For Want of a Mask

[FinchAgent]

Chapter Six: The Office

Angela sat in the passenger seat on the way to Mark's office, feeling almost normal. Her feet were bare, which was a little weird, and obviously she wasn't wearing any underwear --- that seemed especially hard to come by today --- but she was covered now, and that was the main thing. Mark had to make a stop to enter the code written across her body into a computer, and then he said he'd drive her home.

"Do you wanna, maybe, uh, hang out some time?" Mark asked her, trying to sound cool and aloof. "I'll make sure my mother's not home."

Angela scowled internally, but kept her face neutral. So he wanted her to come back to his place. To "hang out". And he didn't say it, but she got the insinuation that the dress code, for her, would be the same as this first visit. Even now, Mark was probably thinking about how she felt under his pen hand and hoping to jab her with a different long instrument.

No wining and dining for the little nude whore. Straight to business.

She glanced at his crotch. Difficult to tell from this angle, but she didn't doubt her intuition. "I'll let you know," she said, cognizant of her need for him to drive her home later.

"Cool," Mark said. He probably thought she meant it.

Mark pulled into the lot of his empty office building, swiping a key card at the entrance boom gate. He parked right in front of the building, and once again got out to open the door for Angela.

"This'll be quick, in and out."

Marked swiped his key card to enter the main building, and led Angela up some stairs and then down a long, winding hallway. To both sides, she saw big open-plan office rooms with rows and rows of cheap desks, swivel chairs and computer screens. Her bare feet tread noiselessly on the gray carpet.

They came to an office at the end of the hall, which Mark had to use a fingerprint scanner to get into. The room contained a single computer with a large screen against one of the walls. Beneath a screen was a small, cheap keyboard on a rickety desk.

Mark walked up to the computer and tapped the space bar a few times to wake the screen up. Then he entered a password, and some commands. A minute or two later, the screen filled with a giant prompt, which read, "ENTER CODE".

"Okay, we need the code," Mark said, looking back at Angela.

Angela checked around the room. She didn't see any cameras, and Mark had assured her that his office didn't have CCTV when she'd asked. They were on the fourth floor, so it was unlikely that anyone would be peeking through the windows either. And in any case, the blinds were all drawn.

None of that made what she was about to do all that much easier. Slowly, with shaking hands, Angela undid the top button of the dress shirt. This was the longest she'd been fully covered since the start of this ordeal, and now she was taking her clothes off again. It was even worse than if she'd just been naked the whole time.

"This thing has a timer, Angela," Mark said, when she was halfway down the shirt. "We don't have all day."

Angela sniffed, suppressing a tear, and quickly undid the rest of the buttons. Then she shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, and let it fall with her wrists still in the sleeves, like a glamour model posing for a pin-up shot. She turned around so that Mark could see the writing on her back.

Mark thanked her, and started typing. She'd seen him type quite fast earlier, but now he was slowly pecking the keys between long looks at her.

"I thought there was a timer," she said.

"Gotta make sure I get this right. Take a step back."

She did so, and felt a finger on her back. Mark was tracing the lines. The pace of his keyboard tapping increased.

Mark's finger traveled lower and lower down her back, till he was poking her butt. Then the typing seemed to slow down again.

"Hey!" Angela cried. "Don't enjoy this so much! And hover that finger!"

Mark, chastened, did as he was told. He typed a few more characters, and then paused.

"Why did you stop?" Angela asked.

"The last few letters are covered up."

She knew what that meant. With a sigh, Angela pulled up her arms and let the shirt fall from her wrists. The typing resumed.

"Turn around," Mark said.

Angela did as she was told. Now she was facing Mark, from mere inches away, with her arms at her sides. His eyes were glued to her, and it took a minute for him to start typing again. He reached out a guiding hand.

"None of that!" Angela snapped, slapping away a finger that was coming perilously close to her chest. "That real estate is off-limits." Of course, Mark had already written across her boobs, but she couldn't just let him touch them again.

Mark's typing was slower, but he obeyed her wishes. Having something go her own way for once today made Angela feel a little better about presenting herself so openly to a casual acquaintance she was coming to dislike.

At last, the code was completed. Mark pressed Enter on the keyboard, and the computer churned for a few minutes, before flashing a bright green check mark. A mechanical female voice said, "Authorization code accepted. Please destroy this code at once."

Mark smiled at Angela. "Thanks for your help. I forgot to mention, you're going to have to clean that off."

"Well duh." Angela made a face. "Of course I'm going to clean this mess off!"

Mark's face was hard and serious. "I mean now. There's a shower in downstairs, three doors to your right."

That was a bit weird, but Angela supposed it would be okay. A shower sounded kind of nice, honestly. She bent down to pick up her shirt, but Mark was standing on it.

"Some of the letters rubbed off on it a bit," he said, pointing at a few black marks on the shirt. "I'll have to destroy it. Which is what my Mom would have made me do anyway."

Angela's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Can't that at least wait until I get home?"

"Nope, we take security very seriously." Mark was already gathering up the shirt in his arms as he said this. "Now go wash yourself off, thoroughly. There should be a few bars of industrial soap in that bathroom you can use."

"Like this?" Angela cried, gesturing to her naked body.

"Most people shower in the nude, yeah."

"But can't you at least give me the shirt to wear into the bathroom?"

"What for? There's no-one here. Just go shower, I'll figure out a plan for something you can wear." Mark was curt, dismissive, and there was a threatening undercurrent in his voice. Angela suddenly felt afraid, remembered the force with which he'd flopped her over on the grass. The feeling of being trapped as he loomed over, scrawling with his marker.

Looking down at her bare feet, Angela trudged out of the room as Mark held the door open for her. He was hanging back to do a few more things on the computer, so she'd have to find the shower on her own. Though that was preferable to spending any more time with Mark than absolutely necessary.

She walked past the same boring open-plan offices, but it felt a bit different now that she was naked. She imagined herself sitting on one of the swivel chairs, working hard at a laptop. Her hair was done up nicely, she had on a necklace, was wearing a fashionable pair of glasses and shiny black pumps. But nothing else. No clothes. The leather felt cool against her backside. She looked up from her laptop. Everyone else in the office was normal, clothed, except for naked Angela.

She shook the vision out of her mind. No, she was Angela, just Angela. Nice, normal Angela. She didn't even own any tops that showed cleavage. She'd had clothes before, and she'd have them again. One weird, unlucky day did not define her. Would not define her.

The bathroom was where Mark said it would be. It was a male bathroom, but there didn't seem to be female one anywhere near by, so that would have to do. Angela slipped inside.

It was really no different from a female bathroom, aside from the urinals on the walls. The shower was in a corner of the room, and didn't look like it was used often. A stack of large soap bars was piled on top of one of the sinks. There were no towels, naturally.

Angela grabbed a bar of soap and stepped into the shower. She turned the hot and cold taps on, and let the water come down warm up for few seconds before stepping underneath it. It felt good, rejuvenating. And for the first time today, Angela's nudity was not out of place in her surroundings. That also felt good. Felt normal.

The marks on her skin came off with just a little bit of scrubbing. Angela smiled at this; she felt as though she was rubbing Mark's unwanted touches off her body as well. A funny thought occurred to her: although she was glad to be rubbing off the ink, she was making herself more naked by doing so. It didn't really matter, it mattered even less than losing her shoes and socks did, but it was still kind of true. Ink was a kind of covering. And maybe with enough... She'd seen pictures where a model would have an entire outfit painted on her body, and it wouldn't be obvious that she was naked until you looked really close. Maybe that was Mark's idea for her next outfit: a black marker leotard. Although if that was the case he probably wouldn't have made her shower.

Sharon. Mark. Tammy. The blonde lady. The big teenager. Angela was getting pretty sick of others getting to decide on her outfits. Especially because they all seemed to pick "no outfit" most of the time.

Angela closed both shower taps and stepped out of the shower, dripping on the tiled floor. She inspected herself in the mirror, lifting each breast, and then turning and rising on tip-toes to get a full view of her butt. All the ink was gone, as though it had never been there. Satisfied, she turned her attention to drying off.

The bathroom had a hand blow dryer, which she wiggled and shook in front of to dry off her skin. She worked at doing the same with her hair, running her fingers through it in lieu of a comb, but gave up while it was still mildly damp. At least it was freshly trimmed.

She took another look at herself in the mirror, arranged her hair so it fell over her breasts, and then turned to go.

A car pulled off in the distance, and her heart jumped into her throat.

Angela burst out of the bathroom, coming face to face with a sticky note that had been freshly stuck up on the opposite wall. She tore it down and started reading.

"Hey Ang, had to run, Billy emergency at home. Back soon, hang tight."

And of course, there was no sign of the shirt.

But what was even worse was the sound Angela heard next. The tell-tale beeping of an alarm system about to engage. Something Mark had neglected to mention.

To be continued...

[FinchAgent]

Chapter Seven: The Bureau

In a matter of seconds, the alarm would engage, and Angela would have to explain to a bunch of security guards what she was doing in a high-security engineering office she didn't work at on a Saturday afternoon. And why she wasn't wearing any clothes, but that would be the least of her worries.

To avoid that, she needed to move, fast. But a crucial choice gripped her. Mark hadn't brought the shirt down from the upper floor for her, but it might still be somewhere up there. Then again, he might also have taken it back with him, to destroy it or whatever, or he may have even left it on the floor in the high-security computer room that Angela didn't have the right fingerprints to get into.

Even if it was accessible, there was no time to fetch it. Angela told herself this on repeat as she sprinted through the corridor, down the last set of stairs, and into the building's lobby, the wind at her sides. Bare feet slapped against tiles as she ran for the door, slammed the open button, and slid out into the parking lot.

The door clicked and locked behind her, and she heard the final series of beeps that meant the alarm had engaged. There was no going back now.

Angela stepped gingerly through the parking lot, casting glances back at the office building. She didn't appreciate being abandoned there by Mark, but at least it was private and empty. Now she was out in public again and any random passerby might spot her.

Something was hanging in one of the upper floor windows of the office building, Angela noticed. It couldn't be. It was! A blue square, which could only be Mark's shirt, was hanging up on a third floor window handle. It looked to be missing a few patches from the back, but still appeared very much wearable.

Angela threw her head back and screamed. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she raged and stomped around the parking lot. If she had just taken a little less time in the shower, or a bit less time trying to dry her hair! If she had just chosen to check upstairs before leaving! Maybe she could have made it, and she would have had a shirt.

But no, she had to sprint to outrun the alarm. She had had just enough time to get out and no more. And she hadn't known about it when she was showering, nor had she known Mark would abandon her with a mere note.

Now she had nothing. No shirt, no shoes, no phone (she'd left it drying on grass at Mark's), and no idea when or if Mark would come back for her. She wrapped her arms tight around her body in a pitiful self-embrace.

As if to prove to her that things could still get worse, a police siren ripped through the air. It was coming this way. Angela knew if she was caught by the police, she'd be arrested for indecent exposure. That was not how she needed to end this horrible, horrible day. She glanced back at the office. No cover there, not even an alcove or a tree to hide behind. So she ran.

