Making a Scene

Dropping Tom's wrist, she stepped back into her own alcove.

Strutting around naked didn't faze her one bit. But THIS... this was humiliating.

"I thought you might like it." Dorothy pouted.

"The very first time you saw the walkers with me, I SAID I wasn't into the women who put it all out front." Tom said. "Why would you think it would be different?"

Dorothy didn't have a response to that.

At least Dorothy knew that the entire walk wasn't just in her head.

At least one thing HAD changed.

--

Later that day, a courier entered Lyman's. He looked at the shipping address on his small envelope.

"Frank's up in the office." Dorothy pointed to the window.

"This isn't addressed to any Frank." The man said. "It's addressed to..." He looked at it again, and then at Dorothy's nametag, clipped to her smock.

"This is for you."

"Me??" Dorothy felt more scrutiny in this moment than she ever did when strutting her stuff in her birthday suit. Why was she getting a letter addressed to her work place? Was this some misplaced IRS letter?

She ripped the envelope open with her thumb and removed a letter.

"What is it?" Tom asked, giving her a few seconds to read it.

She folded the letter back up. "More debt collectors."

"How did they find you here?"

"I don't know. Maybe I put this place on as a reference on a job thing or something. Who knows?"

She put the letter in her pocket.

--

After being rejected by Tom, Dorothy didn't really feel like sharing the contents of this letter with him.

The letter was actually from Burt, the Asian-American pornographer whose business had been upended by means that confused him as well. He suspected it was one of his other business partners, but he didn't know who and couldn't understand why. Maybe one of them decided they hated futa after meeting their first one. If that was the conclusion they came to after meeting her, Dorothy would not dispute that. She wasn't a big fan of her, either.

"You were the only one I ever met who said they'd do it for free." The letter continued. "So here's something to help you get out of that dead-end job. If I don't get out of this, it's better off in your hands than with the government."

Folded inside the letter... was a cashier's check for a substantial amount of money. More than she ever dared ask for, certainly not the 'going rate' for Internet pornography.

The letter also contained two SD cards containing the footage and still photos from their recording session that day. Burt gave her permission to disseminate it any way she chose.

The money was very welcome, but the footage... that was irreplaceable. She could release it like she'd hoped. Post it to every file-sharing service and website that allowed this sort of content. Let the Internet become saturated with high-definition photos and video of her nudity. Let everyone in the world know about her and her cock.

The letter ended thusly:

You probably don't want to hear a terrible old movie joke, so here's one from my favorite movie: Genie... you're free.

The letter was unsigned. Where the signature would normally be, there was an instruction to burn this fucking letter and the envelope, no really, don't let the trouble that he was in come back to you and make this sacrifice pointless.

She thought she'd walked out of Lyman's with confidence after the filming. But THIS time... Dorothy felt as light as a feather.

Though maybe it was the absence of the cucumber in her butt.

--

After that letter... Dorothy disappeared. This time, for real.

She never again answered her phone. They mailed her last check to her apartment, but it was returned, as she no longer lived there. Nobody had heard where she had gone. Frank hadn't even bothered firing her until the end of the year, unsure if she'd actually wander back in like a stray cat.

Tom dreaded to think that Dorothy had actually relapsed into a life of drugs... or possibly worse. Prostitution, drug dealing, petty crime... all of it was possible. He would occasionally search her name into Google to try to find out where she'd gone.

All that would ever come up... were videos of that day. Or porn-focused forums discussing that video. Or unfortunate lawyers and realtors with the same name.

For his part, Tom wasn't at all embarrassed at his cameo. It's not like anyone could see HIM naked. But if this was Dorothy's goal... to wipe out past misdeeds by overwhelming the Internet with such a shocking act, clearing all her footprints by dropping land mines behind her like James Bond's car...

It looked like it worked.

Tom was the last one from Lyman's who still worried about Dorothy. His concern and curiosity lasted well into the future, even after he left Lyman's before its eventual closure, even after he courted and wed a more traditional penis-less woman, even as he advanced into his late thirties and found reasonable success as an emergency preparedness manager.

In 2020, a journalist somehow tracked Tom down from his hapless and mortified appearance in a famous landmark piece of American futanari porn. They asked him how he found his way into his current vocation.

"Because I thought I was ready for everything. And she proved that I wasn't."

Tom asked the interviewer if they had managed to track down Dorothy.

They had not. All traditional wisdom indicated that she was likely dead.

Tom shook his head, a pang of despair licking his heart like fire. After all this time, he still... still hoped that she had somehow escaped such a tragic end.

Thus, the question remains: where did Dorothy go?

--

One question rarely considered by the Internet, even the part of it concerned with Dorothy Mercia's well-being, was... who posted the video in the first place?

The famous video was clearly from the same website as all the others, but there was no branding, watermarks, editing, color correction, mosaic censoring of faces or anything else that might have been done if it had passed through a normal porn studio. It looked like the raw footage from the original capture.

In fact... as time progressed and video quality improved... a new version of the video would appear randomly on websites and file-sharing services every few years. When full HD video at 1920x1080 was finally no longer prohibitive to either download or stream, the highest quality version of the video yet seen appeared on the Internet.

Based on the metadata in the file... it appeared to be the actual file recorded on a Panasonic HD camcorder. They could now watch Dorothy's perverse escapades in absolutely staggering and uncompromised quality. The detail was so clear, viewers could see the tiny mole on the inside of Dorothy's elbow, or that one amalgam filling in her back molar.

Fans of this seminal pornographic work reacted like it was a third Christmas.

But who had been so generous?

Obviously, it was only one of only two people who ever had access to the source file.

--

But before the Internet had the full-sized file, before so-called journalists could rake together a few clicks by finding obscure men in the background of porn videos, before streaming video porn sites were even a thing... Dorothy had just escaped the tacky fluorescent dungeon of Lyman's and had not looked back.

She had lots of questionably clean money at her disposal now. She could do whatever she wanted. She felt free for the first time in her life. Her past hadn't been dragging her down. It was her present, and now, she could live however she wanted. The troubles of her early adulthood would never haunt her again, and her fortune would never tempt her to return to the bottle.

And yet... she was still bound by these cotton shackles she was expected to wear every day. It was unacceptable to exist in her natural form because her form offended the sensibilities of those people who dictated these things. She wasn't the one that made the cock an offensive thing. It was its use through history that did that, not anything by her or her futa sisters.

She knew her money meant that she would hopefully never have to deal with rotten customers ever again. But what Dorothy REALLY wanted was find a place where she would never have to deal with clothing. Where she could feel a fraction of the invigoration she did on that day of that video. Somewhere she could feel the sunlight on her shoulders and the wind on her balls. Someplace where she and her futa sisters could live far away from the Puritan standards and caprice of the world built by men and their little dinks. Someplace warm. Someplace secluded. Someplace like...

New Mexico.