me.

I was used to Mary audibly whimpering whenever I slowed down or paused to look at something. It was her way of expressing her disapproval when I wasn't moving fast enough through a public place. But despite undoubtedly attracting much more attention than any of the art installations, Beatrice Rose remained perfectly silent. She made not a peep of protest as she trailed in my wake at whatever pace I chose.

The exhibit was partitioned into smaller galleries. I felt bad whenever other guests entered a room we were already occupying. Without fail, their entire trip through the gallery was spent staring at Bea. They were so busy studying the naked living statue that they missed all the art on the walls!

After passing through several galleries and finding a secluded one at the end of a short hallway, I finally gave into temptation and turned to give my stepsister her due appraisal. Her pale blue eyes were big and round. Her face as neutral and expressionless as I had ever seen it. There was an adorable blush on her cheeks. Though we had nearly traversed the entire exhibit, I'm not sure she had looked at a single piece of art. Still adrift in a sea of naked humiliation, she had kept her gaze firmly trained on me through every room we passed - afraid to lose sight of her only lifeline.

Maybe the ancients were on to something. Sure, she was still shell-shocked over her traumatic morning. And it was going to take more time for her perception of what was happening to her to catch up to reality. A few hours is not nearly long enough for a lovely teen girl to come to terms with a mandatory, naked vacation. But so far, her new state of total nudity was working wonders on her attitude and smoothing her rough edges. The key, it seemed, to stripping off Bea's prickly thorns was to strip off her clothes. Who would have guessed it would be that simple?

I was struck by how little space she took up. Her meek pose - hugging herself with her feet turned inward and one knee in front of the other - gave her already slender frame a distinct impression of smallness. Without clothes to give her confidence, her insecurities were on full display. She was doing that thing that Mary always did, hunching her shoulders to minimize the true proportions of her ample chest. Her breasts were not as big as Mary's. But like her older sister’s, they still bulged out greatly in every direction and were her most prominent feature.

It was cute the way she stubbornly hugged herself. But watching her cling to her privates as if unwilling to give up that last, remaining shred of modesty despite already losing everything else only made me more determined to take that away from her too.

If she were one the characters in the parade, she would more likely be a princess or a queen than one of the true innocents. Even though I was also now her caretaker, because of the war of belittlement and humiliation which she had waged upon me for years, I couldn’t deny taking delight in what she was now reaping. Spending this time getting comfortable in nothing but her own skin was just the thing she needed to smooth her rough edges.

But she was obviously still clinging to the past. Holding out hope of returning to her former life. And as the soldiers knew well, the clingers were the most dangerous. Because if hope is allowed to fester, it eventually turns to plotting. Better to force a clean break and cut off any chance of returning to her former life. Especially her former attitude. I wouldn’t let my guard down until she considered her level of personal autonomy somewhere between a sack of grain and a cow.

To get her there, my first impulse was to start proposing trades. That approach had yielded incredible results with Mary. If my supplies weren't already depleted, I probably would have opened my pack and done exactly that. But seeing Bea standing there like a beautiful, blank canvas, waiting to see what I was going to make of her, I had an epiphany. Why even bother with trades at all?

If Bea had been able to observe a deal start-to-finish, it wouldn't have taken her long to learn the process. But by negotiating in private, I saw now that Mary had unintentionally done me a huge favor. Bea had no clue what Mary had done to earn my clothes and had no idea that trading for them was even an option.

She wasn't wired like her sister and didn't know how to ask for things. In her world, you either dominated your opponent or were the one being dominated. And right now, those roles couldn't be more obvious. I might as well have been some benevolent ruler who had chosen to give one of his subjects clothes out of his own free will. As far as Bea knew, the only way to win my favor was to stay on my good side and do whatever I asked.

But what if I asked her to give up the rest of her modesty? The one thing she had left from her former life. What would she do then?

Thinking up a way to test her, I put on a stern face and spoke as a ruler would. As if my unsolicited opinion was a matter of fact.

