Exhibitionist to Lesbo Fucktoy

Hello! This piece is drastically different from my others in terms of content, but I figure that variety is the spice of life.

This story has themes of exhibitionism, dubious consent, first time lesbian experiences, humiliation, degradation, and sexual dominance.

I'll likely continue my other series after this, but let me know what kind of stories you'd like to see in the future!

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Streaking is almost always supposed to be a stupid prank.

There's some inherent humor to a nude person running across campus, and it's easy to get the adrenaline high that so many nutzos crave.

For college students, it's a chance to show bravery, a devil may care kind of dumbness that they think might translate into getting laid. Sometimes it's for protest, sometimes for attention.

That's the case for most people, at least.

It was for me too, partially, but I always found that being naked in public was more than just a simple thrill.

I'm ashamed to say that it's always... well, turned me on.

It started when I simply skipped wearing underwear under a sundress. It was laundry day, and I thought it would be nothing.

Then the thoughts began to rush. I felt the fabric on my bare skin walking to the park, and I suddenly felt naked.

What would it be like for people to see me? How would it feel for them to perceive my body in its most basal form? What would the humiliation feel like? What would it be like to be caught?

When I got home, I pulled up my dress and came before I even got my shoes off.

The exhibitionist streak born that day fractured out quickly.

I lost my virginity a few months later, and I made sure it was while we were hiking. He fucked me in the middle of a grassy field, pulling my pants to my ankles as I leaned over a boulder. The woods around us could have had other hikers, and as I thought about them watching.

I orgasmed so hard I screamed.

Whenever I masturbated at home, I tried to add a level of risk, fingering myself in front of an open window or while on a voice call for an online course. Recently, I had even made a habit of cumming between classes in the library restroom. The embarrassment and guilt after were immense, but it brought me indescribable pleasure. I always had leg-shaking experiences when someone was in the next stall.

All to say that the idea of being caught is hot to me.

My need to nearly expose myself is dangerous and stupid, but I've always made off scot-free.

That is, I always made off Scot-free until an hour ago when I got stuck in the football field locker room at 4 a. m. on a Friday night.

Godfreaking damn.

Ostensibly, this had been a dare. I was at a small party, and someone had hollered above the music that they would give a full handle of vodka to anyone who streaked to the football field and back.

People laughed, dismissing it at first. They were blackout drunk, but they weren't braindead.

Then I spoke up.

"I'll do it," I said quietly.

My friends turned to me, staring as the smiles faded from their faces.

Some chuckled, thinking I was joking too.

Outwardly, I'm quiet and meek. I hide behind my thick curls and glasses, and people often say I come across as shy.

Once they saw I wasn't laughing, the tone shifted.

"Seriously," I said. "I-I'll do it."

Some of my friends cheered, and some tried to talk me out of it.

"Do it! It'll be..."

"Imagine what happens if..."

"How many drinks have you..."

I parried each of their questions and protests. I'm a runner, and I'm fast. I was almost fully sober. I'd wear a facemask. I just wanted to live a little.

I said all this and more, trying to be casual without letting the opportunity slip away.

Stupid.

Trying the door again, I yank and pull until it feels like my arm is going to rip from its socket. I've tried every locker, and they're all locked, empty, or full of deodorant, trash, and shoes.

When I first left the party, cheers rose up behind me before fading away back into the music.

My years of cross country and trail running served me well. I avoided street lamps and sidewalks, slipping between houses and brush. I had to slow a few times to avoid people taking their trash out or walking by, but I made it the entire half mile without being seen.

My nipples were hard as I ran, and I felt a charged, static kind of energy growing in my lower stomach. Fuck, I love that feeling.

Once I got to the field fence, I started to turn around, ready to head back, the experience cemented in my mind as prime fantasy material. Regardless, they would never have believed I made it all the way.

Then I saw the locker room door was slightly ajar on the other side of the gate.

I had an idea. A verybad idea.

If I could jump over, run in, and grab a souvenir, I could prove I made it all the way.

It was easy enough to get past the fence. I found a piece of brick on the ticket stand that jutted out, and in a few smooth motions, I vaulted myself over, landing hard on the concrete.

Dusting myself off, I jogged to the locker room and entered, silently and carefully closing the door behind me.

It was pitch black, and the air smelled like sweat. The warm, damp air flowed over my skin, moved from the swinging of the door. Goosebumps rose up all over my body. I creeped forward, letting my hand trail on the rough wall until I found what I was looking for: a switch.

I had to blink as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. The dull, fly-like buzz of fluorescent bulbs filled the air.

My squeaking sneakers echoed off the walls, and turning the corner, I saw an expanse of green vintage lockers in front of me. Worn wooden benches and uneven tile punctuated the room, and as I stepped forward, I almost expected to find someone.

