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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Stripping and Humiliation

Lose your dignity or your clothes

I shouldn't be vain. That's my trouble. If I hadn't been showing off it would never have happened to me. I shouldn't volunteer. That's another weakness; that and the tendency to be bullied by Miss Peabody.

Miss Peabody was the headmistress of the school where I had been sent as a student teacher. Miss Peabody was one of those women who could make even the most recalcitrant, objectionable, bothersome pupil do exactly as told just by fixing her beady eyes on them. Those beady eyes that squinted behind thick pebble lensed spectacles. She could also make me do exactly as I was told by fixing her beady eyes on me.

"You will assist me on our half term school outing," she announced in her crisp Morningside accent, and those beady eyes gave me no alternative.

The half term outing turned out to be a weekend in Paris with the sixth form French class. Which, on the face of things, could have been worse. I could show off my French. I had a 'B' at A Level. See, I told you I was a show off.

" improve your abysmal grammar and learn some culture," as Miss Peabody announced to the class as I stood beside her quaking. I was always quaking when I stood beside Peabody.

I looked at the class and quaked even more. They were all girls. You might think it strange that a class of eighteen year old girls made me quake. But I've always found girls a bit intimidating.

You might also think it strange that I chose teaching for a career. I was what might be described as a callow youth. Callow is a good word I think, mixing notions of timidity with naivety. I was callow and I was jejune. Jejune being another good word suggesting at the same time both a slim figure and a degree of youthful inexperience. All of which epithets applied equally to me. I was naive, inexperienced, slim and timid. On the other hand I've always been a bit of a show off and I fancied the idea of a class of admiring schoolchildren hanging on my every word. In French of course. I had a 'B' at A Level.

I hadn't expected to be intimidated though. But they were so self-assured, so confident, so bossy. So there I was commandeered on to the trip by Miss Peabody.

Not that discipline was a problem at St Mungo's Academy for Girls. Not with Miss Peabody around.

"Our new student," she went on having evidently forgotten my name, "will accompany us. He assures me he speaks fluent French."

Miss Peabody had not been overthrilled at getting a male student, but in these days of equality she couldn't complain.

I had got my 'B' at A Level French exam and I was going to boast about it. That's what I mean by being a show off. I liked to be admire for my academic achievements.

So there I was, accompanying the intimidating Miss Peabody and twelve bossy girls. Still, there was only a weekend to get through and Miss Peabody would keep them in order. At least Miss Peabody would have kept them in order but for an unfortunate incident. You see culture was to be an important part of the visit, and culture meant art galleries where Miss Peabody expected improving landscapes and pictures of water lilies. What the girls actually saw when they entered that room on the ground floor of the Museée d'Orsay was a picture by the eminent Gustave Corbet entitled L'Origine du Monde.

For those of you who are not art lovers and have never been to the Musée d'Orsay, I must explain that this picture is rather rude. In fact it is more than rude, it is a picture that would bring a blush to the cheek of a gynaecologist. If you want to know what will bring a blush to the cheek of a gynaecologist just go to'Origine_du_monde#/image/File:Origin-of-the-World.jpg and you will see.

Miss Peabody placed her pebble lensed spectacles upon her nose, without which she could see nothing except vague shapes and bright colours, and squinted at the picture. Then she fainted clear away and had to be revived with smelling salts. After that she took to her bed with two aspirin and a bottle of gin.

I was stuck with a dozen eighteen year olds to amuse and culture wasn't the first thing on their mind. They wanted to go shopping. Well, a few souvenirs. What was the harm in that. Or so I thought. Souvenirs were the last things on their mind. Led by a rather precocious self-assured girl called Collette (just the sort who intimidated me the most) I was dragged into one of those fashion boutiques selling sexy underwear, the sort which Miss Peabody would definitely not have approved of.

Ah Collette! Just the sort of girl a callow youth would dream of, if not totally intimidated by her. She was tall, she was dark, she was beautiful, she spoke with that mixture of assurance and expectancy that whispered 'come hither' in the ear of the young, the naive and the inexperienced.

But I couldn't have them spending their cultural weekend buying underwear!

"Come on girls," I protested, "this shop isn't suitable."

One word from me and they did as they liked. A shop assistant appeared. A dark haired beauty emanating 'Le sex'. She babbled something incomprehensible at me. Was that supposed to be French? It sounded nothing like I'd learned at school.

