Chapter Five

No one’s actually going to see them, Ali thought as she slipped the panties on.

They were sky blue with a pink ribbon trim. And they were small. The fresh cotton was shaped to show ass rather than obscure it, to wrap over her buttcheeks in high appealing arches. A small bow was tied in the upper center, just over her crotch. That damn bow would drive a guy wild. She looked like a present waiting to be opened.

But she wasn’t actually going to show anyone. This was just for her.

They were 90% off. And so was everything else she bought. It was the discount for anyone carrying a Monroe student ID, and it applied to half the stores in the mall. When Ali heard about it from Sheena, the deal sounded too good to be true. And it made her weirdly giddy.

The word “sale,” it turned out, was now a dopamine trigger.

She went with the girls after their hangout at the gymnasium. Ali didn’t plan on going overboard, but all discretion melted out of her the moment she stepped into the lingerie store. Underwear was the one thing girls couldn’t trade in the student center. It simply made sense to stock up on it.

And, as Ali kept reminding herself, it was 90% off.

Which really was strange. Who ever heard of a student discount at the lingerie store?

But according to the check-out girl, somebody from the University worked out deals with management in nearly every store.

“And that means new employee training videos, too.” She said. The young clerk was wearing the store’s merchandise, a matching set of candy cane underwear beneath a sheer slip, and nothing else. She bit a finger. “God, they’re riding us soooo hard now.”

The day’s pent-up arousal must have gotten to Ali’s head, because she could have sworn the girl sounded almost as turned on as she was. And there was a familiar blue glow coming off of her computer screen.

Putting it out of mind, Ali finished getting dressed. She stepped into a pink ruffle mini-skirt and put on a white, chesty halter-top. She looked like such a slut, with her Rosewood Velvet lips and her Sunset Satin cheeks. Heels would complete the ensemble. Pink ones, to match the skirt.

And then there were the slutty panties, which only she would know about.

She grabbed a lollipop on the way out the door and stuck it in her mouth. It was long, girthy and rainbow swirled, and it tasted good. She sucked it, in and out, savoring the taste.

This is what protest had to look like, she decided on the walk to the dining hall. Every head turned was a victory for the movement. She needed to make the boys look, and so what if she enjoyed it a little, too?

It was easy, in heels. They gave her step a bouncy, eye-grabbing sway. They made her skirt swish tantalizingly around her hidden, sexy panties. And they announced her coming with short, sharp clicks. By the time she arrived at the dining hall for breakfast, she was already turned on.

She spotted Sheena at a table across the way, and made a note of her table so she could join her.

But first, there was Scott. He watched Ali through a line of students putting food on their trays, and her skin turned charged with electricity when she realized he was staring. Like any other guy, his gaze brought with it a warm and happy wetness.

But with Scott, there was something else, too. Turmoil.

What the fuck do I actually want?

He approached her, looking serious.

“Is it true?” He asked.

“Morning to you, too.” Ali said. “What are you talking about?”

“Sheena told me you want to fuck me. She says you talk about me all the time. Is that true?”

The floor gave way beneath her. In her cute little outfit and her precarious heels and her trimmed panties, Ali felt completely exposed.

“I– what? No! I mean– when did she–?” Ali couldn’t get the words out. She didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t even know if it was untrue.

“This morning. Ali. What the fuck is going on with you?” Scott sounded mad. He sounded genuinely, seriously, pissed.

“The– the protest!” Ali stammered.

“The protest, the protest, the protest! I KNOW! That’s not an ANSWER, Ali. You’re acting crazy. I mean, everyone’s acting crazy. But especially you. This is so far from who you are. Look at you!”

He was looking at her tits again. It would be hard not to. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Instead they were squeezed delicately into her tight halter top with only the low cut of the shirt to hold them in.

“Don’t be such a fucking hypocrite and pretend you don’t like looking!” Ali shot back. “You’re doing it right now!”

“So what? And apparently it’s an open secret that you want to fuck me? This is too much. Are you protesting or trying to get my attention? Which is it? Because I see you bending over for all the other guys, too.”

Ali couldn’t deny that. Wasn’t it just yesterday she almost gave that basketball player a view up her skirt?

Ali fell back to the only thing that seemed to make sense. The protest.

“They’re saying we can’t.” Ali said, but even she could hear the logic fall flat.

“Fuck off.” Scott said. “Don’t bother me anymore.”

He stormed away.