"Hello?" I asked.

Thankfully, nobody answered. I don't know what I would have done if they had.

I'm ashamed to say the thought excited me, though.

Walking through the entirety of the locker room, I search for something to take back. I even jump as I pass the mirror, momentarily thinking someone else was there.

Instead, my own naked reflection stared at me.

I took off the medical mask, letting it dangle from my ear.

My mother always had said that I had a determined, strong look in my eyes, but as I searched them now, I found nothing of the sort. I saw a big-eyed and nervous girl with glasses that were too big for her face, and even as I tried to put on a tough face, my thick, Latin lips just looked like they were pouting.

My dark nipples and shock of black pubic hair drew my attention downward.

My legs were thick and toned, and I turned about, looking at my comparatively undefined arms and the rest of my body. My ass was wide and round, but my breasts were small.

No matter how much I ran, I could never get rid of the weight I carried in my hips.

I walked to the sink to fix my hair at the very least. It was messy from the run, but with a little water, I was able to get it looking somewhat presentable.

I looked fine. My friends and exes always insisted I was gorgeous, but I never saw it.

All to say, my insecurities and anxieties surrounding my body were present as ever, but here, in a risky and near-public space, a familiar feeling of tingling and sensitivity started to arise in me.

Moving my arm carefully, still staring at my own body lit by the humming lights, I pushed a finger past my pubic hair, touching my pussy.

I shivered as an electrical wave coursed through me. My clit was slightly swollen, and as my finger pressed against it, my knees grew weak.

I needed to sit down.

I made my way to a bench by the lockers, lowering myself onto the cold wood and leaning back slightly as I parted my legs.

My pussy squelched as it was spread.

Why couldn't I have a normal fetish?

Letting my fingers drag over my quivering thigh as I moved, I brought my fingers to my lips.

Another pulse of arousal vibrated through me.

The embarrassing sounds of my wet pussy rose in the air as I slowly teased my fingers over my crotch.

What was I doing? There was no reason for me to linger. I had to get out of there.

Breathing deep, I moved two fingers to my entrance, and I watched them disappear as I sunk into myself.

This was a place people used. They were here the day before, and they would be here the day after. In between those times, with all the chance in the world of being caught, I was fingering myself.

The thought of all of the naked bodies that would fill the room in less than 24 hours excited me, and I was soon able to add a third finger.

What would my family think if it saw me? What would my roommates say?

I shuddered, imagining an audience as my eyelids fell closed.

It wasn't long until I was shaking, nearing orgasm as I pumped my fingers in and out of myself. I refused to slow as I approached my climax, and my pussy began to spasm and jerk around my hand.

The explosive energy that rattled through me manifested in a deep moan, and as my eyes closed, I heard a wet splat on the floor in front of me.

I had squirted before, but as I focused my eyes, I watched the puddle grow, and I started to cum again.

My brain turned to mush as I thought about what I was doing and where I was. This was unconscionable, but I couldn't control myself.

I lost track of how many times I came, and the tile floor in front of me was shimmering with my juices as I panted and heaved.

God, it felt good, but I had to get going. I had a party to get back to, after all. I walked back to the shower area where I found a single small towel with our school logo. It was slimy with soap as I touched it.

Then I started to head back to the door.

Turning the lights back off, I went to walk out.

The door just rattled.

I turned the handle harder.

It rattled louder.

That was when the terror erupted in my chest and I realized what had happened: the door automatically locked when I closed it.

There was no moveable latch or emergency alert. I was stuck until someone else came along.

Since then, I've just been panicking, rushing through the locker room to find a key, an emergency exit, or something.

The door to the field is locked tight as well, and the vents are all too small for a person to fit into.

Our college is old, small, and shitty, so the last time these locker rooms were updated was likely the 1980s. This place has more in common with a bomb shelter than a modern facility.

That brings us to now.

I take off my glasses as I continue to walk around nervously, reaching down to where my pocket would be to clean them.

I shake my head. Stupid. I have no pockets. I have no shirt. I have no pants, no bra, and no panties. I have nearly nothing.

Unless I can find a way to cover my whole body with a gross rag, a strawberry pink scrunchie, running sneakers, and a facemask, I'm screwed.

Why hadn't I just turned around and gone back?

I pace, walking around the pool of my pussy juices that still shone in the middle of the floor. I drop the wet towel onto the bench with a wetschlap.

Does the football team have practice Saturday mornings? I think they might, but now I'm questioning everything.

I continue my search for escape, rifling through each open locker.

Nothing.

Unlike every other locker room in existence, this one is completely devoid uniforms, shirts, or anything.

The towel I found earlier is sixteen inches by eight inches, and it's covered in soap scum and sweat. It's less than useless to cover myself.

