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ReSent-Subject: Ariel: a Punk rock girl - The School Dance - Ch-2 (Mm/f, nc,
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Subject: {ASSM} Ariel: a Punk rock girl - The School Dance - Ch-2 (Mm/f, nc, humil) by   she cries
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Punk Rock Girl - The School Dance - Ch-2
Mm/f, nc, humil, exhib

by she cries - she_cries@ftml.net


No one really understood why the line was moving so slow until Marsha
Bradshaw stormed out of the side doors to the gym, screaming curses.

In front of me in line were a cluster of seniors; cheerleader types,
popular, chesty, shapely, beautiful, and full of nothing but disdain for
me. They called out to Marsha, one of their ilk concerned for her
behavior.

Marsha stomped over to them, a tear smearing her make-up, "They searched
me, right in front of everyone."

"They search everyone." One of the twittering girls chimed.

Marsha was wearing a gaudy green satin gown, a horribly overdone thing
with sequins and lace. It was rumpled and disheveled.

"It was totally humiliating. They gave me two days suspension."

A round of muttering went through the group and the people standing in
line.

Suddenly it was alike a micro-exodus. More than a dozen students stepped
out of line and made their ways back to the parking lot, a pair of
girls, a guy and his date, a couple of Marsha's friends took her by the
arms and started drawing her back to the end of the line, where Marsha
spied me,

"What are you looking at you little bitch."

I bit back a retort. I didn't want a fight right then. I wanted them to
leave so I could go back to having fantasies about staying in the car
with Wade. I looked deliberately to the front of the line, trying to
pretend to myself that I wasn't getting obsessed with the man.

Probably sneaking alcohol into the dance, I guessed. I'd never been to
one before, and didn't really understand all the school rules and
restrictions. There had been a flyer distributed at the beginning of the
school year that had created a bit of controversy about the dress code,
but back then I never imagined I'd be invited to a dance, so I threw it
away and didn't think about it any more.

Still, I couldn't imagine getting two days suspension for a dress code
violation. Besides, Marsha looked pretty typical for girls who took
Homecoming dances way too seriously.

I wanted to ask someone if they knew what was up, but all around me the
kids were older, squarer, or just people I'd come to regard as dicks and
cunts. There was no one I'd be willing to admit my ignorance too, and
decided since I wasn't doing anything illicit that I really didn't have
anything to worry about.

It was shortly after Martha had called me a bitch that I saw Mr.
Christiansen, the vice-principal come running out of the gym after her.
He caught up and almost had to drag Marsha back into the gym with him.

The damage had been done, however, and I saw a pair of boys dumping out
bottles behind some bushes. One girl actually appeared to be changing
behind a low wall while her boyfriend stood guard.

The school apparently was doing some kind of a sting on their students,
and Marsha had let the cat out of the bag.

I was really close to the front by now, so I figured it wasn't worth it
for me to step out of line to find out more. Besides, having stood under
the scrutiny of my peers for the past fifteen minutes, comments about my
dress, my boots, my hair, my piercings, and whatever else they could
come up with, I was just about ready to lose myself inside the gym,
ideally to find a dark corner with Alan where he hopefully wouldn't make
a pass at me, because I'd be pissed if he took advantage of the rise his
brother had gotten out of me.

Not that I was going to tell him about that, but I'd still be pissed at
him. I was already pissed that I had to stand out here alone. That boy
had some serious atonement to do.

Behind me a gaggle of boys, all on the Junior Varsity team, proudly
displaying their jerseys moved up as the couple behind me made a hasty
departure after Mr. Christiansen went back inside with Marsha.

Among them was Jerry Robbins, a tall, muscular jock from my PE class:
"Hey Ariel, like that skirt, did you get it at the circus?"

I just scowled at him.

His friend, a tall, lanky fellow with short, choppy hair leered at me,
"How come you're alone? You don't think anyone's going to ask you to
dance."

I growled at him, "Actually I came with your dad, but he stopped to pick
up a hooker on the way."

Unable to contain his shock the boy's face instantly transformed into a
scowl of rage, "You little bitch, if we weren't at school I'd slap the
shit out of you."

I turned away, "If that's what gets your rocks off." It was weak, but it
was the best I could do. He was really scaring me.

But then one of the guys started playing Good Jock, "Hey, don't mind
him, he'd just a dick."

I looked up at the stocky boy, his face, like mine, pocked with acne,
but otherwise pretty handsome (though he had this weird, curly helmet
hairdo). "What do you want?"

He reached out to put a hand on my arm; I pulled back, "Easy, I'm just
trying to apologize for him."

"Apologize for yourself."

"Hey, I'm not the bad guy here."

He had to shut up as the doors opened to admit another group of
students. It looked like they were letting in about five or six at a
time. We all moved forward the requisite seven or eight feet, then
milled about as we regrouped in line.

"Look," he was back, "I'm just trying to say you intimidate people, and...
He doesn't mean it."

"I intimidate people?" I turned to face the boy. "You're smoking crack."

"Hey Bill," one of the Junior Varsity boys called from his cluster of
friends, "You're not trying to make it with her, are you?"

He gave his friend a grin, and waved his hand as if swatting his friend
away. "Just ignore them." He said in a low tone to me.

But Jerry made that difficult, "Trying to score with a punk chick is
like trying to get drunk on fucking wine, man."

The five other junior varsity players stared blankly at him, as did I
while we all tried to discern what the hell his analogy meant.

He stammered out an explanation, "Like, it's easy, but who'd want to."

After another pause the boys burst out in a sort of forced laughter,
peering at me as if they expected me to cringe or start crying. I just
rolled my eyes.

"Look at her, Bill." Another guy, a short, dumpy junior named Ronnie
snarled, "She's throwing herself at you."

"Eat shit, Ronnie." I barked, "You're letting your masturbational
fantasies delude you."

Ronnie stomped up to me, "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the only slut
in school."

"I'm not a slut!" I snarled, punching him in the chest.

The shithead made that annoying "ooooh" sound, "I'm so scared," He said
to his laughing friends, "How come you always dress like a whore,
Ariel?" he sneered, making a taunt the way he said my name.

I was shaking with so much anger that I could barely stop from attacking
the fucking prick. I don't know why I was so fucking mad, in school I
was usually a lot better at letting this kind of shit slide off my back,
but Ronnie in particular had a knack for getting right under my skin.

