Stripped For Florida

Fran 2

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Fran, Part 2
a Stripped For Florida Story
by Willie B Florida
comments welcome to [email protected]

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"Fran, you realize that if we move to Florida you'll be naked all the time?" Chris gently twiddles the child's penis as we relax on the sofa after dinner.

"Why are you worried," Fran asks, "does it get super cold there or something?"

"If those Florida kids can handle the cold without clothes on, I'm sure you can manage it even better," I reply.

Fran grins and pats Chris's arm soothingly.

"It's okay, Dad, I like being naked."

"That's the spirit!" I say. Fuck the cold, I think to myself. I'm so ready to move to Florida. Get me south before the winter starts!

"Okay," her Daddy responds, "but Tim has an idea that will help you get over the need to be wrapped up every night. If you're going to be a truly stripped Florida girl you'll need to be able to sleep naked."

Fran looks worried. Ever since her mother was killed in a car accident she's been wrapped up in a tight cocoon every night, immobilized in fabric, all outside senses blocked by blindfold and earplugs, and a gag to keep her from yelling out. The gag has been doubly useful since I convinced her father to put a vibrator up her ass on Friday and Saturday nights. I'm also the one who thought up the idea that I hoped would enable Fran to sleep naked.

"Why do I have to sleep naked?" Fran says, her voice almost a whine.

"Well . . . " Chris seems to be thinking the question over. "Sometimes we'll be out late and you might want to just be able to fall asleep wherever we are; and there are school field trips where you stay in motels or go camping; and girls like to have sleepovers and we won't be there to wrap you up . . . and,"

"Okay, I get it," Fran says glumly. "I just don't know if I can do it."

"We'll see how it goes," Chris responds, "In the meantime, let's get you ready for bed."

The two of them head down to the other end of the loft for Fran's regular routine. With Fran all wrapped up in tight cotton bindings, earplugs put in, blindfold wrapped around her eyes and ball gag securely in place, Chris returns and slumps onto the sofa next to me.

"Here's my logic," I blurt out. Chris listens patiently. "The accident was terrible, your wife--her mother--died. I get it that she needed this." Chris nods. "But, can she live like this forever?"

"More to the point," Chris argues, "is this the right time to make a change?"

"Why not?" I insist. "Moving to Florida. It's a big life change. It's an opportunity to tackle this at the same time. Until now sensory deprivation has done the trick. I'm proposing a shift to sensory overload."

Chris shrugs. "Okay, I'm willing to try it. I'm just not sure it is going to work."

And that's how we ended up driving down the Interstate highway in an extended length Budget rental van. I had scoured the thrift shops for just the right outfit and bundled Fran into specially altered woolen sleep pajamas, the kind with the footies, long sleeves, the works. I don't know what unfortunate child was the original victim, but this outfit had to have been made of the cheapest, scratchiest, most uncomfortable wool fabric in existence. It was too small, even for Fran, so I had to slit the back and attach Velcro straps so that she could be easily dressed and undressed. I added Velcro to the sleeves as well, so that Fran's arms could be immobilized alongside her body. We buckled Fran into the largest car seat we could find, arms strapped to her sides, and a diaper so that there would be no unexpected accidents. Her eyes are uncovered and she isn't wearing earplugs. Sensory overload: that is the goal. Her mouth is gagged, however, mostly so we don't have to hear her screaming, and screaming I'm sure she will be because her eyes are open wide in terror.

It is a long trip to Florida, because we stop every two hours, not only to hydrate Fran and change the diaper, but to keep her from dying of shock. We pull into a Denny's. I carefully release the gag and release Fran's arms. No need attracting negative attention! Thank goodness for family style restrooms. It gives us the space and privacy we need to undress Fran completely, clean her up, and give her some love. Chris holds the child while she sobs uncontrollably. It isn't the wool outfit or the Velcro straps. It's the automobile.