But still, I had to boast of my linguistic skills.

"I have a 'B' at A Level French," I said, "let me do the talking."

"Excusez-moi," I said, turning to the sales assistant, "Je m'appelle..."

I got not further. Collette broke in with more incomprehensible gabble. The shop assistant broke into a smile. I stared at Collette.

"My mother's French," she explained, "I can actually speak the language."

"Well so can I," I said.

"Of course," said Collette.

I turned to the assistant.

"Oui!!" I pronounced. I'd show them. I had a 'B' at A Level. I should though perhaps have checked what I was saying 'oui' to.

"Great girls!" Exclaimed Collette, "he says we can try things on!"

"But..." I protested. It was too late. Too vain to admit I hadn't understood a word, I had agreed to the girls trying things on. They rushed to the racks, then to the changing rooms, and were soon flitting around in front of mirrors in the most unsuitable garments. There they all were! Parading round in sexy underwear. There was quite too much female bare flesh on display. I had to put a stop to it.

I turned to the assistant, "Je voudrais..."

I wanted to say 'stop'. What on earth was 'stop' again.

"Je voudrais essayer..." That was it... Wasn't it?

The assistant looked blankly at me and Collette broke in with more gabble. The assistant looked at me with a puzzled expression and gabbled some more. She must be asking if I really wanted them to stop.

"Oui," I said. That means 'yes' in French if you haven't got a 'B' at A Level.

"Certainememt," she said.

Good! They were going to stop! But no the assistant went off and returned with the briefest pair of whatever they were I have ever seen.

"What on earth's that?" I gasped.

"It's a gentleman's thong," said Collette.

"A what?"

"A gentleman's thong. And you just asked to try it on."

"But... But..."

My stupid vanity. My stupid showing off. By not admitting I couldn't understand a word I'd been tricked into asking to try this thing on. How was I going to get out of this! I couldn't admit I couldn't understand anybody. I couldn't.

The assistant held the wretched article out and gabbled something with a puzzled look on her face.

"Non, non," I said (which if you haven't worked it out for yourself means 'no').

"Good," said the assistant. Oh no! She could speak excellent English.


"I asked if you had any objections to trying it on now. Well I thought you might, but you said you didn't. So if you care to come this way."

Oh no! I looked at the skimpy garment. I had to be shown up as a fraudulent speaker of the language or be shown up in quite a different way. Vanity won. I was a show-off. I couldn't admit that I hadn't understood. I let myself be led to the fitting room.

Oh well. All I had to do was try the thing on, say I didn't like it and put the whole thing down to experience. First I had to strip naked though. I don't know about you, but I always feel self conscious stripping in a shop changing room, but at least at home they have doors. This place just had a curtain across the front. Just one flimsy curtain between me with no clothes on and the girls. I stood there in the altogether and held the garment up. I couldn't for the life of me work out how to put the thing on.

Then the most dreadful thing happened.

A gabble from outside the curtain.

"Oui..." I replied not understanding a word of it.

And the curtain was flung back exposing me in a state of total nudity to the giggling girls in the shop. Have you ever been exposed in a state of total nudity to a group of giggling girls? Probably not. Well this is what happens. You go bright red. You hold your hands over your private parts. You stand knock-kneed, speechless, with your mouth open. Well that's what I did.

"Ooh la la!" Said the shop assistant, stepping into the fitting room and pulling the curtain closed behind her, "I ask if you are ready and you say yes."

"We'll I er... I..." I was standing in the nude with Mademoiselle Sexy and I was completely tongue tied.

"You need some help?" She asked.

"I er... I er..."

"Why do you not ask. It is no problem," and she knelt down in front of me to put the ridiculous garment over my feet, apparently oblivious of the fact that her nose was two inches from my bare penis. She pulled the wretched thing up. I looked at myself in the mirror. It was awful. A little pouch over my you-know-what's and a couple of thin straps round the waist and between the cheeks of my bottom. Completely bare otherwise.

"Perfect," said the girl, "except er.. Perhaps.. Your..." She glanced down.

My penis had somehow escaped the ridiculous pouch and was swinging free.

"Let me," she said, and before I could say anything she took hold of it and tucked it back in, the grasping my naughty bits she adjusted the pouch so they were held firmly in place.

"Eh voila!" She said flinging the curtain back. I've never heard so much laughter in my life.