Bill, still playing Nice Jock, stepped in between me and his friend (who
was about an inch from death). "Hey, leave her alone."

Jerry didn't feel like it though, and though he stood well away from me
he said, "Shit Bill, why kiss her ass? Just pull out your dick, that's
all she's after."

Bill turned to me with a friendly, apologetic look on his face, but I
could see the pleasure in his eyes, and how much he enjoyed playing the
part. I bet he actually got some this way. He opened his mouth, but I
cut him off.

"Go on, Bill. Let's see it." I gestured at his crotch.

"Don't listen to them." He tried to sound soothing.

"Look, Bill, if I don't get some dick soon I'm just gonna explode, so
how about it?" It was much easier, I knew, to attack Bill than Ronnie or
Jerry, who I was really angry at, but I just couldn't help myself from
going after his disingenuous nice-boy act.

The boy was decidedly uncomfortable. He glanced back at his friends who
were plainly trying to figure out what I'd do next.

I tilted my head, giving Bill a piteous look, "Aww, what's the matter
Bill? Performance anxiety?"

They'd all taken sex ed by now, and burst out in laughter at the expense
of their friend, who blushed furiously, trying hard not to scowl, or
lash out at me. The reaction was immensely satisfying, almost enough to
make me forget how incredibly horny I still was, amazingly; an
uncomfortable situation that was not improved by the boys' taunting. I
felt like the slut they were accusing me of being considering the way
I'd acted earlier--not that I'd ever condescend to letting any of them
know it, much less let them actually come into physical contact with me.

Bill still hadn't turned to face his laughing friends, "You know, you'd
make a lot more friends if you weren't such a bitch."

I put my hands on my hips, "And dressed normally, got a perm, took out
my piercings, listened to top 40 music, and went out with a football
player like you, right?"

He'd had enough. Mumbling "bitch" under his breath he walked back to his
friends, making some sly insult which I didn't catch, but left me
seething as they gave me knowing glares, sharing their inside joke about
me.

I turned away as the line moved forward. I was almost inside. A couple
of girls were ahead of me, the ones who hadn't ducked out of line when
Marsha appeared, and another guy and his girlfriend, so I was probably
going in with the next batch.

I jumped suddenly, realizing that Ronnie was standing right behind me.

"What do you want, freak." I demanded.

"That's something coming from you."

I just stared at him, backing up as much as I could without bumping into
the cheerleaders ahead of me in line. He was the same height as me when
I had these boots on, and we glared at each other eye to eye.

"Is it true you got your clit pierced?" Ronnie asked, leering.

"You're a fucking creep." I said, glancing at the cluster of boys a few
feet back, knowing they knew what he was asking me.

"That's not saying no." the stubby football player insisted.

"Yeah, it's pierced, I got a railroad spike right through the hood."

He lowered his voice, "You're a trashy little whore, aren't you?"

"Eat me." I snarled in an equally low voice.

"Maybe, if you paid me."

I rolled my eyes, "So I'd have to pay you for sex, but I'm the whore?"
That brought some odd stares at me from the girls ahead of me in line.

Fuck them, I thought, but I had to look away. Unfortunately Ronnie was
still there. Worse, Jerry had joined him.

"This slut's gonna pay you to fuck her?"

Ronnie nodded, "That's what she said."

"Fuck off." I stated, turning my back on them.

"She said she'll pay me to eat her out."

I ignored Ronnie.

"Better get her checked out. She's probably got herpes and shit."

I tried to ignore Jerry.

Ronnie gave me a nudge. It was a weird nudge. He nudged me by shoving
his crotch at my butt. I froze, "Hey, you wanna go down to the creek
with me and Jerr?"

"Fuck off." I repeated, repulsed at the suggestion. He sounded dead
serious.

Jerry quickly jumped on that one, "Come on, I know you put out."

I glared at him, "I don't put out."

"Come on, just the three of us."

I wanted to get away from Ronnie pressing himself against me, but that
meant stepping out of line or running into the bitch cheerleaders in
front of us. I gritted my teeth and waited. I tried to ignore him but my
mind kept wandering to Wade, and his hands, stroking me so mercilessly
in the car - not where I wanted my mind at that point in the night.

Ronnie decided to press his point, "We'll take real good care of you."

"You'll have to pay our way into the dance, though." Jerry sniggered.

"Yeah." Ronnie joined his friend, "And buy us dinner afterwards." His
hand was on my waist, exactly where Wade's had been when we were alone
in my house. It felt disturbingly familiar in that regard, and I had to
bite, hard, on my lip to keep from screaming, or worse, gasping.

"Look at her," Jerry remarked, peering closely at me, "She's totally
turned on."

"That what you want?" Ronnie asked, whispering in my ear, his breath hot
on my skin, "You want us to take you down to the creek and fuck your
brains out?"

I could feel his erection bulging against my backside, but I couldn't
deny that in spite of the fact that even thinking about sex with these
guys made me want to be sick, I was still as hot as I'd been when Wade
was running his hands over my naked body in the car. Ronnie's touch,
rather than repulsing me, reminded me of Wade, and how much I'd wanted
it to never stop.

"That's why she came here alone," Jerry remarked, "To get fucked."

"Leave me alone." I tried to sound stern, but my voice was weak, and
shaky.

"What have you got on under that costume, Ariel?" Jerry asked. Ronnie
moved his hand down, slipping it against the top of the wrap. I was
paralyzed, afraid to react for fear I'd go completely berserk.

"Stop it." But my voice was trembling. I heard myself pleading with
them.

"Why fight it?" Ronnie was really pushing hard against me now. I felt
like I was being raped, right there in line. "You know you're a slut.
You know you want a dick."

"I'm not a slut," I blubbered like a simpering little girl, tears
welling up in my eyes, even as I imagined Wade fondling my breasts, his
hot breath instead of Ronnie's, his hands probing down into my skirt
instead of Ronnie's.

"Ten bucks she ain't got any panties on." Jerry suggested, moving close
to me as if he could see by getting closer.

Crushed between the two boys I felt Ronnie's hand slip further into the
wrap. I felt, rather than heard him say, "I'll take that bet."

"How about it, slut." Jerry prodded.

"Of course I'm wearing underwear." I insisted, hoarsely, the struggle to
keep from panting out loud taking all my control.

"Split crotch, right. Or the edible kind?" the asshole pressed me.

"N- Normal. Normal under-" and I flared up, "It's none of your
business!" and I shoved him.