It's anomalistic, and I question how it's even possible to have such a lack of clutter in a men's locker room.

Then, in a dinky closet repurposed as an assistant coach's office, among reefs of paper and Burger King wrappers, I find a calendar. Today is circled with a label: "CLEANING AND LAUNDRY DAY."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Fuck.

The stars had aligned like crosshairs, and I'm the one caught in the sights.

I wonder if my friends have realized I haven't returned yet. Although I was damn near sober when I had started running, everybody else at the party had been blitzed out of their minds.

Considering that nobody has come to check on me, I figure that they're all solidly unconscious.

Fuck.

So what am I supposed to do? I wrap my arms around my naked body.

What are my parents going to say? What is the newspaper going to say when I get arrested? Will I forever be known as the pervert streaker girl? Am I a pervert streaker girl?

I feel like my brain is full of boiling water as my thoughts bubble.

Looking at the clock, I try to figure out when somebody will be around. It's 4:55 already, but I probably have at least an hour before anybody shows up.

Just as I think that, I hear the locker room door start to jiggle and then open.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I whip my head around, trying to formulate a plan, but my brain isn't responding fast enough.

Come on. Come on.

I have nowhere else to go, so I try to make a mad dash for the stalls. They're on the other side of the actual lockers and showers, but there's nowhere else to go. If I can get myself into one and lock it, I can let myself out when the cleaner was busy elsewhere.

As I run, I forget my surroundings. I step into the still-wet patch of floor I squirted onto.

Like I said, I'm an experienced runner, but even experienced runners can slip.

My feet continue forward as my upper body tilts back, and I flail my arms wildly, trying to catch something, anything, to break my fall.

I yelp like a dog. I barely have time to touch the ground with my hands, saving myself from the full impact, before my naked ass slams against the tile.

A sharp pain lights up from my tailbone, and I groan without thinking.

Ow.

My sticky and slick juices are spread all the way up my thigh, gritty from having mixed with the dirt on the floor. It still smells like me. The slimy towel is still in my hand.

The adrenaline takes away most of the pain, and I try to scramble up before slipping again. This time, I land on my left side, my legs splayed out.

My facemask, only dangling from my ear, falls onto the grimy floor.

"Well, aren't you graceful?" A voice asks.

I look up as I do my best to cover myself, crossing my legs and throwing an arm around my modest chest.

Looking down at me is a tall girl holding a drawstring cloth bag. She has dyed pink hair and a smattering of facial piercings. Besides a ring on either side of her nose, she has a septum piercing. Her features are fair and delicate, but her sharp underlying bone structure looks like it would cut me if I touch her cheek. She wears a black crop top, matching black sweatpants, and dirty platform sneakers.

Most importantly, she's holding a phone, its camera pointed directly at me.

She is definitely not what I expected. Still, I feel my cheeks burn as I stammer. I try to curl up in a ball to hide from the camera's gaze.

"I am so so so sorry," I say, feeling tears fill my eyes. "This was supposed to be nothing but a prank. I didn't expect... I mean, I didn't know. "

"You didn't know that you're not supposed to be naked in the locker room overnight?" The pink hair girl asks.

"No... I mean, yes, but..." I struggle to find the words. I hold up a hand between myself and the camera, trying to hide my identity. "Please put the camera down."

"Well, then why are you here, dummy?" The girl interrupted.

I open my mouth and close it, considering her question as I turn my face down. There's no way to hide every inch of my skin. I can feel her eyes crawling over me.

"I... I don't know," I say. "It was a joke. It was dumb."

"Would you still think it was dumb if you hadn't gotten caught?" The girl's voice says. I see her shadow move as she steps forward, and her shoe clicks echo around the room.

"What?" I ask.

"If you were able to make it all the way here and back to wherever you came from, would you still think it was stupid? Or would it have been something for the spank bank?" The pink haired girl asks. I hear humor in her voice.

I feel my cheeks redden as I peak around my fingers, looking at the girl's face. What is she playing at?

"I'm just saying," she continues, "it takes a very particular kind of person to decide that the team locker room is the best place to masturbate.

I go white as a sheet, suddenly aware of the puddle of cum I'm sitting in. "I don't know what you mean," I say. My words sounding unconvincing, even to me.

"I've eaten out enough girls to know that smell," the pink hair girl says.

"That's gross," I say, trying to scoff.

"You've never been with a chick?" She asks.

"No," I say flatly.

"Shame," she says. "You would make a good lesbian. Your pussy smells fucking amazing, and that ass is to die for."

My cheeks are crimson now. "Stop."

"You've never thought about how good another girl must be?" She asks. "I mean, we know our way around a pussy better than most dudes."

"Super gross," I say, trying my best to sound disgusted. I'm still holding up my hand between us. "And can you stop filming me?"

