Normal Nurse or Nude Waitress?

It took me a few seconds to respond but I knew I had no choice, "I'm a Dumb Slut," I said. "Can you speak up?" he countered, "I can't hear you with all this noise." I repeated my new name loud enough that everyone heard me. My response had most of the room laughing. When the laughter died down a bit Terry pushed his advantage, "Now whenever you introduce yourself I want you to pick up your top and shake your boobs-- first up and down and then side to side. Understand? Again I was stunned I just nodded. "OK then let's try that again. Hi, my name is Terry what's your name?" I picked up my top and began shaking my boobs as he had directed while reciting my new name, "I'm a Dumb Slut" I answered on cue whle shaking my boobs for him.

One of the guys who had been working in the corner next to a panel of electronics (that I had assumed to be the stereo) now approached us with a small item in his hand. I couldn't tell until he got closer that it was a small video camera attached to the panel by a long wire. He waived to the remaining guy by the panel and the wall in front of me that had seemed to be nothing more than smoky brown glass suddenly lit up. Behind the glass was a huge TV screen that must have been at least 60 inches wide-- and I was on it!

"Are you filming this?" I asked almost crying. I was shocked to hear my voice come over the TV speakers through the camera's microphone almost as loud as the music on the stereo. "It's not against any of the rules is it?" the cameraman shot back over the speakers like some voice from above. I suddenly got a sinking feeling. He was right. I had not put down anything about filming in my rules. "Don't worry we can't sell the film without your permission, so you'll be sure to get your cut of the profits." the cameraman taunted. As I was beginning to realize there was nothing I could do, the cameraman shouted out, "Hi, my name is Jake, what's your name?" I could see my face on the huge screen in front of me. I looked like I was in shock. "Answer him," chimed in the always helpful Terry.

Resigned to my fate as a soft porn film star, I lifted my top and began shaking my boobs up and down and then side to side for the camera while answering into the camera's microphone, "I am a Dumb Slut". Several flashes from other guests' cameras went off as well. As humiliating as I had imagined this might look to someone, I could not believe how utterly degrading it really looked until I saw myself actually doing it on the big screen in front of me. "Look at her nipples –they're huge." someone cried out from the other side of the room. I turned around and there was on another huge TV screen in the wall on the opposite side of the room-- with me on it!

"Get over here you Dumb Slut" ordered the organizer guy who was now coming back to life. When I stood in front of him, the ever present cameraman swung around behind him to capture the scene. "Put your arms up in the air," he ordered, "I think it's time for you to lose that top."

I knew things were really going to kick up a notch now. I stood there with my arms in the air watching my breasts flop out of my top on the big screen in front of me as a strange man stripped me topless. That image gave me a hormone rush that washed across my brain and left me feeling like a malleable fleshy rag doll. I was basking in the spotlight of both complete attention and complete humiliation and the strange mix was driving me wild. Even after my top was gone I was so stunned I kept my arms in the air.

The organizer held my top victoriously above his head for the camera. Then grabbed my sides and turned me around to face the room with my arms still over my head. My back was now on the big screen. "She's all yours now. Let the games begin!" he screamed over the music to a whooping, clapping and cheering audience. The camera guy swung around quickly to capture me standing there with my arms up in the air and a dumbfounded expression on my face. When the cheers subsided the organizer guy screamed at me, "Now put your arms down and get these guys some drinks."

I grabbed a piece of stationery and a pen I found on a table and went around taking orders. One of the "customers" asked me what the drink choices were. As I was fumbling around in my pocket to pull out the list of available drinks, the "customer" had already started kneading my boobs like bread dough. By the time I got the list unfolded and was reading it he was hefting them in his hands as if weighing them. When I was done reading the list he said, "Thanks, but I'm fine. My drink's right behind you. I enjoyed playing with your tits though!" With that he scooped up his beer and took a sip with smug expression on his lips. The cameraman was right there to document the scene for everyone to see. Laughter erupted from every part of the room.