I couldn't believe, considering how small I was compared to him, how
hard I seemed to hit him. Jerry went tumbling in the grass, laughing out
loud. Ronnie broke off, also wracked with laughter, as well as all his
friends. "She's totally turned on!" one of them quipped as I stood their
trembling, humiliated, ashamed under the awful specter of their mocking
laughter.

As if they had gotten me this way. Part of me wanted to cry out that it
had nothing to do with them, that they were disgusting and Wade was
beautiful, but I couldn't give truth to the lie I told that I wasn't
hot, that I wasn't desperately horny, that I wasn't wearing a hot pink
G-string because it made me feel sexy and trashy.

I was an inch away from bolting, running off frantically to go bury my
head somewhere and let the tears flow, let all the shame and pain flow
off of me in a great, cathartic ruin when the door to the gym opened.

We were next up.


I had quickly daubed my eyes dry with the hem of my shirt, careful to
cover my chest with my arm and my purse lest anyone see that I was bare
underneath but for the wide-spaced mesh of the dress.

We were shuffled into the foyer, which was weird since they let us in by
the big double doors for lunch, but I hadn't been to a dance before.
Inside I saw a pair of nondescript seniors I didn't know personally, and
the two cheerleader bitches who had been so kind as to stare at me with
disgust while Jerry and Ronnie taunted me with their gruesome
suggestions of slipping off to the creek, and myself.

The guy at the door, another senior, let Bill and another JV guy squeak
in, but tried to stop the rest of their friends. They argued with him,
stating that they were all together, and as was I crammed into the tiny
room with the others I had the pitiful realization that I wasn't rid of
the junior football and child molestation league yet.

The room was about as big as my parents bedroom. Opposite the entrance
there was a frosted glass wall with a door in it leading too the gym. On
the left side of the room was another door in the brick wall, and on the
right was a ticket window, but it was dark and blocked off. The room was
oddly divided by a sort of hospital curtain with a small table and chair
on either side of it. It parted the room left and right, and we were
lined up as we entered so we could see both sides.

The guy who had let us in, Jefferson Walsh, class president told us to
wait for a minute, then left through the side door. There were another
pair of guys on the left side of the curtain being patted down by Mr.
Schaeffer, the black, stocky hall monitor who was universally liked and
loathed. He was immensely likable and very fair, but in spite of his
short stature he was very strong, adept, and confident. His presence
made me feel infinitely better almost immediately.

The music boomed loudly through the glass wall separating the dance from
the foyer, though the bare brick walls and tile floor of the room echoed
loudly enough that we could hear each other easily. I looked with
apprehension at the cheesy flashing lights and the vague dim shapes of
dancers beyond the glass.

Next to Mr. Schaeffer there was an overflowing box of alcohol, cans of
beer, cigarette packs, and other confiscated party supplies. Given the
size of the box the sudden dragnet was not all that surprising. He told
the senior boy at the front of my group to line up next to the two he
was frisking, and made the rest of us to wait in a line against the
wall.

Naturally the cheerleaders grabbed the only bench in the room, and I
found myself lined up aside the junior jock league. To hammer the
discomfort home, Jerry cut ahead of me, and I found myself once again
pressed between him and Ronnie.

"Look, just don't."

"Don't what, Ariel." Ronnie said, innocently slipping his arm around my
waist

"It's not funny anymore."

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry." Ronnie said, tugging me
in a way that might have been reassuring to an autistic baboon. I didn't
fail to notice how his fingers poked through the holes in the mesh,
caressing the bare skin underneath. I steeled myself against the
feelings coursing through me.

"Well that makes me feel a lot better." I growled at him.

"I'm just trying to say we didn't mean it." Ronnie said so looking
closely at me that when I turned to look at him his piggy nose rubbed
against mine. I couldn't believe that a man could be so repulsive as
this one, his bright, but menacing eyes, the unibrow, the broad, flat,
oily chin. Everything about him made me want to cringe. Here he was,
close enough to kiss me and I couldn't bring myself move.

"I meant it," Jerry insisted. I looked up at the big boy, leaning on the
wall and checking me out. As if he really was as disgusted with me as he
pretended to be.

"Whatever." I said, trying to push Ronnie's hand off, but he only slid
it further and further down digging his fingers under the top of my
wrap, "Move your hand."

"How come you won't just go with us?"

I tried to push him away, but Jerry used his shoulder to pin me to the
wall. The only thing that kept me from completely panicking was the
other people in the room. They'd never try anything too serious with Mr.
Schaeffer right there. I contemplated asking him for help, but really I
wasn't willing to deal with the repercussions of that. I'd squealed once
and gotten thrown in the pool in PE. I fought my own battles now.

Ronnie couldn't seem to navigate any further down, his fingers caught in
the mesh of the dress. In spite of his clumsy pawing I found myself once
again cringing as the close proximity of his hand to my butt invigorated
the tingling that had run so rampantly over my body with Wade. Jerry's
pressure on the other side of me and Ronnie's hot breath conspired to
engulf me in male heat, breath, the pressure of his manhood digging into
me. My cravings for Wade's manly embrace were being shamelessly
exploited by these two immature, butt-ugly, assholes (Okay, Jerry wasn't
ugly, but Ronnie was nasty). I was breathing shallow, but I couldn't
keep the faintest of squeaks from filtering through my lips as Jerry's
tricep rubbed across my rigid, flushed and sensitive nipple.

"Please."

Jerry couldn't let that go, "Shit, Ron, she's beggin for it."

I was getting dizzy and was having trouble breathing, "Get off me," I
whispered. Once again I struggled with them, to no avail. I had no will
to struggle and they were giants next to my strength. The boys could
have laid me down and slowly undressed me and I'd have let them. They'd
find me wet and aching for a touch and have no choice but to believe it
was them I wanted.

All it would have taken was one word. One cry and they'd stop for fear
of Mr. Schaeffer. I'd be safe, and they'd be forced to leave me alone.
But I was just as scared of all the attention I'd bring. I was scared
that I'd have to explain myself and the boys would never admit to their
behavior. I was the school freak. The girl who pierced her face, dyed
her hair bright orange and wore crazy clothes. They'd just reprimand me
and send me back into line.

Jerry was still looking at me with disgust, as if the sight of me so
excited made him ill, "Admit it, your achin' for it."