"Who knows?" the girl asks. "Maybe you're some kind of psycho serial killer pervert, and this video will be the only shred of evidence that sends you to the chair."

"I'm not going to kill you," I say, frustrated.

"But youare a pervert then?" The girl laughs.

"That's not what I... Just stop filming, please," I say. Hot tears start to well up in my eyes.

"Fine," the girl sighs. "Have it your way, dude, but this place seriously reeks of cunt."

I risk the glance around my outstretch hand, and I see that she really has put her phone away.

I bring back my sore arm to my chest, trying to cover myself more. "I don't know what you mean," I say, pursing my lips. "Can you just help me?"

"Come on," she says. She drops the cloth bag on the floor. "I'm not recording anymore. You don't have to lie about that. I'm a dick, but I'm no narc."

"Then why were you filming?" I ask, readjusting. I fix my glasses. There's no position I can sit in that will truly hide me. My vexation with this girl is somewhat eclipsing my embarrassment, however.

She's beautiful in a harsh way, and she doesn't seem to be wearing makeup, but her dark eyelashes give her a cat eye effect. I try not to stare, and I get a sudden urge to clean my glasses.

"Probably to finger myself to later, if I'm being honest," the girl says. She smirks, but I can't tell if she's kidding.

"Can you just pass me a towel or something?" I ask, using my chin to gesture to the bag.

"Not unless you want to wear a 30 foot long flag," she says, nudging it with her foot. "Towels and jocks don't come back until tomorrow." She looks at the one in my hand. "Except for that one, apparently."

"Listen," I huff. "If I admit to you that I was doing... what you say, will you get me something to cover myself with?"

"Nah," she says, shrugging. "I'm Val, by the way."

I curl tighter into my fetal position. "Please..." I say. My voice is pitiful, and it cracks as I speak.

"I still have half a mind to call the cops," Val says nonchalantly.

"Y--you said you're not a narc," I say.

"Yeah, I did," she says, walking closer to me. She begins to circle around me slowly, and suddenly I feel like a vegetable at the grocery store. I'm being inspected and assessed, turned over and analyzed to determine my value.

"So... please don't tell--" I beg.

"Shut the fuck up," she says. "I'm thinking about it." Her shoes tap on the floor as she circumnavigates me and my puddle of pussy juice.

I go quiet. Can I sprint for the exit? No. It's getting lighter out, and my fall has left me with a leg that's now throbbing--I can't just walk home. I would bearrested. Could I incapacitate this woman--Val--and steal her clothes? She's much taller than me, and I have zero confidence in my fighting skills.

"Okay," she says with finality. "I've got a deal for you."

I nod quickly. "Tell me."

"I'll bring you a change of clothes if and only if," she says, "you let me film you for a full minute."

"No," I say reflexively. It's immediate and automatic, like my leg kicking out after a doctor using a hammer on it.

"You can wear the fucking mask," Val says, rolling her eyes. "Comeon.

I grit my teeth. Film me? She must be crazy if she thinks I'd let her take a video. There are no tattoos or obvious markings on my body to speak of, but still.

"Listen," Val says, sighing. "I sell content online. Nudes. I sell nudes. My audience is small, but they pay. I just do this job so I get access to the locker room unsupervised."

I'm gobsmacked. To get access here? So she must...

"I film a ton of my content here," she says, scrolling through her phone. "Look."

She turns the camera around. On Val's screen is a video of her wearing a ski mask and nothing else. Her body is pale and supple, her muscles flexing as she grinds her hips, moving her shaved pussy up and down. In the video, she holds a jockstrap up to her nose and sniffs deeply as she brings a hand between her legs. Her vagina is wet, and I can see light reflect from its surface.

"Jesus Christ," I say, putting a hand up to block the screen. Even still, I can hear her. Muffled, soft moans emit from the tinny speakers, reverberating off the walls.

"That video got me like a hundred bucks," Val says, turning her phone off. "I've got a suspicion you're a bona fide perv like me, and I want to propose a partnership."

My arms pull tighter around my naked body. "I don't know if I want a partnership like... that."

Val paused, looking around. "You came here on a Friday night, snuck into the men's locker room, and you are now collapsed in a puddle of your own pussy juice. You're already a sexual deviant, full stop."

Looking around, I realize that I can't argue with her on that point. I got myself into this mess.

"This is just a way to profit off that," she says. "I'll even delete the first video with your face first if you agree to record another for me to post. I'll letyou delete it. You can clear the trash, check other folders, whatever."

That gives me pause. The first video she got has my face and voice. I even admit guilt. Getting rid of it would be a good idea.

"I'd give you whatever cash we got off the video too," Val says. "I swear."

