"Strip," he commanded harshly.

"In front… of ev-everybody?" she answered in a frightened whisper.

"I don't mean out in the street, you stupid slut! Now peel those pants off and let us see that beautiful little body of yours." Stan's stone-like command broke through her resistance, and like a marionette, the drugged and subjugated young girl unclipped her blouse and unzipped her pants, letting both garments fall to the living room carpet.

"All of them," Vic Cain added nastily, "including your bra and panties."

Stifling a sob of utter shame, she reached behind her and then her white, firm, quivering breasts were naked, in full view of the seven boys. The team members sucked in their collective breaths, for her breasts were perfect twin orbs of purity, capped with tiny, trembling nubs of burgundy-colored nipples. Then she slipped her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slid them down over her full rounded hips. Her black triangle of sparse young pubic hair was projected to their lustful, leering eyes, bringing another round of excited gasps.

"Hot damn," groaned Greg Mothra. "I can see her cunt lips and everything. Jesus, she's a fine piece of fucking tail, Stan."

"You're going to see a lot more of her than just this," the fullback son of the rich Reginald Lubin sneered. "All right, baby, now lie down on the floor. Lie down, I said. That's it. Spread your legs. We want to see all of your pretty pussy. Ahhhh…"

Jennifer Carmel did as she was ordered, sinking to the wool carpet and lying trembling flat on her back, her firm, unblemished skin glossy in the indirect lighting, her full breasts pooling provocatively on her palpitating chest, her flat, hardly touched stomach rippling with queer sensations of fear and excitement. There was some thing so terrible, so wretched about exposing her young, vainly resisting naked body before all these boys that it was almost exciting…