"I am not," I struggled again to dislodge Ronnie's hand, but he only
fought me with more unbearable pressure, pushing his hand further down
till his fingers were straining the fabric of the dress. I felt a
tentative index finger touching the cleft of my buttock and had to bite
my lip as spasms in the pit of my belly threatened to buckle me. In
spite of all my efforts I let out a high, extended squeak between my
teeth with every gasp of air I took, drawing looks from everyone in
line.

"I'll bet you anything," Jerry leaned down, his breath cascading over
the side of my face, "That you're wet as my balls after practice."

That startled me enough that I quickly jabbed Ronnie hard in the gut
with my elbow and his hand came free. I slipped out from underneath
Jerry and scampered a good yard away before Mr. Schaeffer snapped at me.
"Stop fooling around, we're moving as fast as we can."

Under the full brunt of Mr. Schaeffer's reprimand I skulked reluctantly
back to the wall. I tried to insert myself at the front of the line, but
Jerry kept scooting over until I finally sagged against the wall, hoping
it wouldn't be much longer before Mr. Schaeffer got around to searching
me so I could go in.

"Why won't you admit you want to fuck us?" Jerry whispered towered over
me. He got so close that my forehead grazed his sternum as I looked up
at him. He was so incredibly bulky that I couldn't see around him,
though he wasn't as big as the three seniors, nor Mr. Schaeffer. "How
many guys you fucked."

I glared at him, aware as I met his stare that Ronnie was once again
closing the gap between us, "None."

"Bullshit." He said too loud, then looked around the room and spoke to
me in a lower voice, "Your aching to be fucked, I can tell. So can
Ronnie."

I imagined Ronnie nodding behind me, and as if by some premonition I
shot a hand back and intercepted Ronnie's just before he grabbed my ass.

"Jerry, Ronnie," I said, looking Jerry in the eye. "I'm not a slut, I'm
a virgin. I'm not wearing edible underwear, split crotch, or anything
remotely kinky. I don't want to fuck you because I don't put out, and I
don't find you, or this slug," I squeezed Ronnie's fingertips hard,
"remotely attractive."

Jerry maintained his self-assured, smug grin, but I could tell by his
stammering silence and shifting eyes that I had seriously compromised
whatever strategy he'd had in mind to embarrass me, and he simply
couldn't think anything up in return.

Ronnie, however, was much cleverer than his friend, "Tell you what." He
pulled his hand free, and I turned, leaning my back against the wall and
looked at him. He leaned in close, but he didn't try to grab me again,
"I'll bet, anything you want, that you are wearing something naughty
under that dress, you are hot and bothered, that you're so wet Jerry and
I could fuck you without any foreplay, and you'd beg for more."

I was actually prepared for him to go on, but I simply couldn't respond
with an appropriate denial, since aside from the last two points, he was
absolutely spot on. I was, in fact wearing a hot pink satin G-string,
and I was desperately horny, no thanks to these two goons. "I told you,
I'm a virgin." was all I could think to say, crossing my arms.

He ignored it, probably recognizing the diversion for what it was, "If
I'm right, you have fuck us, any time we want for the rest of the school
year."

I glanced at him in disbelief and disgust, "Oh, what an appealing
offer."

He grinned, "If I'm wrong, we promise, all of us," he gestured to the
other football players who were watching their friend with interest as
he rose his voice, "that we'll never make fun of you again, we'll stick
up for you no matter what, and anyone fucks with you we'll waste'em on
the spot."

I could almost laugh at the absurdity of the bet. As if they'd be
capable of holding up the bargain, much less intended too. The only
thing that kept me silent for too long was that I might actually lose
the bet given the condition I was in.

I gave a mock `Hmmmm.' for a long second, then said, "Tempting, Ronnie,
really it is. But considering that I'd have to take off my dress, spread
my legs for you, and fuck you and the big asshole over here just to
prove that you're wrong, I think I'll pass."

He shrugged, "You only have to hike up that skirt, and I lose the bet."

I had a sneaking suspicion that Ronnie had felt a little more than the
cleft of my ass while he was digging around down there. Still, as if I'd
ever give him a peek.

"In your dreams."

"We'll all know in a minute." He grinned menacingly at me, and I saw the
determination in his eyes. I got really scared.

"No fucking way am I ever going to-" but I was cut off.

Mrs. Dee walked in. She was a short woman, not much taller than me, but
she has a very exotic quality in spite of her simple attire of jeans and
a black button-down long-sleeve shirt. She was the tannest woman I'd
ever met, and her jet black hair had these very neat strands of gray
white, which offset the tan. It didn't make her look old, but exotic.
She was in her late thirties, and had a lot of crow's feet and deep
laugh lines, though they were from frowning as much as laughing, as she
was as stern with students as a teacher got. As liked and admired as Mr.
Schaeffer was in spite of his role as disciplinarian, Miss Dee was
reviled as queen bitch of the universe by anyone unfortunate enough to
have had her science class, including myself. She was also strikingly
beautiful for a woman as old as she. She had a perfect bosom, and many
boys hovered over her desk to see her cleavage showing through the
buttons of her shirts, or followed her down the halls on days she wore
heels to watch her hips swing back and forth.

"Whattaya say?" Jerry grilled me, whispering, "Take the bet, or what?"

"I said no."

"Then admit you're a slut." Ronnie drove me.

"I'm not a slut."

"Admit it, or take the bet."

"I'm not going to admit anything." I whispered harshly at the ugly
troll.

"All right, so you take the bet."

"I didn't say that."

Jerry stuck up for his friend, "You said it."

"I didn't say anything."

"You took the bet."

I glared at Ronnie, "No-"

"A deal's a deal." He grinned at me, but before I could respond Mrs. Dee
was barking orders.

"Mr. Schaeffer, Mr. Christiansen had to go after Marsha again, can you
take over for him."

"You sure, you got a lot of boys here."

"I can handle them." She fixed the football players with a glare, and I
was delighted to see the lot of them cringe.

She pointed at the three seniors Mr. Schaeffer had just searched, "Just
wait there until Mr. Schaeffer comes back."

One of them protested, but she shut him up with a glance. They lined up
against the wall on their side of the curtain. She pointed to the three
girls on the bench. "Let's make this quick. Behind the screen."

Behind the screen didn't mean much because where we had lined up was in
full view of the stations behind both screens. The football players
crowded in, pushing me over, to get a better look behind the girl's
screen.

