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The sorority sisters soon filed in, some twenty or so in all, and they lined the room and cheered loudly as Tom and Liz posed and Debbie snapped pictures. Well, mostly Liz posed, and Tom just hung. Many of the shots involved Liz continuing to fondle Tom's now blue cock with her blue hand. Some had Liz on her knees, hands up in the classic dog begging pose. After five minutes of this, Debbie stepped out from behind the camera and ordered Mattie to cut Tom down. She did, and he shook his arms to get the circulation going again, then instinctively placed his hands across his groin. "Its a little late for modesty," Katherine called out.

Debbie pulled the data storage card from the camera and asked Tom, "You want to pick the print to take with you?"

"No thanks," Tom replied. "I really am through with the Beta's. And I don''t think I'll need pictures to remember tonight. I wouldn't mind some pants, though."

In what was Tom's next-to-last surprise of the evening, Debbie grabbed the elastic of her waistband and pulled down her baggy pink Tri-Delt sweatpants. Stepping out of them, she handed them to Tom. Kissing him on the cheek, she said "You're a good sport, Tom, I'll send you some shots by email just in case."

Her plump round ass jiggled marvelously in her Tri-Delt thong as she turned and left the room.

Tom put on the sweatpants. Mattie picked up the end of Liz's leash and handed it to Tom.

"Tradition demands that the blue boy's blue balls are relieved by the blue bell girl. She's yours for the night!" she declared. Turning to Liz, she said "Down girl." The sorority sisters cheered yet again as Liz dropped obediently to her hands and knees and Tom led her, still naked, out into the hallway on her leash.

Liz stood up after Tom closed the door. Tom and Liz had been intimate on several occasions already by that time, but he was unsure whether or not Liz was game for this and was not inclined to take advantage of her (though he _did_ have blue balls!). "I'll tell them you did the job," Tom promised, pausing to take in the sight of Liz, her well-shaped breasts, slightly rounded belly, and hairless pussy. "Incidentally, Last time I saw you, didn't you have pubic hair?"

Liz laughed. "More initiation rituals. We're _all_ bare down there! And yes, I know you would tell them I did my job." She grinned, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "You don't want to make a liar out of me, do you?" I've got a room here for the night. Lets put it to some good use."

They kissed.

------

That had been their last tryst, but it was a worthy ending. Now Tom focused on the message from LizBkr241@gmail.com with subject heading "Hey Blue Boy, nice to get reacquainted!" He worried vaguely about what he would find when he opened the email.

It was a short message:

"I saw you took my message off of your Facebook wall, Tom. You ashamed of me? LOL. Yes, I know Jane. We actually took a class together in our senior year. (By then you were too cool to talk to me!) Jane is top shelf. I'm recently divorced, no kids. And feeling a bit randy. The reason I contacted you was that my sorority sister Debbie was cleaning out her attic when she came across an old computer, from College. You'll never guess what she found. Oh that's just silly. Of course you'll guess! Just go to my Facebook page to see!

Love Liz"

He navigated back to he Facebook page. On her Facebook wall was a post: "Hi Tom, check out my photo library! Love Liz. P.S. Just you and me on this page, hon. Unless I make more friends!"

Clicking on her "photo" link brought Tom to exactly what he dreaded he'd find: Three digital photographs of him from that last night in the Tri Delt basement. In the first he appeared naked and in profile, with four giggling sorority girls out of focus in the background. He was clearly sporting a hard-on that was just north of horizontal. Sadly, he noted, his face looked almost exactly the same then as it did today. Tom had aged well, and it was unmistakably him. In the second picture, Liz was standing at his side with doggy ears and face paint, one hand enveloping his cock. Their eyes were locked together, and both wore giddy smiles. The third picture was one in which he and Liz stood side by side, facing the camera, with his blue cock proudly erect and Liz's arm and blue hand wrapped about his waist. In the background, more than a dozen sorority girls could be seen cheering and pointing and laughing.

Fuck! He thought. This is crazy. If these get out...

Tom's mind raced. Other people seeing these pictures could be awful for him now. He was, of course, not surprised by the pictures themselves, only their public display. In fact, true to her word, Debbie _had_ sent him copies of all of the photos in his sophomore year. Tom had copies of these same pictures, and lots more, on his own hard drive. On one drunk night early in their relationship, he had even shared them with Jane. He had entertained her with the story of that fateful night, and once she knew there were pictures, she was relentless until he showed them to her. She teased him a lot about that night, in a good-natured way. But if these pictures got to his colleagues, his friends, his students... that would be unbearable. It could also cost him his job. Why would Liz put them on a public website?

Then Tom remembered that Liz was also in the pictures. She couldn't expose him without risking exposure herself, could she? Wasn't she also in a buttoned down profession, with lots to lose?