"She's hardly ever been in a car since the accident," Chris explained to me before we left, "and certainly not on the highway. I think you're underestimating the true sensory overload; it's going to be seeing and hearing the cars and trucks whizzing by that's going to send her over the edge."

I guess Chris was right and I worry about whether I'm subjecting Fran to more than she can handle. But after putting her in a fresh diaper, strapping her back into the wool cocoon and having a leisurely lunch, Fran is ready to get back in the car.

"I just want to get to Florida," she says.

"That's my girl," her father praises her, "being so brave."

I strap her back in, give her a kiss on the forehead and put the gag back into her mouth. I can feel Fran trying to give me a smile.

Two hours later we stop at a Dunkin' Donuts, and two hours after that we attempt to eat at Waffle House. No insult to their food, but the lack of suitable bathroom space made it a non-starter. The bathrooms were individual and although labelled by gender that wouldn't have been a problem. But there was no changing table and the space was cramped. By the time we pull into a Super 8 Motel we are all exhausted. We strip Fran down, gave her a bath and order Thai takeout from one of the menus in the lobby. Fran sprawls naked on the bed blankly watching the television.

"Why are there so many ads about lawyers," Fran asks. "I would think they would want to advertise fun stuff."

"Like going to Florida?" I suggest.

"Yeah!" Fran grins. I'm so relieved to see her happy for the first time today.

"Still happy to be moving?" Chris asks.

"I don't like the car," Fran says, "but I guess it's the only way to get to Florida. When we get there can I be naked?"

I nod and wink at Chris. Maybe it's working! We stay up a couple more hours and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Chris is already napping on the other bed.

"Shall I turn out the light?" I ask.

Fran is suddenly alarmed. "Aren't you going to wrap me up?"

"What's going on?" Chris asks drowsily.

"Dad, you gotta get me ready for bed!" Fran insists.

Chris pulls himself together long enough to jack Fran to a dry cum, wrap her up in the tight cotton bindings, put in her ear plugs, cover her eyes and tighten the gag into her mouth.

"All bundled up for the night," Chris says.

I nod. I guess it is going to take time.

It takes us four days to drive to Florida. I know, I know. Some people drive it in a day. But they don't have a freaked out child in tow. Besides, the car is the perfect place to submit Fran to the overexposure treatment, so four days is better than two. The miles of South Carolina seem to go on forever. Fran is nodding in half sleep in her row of the van. Seeing an exit up ahead, Chris puts on the turn signal and pulls off.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Just wondering," he replies.

An unmarked convenience store and some type of generic gas station are the only structures in view. We don't need gas and the restrooms may be dubious, so Chris simply pulls alongside the empty stretch of gravel next to the service road.

"Hey Fran," he says gently. "Want to try riding without that thing in your mouth?" Chris unstraps the ball gag and pulls it out of Fran's mouth. She moves her muscles experimentally and gives her father a smile.

"That's a girl. Maybe you're feeling better." Fran nods. Chris gets into the car and pulls back onto the Interstate.

At first they are just whimpers, but they get worse. Every time a car passes too close Fran lets out a yelp. When a series of long haul trucks zoom past she screams. When Chris pulls into the left lane to pass a heavily loaded flatbed Fran starts yelping as if she is going to go into a seizure. Soon Fran is screaming uncontrollably.

"How far to the next exit, Tim?"

"Twenty-five miles."

"We'll just have to pull over." We're on a long bridge passing over marshland. There's not much of a shoulder so we have to listen to Fran for another ten minutes, but it feels like an hour. At last Chris is able to pull the van to the side. Tires crunch on rough pavement and gravel. Chris gets out and opens the side door of the van.

"Sorry honey," he says. "I can't drive like that." Fran looks at him with big eyes. "Maybe it's more secure not to be able to whimper?" Chris asks. He doesn't wait for an answer. He nudges Fran's jaws open and wedges the ball into place. He ties the straps back, pulling the ball farther into Fran's mouth. I see him give an extra yank. Fran is gagged more effectively than ever. Sweating in her scratchy woolens, arms bound tight against her torso, the only movement she can make is to adjust her head slightly and wiggle her toes.