"You shouldn't just stand around like that. It makes you look like you're playing with yourself."

I could practically see the wheels spinning behind her bulging eyes as she sucked in a gasping breath and started looking around the room. Just like I expected, she was wracking her brain to come up with some way to comply that didn't involve flashing her stepbrother her entire naked body.

Complying with requests from others was not her strong suit. She was typically the one making the demands. Neither had she developed the skills needed to be resourceful - not that it would have mattered much. There were literally no resources available for her to utilize, unless she wanted to rip a painting off the wall to hide behind.

There was another option, of course. She could simply drop her hands and show me everything. But I guess even a pliant, unusually malleable girl has her modesty limits. And though her hands did twitch a few times, she couldn't get her body to cooperate. I guess it was just too embarrassing after all she had lost.

Finally, she figured out a way to comply that didn't cost her everything. Walking over between two of the paintings, she stood directly facing the blank spot with her face and body close enough to almost touch it. Then, with her fists clenched, she lowered her hands to her sides so she wouldn't look like she was playing with herself anymore. The wall was the only form of concealment she could find. And while it wasn’t what I was shooting for, it was still progress. And there was something especially degrading about being forced to stand there naked and facing the wall while I finished my tour of the room at my leisure.

Suppressing a grin, I made my way around the small room. Once I had finished studying the rest of the pictures, I simply said, "come along". In a flash, she snapped her hands back over her privates and ran to my side. I had to resist the temptation to pat her on top of her head.

With a nod of approval, I spun and marched away down the corridor while she followed behind like a heeling puppy. The next room was larger - at least triple the size of the last one - and already had several patrons inside enjoying the gallery. Coming to a stop, I cleared my throat expectantly without turning my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched in disbelief as Bea shuffled over to a blank spot against the wall and lowered her arms.

Standing there among the other art, she looked even more like a naked sculpture that had come to life and was trying to blend in or had gotten lost. Appraising her shuffling, nude form from behind, I gave her creator top marks for craftsmanship. The other patrons, at least the men, seemed to have the same, high opinion of her admirable contribution to the exhibit. I caught them stealing glances of the naked, blushing teen every chance they got.

When I cleared my throat again, to my astonishment, she once again came running. And when we got to the next room, she went straight to the wall without being prompted. I couldn't believe it! The old Beatrice Rose Conyor would never do something I asked her to without fighting me every step of the way. But now she was altering her behavior just because of something I had said. And best of all? I didn't even have to give up anything in trade!

[jojo12026]

Well damn!! ENF AND a history lesson. Love it

[student]

I expected that it would take an ax to dent Bea's hubris--and the ax would wind up chipped.

What other surprises await?

[Liver]

Thanks. More please!

[neverdoubted]

Thanks. More please!

You're welcome. Tomorrow.

[neverdoubted]

I spent longer than I needed to appreciating the art exhibit. But I was having too much fun watching Bea settle into her new routine. Every room we entered, after absorbing the gasps from its current occupants, she would find a bare spot of wall to hug and lower her hands to her side. And while her fists never unclenched and her squirming gradually increased as midday wore on, I like to think it helped that she couldn't see the shocked expressions on everyone's faces.

After we had visited every single room in the gallery, I paused at the exit to the last one and addressed her.

"That was fun," I exclaimed, "which one should we do next?"

I had meant the question to be a teasing hypothetical. She was completely naked! If she got to choose, there would be no next. We would go straight back to the car and drive home this instant! Maybe then, she could curl up under the covers of her own bed and wait for this humiliating nude nightmare to end. But though she had to know I wasn't really giving her a vote, she surprised me by giving an answer anyway.

"Actually, I...can we stop at the restroom?"

She had barely spoken since leaving the car and her voice sounded hoarse from the hours of wailing. She hadn't taken the pit stop the rest of us had at the fossil place. That explained why her squirming had grown increasingly insistent as I perused the art exhibit.