"Tu veux que je..." I couldn't understand the rest. Something about wrapping up, I thought. She must be asking if I wanted the ridiculous costume wrapping.

"Oui," but she'd been asking if I wanted to come out and get the opinion of the girls. This involved standing on a stool in the middle of the shop to be admired.

Oh no!

Have you ever stood in the middle of a shop ninety-nine percent nude with a group of girls pointing you out to the laughing shoppers. Well I had to. You see I had to pretend that was what I wanted. That I wanted to make an exhibition of myself. It was that or admit I couldn't really speak the language at all. All I could do was stare straight ahead, my face burning red and thank my lucky stars that the rudest one percent was covered up at least.

"What is going on here!"

The sound of a familiar intimidating voice resonated throughout the shop.

"Miss Peabody...," I gasped. The wretched woman had ventured forth and was standing in front of me. How on earth had she got there?

"What," she said, turning ashen grey, "is that?"

She pointed down at my nether regions. I looked down. My penis was swinging free in the breeze. At least it would have been if there had been any breeze. No wonder the crowd had been laughing. It must have worked its way out again.

"It's er... I er..."

I stepped back, forgetting I was standing on a stool. I started to topple backwards. Miss Peabody grabbed the stupid costume I wasn't quite wearing and it tore straight off. I tumbled backwards completely nude straight into the girls standing behind me. I stood up and stared at the astonished Peabody standing open mouthed as she slowly sank to the floor in a swoon

I was completely nude in the middle of a shop surrounded by giggling girls. I had to keep my nerve. I just had to keep my nerve. I summoned up all my courage. This was no time to stand cringing with my hands over my willy, as much as I wanted to.

I drew myself up to my full height.

"Come on girls," I said, in as authoritative tone as I could manage, "there's nothing to laugh at here."

"Oh yes there is," said Collette, "...that!" And she pointed straight at my penis.

I defy any man to keep his nerve when a girl is pointing at his penis and laughing. My nerve broke, and hands over willy, I turned and ran, gales of laughter at the sight of my bare bum following me as I scuttled round the shop trying to find the changing cubicle and my clothes.

Have you ever fallen backwards off a stool in the nude. I bet you have! Then you'll know that it is rather disorientating. I has been three times round the shop and once nearly out into the street before the kindly shop assistant finally caught me and helped me put the gentleman's thong, now reconstructed with the help of a safety pin, back on. I was clearly going to have to buy the wretched thing. She pushed me back into the changing cubicle and helped me get dressed.

Shamefaced I crept back out. Miss Peabody was sitting with a glass of brandy in her hand, looking more than shaken. Se didn't seem best pleased.

turned out that Collette had left a message for Miss Peabody to let her know where we were going. She said that Miss Peabody had insisted on knowing. She said that she had never thought that Miss Peabody would follow is there. That's what she said anyway.

Miss Peabody, it seemed, had taken to her bed again and purchased a second bottle of gin. Colette, it seemed, been given instructions to find somewhere for the girls to eat that night. I, it seemed, was no longer to be trusted.

I wasn't sure that Colette was to be trusted with booking the evening's outing, but I let her. She spoke the language and anyway I didn't dare risk the wrath if Peabody again. She announced we were going to the 'Haut Nues'. The phrase sounded familiar. I tried Google Translate, the last refuge of the person with a 'B' at A Level. It seemed to mean 'High Clouds'. That sounded all right.

I joined the girls to set off to the restaurant in the minibus Colette had hired. Good God, she was efficient, I'll say that for her. They didn't look like schoolgirls. But of course they were final year girls. They were eighteen, only a few years younger than me. They were dressed to kill. Not tarty! Oh no! This was Paris. You didn't dress tarty unless you were a tart. They dressed sexy. Oh Gosh. Out in Paris for the evening with a dozen sexy girls. Some people's idea of heaven. My idea of trouble. But the High Clouds restaurant, that sounded all right. Until we got there that is.

It was in Pigalle. In a sort of back street in Pigalle. An area that was somewhat racier than I would have chosen. Still, there were some nice restaurants round there. And there it was, down some steps, dim lights, loud music, raucous parties, and there was the sign 'Bienvenue au Nu'. It wasn't called 'Haut Nues' at all, it was called 'Au Nu'. I had a horrible feeling I knew what that meant. I quickly Googled it. The sign meant 'Welcome to Naked'. We were going to eat in a place called 'Naked'. I didn't think Miss Peabody would approve at all, and there was nothing I could do about it.