Another guest came up behind me as I was taking an order and grabbed my boobs at their base, right where they joined to my chest. Then he turned me around to face the camera and started flipping them so they flopped up and down as if I were running. When that got old, he yelled to a friend to turn down the music and he dragged me by my boobs over to the center of the room that had been set up as the "stage area" for the lesbian girls. There he started a dialogue between my two boobs as if they were puppets. He turned them toward each other and then away from each other as if they were talking and made them "nod" yes and no. The cameraman put this absurd "play" up on the big screen.

As the play progressed the cameraman yelled at me to smile. I ignored him at first but he was so persistent I knew I had to follow his orders under my "rules." I then stood there and watched myself on the big screen smiling like a complete idiot while another strange man played with my boobs as if they were puppets and the rest of the guys made fun of me. That guy's "play" finally ended to a round of applause and after he had made my breasts take their bows for their "performances" I finished taking drink orders from the rest of the guys with only some pretty routine groping.

In the kitchen I grabbed another stiff drink for myself and pulled a scissors from the drawer. I cut off another half inch off the front of my already short shorts to appear even more slutty. Believe it or not I was craving even more of this kind of attention. When I was cutting I felt some dampness on the fabric. I checked and there was a small water mark forming near my crotch. I was soaking wet in that area and was not wearing any underwear.

As I came back to the den/media room and started serving drinks the modifications to my shorts did not go unnoticed. About half way through my rounds one of the guests decided to explore my crotch area as I served his drink, sticking his hand under my shorts. "Holy shit," he yelped, "her pussy's soaking wet! The video camera guy who had been talking to a friend for a while suddenly came back to life and turned the camera to document the next several guys' groping my crotch as I served drinks. Once again everyone in the room had a view from every angle on the big screen as guest after guest stuck his hands under my shorts and felt around, making comments and using a finger or two to probe inside of me. After allotting each guy a small amount of "play time" I pushed their groping hands gently away and claimed I was falling behind in serving drinks to the other guests and had to keep moving.

By the time I got to serve the organizer guy my pants were completely disheveled. It was almost midnight and the organizer guy signaled that the volume on the stereo had to be turned down to avoid complaints from neighbors. He ordered me to put my tray down and put my hands in the air again. He walked around me ceremoniously while the camera guy documented the inspection. The organizer squatted in front of me and then settled into a detailed inspection my crotch area. "I see pussy hairs sticking out from your uniform" he screamed as if outraged. The rest of his angry lecture about how I was a "disgrace to my uniform and to hard working sluts everywhere bellowed over the TV speakers and could now be easily heard over the toned-down music coming from the stereo. Everyone was either in front of me or focused on the big screens to see me get "dressed down" by the organizing guy. I kept saying "I'm sorry sir. It will never happen again."

"Sit down," he directed pointing me to the folding chair behind me, "and wait here." "Yes, Sir," I answered meekly to add to the drama. The chair was located in the "stage area" that had been created for the lesbian show. I was pretending to let a few tears fall, but was uncertain enough about my fate that some of the tears may have been real. The organizer guy left the room for a while and the camera guy flipped on some extra lights that shone in my face making it hard for me to see what was happening in the room in front of me. I could still see myself clearly on the big screens on either side of the room however, as the cameraman zoomed in on my teary face. After a while of watching myself whimper on big screen TV, I suddenly saw the camera guy shift his focus. On the screens I could now see the door to the den.

The organizer guy entered triumphantly with a long purple bath towel wrapped around his neck, like a king or something, and his hands behind his back under the towel. I watched on the screen as he marched as if in a royal procession and everyone bowed as he passed. He took up a position directly in front of me but several feet back. "Gerry," he directed the groom, "remove her shorts."

Gerry, who was the nicest looking guy of the group and really muscular emerged from the glare and opened the snap on my cut off jeans and yanked them forcibly past my knees. My butt flew up off the chair a few inches and quickly plunked back down with an embarrassing "prffsstt" sound on the metal folding chair. My shorts got tangled momentarily in my high heel shoes but Gerry yanked them free of the tangle by sheer force. As Gerry held my shorts across his chest for the camera with a shit eating grin on his face I was now completely naked in front of a group of drunken men.

