A penalty for each lifted hand or knee as you try not to fidget on the hard concrete

It doesn't take long before you start to wriggle, trying to ease the discomfort of kneeling on a cement floor.

"You think that counts as moving? I mean, she might've lifted a knee there."

"Hmm, too close to call. Well deduct one article of clothing for every time she lifts a hand or knee or moves out of the all-fours position."

"What?" you turn to protest.

"That's one."

"That's not fair!" you protest, but put your hand back down on the ground.

The boys shrug, continuing their game.

"Turn away or it's two."

Thinking of them having the power to take away your clothes is strangely exciting, but you know it's a bad idea. And yet you can't seem to stop glaring at them.

"Two," Paul tells you, and you grimace, turning away. When you don't turn fast enough he says, "Three. Anyone would think you want to lose your clothes."

Though you blush at the accusation it's partly because the idea is frighteningly seductive.

"Does it count as all fours when she's pushing her butt up in the air like that?" Don asks, and they laugh.

"How about she sticks her ass up some more?" Nathan suggests.

"Go on now, Jenny. Shove your ass up like you mean it. Show it off."

Blushing furiously you adjust your hands, lowering your elbows so that your face is closer to the grimy floor while your ass jutts up proudly, displaying your rosebud and pussy to the four leering boys you've only just met.

"I think she moved her hands a few times there."

"Definitely."

"But you said to move!" you protest, glaring back at them. You have to move your hands to do it.

"We didn't tell you move your hands when you were doing it. And now you're breaking the rules again. You're up to nine now. Ten for talking back. Now turn around."

Turning, your heart beating rapidly, you can't help but raise your hands to get back to your previous position, and hear them count off two more times, leaving you at twelve clothes no longer yours. How many does that leave you with now that the panty thief has stolen half of your remaining clothes?

Mulishly you hold still, trying to pretend that you're not presenting yourself like a bitch in heat, and fix your eyes on the ground. Time seems to crawl by, and the guys continue their game like you aren't even there. Somehow being ignored is even more humiliating than posing naked like this, and the position starts to wear on you body even as the possibility of someone else entering the laundromat wears on your nerves.

You wonder how you could possibly make it a full hour.