We were led to the table reserved for us. I looked at the waitresses and gasped. They were wearing high heels, fish net stockings, spangly briefs and.. Well that was all. Perhaps not quite all, silver bracelets and collars; bosoms, and bosoms which were being stuck almost in my face, were quite bare. I had led a sheltered life. I wasn't used to having a pair of shapely bare bosoms a few inches from my nose. I stared in astonishment. I had never realised that topless waitresses applied makeup to their nipples. But these ones had. It was like a light mascara. And they looked like they'd been twiddled to make them stand out.

I gasped at Colette, "Do you think this is quite appropriate?" I said.

"Don't be an old prude," she replied, "sit back and enjoy the view!.

"But Miss Peabody."

"Bugger Miss Peabody," she replied, an expression which brought a horrible vision to my mind, "I'm not going to tell her. Are you?"

"Well no..."

"There you are then."

She spoke rapidly to the serving girl in French and the meal started. The meal was even rather good, so that was all right. Maybe I shouldn't have allowed them to have all that wine; but they were eighteen and I didn't have any way to stop them and Peabody would never know. Would she?

It was when the entertainment started that the trouble began. It was a place that seemed to cater for group outings, office parties, hen parties or whatever. I knew we could expect audience participation. And embarrassment of the audience would be a major part of the entertainment.

Various acts, musicians, magicians, comedians, chose members of the audience to assist them. The point being to embarrass them of course. And the more the night went on the more the place began to live up to its name. Dancing girls came on between each act wearing, if that's what you can call it, very little indeed. Dancing men came on, wearing not much more. The girls cheered at that rather more than was seemly.

And members of the audience started being deprived of their clothes as well as their dignity. Girls had their skirts lifted up, men lost their belts and their trousers fell down. And with each indignity the audience roared and laughed more.

Please not our table! Please don't come to our table for volunteers! But of course they did. And there was no stopping them. Collette urged two of the girls up on their feet and there they were, joining these two foreign blokes in their quick patter, quite incomprehensible, double act. It was a very clever act, as one bloke distracted a girl, the other one would quickly remove something from her: her belt, her watch, her necklace or whatever, without her noticing. It was really quite funny as they played one of against the other so that they ended up with each other's things. Nothing sexy though, not until...


While the girls had been distracted with all this fun and games with watches and necklaces, their skirts had been unfastened. Two sharp simultaneous tugs, me two skirts fell to the floor. The girls fell about laughing, and as they bent down to pick the up.


Two tops were whipped off. The spotlights were switched on and the two girls were brightly lit on stage dressed in bra and panties. Oh my God! They were wearing the sexy underwear they'd bought at that shop. I didn't know where to look. I shouldn't be looking at them, I knew that. I was supposedly in charge. On the other hand Peabody had put Collette in charge, and they were eighteen, and they were wearing sexy underwear. I looked. In the bright lights the sexy underwear was semi-transparent. The girls were giggling with laughter and embarrassment as they made their way back to the table.

"Enjoy that?" asked Colette and winked.

"Well... Er..."

"Of course you did. Don't worry I won't tell Peabody. Unless of course..."

"Unless what!"

"Your turn to volunteer next I think."

It was the last act.

The announcement came on "Mademoiselle Fifi", the stripper! And she was coming to our table. I was going to be volunteered to be the stripper's stooge and there was no way I could refuse. Not if Peabody was to be kept in the dark.

She was holding her hand out to me. I was going to have to volunteer. Oh heck! Dancing with a stripper! I couldn't dance at the best of times. This was going to be embarrassing!

Collette looked at her and winked, "A poil," she said.

Mademoiselle Fifi winked back, "Mais out," she said.

"What was that?" I asked Fifi, I knew I knew that expression, but I couldn't just recall it to mind.

"It mean ze good luck," she replied. Oh yes! That would be it.

So a few minutes looking an idiot while Mademoiselle Fifi took her clothes off, not all of them if course, only then I could escape. Or so I thought. Fifi decided I should dance barefoot and bare chested.