The organizing guy barked out orders. "Gerry and Pete, grab her ankles and spread her. Terry and Len take her arms." My face was now stained by real tears as my stiletto heel shoes dangled from their grips and my legs were pulled apart. Two guys behind me each tucked one of their arms under one of my armpits and then each grabbed a wrist with the other hand. The scene was being displayed on big screens on either side of me. "You know what's next, right?" the organizer guy asked me in range of the camera's microphone. I could only choke a gurgle through the tears and shake my head no. With a dramatic flair, he produced a can of shaving cream, a small scissors and a razor from behind the towel. I was somewhat relieved but protested meekly "What about the rules?"

"Well there's no pain and no permanent marks from shaving your pussy right?" the organizing guy answered. "Your bush will sprout up again, especially if you water it with that river of pussy juice that you've got flowing down there." Once again he had me right where he wanted me. There would be no serious pain in shaving me and no permanent marks. I didn't even argue because I had no point to make. My pubic hair was history.

The organizing guy flipped the towel off his shoulders and laid it in front of my spread legs. He kneeled down in front of me and ran his fingers through my pubic hairs up and down and then "across the grain" getting the hairs to stand on end. While he was at it he liberally made contact with my "private parts." He then yanked out a few of my pubic hairs with his fingers. "Ouch" I cried "that hurts."

"Would you prefer I use the scissors?" he asked. "If you ask me nicely to cut off all your pussy hair then maybe I will use the scissors instead of ripping them out one by one." I did not reply at first and he ripped out a few more of my pubic hairs by their roots. "Owwww," I shrieked as my body twitched and my legs wiggled uselessly in the grip of the groom and his friends, "OK, OK, I cried, "Please cut off all my pussy hair" I choked out, "please!"

Thanks to the video cameraman I was able to watch on the big screen TV as scissorful after scissorfu of my pubic hair drifted gently down through the stream of light onto the towel. Once the bulk of my hair was gone, the organizer put down the scissors and shook the can of shaving cream. "No need to get the area wet first, he said laughing at me, "you've already taken care of that!" The shaving cream sputtered into his hand and then he rubbed it all over my pubic area. His cold hands made me jump and twist in the firm grasp of my tormentors. "Don't wiggle," he admonished me "or this could get messy." He then began to shave my pubic area bald.

As he shaved, someone yelled out "See if the shoes match the hat" or whatever that stupid expression is for whether the color my pubic hair matched the color of my regular hair. The organizer guy handed the curious member of the audience a huge handful of my pubic hair from the towel. That guy then pulled up a chair next to my captive head, sat down next to me and held my pubic hair up against my regular hair while the camera guy shifted his focus to capture the scene. My pubic hair happens to be reddish while my hair is more strawberry blonde because it gets more sun. So I anticipated the chorus of jeers and accusations that followed.

The cameraman plugged a separate microphone with a long cord into the camera and handed it to the guy sitting near my tear stained face. "Do you dye your hair?" the guy asked shoving the microphone under my mouth as if he were interviewing me for a television show. "No," I answered curtly.

"Hmm then, do you ever play with yourself?" he asked out of the blue. "No" I responded again. "Not much for telling the truth, are you?" he asked without expecting an answer. Then he continued, "So tell me---How does it feel having your pussy shaved by a group of strange men for a national video audience?" This time he put the mike under my mouth expecting a response. "It's humiliating, I said half crying, "I feel like a piece of meat," came the honest answer.

The interviewer grabbed my nearest breast and squeezed it hard, then slapped and squeezed handfuls of flesh all the way down my side until he got to the quadriceps muscles at the top of my leg which he slapped hard several times. "Maybe that's because you really are just a piece of meat— just a piece of meat for us to enjoy. Isn't that right?" He asked rubbing my leg and thrusting the mike under my mouth again. I was too tired and preoccupied watching helplessly as my pubic area was being shaved to argue so I just answered the way he wanted me to, "Yes, I am just a piece of meat." I admitted. "I am just a piece of meat for you to enjoy."