Ali, tears welling in her eyes, marched over to Sheena. Her head spun, and suddenly walking in heels felt as difficult and alien as it used to. But she powered through, stumbling on the step down to the eating area, nearly falling onto the floor.

“What did you say to Scott?” Ali said numbly.

Sheena giggled. She was dressed like such a slut today, her tits nearly falling out of a cross-tied top and her skirt teasing the bottom of her ass. A minute ago, the outfit would have made Ali dizzy with jealousy. Now, it made her sick.

“I was just trying to move things along. Why, how’d it go?”

“I told you not to, Sheena!” Ali spat back. “Why did you do that! I didn’t want you to do that!”

“Ali, come on. Please. If I didn’t make a move for you, you never would have. And we all know you wanted to. You act like your above all this stuff but you’re just as much a girl as the rest of us. Look at how you’re dressed!”

“I’m dressed like this for YOUR protest!” Ali yelled.

She threw her half-sucked lollipop on the ground. “Your STUPID, fucking protest! No more. I’m done. Fuck you, and fuck your protest.”

She walked away, the entire dining hall drawn to her outburst. As she followed the interminable path through the room to the exit, everybody looked at her, at her body, at her slutty body, and it took all of her willpower to keep from swaying her hips while they did.

“So… it didn’t work.” Craig said in the faculty lounge that morning.

A few other professors were gathered around to hear Helen’s recounting of yesterday’s failed meeting, of how she tried to convince Agatha to stop Henry, and of how she folded instead. She’d just gotten to the bitter end, of Henry’s attack on the faculty’s independence with his newest rule.

“Yes.” Helen said. “Reason failed. Agatha is useless. So now it’s time to join the fight.”

Craig’s eyes flirted briefly with her butt. She couldn’t really blame him for looking at it. It was currently doing battle against a maddeningly tight pencil skirt.

After a night of fury, Helen had managed to calm down enough to temper her first protest outfit. She limited herself to a saucy skirt and a glossier, brighter lipstick. Otherwise, she restrained herself with a turtleneck sweater and sensible shoes.

The other faculty were still dressed as modestly as ever. But many of them hadn’t been around last evening to see the new rule go into effect. They were only just hearing about it now.

“We’ll have to go look.” A couple of the women mumbled amongst each other.

“I wonder if I’ll have time before class…”

“I still don’t believe it. Agatha let him include us in this?

“It’s true.” Shannon said. The head of Helen’s department was dressed in her usual, in a massive fluffy sweater and pants. She rubbed the rim of her glasses. “I saw the rule this morning. As did Craig. We happened there at the same time.”

“Yep.” Craig said. “Apparently my serious efforts to maintain boundaries with our attention hungry students were for naught. Henry is treating me just the same as their lecherous male peers.”

Helen leaned against the counter, and her butt pushed strenuously against her snug skirt. The movement drew Craig’s gaze again, and Helen was hit by a pang of guilt. Here he was trying so hard to be professional, and she was making a show of herself.

She wasn’t used to this kind of tightness. She’d have to be more careful.

“I’m sorry Helen, but I will not be participating.” Shannon said. “This protest has turned into a farce, and I don’t think we should give it legitimacy by joining it.”

A couple of the others murmured in agreement.

Helen became flushed with embarrassment. This had seemed like such a good idea. But the others were right. Following the students’ lead was a slippery slope, one that would only give Henry more ammunition to crack down further.

Shannon continued. “I’ll concede that including us in his rules is ridiculous. I was nonplussed when I saw it. But debasing ourselves is not the answer.”

“Right…”

Helen’s skirt was so tight, and Craig was looking at her butt in longer and longer stretches. She had the dawning urge to wiggle it. To let him know he wasn’t being subtle.

No. Helen had the dawning urge to wiggle it because in a tight skirt, it would look so good.

Idly, Shannon pulled a small lollipop out of her pocket, unwrapped it, and stuck it in her mouth. Just the smell of it made Helen’s mouth water. Being around all this candy was triggering her sweet tooth. She’d have to bring a handful to her office.

“Anyway, it was nice chatting with you all. I need to get out of this lounge. It’s quite warm in here, isn’t it?” Shannon said, pulling up the sleeves of her sweater. “Please remember to keep a level head about this code of conduct. Most of these rules would absurd to break in the first place.”

Shannon rolled the lollipop around her mouth, tossing it over and over with her tongue. It clickclacked pleasantly against her teeth, and she sucked in thick, sugary mouthfuls of saliva as she left. Her breath already smelled like strawberry.