"Uh, sure," I offered, "right this way."

I smirked as I led her through the final door that spilled back into the hangar. The old Bea would have absolutely died if she had to ask my permission to use the restroom. That I still saw no sign of my former, wicked stepsister continued to astonish me.

With neither hesitation nor regret, I set a leisurely pace straight through the heart of the hangar. Having every noise echo off the hard arching walls high overhead contributed to the energetic, carnival atmosphere. And the beautiful, bashful, utterly naked girl took center stage.

Without her equally stunning sister there to share the humiliating spotlight, Bea's solo, nude parade through perdition attracted every bulging eye in sight – though the people seemed too polite to confront us directly about my stepsister’s lack of attire. The remaining mysteries of her growing body had dwindled immensely. But that didn’t mean she had given up guarding her pubic mound with one hand while her other arm continued to hide the most interesting parts of her breasts.

Parade or no parade, it looked like she wasn't going to surrender the rest of her modesty and accept her fate without a little motivation. Fortunately, as I glanced back and saw her trailing behind me like a lost puppy, I was reminded how much authority I currently held over her. No one was in a better position to give her that push.

The next step, I decided, was to get her to accept her toplessness. I'm not saying that just so I could finally look at Bea's taut teenage nipples and see if her unobstructed breasts jiggled and bounced as much as Mary's did when she walked. That would just be a bonus!

Cindy had taken our map. But I found a dispenser in quick order. Grabbing another copy, I led Bea toward the area marked for indoor restrooms. When we got close enough and I saw the long line outside the ladies’ room, I called an audible. The portable toilets out back, which were good enough for most men, would have to do. If she had any objections, she would have to swallow them.

Just as I expected, the outdoor toilets had no waiting. And though Bea wrinkled her nose in disgust when she saw them, she was in no position to decline. What else could she do, pee on the ground?

After she disappeared inside and while I was waiting for her to finish, I studied the map and brainstormed where we should go next.

The Aquatic Wonders Pavilion would have been interesting. Too bad it was closed. I also scratched the Kitchen of Tomorrow off the list. The more hangars we visited, the more impactful her naked parade would be. But what was the point if we ended up around large groups of women?

I zeroed in on Hangar eleven. It was one of the smaller ones at the far end of the line. But the exhibit it housed, which took up the entire space, advertised advances in construction materials and techniques. One of my objectives was to show my naked stepsister off to as many men and boys as possible. For that purpose, I couldn't think of a better attraction. If only she would hurry up and finish peeing so we could get on with our day. After about five minutes, I grew impatient.

Knocking on the outhouse door, I called out, "it's time to go."

A thin, hoarse voice answered through the door, "...just a minute."

Grumbling, I told her to hurry up and settled in to wait. I had plenty of practice waiting on one or more of my stepsisters and didn't pick up right away that she was stalling. Speaking of grumbling, my stomach gave a rumble about then.

Returning to my map, I located the main dining pavilion in Hangar five and saw smaller food vendors scattered throughout the grounds. My father had given me some meal money, and it was well past noon at this point. Altering my plans, I decided to add a quick lunch on the way to hangar eleven. Growing impatient, I then put the map away and squared up on the outhouse.

"Come on, Bea. What's taking so long?," I inquired - knocking more insistently this time.

It took her a few seconds this time to respond. Her answer made warning bells go off in my brain.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't! I'll just stay here. Come back and get me when it's time to leave."

I understood now that she was stalling. But more concerning, she had given me an order - to come and retrieve her at the appointed time like I was her personal chauffeur. I clenched my jaw. Ordering me around was unacceptable. She had lost the war for personal sovereignty. That privilege now belonged to me. But it had only taken a moment of privacy for her to regroup and start scheming a return to power. I had to tread carefully.

"I'm not leaving you here," I answered coldly, "now stop messing around. It's time to go."

When she started to argue, I cut her off.