Mrs. Dee had the girls lean against the screen and sat at the table with
her back to us. "Okay." She said, "Names."

The three girls rattled off their names, which Mrs. Dee jotted down on a
notepad.

"Are any of you carrying alcohol, cigarettes, weapons?" The girls all
shook their heads.

Mrs. Dee still hadn't looked up, "Last chance to throw anything in the
box. You get detention but you get to go to the dance. Anyone lying goes
straight home and is disciplined by Mr. Christiansen.

None of the girls said anything.

"Are any of you wearing a thong?" My mouth fell open.

The girls all shook their heads, and I felt Ronnie nudging me hard in
the ribs.

"You are aware it's a mandatory two day suspension?" The girls all
nodded.

My heart sunk. Betwixt burning arousal and abject terror I found myself
trying with all my might to sink into the wall. I knew I had to get out
of there. If my parents found out I'd been to the dance, much less that
I'd worn a G-string to one I'd be grounded for months. I had to get out
of there, but, as if they'd anticipated me, I found Ronnie and Jerry's
arms, pinning me between them. I couldn't shriek, for fear of
punishment.

Mrs. Dee got up and efficiently frisked the girls, standing in line.

"Let go." I struggled with the boys.

"What's the matter, Ariel, got something to hide?" Jerry menaced me, but
they were far too strong of me and held me prone.

What kind of idiotic rule was a no thong policy? No wonder there was
controversy over the new dress code, the only way to enforce it was to
force girls to bare themselves. This was the most unfair thing I'd ever
heard of.

But before I could come to grips with that implication, I saw Mrs. Dee
sit back down. She called the first name she had taken down, "Lift your
skirt please."

The cheerleader was clearly perturbed by the presence of the boys, "Mrs.
Dee..."

The teacher snapped, "Please, we have a hundred students outside. Don't
give me any attitude."

The juniors around me suppressed giggles and snickers as the senior
cheerleader eyed them apprehensively, then hiked up her skirt.

Halfway up Mrs. Dee said, "Come around the front."

The girl swallowed, "I don't see why I should have to do this in front
of them." She pointed at the football players.

"Pucker up, Miss James," she said to the cheerleader, "It's nothing they
haven't seen before." She hadn't even looked up at the boys.

"Fine." The cheerleader said, and pulled the dark green gown up around
her waist.

Atop a very fine, slender set of legs that made mine look like
splintered twigs nonetheless were a very nice pair of solid red panties.

"Turn around." Mrs. Dee ordered.

She looked like she wanted to howl, but the girl did as she was told,
revealing a very nice, rounded ass, covered neatly by the panties. The
boys around me observed a respectful silence in homage to the moment.

Mrs. Dee repeated the same with the next cheerleader, who seemed less
concerned than her friend with flashing her baby blue gown up and
showing her ass, and then with the senior who was there with her
boyfriend. The girl was wearing pants, and Mrs. Dee made her unzip them
and push them down enough to show the underwear. The panties were fairly
narrow, but not quite a thong: a few inches wide. Mrs. Dee was not
content with this.

"Push them all the way down."

The girl turned to Mrs. Dee, "What all the way?"

Mrs. Dee sighed, "Just past your butt, Lisa."

Lisa fretted a moment, watching all the boys, then did as she was told.
My heart almost leapt out for her as the panties came sliding down. I
felt the tension of the men around me as they caught a glimpse of bare
ass before Lisa caught it and hiked them back up. Mrs. Dee was as
sensitive as ever.

"Place your hand in the center."

"Why?"

"Didn't you read the flyer we handed out at the beginning of the year?"

"Of course, but," Mrs. Dee cut her off.

"Then you should know that the minimum limit is a handspan. Now show
me."

The girl placed a hand on her butt as the boys around me held their
breath (seen it before my ass). Her underwear was within the legal
limit.

A minute later the girl joined the other seniors on the bench, the three
girls looking seriously pissed. Mrs. Dee got up and saw the six of them,
"I'm sorry."

She went to the glass door that led into the dance, and with her key
unlocked it, ushering them into the dance before slamming it shut on its
auto-lock. I made one last frantic attempt to escape, but I was pinned
by strong hands, which easily spanned the circumference of my arms. As
Mrs. Dee passed the curtain back to her table she said, "Who's next?"

She had seen all eight of us, but didn't even bother to regard the fact
that I was one girl with seven guys.

The choice was made for me, as Jerry and Ronnie thrust me forward, and I
stumbled up to the table next to Mrs. Dee.

She fixes me with a glare, "Is there a problem?"

I shook my head.

Mrs. Dee hated my guts. I just knew it. I was taking her science class,
and was a source of constant disruption as the more popular boys made
fun of me, setting up pranks, like putting porn printouts in my
textbooks, or throwing things at me from the back of class. Like most
teachers, Mrs. Dee preferred to blame the victim, rather than the
victimizer.

I leaned up against the wall, my heart pounding frantically, my
breathing shallow, the pit of my stomach in knots, but in spite of the
terror I felt at the impending humiliation I was facing, I was aghast to
realize that the sensation was almost exactly like I had felt in the
car, like I had felt in line, like I had felt with Ronnie's hand in my
skirt. The only difference was that instead of euphoria I felt crushing
fear. Either my arousal from the experience with Wade had completely
consumed me, or fear and passion were mirror images, two sides of the
same coin, with the same consequences, leaving me in a vulnerable,
susceptible state where my mind didn't want to work.

Mrs. Dee was glowering at me, "Hello Ariel." She jotted my name down.

"Are you carrying alcohol, cigarettes, weapons?" I shook my head.

Mrs. Dee didn't look up from her paper, "This is your last chance to
throw anything in the box. You get detention but you get to go in." she
looked up at me, "You lie, you go straight home and are disciplined by
Mr. Christiansen."

I just shook my head.

"Are you wearing a thong?"

Automatically I shook my head.

"In front of the desk." She ordered.

I scooted in front of the desk, but I pleaded, "I can't."

She just looked at me, "Lift your skirt please."

"Please," I begged, "not in front of the boys."

"I don't have time for this Ariel, lift up your skirt."

Behind her the football players were jockeying with each other to get
the best view.

"Don't you have to search me?"

"Ariel! Cut the attitude and do what you're told!"

She barked at me while Jerry and Ronnie sniggered.