Tom looked back at the pictures and saw the answer. While his identity (and then some) was easy to get from these snapshots, Liz's was not. With the make-up and dog ears and different hairstyle, it would be impossible to identify Liz from these photos.

Tom sent Liz an email, playing it as cool as he could:

"Dear Liz,

Wow, those pictures bring me back! What a hell week it was for both of us. I hope you will take them off the web before someone else sees them. As you can imagine, that might be embarrassing for me!!

Tom"

Within minutes, he received not a Facebook message or an email message but a text message, on his iPhone.

"Told u i wuz randy! searching new FB friends as we speak. You know Max Berber? Does Jane have a Facebook page? <3 Liz. PS: My Skype name is LizB241 call me Wednesday at noon."

Attached to the text message was another photo of Tom, from behind, his heart-shaped ass on prominent display.

Max Berber was the Chair of Tom's Department, a stiff Brahman type from old money. He was the last person in the world Tom would want to see these pictures. At least now he knew her game. This was not just reacquaintance. Liz was toying with him. Or worse.

He tried to reply to the text, but the return number was blocked and listed as "unpublished". He went back to email.

"Liz, Seriously, I'm asking you not to fuck around with my career like that. Why would you do that?"

He did not hear back from her all that day, or the next. He was worried about what she might do, but decided not to tell anyone else (especially Jane) just yet. On Wednesday, at noon, he closed his office door, opened his laptop, and logged into his Skype account. He placed a Skype call to her, and the connection sprang to life. Liz's audio was muted, but she wrote in the text panel:

"Hi Tom, thanks for calling! Sorry I couldn't spend more time catching up on Monday. Busy, busy, busy. My microphone isn't working, but I can hear you."

"Hi Liz," Tom said. He added, with evident doubt, "Your microphone isn't working?"

"Tom, you're still a perceptive guy. My microphone is working fine. I just like it this way! :) Do you have a webcam?"

"Yes, its built right into the laptop," Tom replied.

"Turn it on," Liz instructed.

"Look, Liz, I think we should talk first about what's going on," Tom said.

"Turn it on, now, Tom."

Tom hesitated, then said, "Liz, this is just a little strange, you know I..."

The Skype application indicated that LizB241 had hung up.

Tom tried to reconnect, to no avail. Ten minutes later, Jane called.

"Hi Tom!," she said

"Hi Jane, What's up?," Tom asked.

She laughed nervously. "I _hope_ it was you who just sent me that picture of your raging hard on in the Tri-Delt basement. It came from a caller-ID blocked phone."

Tom was confused for just a moment, then realized that Jane must have gotten a photo message from Liz, and thought it was from him. He struggled to regain his composure.

"I'm just trying to keep you thinking about me," he replied.

She chuckled. "Well I'm glad it was you. I love that picture. It still makes me giggle to see you hanging naked in the Tri Delt basement. But how did you know I wouldn't be with a friend or a client when I got it on my phone? And how did you mask the caller ID function? Pretty risky, babe."

"Feel free to respond in kind, kiddo," Tom said, his composure regained.

"Don't hold your breath, Tom. My office is all glass!" Jane shot back.

"I'm sure the guys wouldn't mind," Tom replied. "Anyway, I'll try to be more discreet."

"Not on my account! I know you love to show off," she laughed.

"I guess I do, Jane. I guess I do," Tom acknowledged.

"OK, I gotta go. But thanks for my picture. Love you, bye," Jane said warmly.

"Bye." Tom hung up.

Liz had sent his wife the photo. She was not fooling around. He tried to Skype her again, without answer.

Throughout the day, Tom nervously checked email, Facebook, Skype, and iPhone. Finally, near quitting time, he got another text message from Liz:

"Hey Blue Boy! Didn't you learn in college not to mess with Tri Delts? I'm calling the shots! Webcam Skype tomorrow, noon. U B naked! Then we can talk and I will give up the pix, promise. Else Berber et al get them!! Should B an easy call 4 U. Just a little fun. Nothing to worry about. love Liz"

Attached to this was a picture of Liz on all fours, with Mattie holding her leash. She was laughing (it was taken just after she first saw Tom's hell night predicament). Tom had this picture too in the files Debbie sent. It was his favorite porn. Liz's great laughing face juxtaposed with her humiliating pose, dangling breasts, and silly make up were the image Tom used to remember Liz by (often while masturbating).

Tom knew that this situation was spiraling out of control, and racked his brain to figure out a plan. He could not afford to risk these photos getting into the hands of Berber (or et al for that matter). He had been lucky that Jane already knew about the photos, but Liz couldn't have known that when she sent one to Jane. Liz was simply a loose cannon. He couldn't tell Jane now about this problem without admitting to a lie. And he really had no control over when and how he communicated with Liz. All in all, it was a risky situation for Tom.

