By Willie B.
williebflorida@gmail.com
Copyright 2026 by Willie B., all rights reserved
[2,295 words]
* * * * *Sexualizing Michelle
A Stripped for Florida story
By Willie B Florida
Williebflorida@gmail.com
Author’s Note: Readers have asked me how I personally view the Stripped
For Florida program; is it a positive or negative thing, utopian or
dystopian, empowering or abusive? As a person I am both inspired and
appalled by human behavior. As an author I focus on stories that
elucidate how ordinary young people navigate the often contradictory
circumstances of life in contemporary Florida. WB
* * *
Chapter 7: Three Queens
I fucked Michelle for the last time. She no longer needed me. Since the
time at Miss Morgan’s she had already visited Payton on her own. She
had adventures ahead of her in which I had no part. We got up, took
showers and went downstairs. Her parents sat in their usual chairs in
the sitting room and we chatted amiably for a few minutes.
“I’m dropping Michelle off at the beauty salon,” I said. “I’ll see you this evening.”
“We’re looking forward to it,” Jason Delville said. His booming voice was back and I could tell that he was genuinely pleased.
“We’ll see you tonight, honey,” Marie said to Michelle.
I dropped Michelle off at the salon. It takes a lot to prepare to be
Queen of the Ball, even if you’re nude. Michelle would get a full skin
treatment and hairdo, of course. But there was also the painstaking
process of implanting scores of temporary micrograms. Michelle was
planning to wear high heels with silver micro gems continuing up her
lower legs. Silver micrograms would cover her lower arms, appearing
almost as if she were wearing long gloves. A final band of silver gems
would drape across her bosom up to her neckline and sweep over her
shoulders. The intended effect was to accentuate her beautiful breasts.
“It looks like you’re in good hands, here, Michelle,” I
assured her. “I need to attend to final touches at the stadium. I’ll be
back to pick up an hour before start time.” I blew her a kiss and got
back in the car.
Fortuitously I’d sexualized the daughter of
one of the best band directors in the county some severn years ago. She
was now a college graduate, just starting law school and about to get
married. Her family couldn’t be happier with her and that certainly
enhanced their opinion of me. Without that connection I’d never have
been able to pull of the Three Queens. This was an enormous undertaking
and to think I was doing this all to get one man off the hook from
having to tell his wife that a story he’d told for years, perhaps
decades, was complete fantasy.
I checked in with some twenty
or thirty people who were responsible for various parts of the event,
picked up Michelle and drove her back to the stadium.
“You
look absolutely stunning,” I gushed. And it was true. The silver gems
set off her body, enhanced her height and added to the radiance in her
eyes.
“Thank you, Brad. You’ve been wonderful in every way. I can’t believe everything we’ve done in the course of five weeks.”
“Good luck! I’ll be watching from the stands alongside your parents.” I
kissed her delicately on the lips so as not to mess up her lipstick.
What I’d designed was a homecoming without a school. A halftime without
a football game. My band director connection was more prosaic.
“It’s actually pretty common, Brad. It’s a band contest. You’ve just added an extra component.”
“But the extra component is the entire point as far as I’m concerned.”
“Fair enough, but the bands are here for the camaraderie and the chance to perform.”
“The financial incentive doesn’t hurt,” I added.
“That’s the part that got the schools to approve each bands
participation. It’s just a matter of practicality. The band kids are
here because its what they live for.”
Four bands would
perform. Two before the “halftime event” and four afterwards. Alexa’s
situation had reminded me of the downside of commemorative strippings,
so I had resisted the urge to put on a display of newly nudified young
people. I had been tempted to put on a Miss Morgan type display, at
each entrance either a boy being kept on the edge of climax, or a girl
in the throes of perpetual orgasm. But I had nixed that idea as well.
I strode to the entrance and waited for Jason and Marie Delville.
They were dropped off by an Uber driver and we made our way to our
seats. Each band had done a good job of attracting its own supporters.
The stadium was packed. I had nothing to be embarrassed about in that
regard.
The first two bands put on impressive performances
and the field was cleared. Four trumpeters, the best from each band,
marched forward, turned to face in four directions and let out a
fanfare. The King and Queen set forth from opposite ends of the field.
The people in the stands went wild with hoots, hollers and applause.
The King was resplendent in gold micrograms, which accentuated the
muscles of his chest and upper arms. His penis reared upwards in a full
erection clad in a gold and bronze dragon-themed penis sheath with
wings which swept back around his waist. The Queen wore a full-skirted
strapless dress of palest silver blue silk and a long train which swept
the ground behind her.
The King and Queen arrived at the
center, greeted one another with just the hint of a bow and a curtsy
and then turned to wave to their subjects, first on one side of the
field and then on the other. The trumpeters let out another fanfare and
two children, a boy and a girl, both naked, stepped out from the
sidelines (I have to insist again, that these children were not
stripped for this event, but had been living life naked for years).
Each child carried a satin cushion upon which sat a crown. I had
debated who should confer the crowns and had decided that each monarch
could crown themselves. As such, the boy kneeled in front of the King,
rose at the King’s command and presented the crown upon its cushion.
The girl kneeled in front of the Queen, rose at the Queen’s command and
presented her crown upon its cushion. After another trumpet fanfare the
King and Queen crowned themselves simultaneously and stood for the
crowd’s applause.
There was the clap of pyrotechnics. Golden
fireworks exploded above the field and spirals of sparks drifted lazily
downwards. A voice came over the stadium’s loudspeaker system.
“I present to you their majesties, King Mark and Queen Sylvia.”