Near supper time on day four we traverse the salt marshes of southern Georgia and whiz past the Welcome to Florida sign. The sky is a brilliant chaos of oranges, pinks and blues and the lights are on at the truck weigh station. A mile farther down is the equally lit up Agricultural Inspection Station. Up ahead a giant backlit sign crosses all three lanes of traffic. Two nearly identical young children gaze out across the highway in a wash of pink and sienna. "Stripped for Florida welcomes you" is splayed across the "twins" in large transparent lettering.

"Next exit," I murmur to Chris. He gives a brief nod.

I look in the rearview mirror and note that Fran's eyes are busy scanning the new sights. We're close to our goal: Florida and Stripped For Florida!

Chris pulls off the highway and into the brightly lit parking lot. Tour buses and trailers and RVs are at one end; cars of all types and sizes fill the other end of the lot. Chris navigates slowly trying to avoid hitting elderly tourists, distracted parents and the children who seem to be darting everywhere. We finally find a space at the far end, under oaks with long pendants of moss hanging down. The lighting is dimmer here and the hubbub of the parking lot and Visitors Center is farther away. Chris pulls the car into the lone spot under the tree, turns off the car and pulls on the parking break. I laugh to myself. It is so flat here that the car couldn't possibly roll away.

"Okay, Fran," I say with enthusiasm and open the back door. I'm planning to undo her gag and get her arms free so we can make a presentable entrance to the Visitors Center. But Fran's eyes catch my attention and I follow her gaze. There under the tree is a child -- maybe ten years old -- but unmistakably a girl. She is naked and stretched taut within a silvery metallic hoop. A silver bit of fabric covers her eyes and in her gaping mouth is a gag almost identical to the one that fills Fran's mouth.

I tap Chris on the shoulder and point.

"Wow," he says. All three of us are momentarily transfixed.

"Well, Tim," Chris breaks the silence. "If the Visitors Center greets us with this display I guess we can take Fran in just as she is."

"Okay," I shrug, and undo the straps of the car seat and pull Fran out and set her on her feet. "Let's go!"

I try to guide Fran toward the brightly lit Visitors Center on the other side of the lot, but she twists around toward the girl stretched out in the ring. Unable to speak or to move her arms, Fran gestures with her head and chin. Her eyes dart back and forth between me and the naked girl as if she is trying to ask me a question.

"Come on," Chris urges. "I'm tired and thirsty and achy from driving. Let's get inside. Plus I need to pee."

I walk Fran across the lot, but she keeps twisting her head to look over her shoulder at the silver ring catching the light under the moss laden tree. The girl in the hoop, gagged, blindfolded and immobilized, may be completely oblivious to our presence.

The Visitors Center seems even larger and brighter as we approach. Walking inside we are overwhelmed at the large atrium space filled with travelers bustling between the restrooms, eateries and shops. Chris steers to the left, aiming straight for the men's room, but a greeter at the door almost imperceptibly guides the three of us straight ahead.

"You'll just want to check in here before taking care of your other business," the young man says in gracious tones.

"Welcome! It looks like we might have someone you'd like to have Stripped For Florida today?" The young woman is dressed in a short skirt and white blouse. The young man beside her has navy blue slacks and a white shirt with the top button undone. The pink and sienna hues of the Stripped For Florida twins shine brightly backlit above their heads. I find myself surprised that the SFF employees aren't naked.

I guide the gagged Fran in her too tight woolen outfit towards the SFF counter. Chris looks a little surprised to be put on the spot.

"Um," Chris looks around vaguely, "This is Fran--um, my son, I mean my daughter--I guess." Chris pulls himself together. "We are planning to strip her, but I'm not sure if that will be today."

