The woman at the Guess Your Weight booth looks me up and down appraisingly, her steely gray eyes taking in every detail of my appearance with a knowing gaze that's faintly disconcerting before she speaks. "Nineteen, 36DD, and you've got a wet spot on your panties the size of a silver dollar," she says after a moment, and in the crushingly loud silence that follows I can hear Alice let out a choked gasp of laughter that stabs straight into my chest. I didn't have even a moment to brace myself for the verbal attack, I had no idea it was coming, and all I can do for a long moment is stand there with my mouth hanging open in bewildered, humiliated shock.

Even when I find my voice, it's only to voice the most pathetically limp of objections. "I thought it was age, height, and weight," I hear myself mewl, sounding like a child who just lost a spelling bee. There's a light rain falling on the fairgrounds, little more than a dusting of mist even though it was enough to chase away most of the crowd, and I can't help but imagine how much more pitiful it makes me look with my sandy blonde curls beginning to weigh down and go limp with accumulated water and my blouse beginning to cling to my skin. I probably look like a wet kitten.

And the butch brunette with the side shave standing under the awning at the Guess Your Weight booth looks even more smugly confident by comparison. "Anyone can do age, height, and weight, honey," she retorts, her voice a husky contralto growl with just a hint of aggression to it. "I'm actually good at this, and I could tell from the second you walked up here that you've been horny for your little friend here all day." She gestures at Alice, and suddenly I can't possibly imagine looking over at her--I'd never be able to hide the guilty look in my eyes, and today's been going too well to ruin it with honesty now.

But that means I'm stuck looking at the Guess Your Weight woman's eyes while she reads me for filth, and there's absolutely no mercy in that steely gaze as she goes on. "I'm guessing you haven't seen each other in a few months--different colleges, or maybe one of you is a townie--and you suggested going to the fair because it was like asking her out on a date without having to do anything as big and scary as find out whether or not she's into girls. You talked her out of heading home when the weather started to turn, she started to kind of lean up next to you for warmth once the rain started to seep into your skin, and the heat of your skin made your pussy just a goddamn mess, didn't it....?"

"M-Melissa," I stammer. I'm halfway surprised she doesn't know it already. "But I, but that's not, not--" The miserable little quiver in my voice kills my objections almost before I can finish voicing them; I've never been a good liar, and I know I'm doing more to convince Alice of the truth behind this woman's words than anything. I almost work up the nerve to look over at her, to at least see how she's taking all this, but the Guess Your Weight woman's gaze pins me like a specimen on a dissection tray.

"Well, we both know there's only one way to find out, isn't there?" she replies, cutting off my half-hearted pretense at finishing the sentence. "You just step around behind this counter here and pull down those leggings, and we'll see whether you've got a wet spot the size of a silver dollar on your pretty little panties."

She pauses theatrically. "At least the size of a silver dollar," she amends, giving us a mirthless, sardonic smile. "It's probably gotten a little bigger from getting pushed around by a mean butch dyke like this."

My feet actually begin to move before I freeze up in embarrassment,  desperately struggling to figure out how I wound up in such an awkward logical predicament. I know what she's asking is intrusive and absurd, but every time I think about walking away I imagine Alice looking curiously at me the whole ride home and I realize that leaving now would be tantamount to admitting this total stranger was right about my--my pussy. "I, I don't think we need to be doing that," I hear myself say, the wheedling tone in my voice making it clear I'm not bargaining from a position of strength.

"You're right, we don't," the woman snaps, her tone making it clear just how very little she'll allow me to contradict her. "You can always just admit you're a horny little girl with messy, leaky panties if you like, and I'll keep your money because I was right about you and we both know it. But if you want your prize... and if you don't want your friend to walk away thinking you're a slutty lesbo... you're going to have to put up or shut up. We can go in the back if you like, if behind the counter's not enough privacy for you. I'm sure your friend here wouldn't mind getting out of the rain."

Alice hasn't spoken this entire time, I realize, and I wonder if she's horrified or humiliated or maybe just a little bit intrigued by all this. I try not to think about the latter, I know it's only going to make things worse for me, but a part of me can't help thinking about all those teenage fantasies of being caught and exposed and utterly unable to hide the enormity of my crush on my best friend, only to finally discover that she's been harboring those same feelings all this time and waiting for me to make the first move. Maybe she's standing there stock still and dead silent feeling lucky it isn't her.

I wish it was. Because I know what this woman's going to find if she looks at my panties.

But there's nowhere else to go, not at this point. Walking away, getting defensive, they're all tantamount to admitting defeat here, and even though I understand intellectually how absurd it is to be maneuvered into a situation where I feel like I have to pull down my pants for a total stranger I'm so helplessly trapped I can't think of anything else to do. "F-fine," I say, injecting a note of petulant bravado into my voice that I know is going to backfire on me in a few minutes. "But, um, inside. And, and just you."