For some in attendance this seemed like a natural end to the midpoint
ceremonies, but there was another fanfare from the trumpeters. People
in the stands craned their necks to see who or what might be next. From
the southern end of the field Michelle walked toward the center. She
wore high heels and her hair was swept away from her face in an updo,
accentuating her height. Silver micrograms glittered on her calves,
lower arms and across the top of her torso. Even at a distance her
breasts were stunning.
“That’s my daughter,” boomed Jason
Delville, his voice carrying at least twenty rows, “Isn’t she gorgeous!
I’m telling you, that girl is going somewhere!”
From the
northern end of the stadium strode another tall figure, this one clad
in strapless dress of red and pink sequins with an enormous ruffle all
along the hemline. She had pink hair that was very obviously a wig and
carried herself with the posturing of a fashion model on the runway. It
was impossible to take your eyes off of her. Silver at one end and red
and pink at the other converged in the middle and gave each other
exaggerated kisses on both cheeks before curtseying to King Mark and
Queen Sylvia.
The two naked children appeared again with two
more crowns on cushions. These were presented and placed atop hairdos.
Another pyrotechnic blast rained sparks of silver and pink down from
above.
“I present to you, our Drag Queen, Miss Crystal, and
Michelle, Queen of the Ball. Please give it up for the King and the
Three Queens.”
There was a slight pause while the audience
took in this information and then wild applause, hooting and
catcalling. Marie Delville was dabbing at her eyes with a lace
handkerchief. “The Queen of the Ball, at last. I can’t believe it. Oh,
my, Michelle is the Queen of the Ball.”
Jonas Delville looked
at me across his wife’s sloped shoulders and gave me a wink.
Truthfully, I was feeling bad for having spent liberally of the man’s
money to put on this spectacle, but he looked as pleased as could be. I
was glad I had stuck to the standard format of American pageantry. I
had added only one element to the fulfillment of his fantasy and he
didn’t seem at all concerned.
“The Three Queens,” he laughed. “I get it.”
King Mark and Queen Sylvia had been chosen by my band director contact.
The drag queen was selected by none other than Michelle, who said that
the boy was famous for his outrageous performances.
“They even
let him into bars and clubs and stuff, even though he’s underage.”
Michelle had told me. “You know what, it just occurred to me, Marcus
and Danny probably know him!”
There was an enormous clap of
fireworks and a bright explosion filled the sky above the stadium with
brilliant white light, essentially blinding everyone for a moment. When
the lighting returned to normal it was revealed that all four monarchs
were now naked. The King stood tall, glittering with gold, his erection
held by a penis sheath with dragon wings. Queen Sylvia was now naked as
well, her shapely body outlined in the palest of blue microgem
crystals. The Queen of the Ball was all bright with silver. Next to her
Miss Crystal’s nude body was studded with pink and red crystals and an
enormous erection that at least from this distance appeared to be a
natural appendage. The trumpets took up a marching tune and everyone on
the field marched off to the north end.
The other two bands
put on stellar performances. In spite of the late hour, the stands
remained full. The crescent moon was now high above the treetops and a
cool breeze had picked up. The crowds filed their way out of the
stands, found their vehicles, and navigated out of the crammed parking
lot. The band members had their work cut out for them, packing away
instruments and uniforms into the emblem emblazoned band trailers from
each school.
Out on the field were the two photographers I’d
hired. The entire performance had been video taped, but I wanted these
stills to be as professional as possible. We spent quite some time
posing each person alone, in all possible arrangements, with all the
parents, with sets of parents, with one parent, and so on. Up close the
King was as tall as he seemed to be from a distance and the penis
sheath was even more awesome. He seemed quite pleased to show it off,
erection included.
The Drag Queen was a hoot. “Call me
Crystal,” she insisted in as throaty a voice as a 15 or 16 year old can
muster. “Now that I’m stripped I don’t know what I’m going to do with
this thing,” she said, flaunting an erection that was truly enormous. I
couldn’t help staring at the bulbous dark purple head that topped its
length. “Take a good look, honey, because I just might get a handbag to
carry this thing around in. Oooh, Michelle, is that your dad? You
didn’t tell me he was so hot! Mrs. Delville, how do you keep your hands
off him, even for a second?”
Marie blushed, but Jonas Delville was loving all the attention.
Crystal’s parents (I still only know her by her Drag name) seemed
remarkably chill for the parents’ of such an extravagant child. I’d
made it clear when calling them that it was just fine if they didn’t
want their child to participate, but that I expected all the “monarchs”
to be stripped during the show.
“That’s fine,” they replied.
In fact, everyone involved had been amazingly cooperative. After
hundreds of photographs, and lots of hugs and kisses all around, I told
the four “monarchs” that I really needed to get going.
“We
oldsters need our sleep,” I apologized, “but I promised to be chauffeur
this evening, so we’d best get going.” There were more hugs, kisses and
parental admonitions and then we headed toward the deserted parking
lot. Michelle, Mark, Crystal and Sylvia squeezed themselves into the
back seat while I chauffeured from the front. Spacing was tight in
back, and the light was dim, but from what I could see in the rear view
mirror it looked like Mark and Crystal were getting to know one another
better. I pulled the car up to an elegant apartment building nestled
into a manicured landscape of palm trees, trellised bougainvillea, and
exotic ferns. The kids piled out and sure enough, Mark’s arm was draped
over Crystal’s shoulders and her arm was wrapped seductively around his
waist.
“Here’s the code,” I said, handing small card to Michelle. “Good-night everyone, have fun.”
Danny and Marcus had volunteered to host the afterparty. I wasn’t
invited, so I can’t tell you in any detail what transpired. But with
those six together in the penthouse I’m sure there were some juicy
adventures. My role as sexualizer to Michelle was over and as with all
my charges, I let her go.