She has a desperate look in her eye. I know she wants this to post, but it seems like she reallyreally wants it...

I think, clenching and unclenching my jaw.

"Fine, "I say. My stomach is doing flip-flops as I speak. "But you only can film for one minute. And--and you have to send me every fucking penny."

Val's mouth turns slightly up at its corners, a shadow of a smile. "And I get to touch you?"

"No," I say. My cheeks burn, thinking about her fingers on my hips and thighs.

"What about to adjust you?" She asks. "I just want to get the best video possible."

Fuck. That's not a bad point.

"O--okay. Only to adjust me," I warn her.

"Sure," she says. "Whatever. I'll title the video 'First Time Lesbo Fucktoy' or something."

"No," I say.

"Fine," she says, rolling her eyes. "Spoilsport."

I bite my cheek. Am I really doing this? I don't see any other way out of this, and it is some extra cash. It's just one minute. Reaching out with numb fingers, I pick up the dirty facemask from the floor. It's slightly slick from laying in my cum, and a small dirt stain is on the right cheek.

Still, I don't have anything else to cover my face. I slip it on, and I can smell myself on the thin fabric. My glasses start to fog immediately.

"Delete the video before we start," I mutter.

Val rolls her eyes. "So untrustworthy," she says, "but I need some kind of insurance that you won't flake out on your end of the deal."

"I won't..." I say. "I swear." My voice cracks nervously as I speak, making me sound even more on edge than I am.

Val raises her eyebrow. "Interesting," she says. "Fine."

She shows me her screen goes through, and deletes the video, clearing the trash afterward.

I fight back an audible sigh of relief.

She reaches down, grabbing the sticky towel from my grip. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it. She plops it down on the floor, where it soaks up more of my cum.

"Alright," she says. "Then stand up." She holds up her phone toward me, and her cold flashlight blinks on again. She's recording.

I begin counting down the minute, but my mind buzzes. Through my glasses, the light stretches and flares, looking like a twinkling star.

It's like I can feel the heat of the light as it lands across my nude body, casting deep shadows along my curves. My skin prickles as I imagine the eyes of strangers trailing over me.

I blush, hoping the facemask covers enough. The whole world will be able to see this if they want to, and I'll be nothing but a sexual object for them to masturbate to.

I have to focus.

Keeping one arm over my breasts, I use the other to push myself up, doing my best to hide my pubic hair. I rise to my feet, covering my crotch as soon as possible once I've steadied myself.

My breath is hot on the inside of my mask, and I feel myself shake.

Shamefully, I realize that I can feel heat radiating from between my legs, and moving my weight from one foot to the other, I feel how aroused I am at the thought of being laid bare to the world. My nipples are hard against my arm and palm.

God, I thought that the terror of the situation would diffuse my exhibitionist tendencies, but it seems like they've only been spurred on more.

My palm brushes against my pubic bone. I shiver.

Countless creeps would see my naked form, jerking off and cumming because of my body.

Why did that idea turn me on so much?

"Well this doesn't do me very good if I can't see anything," Val says. "Be a good little slut and put your arms down."

I shoot an icy stare at her, but her eyes seem to be slightly glazed over as they meet mine. It's like she's looking at me as an object rather than a person.

Is she really getting off on this?

After taking a few deep breaths, I slowly let my arms fall to my side, my tense muscles vibrating as they try to relax.

The shine of the flashlight illuminates me, and now my breasts and unshaven crotch are on display, recorded and captured, ready to be broadcast.

I feel both heat on my cheeks and from my lower stomach. I can't believe I'm even being put in this situation "Asshole," I mutter.

"That's a good idea," she says, her wicked smile returning. "Turn around and spread for the camera."

I hesitate.

"Spread those big cheeks and show me that pretty little asshole of yours," Val purrs, taking a step forward. She's only five feet away now. "Otherwise I might call the cops."

God, I hate her. I've gone too far to turn back now, though.

I slowly turn until my back is facing Val, and I bend slightly at my waist, putting a hand on each of my ass cheeks and moving them an inch outward.

Facing the wall, I can see the deep, dark lines of my shadow cast from her phone's flashlight. The wall is still slightly illuminated by the weak fluorescent bulbs overhead, but my silhouette is defined by the blue light of her phone.

"You can do better than that, you little perv," she laughs.

I feel Val touch me for the first time, a warm, soft hand on my lower back, pushing so I lean forward farther. My face grows hotter as I comply. Then her hand moves to my wrist, guiding it outward, encouraging me to spread my ass even more. I'm no lesbian, but her touch sends hot waves over my bare skin.

I nearly stumble as I lean, pulling each of my ass cheeks wider with shaky fingers. My knees bend inward and almost touch each other. I can't imagine how humiliating this will look to an outsider. My shadow grows as the flashlight gets closer to me.