"That's absolutely fine. Is this your first visit to Florida?"

"I really need to use the restroom," Chris blurts out. "Can we chat later?"

"Oh, of course, please take your time," the young man behind the counter replies. "If your daughter and friend could just stay here until you return, we need to chat with you briefly before you continue your travels today."

I am a bit mystified, but Chris must really have needed to go because he simply bolts towards the restrooms.

"Hi," I introduce myself, "Chris and Fran and I are actually moving to Florida. It's our first time in the state and we're really looking forward to it. I think Fran is eager to be naked--stripped, I guess--Isn't that right?"

I look at Fran, her mouth bulged out around the bright red gag. She gives a few nods of the head. I look around at the people bustling through the lobby. There are travelers of all ages. Retirees with baseball caps and Bermuda Shorts, older ladies with frosted hair and lime green pant suits, men and women in crisp business casual chatting animatedly on their cell phones as they walk briskly through the lobby, and, of course, lots of children and teens and their parents. Some of the kids look just like I would expect a holiday bound child to look anywhere, flip flops, shorts, t-shirt. Teens in jeans or shorts or a short skirt and top. But it was obvious that we weren't in Georgia any more. There is the slim girl totally naked with crystals dangling from each pierced nipple; a teen boy with an expansive geometric tattoo covering his entire torso; a gaggle of naked preschoolers scampering across the room toward the ice cream counter; and boobs--lots of boobs, and phalluses--lots of phalluses and every one of them seems to be erect!

Fran gapes right along with me, although I guess she has no choice but to gape, as it were, what with the ball filling her mouth.

"Anyway," I resume, "We're moving to Jacksonville. I have a job starting next week. We'll have to figure out where Fran is supposed to go to school, get settled in."

"Sounds great!" The young man enthuses. His colleague smiles right along with him. "My name is Dan, and this is Candy, my associate. We're happy to assist you. If you don't want to strip her today, there are hundreds, maybe thousands of SFF stands all over the state."

A couple with two boys is hovering around the edges of our conversation.

"If you don't mind," Candy says, "we'll help these people while we wait for your partner?"

"Oh sure, don't let us hold you up." I don't even know why we're waiting here, to tell you the truth.

The young couple it turns out is ready to strip their two kids for their Florida vacation. Their ages are 10 and 12. I'm interested to see the process, which is astoundingly simple. The parents slide their ID cards into a scanner. Candy prompts them to verify that the two boys are indeed their children by punching a couple of prompts on a screen. They slide a debit card into the same machine and are handed two little round bandages. Dan shows them how to stick them onto their children's left ear lobes and tells the boys it is time to get their clothes off. The boys look to their parents for approval.

"You wanted to go to Disney and to see Harry Potter World, right?" their mom asks. The boys nod eagerly. "Well, we can't go if you're wearing clothes. Remember? Kids who want to see Florida have to be naked."

The SFF lady smiles and nods in agreement. Somewhat reluctantly the 10 year old starts undressing and a moment later his older brother follows along. While their mother folds their clothes into a neat pile, Dan comes around and with no further warning stabs a syringe into the older boy's buttock and two seconds later a second syringe into the second boy's butt.

"Ow, what was that for?" yells the older boy. The younger boy tries to crane his neck far enough to examine the damage to his behind.

"Well folks, you're all set. These are your welcome packets. Included are starter pills for after the shots wear off and some coupons from participating Florida businesses. Enjoy your vacation, boys!"

As the family head for the doors Chris strides back across the atrium.

"Great!" Candy enthuses, "Thanks for waiting so patiently while we got those kids stripped and out the door so they can enjoy Florida."

Chris nods. "So, um, I guess we can strip her anytime?"

"Oh, absolutely, I was just explaining to Tim that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of SFF booths around the state. It only takes a few minutes whenever you're ready. However," her tone gets just a tad less enthusiastic, "if you're not planning on stripping Fran here today, we do need to ask that you remove her gag."