Ali cried for a half-hour in her room before the sound of Danica’s key unlatching the door forced her to hastily wipe the running mascara off of her face.

It wasn’t enough. When Danica entered in her clunky boots, in her raggedy black jeans and jacket smelling of cigarettes, she clocked the scene in front of her immediately. Though her face was dry, Ali clearly looked a sorry sight. She sat on the floor by her bed, wrapped in a blanket with her legs pulled up to her chest.

“Break a nail?” Danica asked dryly.

“Fuck off.” Ali grumbled.

“Jesus, sorry. What’s got you so grumpy?”

“This stupid fucking protest. I’m quitting.”

Danica tilted her head downwards skeptically. “Quitting? Really?”

“Yeah. I’m done. The whole thing was stupid. Happy?”

Ali’s stomach turned at the admission. She felt nauseous. She hated being wrong. She hated admitting defeat. And despite everything, she really wanted to suck on some candy.

“No.” Danica said. “I’m not happy. I just broke up with Corbin. He won’t stop looking at all the other sluts. He’s turned into a fucking pig.”

“Sorry.” Ali said guiltily.

If Danica’s boyfriend were to have checked out Ali’s tits, would she have squeezed them together for him? Would she have bent at the knees and given him a better view, even knowing he was taken? Would a committed guy’s eyes elicit the same sexual thrill as any other’s, or would it be even more exciting?

Ali knew the answers to those questions. Already, they were turning into lurid fantasies. How many taken guys had checked Ali out? To how many of them had she nearly flashed her panties?

She was getting turned on again.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Are you serious?” Danica asked.

“About what?” Ali asked, her nerves on edge. For a second, she thought that Danica was reading her perverted mind, that she was referring to Ali’s lecherous fantasies.

“About quitting the protest.”

Her tone was measured and serious, and her grave expression was even enough to quell Ali’s stupid horny thoughts.

“Yes.” She answered.

At least, she wanted to be serious about it. But beneath the cover of her blanket, Ali was still wearing an impossibly short skirt and a tit-spilling halter top. She was still wearing those cute, tantalizing panties with the little pink bow. And they were still a little moist.

Danica threw her bag on the floor and locked the door behind her.

“Then I’ll help you.”

Whatever distrust, whatever malice, that Danica seemed to have been harboring for Ali during the protest, was gone in an instant. And for once, Danica looked at her like a friend.

“What do you mean help me?”

“Something seriously fucked up is going on, Ali.” Danica said gravely. “If you want to quit the protest, I think you’re going to need my help to do it. They’re doing something to you. To everyone.”

I should have seen this coming, Helen thought to herself. The eyes of every boy in class were on her butt.

They were glued to her, raptly following her up and down the aisles of desks while she returned their Shakespeare essays.

Until now, Helen hadn’t given them much to look at. But just because she was a teacher, there was no reason to think that she would be exempt from their gaze forever. If anything, her status probably carried with it a whole new allure. This wasn’t a classmate’s butt they were looking at. It was a woman’s. And she was wearing a very tight skirt.

“Damn, Professor.” One of the guys said. “Fuck the rules for saying we can’t look at such a beautiful thing.”

Just like that, the room’s tension broke. A few students chuckled.

Helen, too, felt a strange relief. To be the fixation of so many eyes came with it an uneasy feeling. But the comment reminded her of the greater context, of the protest. Suddenly, she felt a little better about letting their behavior slide. She felt a little better about being seen.

Not only that. After Shannon’s rejection of the protest, after how humiliated Helen felt to have worn this short, tight pencil skirt to work, the student approval felt kind of good.

“Yes, go ahead and take it in so we can move forward. Nothing you haven’t seen.” Helen said, trying to hold back a smile. “And enjoy it while it lasts. It’s a one-day gesture.”

To indulge in the moment, just this once, she wiggled it.

The students laughed, and a couple guys whistled.

Oh, fuck. That did feel good. The classroom suddenly felt very, very warm. Helen couldn’t remember what she was wearing beneath her turtleneck, but she was contemplating taking it off anyway.

“I think it’s great you’re protesting, Professor.” Sheena chirped. “It’s so fucked up that the Dean is making faculty follow the rules, too. You’re like, really fucking cool for getting on board.”

Sheena scowled at Ali’s empty desk and muttered quietly. “Unlike some bitches.”