My asshole and pussy are fully exposed to Val, and I pray that she can't tell how aroused I am. I'm undeniably turned on, but I don't want a permanent record of that. Do I?

"Oh," Val says, "somebody's feeling themselves."

I quickly turn my head, trying to glance over my shoulder and glare at her, but I'm unable to make eye contact. I can feel her presence though. Just by making out the shape of her, I see that she is now squatting, and she's brought the phone close up to my backside. A video of my uncovered ass and cunt now filled her screen.

How long has it been now? In my nervousness, I had stopped counting. Was the minute almost over? Or had only seconds passed, stretched out by the indescribable and exciting anxiety that was being pumped through my body?

Then Val's hand returns, now resting high on my inner thigh. She carefully applies pressure, causing my pussy to shift and quietly squelch.

I jump at her touch, unconsciously squeaking a little. She's spreading my lips, showing me off.

I said she could adjust me, but isn't this a little much? I wriggle, trying to loosen her grip, but Val just moves her hand closer to my entrance. Her hands are soft but strong.

Then her hand slips, and her thumb brushes my swollen clit. My knees, already slightly pushed together, start to give way to a surprise rush of pleasure. I catch myself, but not before a moan, a product of my lost composure, escapes from my throat.

"Hey..." I whine in protest. She wasn't supposed to touch me, and she knows it. I've never been with a woman, but even the accidental touch fires red hot bolts into my brain.

"Sorry," she says through a smile. "A mistake." She goes back to groping my thighs, pulling my wet slit open and closed so that it makes loud, slimy smacks. Fuck, this is embarrassing, but I've never been so aroused in my life.

My pussy throbs as I imagine fingers gliding over me, dipping into and exploring me for throngs of people to see. I shift, silently praying for more.

"Times up," Val says. Her hand draws back, and the bright light disappears, leaving the world looking dull and dark.

What? A minute had passed already? I let tension leave my body as I slowly rise back to my full stature. My cheeks and cunt burn as I turn to face Val, again covering myself with my hands. I keep the mask on.

"Okay... Now give me some clothes," I say.

Val doesn't move. Instead, she just stares at me and steps forward. She towers over me, and I have to look up to hold her gaze. She smells of cherries.

For some reason, the video of her masturbating pops into my head, her milky skin quivering as she fingers herself. Her voice sounds different when she moans. I push that thought to the back of my mind.

"Please?" I try.

"I could do that," Val says, "or you can lay back on that bench and let me eat your pussy until you cum again, this time filming without your mask."

Energy crackles behind my face, and my lips feel numb.

"What? I ask, even though I know precisely what she had said.

"Let me tongue fuck you while you take a video," she says slowly, annunciating each word, "until you cum your straight little brains out."

My heart beats fast, and my breath catches. Why would I let her do that? She already got everything she asked for, and my side of the bargain is already fulfilled. I won't even benefit from what she's offering.

I stare into her eyes, not speaking.

Why am I not speaking?

"This would make for a great free video on my page," Val said, reaching out, and letting her hand fall on my hip. "A little teaser that just about anyone could get."

Goosebumps spread out from where she touches me.

"It would be the first thing people see when they subscribe to me," she says, letting her hand slide to my hip. "Me buried between your thighs, making you dance and squirm on this locker room bench as they look into that cute face of yours."

"Why would I do that?" I hear myself ask. I mean it to sound disbelieving and dismissive, but the question comes across as genuine.

"Because I think that you want to beseen even more than you want to hide," Val says. She holds out her phone to me with the hand that isn't holding my shaking hip. "You want to feel the orgasm that would come from being exposed to hundreds of people."

"I'm not into women," I say, as if that's the biggest issue with all of this. My breath is shallow and uneven.

"You could be," Val says confidently. She slips the phone into my hand that's covering my chest, where I grip it with loose fingers. Her smell fills my nostrils again as she leans forward, and she lets her lips touch the crook of my neck. Her mouth is warm on my skin, and my nipples grow hard again when I feel her tongue graze my collarbone.

I'm frozen in place, not recoiling or outwardly reacting, even as my stomach does backflips. It's like my brain thinks that by standing still, I'll be able to avoid responding to her offer.

"You know that if you refuse, you're going to be thinking about this for the rest of your life, right?" Val whispers. Her face is close to my cheek, and the heat of her skin meets mine.

I want to say no, but I know I can't say the word. "How many subscribers do you have?" I ask instead.

A wisp of Val's pink hair brushes against my ear. "1,002," she says.

That number moves through me like a hot knife.1,002. 1,002 people would watch me cum on another girl's lips if I agree to this insane proposal. 1,002 people would be able to leak that video, sending it around until it festered in every dark corner of the Internet.