Chris raises his hand.

"It's okay! You're absolutely welcome to keep her gagged. You can keep her gagged 24/7 as far as the State of Florida is concerned. In fact, in Florida parents can do almost anything they like with their child as long as it doesn't inflict physical harm--but that's only for children who've been enrolled in the Stripped For Florida program. You're new to the state, so no worries. That's what we're here for. I'll give you the SFF booklet that explains all the rules and regulations. But in a nutshell, if your child is not stripped things are more or less the same as if you were living in Ohio or Pennsylvania or somewhere like that. Not as strict: we don't care how short the shorts are, or how brief the bathing suit. Crop talks and halter tops and bikini tops are all fine for girls; boys can go shirtless; shoes aren't required. You get the idea. If you strip your child, then for Florida residents she or he has to stay naked until they turn 21 years old--unless you strip them for life. Your booklet explains what kids are allowed to wear if the weather is cold, otherwise they're naked. Once your child is stripped you can do all the other fun stuff, if you like: the gag for instance, tattoos, microgem implants, piercings, vibrators, harnesses, really the list is endless. Do you have any questions?"

My head is swimming, but Chris seems focused now that he's taken care of his bladder. "Okay, two things. First of all my daughter was traumatized by an the accident which killed my ex, so we've been using the bondage things to keep her feeling more secure."

"I completely understand. As new arrivals you should know that Florida has the strongest protections of any state for parental guidance and oversight of their children. You absolutely have to do what you feel is best for your child. The only limitation here is that you cannot keep an unstripped child in bondage gear while in public. But there is no restriction on keeping her in tight clothing, for example. Really you just can't have her handcuffed, tied up, gagged and so on in public."

Fran has been standing patiently this whole time, her arms bound to her sides by the sewn sleeves of the woolen outfit, her mouth in a wide "O" around the bright red ball gag. Meanwhile I've been watching the parade of people passing through the visitor's center, including a lot of stripped kids and teens. I notice brightly burned children with traces of paler patches of skin. I'm assuming these are tourists who are about to drive home to other states; kids who were stripped maybe a week or two ago and exposed to as much of Florida's harsh sunlight as possible during their short vacation. There are much fewer of the type that I am thinking are Florida residents with smooth, dark, even tans. Even darker skinned kids and teens, where a tan might not be noticeable, are identifiable by a fluidity of motion and an ease with their bodies. The ones I'm thinking are Florida residents are more likely to be older teens. I guess it makes sense, considering we're in a visitor's center at the border of Florida. Maybe these teens work in the various shops and eateries.

"Oh, what?" I'm brought back to the conversation by a gentle tapping. "What is it Fran?"

She makes a circle in the air and looks toward the parking lot, using her chin to gesture upwards.

"Chris," I say, "can we maybe take Fran's gag out so I can understand what she's trying to say?"

"Oh, sure thing, Tim." Chris replies. "I didn't realize she was trying to talk."

Chris nods while I fumble with the strap holding the gag tight.

"Here, let me get that," Chris says. He expertly releases the clasp and loosens the strap. I grasp the ball and gently extract it from Fran's mouth.

Fran flexes her jaw for a moment and asks, "Who is the star girl?"

The SFF reps look questioningly at Chris and me.

"The girl in the tree," Fran continues.

"Oh, she means the naked girl outside. She's stretched tight in a metal hoop that's suspended from a tree at the far end of the parking lot. We noticed her when we pulled in."

"Oh," the young SFF woman replies, "She's not part of our program. SFF doesn't have anything to do with that."

"But," Fran insists, "I want to be a star girl."

"I mean, someone had to put her up there," Chris replies. "She certainly couldn't do it all by herself."

Dan shrugs his shoulders and looks to his colleague.