The police siren neared. Angela sprinted down the sidewalk, bare feet slapping against asphalt, breasts heaving and making her wish for her sports bra with every step. The police car was going to come down this street any moment now, and she was still too far from the nearest alley. There was no way she could outrun it.

There! There was an open door to the building on her left, and it didn't look like there were any people inside. Angela turned on a dime and sprinted up two steps at a time, clearing the entrance and diving to one side of it just as the police car turned the corner. Breathing hard, she crouched against the wall and waiting for the car to pass by.

The siren soon faded into the distance. The police car hadn't come to arrest her, either for breaking into Mark's office or for running around town in the altogether. But now that the immediate threat was gone, she had a thought. Didn't people who got arrested for public nudity usually get bundled into coats or blankets? Would that... could that be worth it, actually? Trying to solve this problem by herself hadn't exactly been working out so far. Everything she did just seemed to expose her to more people.

The police car was long gone, so it was too late to change her mind about being arrested. She looked around the dim, vacant lobby she'd found herself in. As her eyes adjusted to the weak light, she noticed a signpost with some writing on it that was far too good to be true. She got up and moved closer, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. But sure enough, there it was.

"2nd floor: Bureau of Clothing"

And then, underneath it, in smaller letters:

"Give me your poor, your tired, your naked. Free coverings for all who need them. Open 24/7."

A charity! A clothing charity that explicitly mentioned "your naked", i.e. herself! And this one wouldn't require payment with money she didn't have. Maybe she wouldn't need to get arrested after all.

Angela put her hair back in place and covered herself with her arms. She proceeded cautiously, but optimistically up the stairs, to the local office of the Bureau of Clothing.

As she ascended the last few steps, a reception desk came into view. Behind this desk sat a neat little man in spectacles and a sweatervest. "Bureau of Clothing, how may I ass--- oh! Oh wow!"

Angela sheepishly made her way to the counter, arms wrapped tight around her body. "Hi," she said.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," said the man at the desk. "Welcome to the Bureau of Clothing, one part of the three-pronged National Helping Hands Initiative, in which our government has pledged to feed the hungry, heal the sick and clothe the naked."

"Yes, great, I'm the naked. Could I get some clothes, please?"

"Certainly, ma'am! Just sign the entrance register here and we'll kick off the process." The man held a pen out in front of Angela.

Angela frowned. "Would it be possible to, uh, get some clothes first?" she asked. "I've, uh, got my hands full here."

"Procedure is procedure, I'm afraid," the man replied, his voice sickeningly chipper. "Just follow the process and we'll have you dressed in no time."

"What about your sweatervest? Could you let me wear it, just for a bit?"

The man put a shocked hand to his mouth. "Heavens no! That would be a gender mismatch. The big bosses would have my head! No, no, we must follow the proper procedure."

Maybe this place hadn't been the godsend it initially seemed after all. Getting clothing out of these people might take a while. Angela turned to leave, but felt a hand on her upper arm.

"Please don't go," said the man. "We want to help you, we really do. We haven't had a full nude in ages! Please, sign the register, and we'll get you some clothes."

The man seemed genuine enough. And whatever happened in here, well, it was probably preferable to going outside and getting arrested. Angela reluctantly pulled her right hand away from covering her crotch and took the pen. She filled in her name, cellphone number and reason for visiting ("To get clothes") in the blocks provided and signed at the end.

"Alright then, that's all in order, right this way please!" The man motioned for Angela to enter a door to his left. She thanked him half-heartedly and proceeded through, holding her right hand between her backside and his spectacles.

The room beyond was a standard public office, with rows of ancient chairs against the walls, and a few snaking mazes of stanchions leading to windows, behind which bored government employees sat. Angela's entry raised a few murmurs from these individuals, but no-one rushed out to help her.

Thankfully, there were no lines, or indeed anyone other than the place's staff. Angela walked over to the first window and greeted the woman behind it. The woman's eyes betrayed a very slight spark of life, but she said nothing.

"I'm here about some clothes," Angela said, feeling ridiculous.

"I can see that," the woman replied, her eyes traveling slowly up and down Angela's body. "This counter's for footwear needs, you'll want the next one."

While Angela did have some footwear needs, shoes were not her most pressing concern just then. She thanked the lady and moved to the next counter, which was staffed by another, almost identical lady.

"Hello, I need some clothes," Angela said.

"You need more than I can give you. This counter's for tops, you'll want the next one over."

"I don't have a top."

"Yes, I can see that. You don't have anything. Next counter."

Angela sighed and move to the next counter, which was staffed by a fat, bald man, who licked his lips as she approached. Angela shuddered, and said, again, "Hello, I need some clothes."

"This counter's for bottoms. You're looking for whole outfits, next one over. Can't have ladies running around topless."

"Really? But it's fine to have them run around naked, like you're making me do?"

The man smiled. "We're here to help, but you need to follow procedure. It's the only way to get it right."

Angela moved to the next counter, where she found a bright, smiling young lady with red hair and sparkling blue eyes. She wore a lovely tan blouse and blue mini-blazer. Her nametag read "Kate". She seemed far too alive for this place, and closer to Angela's age than any of the others.

"Hello there," said Kate, a sympathetic look on her face as she looked Angela up and down. "You look like you've been through a lot today. But you've come to the right place."

Angela sighed in deep relief. "Thank you. Please, tell me what I have to do to get some clothes."

Kate leaned on her counter and pointed towards a desk in the corner of the room. "Grab a copy of form 3A, fill it in with your details and bring it back to me. That'll be enough for us to kick things off."

"This seems like an awful lot of admin for a naked girl who just needs something to cover herself. Can't you just give me something to wear? At least something temporary, like a gown?"

A musical peal of laughter escaped Kate's lips. "Oh honey, this is a government department. We'll do our best for you, but we just don't have the resources to give out temporary gowns to all comers."

Angela scowled. "But the sign outside literally says that you will give clothes out to all comers!"

"All comers who follow the process," corrected Kate. "We need some information from you so that we can allocate you the right clothes, tailored to your needs. Well, not literally tailored, but you get my meaning."

Angela had a vision of Tammy's bedroom. Was this just going to be a boring, drawn-out and bueraucratic version of that? She hoped not.

"Form 3A," repeated Kate. "Come now, you must be getting cold."

"Yes, I am," Angela said between gritted teeth, before slinking off the find the form.

The desk in the corner of the room had a few scattered papers on it, one of which appeared to be a dog-eared, faded copy of Form 3A, Full Outfit Application for Totally Naked Individuals (TNIs). That described her pretty well. She grabbed the pen in her right hand and lent over to fill in the form, left arm still covering her breasts. Her lower body was by necessity exposed, with her rump protruding. She tried to tune out the low whispers of the place's employees and pretend that they weren't all looking at her.

The pen took a few tried before any ink came out of it, and the little boxes on the form were the smallest she'd ever seen. Face screwed up with concentration, she slowly filled in her personal details. There didn't appear to be another copy of Form 3A, and if she screwed this one up they'd probably send her bare ass packing. Kate would act apologetic about it though.

Name, surname, nationality, sex, age, address, contact details, favorite color... past the personal details section, the questions on the form got a bit strange. In addition to her favorite color, it asked where her favorite place to do clothes shopping was and what her monthly clothing budget was. Sensing a trap, she filled in N/A for the first and $0 for the second. Didn't need them deciding she didn't qualify for help just because she wasn't usually naked.

It also asked when last she'd been to a nudist beach (truthfully: never) and if she'd participated in any orgies over the last month (gross!). She filled in "none" for fabric allergies, checked "No" next to "Do you suffer from vestiphobia or related phobias?" and put an even bigger check on "No" next to "Do you feel comfortable in your own skin?"

The last question on the form read, "For how long have you been without clothes?" Angela glanced around the room and spotted a wall clock. The time was almost 3pm. Her hairdresser's appointment had been at 7am. "8 hours", she wrote, and it made her want to cry.

Angela sniffed and put the pen aside. She picked up the form and held it against her front, using her free hand to cover the butt that baldy had been making lewd comments about the whole time she'd been writing. Probably thought she couldn't hear them, but the prolonged humiliation of public nudity had heightened all her senses. She felt every gust of wind, heard every low whisper and shocked gasp. She saw every look of disgust, disapproval and pity.

"Here you go," said Angela to Kate, pushing the form through the gap under the glass.

"Thank you, Angela," replied Kate, smiling beautifully. "And might I just say, I love what you've done with your hair."

Angela coiled a strand around her finger. "I've certainly paid for it today."

Kate scanned over the form, turned it around to look at the other side, and then nodded. "This all looks in order," she said. "Please take a seat, and I'll call you when we've finished processing."

Kate smiled and disappeared from the window.

Angela walked over to a row of chairs against the wall and sat down on one, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest. She glanced over the room. The people behind the windows all had their heads down, pretending to do something, ignoring her. The man would occasionally glance up at her.

Angela yawned. How long would they keep her waiting? The room's stuffy air made her feel drowsy, but not enough to sleep. She would have need horse tranquilizers to fall asleep while naked in public. So she sat and stared at the wall.

Eventually, Angela heard a door to her right creak open. "Right this way, Angela," Kate said, peaking her head out.

Angela stood up and approached the door. She gasped at what she saw there. Beautiful, elegant Kate was naked from the waist down! Angela caught a flash of red landing strip and then dutifully averted cast her eyes down at the woman's high-heels.

Kate reached out to touch her shoulder and usher her through the doorway. "This way," she said, heels clacking down the narrow corridor. She had a small, round butt. Angela scurried to walk abreast of her, though the space barely allowed it.

"You're not wearing any panties!" she hissed. "You're a Bureau of Clothing official and you're not even fully dressed!"

"Budget cuts," Kate replied nonchalantly. "I spend most of my time behind a window, so the higher ups decided it didn't matter if I wore anything below the counter. And there's always a need for more clothing to give to deserving cases like you."

"Even underwear?"

"That's usually the first to go." The way Kate's blouse shifted as she walked let Angela know that she wasn't wearing a bra either.

Angela recalled the protestations of the man out front when she'd asked for his sweatervest. Maybe he would have given it to her if she'd been a man. That... appeared to be how things worked here? She suddenly felt a new respect for the Bureau staff, especially brave, bottomless Kate.

The corridor opened up into a large open room, which was furnished with a desk to one side, a stool in the middle, and a treadmill next to the stool.

Kate cupped her hands over her mouth and called, "Horatio, I've got a new TNI for you! Female, mid-twenties."

A door on the other side of the room flew open, and in stepped a small, hunchbacked old man in a dark suit. He was both bald and clean shaven, walked with a stick and gave off the impression of a turtle. Angela shuddered as his hungry gaze drank her in.

"Thank you, Kate," said the turtle-man, Horatio. He looked down at a paper he was holding. "I have a copy of... Angela... right here." He shuffled over to the two women, moving at a rapid pace for one so old and unsteady.

