The game was simple in concept, but complicated in practice.  How I 
got myself into it is a long and horrible story, which I'd rather not 
repeat.  I'm a very conservative girl.  I normally don't do anything to 
get myself in trouble.  I never drink, I never wear provocative clothing, 
I don't do drugs.

But one wants to fit in.  And a sufficiently clever crowd which wants to 
be manipulative can be manipulative.  

The stakes were that the winner would be in the crowd; would be 
popular, would be a manipulator.  The loser would be out.  The loser 
would be the butt of jokes, the victim of any prank they could get away 
with.  This crowd was bad news.  I should have steered clear.

The put me in this game with the other girl, Laura.  Me versus Laura.  
And plenty of spectators.  

They told me it would be like truth or dare, only worse.  I wouldn't 
have agreed if it hadn't been my first night drinking.  I'll never drink 
again, if I can help it.

At first, I tried to ignore it, to back out.  But they wouldn't leave me 
alone.  For example, when in Gym class (I'm a high school senior; that 
is the only introduction I'd like to give) they broke into my locker 
while I was swimming.  It was early in the year, and I had worn to 
school a pair of blue jeans.  When I found them after class, they had 
become short cut-offs.  Very short.  I had no other clothes to wear, so I 
put them on.  I think the bottom of my but cheeks were showing, they 
were so short.  I marched immediately to the principles office, hoping 
to accuse them of destruction of property, get them kicked out of 
school.   The walk through the hall was humiliating, what with my long 
wet hair and my legs plainly on display for anyone to see.

The principle listened, although I caught him glancing at my legs and at 
my still wet tee shirt several times.  I named names.  We called as many 
of them as I could think of into the office.  But they all had alibis.  
Sheri was in class.  Diane was at lunch.  Brittany was talking to her 
teacher.  I hated them, this gang of young, manipulative girls.  How did 
they get this way?  I had no evidence on any of them.  They were sent 
away.  The principle said there was nothing he could do.

It did not stop there.  Later in the day I felt an itch in the most personal 
of places.  They must have put something in my panties.  I had to 
excuse myself to the bathroom.  But I couldn't stay there all day.  For 
the rest of the afternoon I had to pray nobody was looking when I had 
to scratch myself.

A couple days later, they had the nerve to steal my homework before I 
could hand it in.  They must have snuck it out of my bag during class.  I 
had to stay up all night redoing it.  And I know why they did it.  The 
next day was a field trip to some big museum downtown.  The bus ride 
was a little lengthy, and in the middle I fell asleep.  When I awoke, 
everything seemed okay, until I stood up.  All the buttons fell off my 
blouse!  They must have quietly cut them while I slept.  My shirt fell 
open and some of the guys must have gotten a glance at my lacy white 
bra.  There was some muffled chuckling.  I had to tie the shirt together, 
showing my (fortunately quite trim) tummy to everyone in the 
museum.  It did not seem like appropriate attire, so I was most 
annoyed. 

This sort of thing went on for weeks, and I got fed up of it, so finally I 
agreed to go through with what I had earlier consented to do.  The 
contest with Laura.  I was told to meet them all Saturday night at 
Brittany's home.  Apparently, her parents were out, and there would be 
plenty of opportunity to explain the short list of rules without 
distraction.

I showed up not knowing what to expect.  I dressed in lots of clothing, 
suspecting they might try to get it off me.  I wore a pair of khaki pants, 
a tee shirt, a pullover, full cut underwear, socks, tennis shoes.  I wanted 
to get this over with, with a minimum of humiliation.  But this group 
seemed bent on humiliating me.  (They had gone easy on Laura, since 
she still seemed willing to participate in this contest.)

When I showed up, I refused all pleasantries.  They would not be able 
to get me drunk, to drug me.  If this was to be a contest I would do 
what I could to win and go home.

"First," explained Sheri to me, "to punish you for your reluctance, 
we've decided to raise the stakes a little."

"What?!?"

"If you lose, you have to be our slave.  You must do everything we tell 
you.  Or else you'll be in big trouble.  We're pretty devious.  We could 
keep you from graduating."

"You wouldn't!"

"Do you remember Alyssa?"

"Alyssa, got kicked out of school for dealing drugs Alyssa?"

"Yep.  Do you really think those drugs were hers?"

"It did seem odd."

"Of course it did.  She was the last one to try to refuse us."

"You're horrible!  You ruined her life!"

"Yes, and we would ruin yours too."  I knew they could.  I was scared.  
She continued,   "We like to have our way.  We just want to give you 
incentive to win.  This game is for our amusement, and it isn't amusing 
unless both contestants really want to win.  Laura has already agreed to 
the raised stakes."

"So let me get this straight.  If I win, you leave me alone. . ."

"More than that – you get to be one of us!"

"But will you leave me alone if that's what I want?"

"Sure, if you want.  But if you lose . . ."

"If I lose, for the remainder of the year, I have to do everything you 
say."

"Everything.  Within reason.  We'll make sure you still have time to do 
your homework.  We won't ask you to do anything very illegal."

"And if I don't do everything you say?"

"We punish you.  And if you leave, we find you.  We're very 
persistent."

"I believe it."  I was scared of these girls.  They were clearly ruthless, 
unforgiving, immoral.  " I guess I had better win.  So what are the rules 
of the game?"

"Do you agree to the stakes?"

"This really doesn't seem very fair."

"Do you agree?"

"Fine.  Yes.  What's the game?"

Through all this, Laura seemed to have a wicked smile on her face.  
Laura and I had tried to be friends as freshmen, but she was too 
outgoing and flirtatious.  It made me nervous, and besides, she soon 
grew bored of me.  Now she sat across Brittany's living room, in bell-
bottom blue jeans, a tight tee shirt, and platform shoes, with just the 
worst smile I've ever seen.

"The rules are quite simple," said Sheri.  "The game is just a series of 
challenges, made up by the players.  It works like this: in one round, 
both players write down a challenge on a sheet of paper.  A challenge 
might read something like "I will only eat rice cakes for all of next 
week."  That one would be pretty lame, but it's just an example.  The 
challenges may be as risky as you like; for example, "Tomorrow I will 
go to school naked" would be perfectly acceptable,

"BUT, be very careful, because this is what happens next.  The players 
trade papers.  Then, player A, say, reads the challenge written by player 
B.  Player A then has a choice: do the challenge, or not.  If she does the 
challenge, she gets two points.  This is the way to win.  If she does 
NOT do the challenge, then player B, who wrote it, has to do it, and 
player B gets one point.  This is why I would not advise putting "I will 
go to school naked;" the other player is likely to forfeit the point and 
make you do it.  Also, challenges may not be repeated.   There is one 
more rule.  In rounds where it is applicable, the girl who is losing in 
points must say first whether or not she accepts her challenge.  

"Is this clear?"

This game sounded horrible.  Laura raised her hand.  "I have a 
question," she said.  "Do the challenges have to be performed 
immediately?"

Brittany answered.  "The challenge should specify when it is to be done 
and how many times.  A challenge can be a one time thing or it can be 
a rule which must be obeyed for a week, a month, even a year.  We 
know you won't go overboard, since you might have to do your own 
challenge if it's too much!"

I didn't like this at all.  I did not want to have to do every little thing 
Laura came up with, but if I lost, I'd probably have to do them anyway.  
I could tell this game was going to be horrible.

"I should point out," continued Sherri, "that the game is most fun if the 
challenges are . . . sexual, in nature.  If your challenges are too dull on 
this venue, we reserve the right to call foul."

I was scared.  But, to my own embarrassment, a little aroused – I could 
feel my pussy moisten a little with the idea of "sexual challenges."  
Understand, I was quite inexperienced at the time.  The reality of the 
situation frightened me and made me want to cry, but there was 
something in me that was not resisting as strongly as the rest of me.

"How long does this game last?" I asked.

"The first girl to get twenty points wins.  There will be no forfeit.  
Either player may ask for a ten point extension.  We will do five rounds 
tonight, and then one round a day for as long as it takes."

"So the game could go on forever?"

"I doubt it will.  Oh yes – and in the case of a tie, both players lose.  
But we had better get started.  Are there any final questions?"

Laura and I were both silent.  Laura's wicked grin had diminished; now 
she seemed only to be scheming.  I for one, was at a loss.  I could not 
think of a first challenge, but I knew I had to write something.   
Brittany handed Laura and I each a small sheet of paper and number 2 
pencils.

"Remember," chimed in Diane, "the way to win is to make up a 
challenge that will be too much for the other player; but it had better be 
something you're willing to do!"  Diane had the nastiest grin on her 
face I think I've ever seen.

Soon, I noticed Laura started to write.  Well, this was it.  I was stuck.  I 
considered my best course of action to be to try to win.  So . . . 
something I could do, but that Laura might not.  Something . . . sexual.  
Ha!  I remembered asking Laura if she wanted to play tennis freshman 
year, and she had said something about hating that sort of thing.  But I 
liked tennis.  Playing tennis wasn't very sexual . . . unless . . .