"Okay, I-I am wearing a thong." I reasoned that admitting it now would
be better than having to pull up my skirt and let the boys see me, than
to do it and get punished anyway.

"Just show me."

"But..." I stammered, "I said-"

"I heard what you said, girl, I need to see it."

"No, I-"

Mrs. Dee stood up, slamming her notepad on the table, "Look, I'll come
over there and do it if I have to, but I have a hundred people outside I
need to search, and you are holding everyone up!"

I felt tears welling up in my eyes as I hunkered down to pull the skirt
up. I didn't know how I was going to do it. The combination of the pink
material and the ruffled skirt bunched and gathered and conspired to
wind up tight with the narrow hem of the dress. It was all I could do to
get it to mid-thigh before it just wouldn't budge.

Mrs. Dee lost her patience, "This is ridiculous, come here."

My legs even more constricted than before I hobbled over to her side of
the desk.

"Face the wall." I turned to obey, trying not to face the wall of
leering faces a few feet from me.

Her strong, coarse hands grabbed the wadded cloth and hiked up, but she
had little more success than I had. I found myself breathing deep sighs
of relief. I was going to be spared after all.

"What the Hell is this contraption you've got on, Ariel?"

I turned to her, wiping the tears from my face with my arm, "Just
something I put together." I couldn't help but smiling in relief.

"Are you trying to hide something from me?"

I shook my head.

"I'll find it if you are. Don't think I'll let you get by without
finding it!"

I shook my head harder.

"Get in front of the desk."

I did as she asked, worried once again.

"How did you get that thing on, Ariel?"

"I-I have to step into it, Mrs. Dee."

The teacher scowled, "You could have told me that and saved us a lot of
time."

"I... I'm sorry."

"Yes, you will be. Just take the thing off."

Something inside me seemed to explode. Violent, wracking surges of fire
and heat seemed to rise up from my nether region; my skin seemed to
tingle with living fire. Suddenly all I could smell was Wade, his hands
seemed to crawl all over me. I knew I was going crazy, but just standing
still had become a titanic struggle.

"No." I whispered, the effort taking all my strength as I felt my thighs
vibrations rapidly, the steady pulse of my blood thumping hard in my
groin as if I were grinding it while Wade ran his gentle fingers over my
rigid, throbbing, nipples. "I can't."

Mrs. Dee sat down, "You'll do it, or I'll suspend you for a month.
You'll have to repeat sophomore year if you miss your mid-terms." ...and
my parents would kill me outright, she ought to have added. I was
destitute, gone, and every smiling leering face beyond Mrs. Dee saw it.
I saw triumph on Jerry and Ronnie's vicious, heartless faces. Another of
the boys was visibly stroking himself through his pants, a vulgar
display that no one but myself seemed to notice. They were all there,
watching, waiting, grinning. Even Bill looked on, his face a knot of
anger which burned into me, but not as bad as the lascivious glares,
hungry for my total humiliation.

Feeling as if I were floating on red-hot ice I found myself pulling my
arms inside the shirt, like I'd do if I were to take off my bra in
company. A sob of pain and humiliation wracked me for a moment as I
pushed the dress down past my chest, but the sensation of the elastic
hemline scraping over my nipples was electrifying, and that sob was half
pleasure, half pain to my surprise. I couldn't be enjoying this, I
thought. But no matter how much the arousal churning deep inside me
conspired to excite me, nothing could mask the horror of the reality I
was trapped in.

As if I was feeling someone else, I felt my hands pull themselves out of
the sleeves and tugging hard on the shirt lest I flash my chest I re-set
my arms through the holes, though that afforded me little modesty. She
shirt-holes were cut so low that any sidelong glance would reveal my
flushed bosom and bursting pink nipples, as if they couldn't already see
them erect through the thin material.

Mrs. Dee said something, hurrying me on, but it hardly registered, so
lost was I in a haze of shame, humiliation, and terrified arousal. The
only thing clear to me were the boys, and they were like crystal. Every
nod, every grin, every silent high-five, shot straight past my eyes into
my brain, planting it over every memory of Wade until Ronnie and his
friends were the ones pawing at me, running succulent fingers over my
shoulders, Jerry's mauling fists tracing circles on my breasts, even my
hands vanished, and I found Ronnie plumbing the depths of my groin as
the dress was pushed past my hips by stubby fingers pleasuring me as his
very real eyes bore into me, his conquest at the height of my
degradation fully revealed. The only thing that stood between me and
utter exposure was a scanty triangle of shiny pink fabric, engorged with
my untrimmed pubic bush and a piece of string, less than a pencil thick
that ran over my hips, and down the cleft, into the meager patch that
nestled my sex, undoubtedly drenched with the gushing, flowing arousal
that still consumed me.

The shock of the cool air struck me like a hammer, and I wavered in
place, but somehow remained standing, the fire in my belly fighting back
with hard knives stabbing through me.

"Turn around, Ariel."

I did, numbly acknowledging to myself that I no longer had to face the
boys, triumphant in the accuracy of their predictions. I was a slut who
wore trashy underwear, incredibly hot and bothered, only a hair's
breadth away from surrendering utterly to anyone who might get the
inclination to make certain.

I could only hope as Mrs. Dee and the boys scrutinized the single pink
string wandering down my ass that my bony hips, my minuscule ass, my
knobby knees and elbows, and the ribs which jutted out of my slender,
petite frame would put off any would be suitors for my virginity.

Mrs. Dee barked and I turned around again, (my body seemed to be at Mrs.
Dee's command) I knew that I was wrong. While some of the boys openly
mocked my bony frame with silent laughter, Ronnie seemed to have no
compunction about gleefully staring me down, in all my bare-skinned
glory, and the boy stroking himself had a partner in crime at the other
end of the line.

Smaller than any bathing suit I'd worn, maybe more than Wade had seen
below the waist, less fabric than would go into an ankle sock protected
my modesty from these boys. I may as well have had nothing on. Perhaps
that I could have defended.

All the while my body pulsed with arousal, and I wondered absently in
the recesses of my mind what I must look like, flushed, breathing hard,
my voice squeaking, sweat beading up on me in spite of the cold so I
glistened like a bodybuilder. My scent filled the air. I couldn't help
but imagine that the room full of men must be aware of how aroused I
was.

I hardly heard Mrs. Dee's next question, and she had to repeat it, "I
said, are you not wearing a bra?"

I just shook my head.

Turn around and take off your shirt.