"-ENOUGH!" I roared, "Beatrice Rose Conyor, you come out here this instant!"

Almost immediately, I heard the latch click. As the door swung open, my frightened stepsister, blinking against the bright sunlight and cradling her naked body, emerged from her hidey hole.

I sensed this was a critical moment. I needed to assert myself; quash the pernicious idea that she was in control. Puffing up my chest and rising to my full height, I stood at attention.

Because of her fragile state, I had been trying to bring her along gradually on the modesty front. But clearly, she needed a reminder of her weak position - that she was still naked and helpless, that her family had abandoned her, and that she was utterly dependent on me for everything. I couldn't put her in an iron cage like a defeated princess to prevent her from covering herself. But I could teach her a lesson. And the punishment should fit the crime.

"I've had enough of this attitude," I snarled - surprising myself how much it sounded like my father, "we're moving out, pronto, to hangar eleven and eating field chow on the march. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," she quickly answered, bowing her head contritely.

"Your stalling and arguing has put us behind schedule," I complained, "and since you insist on acting like such a child, I'll just have to treat you like one. Give me your hand."

Bea's face shot up and she looked at me with bulging eyes. With no clothes, her own two hands were all she had left to cover her privates. And now I was taking one of them away from her as punishment so I could drag her around like a naughty child who couldn't be trusted to keep up.

I held out my hand. My firm expression made it perfectly clear that I expected her to obey my command. Because I expected immediate compliance, her internal struggle lasted only an instant. But I still noticed the wrinkle appear on her brow as her body resisted what she told it to do. Then, with a purse of her lips, the princess surrendered. Lowering her arm, she shared her healthy growing chest with her stepbrother and the world. And just like that, another piece of her precious, dwindling modesty was ripped away from her.

Leaning into the idea that she really had put us behind schedule, as soon as she had clasped my hand, I threw my nose into the air, spun on my heels and started marching like her new state of toplessness meant nothing to me.

I could only guess what conclusion others drew from the unexpected sight - a matched pair of teens, one nude and one fully clothed, holding hands. Was I a smitten gentleman taking his sweetheart out for a nude stroll around the fairgrounds? Or perhaps I was a vigilant youth who had caught someone in the middle of an activity unbecoming of a young lady and was taking her straight to the authorities to be disciplined.

With my gaze fixed ahead, I could not judge her expression. But seeing the looks of awe on the faces of the people we passed gave me a pretty good idea of what effect my brisk pace was having on her jiggling, unprotected chest.

We were walking down the equivalent of the airfield’s back alley – only with everything around us on a much larger scale than a regular alley would be. The huge back doors of the hangars to our right were just as massive as the ones in front. The openings were all currently shrunk down to a sliver. A taxiway led away from each hangar to connect to smaller buildings to our left. These might have held service equipment, other supplies, or even once housed maintenance workers.

Every time we walked over one of the taxiways, Bea added extra bounces to her steps to minimize the contact with her bare feet. Drawn to the alluring motion in my periphery, it took every ounce of my willpower not to turn and gawk at her beautiful bouncing bosom.

We traveled in a straight line for about ten minutes along the back side of the hangars. They were lined up all in a row, and it wasn't hard to follow the map in my head and make steady progress toward number eleven. Because we were walking with a purpose and I seemed to have the situation well in hand, no one bothered us.

We passed a few refreshment stands advertising exotic foods from all around the world. But the smells alone turned my stomach and convinced me to keep walking. I'm more of an All-American, normal food kind of guy. Give me some meat and potatoes followed by a slice of apple pie any day. You can imagine my excitement when I caught the scents wafting from the corn dog and pretzel stand!

When we reached the stand, we saw that we weren't the only attendees craving normal food. Its line was at least three times as long as the other stands. Fortunately, I had the perfect way to pass the time standing right next to me.