Okay, I said, here goes.  I wrote "I will play tennis every weekend this 
month, wearing the shortest and sexiest tennis skirt I can find  in the 
tennis shop on 2nd street.  The group will decide if the skirt is the 
sexiest.  It is my responsibility to find an opponent."  I could do this.  
Tennis skirts could be short, but they were acceptable attire.  There was 
something vaguely sexual to them, so I thought the challenge was quite 
appropriate.  

When we both finished writing, Brittany asked if we were done and 
collected the papers.  She read them both.  "These are both acceptable," 
she said, giggling.  "Please read your challenges aloud."

She handed me Laura's paper.  Whatever it was, I should just do it, I 
said.  I slowly unfolded it.  I read it aloud:

	For the next two months, I will seduce a different boy each 
	week and sleep with him during the same week.

"I won't do that!" I shouted.  It was insulting.  This was unsafe, 
irresponsible behavior, and I would not do it.  I planned to hold on to 
my virginity until I met the perfect guy, and I was convinced that he did 
not go to my school.  My refusal seemed fine to all the girls in the 
room.

Laura read my paper calmly: 

	I will play tennis every weekend this month, wearing the 
	shortest and sexiest tennis skirt I can find in the tennis shop on 
	2nd street.  The group will decide if the skirt is the sexiest.  It is 
	my responsibility to find an opponent.

She said, "Sure.  I'll do it."   

I realized then that I had written the challenge for myself and not for 
my enemy, Laura.  Consequently, I guess I made it too easy.  

I was relieved that I didn't have to do some humiliating act, but then I 
remembered the rules, and the consequences of losing.  I had fallen 3 
points behind in the first round.

"It looks like you're losing," said Brittany.  Diane took the papers and 
wrote the name Laura on both of them.  Then she said "Are you ready 
for the next round?"

No, I was not ready.  But I had no choice.  Brittany gave us each a 
second sheet of paper.  Laura smiled and started writing.  I had to think.  

Then I thought of something clever.  Laura had just agreed to play 
tennis in a very short skirt every weekend.  This was not very 
humiliating, but it would be if she weren't wearing underwear!  Since I 
always wore conservative pants, no one would notice if I weren't 
wearing any.  It would be somewhat uncomfortable, but I was playing 
to win.  And I knew that half of Laura's wardrobe was fairly short 
sundresses, which she wouldn't want to wear without underwear.   So 
this seemed like a good challenge, and it was definitely sexual, in a 
way.  So I wrote "For the duration of this month (except during my 
period) I will wear no panties or pantyhose.  This includes the time that 
I am playing tennis." 

We both handed our papers to Brittany.  She read them, grinned, and 
said, "These are also acceptable.  You girls catch on quick!"  She 
handed us our challenges.

"Since you're losing," said Sheri, "you have to choose first."  

I unfolded the paper, telling myself that the more I fell behind, the 
bolder Laura's challenges would get.  She knew the only way to avoid 
humiliation was to win, and so did I, so I would have to make up for 
lost ground at all costs.  I could not let myself fall behind.  Whatever it 
said, I would do it.  I read it aloud.

	For the rest of the school year, every day, even weekends, I 
	will wear short skirts and dresses only.  There must be 3 
	inches in between the top of my kneecap and the hem of my 
	skirt.  This does not apply to gym class, in which the required 
	uniform is still to be worn.  I will not wear pants or 
	legwarmers or tights or similar such things under my skirt.  
	(Socks, or thigh high stockings, or stockings with garters, for 
	example, and of course underwear, are optional.)  If my 
	wardrobe does not feature such items, I will go shopping with 
	the group to obtain them, and the group will judge the 
	appropriateness of each item.  If I cannot afford the items 
	chosen, I will nevertheless charge them to my credit card, and 
	work for them later. 

At this point, I could figure out Laura's thinking exactly.  She 
frequently wore skirts (although I didn't ever notice them being that 
short, or that frequent) and I never did.  She knew I would refuse, 
especially since money was involved and I rarely spent my hard-earned 
savings on myself.  Three inches seemed like a lot of thigh to be 
showing in school.  I would have to be sure to get plenty of hosiery.  
But I had to accept; I could not afford to fall behind any more points 
this early in the game.

"I accept."

Brittany smiled.  Laura smiled more.  "I don't," she said.  My paper 
was handed back to me.  I read it again:

	For the duration of this month (except during my period) I will 
	wear no panties or pantyhose.  This includes the time that I am 
	playing tennis.

All the girls in the room broke out laughing.  I almost cried.  I could not 
believe these were my own words.  I realized that I had just agreed to 
wear short skirts – very short skirts -- every day, for the whole school 
year, but now for the first month I could not even wear underwear – by 
my own rule!  

I kept myself from crying by reminding myself of four things: 1. I was 
clever to remember the bit about my period.  2. The score was now 
tied; I was no longer losing.  3. I deserve this treatment, in some way, 
since I wrongfully approached these girls for attention weeks ago, and 
4. Although I was forbidden panties, at least I did not have to play 
tennis.

"Isn't this fun?" asked Brittany as she handed us each new sheets of 
paper.  I watched with dread as she wrote my name on the two sheets 
from the previous round, determining an embarassing wardrobe for me 
for the rest of the year.  I wanted this awful game to end, but I could not 
stop it now.  Only twenty points.  Twenty points?  There must have 
been some way to escape.  I thought of the mafia, gangsters.  That's 
what these girls were.  Organized criminals.  How did they convict Al 
Capone?  Income tax evasion?  I realized I could not squeal on these 
girls and still survive high school.  I realized I had to keep playing.

Laura's scheming seemed to have run dry, as she sat and thought about 
what to write next.  The girls who watched us seemed patient enough.  I 
took the opportunity to ponder my next move.  I, too, was out of ideas.  

All I could think about was the fact that my legs would be showing to 
the school all year.  Fortunately, playing tennis (although never in one 
of those of those skirts) had kept my legs trim and well toned.  In some 
ways, I was embarrassed by how sexy my own legs looked.  I never 
wanted to show them off because I did not want to feel like a walking 
sex object.  Now, my social clumsiness put me in this horrible situation 
where I would have no choice but to do so.  But, I would probably have 
to do far worse things if I lost.

"I should point something else out, to rekindle your spirits," said 
Brittany.  "The loser will be enslaved to the group.  But the winner will 
be part of the group!  Now, I'm not great at logic, but I think that 
means the loser becomes enslaved to the winner!"

Sheri chimed in, "Don't chide them too much, Brittany.  Don't worry, 
girls.  If you refuse a particularly horrible challenge, we probably won't 
let it happen to you anyway if you lose.  We are reasonable, here; we 
will want our slave to be happy and obedient."  Laughter ensued.  I felt 
murderous, and helpless.

Laura started to write.  I kept thinking about my bare legs – and my 
bare pussy!  I couldn't believe I would have to forego underwear for a 
whole month!   Laura had finished writing.  I had to think fast.

Well, if the challenge was returned to me again, I did not want to put 
myself in a worse situation.  So I figured that since I would have to 
show off my legs, I would have to start shaving my legs more often.  
So I started to write "I will shave my legs every single morning for the 
rest of the school year," but then I realized that this was a very wimpy 
challenge.   Laura would accept it for sure and get two points.  So I had 
to amend it, make it worse, so that when Laura did accept it she would 
not enjoy it.  So I added "I will also shave all my pubic hair every 
single morning for the rest of the school year."   That can't be any fun, 
I thought.  And she would be seducing and sleeping with all those guys 
– they would all see and she would be embarrassed.  I liked it.  Feeling 
particularly devious, I added the line, "The group will appoint someone 
to feel my legs and pussy every morning in school to make sure I have 
done a good job."   This last line would make it all the more 
humiliating for Laura.  I handed the paper to Brittany.  She read it and 
nodded.  I then realized that in my deviousness I forgot that the 
challenge could be returned.

Laura handed in her paper as well.  Brittany read it, but then said to 
Laura, "Careful, Laura.  This is not a fair challenge, because it only 
applies to your opponent, and not to you.  You need to amend it so that 
it becomes something both of you could do."  Laura took the paper 
back and added a few words.  She handed it to Brittany again.  Brittany 
showed it to the other girls and they had a brief, short discussion.  "This 
is acceptable," Brittany concluded.  She handed us our challenges.

It was agreed that since I chose first in the first round, Laura would 
choose first in this tied round, and that we would continue to trade in 
ensuing round.  Laura read my challenge:

	I will shave my legs every single morning for the rest of the 
	school year.  I will also shave my pubic hair every single 
	morning for the rest of the school year.  The group will 
	appoint someone to feel my legs and pussy every morning in 
	school to make sure I have done a good job.

Laura thought about it.  "Would it be someone in the group who felt 
me, or absolutely anyone, like random guys, appointed by the group?"  
I was about to say "Someone in the group," which is what I intended, 
but before I could Sheri said "It clearly says someone appointed by the 
group, not someone in the group.  It could be anyone."  She said it with 
such finality that I knew I would be accused of cheating if I protested.  

Laura took this information and said, "I think I'll refuse this one.  It 
sounds like too much."  

I felt foolish.  I felt like it was my fault that now, every morning, in 
addition to my short skirt and no underwear, my most private place 
would be completely bare, completely exposed, and some strange hand 
would probe it every morning to make sure.  At that point, I did start 
crying.