I did as she asked without question, glad that my chest would be
protected by my back, but so far gone I hardly cared.

A bright flash, then another, and another. She was taking pictures.

"Cover your chest and face me."

I had dropped my shirt, so I only had my hands to cover myself with.
Less than a year ago I'd have been able to hide my breasts completely.
Now my hands only served to hide the nipples and squish the blossoming
mounds around my fingers while I gulped down a groan of pleasure. I
tried to pinch my nipples, since I hate that, but it barely distracted
me from the need to knead and caress my flushed bosom.

I faced her, and blinked several times as she took more photos.

"Profile." And three more photos came spooling out of her old, outdated
Instamatic.

She said something about showing them to my parents. I didn't care at
that point, as the boys had already seen everything, and that was just
about the worst thing I could imagine. That and the flashing, pulsing
visions of them, en masse, running their hands over my body, driving me
to the ultimate orgasm, a crescendo of ecstasy taking me far, far away
where nothing existed but open space; me, and my defeat, my utter and
complete shame.

I knew I'd have to kill myself the second I got home. I wondered how
those pictures would look to my parents then?

"Put your shirt on."

Still on autopilot, I turned around, wondering if the view was better
for the boys as I bent over to retrieve it. Some of them no doubt got a
glimpse of my boobs jiggling as I stooped over, and pulled the shirt on.
The rest were probably watching the piece of string divide my sex as I
bent for them. Like it or not there was nothing left for me to hide, so
I turned around and waited for the next order.

Mrs. Dee was busy scribbling down information on what was obviously the
school's notorious green slip, the information slip you were to hand to
the Vice Principal so he could recommend punishment.

"Mrs. Dee!" the door to the dance suddenly burst open and Jefferson ran
in shouting from the far side of the screen, "We've got a fight! I need
your help!"

"God damn it!" The cranky woman harped, storming around to the other
side of the screen, "I'm the only one here!"

"I can't stop them myself."

Mrs. Dee whirled on the boys behind her. She seemed to have forgotten
all about me. "Just wait. I'll be back."

And she and Jefferson were gone.

The guys didn't wait, and Bill sprinted forward.

The screen didn't go all the way back to the glass wall, and I saw him
from my position grabbing the door in the nick of time. He was fast.
Damn fast as he crossed the fifteen feet in about a second, jamming his
foot in the door before the heavy thing slammed shut.

The eight of us in the room saw our opportunity.

I lunged for the table, tearing the top attendance page from the book
and grabbing my green slip. My reverie of humiliation and suicidal
thoughts had turned to a panicked dash for survival. I grabbed up my
dress in a wad, but two of the boys I still didn't know had skidded up
to me and I screamed, backing up frantically until I was slammed against
the back wall.

One of them dove into the box, producing a bottle of schnapps and a
couple mini liquor bottles. The other one heard my scream and looked at
me, disdain on my face, "Like I'd touch your skinny little ass."

The pair of them burst into laughter. I heard sounds of more chaos on
the other side of the wall as the much fuller box was rummaged through.

"Come on!" I heard Bill shouting at his friends.

Jerry was standing behind the two guys at the girl's table, "I've seen
seventh graders that looked more like a woman than you." He was looking
at me with disdain, gloating in his triumph that he'd been right about
me.

I shook my head, fighting more tears as the frantic moments shredded my
trance. The boys were no longer pawing at me in my mind, but a very real
cacophony as they scrambled for party artifacts. I was just a half-naked
freak to be stared at on the way. I turned my back to them. I didn't
care that they could see my bare ass. I was afraid to look, waiting for
them to be done so I could flee, feeling every one of them as they
scrutinized the minuscule pink strap that did nothing to hide my butt
from their scrutiny.

"Hey, punk chick!"

I looked through the gap in the screen, resenting the stupid nicknames
people came up for me when didn't know my name (the sensation was an
actual relief from the crushing shame and humiliation overwhelming me
with a wish for death). Bill was calling to me from the door.

He certainly didn't seem to have any compunction about checking me out,
and I shifted position and pulled the cluster of my dress to cover me,
not wanting to let his crude eyes pore over the ample skin I had
revealed to him and all his friends.

He was persistent, "You want out or not?"

But Ronnie was right there, his stubby fingers on my arm, "Come on." He
tugged me. "Get out of here or you're fucked." I resisted him, scared of
him, knowing he wasn't to be trusted. I was only just capable of
accepting the fact that this was about the only salvation I had coming
to me. If Mrs. Dee came back and I was here alone...

I turned, breaking free from his grasp, "The pictures!"

I scrambled for the table, but it was bare but for the notepad I'd
mutilated. I looked around and saw Ronnie brandishing a cluster of
photos, "Looking for these." He held them up. The girl on top wasn't me,
but some anonymous girl with her back turned wearing thong underwear.

Ronnie quickly shoved them into a pocket under his jersey.

I stared at him. Most of the other jocks were gone, "Come on." He said.

I knew I didn't have any choice, and he held the partition open so I
could slip past him. The doors were locked on both sides. Reluctantly I
went to them, and as was to be expected I felt Ronnie's scummy fingers
cradle my bare butt, a firm, abrupt gesture that made me gasp.

Somehow, in spite of the horror, (or maybe because of it) I was still as
aroused as ever, and the little shit seemed like he knew it, taking
advantage of my humiliation as the pulse in my thighs thundered through
me. I gasped for air, "Oh my god." I cried as if I were in the throes of
passionate sex as the worm dug his fingers into my skin, "Ronnie,
please." I clutched the dress to my chest as he cradled and scooped my
buttock with his hand, running his fingers through the cleft, along the
line of the string while I leaned against him, squeaking in pleasure,
gasping in horror, "Don't!" I cried, "Oh god."

He was grinning madly, "I'm not stopping you, Ariel."

My eyes popped open. When had I shut them? I looked ahead. Bill was
watching me with interest, holding the door ajar. Ronnie indeed wasn't
stopping me. He was, in fact, behind me, his only contact with my bare
butt. I had stopped myself, as if magnetically attached to Ronnie's
prowling fingertips.