"Delighted to meet you, Angela," he said. And then he took her hand, her right hand which hovered in front of her crotch, brought it up to his lips, and kissed it. "Let's get you... measured."

Angela chuckled uncomfortably as the man produced a tape measure from an inner coat pocket.

Kate nodded to Angela, then Horatio, and turned to go. "Ah, Kate," said Horatio, stopping her. "Before you... go. The Riverview branch... contacted me. They need... a blouse. It's urgent."

Kate stood motionless with her back to Horatio. A moment passed, and Angela thought she detected a flicker of anguish pass across the young lady's features. It was a look she knew well.

Kate stood still for a moment longer. Then she slowly nodded, and shrugged her shoulders. Her blazer fell to the ground. Then there was a flash of red and white as flicked her hear forward and pulled her blouse overhead. It was the fastest Angela had even seen someone strip. And all of a sudden, she wasn't the only naked woman in the room.

Kate's heels clacked across the floor as she strode purposefully towards what looked like a mail chute in a corner of the room. She folded her blouse into a neat bundle and deposited it.

"They'll... appreciate it," said Horatio.

Kate turned around to face Angela, and walked over to retrieve her blazer. Her breasts were about the same size as Angela's, but a little perkier on Kate's larger frame. But Angela only caught them in the corner of her eye, as her gaze locked on Kate's. The two naked women shared a moment of understanding, before Kate picked up her blazer, put it on and did up the buttons. Angela was briefly jealous, but decided she couldn't begrudge the woman her single item of clothing, which barely came down past her navel.

Once Kate had departed, Horatio looked away from the entrance and back at Angela. "On the stool," he said.

Angela did as she was told.

"Arms out," Horatio said, snapping his tape measure.

Angela shot him a pleading look.

"Arms... out. We need... measurements."

With great reluctance, Angela pried her arms from the spots they were covering and stretched them out at her sides, giving Horatio a full view of her breasts and bush.

Horatio licked his lips and went to work.

He measured her height. 5'2". He measured her bust, waist and hips, lingering on the first and last. 34-30-40. He took some additional measurements of each breast, admonishing Angela to keep still. Then he measured the length of her legs, arms, and torso, then the circumference of each calf and thigh. He measured her head from all sides, and measured the length of her hair. He measured her feet, down, across and up.

Despite Angela's whimpering protestations, he measured the inside of her thighs, assuring her it was necessary if she really, truly wanted clothes. He made her get off the stool for this and stand with her legs spread.

As he measured, his wrinkly fingers brushed her pussy lips, and she shuddered in revulsion. This was assault. This whole thing was just wrong. She felt like running far away, letting the whole world see her body, if only to get away from those hands.

But then it was over, and Horatio put his tape measure away. "Now... fitness," he said, motioning towards the treadmill.

Exactly why a fitness assessment was required to give her clothes, Angela couldn't guess. Maybe they wanted to know if she should get active wear or casual wear, something stupid and pedantic like that. At this point, she was just going with it. Getting clothes at the end would be worth it. Even if she had nightmares about this horrible man fingering her for a month.

So Angela dutifully stepped off the stool and onto the treadmill. Horatio brandished two handfuls of suction cups on wires and started gleefully sticking them on her tummy, her legs, her arms, her boobs and her ass. Why not? If this was a real government department, she was going to have to lay a complaint later.

The treadmill started, and Angela was running. Slowly at first, but at an ever increasing pace. She watched the speed counter tick up, and up, and up. She pumped her legs and arms, faster and faster. Hair flew around, breasts bounced, ass and thighs jiggled. Horatio was transfixed.

The pace kept on increasing, and Angela struggled to keep up. She was breathing hard now, sweat dripping from her forehead and down her torso. Some of the suction cups came loose and fell off, but Horatio didn't seem in a hurry to do anything about that. Faster and faster she ran.

Finally, Horatio glanced at the small rectangular device that was on the other end of the suction cup wires and said, "Enough," hitting a button. The treadmill quietened, slowed down, and Angela came to a jogging stop. Her body glistened with sweat, and she stumbled off the treadmill and fell to her knees with exhaustion, then sank to the floor in a heap, butt in the air.

A splash of cold water on her back startled her, and she turned over. Horatio loomed over her, holding a water bottle. "Open," he said. She opened her mouth, and he poured the rest of the water bottle into her face. She gulped down greedily, coughing and spluttering.

When she was done coughing, Horatio helped her to her feet. Her skin was streaked with gray dust from the floor, that had mingled with her sweat and the water. Horatio produced a clipboard, jotted down some final notes, and then looked up at her and motioned towards the door at the far end of the room. "You may... proceed."

"Thank you," she said, still catching her breath. Then, shakily, she walked towards the door, feeling the old man's eyes take one last, long, loving look at her backside.

She pushed down the door's handle and opened it a crack, just enough to poke her head around. "Hello?" she said.

"Ah, you must be Angela!" came a booming, self-assured male voice from the next room. "Come in, come in!"

The presence of a new man immediately returned Angela's self-consciousness, and she slowly pushed open the door, pressing her front against it and covering her behind with her left arm.

"Of course, of course, you're the TNI," said the man inside the room, locking his pale blue eyes on her own. "Take your time, everything at your own pace."

The man sat on an armchair in the middle of the room, which was positioned beside a psychologist's couch. These were the room's only items of furniture.

Dr Paul, as he introduced himself, looked to be in his late thirties. He had a brown beard and was balding, with brown hair that only grew on the sides and back of his head. He was wearing black suit trousers with shiny black shoes and had a tie slung loosely around his neck. His hairy, muscled torso was bare. Between him and Kate, Angela's hopes of getting adequate clothing for herself were falling fast.

"You appear to have some concerns about my attire," said Dr Paul. "Let me assure you that we BoC staffers are at the bottom of the list when it comes to getting clothes. We're a selfless lot, giving the very shirts off our back to help the less fortunate."

Angela smiled weakly, her body still pressed up against the door.

"Now, please take a seat on my couch. Don't worry, ma'am, I'll look away while you approach."

Dr Paul turned his head to face the far wall, and Angela peeled herself off the door. She pulled her dark hair forward so it fell over her breasts and walked to the couch, where she lay down carefully, keeping both hands in her lap.

Once she was settled, Dr Paul looked back at her, resuming his intense eye contact. After that pervert Horatio, she appreciated that.

"Now, Angela, I just have to do a quick mental evaluation, and then we'll have everything we need to get you those clothes you've been looking forward to. You've been very patient with us, and the Bureau thanks you for your understanding. It's been a long time since we've had a TNI, so we're all a little rusty on the procedure."

Angela smiled. "As long as I get those clothes."

"Right, right, and of course you will. I just have to run through a few questions with you. First question: do you wear clothes at home?"

"Yes, always."

Dr Paul noted her answer down on his notepad. "Have you ever gone skinny dipping?"

Angela made a face. "No, and I definitely won't now!" This was a lie.

"Do you wear clothes during sex?"

Angela harrumphed indignantly. "What kind of question is that?"

"Yes or no, please ma'am."

"...No, of course not. But I don't see what that has to do with anything!"

"Do you enjoy being the center of attention?"

"No!" Angela screamed. "I'd give anything for people to just ignore me again!"

"Do you have any exhibitionist tendencies?"

"Dr Paul, I have gone through hell today trying to get dressed. I don't like people seeing me naked!"

Pen scratched against paper. Then Dr Paul asked, "Would you rather be topless or bottomless?"

"Neither!"

Dr Paul cocked an eyebrow. "Choose one."

Angela pouted. "...Bottomless, I guess. A bit easier to hide, especially if your top is long enough, at least some of the time. But really, honestly, neither!"

"If you were trapped on a tropical island and your clothes rotted away, would you make new ones out of leaves?"

What kind of questions were these? "I would," Angela answered. "But knowing my luck, they'd just get stolen by wild animals, or maybe I'd be allergic to all the leaves on the island."

"What is your best feature?"

"My cute little nose."

"Below the neck?"

"My strong calves." She wasn't playing this game.

"Worst feature?"

Angela thought for a moment. "It's a tie between my boobs, butt and vagina."

Dr Paul cocked an eyebrow. "You don't really believe that."

Angela sighed. "My thighs are a little flabby."

Dr Paul made a couple more noted on his pad. "Thank you, Angela, we're done here. Please proceed to the next room when you're ready." He stuck out a hand to shake, and Angela took it. Then he stood up and pulled her into a hug. His chest hairs tickled her skin.

"I really think we've made a breakthrough here, Angela," he said in her ear. "I'll so happy you came to see me!" And she could feel it too.

His strong arms made her feel warm and protected. Maybe, under different circumstances... but not now. She was too confused, too vulnerable. And what could he possibly mean "breakthrough"? She hadn't even been here ten minutes, or been asked any serious questions.

Dr Paul released her from the hug and shut his eyes, grinning from ear to ear.

"Thank you, doctor," Angela said, as she slipped across the room and to the next, hopefully final door.

The room beyond was even emptier than the last two had been, and was completely dark. There was a painted wooden board in the middle, in front of which was a... camera. Angela froze up, and darted to stand behind the camera.

"It's okay, Angela," came a familiar voice, speaking from somewhere in the roof. It was the sweatervest man at the front desk. "The camera won't engage until you're standing behind the clothing board."

Angela glanced at what the man had called "the clothing board". It was one of those gimmicky picture frame things with cartoon characters who had cut-outs for heads. You were supposed to stand behind it and take a picture with yourself on the body of a strong man or a princess. But instead of cartoons, this board had a life-size photograph of a 1950s couple. The man wore a suit, and the woman a modest red dress with white polka dots.

"Just step behind the board so we can take a picture for our records," said the man.

Angela couldn't speak. "Is this a joke?" she stammered at last. "I'm still standing here naked, after all your forms and tests and questions, and you want me to pose for a picture!"

"Not a naked picture!" clarified the man. "You'll be completely covered by the board. Look, this is the last part of the procedure, and then I'll give you your outfit. I have it right here, ready to wear."

The man's assurances calmed Angela down substantially. "I guess I've played along so far..." She took a few steps and positioned her head in the cut-out of the 50s housewife.

"Good, good," came the man's voice. "Say clothes!"

"Clothes!" Angela shouted, beaming in anticipation of her long-awaited outfit. She wondered if it would be the same as the one on the board. Old-fashioned, but cute enough. She could make it work.

The camera flashed, and she was done.

"Out the door to your left," said the voice.

This door was already open, and Angela stepped through it. She was back on the stairwell, face-to-face with the chipper, sweatervested man.

"Congratulations, Angela, you are the... first... Totally Naked Individual to come through a Bureau of Clothing assessment and receive an outfit scientifically formulated to your body, personality and priorities."

"Great!" said Angela. "Where is it?"

"One moment." The man ducked behind his counter, rummaged around for a moment, and then appeared again, smiling triumphantly. "Here we go! One outfit, custom designed for Miss Angela."