"Cheer up," said Diane.  "You're winning now!  You're up by one 
point!"  

I got my tears under control and read the piece of paper I held.  
Accepting this challenge would be my chance to get ahead.  It said

	On the days when I have agreed to wear a skirt, I will lift the 
	back of my skirt above my waist so as to expose my ass 
	whenever I sit down.

"This is unfair!" I screamed.  "This is nothing to her since she only has 
to wear a skirt when she plays tennis on the weekends.  Moreover, she 
can wear underwear!  I can't expose my bare ass every time I sit down 
in class!  This is totally unfair."  

Sherri answered my screams calmly, "It is perfectly within the rules.  
Originally, we thought it was an unfair challenge, but Laura added that 
first clause, and both of you have agreed to wear skirts at specific 
times.  This is no more unfair than when you yourself posed the "no 
underwear" challenge when only Laura had to wear a skirt."

"But . . ."

"The challenge comes as is.  You may still refuse it."

"Fine then, I refuse."  

The score remained tied at four points each.  After so much that I had 
agreed to do and after thinking so hard about challenges, the score was 
still tied.  I felt horrible; I could not figure out how to win this game.  
When I made my challenges too embarrassing they came back to haunt 
me.  When they were too easy I would quickly start losing.  I cursed 
these girls for putting me in this lose-lose situation.   

At the same time, though, I could not help but notice that I was 
extremely aroused.  I could feel that my underwear was wet with 
moisture.  I felt like my body betrayed my mind – I wanted to get out of 
there, in part to escape, but more in order to go home and rub myself, to 
relieve myself of the tension that I could feel building up.

Then it occurred to me what challenge I could pose a lusty girl like 
Laura.  I thought about it, and realized a rational girl like me could 
handle it, but it would torture Laura.  Masturbation.  Laura probably 
does it all the time.  But what if she was forbidden to ever complete the 
job?  As soon as Brittany handed me the next piece of paper I scrawled 
down my idea.  I wrote "I will masturbate myself to the point of orgasm 
every morning before school for the next week, but just before the 
orgasm I will stop.  The group will appoint someone to feel that I am 
wet from this exercise every morning at school.  I am forbidden from 
masturbating at all other times."  Someone was going to feel me 
anyway.  Now Laura would have to be felt too, if she accepted.  I made 
this one last for only one week because the "whole month, whole year" 
trend was a bad one.  

Laura did not take long to write her challenge.

Brittany read both challenges and laughed.  She showed the other girls, 
who each laughed, and handed them back to us.  It was my turn to go 
first.  I soon found what they thought was so funny.

I read the challenge:

	Once every hour in which I am awake, of every day for the 
	next two weeks, I will, in public or in private, masturbate 
	myself almost to the point of cumming, but I will not cum.  I 
	will not cum by masturbation at any time.  If the group 
	suspects that I am not following this rule, they may watch me 
	perform it.

Now I was in trouble.  Laura had managed to pre-empt me.  Her 
challenge was the same as mine but more severe.  It was more frequent 
and it lasted twice as long.  If I refused, then already Laura would be 
doing my challenge, and so accepting it would be easy and lacking in 
consequence.  I was sure to lose the round if I refused.  

"I guess I accept," and Brittany chuckled and wrote my name on the 
paper.  

Laura read my challenge, which by now seemed wimpy:

	I will masturbate myself to the point of orgasm every morning 
	before school for the next week, but just before the orgasm I 
	will stop.  The group will appoint someone to feel that I am 
	wet from this exercise every morning at school.

Laura had clearly prepared herself for accepting her own challenge, so 
accepting mine was a matter of course.  At least I put in the feeling 
thing; she clearly did not like that idea.  Nonetheless, even though the 
score was tied, I felt that I had lost this round in a big way.

"Well girls," said Brittany, as she handed us each another sheet of 
paper, "it looks like the score is 6 to 6.  You are neck and neck!  I like 
how this game is turning out.  When we did this before, the challenges 
were much less interesting; usually they were performed the day they 
were challenged and then they were over with.  Only late in the game 
did they start making long term rules, right Diane?"  

Diane nodded.   "All I had to do was walk around with a butt plug in 
my ass for a week.  Everything else was over within an evening.  At the 
rate you two girls are going, you're going to be living the consequences 
of this game for the rest of your lives!"

"Since this is our last round tonight," said Sherri, "why don't you make 
your challenges something that can be finished tonight, okay?  This is 
getting maybe a little out of hand."

Laura and I both nodded agreement.  This challenge would be 
immediate.  

I realized then that I was hungry.  I decided that this challenge should 
somehow get me dinner.  I also decided that challenges that take a short 
amount of time, no matter how humiliating they are, are not too 
horrible in comparison to losing.  So, I resolved to come up with a very 
embarrassing stunt for my challenge, and to do whatever Laura posed, 
no matter what.   Still thinking of dinner, I wrote "I will buy everyone 
two extra large pizzas, with mushrooms and pepperoni.  When the 
delivery person comes, I will answer the door wearing only my tee-
shirt, and absolutely nothing else.  I will ask the delivery person to 
come in and leave the pizza on the kitchen table.  I will give the 
delivery person a large tip and, if the delivery person is male, and if he 
gets a hard-on, I will fondle his clothed penis before he goes.  I will 
make no attempt to hide myself."  (I noted that both Laura and I were 
wearing tee shirts.  I noted also that mine somewhat covered my 
privates, but Laura's did not even come close.)

Laura wrote something too, and I guessed that it was something 
similarly humiliating.  We handed in our papers.

"Mmmmm," said Brittany.  "These are very acceptable."  

It was Laura's turn to go first.  She read my challenge:

	I will buy everyone two extra large pizzas, with mushrooms 
	and pepperoni.  When the delivery person comes, I will 
	answer the door wearing only my tee-shirt, and absolutely 
	nothing else.  I will ask the delivery person to come in and 
	leave the pizza on the kitchen table.  I will give the delivery 
	person a large tip and, if the delivery person is male, and if he 
	gets a hard-on, I will fondle his clothed penis before he goes.  
	I will make no attempt to hide myself.

I hoped I would not have to do this, but I knew I could if Laura refused.

"I'll do it," she said.  I couldn't decide if this was good news or bad 
news.  It meant I did not have to humiliate myself tonight, but it also 
meant I was down by 2 points.

I read Laura's challenge:

	By means of licking pussy, I will make one of the members of 
	the group, or one of the opponents, cum.  I will do this as soon 
	as I accept and will not rest until the orgasm happens, 
	regardless of what else is going on around me.

I almost puked when I read this.  I could not imagine myself licking a 
girl's pussy.  And reading the challenge over, I just knew I would be 
doing it in front of everyone, and probably even in front of some pizza 
delivery guy.  I had to admit that I simply could not do this challenge, 
even if I tried.

"I think I have to refuse," I said.  When I said this, Laura and Brittany 
exchanged subtle nods, and soon Laura was underneath Brittany's 
cotton skirt, taking off her panties and licking away.  Meanwhile, 
Sherri ordered the pizza.  Diane disappeared into the next room.

I moved into the dining room so that I would not have to watch Laura 
and Brittany, although Brittany's moans and sharp intakes of breath 
were clearly audible everywhere in the house.  I thought about the 
evening.  I felt horrible about it; I was now losing by three points, and I 
had managed to set myself up for torment and humiliation over the next 
month, even the next year.  Still, I could feel that dampness in my 
crotch, that vague itch.  Brittany's moans did not help; I realized that I 
wanted to be moaning.  I considered unzipping my pants and letting my 
hand release my tension, but I did not want to caught and made fun of 
by the girls.

Shortly thereafter, Diane found me and handed me a typed sheet of 
paper.  "I retyped the rules you agreed to follow," she said.  I looked 
over the sheet and read it over.  On one side of the sheet were Laura's 
rules:

Laura's rules.

1.	For the next two months, I will seduce a different 
	boy each week and sleep with him during the 
	same week.

2.	I will play tennis every weekend this month, 
	wearing the shortest and sexiest tennis skirt I can 
	find in the tennis shop on 2nd street.  The group 
	will decide if the skirt is the sexiest.  It is my 
	responsibility to find an opponent.

3.	On the days when I have agreed to wear a skirt, I 
	will lift the back of my skirt above my waist so 
	as to expose my ass whenever I sit down.

4.	I will masturbate myself to the point of orgasm 
	every morning before school for the next week, 
	but just before the orgasm I will stop.  The group 
	will appoint someone to feel that I am wet from 
	this exercise every morning at school.

	All rules are effective tonight.  In particular, you 
	must play tennis tomorrow.  Sheri will shop with you 
	to help you buy a tennis skirt.

On the other side of the sheet were my rules.  I read them over probably 
twenty times:

1.	For the rest of the school year, every day, even 
	weekends, I will wear short skirts and dresses, 
	even to school.  There must be 3 inches in 
	between the top of my kneecap and the hem of 
	my skirt at all times.  This does not apply to gym 
	class, in which the required uniform is still to be 
	worn.  I will not wear pants or legwarmers or 
	tights or similar such things under my skirt.  
	(Socks, or thigh high stockings, or stockings 
	with garters, for example, are optional.)  If my 
	wardrobe does not feature such items, I will go 
	shopping with the group to obtain them, and the 
	group will judge the appropriateness of each 
	item.  If I cannot afford the items chosen, I will 
	nevertheless charge them to my credit card, and 
	work for them later.