“Thanks, Sheena, but as I said, this is only for today. Faculty have professional considerations, unfortunately.”

“Aw, come on!” A guy yelled. “You can’t show off that fine ass then cover it up again. That’s so not fair!”

The warmth in Helen thickened into a soupy, hot fog. Inappropriate thoughts started to bubble out of it. She needed to reign in the conversation, and fast. The guys were getting a little too comfortable commenting on her ass. My fine ass…

Slutty little ass in a slutty little skirt.

“Yeah, Professor. And those legs!”

Helen’s face burned. With all the essays returned, it was time to put a stop to this banter and get back on track. Before their comments got even bolder. Before things became even less… appropriate.

Keep all discussion in class ACADEMIC and APPROPRIATE.

The words flashed in her eyes, taunting her.

“Yeah Helen, don’t quit the protest now! We need you!”

“Too bad. You’d better get in all your looking while you can.” Helen told them defiantly.

She stuck out her butt and slapped it for emphasis.

The wolf whistles that followed made it undeniable. The heat inside of her wasn’t just any warmth. The attention was turning her on.

God, Henry would be displeased to know she was acting like this. In his mind, the issue of the rebellion could be put to rest if the Professors were better examples. If they obeyed the dress code and didn’t wear make-up and covered themselves like nuns. If they followed his rules to the letter.

But he didn’t know how to handle her students. She did.

He can’t tell me what to do in my own classroom.

If Helen had to debase herself a little bit to motivate the students, that’s what she was going to do.

Debase myself for boys.

“Oh–kay.” She stammered, composing herself. She had their attention, or at least the boys’. It was time to take it home. “We’re starting.”

Except, with so many boys admiring her, she couldn’t remember for the life of her what she had planned today. She had meant to review her lesson plan last night like she always did. But she had been so flustered and angry from Henry’s rule, she spent all night trying on outfits instead out of spite.

How was she supposed to keep things ACADEMIC and APPROPRIATE if she couldn’t even remember her lesson?

Plus, while the boys were already looking at her, or at least, at part of her, the girls were as distracted as always. To prove Henry wrong, to prove she could control her students without following his rules, she needed all of their attention.

She clutched the last remaining essay in her hands. It was Ali’s, who was absent from class today. Unlike most of the girls in class, Ali had at least written something, as vapid as it was. But it gave Helen got an idea.

“Make-up.” She said. “And clothes.”

The girls perked up immediately. They dropped their conversations, put down their mirrors and lipsticks, stopped blowing their big pink bubbles and sucking loudly on massive pops, and looked at Helen.

For the first time in days, Helen had the whole room’s attention.

Her body buzzed. It was so hot in here.

She pulled off her turtleneck sweater, and her real outfit revealed itself.

It was a salacious red crop top, held together by a drawstring tied over her breasts. She’d put it on this morning before deciding that the ensemble was way too extra, way too slutty, for a professional. She could never show up to work in something as skimpy as this, in something strapless and short and open. It was then that she put the turtleneck over it, telling herself a skirt was all she needed to protest with.

But now the turtleneck was off.

Immediately, the boys took in the newly exposed territory, to where her tight mini-skirt hugged her pelvis, then higher to her bare stomach. Others looked at her tits, at where ruby red, skin-tight club-wear crossed over her cleavage. All of them shifted in their seats.

Whoops, Helen thought. Maybe this is too sexy.

She stepped out of her flats and into the spare pair of heels under her desk. How had these gotten here? Did she pack these? It didn’t matter. In heels, she’d be taller. She’d command even more attention. And they matched her red top, her red lipstick, her red hair.

But losing a layer did nothing to cool her off. And down below, the rising heat coalesced into wetness, into blatant arousal, into the undeniable agony of sexual need. Helen willed her thoughts away from that, towards a problem that she could address. Her mouth watered, and she was hungry.

ATTENTION HUNGRY.

She grabbed a piece of gum from her desk, a fat pink sugary cube, and stuck it in her mouth. It would hold her over. Something to use her tongue on, and her lips. Sticky, yummy candy.

She returned her attention to her students. She had the boys locked down. They’d be glued to her all class. A few of them had gotten comfortable. They sat with their legs spread wide, stroking themselves lightly over their pants. Well, as long as they were paying attention.

“So like, make-up.” Helen said again through a full mouthful of bubblegum.

This was so silly. It was barely even ACADEMIC. But it was related to Shakespeare, and for today, that would be enough. She placed Ali’s essay aside. She’d have to rethink the grade she gave it. This idea was a lifesaver.