She smirks at that, taking my wrist in one hand and Alice's in the other, and leads us both unprotesting into the small tent behind the booth. There's a space heater running, and it feels so nice to be somewhere warm and dry that for half a moment I forget what's happening to me... but then she turns me around and glares directly at my crotch. "Well?" she asks, although it's not really a question at all. "Let's see those pretty panties, sweetie. They're probably cherry red or hot pink or something--I imagine you wore a pair hoping she'd see them, didn't you?"

They're actually hot pink, but that's not the reason I blush beet red as my fingers hook themselves into the waistband of my leggings seemingly without any conscious intention on my part. I'm blushing because I already know what she's going to see, because I know I've been daydreaming about Alice and the intoxicating nearness of her all day long. Coming back to my old home town for Spring Break, seeing her again, it reawakened everything I thought I'd put behind me when I left to go to college, and this whole trip to the carnival has been nothing but one sexual fantasy after another playing out inside my head like a whole string of pornographic movies. I know I'm slick and messy down there, I know it's soaked clean through the sheer fabric, and I know both women are going to see it when everything is revealed.

But it's still acutely embarrassing when the Guess Your Weight woman lets out a low whistle and stares at my underwear. "Looks like I underestimated you," she says in wry tones, looking at something my slightly pooched belly makes it impossible for me to see. "That's damn near as big around as a pop can, honey, and I bet it's still getting bigger. Did it really turn you on that much to show yourself off to your little girlfriend?"

I can see Alice out of the corner of my eye, standing next to the butch brunette like it's suddenly become two against one, and I'm relieved to see there's no disgust on her face as she stares. I'm a little less relieved to see very little expression at all--she's got a look of blank fascination on her features, a kind of glassy confusion to her gaze as though she's managed to convince herself this is all just a waking dream, and it makes me feel even more isolated and helpless as I stand there and let my arousal gradually saturate my panties even further. Alice isn't going to help me. No one is. If I'm going to stand up to this woman I'll have to do it myself, and I'm honestly not sure that's possible.

As if to prove it, she takes Alice's hand and presses it to my fabric-covered cunt directly over my clit. "You feel that, sweetie?" she asks Alice, although we both know she's really directing the comments to me. "That's all on you, that's what you've been doing to her all day. I bet you didn't even know you had such a needy little slut for a friend, did you?" Alice blushes, but her face never loses that blank, glassy stare and I realize she's just as disconnected in her own way as I am. We've both ceded so much power over the situation to this woman that it seems somehow inconceivable to take any of it back, and Alice no doubt feels just as humiliatingly seen by this stranger as I do.

She can't stop herself from rubbing my pussy, I can't stop myself from whimpering in pleasure. And both of us have been caught and held and snared in the tangled web of our desires, unable to hide from this woman who had us dead to rights the moment we walked by. It's impossible to argue with that kind of savage, cutting insight, and I know in that instant we're going to do everything she says. Because to deny her would be to deny ourselves.

It's why I don't try to fight it when the woman guides Alice's hand up and over the elastic waistband of my panties to plunge deep into the folds of my soaking cunt. It's why I only get even wetter when she intones, "Tell me, sweetie, tell me you're a horny little girl who made a leaky mess out of her pretty panties and maybe I'll let you cum." And it's why my clit pounds with a throb of arousal more intense than anything I've ever felt before when I hear Alice's meek, mewling voice respond before I can.

"...i'm a h-horny little girl," she whimpers, her fingers rubbing me with an intensity only desire can explain. "and i, i made a leaky mess out of my pretty panties." She sounds utterly dazed by her own lust, so lost in her own arousal that she can't quite believe any of this is even really happening, and I can hear in my own voice as I recite along with her that same dissociated, disconnected befuddlement. I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know if I actually can. And it just seems so much easier to stop trying and let this stranger tell us what to do.

Alice has her skirt off within moments, and I can see on her cherry red panties the same thing she sees on mine--a dark patch, irregular in shape but perhaps as big around as a soup can, and even as I look at it I can see it growing bigger just from her own humiliated arousal at being the center of my attention. The woman puts my hand inside Alice's waistband, and it's like a warm bath on a cold day to finally sink my fingers into her sopping cunt the way I always dreamed of. I slide in up to the knuckles with absolutely no resistance, and her movements inside me quickly synchronize with mine inside her as we tease each other into an absolute frenzy of lust.

The woman helps us undress the rest of the way, putting our clothes on a chair in front of the space heater to dry out before guiding us down to our knees on the vinyl floor of the tent, and there's such a relief at being commanded that neither of us struggles in the slightest against her instructions. It's like we've been hypnotized by our lust, drawn down into a daze where it's just easier to pretend we have no say in the matter than to admit our own part in all this, and she can obviously tell that even that sense of helplessness is making us wetter because she makes sure to tell us to beg before we can cum.

I moan into Alice's mouth as my climax hits. She moans into mine. And we both leak onto each other's fingers when we cum.

THE END