Lieutenant Towel-ewska

It was the sound of the surf that awoke her, and the rising sun in her eyes. She staggered to her feet, her darkened nipples poking out hard in the cold air, and felt the thin crust of salt tightening her skin with every move. This island was very, very small. She could already see the beach on the other side, maybe a hundred feet away. Making her way through the trees was no problem for her tough bare feet. When she got to the far beach she saw nothing but sea, or ocean. No other islands.

Staying just inside the trees, in case anyone was looking, she circumscribed the island. No houses, or huts, in fact no sign of any human contact. Wait, a long burned-out camp fire. But no, there was no one here for a long time. "Hallooooo!!" She was surprised and embarrassed by her impulsive yell. But no matter, there was no answer.

Deciding no one was looking for her here, she sat cross-legged on the beach. Here I am, naked and alone, and lost on a tiny speck of island. What sea was this? Tyrrhenian? Black? Baltic? No, not Baltic; it's not cold enough. Caspian?

She looked up. She had been awake for an hour. and no airplanes. She might be here for some time. Clothing was not a necessity, not for her anyway, and neither was shelter. But she did need food. Another tour of the nude prisoner's tiny realm revealed nothing that looked like fruit. With her not-very-extensive commando training she had learned how to make food out of ordinary plants and trees. But the instructions involved knives, firestarters, kits . . . and occasionally the ripping up of clothing to bind sticks together. She had none of these.

She tried to ignore the hunger pangs and decided to enjoy what could be enjoyed. She walked out into the surf, then sat her bare butt down on the wet sand, feeling the grains squish into her vagina and anus, and began rubbing the muddy grit all over her body. A trick she had learned as a fashion model, good for exfoliating skin. The grains scraped and scraped her all over. She stood up and got all the other parts of her, down to her toes, then stood up straight and proud like a naked Stone Age woman wearing ceremonial mud. Now she pranced into the water again and washed it all off.

She climbed up to the finer, dry sand and lay on her back. One leg bent, she pretended she was nude sunbathing, like she often did as a model. All-over tans were important for those swimsuit shoots. She imagined the other models lying alongside her, the sheets put up so no one on the beach could gawk at them, the cosmetician and the nutritionist hovering around, braiding hair, handing out sugar-free lemonade . . . she allowed herself to smile. She squinted down at her deeply tanned breasts, blocking the view of the sea. She wondered whether the other models suspected anything about her. She was a little too busty to be a model. Also a little too muscular. . .

The distant flapping of helicopter blades got her up in a hurry, her breasts bouncing. After searching the skies and frantically running around the island she saw a little speck appear far off to the seaward side. It came closer and for a moment she wondered if she should hide. But would the regime be coming at her from the sea? As it came closer she could make out the silhouette. It looked like a Chinook but there were no markings.

She decided to stand there on the beach, not waving for help but not running away either. The helicopter descended almost to the water a few hundred feet away, and then made toward her. As it approached the beach a long rope ladder came down. Knowing she really had no choice, the nude prisoner grabbed it as it draped itself onto the sand and threatened to sweep past her. With a jerk that almost dislocated her shoulders, the helicopter rose and the ladder with it. She held on with both fists as hard as she could as she was carried over the trees, her legs splaying out wildly, then was swung around back toward the sea.

Up, up, higher and higher, she saw the sun-kissed waves down there get farther and farther away. The helicopter was going so fast that it dragged her and the ladder behind them. The air was blasting and punishing her breasts, almost ripping out her pubic hair, whistling through her toes. She squinted and tried to look up past the tears that were unavoidably streaming toward her ears. It looked like fifty feet of ladder or so. It was pretty miserable hanging here naked in the blasting wind. Better climb up and on board. Surely there would be clothes waiting.

But . . . there was no one up there beckoning to her. No bullhorn calling down to her, no showing of the flag or the unit colors now that they were out here safe. Maybe this was indeed a trap -- the final trap. She shut her eyes against the wind as she considered the possibilities. She could climb up and get attacked. Her naked, barefoot self stood no chance against a fully armed soldier with his heavy boot. Or, she could stay down here and he could cut the rope off at the top, plunging her into the sea and certain death. With no evidence that she had ever been there. Suddenly she realized the rope was old-fashioned hemp and not nylon. A serrated Bowie knife could cut through it easily.

She decided to just stay where she was, hanging by the end of the ladder, and see where the helicopter would take her.

Thus began the strangest journey of her life. This Chinook, if it was a Chinook, kept ascending until it was probably at maximum altitude. Looking down past her nipples and her freezing toes, she could see the currents and textures of the sea far below. She tried to look ahead but couldn't, because of the wind. But looking to her side she saw nothing but water, water, water. This was no bay or inlet, this was a sea.

Her arms got tired and she climbed up a bit so she could curl her toes over the lowest rung. Her nude body was more stable this way. She wrapped her arms around, then poked them through on either side of her neck, and twisted her hands up and out in front of her, then grabbed up above. She tried various grips. She realized she must look ridiculous, like some kind of for-adults-only circus performer.

From time to time she looked up at the Chinook. Still no sound and no sign. They must have extra fuel tanks, to keep going this long. Her body was getting numb from the wind-chill. She was goose-pimpled all over. Her nipples were hard as pebbles. Her mouth was dry from all the air rushing around. Her eyes, dried of tears, were red, dry slits.