2.	For the duration of this month (except during my 
	period) I will wear no panties or pantyhose.  This 
	includes the time that I am playing tennis.

3.	I will shave my legs every single morning for the 
	rest of the school year.  I will also shave my 
	pubic hair every single morning for the rest of 
	the school year.  The group will appoint 
	someone to feel my legs and pussy every 
	morning in school to make sure I have done a 
	good job.

4.	Once every hour in which I am awake, of every 
	day for the next two weeks, I will, in public or in 
	private, masturbate myself almost to the point of 
	cumming, but I will not cum.  I will not cum by 
	masturbation at any time.  If the group suspects 
	that I am not following this rule, they may watch 
	me perform it.

	Tonight you may borrow one of Brittany's skirts.  
	She has several which should fit both you and the 
	criteria of number 1.  Tomorrow, Diane and Brittany 
	will go shopping with you for more.  We the group 
	also agree that we should watch your first exercise of 
	rule 4 tonight to make sure it is being properly 
	followed.  We believe you should sleep here tonight, 
	in order to reassure us that you are not cheating on 
	this rule in particular.

After reading them over again and again I started to sob.  My face was 
almost as wet as my underwear. Already I felt the need to finish 
masturbating.  To orgasm all this tension away.  But not only would I 
be denied of such release, but I would have to masturbate anyway, in 
front of an audience.  I could not help but feel that I had brought this on 
myself, and this, for some reason, aroused me further.  I almost came 
myself when I heard Brittany scream in the next room.  Laura had 
apparently done her job.

Diane led me into Brittany's room and to her dresser.  The third drawer 
down was full of skirts.  Brittany was nearly half a foot shorter than 
me, so I questioned whether any of her skirts would fit me.  It turned 
out that we must have had a very similar waist.  Diane politely left the 
room, reminding me of rule 2.  After she left, I pulled down my khaki 
pants (which were so comfortable.  I already missed the feeling of them 
surrounding my legs and my privates.  They made me feel safe) and my 
very moist panties.  I felt very strange standing in Brittany's room, 
naked from the waste down (except for my white socks).  As I looked 
through the skirts, I heard the doorbell ring.  I guessed that at this 
moment, Laura was feeling similarly strange.  I regretted that I was not 
by the door to witness her embarrassment.  The first skirt which caught 
my eye, which was plain green, lightly pleated, and made of some 
polyester blend, fit well around my waist, but it felt very short.  It felt 
as though it failed completely to cover my most private parts.  In the 
mirror, though, I saw that it did cover them just fine.  What it failed to 
cover were my thighs, and of course the rest of my legs, which were in 
need of shaving.  I realized that I would have no choice but to shave 
them and more the next morning. 

I rushed out of Brittany's room in order to try to catch the final 
moments of Laura's humiliation.  The delivery man still stood in the 
door, counting change.  He was a slightly pudgy hispanic man, 
probably in his late twenties.  Laura stood two feet away, wearing only 
her white tee shirt.  Her hairy pussy, her legs, and most of her belly 
were completely exposed, not only to the pizza man but also to anyone 
who might be walking by outside.  The pizza guy seemed to be taking a 
while counting the change.  I looked and saw that he did indeed have a 
raging hard-on.  This observation only made me more aroused.  I 
noticed him stealing glances every now and then at Laura's nakedness.  
Finally, he handed her some change.  He started to leave, when Laura 
said, "Wait!  Let me give you a tip."  She gave him all the change back, 
and in doing so, snuck her other hand over his hardened member.  I 
could see her give him a good squeeze.  The delivery man said "Thank 
you very much" and practically ran away.

"I'm surprised he didn't want to stay!" said Brittany, whose forehead 
was still sweaty from the orgasm she had had moments earlier.   
Laughter followed.  She glanced over and saw me.  "What have we 
here!  I've never seen you in a skirt before.  It looks really good on 
you!  Those are beautiful legs you have!"  Soon, everyone's attention 
was on me and my naked legs.   Brittany continued, "You know, I don't 
really have anything that goes with that skirt, and it looks so good on 
you.  Why don't you keep it?"  

"Hold on," said Diane, who emerged from the kitchen with a tape 
measure.  She measured the distance from the top of my kneecap to 
wear the skirt fell down.  She gave the skirt a little tug downwards first, 
to make sure.  

"Three and three eighths inches," she said.  "It's short enough."  I could 
not believe so much of my thigh was showing.  And to think that I 
would continue to feel this way for the whole year, I couldn't handle it.  
It seemed that things couldn't be worse.  

Brittany walked into her room and returned, holding my panties.  
"Lookie here, girls!"  She showed the crotch of my underwear to 
everyone, and everyone saw the dampness.  

"I think its time for our contestant to make good on  rule number 4" 
said Diane.  All the others agreed, and gazed at me.  I had nowhere to 
go.

"May I sit?" I asked.  

"Sure," they said.  

At least I did not have far to go.  I sat on the couch in the living room 
and reached my right hand under my new skirt.  My pussy was so close 
to the hem of the skirt I was worried about wearing it in public.  My 
hand soon found my pleasure button, and, although I was feeling very 
self-conscious, I all too willingly started to rub with vigor.  I could feel 
my pulse rise.  I could not stop thinking about the humiliation that 
would follow in my senior year – especially since less than half of this 
awful game had progressed!  These thoughts only drove my hand faster 
and harder, until my other hand joined it.  I heard myself moaning and 
breathing as Brittany had a little earlier; I wondered how that must have 
felt, to have big breasted, half-naked Laura licking and licking.  My 
hand was at full speed, and it was feeling so good – I needed just a little 
more and I was so aroused I knew the ensuing orgasm would be the 
best I had ever had.  Just a little more . . .

But before I could finish, Sheri and Diane grabbed my arms and made 
me stop.  "Please," I said, "Just a little more.  I promise I won't cum, 
just a little more."  

"Sorry," Sheri said.  "We don't believe you.  We saw you.  You were 
about to cum like nothing else.  You know, you're going to have to do 
this somewhere in school.  You'd better be sure you find a secluded 
place, because you make lots of noise!!!"

Brittany looked at her watch.  "It's 8:46.  You had better do this again 
by 9:46.  But you have to learn to make yourself stop!  Then you can go 
to sleep."

I felt so humiliated.  To masturbate in front of these girls, and to beg 
them for more!  I could not believe myself.  I wished I had acted with 
more dignity.  But I knew I could not.  My pussy, which felt every 
breeze in the house, was on fire and in need of release.

"Let's eat," said Laura, who had put her pants back on.

When I sat down at the dinner table, I saw that even more of my thigh 
became exposed.   The skirt was insufficient to come between my ass 
and the chair, and so my bare ass felt the cold metal of one of 
Brittany's folding chairs.  I could tell that I would leave a little wet 
mess on the chair when I got up – I would have to avoid humiliation by 
wiping it with a napkin before anyone notices.   I ate my pizza silently.   
In the middle of the meal I crossed my legs and the skirt rode up even 
higher.  I felt how Laura must have felt when she answered door for the 
pizza.  Exposed.   Vulnerable.

It was going to be a long year.


The next morning I woke up aroused.  I took a shower, during which I 
performed my first incomplete masturbation.  I did not want to arouse 
suspicion that I had orgasmed, so I stopped even though it felt so very 
good.  I dried myself off and put on my new skirt with my tee shirt.

Brittany made us all pancakes for breakfast.  They were very tasty.  
Once I was following the rules of the group, they made me feel very 
welcome and comfortable, although I wished I were showing less leg.  
After breakfast, Brittany showed me where I could find a razor and 
shaving cream.  I had almost forgotten about that rule.

After I shaved my pubic hair, I looked at the result in the mirror.  I had 
not been this hairless since I was little girl.  It made me feel especially 
naked.  Moreover, that region was not used to being shaved, and so the 
skin was very sensitive.

When I returned downstairs, Laura approached me and asked if I would 
play tennis with her.  Knowing that I would have to wear a short skirt, 
and with no underwear to boot, I refused.  Laura began whining about 
needing an opponent, but she found no pity from me.  

Diane looked at her watch and said, "we'd better leave for the stores.  
You might want to go excuse yourself before we go."  I knew what she 
meant.  I went to the bathroom and masturbated.  It did not take long to 
rekindle my arousal.  My shaven pussy was moist and desirous, but I 
had to stop, straighten out what little there was of my skirt, and leave.   
We got in Brittany's car (a convertible; I kept worrying that people 
were looking into the car and seeing my clean-shaven exposed legs) 
and drove to the largest shopping mall in our little suburb.  

We spent most of the day going from store to store.  We picked out 
many skirts, and I had to try on each one.  I put them on in the dressing 
rooms, and then came out to show Brittany and Diane.  Some of them 
were very short, and I felt very embarrassed wearing them out in the 
store where everyone could see.  To make matters worse, every time I 
came out Diane would measure how much of my thigh was showing 
with her little tape measure.  Although the rule was that only three 
inches could be showing, the girls would only let me keep the skirts 
that showed considerably more than that.  I could not imagine myself 
wearing one of these skirts to school the next morning.