“Who can tell me what Ophelia’s style would be like if she were a modern girl?” Helen asked.

It was or never. If this worked, Helen thought she’d just about squeal.

Twelve manicured hands, jingling with bracelets and glistening with brightly polished nails, shot straight into the air.

Danica left for the dining hall to bring back food for Ali, leaving her once again to be alone in the dorm.

As discussed, Ali locked the door behind her.

As it turned out, Danica had gotten good at navigating campus during lull periods. Avoiding the other girls, she said, was essential to staying out of the protest.

“It’s the screen. Everyone’s obsessed with it. And they don’t change until they see it.” Danica explained. “Me and a few of the other girls are holding out. But it’s not easy. Those crazy sluts will try and drag you there.”

As much as Ali thought Danica sounded crazy, she didn’t have a leg to stand on. It was the screen that emboldened her to put in a skirt in the first place. It was the screen that spurned each and every new action she took. And even now, Ali couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if she missed another update here in the confines of her dorm.

I could go check, Ali thought. I could be there and back before she ever knew.

But that would defeat the whole purpose of their experiment. Ali was supposed to stay put, to resist the temptation of following the code of conduct and decouple herself from the whole movement.

But she was also supposed to change out of these sexy clothes, and she still hadn’t done that.

Danica was being surprisingly patient with her. She wasn’t pushing, only now and again asking Ali if she’d maybe want to try changing into sweats.

“In a minute.” Ali would say, really wanting to cooperate, wanting to prove that she wasn’t brainwashed into her skimpy outfit.

But her skirt was too comfortable. And she really, really didn’t like being told not to wear it.

She could sense Danica’s unease. Every time Ali failed to change, every time she’d stall with another “In a minute” while doing nothing, Danica wouldn’t call her out on it. She knew, it seemed, that doing so would only make Ali more stubborn. Danica was treating her like a mental patient.

Ali felt like one, too.

It was bad enough that instead of cleaning off her smeared and runny make-up, Ali fixed it. She couldn’t stand the thought of going plain again, at least not yet. So she meticulously redid her work until her face was glistening and glowing with color. Even the act of doing it calmed Ali down. More than that, it turned her on.

Like everything else, Danica let it slide.

And now she was putting herself at risk to go bring Ali food. The dining hall would just be opening, Danica said, and she liked to slip and and out before the crowds showwd up. Still, Ali worried that Danica might come back in a mini-skirt. What if after all this, Danica decided that the protest was righteous after all? What if she read the screen?

And why did Ali keep picturing Danica reading it? Why couldn’t she stop imagining her roommate, slackjawed and limp, taking in the Dean’s horrible rules and experiencing the outrage for herself?

Why did that turn her on, too?

A knock on the door pulled Ali out of her spiral.

“Ali, are you in there? It’s Grace.”

“Yes. Hi.” Ali said.

“Can I come in? It’s locked.”

Ali wasn’t supposed to open the door for anyone. She promised Danica as much. But this was Grace. This was Ali’s friend who, like her, shared the same unease about becoming a fashion-forward sexpot. And unlike Sheena, Ali didn’t have anything against Grace. It wasn’t Grace who went blabbing to Scott about Ali’s crush.

Ali opened the door.

The tall girl wore a searing mini-dress, tight on her slender frame and riding high over her toned thighs. She stepped into the room on heels, her brunette hair bouncy with product and her lips Blossom Pink. She smelled like a mix of perfume, candy, and beauty products, and she brought that aroma, a cloud of it, into Ali’s dorm.

“I heard you had a fight with Sheena.” She said, setting her clutch on Ali’s desk.

“I guess.” Ali mumbled. “Can I have a stick of gum?”

Grace was chewing it, and Ali’s mouth watered in sympathy. Grace dug a piece out of her bag and handed it to her. Before Ali could even have a chance to rethink it, the wad was already in her mouth, explosively sweet and thick. She chewed it gratefully, a shiver of satisfaction rewarding every inch of her.

She loved candy so much. Maybe Danica would let her keep eating it, if she stopped everything else.

Grace sat on Ali’s bed, her mini-dress riding even higher up her legs.

“You don’t think you should like, talk it out with Sheena? Isn’t she your best friend? She said you’re quitting the protest.”

Ali thought Grace looked so good in that dress. She was with her when she bought it. She wanted to compliment her, to tell her she was rocking it, to affirm her and uplift her. But she bit her tongue.