The man was not holding any clothing, nor were there any shirts, skirts, pants or even panties and bras hanging on the wall behind him. Angela feared the worst.

"I... I don't see it."

"It's right here," the man continued, proudly pointing at his outstretched palm.

Angela glanced down. "You've got to be joking."

In the man's hand was a single loop of elasticised black fabric. A hair-tie.

"Please, please, try it on." The man's smile got even wider. "This really is my favorite part of the job!"

Maybe he was giving her one piece of her outfit at a time, thought Angela. Yeah, that must be it. Another bureaucratic process. Starting with the top of her head, working down to the tips of her toes. She reached out and plucked the hair-tie from his outstretched palm.

The man looked at her expectantly. "Go on, put it on."

She coughed, glancing severely down at the arm in front of her breasts. So far this was like the only guy she'd met today who hadn't seen her nipples, and she would have liked to keep it that way.

The man didn't get the hint, but repeated his exhortation for Angela to put on the hair-tie.

Angela sighed wearily and relented. She dropped her arms to her side and pulled her hair back, then slipped the hair-tie around it and snapped it into place.

The man clapped. "There we are! The outfit looks great on you!"

The outfit, he had said. There wasn't going to be anything else.

Angela was fuming. "The outfit indeed! I came here, asking for clothes, and you promised you had them for me. Then you not only kept my naked, wasting my time with forms and weird questions, but brought in old man to grope me! All so you could give me a hair-tie! A hair-tie, so I could pull my hair away from my boobs, and let you ogle them, you pervert freak!"

The man's smile fell instantly. "Calm down, ma'am, or I will have to ask you to leave. This outfit is scientifically formulated to your unique situation, using the latest advances in clothing science."

"You can take your clothing science and shove it up your ass!" Angela screamed, turning around and stomping off towards the stairwell.

The sound of skin slapping against concrete came up the stairwell, and a lanky, curly haired man man came running towards the Bureau. He was completely naked, with both hands clasped firmly over his crotch. He stopped dead at the sight of Angela, and they locked eyes.

Angela felt a flash of envy for him, having such an easy job of covering himself. "Good luck getting anything decent out of these assholes," she said, as she passed him on the steps. "It sure didn't work for me."

To be continued...

[FinchAgent]

Chapter Eight: The Club

Brimming with righteous fury, Angela stormed down the staircase, out of the building and halfway down the street, too mad to even pay attention to where she was going. There was no-one around, but even if there had been, she might not have noticed. The sun was setting and she had wasted her whole afternoon for a hair-tie.

Which was still around her hair. She had endured all that for something that actually made her feel more naked. Anger dissipated and was replaced with embarrassment, keen awareness that she was standing naked in the middle of a public sidewalk, and wasn't even covering herself with her arms. Angela undid the hair-tie, sliding it onto her wrist and let her hair fall back over her front.

Just then, someone stepped out of a nearby fire exit. It was a naked woman. No, almost naked --- topless with a g-string and heels. Her hair was platinum blonde and her makeup was almost comically overdone. She was a good six inches taller than Angela, and her figure was a perfect hourglass.

"Got a light?" she asked Angela, a cigarette between her fingers.

"No, sorry," Angela replied.

The woman frowned, then said, "I'll go get one from the dressing room," and turned around to go back in. She glanced over her shoulder at Angela and looked her up and down. "You wearing a merkin?"

Angela blushed, too embarrassed to answer.

"Brave choice. Lots of guys, they don't like that. But some do, I hear."

Angela glanced down at her bush. She'd never shaved it. After its heroic pussy-covering service today, she never would.

The stripper disappeared back through the fire exit. The phrase "dressing room" stuck in Angela's mind. A dressing room in a strip club. What better place for a naked girl to get something to wear? This was one place were no-one would bat an eye seeing a naked woman walk past them, where she could actually blend in. She just needed to find the dressing room, get a gown or something and then...

Then she would be lost in the middle of town, without a phone or any money. But she would dressed. And then anything would be possible. She could probably borrow one of the stripper's phones and call... Rachel, maybe? If she'd just called her actual best friend in the first place, she could have gotten dressed in the strip mall bathroom, rather than running around town naked all day.

Go inside. Find the dressing room. Get dressed. Phone Rachel. A simple plan.

But if she was going to go into a strip club looking like one of the strippers, she would need to act the part. That meant no more crouching, no more covering and no more hiding behind things. She would need to walk casually, even slowly, and pretend to be completely comfortable in the nude. Around lots of horny men.

Angela straightened her back and put her hands at her sides. Now she was stiff, so she wiggled around a bit, shaking her arms and legs and body to get loose. Casual. At ease. Comfortable.

Taking a deep breath in and out, Angela stepped through the fire escape. A winding flight of metal stairs greeted her. The steps were cold against her bare feet.

At the top, she had to use her elbow to open the heavy fire door a crack and slip through. Now she was in the club. It was mercifully dark, but she could see strippers walking about, and men of all descriptions sitting around tables. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to pull her arms around herself.

Casual, easy, she told herself. Sensual, even. Gotta look the part. And so Angela, who cried the first time she wore a bikini at the beach, strutted naked through a strip club. Every sense screamed at her to run, or at least power-walk, but she forced herself to keep it slow, and even made a few feeble attempts to sway her hips.

One thing that made her stand out from the other strippers was that she was barefoot. The other girls towered over in their heels, and many of them were tall and slender, making Angela feel like a squat dwarf. For all the compliments and lustful looks she'd received today, she still sometimes felt like her body was too short and too fat, especially in the presence of such willowy beauties.

But she could still feel eyes on her. She was turning heads. That made her feel better. But also worse. Angela, the good girl, the straight-A student, who never wore tops with cleavage, was now Angela the stripper, at least for the moment.

Where was the dressing room? Probably near the stage. Angela walked towards the stage, where a woman with green hair was swinging around a pole to the cheers and shouts of a crowd of men.

"Excuse me," she whispered in the ear of the shortest stripper she had seen so far, "I'm new here. Where's the dressing room?"

"Behind the stage, door to your left. You can't miss it."

"Thank you."

Angela found the dressing room. It was empty except for an older, foreign-looking woman, who was fiddling with something by one of the mirrors. She had a bit of a stoop and was far too well-covered to be one of the strippers.

Not wishing to having to talk to this woman and possibly give herself away, Angela tip-toed into the room, scanning for something to wear. Bingo, there was a coat-rack of hanging gowns right by the door. All Angela had to do was reach out and take one. With a pang of guilt, she noted that this was technically stealing, and she might be leaving one of these girls without a gown. But they had their street clothes here, and she did not. This was no different from the destitute stealing food to feed their families.

Thus resolved, Angela clutched a puffy crimson dressing gown, but was interrupted by a sudden stream of chatter in another language. The older woman had noticed her. And she seemed angry.

Angela released the gown, but the woman continued to shout and gesticulate. "English, English, only," said Angela, but the woman paid her no mind, grabbing her forcefully by the upper arm while continuing to jabber incomprehensibly.

The woman pulled her to the other side of the room and gestured feverishly at a full-length mirror. Angela looked at her reflection. Seeing herself head to toe under the dressing room's harsh lights, she understood what the woman had been freaking out about. She was a mess.

Angela's hair was frizzed up and all over the place. The light coat of makeup she'd put on that morning was mostly gone, except from some crying-smudged eye-shadow. Streaks of dried dust and dirt peppered her body, and her feet were filthy.

"Muddy little piggy," said the woman through a heavy accent. These appeared to be her only three English words. Then she pulled out a phone and snapped a picture of Angela in the mirror.

With surprising force, the woman grabbed Angela's shoulders and forced her down in a chair. She disappeared for a moment and then reappeared carrying a large bowl of soapy water and a brush, which she sat down on the table in front of Angela. Then she began to scrub.

The scrubbing was fast, rough, and thorough. With surprising quickness, the woman attacked every individual spot of dirt on Angela's body, scrubbing her clean. She then set to work on Angela's feet. Two new bowls of soapy water were required before those were cleaned to the woman's satisfaction.

"Th-thank you," Angela stammered, though feeling raw from the harsh brush bristles. She wiggled her pink toes and then started to get up, but the woman shoved her back down. She then wheeled a portable hairdresser's sink from corner of the room, ran it, and started washing Angela's hair, gently massaging conditioner and then shampoo into her scalp. This felt relaxing, even luxurious after the harsh body brushing.

Once her hair was washed, the woman brushed and combed it, smoothing out all the tangles. She sprayed some more product on it, and then got out a blow-drier and blasted Angela's hair into a bouncy blow-out. This strange, angry foreign stylist had done a far better job with her hair than Sharon had managed. This was a style worth undressing for.

The stylist started immediately on Angela's makeup. Thinking of the clownish look of the stripper at the fire escape, Angela tried to protest, but the stylist was having none of it. Fortunately, she did a nice job, applying product judiciously to enhance Angela's natural features. She smoothed Angela's skin, darkened and fulled out her lashes and reddened her lips. Angela focused intensely all the while, hoping to replicate some of this brilliant woman's techniques on her own.

Once her face was done, the stylist made Angela stand up and applied some oils and foundation to her body, smoothing out her skin tone and obscuring some of the redness from where she'd scrubbed earlier. She worked quickly and with a light touch, even taking out a tiny brush to neaten Angela's pubic hair.

Finally, the stylist sprinkled a light smattering of glitter on Angela's face and body, focusing on areas normally covered. Then she led her back to the mirror, and held another mirror behind her.

Angela's jaw dropped. She looked like she'd stepped off the cover of a magazine. Or rather, given her state of undress, a Playboy centerfold. She was almost unrecognizably hot. The stylist smiled proudly and took a photo with her phone. Now she had a before and after.

"Ms. Shenkovich sure works miracles, doesn't she?" said a voice behind them. It was the stripper from the fire escape. "And just in time too. We've got a vacant spot in the stage schedule. New girl, you're going to have to fill in."

"Oh, no, I---" Angela's words caught in her throat. What was she going to say? That she, a stripper who had just received a full beauty treatment, was going to decline an empty dance spot, an extra opportunity to make money at the one part of her job that didn't involve getting up close and personal with businessmen's hard-ons? "I"---she glanced around the room---"still need to get dressed. You know, so I have something to strip out of."

Clothes, glorious clothes! But once again, clothes that she would only wear for a few minutes.

"No time," insisted the stripper, grabbing Angela's arm. "The last bitch didn't even take off her top, so the guys are all blue-balled now. They'll appreciate you dispensing with the foreplay and just dancing au naturel. Especially the rug lovers and foot fuckers."

As she was saying this, the stripped was pulling Angela out of the dressing room, away from any chance of clothes, and towards a stage where she would need to gyrate in front of a rowdy audience of horny men. On further reflection, she appreciated not having to dress in clothes she would have to slowly remove for an audience. She imagined herself trying to unhook a bra on stage and just breaking down crying. To stay naked was better. But it still wasn't good.