More accurately, I was standing. But because we had stopped in the middle of one of the taxiways, Bea was unable to stand still and had to keep jumping from foot to foot. The unbelievable sight, every bit as sexy as I had hoped, was worth the wait.

Her boobs stuck out high and proud on her chest - their mass magically supported as if by an invisible counterforce. As she danced on the hot pavement, her girl-flesh shifted subtly beneath the smooth skin encasing it. Buoyed by the suppleness of her youth, her breasts were all too eager to show off their ability to rebound following each downward motion. Hypnotized by the sight, I felt like my own heart was pattering out the same beat as her sexy jumps.

Her areolas were compact circles. The perfect shade to transition the pale canvas of her breasts to her perky pink points. Her nipples were a little darker - about the color of pencil erasers - and stuck out adorably. Shining like bright, fleshy beacons and drawing figure eights in the air during her anxious, erotic dance, her bouncing nipples attracted the attention of every bystander even as the blush that had spilled out from her cheeks and spread beyond her porcelain neck begged everyone to look away.

I was relieved, once I finally tore my eyes away from her sexy jiggling performance, to find no expression on her face. Her humiliating topless parade had done its intended job destroying all thoughts of regaining dignity or taking back control of her plight.

Making our way through the order line gave me plenty of time to enjoy her naked dance as well as ponder a few things. I noticed that, though she had completely surrendered the modesty of her growing chest, her other hand - the one guarding her most private area - hadn't budged.

I still hadn't seen her pubic hair or her sex. That truly was the last holdout. But given that she had adjusted to being topless much faster than I could have hoped and was back to keeping her big eyes trained only on me - her guardian, her lifeline, her decision maker - when we got to the front of the line, I decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Two corn dogs, two pops, and a pretzel, please," I said when we got to the front of the line. The young attendant was barely older than us. His eyes were bulging as he stared at my naked stepsister's jiggling performance. But he did not respond to my order request.

"AHEM! Two corn dogs, two pops, and a pretzel," I repeated a little louder. Snapping out whatever erotic fantasy he had been lost in, the kid took the dollar and gave me my change.

As the food became ready, it was placed on a serving tray. In addition to both bottles of pop and a paper plate with both corn dogs on it, the tray held the giant warm pretzel partially wrapped in plain, brown paper, a small cup of cheese, and one with mustard.

I tore off a piece of the pretzel and pressed it to her lips like a mama bird feeding her hatchling. Focused on tapdancing to keep her toes from burning, Bea looked at me perplexed at first. But after a couple seconds, she opened her mouth to accept the offering. I was already her protector and leader. Why shouldn't I also be the one to feed her?

"We'll eat on the march," I announced, "I'll go first, and you can eat when I'm done." Thinking what a sexy little waitress she would make, I casually added, "here, hold this."

Carefully balancing everything with my one free hand, I picked up the tray and held it out. The logistics didn't need to be this complicated. But because I insisted we continue holding hands throughout lunch, we only had two free hands between us to both carry the food and eat. What was merely an inconvenience for me was a major issue for Bea because of the critical function her only remaining hand was currently serving.

Still dancing back and forth on her tiptoes, her brow wrinkled in dismay. Realizing she couldn't carry the lunch tray and cover her privates at the same time, she made a soft whimper. But in the end, she complied with my instructions.

Breathing in the smell of the freshly baked snack, I started to lick my lips. I had meant to sample the pretzel before picking up the tray and intended to correct that mistake as soon as possible.

But my lips froze along with the rest of me and all thoughts of food fled as soon as Bea moved her trembling hand away from her body and I got my first look at her pubic hair. If Mary's fuzzy adornment hadn't prepared me, I'm not sure my brain would have believed what my eyes were seeing.

Still not sure I wasn't imagining it, I blinked a few times and shook my head in disbelief. But I could not deny it. It was right there, clear as day. Perched on the cleft of her most intimate anatomy, Bea's pale, blonde pubic hair was unmistakably shaped...like a downward arrow!