“I am quitting. And you should too. There’s something wrong about it. Can’t you feel it? All of this sexy stuff? It’s not right.”

Ali channeled Danica’s certainty about the conspiracy, but she barely believed it herself. Still, she and Grace had bonded over the strangeness of it all once upon a time. Maybe she would understand.

“I mean… I guess.” Grace acquiesced. “This is all so new to me. I know that, logically. But it’s also like, so fun. Weren’t you having fun?”

Fun. Ali was having fun, dressing up in cute outfits and going shopping for lingerie and teasing boys with her slutty body.

“It’s not us.” Ali said. “And I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Okay. Fine. I just really think you should talk to Sheena. She’s distraught. She’s so sad, Ali.”

“She needs to apologize to me.” Ali said. “I’m not going to her. And I don’t think you should come around her anymore. I don’t want to hear about the protest, or the code of conduct, or anything. I’m quitting.”

“Yeah, I got that…”

From her clutch, Grace’s phone buzzed, and with a pop of pink gum at her lips she pranced over to it.

“Oh! It’s Tom.” She said. “Oh my God, Ali. I like, just sent him a sexy photo and he’s asking for another one. Can you take it for me? I’m running out of shots taking them by myself.”

Grace adjusted her hair in a mirror as if Ali’s cooperation was a forgone conclusion. She shimmied in her dress, straightening it and tugging it into place, the cut both too high on her legs and too low on her chest.

“Um, sure.” Ali said.

Grace had thoughtlessly thrown her phone back into her bag, so Ali took out her own and opened the camera. “Where do you want it?”

“How about… like… this.”

Grace hopped back on the bed, both heels digging into the plush mattress, and, as if it were the most natural pose in the world, leaned back onto her hands and spread her legs wide. Her short dress opened up to sheer, scarlet panties with doily trim.

Ali suppressed a flush of excitement at the sight of Grace’s mound, and the lingerie hugging it. Like the dress, Ali was there when Grace bought them, but she never imagined she’d see her in them. They looked so soft and comfy, and sexy too.

And they were 90% off.

“This look okay?” Grace asked.

“Yeah. Really, um, hot.” Ali said.

She snapped a couple photos. And that’s all I’m doing, Ali reminded herself. She wasn’t participating in the protest herself. She wasn’t showing off her own body. She was helping Grace do it.

And Grace wasn’t doing it for just anybody. It was for her boyfriend. This was all above board. It was hardly related to the protest at all.

“Okay, so I already flashed him my new panties last time. So how about I…”

Grace spread her legs even wider, and now the dress was bunched up all the way to her waist, her long legs fully bottomless, adorned only by the heels and panties. But Grace wasn’t finished there. She shifted her weight to one arm, and with the other, pulled the panties to the side.

And just like that, Ali was face to face with her friend’s pussy.

“How’s that? Does it look sexy?” Grace asked, pulling the panties so far that Ali thought they’d tear.

Grace was shaved bare, and her pussy was dewy with latent arousal. It was the first vagina other than her own that Ali ever laid eyes on, a smooth mound meeting with the soft kiss of pink labia.

“Uh huh.” Ali said, snapping photos. “A super sexy little pussy.”

The words came so easily, as easily as any other compliment about a girl’s make-up or clothes or nails or shoes. But this was about Grace’s pussy, and Ali was embarrassed to have said such a thing out loud. Grace didn’t seem to care, though. At Ali’s compliment, her staged sultry look melted away into genuine lust.

“Thanks for this, Ali.” She said. “Sexy photos drive him wild now. He’s gonna go crazy on me later for this. Like he’s really gonna rail me. It’s gonna be fucking hot. Fuck…”

Grace’s pussy got wetter with every shot, so wet that even her outer lips glistened with moisture, and still Ali kept shooting, filling her camera roll with the athlete’s lewd sex. With one finger, Grace lightly stroked herself there over and over, vertically, from the bottom of her wet entrance to the top.

“Gonna fuck me…” Grace whispered. “Gonna fuck my super sexy little pussy…”

She likes to show off her body, Ali thought. She loves to show off her slutty body. ’Cause unlike me, it gets her fucked. It gets her fucked so hard.

Ali’s own pussy was warming up too, pulling her deeper and deeper into a wet stupor.

Debase myself for boys.

