Take off more...

The old monks stared coldly and unmoving. They had already given their answer. She could bring nothing, and she knew it included her clothes. Kamala gulped. Then, with a shaky hand she reached for the side of her wrap skirt. Undoing it's clasp she held it for a moment before it fell away, revealing two toned legs and white thin panties.

Kamala felt her cheeks grow hot. It was fine, she was just standing before nine men... in her underwear! She fidgeted. Her eyes traced the tattoo on her thigh, a warrior's sign, though she felt it just attracted attention to her bare skin at the moment.

They monks waited silently. Gritting her teeth, Kamala reached for her chest wrap. She was ashamed to see her hands were shaking. She tried to steady herself, but felt hopelessly flustered. Biting her lip, she unclasped the chest wrap and let it fall, cupping her smallish breasts before they were fully exposed.

"Continue." A monk commanded.

"But... can't I please keep... my panties?" Kalama said, in a high pitch, whining whisper that embarrassed her further. Why were they called that? Such a weak word, she was embarrassed to hear it leave her lips.

The monks just stared, silently.