"Come on, you'll do fine. You're gorgeous, they'll love you." They were behind the stage now. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Candy," said Angela.

The stripper raised an eyebrow. "I'm Star. But you'll need to choose something else. We've already got a Candy. And it doesn't really suit your whole sweet, earthy girl-next-door vibe anyway. What about Candice?"

"Uh, sure."

Star smiled. "One tip, Candice. You might want to put that hair-tie around your ankle instead."

Angela had forgotten about the hair-tie. She pulled it off her wrist and slid it over her foot.

Star nodded approvingly. "Vodka?" she asked, producing a couple of shot glasses from somewhere.

Angela downed hers, and then Star gave her the other one too. "You look like you could use a bit more." Angela obediently downed the second vodka shot. It dawned on her that she hadn't eaten all day. Then Star slapped Angela's ass and pushed her through the curtains.

Time froze as Angela stood before the crowd, her eyes bouncing from dimly lit face to dimly lit face. Fat, thin, tall, short, old and young, the audience was a cross-section of the town's adult male population. And all of their eyes were fixed on her naked body.

Every fiber of Angela's being screamed at her to wrap her arms around herself, to cower down and run off the stage, to get away, far away. But it was far, far too late for that. In search of clothes, she had impersonated a stripper. In hindsight, a very stupid idea. And now she had to uphold the illusion.

What was the alternative? Make a run for it back through the fire escape? That would cause a commotion and bring her right back to square one. No, she had to play this part. She would dance. She would give these men a show. She would make them love her. And then she would return to the dressing room, wrap a nice warm gown around herself, and try to forget the whole experience.

The crowd, which had cheered for her initial appearance, was now quiet. Men fidgeted. Someone coughed. They were growing restless with Angela's statue impression. It was show time. She wasn't Angela anymore, but Candice. She felt light-headed from two vodka shots on an empty stomach.

Candice smiled, shook herself all over, and did a slow runway walk to the end of the stage, the part with the pole. Some of the men started cheering, and a few of them shouted things like, "You're beautiful" and "I want to bury my face in that muff!"

Playing the part of a professional adult entertainer, Candice tried not to let any of it rattle her, but she could feel a blush spread up her neck. She advanced to the front of the stage, and... then what? The volume of the music increased, and she tried to give herself over to it, to lose herself in it. She had never been much of dancer, but then, these guys probably weren't all that discerning. They wanted to see her body, was the main thing.

So she showed them. Candice swung her hips, rose up and down on her knees, pushed out her boobs. The crowd hollered. She clapped her hands and waved her body, getting into the music now. She whipped her hair around and pouted at the audience, catching individual men with bedroom eyes. She couldn't believe what she was doing.

Candice moved her arms, swayed to the beat. Now she turned around, and another cheer erupted from the crowd at the first sight of her bubble butt. She stuck her hip out to the side, flashing a sultry look over her shoulder, and then did the same on the other side. Then she got low and wiggled.

Paper money fell all around her, and she felt hands slipping more notes into the hair-tie around her ankle. She didn't want to think about how this money compared to what she was getting at her actual job.

"Sit on my face please goddess!" shouted someone in the audience.

Right, that was enough butt focus for now. Candice smiled and winked in the direction of the voice, but started turning around slowly, bringing her boobs and pussy back into focus. She moved her arms across her body, one then the other, lingering only briefly in the covering positions they'd been stuck in most of today. Then she worked those into the dance, playfully covering herself and making a shocked expression at the audience, before slowly moving her arms away to show them the goods. The crowd went wild.

Remembering Star's words, she moved her feet a bit, extending onto tip toes, and even thrusting a leg out over the audience. That ought to appease the guys who liked feet.

She played with her hair and touched her boobs, ran her hands down her hips. How else were strippers supposed to dance? The audience seemed happy as long as things were jiggling.

She felty sexy, sultry, vivacious. She craved and feasted on male attention. Or at least, she was acting the part of such a woman. But right now, as she was shaking her tits in front of a crowd of men, that felt like a meaningless, even dishonest, distinction. Angela was dissociating from herself, drifting up towards the ceiling, watching this short pale chick named Candice shake her big ass down below. But Candice was Angela. And Angela was Candice.

The volume of the music lowered and Angela heard an announcer's voice. "Everybody give a big hand for Caaaandiiice!"

The crowd cheered and threw more money. The dance was over. Candice blew a kiss to the audience and squatted down one last time. Angela swept up the notes around her, and noted the bulging stack on her ankle. Then Candice turned around and walked slowly off the stage, exaggerating her hip movements.

Backstage, Angela let out a big sigh and stared at the floor. She had done it. She had played the part of an erotic dancer, and she'd played it convincingly. The crowd loved her. She was cradling a big pile of money that said so. And now to the dressing room.

"You did great!" Star said. "That's gonna be a tough act for me to follow."

Angela smiled at her and wished her luck as she made her own way to the curtains. Then she turned to the dressing room, coming face-to-face with a round, middle-aged woman, who blocked the entrance. She looked pissed.

"I don't know who put you up to this, Missy, but I won't stand for it," she said. "Tell whoever sent you that Madam Claire does not appreciate being disrespected in her own club."

Angela's face fell. What was this about?

"Don't act so innocent, Little Miss 'Candice'. First, you come into my club and dance on my stage without ever contacting me, or presenting yourself for inspection. Acting like any bitch can walk in off the street and help herself. Well, let me take your registration fee!"

Madam Claire scooped up a chunk of the bills in Angela's arms.

"Second, you present yourself to my dear stylist, poor Ms. Shenkovich, in a state of total disarray. Tell me, did you roll around in some mud before coming to dance tonight, just to tarnish my club's reputation? That was what they sent you to do, wasn't it?"

Angela blushed and looked down as Madam Claire swiped the rest of the bills from her arms. "That will be Ms. Shenkovich's fee plus tip." Angela had to admit to herself that the fee was well deserved. And she still had money on her ankle.

Madame Claire crouched, appeared to reach for this cash, but stopped short, and reached out an arm to grab a tuft of Angela's pubic hair between her thumb and forefinger. She pulled, and Angela let out a yelp.

"And third," continued Madame Claire, rubbing the hairs between her fingers, "you disrespect the rules of this club and the law governing this jurisdiction by appearing without a thong or merkin, which carries a heavy fine."

Madam Claire bent over and pulled a stack of bills from Angela's ankle. An ironic part of Angela's mind was amused that she just been fined for nudity in a strip club.

"I was immediately suspicious when Star told me a new girl had actually chosen the merkin option. It's never happened before, we put it in as a joke! Men these days are allergic to hairy pussy."

The Madam counted up the notes in her hands and then stuffed them all down her blouse. Then her expression softened. "You're a wicked little bitch, Candice," she said, and then leaned in close to Angela's ear. "But --- don't spread this around --- any of my other girls would have had to work a week to pay off all that. And you've still got money left over! I'll let you keep it."

Angela put a hand to her mouth, shocked.

"It's true," said Madam Claire. "Sure, a lot of it was because men don't usually get to see pussy at our club, and a hairy pussy is perhaps more acceptable than they'd admit. But there's also something about your sweet, bashful little display that drove the audience wild. Awful dancing, really, but they couldn't get enough of it."

Madam Claire reached down her blouse and pulled out a card. She crouched down and slipped it behind the remaining notes on Angela's ankle. "Listen, if you want to go through the proper channels next time, give me a call. You're a beautiful girl with a fresh approach and I think we could work out something mutually beneficial, better than whatever you're getting at Girlies or whoever put you up to this. Besides, they'll be mad that you failed to sabotage me. So think about it."

"O-okay," said Angela, finally finding her words. "Thank you, madam."

The Madam smiled. "Now, that was just between us two. Give it a few weeks, make your first night a Friday. But for now, I have to be seen to enforce the rules. Can't have these other bitches losing respect."

At that, Madam Claire's hard expression returned. She raised her voice, "Could I get two security personnel by the dressing room please! We need to remove an intruder!"

Angela's face went white.

"Nothing personal," said Madam Claire softly, as two large bouncers approached Angela. "Hope you can still see the benefits of my proposal."

The bouncers took Angela by both arms and marched her away from Madam Claire. Both were over six foot, with granite faces that didn't so much as look Angela's way. Their biceps were almost the size of Angela's head.

The bouncers marched Angela to the fire escape, through the heavy door, down the rickety metal stairs, and out into the cold night air, where they deposited her on the sidewalk, then turned around and went back inside, slamming the door behind them.

A minute later, a third bouncer appeared, looking confused. "I was told to throw your stuff out with you, but no-one could find it. Star said you didn't have anything."

"You can't throw me out naked!" cried Angela. "At least give me your jacket! I'll even pay for it, look!"

Angela pulled the remaining money from her ankle and held it up to him, spreading the notes. It wasn't as much as she thought it would be.

The bouncer scoffed. "That's not even enough for one of my cuff-links, lady." And he slammed the door in her face.

Angela's shoulders slumped. She looked down at her still-naked body and shivered from a chill breeze. Defeated once more, she slipped off into the night.

Five minutes later, Star emerged from the fire escape carrying a dressing gown. She looked left and right, but Angela was long gone. Shrugging, she pulled the gown over her own shoulders and lit a cigarette.

To be continued...

[FinchAgent]

Chapter Nine: The Square

Angela trudged through the streets, looking right and left every so often to check if anyone was approaching her. When she heard a voice, or the sound of a car coming, she crouched behind a trashcan, or in the shadow of an alcove. The sun had set hours ago, so she could hide in streets with few streetlamps. This was an upmarket part of town—the patrons at the strip club had all been wearing suits, after all—so she didn't have to worry about encountering vagrants. She hoped.

There were few people in the side streets she walked down, and she managed to avoid most of them. There was one guy who she'd almost walked into, but he appeared to be high and was too absorbed in his own mind to react to her nudity. Maybe he even thought it was part of his trip.

But she was getting closer to a popular area of town named The Square, a block of bars and nightclubs. That would be full of people on a Saturday night. Indeed, Angela could hear the faint sounds of music and revelry.

And then she heard the sound of a police siren, mingled with the engine of a car, rapidly approaching. Angela turned and put an arm in front of her face to shield her eyes from the car's headlights. This was it, time to get arrested for public indecency. She closed her eyes and imagined the warm coat they would envelop her in before slamming her body against the hood of the car.

The siren cut out and the car came to a stop. Both doors opened and two male cops got out: a young, nervous one from the driver's side and an old one with a gray moustache and a bemused expression.

"Good evening, ma'am," said the young cop, eyes fixed on a spot above Angela's head. "Nudity is prohibited in public settings. I am required by law to prevent you from causing further disturbances. Please do not resist arrest."

The cop then pulled off his coat and started walking towards Angela, holding it open in both hands. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she thought she might kiss him. Finally, clothes! She was only too ready to stop causing further disturbances. Why didn't she do this earlier?

"Hold on a second there Larry," said the older cop, ambling over to his partner's side. "I tried to hint at this in the car, but you can be real thick sometimes, you know?" And then, turning to Angela, "Evening miss."