Candy seems to hesitate for a moment before continuing. "You're right, it must be part of some type of program, but I don't know anything more about it. I'm sorry."

"I'll let you strip me if I can be a star girl," Fran asserts.

Dan addresses Chris and I directly: "I should emphasize that it is not up to your child whether you strip them or not. It is your decision as parents or guardians, as to what course of action to take."

Fran looks at him sharply, but says nothing more. She probably figures the gag will be back in her mouth instantly if she starts an argument.

"You're going to be stripped, Fran." Chris seems to have made an executive decision. After all, it's his child, not mine. "But, we'll use the gag when we have to. More importantly, you're sleeping without the bindings, is that clear?"

Fran looks like she's about to cry, but nods her head in the affirmative.

"You can do it, honey," Chris says more kindly. "And we'll do our best to find out about the star girl thing."

Fran smiles through the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"Okay," Chris gets business like, "Let us know how the actual strip process works and we'll move along and get some food. I know I'm hungry!"

Candy and Dan guide Chris through the process of submitting his ID, scanning his debit card and issuing a small round sticker.

"That goes right behind her left ear," the woman instructs us. "Within ten minutes a microchip will be embedded into the skin. That allows the SFF scanners to detect that she's a stripped child. That means she has to be naked anywhere in public. Of course we encourage you to keep her naked at home as well. Strictly speaking the program doesn't let stripped kids use towels, blankets or loose sheets unless the whether is cold. Some parents even remove the door from their child's bedroom. By the way, I've entered you as a provisional Florida resident. You will need to get your Florida ID and go into any SFF center within the next 30 days or your bank account will be debited at the much higher tourist rate."

"I'll get that taken care of," Chris replies. "I guess I need to undress her now?"

"Absolutely, you won't be able to walk ten feet in this atrium without the sensors going off!"

Chris kneels down to Fran's height. "Honey, remember how you wanted to be naked all the time?"

Fran nods.

"So, we're getting you out of this wool suit. Oh," Chris looks up at the SFF reps. "I forgot the second thing. Fran's trans. I mean, we're raising her as a girl, but she's still got a male body."

"The SFF program doesn't concern itself with gender. If a child is stripped, they have to be naked. Doesn't matter what's on the ID."

"I'm not sure what you have in mind," Candy adds, "While Florida doesn't allow sex reassignment surgery--it is completely forbidden for doctors to do the procedures-- there are a lot of fun accessories you can use. Dragon Tattoo and the other stores carry a lot of them, but I should turn you on to O2BTrans. Everyone calls it O2BT. It's in Jacksonville and they have fantastic stuff if you really want to girl her up."

Fran beams. "Can we go there?"

"How do you girl a kid up when they're stripped?" I ask.

"Take a visit. They'll give you a full consult." Candy's eyes twinkle. "You're in for a few surprises, I think."

"Gee," I exclaim, "I feel so naive!"

Chris and I peel Fran out of the outfit with some difficulty. It really is way too tight, even with the Velcro straps loosened. Fran shakes herself with evident relief as soon as she's stripped. I'm a little alarmed at the red blots and blemishes all over her skin.

"I guess wool isn't the nicest fabric in the world," I grimace.

"I can't imagine how hot it feels," Dan says.

"We did take her out every evening," Chris replies defensively.

"And my idea worked," I say. "She's agreed to sleep without the bindings."

"Well, not really," Chris responds, "I've decided she's sleeping naked, and that's it."

"The SFF program is working fast!" I say. "Parent in charge."

"It is very effective," Candy says quietly.

"Well, I guess we'll be moseying along to get something to eat," Chris says. "Say thank you to the nice people, Fran."

"Thank you!" Fran says enthusiastically.

We guide our stripped daughter toward the food court, her little penis bobbing along in front of her. We haven't even left the visitor center yet and already Florida has handed us more adventure than I could have imagined.

As if to rub it in, Fran says, "Remember, you promised I could be a star girl."

(End of File)