I'd wanted to escape this locker room to avoid the shame and humiliation of discovery, but now, as the same degradation is offered to me on a silver platter, I find myself hesitating to refuse.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I nod.

Val smiles, letting her other hand fall to meet the curves of my body as well. "Absolutely delicious," she says. She's been only inches away, but now she pulls me closer. I feel myself give away, bending like wood from a willow tree. Her lips press against mine as my naked form meets her clothed one.

I've never kissed a girl before, and I find that it's soft and gentle, and even in my stiff hesitation, she remains like a liquid, flowing over my lips and into my mouth.

My eyes flutter, and my mind lights up.

Val pulls back, leaving me starry-eyed. It's the situation that's turning me on, not her of course, but I feel like a pomegranate that's been cracked open, and now I can't seem to fit my two halves back together.

I'm in a daze, and Val walks over to the cloth sack, which ostensibly carries the team flag. She reaches in, rifles around, and pulls out a black ski mask, pulling it on in one smooth motion. A few loose strands of hair peak from the neck. All I can see are her eyes and full lips, and in some ways, she seems like a different person.

She approaches and takes the phone back momentarily, pulling up her camera app and hitting record. The bright flash returns, momentarily blinding me, but Val puts the phone back into my palm and leads me over to the worn wooden bench. It's little more than a plank of wood balanced on two rusty poles, but as she carefully sits me down, I find that its cool surface is soothing against my fiery skin. I put my hands on it.

Wait... When did I move my hands from hiding myself? Even asking myself this, I don't move to hide again. My body is exposed to Val.

She reaches up, pushes her fingers through my thick curls, and cradles my head.

I look up at her masked face. Am I really going to allow this to happen? I should stop this. Where's my concern for the consequences?

Somewhere deep down, I sense that I'm only putting up these resistances for my own benefit, weak barricades meant to protect what little dignity I have left. I'm ashamed, but I intuitively know how much my body craves to be touched.

Still holding eye contact with Val, I lean back. The thick polyester hides most of her features, and I find myself staring at her shiny pink lips.

She gently holds me by my neck and back, shepherding me down to lay back on the bench.

I don't say a word. Instead, I film. I watch her through my screen, lit up by the bluish flashlight's glow. The loose locks of her hair, which I had initially thought was just pink before, look like an iridescent fuchsia, shimmering with smatterings of violet and rose.

She sinks down, and she moves her hands along my nude body, taking a handful of my modest tits and twisting each of my nipples in turn as her fingers travel along my torso. I let out a hiss of air.

Her hands continue, and she finally lets them rest on my full, tense thighs. I watch her hover above my dark bush, and as she leans forward, I can feel her warm breath over my cunt. She's only inches away from me.

Through the camera, I watch her mascara-lined eyes look up into my face through the woven eyeholes. She shifts forward, planting a gentle kiss on my swollen pussy. The fabric scratches at my thighs.

I flex involuntarily at the unexpected shock of pleasure, bucking to meet her lips. A shuddering breath escapes me, and I know the phone is picking up every utterance. I clap my hand over my mouth.

Without removing her lips from me, Val stretches out her tongue, gently moving it up and down to explore the folds of my pussy.

I can't hold in my next moan as she begins to lick at my clit. It's swollen, protruding, and sensitive, and the electric energy of bliss travels through me with every nerve ending lighting up like a Christmas tree.

Val changes her position, moving her hands from my thighs to under my ass, lifting me up to her mouth rhythmically as she settles onto her stomach. She alters her technique, making her tongue wide and flat, bracing it against her lower lip and dragging her face along the length of my cunt.

She hums.

This woman, this maskedstranger, is tasting and savoring me.

My grip slips for a moment, and I almost drop the phone as it feels like Val is lapping at the deepest parts of my soul.

I've never felt like this. Not alone, not with my ex, never. It feels like I'm a piece of hard candy she's unwrapped and popped into her mouth, and now I'm melting on her tongue.

Val, stopping, reaches up a hand and takes the phone from me, fiddling with it for a moment before handing it back. The light disappears, and the screen becomes much brighter.

When I look at the screen, it's filled with my own flushed face. I see my closed eyes and parted lips.

I'm drunk on pleasure, making me slow to realize what happened. Val had turned the camera to selfie mode.

Repositioning the phone to a more flattering angle, I stare into my own eyes as Val brings her hand down to my crotch and lines it up with my entrance.

I see the shock on my face, and my big, teary eyes flutter as Val pushes the tips of two of her fingers into me.

Without thinking, I whimper.

This is going out to over 1000 people, and I can't keep any semblance of composure? I feel like a little more than a puddle.

"You want my fingers inside you, slut?" Val says.

