She is sympathetic, and wants to know more.

Camila's countenance softens, and her brows furrow slightly, she doesn't necessarily retract her hand from its position near my penis, but she definitely stops grasping at it.

"Please! Let me go!" I shout, flushed a deep burgundy; I'm still flailing since not everybody has ceased their fondling, but that didn't mean I wasn't more humiliated from them sizing up my nude body. "Hands off! I don't want this!"

"Wait! Everyone, back off!" The sultry werewolf commands, with the sounds of realization tinting her words. When the people swarming me calm down slightly, she looks me in the eyes and asks, "Was that lady lying when she said we could touch you?"

"Yes! She stripped me naked and attacked me!"

"What a bitch! Why would your girlfriend treat you like that?"

Still struggling at my bonds, and trying uselessly to shield myself from the gaze of the numerous hot women with their eyes trained on the swaths of bare skin they didn't want to stop ogling, I inform Camila, "She's not my girlfriend, she's just a pervert who likes to humiliate me!"

"Oh, you poor guy… I almost made the best mistake of my life!" She gives me a look that's half-sympathetic, half-aroused, and asks, "You sure I can't cop a feel anyway?"

"You may not!"

The brown-eyed Latina laughs at my excessively formal declination, and motioning the other women away from me, says with another little chuckle, "Hey, just making sure."

Kneeling down roughly arms length in front of me, Camila says, "Here, let me get this for you," and takes a hold of the satin miniskirt pooled at my ankles. She pulls it sensually up the length of my thigh-high-sandaled legs, smiling beatifically as she works it over my hard-on— which is mere inches from her wide eyes. She grins from one ear to the other while she adjusts the minuscule garment until it sits properly.

Though my arms remain zip tied, I do take solace in my skirt returning to its rightful place: Doing a craptastic a job acting as clothing. My erection hasn't yet subsided, so a portion of my penis is still visible to all these girls, but thankfully not much.

"Oh, that's so much better…" I exhale. Breathing regularly again, I decide to speak what's on my humiliation-addled mind to the helpful lady, "uh, thank you for not sexually assaulting me?"

"Don't mention it." She replies insouciantly, standing back up to assist me with the plastic nightmare around my wrists; I help her jimmy at the zip tie.

I look past Camila's head only to see the nerdy ladies surrounding me being physically launched aside, like rag dolls thrown to the wind."What the–?!" A pointy black hat pokes above the crowd, allowing me to infer the person encroaching: "Raquel!"

She's here with Natalie and, well… the first thing she sees is some random lady she doesn't know with her hands on me. The two of them rush up ever faster, with a look on their faces like they're on a mission from God— the werewolf woman turns ghost-white when Raquel's opera glove grips like a clamp onto her shoulder.

"I've got a six foot tall beefcake here who'll rip the head off of anybody who so much as touched a hair on this man's head." Is my best friend's bluff; there being a titanic, muscular, crying blonde woman behind her certainly lends it the appearance of a legitimate threat, but I am certain Natalie's not going to hurt anybody; she'd never hit anything before to my knowledge. Even so, when I see the fear of God in Camila's eyes I make haste to settle things down.