Tom Googled "private detective Washington DC." He would play along tomorrow, but he would prepare to protect himself in the long run.

At noon the next day, Tom closed his door again, locking it from the inside. He was shaking with nerves, more over the prospect of Berber getting hold of those pictures than of the crazy thing he was about to do. He stripped off his sports coat, shirt and tie, and pants. He briefly considered keeping his underwear on while making the call, but decided not to risk it.

His office on street level had a floor-to-ceiling window on one wall, but the window was well-tinted. No one could see in (without cupping their hands against the glass) but he could plainly see people walking on the sidewalk. There were vertical blinds, but they had been stuck in a retracted position since well before Tom got the office. It was rare that anyone tried to peer in, but common for passers by to use the reflective glass to primp, comb their hair, or generally arrange themselves. It had always amused Tom to be the man behind the two-way mirror. During one summer the same woman stopped in front of his window every afternoon at the same time and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. Tom had enjoyed the voyeuristic pleasure of watching her in this intimate act, and once got to within a couple of feet of the window while she was performing her ritual.

Now, he would have to depend on the reflectivity of that outside glass! Tom stepped out of his underwear. He was naked, again, at the mercy of a Tri Delt. He sat in his Aeron chair and launched the webcam, to see what Skype would see. It made him laugh in resignation. Here he was, bare assed and about to call a crazy woman from his university office. The camera framed his torso and head. six feet behind, the glass wall could be seen as a background. He launched Skype and called Liz.

The computers connected. Liz's text box immediately came to life.

"Hi Tom! Web cam on?" the text scrolled up.

"Yes, Liz, it is coming on now. I hope you're still a woman of your word," Tom said, launching the video feed. When he knew her in College, Liz had been unusually inclined to keep her word. She was not beyond lying or cheating, but if she made a promise, she worked especially hard to keep it.

The video feed linked up. Tom saw a small inset image of what now was filling Liz's screen. He smiled, despite himself. "Can you see me?"

Liz wrote back, "YES! Very handsome. You haven't aged a bit, Tom. Great to see your face!"

"Thanks Liz. Hey, this is a bit awkward, you know. I can't see you or hear you. Don't you want to hook up your end too?"

"Not yet, Tom. Maybe later. But I will pipe you in some music. Within seconds, Tom's computer began playing music piped in from Liz's Skype connection. The song was an old favorite of their College days: "Turning Japanese" by the Vapors.

"OK Blue Boy, I need you to stand up and give me the full view!" Liz wrote.

Tom sighed, knowing this had been coming. He stood up, and backed away from the camera. When he could see that the frame was filled with his naked body from head to toe, he held out his arms and twirled around. Then he came back to the screen.

"Yay! Thanks. One more thing, then you'll be safe from me. Here it comes..."

The music faded, and the Macarena came on, loudly.

"Oh Christ, you've got to be kidding me!" Tom said, mostly to himself.

"Dance the MACARENA!" came the text reply.

Tom, humiliated once again, stood up and began to dance the silly Macarena dance. The song went on for two minutes, and he faithfully crossed his arms, held them out, put them on his head, wiggled his ass, and did a quarter turn hop six or seven times before the music cam to an end. He could not watch the monitor for fear he would catch a glimpse of himself in this ridiculous dance and bouncing cock against a background of passers-by strolling along the sidewalk a few feet away. He was nevertheless amused at the incongruity of his situation, which kept a smile on his face.

At last the song ended, and Tom came back to the monitor, red from a mix of embarrassment and exertion.

A voice came over the speaker. "Bravo, Tom. Well Done." He heard clapping, too. The voice was familiar...but not Liz. The video connection from the other side flickered on, and Tom was shocked and befuddled to see the face of his wife filling the window!

"Jane!" he exclaimed.

"Hi Tom," Jane smiled. "Not Liz, just me."

"But, but..." Tom stuttered.

"Its been all me Tom, all along. I made the phony Facebook page. Me. I hope you don't mind that I borrowed those files from your computer. Happy April Fools! Love you babe." She grinned.

Tom looked at the calendar. It was April 1.

When he looked back, still absorbing this stunning turn of events, Jane had turned on the Macarena again. She pushed her chair back a bit from the desk. Tom recognized their basement office in the background. He also noticed, as she slid her chair back from the camera, that his mischievous Jane was not wearing a stitch of clothes. She jumped up from the chair, and began to dance, laughing while sining to the camera:

"A la tuhuelpa legria macarena

Que tuhuelce paralla legria cosabuena

A la tuhuelpa legria macarena

Eeeh, macarena..."

The End