I find myself looking into the screen, expecting the girl in the video to nod. She does. I do.

"Can you use your manners? "Val asks.

Her tone is mocking and demeaning, but without skipping a beat, I respond. "Please?" I squeak.

"Please what?" She asks, prompting me.

"Please... finger me," I say. I look away from the screen and down at her. The portions of her face I can see, pale before, are red with arousal. Even if she's taunting me, I hear her deep, deliberate breaths. She wants this as much as I do, if not more.

"Fine," she says, trying to sound nonchalant. "Say that you're my little lesbo fucktoy then."

I swallow, holding her gaze as I blink. The tips of her fingers are slowly moving, tracing me outside of my vagina, but that's as far as they've gone. "But... I'm not..."

Val shakes her head sadly. "If you want me to finger your cunt, baby, I'm gonna need to hear those words."

I clench my jaw. I could finish with her just using her tongue, but as I look at her arm in position and ready to finger fuck me, I push down my pride. "I'm your little... l--lesbo fucktoy."

Saying those words builds a pressure inside of me.

I watch her through the mask as she bites her lip, moving her hand slowly forward, sliding another knuckle into me.

I breathe in sharply and find myself unable to stop my hips from quivering. Just her fingers, slightly curled and pushing up into my G-spot, have me on the edge.

"That's a very, very good girl," Val purrs. She brings her mouth back to my clit, pushing her digits deeper inside me. Pleasure clouds my vision, and I try my best to keep the camera held up as my arm falters. I'm angling the camera to show my entire body, with Val's masked head covering my pussy.

A whole town's worth of people will have access to me digitally, able to hear me say that I was... that... forever.

With how wet I was, it isn't long until Val is able to add fingers as she thrusts in and out, speeding up until the wet sounds of her mouth and her fingers sliding into my pussy reverberate through the whole room.

My moans, which I had tried to fight back at first, come out of me in huge, unabated waves. My usually high-pitched voice becomes husky as the moans are sourced from deeper and deeper inside of me. At first, it feels like my cries are coming from my throat, and then my chest, and now, as Val pistons in and out of me at full force, my groans and gasps are coming from the deepest pit of my stomach.

My cunt, now stretched from Val's invading fingers, starts to spasm. My body is aware of my orgasm before my brain is, and I flex, squeezing Val's head between my thighs.

A rush of pleasure bursts from every seam of my being, flowing out of me as I convulse. It feels like my brain is becoming mush, squashed under the enormous weight of ecstasy that's crashing down on me. My pussy loudly heaves air in and out around Val's hand, and another uncontrollable spray of liquid flows out of me. I squirt onto Val's lips, mask, and shirt, and as I do, it feels like my soul leaves my body as well.

Val continues her assault for several minutes, and rolling orgasms crash through my body, each predicated on the last, until I'm completely spent.

She has left me as nothing but a husk.

I pant and gasp, and as I try to collect myself, I feel a wet cloth slap against my chest, spread wide across my chest and covering my breasts.

I blink, focusing. Val takes the phone from my hand and slips it in her pocket. She dropped the slimy towel on me, and now, she's taking off her pants.

Raising a hand to grab the thing, I gibber in protest. I still can't form full words. The towel is slick to the touch.

Val takes off her pants and panties, and a strand of grool connects the crotch to her shaved pussy. She and her underwear are both soaked.

Is it my turn? Am I supposed to taste her now? I feel another arousing buzz in my lower stomach as I imagine the possibility.

However, that's not her purpose.

Val takes her pants completely off, only pausing to peel her underwear from them before putting her sweatpants back on. Her pale ass jiggles as she fights to get the pants' elastic cuffs around her sneakers.

I watch, hypnotized.

After putting her pants back on, now going commando, Val removes the balaclava and holds it along with the underwear to me.

The underwear is a pair of boy shorts, black and lacy with full cheek coverage.

"Take these and the towel," she says. My pussy juice still shimmers from her lips. "That should be enough to get you home.

"Th--that's all?" I ask.

"That's all," Val says.

I take the underwear with shivering fingers, and I silently step into them, sliding the moist fabric up my legs until it squishes against my own sopping crotch. Then I take the ski mask, bundling my hair up as I tug it down over my head. It's scratchy, and it smells like... it smells likeme. Finally, I adjust the towel. It smells like musky soap and stale water, and as I hold it against my body with my hands, it seems to plaster itself in place.

Val holds out her phone again, this time with an open contact page. She's already filled out the name as "Pervert Lesbo Fucktoy."

"My name is--" I start.

"I don't care," Val says, smiling at me. Her makeup is slightly smeared, and her hair is messed up into a wild shock of pink.

I pause, and I give her my number.

My run home is uneventful, but as soon as I get home, I open my text messages, praying that Val will contact me soon.