With no evidence of land, she had to find a way to tie herself to the ladder so that she could ease her cramping muscles. At first she thought it would be easy to do, but everything she tried was prone to slippage. Finally she sat five rungs up and tied the lower rungs up above her, so that she was cinched below her shoulders, like a savage strapless dress. Down below, it hurt like hell, the bristly rough hemp splitting her vaginal lips apart, scraping her clit and sandpapering the sensitive skin of her anus and up her butt crack. But sitting on a rung was the only way to anchor herself. She could now allow her arms and legs to hang free. Despite the pain she got so tired that she found herself dozing off. One can get used to anything . . .(except . . .!)

Water splashing her feet woke her up. What the hell! The Chinook was swooping low over the water and drowning her! Suddenly she felt sure the guy up there was the enemy. But she had no choice but to stay tied up like she was. It slowed and she sank up to her chin, then submerged as she tried to tread herself back to the surface. Then with a harsh jerk she was up again, water dripping from her toes as they again ascended.

She blinked and, having been awakened, saw what was approaching. There before them, coming closer and closer, on the edge of its little Aegean island, was Base.

Command was there, and supporting staff, waiting in a circle on the landing pad as the gently swaying ladder approached. The naked Lieutenant Towelewska, having untied herself and hanging by her hands, slowly descended into their midst. Every bit of her stretched-out body was on display to their astonished faces. Finally her toes touched the warm tarmac and she let go of the ladder.

She watched as the ladder jerked up and the unmarked craft sped up and away. It shrank to a speck and disappeared.

She turned to Colonel Mathews, who was giving her a strange look, glancing down briefly at her nudity.

"What the hell was that?"

The Colonel, recovering, said, "A prisoner exchange. Sub rosa, of course. . . Evidently they think you don't know much."

She exhaled and looked around her, then at the Colonel. "That . . . is far from the truth."

Major Spinelli, in his unguarded way, looked Towelewska up and down and said, "Millie . . . you're naked!"

"Well of COURSE I'm naked!" she exploded. "I've been naked for two f**king years!! Not a stitch, day or night! Sleeping on a bare bench!" She was yelling at the men all around her and as she gesticulated her breasts bounced wildly, her bare feet slapping on the tarmac. "Burning my ass off in the summer, freezing my tits off" -- pointing at them -- "in the winter!"

"We . . . we assumed there was no hurry. We . . .didn't know," the Colonel said uncertainly.

"You didn't KNOW!" She thrust her arms out, causing more jiggling. "Those idiot inspectors didn't say??"

"N - no."

"Well couldn't you figure it out!!" The nude lieutenant put her arms on her hips, eyes flashing, an angry naked woman furious at the clueless clothed men around her. Then she caught her breath, remembered her rank, and looked down. "Sorry . . ."

Now she stood at attention and saluted. "Begging your forgiveness for speaking so freely, sir."

The Colonel returned the salute. "It's O.K. After what you've been through you're entitled to a little outburst, Lieutenant. Or maybe I should say, Captain? . . . We recommended you some time ago. Your commission came in last month."

The nude officer said, in surprise, "Oh . . . Thank you, sir."

Major Gordon said, "The inspector said you had no marks. But . . ." He pointed to the vertical rope burn on her concave tummy.

"Oh yes . . . that's a result of that . . . unconventional rescue. I had to tie myself to that hemp ladder." She opened her legs and spread her vaginal lips. "You can see it down here too, just below my clitoris."

The men were openmouthed and, in fact, they were the embarrassed ones. Towelewska had no sense of modesty. Two years of going completely naked 24/7, when everyone else is fully clothed, will do that to a girl. Though she surely could detect their discomfort. Maybe she was still mad at them and this was her way of getting even. As their eyes opened still wider she turned her back to them, opened her legs, and reached back to spread her lower cheeks. "You will notice rope burn also around my anus and extending up between my buttocks." She was as casual as if showing them a scratch on her finger. As she turned to face them again she said, "These marks were all caused by the ladder. I was not physically mistreated at that prison."

"Thank you, Lieut -- I mean Captain, we can debrief you later," the Colonel said. "And you are still naked -- "

"Sir," she said, again at attention, deciding to be obedient. "Respectfully request clothes and shoes."

Before the Colonel could answer, Master Sergeant McNeil, the Base Quartermaster, a slightly shortish black man with a friendly face, appeared with a big towel. "Thank you Ron," the Colonel said, and threw it to Towelewska.

She did not wrap herself with it; she just held it to her side. Most of the men just wished she would cover herself already.

"Keeping you naked," the Colonel said, looking down at her body quizzically. "An interesting way to try to break you."

"They did not succeed, sir." She blushed as she realized that during debriefing she would have to tell them about the "interrogations" and the "techniques". "The questioning was quite mundane, sir."

"Just about the Grishin-Chernenko affair, then?"

"You guessed correctly sir. I said nothing."

The Colonel looked around. "All right boys, show's over. . . Captain, you must be tired and hungry. Ron, take her downstairs. Debriefing tomorrow at 0900 hours."

A moment later the nude Captain, still holding the towel in her hand, was in the elevator with Sgt. McNeil.

"I just can't help looking at you, Miss Ludmilla."

She hated that name. "Oh Ron, just call me Millie like everyone else."

He continued admiring her perfectly-toned, tanned body as she leaned casually on one foot. She smiled and exhaled and relaxed, finally. Then the elevator opened and the two walked past the astonished faces of the four-man mess crew.

"What do you want to eat, Miss -- I mean, Captain?"

"I get a choice?"

"You're a command officer now."

"Mmmm . . . how about some of your hot cakes? . . . And then, a bed with lots of blankets and pillows."

"Sure thing, Millie."

"And pajamas. Ron," she asked as they passed through another door, "can you get me pajamas with feet?"

[end]