Well she would, I suppose, the poor stooge had to be embarrassed sufficiently. And I'd gone wearing a business suit. With a tie and everything. She couldn't have me dance wearing a suit and tie could she. So she takes off my shoes and socks, and she looks at them and says with a slight sneer, "Ze Marks and Spencer," so she can speak English.

Next my tie, "Ze Marks and Spencer again,"and my shirt and, "Oh! I do not believe it. It is ze Marks and Spencer." For those of you who are not English, good old M&S are not really considered the height of fashion. But I always shop there. They are very reliable.

And she tied the tie back round my neck so she could lead me round like I was on a lead. I told you it was about audience embarrassment.

And she of course was taking her clothes off. Till she had nothing left on but her hot pants. Thank God! She was down to her hot pants. It would soon be all over. As if. She had hold of me by the tie and she was gesturing. Oh my God! She wanted me to pull her pants down. How could I get out of that. I couldn't! With a sharp pull on the tie my face was pulled towards her and I was made to grab hold of her pants. I pulled them down. My nose was six inches from her whatsit! Thank Goodness. Under her pants she was wearing a pair of sexy red panties. I was to be spared having my nose pulled into her nook and cranny.

With relief I stood up and my trousers fell down. Well it had happened to others, why was I surprised it had happened to me! I had been so distracted with participating in her striptease, I hadn't noticed how she had removed my belt and loosened my trousers. They were round my ankles. A sharp pull forward on the tie round my neck and I stumbled out of them.

The audience roared. I was wearing my Gentleman's Thong. Why had I put it on! Why oh why had I resurrected this ridiculous garment, stuck together with a safety pin, and worn it. The answer was quite mundane. I had left my ordinary underwear in the shop. I had no alternative but to patch this thing together and put it on. And I was being paraded round in it.

"Ooh la la!" said Fifi, "you are ze naughty boy! Zis is not ze Marks and Spencer I am thinking!"

And Fifi in her scanties and her high heels went strutting round the stage with me in tow in my ridiculous underwear. She pulled me to face the audience. In the glare of the bright lights I could make nobody out. That they could make me out was all too obvious. The laughter was bringing the roof down.

Fifi held out her hand, garbled something quickly and borrowed a bright red lipstick from an audience member. She carefully opened it and held up the crimson contents. What on earth was she going to do? I soon found out.


She said it in English as, facing me to the audience, she daubed my right nipple with red.


My left nipple with red.


My belly button red.


A noise behind me. I looked round.

What on earth..

Collette was standing next to me! Come to rescue me. But... What had she got a hold of.. No.. Please...


She swung the Gentleman's Thong round and round her head. The spotlight came on. And I stood there stupefied. Completely nude and ...

"Four..." Fifi, displaying me to the laughing multitude, carefully and deliberately decorated my cock with bright red lipstick.

And, with my face as crimson as my cock, the audience roared with laughter and the lights at last went out.


I stood in the ladies room at the Au Nu while Colette tried unsuccessfully to clean the bright red lipstick off my penis. I still hadn't got my clothes back.

"Can't have you going back like that," she said, "what would Peabody say?"

The other girls were milling around getting ready for the journey back.

"I don't suppose Peabody is going to see my... Well you know what.."

"You never know with Peabody. She would demand explanations."

She rubbed harder.

"Oh dear! It's still bright red. Maybe if you let it well... Relax..." she said.

"I can't. I'm standing here with no clothes on and you're rubbing it!"

'Oh. I suppose...," but she didn't get any further.

'Its a disgrace!"

A familiar Morningside accent boomed out from the doorway to the ladies room. We looked round in horror. Peabody!

"It's a disgrace!"

Oh no! I was in for it now. Stark naked in the ladies room with a bright red, and embarrassingly vertical, willy!

"The concierge told me you'd ordered a taxi for here and so I came to see what was happening. Unfortunately I left my spectacles behind and couldn't see a thing until that strange dancing woman came and borrowed my lipstick. And she never gave it back. It's a disgrace I tell you. She never gave it back. It's my particularly favourite shade of...!"

She looked at my bright red startling erect penis.

"Ah! There it is," she squinted hard in the dim light of the ladies room, trying to make something of the blurs in front if her eyes, "That girl in the pick costume has it. I can see it's my colour even without my specs!"

And you know what? I'd have got away with it all if she hadn't come over and grabbed her lost property before she realised precisely what it was.

Submitted: July 24, 2021

© Copyright 2023 Joex. All rights reserved.

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