I didn't realize it until Ronnie put his hand on my back and started
walking me over, but I still had made no move to dislodge myself from
the squat troglodyte. I looked at Bill as I came up to the door. His
expression was very different than when he'd been playing good cop. He
was looking at me with a mixture of fascination, and yes, revulsion. As
if my behavior was so utterly wanton that he was shocked to find out
that he and his buddies had been right about me. A total slut who was
trying compensate for being unpopular, ugly, and gangly with my bitchy
punk chick act. I wanted to explain the truth. I wanted him to know it
was all a lie, but the way I'd behaved with Wade told me that it wasn't
necessarily the case. I certainly was a virgin, but I sure as Hell wore
things like exotic underwear, and there was no way I could deny the
frantic hormones that were driving me to accept Ronnie's molestations
and translate them into injections of passionate arousal, flooding my
veins with the very same venom Wade had stunned me with.

Bill pulled the door open. "Go!" he said. There was actually sympathy in
his eyes.

I took a step, and was about to slide past Bill when Ronnie grabbed my
arm, sliding up to me and pressing me against the cold steel frame of
the door. I could see dancers swinging and moving a few yards past, feel
the dashes of flashing light from the party lights and the disco ball. I
was sticking through the door half naked right now, and not six feet
from me a cluster of boys with their backs to us watched the dancers. A
simple glance askance and they'd see me, a naked girl but for half a
shirt and a G-string, only a wad of cloth bunched up in front of her
belly.

Ronnie wouldn't let me through, though, "Remember, you lost the bet."

I stared at the boy in horror. "I never took your bet."

He hooked a finger under the strap of my G-string, "You said you weren't
wearing a thong."

I shook my head, that wasn't strictly true, "No I didn't." I looked to
Bill, appealing for help. He was just watching me, glancing to the front
door to the foyer and back nervously, but he wasn't going to help. "I
said..."

"Normal." Ronnie reminded me, running his finger around back to the
T-junction of the G-string, shivers quaking me as they ran up my spine.
"This qualify as normal to you, Bill?"

Bill glanced down, as if he hadn't seen them already. "Nuh-uh." He said
decisively.

"You lost the bet," Ronnie said, giving the little string a gentle tug.

I cried out, panting sharply as the string grazed my anus, pinched the
fabric and drove the little triangle in front against my clit. I just
couldn't hide it any more. I was overcome by the sheer volume of the
sensations I'd been riding since I found myself on the front lawn with
Wade. "I don't want you." I cried, but as if I were lying I was panting
with orgasmic frenzy, gasping, barely able to stand as the pleasure
overwhelmed me as I clutched the rigid doorframe, grinding my body hard
against it.

Suddenly it didn't matter that Ronnie was a troll, and Bill, though not
ugly, was a jock. Suddenly it didn't matter that I was a virgin. I was
hungry for more, and if that meant losing my virginity so the sensation
wouldn't stop, so be it. I just needed him to keep riding me, to keep me
on the edge of arousal until I exploded, but I couldn't possibly
articulate that. I wouldn't tell them that. They'd have to figure it out
for themselves if they hadn't already.

"Just admit you lost the bet."

I shook my head some more, "Unh-uh." But it came out like a moan of
pleasure as Ronnie gave another sharp tug, splitting my sex and wedging
the swatch of pink up against my most sensitive organs. I was peaking
and I knew it. A few more seconds and I'd cum like Christ had returned
and I'd be so gone these boys would be able to do anything with me, if I
wasn't already there.

Ronnie's other hand found a bare spot on my belly, and shoved it behind
the wad of cloth bundled in my arms, his hand snaking up, trying to pry
under the vice I held on my chest. It was like dying in the desert and
fighting a man trying to give you water. I could already feel his
manhood forcing me apart, ripping my cherry to bloody shreds as I cried
out, "God, make him stop."

Bill shouted at me, "Just fucking admit it so we can go, Ariel!"

"You want us to leave you in here?"

"No!" I cried, afraid of both being abandoned to the teachers and losing
the overwhelming pleasure the mixture of terrorized humiliation and
sexual ecstasy was having on me.

"Then admit you took the bet."

"Fine, just please let me go!" but I knew that was the last thing I
wanted. I wanted him to clutch me there forever, or at least until I
came, which was a few seconds away, I was sure.

"And you lost it." I nodded, trapped, knowing no matter what happened, I
was lost.

"Say it." Ronnie implored me, his hot steamy breath smoldering around my
neck, the very tendrils of his vapor rising and cradling me to give a
kind of pleasure I'd never imagined.

"I lost the bet." I cried, and I really was crying, my heart and soul
were broken, shattered, even as my body was set to explode with
pleasure. "I took the bet, and I lost it."

Ronnie made to open the door, but Bill blocked him this time. We both
looked at the boy, who couldn't seem to peel his eyes off of me. I could
feel the waves of heat, passion, anger. They pummeled me with their
energy, like a force, embracing me and crushing me underfoot. I
recognized the source. He had tried to play me with honey, and I'd
mocked and humiliated him. His ugly, antisocial friend had played me
with fire, and I'd broken down, crumbled to his whims, his schemes, and
was riding the edge of the knife Ronnie had shoved between my legs with
gusto, even as I begged him to stop.

Bill went on, "She only lost the first part."

Ronnie didn't seem to pleased with Bill's interpretation, "Come on man,
this is the sluttiest thing I've ever seen." He tugged the string again,
and I almost collapsed, "Why'd she wear this if she didn't want to be
fucked?"

Bill looked like he couldn't draw his eyes away from the patch of cloth
on my bush. He was fascinated, as obsessed with my behavior as I was
with Ronnie's prowling hands. I realized in that instant that he had
crept up higher, had his fingers on my right boob, and that he was
tugging the G-string in a steady rhythm. Masturbating me.

Bill saw that too, "You said she'd be wet."

Ronnie was incredulous, "You don't think she's wet?" The bastard had
slid his hand lower. In between my cheeks his fingers sunk, parting my
lips, sliding against my open sex, gliding against my melted purity and
innocence. I felt my legs parting for him, and tried again to pull away.

He grappled me, not moving his hands but grabbing me roughly, "Tell
him." He turned me to face his friend, his fingers driving into me.

I cried out, still panting and moaning, my body a sheen of dripping
sweat. I met the force of Ronnie's hand with my own pressure. My shame
overwhelming me, but not enough, "I can't help it, Bill. I can't. It's
not my fault." It might have been true.

But Bill just looked at me with disgust. Why he was trying to help me in
the first place I don't know, but he seemed to discard any pity he might
have had in that instant. "Fuck it. Let's go find out."

And finally, they dragged me through the door.

End of Ch 2

-- 
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