Hearing those words come out my own mouth over the speakers while watching my nude body being held, shaved and squeezed on the screen had a sudden hypnotic effect on me. As the organizer guy wiped off the last of the shaving cream to reveal my now totally bald pubic area I looked completely different to myself up on the screen. I really looked just like a piece of meat. I suddenly realized that was what I had actually become in my own mind. Stripped of all my clothes, my humanity, dignity and pubic hair over the last two hours, and now thoroughly drunk I looked up at the screen and all I could see now was a piece of meat being manhandled and slapped around. All of my human qualities deserted me.

"Get that table over here so Baldy (suddenly this was my new name) can model her new haircut for us," the organizer guy commanded. Two men emerged from behind the lights that were glaring in my face and placed a long beautiful mahogany table next to my chair. The groom and his friends who were holding me on the chair now tossed me onto the table just like a slab of meat and I landed on my backside with a thud.

"Come on Baldy, model your new haircut for us." A voice cried from behind the lights. Obediently I got up into a standing position on the table and looked down at the group of men who had moved their chairs around the table. I walked back and forth along the table with my hands clasped behind my head like a prisoner and did my best "runway walk." I stopped in front of each face to let that guy run his fingers along my exposed private parts and make fun of them. One spectator wasn't satisfied with his view and grabbed my calf and pulled me down onto the table. "I want to see some pink," he laughed.

I was completely hypnotized and drunk now. I was resigned to enjoying whatever happened next. I was getting an incredible thrill being humiliated in front of these men by being a piece of meat. I plunked myself down in front of the guy giving me directions, and felt some hands pulling my shoulders down onto the table. Someone else picked up my head and squeezed either side of my mouth to open it and began pouring beer in which I gulped as quickly as I could to keep from chocking although I did my share of gagging and each time I did beer flowed over my neck and chest. Right behind him someone else did the same thing with one mixed drink after another.

Everyone began to grab and feel every part of me. The guy who had pulled me down was spreading me open for a view of "pink," and then sticking his fingers in and out of me. Someone else was squeezing my right breast and running his other hand up and down my side. Another guy was pulling on my left breast and stretching it by the nipple as far as it would go and then letting it fall back. I then felt another intruder sticking his fingers into my rear end. I didn't even realize I was moaning, gasping and groaning until I heard myself on the TV speakers over the camera mike. Hearing my own moans suddenly triggered a violent orgasm that just wouldn't stop and before I knew it I was listening to myself screaming in orgasm over the mike. Everyone was laughing as I twitched, gasped and screamed in an intense prolonged orgasm. When that orgasm ended I slumped back down nearly passed out and through my now drunken and flushed haze heard the the organizer guy call out, "It's getting pretty messy over here someone's not doing her job." One guy grabbed my spread ankles and another grabbed my wrists. They picked me off of the table and sent me rolling along the floor. My lack of respect for myself was contagious. The men were now also treating me like a piece of meat. I picked myself up but one of my very high heels had broken and I could not get my balance. I stumbled, then began to crawl. Someone kicked me in my rear end as I crawled along the floor and sent me sprawling face first into a thick throw rug.

I finally got up again and limped over on one high heel shoe to the organizer who was standing by a coffee table covered in spilt beer and empty bottles. I got my second shoe off and started picking the empties when he threw a huge pile of napkins on the table. "Wipe it up with your titties. " He ordered.

I got down on my knees and bent over the table. I put my hands on the table's edge to support myself while I settled my breasts onto the pile of napkins and began making a circular motion with my chest. "Scrub it baby, that's what those big titties are made for," squealed the cameraman as he put my new style of cleaning on the big screens. Suddenly I felt a hard whack on my rear, "Youch," I cried as I sat up straight rubbing my rear end. As I looked at the big screen to the side of me and saw I had a wet napkin hanging off of one of my boobs. The organizer guy grabbed my hair and pulled me back down so that my boobs were once again on the pile of napkins. "Keep mopping up that mess--- titty style, he ordered. No breaks." He held my hair close to the table so I could not sit up.