Overjoyed

When I saw my name, Billie Bottoms, on this long-awaited acceptance letter, my heart swelled with joy. I could finally leave this breakaway failed state and see the glory of the empire. Being the rule follower that I am, I immediately stripped down naked and snapped two unaltered Polaroids. The photos perfectly captured my soft smooth skin, supple curves, full hips, and rounded bum. And so, with a mix of trepidation and hope, I sealed the envelope containing the photos and a written account of my non-existent sexual history and my pretty vanilla sexual taste and sent it off to the Admissions Committee. I also included extra photographs and a video tape of me jerking off as recommended by the letter.

A few short weeks later, I received word that my acceptance into the university was confirmed. However, much to my surprise, my correspondence did not end there. The Admissions Committee requested more photographs and videos featuring yours truly. Of course, I complied without hesitation. In the weeks and months that followed, they pushed me further and further beyond my comfort zone, urging me to create content in new settings, situations, and positions.

Each time I sent them another steamy photo or provocative video, they would respond with an encouraging "good sissy" and request for more. Their praise was unwavering, as they commended my body, my expressions, and my growing willingness to experiment. It wasn't long before I found myself becoming addicted to the attention they lavished upon me. Driven by a desire to please them, I became increasingly daring and experimental.

As instructed by the Committee, I dutifully set up my video camera and stripped off my clothes and sprinted freely through the rain-soaked park naked. The air was thick with moisture, dark heavy clouds obscuring the sky above as a ferocious thunderstorm raged. My bare feet pounded against the grassy wet earth. The cold torrent of water poured down my naked body sent shivers cascading along my spine, but it couldn't wash away the deep shame I felt. Without even realizing it, I found myself drawn to a small hole in a tree's trunk. The hollow was perfectly shaped for what the Committee had in mind; this would surely please them. But that didn't matter; I didn't want any of this. The shame, the exposure, the degradation...it was all too much to bear. Yet still, I found myself unable to resist their demands. With every thrust, I could feel the muscles in my legs and arms tensing, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and my smooth skin scratching on the hard bark. The air around us crackled with energy as lightning flashed across the sky. The bolt landed not too far away from me. It was so close, so deafeningly loud, that for a moment, I thought I was dead. Like a fright animal, I let out a primal cry that echoed through the stormy night. I released myself into the depths of ecstasy, pouring every ounce of desire and fear into that hallowed trunk. As my body convulsed with pleasure and shame, I collapsed onto the wet grass. Tears streaming down my face, obscured by the rain.

Another time I casually strolled through the busy supermarket with a newfangled body camera from the Committee strapped to my blouse, as per their demands. My gaze fixated on a luscious display of bananas stacked on top of each other. Intrigued, I ducked behind the towering display of bananas, quickly pulling out my aching member. The fear of being so brazenly exposed was over powered by my desire to please the Committee. My fingers worked furiously, coaxing moans and whimpers from my throat as I lost myself in the heady rush of pleasure. Just as I neared climax, a nearby shopper accidentally brushed against the display. The precariously stacked fruit wobbled dangerously, threatening to expose my forbidden act. Panic surged through me, fear of embarrassment coursed through my veins, but the orgasm that followed was unstoppable, leaving me spent and trembling behind the fruit display to the unawareness of other shoppers.

I stood behind my family's dusty barn, carefully attaching the state-of-the-art 4k camera issued by the Committee to its designated tripod, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and trepidation. This was unlike anything I had ever seen before; our country was still mostly stuck with ancient analogue technology. The instructions from the Committee were clear. I stripped out of my clothes and lied face down in the cool, damp earth. The smell of mud and grass filled my nostrils as I wriggled and rolled about like a contented piglet. In that moment, something snapped within me; I felt free and primal, almost feral. Before I knew it, I was humping the ground like some sort of deranged creature, just like the Committee wanted me to. Despite this animalistic behavior, my mind drifted to thoughts of my parents and their reaction if they could see me now. Their disapproving faces haunted me, taunting me with what they might say about this bizarre display. It wouldn't matter that I was following orders; all they would see is shame and disgrace. These thoughts only served to fuel my primitive urges, driving me deeper into the mud and muck until exhaustion finally overcame me. As I released my pent-up tension, my body arched back with a shudder, and hot liquid spurted out onto the earth beneath me. As the last tremors subsided, you lay panting in the mud, spent and aching but oddly satisfied.

One could sense the Committee's growing hunger and depravity through each letter they sent me. Blinded by the attention they lavished upon me, I became addicted to the rush of pleasing them, willingly going to any lengths to satisfy their desires. Their letters became darker and more explicit. They began to discuss their fantasies involving me in graphic detail, describing scenes that made my cheeks burn hot with shame and excitement all at once. I found myself willingly surrendering to their every whim. It didn't matter how far they pushed me or what they asked of me; I would always find a way to oblige them.

Every moment spent crafting another photograph or video was an escape from the monotony of small-town life. It really helped the past time until college started in the fall.