Every hour, Diane would point at her watch.  Usually I would 
masturbate myself in the dressing room.  This made my fingers moist, 
and there was nothing but new clothing to wipe them on.  I felt terrible 
about doing it, but I could not walk around with wet fingers.  Every 
time I would masturbate, my arousal would be so highly peaked – all 
day I craved release which was not to be.

After buying six skirts (one for each day of the week, said Diane), the 
last stop was Victoria's secret.

Brittany asked, "Do you like showing your legs off?"

I said, "No I do not."

"Well then we should get you stockings of some kind.  Do you prefer 
thigh highs, or to use garters?"

"I don't know," I said, "I've never really tried either."

Diane volunteered, "I prefer garters."  And with that, they made me buy 
four pairs of stockings in different colors and garter belts to match.

At the end of the day, my entire savings account, which had started out 
small, had been decimated.  This upset me most of all, followed closely 
by the fact that I really needed to cum, but I knew the girls would be 
able to tell if I had.

The girls dropped me off at home, after I reassured them that I would 
continue to follow rule number 4.  "We'll know," they said, and I 
couldn't imagine how, but they seemed pretty devious, and I did not 
want to test them.  The girls also reminded me that tomorrow at school 
the next round in the game would take place, and that I was falling 
behind.  This made me want to cry.

As I walked inside, I hoped my parents would not ask me about my 
new wardrobe.


Monday was as horrible as usual, waking up for school.  What made it 
worse was the shaving, the choosing from my now too limited 
wardrobe, and the unfulfilling masturbation, which was getting quite 
tiresome at this point.  I put on a white pullover and examined my new 
clothes.  I chose a blue jean skirt; one of the shorter ones, 
unfortunately, but perhaps the least conspicuous.  Looking at the vast 
amount of bare leg I was showing in the mirror, I decided using my 
new stockings would be a good idea.  I unpacked a pair of white 
stockings, and put on the garter belt.  After clipping the stockings as 
high as I could and putting on the skirt, I looked at myself in the mirror 
and felt a little bit less naked.  Never mind that my pussy was shaved 
and only inches from view.  Never mind that the skirt barely covered 
the lacy tops of the stockings.  I looked at my watch and saw that I was 
running late.  Tardiness is not well tolerated at my school, and the 
public bus I take is quite punctual.  Thus, I grabbed my bookbag and 
ran out the door.

I caught the bus, and only after showing my pass and sitting down did I 
realize the problem.  When I sat, the tops of my stockings became 
clearly visible.  The skirt was too short to hide them when I was sitting.  
I tried discreetly pulling them up, and after a good yank they were just 
barely hidden on top.   I feared that they could still be seen on the 
bottom, and they would certainly become visible if I crossed my legs.  
Not wanting to embarrass myself on the crowded bus, I stood for the 
remainder of the trip.

When I walked in the school, I could feel the gazes of the boys in the 
school on my legs.  My friend Alice stopped me on my way to my 
locker and said "I like the new skirt!  It makes you look so much 
taller."  I had never considered myself short; in fact I was quite above 
average at 5' 8".  I must have been showing a lot of stocking.  

I reached my locker and grabbed the books I would need for my first 
class.  I looked at my watch; if I wanted to follow the rules strictly, I 
would have to make a quick stop in the girls room before class.  As I 
rushed off to do my annoying job, I ran into Diane.

"Hi!" she said.  "You look good!  I like the stockings!"  

"I need to go do rule number 4 before class," I said, knowing she'd 
understand.  She stopped me from rushing off, though.  

"Wait," she said.  She lightly pushed me into a corner of the hall way, 
next to someone's locker.  "Before you go, I need to make sure you did 
a good job shaving this morning.  Your legs look good through your 
stockings, but don't forget I need to feel the part I can't see."

Suddenly I felt her hand beneath my skirt.  It felt my exposed thighs 
and worked its way up to my crotch.  It felt everywhere, and her hand 
was warm and gentle.  My skin was sensitive from being shaved, but 
her hand was soft and caressing; a feminine touch, I thought.  
Something I had never felt before.  I felt the need to masturbate.  "I 
need to go," I said.  Just then the bell for first period rang.

"You'd better hurry!" Diane said, as she rushed off to her first class, 
which was the same as mine.  I couldn't go there and be on time, since 
Diane would no I had not made the trip to the bathroom.  And since 
classes last 50 minutes, she knew I would be late if I went after.  

So, I rushed into the girls room and found a stall.  My pussy welcomed 
my hand as I rubbed myself under my skirt for a few seconds.  It did 
not take long to peak my arousal.  That would be enough, I told myself.  
I straightened my skirt, pulled it down as far as I could, and rushed to 
class.

Everyone else was, of course, already seated.  The teacher, Mr. 
Andrews, asked me why I was late, while the entire class stared at me 
and at my long legs extending from my brief skirt.  I explained that I 
just had to quickly use the bathroom before class, and this seemed to be 
sufficient.  

The only seat left was right in front, which was good because not many of 
the other students would see my stocking tops when I sat down.  I sat as 
gently as I couldd, giving my skirt a good pull downwards as I did so.  
Nonetheless, I could tell that my stocking tops were showing on the 
sides of my legs.  A male student sitting to my left must of noticed, 
because he seemed to glance my way many times during the class.  Mr. 
Andrews certainly noticed, and I noted him staring every once in a 
while, while stammering in his lecture.  I was dying of embarrassment 
and, what's worse, I was so aroused by the attention and by the 
preceding masturbation that I could not even begin to concentrate.  All 
I could think about was the feeling of Diane's hand under my skirt, 
feeling my naked sex.


I thought about a few things during that first class.  First, that Mr. 
Andrews, who kept sneaking a peak at my legs, was pretty cute.  I had 
never lusted after teachers before, but I was so aroused and craved an 
orgasm so badly but I could not help but see him as a walking penis.  

Second, I thought about the game.  I decided the way to win was to 
make up a challenge so daring, so embarrassing, so horrible, that 
nobody in their right mind would do it, and then do it.  At this point, I 
was bent on winning.  Issues of pride kicked in.  I was down by three 
points.  Impulsively, I took out a blank sheet of paper and wrote the 
words "I will seduce Mr. Andrews.  I will force him to have sex with 
me, right in his own classroom."  It occurred to me that Laura, to my 
knowledge, had no classes with Mr. Andrews.  She did not even know 
him, she had no excuse to see him.  Me, however -- right at that 
moment I crossed my legs, lifting them so that my bare thigh above my 
stocking became visible to Mr. Andrews, and, walking penis that he 
was, he could not help but look.  I was ashamed, but I needed this 
walking penis inside me.  Today, if possible.  All of that unfulfilled 
masturbation was taking its toll.  This would be my challenge – and it 
was risky, dangerous, highly immoral.  Laura would refuse it.  I would 
win the round.

It struck me then that doing your own challenges might let you win, but 
more slowly.  You only get one point for doing your own challenge – 
the game (and all this humiliation) is over faster if you do your 
opponents challenge.  The way to win, of course, would be to do both.  
I thought about the last challenge I had refused.  The licking.  That 
wouldn't have been so bad.  At that moment, it seemed as if it would 
have almost been fun.  And two points . . .

As soon as class was over I had to rush into the bathroom to do my 
awful ritual.  I was already aroused and wet and so I could barely touch 
myself for a few seconds before I felt the verge of orgasm.  I was so hot 
then, in such need.

I ran into Brittany in the hall and handed her my sheet of paper.  She 
looked at it.  "Is this acceptable?"  I asked.

She read it and blushed, something I did not think I would see her do.  
"Yes," she said.  "I'll get Laura's challenge next period; I have class 
with her."

I was anxious to win the round. 


My next class was math, a dull class every day.   The boys who seemed 
to get off on calculus most days were definitely distracted by my 
unusual amount of leg.  One guy, who sat next to me and who could 
surely see the tops of my stockings every time I moved (just before I 
scrambled to pull my skirt down to cover them) had a raging hard on 
during the entire class, a fact that caused me endless amusement.  Was I 
enjoying this?  No, I was not, I told myself.  It was embarrassing, 
humiliating, degrading.  This is what I told myself.   But why was I so 
aroused by it?

When I left the class, I ran into Brittany again.  She handed me a piece 
of paper.  I tucked it in my bag.  "You're losing, so the next time I see 
you, you had better make a choice.  And don't try to avoid me!"  She 
smiled and walked off in a hurry.  I too was in a hurry to get back into 
the bathroom and continue my self arousal.  My fingers felt so good 
underneath my skirt!  

As I was leaving the bathroom, I noticed a problem.  There was a small 
but noticeable wet spot near the hem on the back of my skirt.  I almost 
died of shame.  I hoped no one would see!  If  I pulled my skirt up just 
a little when I sat, I might be able to avoid making the problem worse.  
To be safe, I returned to one of the stalls and gave myself a good drying 
with the toilet paper.