Larry stopped in his tracks. The coat remained separated from Angela's body by several feet.

"What do you mean, Bob?" asked Larry. "Was there something else I was supposed to say to her?"

"It's bigger than that, son. You haven't been keeping up to date with your precedents."

"Precedents?" By now, Larry was holding the coat loosely, in one hand, letting it trail on the ground.

Bob grunted in disapproval. "Sunshine Valley versus PD. Three months ago. An important precedent for this very case."

Larry scratched his head. "The one with the nudist resort?"

"The very same. Judge ruled in favor of them, against us. Relevant upshot: public nudity isn't actually illegal."

"Really? Wow."

Bob glanced back at Angela apologetically. "Sorry about all this ma'am. My partner's still pretty green. And might I just say, you're looking lovely tonight." Then, to Larry, softly, "Look, if she's just walking around, we can't do anything about it. She'd need to be assaulting someone or engaged in a public sex act for us to take her in, so put that coat back on."

The sight of Larry pulling his coat back on was heart-breaking. Angela glanced at her fingers, then down at her pussy. Was this what she had to do to get clothes? Pleasure herself in front of two cops? She lowered her shaking hand.

"Big fines for that sort of thing. A few grand usually."

Angela's hand jerked back up and she rubbed the back of her neck nonchalantly.

Larry had put his coat back on and he and Bob were climbing back into their car. "Have a nice night, ma'am. Apologies for the mix-up," Larry said.

The cop car sped off, leaving Angela alone once more. So public nudity was legal, except for in a strip club. That made a whole lot of sense.

Angela looked at her hand again. She was disgusted at herself for what she'd almost done. Would she have actually gone through with it? A vision flashed through her mind of Larry slamming her against the hood of the cop car and cuffing her hands behind her back, juices still dripping from her fingers and pussy. No! That wasn't her. She was a temporarily naked girl, not a porn actress.

The sound of music from the Square was quite loud now. Angela didn't know this part of town well, but figured she couldn't be more than block from the place. She pulled the bills out of the hair-tie on her ankle and counted them up. It would be just enough for a drink. Public nudity was legal, the nudists had shown it. She very much wanted to stop being a nudist, but everything she'd tried so far had failed.

"You win," whispered Angela, looking up at the sky. "You hear me, universe? You win! I give up! No clothes for Angela, she has to stay naked! Fine, I'll do it. I'll do it!"

Angela sniffed, wiped the beginnings of tears from her eyes, and then start off in the direction of the music. She strode with her arms at her sides and her eyes forward, a woman on a mission. A mission to get a fucking drink, because she sure could use one.

The Square was bustling with happy people in various levels of intoxication. Most of them noticed Angela as she walked past, but apart from a few wolf-whistles and some applause, no-one reacted to her with anything other than their eyes. Well, there also were a few camera clicks and flashes, which she tried not to think about, keeping up her purposeful stride.

After a long day of running and hiding, of watching out for other people and avoiding anywhere crowded, of increasingly desperate attempts to find something, anything to wear... this wasn't actually so bad. Sure, Angela felt herself redden at the particularly enthusiastic wolf-whistles, but nothing bad was happening. A few women she passed scolded their boyfriends, and one even had her hand clapped over his eyes, but they seemed more mad with their men for looking than with her for being there. Some women even shouted cries of support.

Angela felt a hand lightly touch her forearm. She turned to see a smiling woman. "Excuse me. I just wanted to say that I love what you're doing here! You're beautiful. I wish I had your confidence. Could I get a picture?"

The woman was so sweet and kind that Angela could hardly say no. She nodded, making the woman smile even broader. "Beth!" she shouted. "Come take a photo!"

A second woman, Beth, appeared with her phone. The first woman put an arm around Angela's back and pulled her to her side. She smiled for the camera. "Say body positivity!" shouted Beth. The phone camera flashed.

"Thank you so much!" said the woman, after Beth had taken a few photos. "Enjoy the rest of your evening!"

Angela waved goodbye and continued purposefully to her destination, which was the closest bar she could find. Before she reached it, two young guys came running up to her. They looked about college age and were visibly sweating. Finally, Angela thought, someone more embarrassed than her. She raised an eyebrow at them.

"A-are you an alien?" asked the taller one, his eyes bouncing around rapidly.

"What?"

"C-cuz your ass is out of this world!" said the other, shorter one.

The line hung in the air for an awkward second. Then Angela felt a little bad for the boys. They were really squirming! "Aw, thank you," she said, smiling at each in turn, "that's sweet. Would you like a picture?"

The looks on the boys' faces indicated their eternal gratitude. She posed for a picture with each, twisting her neck to get her face and much-praised rear into the shots. Both boys had hover hands, of course.

After saying goodbye to the college boys, Angela reached the bar she was headed for. There was a line in front, so she dutifully took her place at the back, behind a couple who studiously ignored her.

Seconds later, one of the bouncers approached her. "You can go through, ma'am."

Well, that was one benefit of being naked. Angela thanked the bouncer and walked with him past the long line of people waiting to be let in.

Music was pumping inside the place, which appeared to be one of those bars that turns into a club later at night. The dance floor was packed with writhing, grinding bodies. Angela wasn't quite ready to do that naked, so she went to the bar at the far end of the place, where the music was a tiny bit quieter, and sat down on a bar stool. A barman with long hair and a beard materialized before her to ask what she would have. If he had any reaction to her nudity, he didn't show it.

She looked up at the cocktail menu on a board behind the barman's head. One stood out, and it was in her price range. "One Naked Lady, please,"

The barman smiled, shouting to a colleague, "A Naked Lady for the naked lady!"

As she waited for her drink, men started approaching her.

"Nice tits. Wanna fuck?" slurred a very drunk man in a baseball cap. Angela made a disgusted face and waved him away.

"That outfit looks great on you," said a somewhat less drunk man, and Angela smiled slightly. "It would look even better on my bedroom floor... wait, shit. Fuck. Uh, my bed? It would look good... ah forget it."

The next man pulled his shirt off in front of her, revealing massive pectorals and washboard abs. He said nothing, just flexed and winked. Angela ignored him. Vanity was so unattractive in a man.

Her drink arrived, and she handed the barman the rest of the money from her ankle. The drink was good, refreshing. The alcohol warmed her up, but she had to remember to pace herself. Her stomach growled, and for the first time she realised how hungry she was. Every other feeling she'd had that day had been overwhelmed by an overriding feeling of embarrassment, exposure, fear and shame at her nudity. Now, between resignation to her fate and the effects of alcohol, she had dialled that horrible feeling down, and was beginning to notice others. She was hungry and tired, but this cocktail was good, really good. She'd sip it slowly, and then figure out how to get home.

Angela glanced around, noticing a few other patrons nursing drinks further down the bar, and some groups of people huddled at booths. Everyone seemed to be taking surreptitious glances at her, but looked away when she tried to meet their eyes. Groups of men were clearly psyching each other up to go talk to her. She saw one get up to approach but then think better of it and sit back down. Who knew nudity could be so intimidating?

Groups of women were side-eyeing her, whispering to each other and adjusting their outfits. She saw women pulling at their tops to increase their cleavage and rolling up their skirts to show more leg. One woman had a nipple pop out, which she was quick to cover. Angela smirked, tweaking one of her own nipples. Tonight, she had them all beat. Even the most extreme cleavage had nothing on her bare breasts.

"Good evening, madam," said a voice behind her head. She turned to face a well-built man with strong features and a head of thick brown hair. He was dressed in dark chinos and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and the top button undone to show a glimpse of the hair on his muscular chest. He held her gaze with his soulful green eyes, and then spoke, "I could look into your eyes forever. Would you like to dance?"

Angela giggled, finished her drink, and held out a hand for him to take. They proceeded not to the dance floor, but to an empty spot right there, between the bar and the booths, and the man clicked his fingers and started moving to the beat, eyes still locked on Angela's own. She followed suit, putting out her arms and slowly swaying her body. This time, she was just dancing, no thought to displaying her body for a horny strip club crowd. But she smiled when her partner would momentarily allow his gaze to fall.

The two of them boogied, facing each other, but not touching. Then he took her hands and pulled her past him, arms over head, switching sides. He was a good dancer, knowing just how to lead.

The music slowed, and the man pulled Angela close. "I'm Donato," he said in her ear, with just a hint of accent. "Angela," she replied.

"Thank you for this dance, Angela." He stepped and swayed to the slow music, gently nudging her where he wanted her to go. Her boobs pressed against the fabric of his shirt, but he maintained a small distance between their lower bodies, even as he stepped into the space between her feet. His arm was warm against her back. Angela rested her head on his shoulder.

The dance continued for a long time, but to Angela, it felt like no time at all. She was warm, safe, protected, in the arms of Donato. He was slow and gentle, showing admirable restraint, but Angela could tell that he wanted her badly. How could any man resist the allure of naked girl in his arms?

Finally, Donato released her, stepping back with only one of her hands held in one of his own, extending his arm the full way. Then he reeled her in and tipped her back. They stood for an instant, her bent back in his arms, him bent forward, their faces close. Then he kissed her.

Cheers and applause went up from the booths and the bar. Donato held the kiss so long that Angela was gasping for air once it ended. Gasping, but happy. So deliriously happy! Nothing like this had ever happened when she visited bars with her clothes on! Donato brought her back up and let go of her. He was smiling too, a faraway look in his eyes.

He took out his phone and asked for Angela's number. She gave it happily, syllables tripping over her lips.

"I must go," he said to her, putting his phone away. "Thank you, Angela, for an enchanting dance." He kissed her again, briefly this time, and then hurried off.

Angela floated back to the bar and slumped down on a stool, a goofy smile plastered on her face. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and thought of Donato.

But then a woman's voice snapped her out of her reverie. "It's you! I can't believe it!" The voice was familiar, but difficult to place.

Angela looked at her interlocutor. A slight older woman, blonde hair, blue eyes. Aquiline nose. Dressed in a short, strapless black dress. It was the woman from the hair salon!

To be concluded...

[FinchAgent]

Chapter Ten: The Woman

"I've been looking for you all day!" said the blonde woman, placing a hand on Angela's forearm. "After all the excitement this morning, I only realized when I got to the car that Rosa had given me someone else's clothes. I tried to come back and give them to you, but the salon was closed when I got there, and I couldn't find you."

It had all been a mistake. A misunderstanding. Angela considered the counterfactual. If she had stood in front of the salon, naked in that dreadful long corridor, for just a few minutes longer, she probably would have gotten her clothes back then and there. What a thought.

"I was going to search through the mall for you, but people were starting to arrive, so I got nervous and went home to get dressed. I guess you were definitely gone by the time I got back. I'm sorry, I didn't want to get arrested."

Angela smiled. "Oh, public nudity is legal now. The police told me."

"Really?" asked the woman. "Wow, okay, that's good to know."