Grace’s finger stroked more earnestly, ready to probe beyond her wet entrance into even deeper and wetter territory. Ali worried if she didn’t say anything now, that’s exactly what Grace would do next. And if Grace did, would Ali keep taking photos? Would she move even closer for a better shot?

“I um, think I got it.” Ali said before she found out. There was still gum in her mouth, and her words moved like molasses through it.

“Right. Got it. Thanks so much.” Grace said, pulling herself back, like Ali, from the brink. She hopped off the bed and grabbed her bag in a hurry. “Just send him the sexiest one, okay? You have his number, right? I– I gotta go.”

“Wait– Grace!!”

Ali did have Tom’s number, but the thought of sending Grace’s nude from her phone was embarrassing. It was too late to discuss though, because, Grace, her dress still disheveled, rolled up on one side so that half her red panties were exposed, fled from Ali’s room.

Ali sent the photo, the hottest one of the bunch, one where Grace’s eyes were hazy with lust and her finger was slipping across her visible wetness, with a simple caption, “This is from Grace.”

Immediately, three dots appeared.

Why was Tom responding? Ali had nothing to do with this. She was only the messenger.

“Look at that fucking pussy,” he texted. Then another three dots bounced below it. He had more to say. “Tysm Ali. Really hot.”

For some reason, Ali responded. She typed, thumbs moving with a will of their own, back to Tom, a guy she hardly knew but for a few meetings.

“No problem. Enjoy.”

She considered the message for a moment, then, without knowing why, added a smiley face. It read friendlier that way.

Tom responded again. Ali didn’t know what she expected him to say. She didn’t know what she wanted him to say. But what he sent was the last thing she expected, and it made her pussy pulse hot and wet all the same.

“Show me urs, Ali.”

Nobody had ever made such a direct request of her before, and immediately, Ali knew that she wanted to. Was that all it took? Just one simple question, and she would spread her legs for anybody that asked it? Was she that attention hungry?

Ali slipped her skirt off, and after a day of trying and failing to do exactly that, it was so easy. She just needed the right motivation. Ali told herself she’d put the sweatpants on when she was done.

The photo was awful. Lying on her bed, she lifted her pink-ribboned panties by the waistline and shot down into them, the camera’s flash flooding into her mound over a wet tangle of hair and dark pussy lips.

I can’t send this, Ali thought. This was Grace’s boyfriend. This was wrong. She was… not supposed to do this.

The rule flashed white and blue in her mind’s eye.

GIRLS. Have some SELF RESPECT.

But how could Ali respect herself when she’d basically jumped at the chance to send a picture of her cunt to her friend’s boyfriend?

What would Danica say?

She was bad. She was a bad, bad, girl.

More importantly, the photo was bad. The blurry, POV shot into her panties barely even qualified as a pussy shot. What would Tom think of this?

But Ali’s body was operated all on its own. Tom wanted to see her pussy, and she had a photo of it primed and ready. She sent it back to him, heart pounding, her nerves lit by electricity.

He responded immediately, but in that instant the three bubbles seemed to bounce for an eternity. Ali could hear her pulse, could feel it pounding in her skull and beating in her pussy.

“Fuck, thanks Ali. I can’t believe you did that. That’s fucking hot.”

Ali dropped the phone and her hand plunged into panties. She rubbed her clit urgently and it responded, equally as urgent, with explosive pleasure. Ali bit her wrist to stifle her moans, but it barely worked. She whimpered into her skin, willing herself forward to the hasty, mind-melting orgasm that was already approaching.

I’m a slut, she thought, and the words appeared before her in white text over blue background, blurry and fuzzy and flickering to the pace of her heart. I’m a horny, bimbo slut.

Tom would be looking at the photo of her cunt right now. She hoped he was. She wanted him to see it. She wanted everybody to see it. As she worked single-mindedly towards her orgasm, she fantasized about who else she wished could see. Her classmates, her professors, and even Scott spilled into her tiny dorm, crowding around her as she touched herself under her panties, as she rubbed her soaked pussy in fervent, rapid circles.

Show off my body. Show off my slutty body.

She was bad. She was so, so, bad. She was supposed to be quitting the protest. She was supposed to be following the rules now. She wasn’t supposed to be a rebel.

But as Ali crashed into her orgasm, as her body tensed and shuddered under the monumental release of ecstasy, as the fantasy of showing off her body elevated her pleasure to unbelievable heights, she realized how impossible that task would be.

How could Ali follow the rules when breaking them felt this good?