I swear, that day at school must have been the longest day ever.  With 
each new class there were new people to gaze at my only recently 
visible legs.   The masturbation every hour thing was annoying, and I 
began to doubt whether  I could do it for two weeks.  

Gym felt strange, because even though I could finally change out of 
that skirt (it felt very strange unclipping my garters and pulling off my 
stockings in the girls locker room.  I got more than one odd look.), it 
was odd wearing my gym shorts without underwear.  That day, we 
spent almost the entire class running, and I was a sweaty mess.  I didn't 
always shower, since the shower rooms were not so nice and I did not 
feel very comfortable walking around naked among my classmates.   
They gave us plenty of time to shower, but as I walked to the always 
crowded shower room, I realized all the girls would see my recently 
shaved pussy!  Would any of them ask why it was shaved?  Or even 
worse, would they know?  

Fortunately, I managed to keep myself covered by my hands whenever 
anyone seemed to be looking in my direction.  While drying off with 
my large towel, I ducked into a bathroom stall to continue the horrible, 
horrible masturbation.  

Now, by this time, I was exhausted.  All of this unfulfilled pleasure, all 
of the humiliation and worry that someone would see under my skirt 
and make a scene, and all of the running at gym had made me 
exhausted.  The result of this exhaustion was that my body almost 
melted at the feeling of my own hand.  I rubbed and rubbed and with 
each touch I felt better.  Soon, I forgot everything around me, forgot 
where I was, forgot that if I did not get dressed soon I would be late for 
class.  Nothing mattered.  All that mattered was pleasure.  I needed it, 
badly.  When I realized I was on the verge of orgasm, I tried to stop – 
and a little of the pleasure went away.  Since it went away, I figured I 
could make it come back – it felt so good – so I started touching myself 
again.  The pleasure returned at once, and grew, and if I didn't stop 
immediately I knew I would cum.  So I stopped.  But the absence of my 
hand was just too much for me to bear, so I said I would do it just a 
little more, and just a little more . . .

And then suddenly by body was overwhelmed by the most intense 
orgasm I had ever known.  I could not help but moan and release heavy 
breaths as wave after wave of pleasure traveled over my body.  

Just as the pleasure was beginning to subside (this time in a satisfying, 
soothing way), someone banged on the stall door.  "Are you alright in 
there?" someone asked.  I did not recognize her voice.  

"I'm fine," I said.  "Just a little indigestion."  

"Mmm hmm," she said, and walked away.  A moment later I heard a 
giggle.

I sat on the toilet, noting that I had made myself so sweaty I actually 
needed another shower.  But I couldn't move.  And then the bell rang.  
I was late for class.

I rushed to my clothes, which were still sitting out for my (usually 
brief) shower and threw on my bra and shirt.  I searched around for my 
panties for nearly three minutes before I realized that I did not have 
any, and nor would I for some time.  I put on the skirt and felt renewed 
shock at how short it was.  Realizing that I was very late for class, (and 
in the middle of the day, which always looks bad) I figured that I did 
not have time for my stockings.  I stuffed them in my bag and ran to 
class.

Sheri was in this next class (French) and she gave me a knowing smile 
as I rushed in.  

"Bonjour Mademoiselle," said Ms. Rampal, "pourquoi et tu en retard 
au'jour d'hui?"  (Forgive me, I was always horrible at French spelling.)  
She was asking, I figured out after  I regained my senses, why I was 
late.  Why was I late?  I looked around the room.  I could see everyone 
looking at my skirt and my legs, which were now bare.  I would have 
given anything to have had something, like a jacket, with which to hide 
them.  But I knew I could not politely sit down until I answered the 
question, in French, and so in the meantime my bare legs had to be on 
display for the class.

Why was I late?  I could barely explain in English, much less in 
French.  "Uhhh,  j'ai mal de ma tummy.  J'ai ete a la salle de bain.  J'ai 
puké."  I doubted that puker was a French verb, but I was thinking on 
my feet.  

"Ah," she said, stunned.  

I sat down next to Sherri, where she had apparently saved a seat.  "We 
knew you wouldn't last two weeks," she whispered.  "But we thought 
you'd last more than a day!"  I almost died of embarrassment at that 
very moment.  

"I didn't," I whispered back.

She smiled.  "Go ahead," she whispered.  "Lie to me again!  I dare you.  
You just orgasmed, right in the girls locker room.  Go ahead, tell 
another lie."

"SILENCE!" yelled Ms. Rampal.  I knew Sherri had found me out.  I 
put my head on the desk and began to sob.


After class, Sheri stopped me in the hall.

"Do you confess?" she asked.  "Don't even think about lying.  You are 
much less fidgety and wired than you have been all day.  You have that 
glow.  You satisfied yourself.  Everyone can tell."

Everyone?  She must have been kidding.

"Do you confess?" she asked again.

"I confess."

"Well, then you failed a challenge.  How do you think you should be 
punished for failing the challenge?"

"Well, look, Sheri, the challenge was unfair.  It was torture!  And I 
don't think it was very healthy!"

"How do you think you should be punished?"

I thought I had to come up with something that sounded fair – not too 
easy, but not too much.  Otherwise, Sheri was sure to make worse.

"Well, the challenge was worth two points, right?  So how about you 
just take away the two points, and the challenge is off?  Laura doesn't 
even have to do it.  Seems fair to me."

"You think that's fair?"

I hesitated, but then stood my ground.  "Yes.  Yes I do."

"Fine," she said.  "So be it.  But – if you fail a challenge again, no 
matter how unfair you think it is, if you accept a challenge and then fail 
to perform, you will be penalized four points.  After a third time you 
will be penalized 6 points.  And that's three strikes.  After that, you're 
just out.  It's no fun if you don't play by the rules."

"Fine," I said.  We went off to our next class, the last in the day.


I realized that I had not paid any attention in French, or in the last class 
of the day that followed it.  I was spent.  Humiliated, defeated.  At the 
end of the day, I trudged to my locker.  A boy whistled at me, and his 
friends laughed.  I needed to hide my legs, to be alone.  As I prepared 
to leave, Brittany came by and said "There you are!  I've been looking 
all over for you!  Laura needs to get going – she made some sort of date 
with her choice for this week, I think, so I need to know right now, do 
you accept or refuse her challenge?"  
	
I had forgotten all about the next round.  "I'm sorry," I said.  "I haven't 
even read it yet."  I searched through my bag to find it.  It must have 
been buried.

"I don't have time for this.  I'm sorry that you did not read it; that's too 
bad for you.  Now what's your decision?"

"Can you please just tell me what the challenge is?"

Suddenly, Brittany yanked my short skirt above my waist, right there in 
the hallway, and slapped my bare ass.   She let go of the skirt and it fell 
the short distance it had to go.  My ass burned with the pain of the slap.

"Ow!" I said.  "Brittany – what if someone saw that?"

 "You have three seconds to decide, and if you don't I will both slap 
you again and penalize you five points."

"Five points?!" I asked.

"Three, two, --"

"Fine, I accept."

"Good.  See you tomorrow."  She rushed off.  

I walked off to my bus, digging through my bag.  Where had I put that 
piece of paper?  While digging and walking, I tripped a little on a tree 
root near the sidewalk, and the contents of my bag spilled out onto the 
sidewalk.  Not wanting to miss my bus, I quickly bent over to gather 
the items.  I heard a loud whistle.

"Hey baby, nice ass!" the shout was from a man in a passing car.  I 
must have revealed everything to him as I gathered my things.  I was 
starting to think that my humiliation couldn't get any worse.  Then I 
realized that I had accepted a challenge without even reading it, and 
that the punishment for failing to do it would be too harsh to suffer.

Finally, while waiting for the bus, I found the paper.  (It had been 
hiding under my white stockings, which I then remembered were not 
on my legs.  Again I felt naked in public.)  Before I opened it, I 
reminded myself that however horrible this challenge was, Laura 
would have done it.  So, therefore, I could do it too.

I opened the note as I sat on the bus.  It read

	This one is kinda long, but I will do all of it.
	Tomorrow at school, I will orgasm three times.  None 
	of the three times will be by my own hand.   I must 
	seek the help of others – and a different person for 
	each time!  At least one orgasm must be brought on 
	by a boy.  At least one must be brought on by a girl.  
	At least one orgasm must happen DURING CLASS.  
	These orgasms may be delivered by any method.  No 
	orgasm may be delivered by a member of the group.  
	Also, to let everyone know my progress, I will give 
	the following signals: after the first orgasm, I will 
	bare my left shoulder, and only my left shoulder, and 
	leave it bare for the rest of the day.  After the second, 
	I will bare my right shoulder and again leave it bare.  
	After the third, I will be certain that my bellybutton, 
	in addition to both shoulders, is bare, and it will 
	remain that way until I go to bed.    For the remaining 
	week, I will continue to have at least one orgasm a 
	day, and I will reveal that it has happened by baring 
	either my shoulders or my belly button, whichever 
	one was not already bare.  Or both, or just one.  For 
	example, by belly could be bare all day, in which 
	case my shoulders will only become bare when the 
	orgasm happens.  I could do this by wearing multiple 
	shirts, or changing shirts, or something.  Maybe this 
	signal thing is too complicated.  I guess its okay.  I'll 
	do it. 