In light of this knowledge, Angela thought about asking the woman to take off her dress so she could have it. It was really small though, fitted to the woman's slim banana build. Angela would probably rip it if she tried to put it on, and that was no way to repay a woman who had earnestly tried to correct her mistake.

"To be honest, though," the woman continued, putting a hand under her chin, "I don't think I could have done it, even if I'd known it was legal. Getting a naked early morning haircut was thrilling, but that was the first time I've done anything like that. I still have to work up to crowds. I'm just not as brave as you are."

Great. Angela was now being complimented on her bravery by an exhibitionist. It had been one hell of a day.

"It's strange, though. This morning, you seemed really upset about taking off your clothes. You were covering yourself with your hands and looking really stiff and nervous. Even when I tried to break the ice with a compliment, you still seemed really tense. But here you are!"

"Here I am," said Angela flatly.

"My name's Dorothy, by the way. And yours?"

"Angela."

"Nice to meet you again, Angela. Listen, I've got your clothes in my car. Let me know once you're done here, and then we can go grab them."

Angela's face lit up. "I'm ready to go now."

"Oh...kay." Dorothy looked surprised. "But let's have a drink first. On me."

Dorothy looked at the cocktail menu, smiled, and waved a barman over to order two Naked Ladies. Their drinks arrived, and Angela slowly sipped hers. This much alcohol on an empty stomach was quickly killing the last remaining hang-ups she had about her nudity. Maybe she should have started drinking this morning and saved herself a bunch of mental anguish.

Dorothy was a lawyer at a prestigious firm, on track to make partner. Angela talked a bit about her job in marketing, but there wasn't too much to say. It paid the bills, though she now knew for a fact that she could get a lot more money for dancing with her clothes off. She winced at the memory.

"Isn't it just the most incredibly freeing feeling?" asked Dorothy, changing the subject to what she was really interested in. "To let it all hang out, feel the wind on your skin."

"Swimming's nice," replied Angela. If she ever got a place with a pool, she decided, she wouldn't wear a costume when she was alone.

Dorothy's eyes lit up. "Isn't it? Swimming costumes are such ridiculous garments. A very recent invention, and one we'd be better off without."

Angela and Dorothy finished their drinks and headed out of the bar, to the disappointment of many of its patrons. The Square was noticeably emptier now. A squat middle-aged man had wheeled a hot-dog stand in front of the club. His eyes bulged when he saw Angela. Her eyes bulged at the sight of food.

"I'm really starving," she said to Dorothy. "Could you buy me a hot-dog? I'll pay you back, it's just, well..."

Dorothy laughed. "I can see very well that you don't have any money on you. Don't worry, it'll be my treat."

The hot-dog man offered up a pray to the sky as the two woman approached his stand. Dorothy paid for a hot-dog, and the man managed to prepare it while looking at Angela the whole time. He handed her a stuffed, dripping roll with a shaking hand, which Angela took gratefully and immediately scarfed it down. The man nearly fainted.

The hot-dog disappeared in record time, and Angela felt better.

"You've got a little..." Dorothy started, then scooped a dollop of sauce off Angela's left breast. She put her finger in her mouth and winked. Angela blushed.

They thanked the hot-dog man and walked down the street to Dorothy's car, which was the only one parked in a large lot off to the side of the square. A river rushed past the lot on the other side. The wind was starting to pick up, and Angela shivered.

Dorothy pulled a remote out of her purse and unlocked it, then reached into the backseat and pulled out a bundle that Angela had been thinking about all day. Her clothes! She took them gratefully, turning the bundle over and over to take in each garment. Her gray tank top, great for running in. Her leggings, so stretchy and comfortable and flattering. Her sports bra, properly sized and comfortably secure. And her plain, black exercise panties, which would soon once again cover her pussy and whole ass. Some of her friends had told her she should start wearing g-strings with her leggings because of the line, but she'd always been too modest for "stripper panties". Now she savored the thought of having two whole layers of fabric over her crotch.

Angela was just about to slip into her panties when Dorothy cried, "Wait!" Now what? Angela had her clothes back, in her hands. What could possibly happen now?

"Please, Angela, before you get dressed, I need a picture. To inspire me. Come, stand back."

Dorothy motioned Angela back, and took the panties from her hand, struggling a bit to loosen Angela's vice grip. "I know it's getting cold now, but it'll be really quick, don't worry."

Angela relaxed. She'd been naked all day, what was another minute or two?

Dorothy dumped Angela's panties on top of the pile of her other clothes, and then pulled her own dress over her head. Needless to say, the exhibitionist wasn't wearing any underwear. She dropped her dress on top of Angela's clothes.

Dorothy's produced a suction-cupped phone holder from the backseat of her car and put her phone in it. Then she closed the door and attached it to the window, before putting her phone in it. She tapped on the screen a few times, setting up a photo on a timer, and then slunk back to pose with Angela.

Being the taller of the two, Dorothy put an arm around Angela's shoulder and pulled her in. Bare flesh touched bare flesh. It was warmer than being naked on your own.

Dorothy led Angela through a bunch of poses, smiling, laughing, and looking in turns bashful and haughty. They got some booty shots as well. Then, for the final photo, Dorothy had the idea they they should toss their clothes in the air above their heads.

"I don't know," cautioned Angela, "the wind's getting awfully strong."

"It'll be fine," said Dorothy, and as she spoke, the wind died down. "See?"

Angela reluctantly went along with the plan. Dorothy set her phone camera to take a series of rapid shots, so she could pick one of them as the best action pose. Both women took a portion of the clothing bundle in their hands.

"Three... two... one... go!"

Angela and Dorothy jumped in the air at the same time, flinging their clothes up. It was at this moment that the wind picked up, stronger than it had been before, and blasted the clothes away, away, away, and down into the river below.

Angela could only watch in shock as her beautiful exercise outfit disappeared from sight. She rushed to the edge of the lot and peered over the guardrail, but the strong river current had already washed her things out of sight.

"Oops," said Dorothy. "But check out this photo!"

Angela looked at Dorothy's phone. Two smiling naked women in mid-jumped looked back at her. One had an elaborate blonde up-do, a slim, angular body, a smooth hairless pussy and a pair of smart black heels. The other, intimately familiar, was short, curvy, with long black hair and a full bush, naked but for a hair-tie around her ankle. An arc of clothing hang in the air above them, and Angela could hardly bear to look at the image of those black panties she'd held in her hands just moments ago. The women were happy, excited, smiling, but there was just a hint of sadness in the shorter one's eyes, which you could see if you looked real hard and long, or if you knew her well.

"Stunning!" said Dorothy.

"It's a nice picture."

The women returned to Dorothy's car. Angela revealed that she didn't have a ride, or any way to get home without her phone. Dorothy was only to happy to drive her home. "It's the least I can do after stealing your clothes and then throwing them in a river."

The ladies hopped in the car and began the long drive. Angela sat in the passenger seat, back up straight, breasts visible to anyone who cared to look. Dorothy knew her as an exhibitionist, an inspirational one at that, so it was too late to hide now. And that was okay. She was still a little drunk.

Half an hour later, Dorothy's car pulled up in front of Angela's condo. Angela thanked her for the ride and let her take her phone number. Dorothy would be in touch about paying for the lost clothes. Both women got out of the car, and Dorothy smiled at Angela. "Thank you for tonight," she said, pulling Angela into a tight hug. "Let's do this again. Next time, I'll do the Square naked as well."

Angela made vague affirmative noises, but had about as much desire to intentionally repeat any of the day's experiences as she had to go on a date with Mark. Dorothy squeezed her hand and disappeared back into her car.

Angela waved and then turned to face her front door. One of her neighbors, George, was sitting on his porch, staring at her. "A-Angela?" he asked. "Is that you? Who's your friend?"

"You have a wife, George," Angela snapped back, ambling towards her front door and then bending down to retrieve the spare key from below the doormat. "Don't tell her about any of this, okay."

"Yes ma'am!" George said, catching a glance at Angela's ass as she fished for the key.

Angela found her key and opened her door, home at last. She shut it quickly behind her and collapsed against it, exhausted from the most insane day of her life. Against the back of the door, she noticed her running shoes and socks, as well as her phone. They must have been pushed through the mail slot.

There was sticky note on the back of her phone. "Hope you got home safe -M"

She turned it over. There were hundreds of messages and missed calls. She couldn't deal with that right now. It could all wait for the morning.

Angela staggered to her room, threw her phone on the bed, and pulled a dressing gown out of her wardrobe, wrapping it tightly around herself. The soft felt was almost orgasmic against her cold skin. She sighed in deep relief and collapsed on top of her bed, asleep the instant she hit the blanket.

The sun was high in the sky when Angela finally awoke the next morning. She'd slept in the same position all night and there was puddle of drool on the blanket next to where her head had landed. She had a splitting headache and a sore back, so it took her a while to pick herself up.

Yesterday's events seemed faraway, unreal. Had they all been a dream? Angela was naked under her dressing gown, so maybe not. She could also feel the hair-tie against her ankle. Her phone buzzed with three new messages.

She would deal with that soon, but first, it was time to take a shower. And then clothes. She looked lovingly at her closet.

Once in the bathroom, Angela had to give herself a small pep talk before she was ready to remove her dressing gown and be naked once more, even if only for a few minutes. Eventually she succeeded, dropping the gown and then darting into the shower and turning on the tap before it had even hit the floor. She had a quick shower and then dried and wrapped herself in a towel. How wonderful to have a towel!

Angela returned to her room and dug through her closet for a full outfit. Panties, bra, socks, shoes, jeans, T-shirt, sweater. She greedily pulled on each item of clothing, savoring the touch of the fabric. She pulled the hair-tie from her ankle, having forgotten to remove it for her shower, and put her hair up.

For the first time in more than twenty-four hours, Angela was fully clothed. She looked at herself in the mirror. There was no wide expanse of pale skin, no nipples or pubic hair. She couldn't see the bottoms of her breasts, or her belly button, or the stubborn fat on her thighs. Normal, modest girl Angela stared back at her, dressed in blue jeans and a light green sweater over a purple T-shirt. She felt like herself again.

Now she was ready to deal with her phone. She lay down on her bed and steeled herself before unlocking.

There were missed calls and messages, but mostly there were pictures. Angela's friends and acquaintances had been sending her pictures of herself since Saturday morning, but they had only come through now that her phone had connected to her home Wi-Fi. None of her friends had taken any of these photos; they were just passing on things they'd seen in community chat groups and other parts of the internet. Some friends were worried about her, others wanted to help, and others sent pictures with captions like "hey this naked chick kinda looks like you, weird"

There were photos of her standing in front of Tammy's front door, hiding between cars at the hospital parking lot, scrunching herself up in the backseat of cars, standing bottomless in front of the fence at Mark's place and running down streets at sunset. Pictures that she had no idea how anyone could have taken, but were nonetheless real.

Even the picture of her standing behind the board at the Bureau of Clothing had leaked, and Angela noted with annoyance that there'd been a mirror on the wall behind her, which she hadn't seen in the darkness. But she had to admit that it made for an appropriate visual representation of the place.