I knew just what Laura had been thinking.  First of all, she was 
certainly not thinking about clear communication.  Her challenge was 
so badly written I laughed out loud on the bus, unfortunately drawing 
more attention to me.  (Realizing this, I looked up, and noted that an 
old man sitting across from me was staring at my legs.  I sat only feet 
away, with my legs uncrossed, and I could tell that he was staring right 
up my skirt.  I could almost see him drool.  I crossed my legs, 
unfortunately revealing a little of my under-thigh, and gave my skirt a 
futile tug.)

Laura had had to masturbate herself in the morning, just as I did.  She 
probably was dying for an orgasm all day.  That must have been why 
she wrote this challenge.  But she meant it for herself, which is why she 
tried to make it so difficult, so that I would refuse.  An orgasm during 
class?  How was that even possible?  How would they know if I faked 
it?  Somehow I knew they would know.   

I noted the irony of this challenge.  That day I had been forced to not 
orgasm.  The next day, I would be forced to orgasm.  Which was 
worse?  I guess I would find out, for I could not afford to fail this 
challenge.

That night, I thought about who I would ask to help me orgasm.  Then I 
remembered Mr. Andrews, and wondered whether Laura had accepted 
the challenge I wrote.


I woke up the next morning.  I took a shower, during which I shaved by 
armpits, my legs, and the little bit of shadow above my crotch.  I felt 
the bare skin.  It felt good, but it the same time, it left me so constantly 
exposed.  And when I chose a skirt, this feeling returned much stronger.  
I chose a plaid-pleated skirt, because I knew I had to wear something 
today that would be especially easy to get under.  I did not bother with 
stockings, as they had been nothing but trouble yesterday.

I looked through my shirts.  I did not have any shirts that showed by 
belly.  They were all too long.  I did not have much that showed my 
shoulders, either.  I did have one tank top, which I was given to me by a 
friend in junior high.  It was bright red, which is why I only wore it 
once.  The straps were very thin, and I had almost grown out of the 
shirt since it was given to me.  By breasts strained against the material.  
My nipples were clearly visible, but a bra was out of the question.  

I needed to hide my shoulders at first, though, so I looked around for an 
overshirt.  Since it was quite warm out (and there was certainly no air-
conditioning in the school) I wanted to choose something light.  I did 
not have much that went with the tank top.  Ultimately, I found that if I 
wore one of my white blouses over the tank top, but left the top three 
buttons undone so as to show the tank top (it couldn't be hidden 
anyway, since it showed right through the blouse), I looked quite good.  
My breasts were well emphasized by this outfit.  This might keep the 
boys from staring at my legs, I thought, most of which showed under 
the tiny skirt.

I managed to catch an earlier bus, so I got to school a bit early.  A 
bunch of kids tended to hang out on the front steps, so I looked for 
someone I knew.  I only saw Laura.  She saw me too, and beckoned me 
over.

"Have a seat," she said.  She was wearing a tight pair of jeans and a 
light blue tee shirt, which was very tight and showed off her ample 
breasts.  

"I'd rather not," I said.  "Not in this skirt."

She laughed.  "I thought you'd refuse that challenge.  I had never ever 
seen you wear a skirt.  I thought that was an easy point."

"Well, it wasn't, and it's not being an easy two points, either.  Look 
around – all these boys are leering at me!  Almost my entire leg is 
showing!  My privates are only inches from view!  In fact, that guy on 
the bottom of the stairs might be able to see them!"

"Don't worry about it," she said.  "You have great legs.  I wish I had 
legs like that."

"Well, I wish I had your breasts!"

She reached up and opened my blouse a little, and said, "I think yours 
are fine."  

"So," I asked, "how was your first weekend of tennis?"  

"Terrible," she said.  "I needed an opponent to play.  I don't know 
anyone but you who plays tennis."

"Who did you end up playing with?"

"Didn't Sheri tell you this story?" she asked.

"What story?"

"Well," she said, "I went to the tennis shop, on 2nd, like you said, and 
started looking through the tennis skirts.  And Sheri pointed out that I 
needed an opponent, and she pointed out the guy who was working 
behind the service counter.  I guess he strings racquets and things.  
Anyway, she says, "Why don't you go ask him?"  And I figure, what 
other choice do I have?  So I walk up to him, and in my most flirtatious 
voice, I say hello to him.  And he practically grunts back.  So I get 
straight to it.  I say "I was just over there, looking at the tennis skirts, 
when I saw you, and I thought maybe we could play tennis together 
sometime.  Like today."  He replies, "Are you any good?"  Here I am, a 
young, eligible girl, asking him to tennis, and he asks how good I am!  
So, I say, "No – I'm just learning.  Maybe you could teach me a few 
things."  And since he's being so unresponsive, and I hate rejection, 
you know, I give him this little wink and put my hand on my hip.  So 
by now he sees what I'm up to, and he starts looking me up and down, 
like I'm a piece of meat at the butcher shop.  Then he says, "I don't like 
playing with beginners.  They can't hit worth crap."  And I say, 
"Please.  Pretty please?"  In that way no heterosexual boy can resist.  
Well, he looks at me, stares at my body, and he says, "You gonna buy 
one of those skirts?"  And I said that I certainly was, and I asked him 
which he thought was best.  And he says, "If I pick out a skirt for you, 
you gonna wear it when we play?"  And I look over at Sheri, and she's 
laughing her head off, and so she nods, so I say to him "Sure."  And he 
walks over to the rack, and starts looking at all the skirts, holding them 
up against my body like I'm a mannequin.  Then he says "Hold on" and 
goes and talks to someone in the back of the store.  He's talking for like 
5 minutes and then he went into some back closet with the other guy.  
Then he comes out with this white tennis dress and says, "Here, try this 
on."  He points me to the dressing room, so I go try this dress on.

"Now, I couldn't believe this dress was intended for tennis.  It had one 
feature that I don't think I've ever seen in a tennis dress – it was LOW 
CUT.  The tops of my breasts were entirely visible.  I think it's a tennis 
dress just for looking, not for playing, since the dress is so low cut you 
can't wear a decent sports bra with it.  But, Sheri, who joined me in the 
dressing room, noted that it fitted well.  It was maybe a little too small; 
my breasts felt tightly wrapped and the skirt was shorter than was 
comfortable – and totally pleated, so the skirt swished up and around 
every time I moved.  But Sheri said this is the one, so I bought it.  The 
guy says "Meet me on the courts in Adams park at 3 pm.  Don't forget 
to wear the skirt.  Do you have a racquet?"  I didn't, so he chose one for 
me.  He also made me buy some balls and said "get there early and 
practice hitting the balls with the racquet." So I went straight to the 
park and claimed a court, and tried hitting the ball.  I was a miserable 
failure.  When the guy showed up and started to play with me, he got so 
totally fed up with how I couldn't hit anything.  So he comes over to 
my side of the court, stands behind me, puts one hand on my racquet 
and the other on my ass, underneath my skirt, even, and says "here's 
how you do a forehand.  Here's how you do a backhand."  But he was 
completely unhelpful, and eventually he gave up and said he had better 
things to do, and left."

Even though Laura seemed to be acting nicer than me to usual that 
morning, I was glad at the inside to hear of her horrible tennis 
experience.   Nonetheless, I said,

"Sorry it sucked so much!  Do you have a partner for next weekend?"  
She shook her head, but then she said,

"Maybe we can do each other a favor!" 

I was not in the mood to give Laura any favors.  But she went on: "You 
accepted my challenge.  This means you need a girl to give you an 
orgasm today.  I could be that girl!  I can give you a great orgasm."  
She did seem eager.

To be honest, I still found the idea of cumming due to another girl to be 
a little weird.  But I did need to fulfill the challenge.

"And," she continued, "all you have to do for me is play tennis with me 
this weekend!"  

I was surprised Laura was having such trouble finding opponents, given 
that she was supposed to be finding a different boy to sleep with each 
week!  

"Maybe," I said.  "I'll keep it in mind."  Laura seemed satisfied with 
that answer.  I continued, "Speaking of which, did you accept or refuse 
my challenge?"

Suddenly she remembered it and looked like she wanted to slap me.  
"Oh my God!  I can't believe you wrote that!  You are so bad!  I 
refused, of course."  

At that moment the bell rang.  Surprisingly, despite my naked legs and 
my bare cunt and everything else, I was happy, because I was about to 
get three points.  I contemplated what I would say to Mr. Andrews


I decided to start early.  During my first period class with Mr. Andrews, 
I sat in the middle, in the front, and constantly crossed and uncrossed 
my bare legs.  Every time Mr. Andrews glanced my way I would give 
him a smile.  And he seemed to be glancing my way frequently.  I made 
sure my blouse hung open, showing off the tops of my breasts above 
the red tank top underneath.  I let my plaid skirt ride a little higher 
every time I adjusted my position.  

I could not believe I was acting this way!  Around the middle of the 
class I realized what a spectacle I was making of myself.  I pulled 
myself together and gave my skirt a tug back downwards, hiding my 
too-exposed thighs.  This action also seemed to peak Mr. Andrews' 
interest.  I noticed the bulge in his pants which I hoped for.  How 
embarrassing this must be for him, getting an erection while teaching a 
class.  I began twirling my hair, in a flirtatious way altogether unlike 
myself.