The strip club forbade patrons from taking pictures, so there weren't any shots of her at her most compromised. But most of the photos were of her walking through the square, sitting at the bar and... dancing with Donato. Those last ones she kind of liked. The shots from the slow dance, where much of her body was artfully hidden behind his... well, maybe she would get one framed.

As she scrolled, her phone would ping with new photos. Angela was inundated with her naked body. Then she noticed that some of the photos were actually videos, and she watched herself stroll through the Square, smiling and blushing. Had she really done that? It felt like a vivid dream. She look past her own body, to the faces of the people who were watching her. Some were shocked, some rolled their eyes, but most were just staring. She saw a girl mouth the word "slut" in the background of one of the videos, while she was shaking her ass for the college boys. She felt dirty, shameful.

Angela put her phone down and got up from her bed. She looked at her clothed form in the mirror. Could this serious, normal girl really be the same as the one in those pictures and videos?

A small piece of cardboard lying on the floor caught her eye and she picked it up. It was the card Madame Claire had given her, which advertised the contact details and very vaguely described services of one Claire Berkowitz. She was surprised it had stuck in her ankle band for long enough to reach home. There was a web address written in neat handwriting on the back.

Curious, Angela copied the web address in her phone's browser. It took her to a private image on photo sharing site, which wanted a password before she could see it. She looked back at the card and noticed that the word "Candice" was written underneath the address. This was the password.

The second photo Ms. Shenkovich had taken of her popped up on the screen. The one where she looked like a magazine centerfold. Bouncy tresses of luminous black hair. Long lashes and ruby-red lips. Spotless porcelain skin from her face to her toes. Little glints of glitter sparkling on her breasts, tummy and butt-cheeks, shown in Ms. Shenkovich's handheld mirror. A cute tuft of curly black hair covering her crotch.

Angela looked from the photo to her reflection. Wholesome, clothed Angela suddenly seemed dour and frumpy. She loosened her hair and fluffed it up a bit. That was better. She wondered what makeup brands Ms. Shenkovich had used.

Then her phone started buzzing with messages for an unknown number. It was Dorothy, sending her the pictures of them she'd taken in the parking lot. They were sexy. Angela lingered on the last one, where they were throwing their clothes in the air. There was, as she'd previously identified, a hint of sadness in her eyes, but it was mixed with joy and a sense of freedom. She remembered the exhilaration of that moment, when they had literally thrown their clothes to the wind.

The sweater was making her overheat, so she pulled it off. And she didn't really need to wear shoes in the house, so she took those off too, with her socks. Now that the initial euphoria of getting clothing again had worn off, she was feeling... what? Happy, warm, content, certainly. But a little constricted. These were quite tight jeans, after all.

Angela undid the button on her jeans and was hiking them down when her phone rang. It was Rachel, her best friend. She hadn't sent Angela any photos, so maybe she didn't know about what had happened to her. She was so busy with wedding planning, maybe too busy to hear about some naked chick partying in the Square.

"Hi Rachel," said Angela, picking up, still struggling out of her jeans.

"Hey bestie, how are you?" Rachel's voice was sweet and caring, even over the phone.

Angela wasn't sure how to respond. "I'm... better," she said at last, as the jeans finally slipped free of her thighs.

There was a long pause. Angela wondered if Mark and Tammy had mentioned anything to her other friends. Probably not, unless they'd really twisted the stories to make themselves not look like assholes.

"Everyone's talking about you, Angela! And you're in all these photos! It's really crazy! I couldn't believe it at first, but that smile is unmistakable. I mean, I'm your best friend, and I had no idea you had this side to you!"

Angela didn't know what to say. Her fleeting hope of having a normal conversation with Rachel had been shattered. But at least she wouldn't have to break the news.

"The pics are stunning, by the way, you look really good. I need the deets on your glute exercises."

"Th-thanks Rachel," Angela stammered, just then stepping out of her jeans and opening her closet to find some shorts.

"Anyway, I can't talk too long right now, just wanted to call and let you know that you're beautiful and I fully support you. But please remember to wear your bridesmaid dress for the wedding! I need all eyes to be on me."

Angela found a pair of pink short shorts. "I will, don't worry."

"Good. I want to hear all about your night. We should meet up for coffee this week so you can spill! The Angela I remember wouldn't even wear a string bikini, so I want to find out what you've been hiding from me!"

"How about tomorrow after work? My place?"

"Done... but please put something on, for my sake."

They said goodbye to each other and both hung up. Angela buttoned her shorts, then sighed deeply and fell back on her bed. She would tell Rachel the truth, the whole story, and about how horrible she'd felt and how glad she was to finally be clothed again. Then maybe her best friend would stop thinking she was an exhibitionist.

Angela's feelings were all in a tangle. She had hated the embarrassment of being naked against her will, and the lack of control she had felt, and all the ways that people had used and abused her. Tammy's contrivances, Mark's probing finger, that old man Horatio's perverted measurements. The charity store worker's backhand.

But she'd enjoyed the compliments, and the feeling of water against her skin, and even the breeze, though it was sometimes a bit cold. And if she was really honest with herself, well, dancing at the strip club was kind of fun too. She wouldn't be taking Madame Claire up on her offer, but maybe she could phone and find out if she could hire Ms. Shenkovich to do her hair and makeup again. That would be a massive improvement on Rosa's.

She'd also had fun at the Square, and everyone had been really nice to her, even if the thought of all those eyes still made her blush. And she'd met Donato. Would he even have noticed her with clothes on? And, more pressingly, what should she wear for him next time? Could she really follow up last night with a date in one of her boring old conservative dresses? She wanted him to enjoy looking at her body, like he had during their dance.

Yesterday had been the worst day of her life, but also the best. Certainly the most stressful and exciting. Even some of the worst parts were kind of funny, looking back. Not all of them. And while she didn't quite want to admit this to herself, the best parts had come at the end, when she'd bent to the will of universe and stopped trying to find clothes. Maybe there was something to that. Tonight, she would try a little experiment.

Angela passed the rest of the day inside, finally responding to all of the messages she'd received. She told her concerned friends that she was safely home and clothed again, and didn't need any more help. She told the friends who hadn't identified her in the pictures that indeed her resemblance to the naked girl was striking, and that that was amusing but also kind of embarrassing. She sent a message to Dorothy thanking her for the pictures and the ride. She left messages from Tammy and Mark on read. She prayed for a call from Donato.

Once the sun had set, it was time for the experiment. Angela's condo was a single storey with a small yard. She opened the back door and went into her garden, where a variety of plants were growing, which she dutifully watered.

A ladder was propped up against the roof shingles. She liked to go up there sometimes to think. It wasn't entirely safe on the angled roof, but there was enough flat space to sit and let her feet dangle down the side, and the little bit of danger was kind of exciting.

But there definitely wasn't enough space to undress on the roof, so Angela did that first. She pulled the t-shirt over her head, and unbuttoned and pulled down her shorts. She unhooked her bra and pulled down her panties, leaving everything in a heap on the grass. It was the easiest thing in the world.

Angela climbed the ladder and cleared a flat space to sit. She gingerly set her butt down and dangled her bare legs and feet. She looked out at the quiet suburb, leafy trees and houses stretching as far as she could see.

Then, slowly and carefully, she raised herself to a standing position, in the middle of the roof. She spread her arms out and looked up at the night sky. It was dark under the new moon. The wind whistled past her. It whipped up her hair and she enjoyed its cool touch on her nether regions. Maybe there was something to the Bureau of Clothing's scientifically formulated non-outfit after all.

But then she had been naked. Now, she was nude.

Angela heard the neighbor's door rustling and quickly got down off the roof. She didn't want to upset George's wife. And maybe she wasn't perfectly at ease with all of this just yet. She gathered up her clothes and went back inside. She liked being normal Angela. But she also liked being nude Angela sometimes. There was enough room in her life for both.

The End

[edithdick]

Awesome story!

[Dormouse]

I've already commented on this story on another board, but I do like stories where the protagonist loses their clothes and grows to accept their nudity.

And I've already pointed out that both this story and Janet's Story has someone losing their clothes and then discovering public nudity is legal.

[edithdick]

And I've already pointed out that both this story and Janet's Story has someone losing their clothes and then discovering public nudity is legal.

I think the justification in both cases is the same. The new law was fairly recent, so unless it was something that directly impacted you, it could easily have been implemented below your radar.

In both Angela’s and Janet’s case, they were so far mentally from even thinking about public nudity that they never would have noticed or even spoken with someone who wanted to discuss it.

Angela’s case was more extreme, as nobody except for a single police officer had even heard about this change. So it must have been extremely recent, as in days before.

[FinchAgent]

Awesome story!

Thank you, glad you enjoyed it.

Wow! And a story that actually concluded with the words, "The End." That is a rare treat on this board!!! (Yes, I am guilty too.) But seriously, it really is great when stories have an actual conclusion. Kudos to you!

Haha, yes, I try not to post things unless I've either already finished them or am certain I will finish them soon. With this story, the muse gripped me and wouldn't let me go till it was all done.

I've already commented on this story on another board, but I do like stories where the protagonist loses their clothes and grows to accept their nudity.

And I've already pointed out that both this story and Janet's Story has someone losing their clothes and then discovering public nudity is legal.

Thanks for your comments both there and here. I think it was another comment of yours somewhere on that board that led me here, so thank you for that as well.

And I've already pointed out that both this story and Janet's Story has someone losing their clothes and then discovering public nudity is legal.

I think the justification in both cases is the same. The new law was fairly recent, so unless it was something that directly impacted you, it could easily have been implemented below your radar.

In both Angela’s and Janet’s case, they were so far mentally from even thinking about public nudity that they never would have noticed or even spoken with someone who wanted to discuss it.

Angela’s case was more extreme, as nobody except for a single police officer had even heard about this change. So it must have been extremely recent, as in days before.

Yes, that's very much what I was going for, a very recent precedent that wasn't well publicised, at least in general circles. As far as I know something like what I laid out here is basically the law in most of the countries where they film NIP videos.

[Dormouse]

Yes, that's very much what I was going for, a very recent precedent that wasn't well publicised, at least in general circles. As far as I know something like what I laid out here is basically the law in most of the countries where they film NIP videos.

I hear occasionally that, technically, public nudity is allowed in the UK, not that I've tried it. A few years ago a journalist did an experiment in Brighton (where the first public nude beach in the UK opened nearly forty years ago). The police did interview him but didn't charge him.

The naked bike rides seem to get away with it. I once saw a long stream of naked cyclists go through Piccadilly Circus, a very busy area in London, popular with tourists, and it was a Saturday afternoon so very busy.

There was a woman who posted stuff on Vimeo a while back who was very keen on public nudity and once did something like three naked bike rides in successive weeks. There's a scene before the ride in Brighton where the riders are assembling in a park and she goes over to interview one of the police officers observing the event. She is totally naked and the policeman doesn't bat an eye.