At the end of class, I approached Mr. Andrews.  I asked him if I could 
see him at lunch, saying I had issues with the most recent assignment 
he gave us.  He hesitated, but then agreed.

For the entirety of the morning, I thought of nothing except Mr. 
Andrews.  When Sheri stopped me in the hall between second and third 
periods, asking for my new challenge, I had nothing, not even an idea.

"Are you free after school?" she asked.

"Sure, I guess," I said.

"OK, good.  Then meet me and the group and Laura at the Denny's 
down the street.  If you get there first grab a table.  OK?"

"Sure," I said, my mind anticipating my meeting with Mr. Andrews 
which would take place in less than an hour.

When the time came, he was at his desk looking over some papers.  I 
knocked on the door and he beckoned me in.  "Have a seat," he said, 
and he pointed me to one of the desks.  

Knowing I had to be bold, I instead walked right next to him and half 
sat on the edge of his desk.  This served to raise my skirt an inch or two 
– it did not have much further to go.

"What can I do for you?"

Here was my moment.  Of course, I could not think of anything at all to 
say.

"You said you had a question about the last assignment?" he said, 
waiting for any sort of reply from me.

"I need help," I said.

"That's what I'm here for," he said.

I grabbed his hand, and started to rub it.  "Do you ever get writer's 
cramp," I asked him.

"Is that your problem?  Writer's cramp?  Do your fingers tingle?"  

My fingers were tingling, a little, as I lightly massaged his big, warm 
hand.  He was starting to look a little nervous.

"Mr. Andrews, let's be frank," I said, as I placed his hand on my breast.

He promptly withdrew it.

"Yes, let's," he said, frightfully sternly.  "I see what you're doing here.  
And you have to stop."  With a frustrated look on his face, he said, 
"will you please sit in a desk?"

"I don't like those desks," I said, "they're uncomfortable."  At this he 
got up and pulled over a chair from the corner of the room.  He turned 
his own chair to face it.  I sat, exposing most of my naked, well shaven 
legs.  He sat as well.  He was less than a foot away from me.  He 
obviously wanted our conversation to be quiet.  He said in a hushed 
tone,

"Look," he said,  "You're a student.  I'm a teacher.  You're a teenager.  
I'm an adult who can go to prison.  This is why you are going to stand 
up and leave."

"Mr. Andrews," I said, pleading, "students and teachers do this all the 
time.  The only ones that get in trouble are the ones who get caught!"

"And that's not going to be me.  Goodbye."  

He seemed awfully reluctant.  I could not give up, though.  I grabbed 
his hand again, and he let me.  This time I placed it on my knee, and 
held it there.  He allowed it to stay.  "Mr. Andrews," I said, doing my 
best to give puppy-dog eyes, "don't you find me attractive?"

"You're very attractive, but –"

"And aren't I a good student?"

"You are, but –"

"And don't you like girls?"

"Of course I do, but –"

"Well, then, here's a bright, attractive girl, at your service?  The door is 
locked, no one can see . . ."

"NO," he said.  "My entire career is at stake here," he said. 

I was running out of ideas.  As a last resort, I tried honesty.

"So is mine," I said.

"What are you talking about?  You don't even have a career, you're 
just –"

"That's just it – I don't have a career and I never will.  See, there is a 
gang of students in this school who are very destructive.  I know for a 
fact that two years ago, they destroyed the life of a former student; they 
didn't even care.  They pick on someone, and don't leave them alone 
until that someone does what they want.  And this is such a crucial 
time, Mr. Andrews; we're applying for colleges, finishing everything 
so we can graduate and move on – it's a competitive world out there, 
and it's not hard to make someone else fall.  And they'll do it to me, if I 
don't do what they say."

"And what did they tell you to do?"

He did not need to know the whole truth, I figured.  It was better that 
they told me to do it, rather than me telling me to do it.

"They told me to have sex with you, Mr. Andrews, right here in your 
classroom."  

He took his hand from my knee.  "Absolutely not," he whispered.  "It's 
immoral and stupid.  I won't."

"Please, Mr. Andrews?  They'll know if I leave this room without 
having orgasmed – they can tell.  And if I do, it's basically the end of 
my productive life.  They can ruin me.  They already stole my 
homework once.  Who knows what they would do to my college 
applications . . . they might even –"

"Who are these students?" he asked.

"I can't tell you.  If they found out I told this to you, it would be 
horrible."  I started to cry.  "Just horrible."  The tears were real.  Putting 
things in perspective, it was so unfair that they were picking on me like 
this.  What did I do to deserve this?  To deserve having to dress like a 
whore and seduce this reluctant teacher?  

His right hand returned to my right knee.  "I'll tell you what," he said, 
clearly trying to cheer me up.  "We'll compromise."  He got up, closed 
all the blinds in the room (so that all the people in the three foot space 
between his room and the brick building next to it couldn't see) , and 
returned to his seat.  He said, "You can't leave here without having an 
orgasm, and I can't have sex with you."  His hand moved an inch above 
my knee.  It was so warm.  "Sex is too difficult.  There are too many 
ways things can go wrong . . . pregnancy, disease, DNA evidence . . ." 
He scooted a little closer, and his other hand started to feel my other 
leg.  "But no one has to know what goes on in this room."  His right 
hand moved to the inside of my left leg, and started rubbing ever so 
lightly the tender flesh of my inner leg.  I spread my legs ever so 
slightly.  "You will tell absolutely no-one what happened.  No one at 
all."  His hand become bolder, and reached ever so slightly under my 
short skirt.  "And you can tell this ruthless gang that you did indeed 
seduce me into having sex, as long as they keep it to themselves.  
Remember that there will be no evidence."  His hand was so soft, so 
soothing on my inner thigh.  I spread my legs further to accommodate 
it.  "And we'll see what we can do about that orgasm."  

At that moment, his hand began to caress my naked pussy.  He smiled 
when he realized that I was wearing no underwear, and the bulge in his 
pants was growing monstrous.  

"Let me make you more comfortable," I said, as I unzipped his pants. 

"Thank you," he whispered, clearly receiving much pleasure from 
touching my sex.   Not as much pleasure as I was receiving, though.  
His hand caressed me expertly, lightly massaging and then finding that 
little part that gives so much pleasure, and touching it with just the right 
amount of pressure.

For a moment I thought about how we must of looked – me sitting with 
legs spread wide, in short skirt, no underwear, and his hands, clearly 
working hard under my skirt, as his hardened cock poked up out of his 
unzipped pants.  Mostly, however, I just sat back, closed my eyes, and 
enjoyed the feeling of my teachers hands on my pussy.  

He slowly increased the pressure he was applying.  Had he done this 
before?  I knew he wasn't married.  Maybe I wasn't the first student 
he's done this to, I thought.  But I didn't care; waves of pleasure were 
coursing through my body; my heart rate was rising, my breathing 
growing heavier; I tried to silence my moans, but there was so much 
pleasure!  I felt the orgasm coming on, and this time, there was no need 
to stop it, no reason to worry – it was what I was supposed to be doing.  
It was my job to orgasm; I melted into it, and clutched his arm to me as 
my entire body felt with final intensity what he was doing with just his 
finger.  

After my orgasm, he handed me a tissue, and turned away as I 
discretely tried to clean myself up.  His cock still stood at attention 
from his unzipped trousers, and I held it and said, "Should I help this 
one out?"  but he said, "no, too messy.  Please, just leave it, and go."

I understood his concern.  He had clearly enjoyed himself, but now the 
guilt and the worry were setting in.  I got up, straightened my skirt 
(why couldn't I wear something that covered just a little more?) and 
was about to open the door and leave when I said, "Don't forget to zip 
up."

"Oh yeah," he said, as he struggled to fit his penis back into his pants.  
"Thanks."

"Oh, Mr. Andrews, thank you!"  

I took the left arm out of my blouse and let it hang down my back.  It 
must have looked a little funny, but this way I could expose my left 
shoulder as required.  I could feel myself winning this game – just as I 
could feel that comfortable warmth that follows a nice orgasm.  I 
walked out and took what little remained of the lunch hour to eat my 
bagged lunch in the park.


Although Mr. Andrews had made me feel quite wonderful, I still, 
somehow, wasn't satisfied.  The whole situation had gotten me so 
worked up that I still felt a vague itch between my legs.  Also, all the 
men in the park seemed to be looking at my legs, and maybe also at my 
shoulder and breasts; I felt like a walking strip show, in my tiny plaid 
skirt and my blouse which appeared to be falling off.  This filled me 
with the by-now familiar humiliation, but also increased my arousal.

My next class was history.  I had been thinking the night before that if I 
had to have an orgasm during class, brought on by someone else, it 
should be in history, where we sit at these large tables in proper chairs.  
I could sit real close to someone, who could discretely touch me during 
the lecture – and if no one sat close, I might be able to get away with it 
without further humiliation.

But who would touch me like that during class?  I had not had a 
boyfriend, ever – nor did I feel like obtaining one.  Nonetheless, I had 
to find someone to help.
 
