/storytiem/ - Onyxdime's Storytiem

Today is the day! Most of you is afraid, but a piece, a significant one, is ecstatic. This is the first time you’ll have the chance to attend an honest to goodness public high school! Your hands tremble as you raise outfit after outfit to your chest. The floor around you is already covered in most of your wardrobe, but the bed has too prime contenders.

Your first choice is more to your traditional tastes. The ankle length grey dress is what you wore when you used to volunteer at the soup kitchens back home. It covers most of your body and leaves much to the imagination. Wearing it makes you dream of bygone days, when men were men and women were kitchen appliances. (+5 chastity, -5 popularity)

You sigh with nostalgia.

But perhaps your traditional garb is not what you want to wear. After all, this is your chance to remake yourself!

The second dress is a sunny yellow. It goes down past your knees, and most would consider it modest, but to you it’s downright racy. Your heart beats a little faster as you try it on. (+5 popularity, +5 lust, -2 chastity)

Lust: 5—You’re a bit excited, but that’s just the nerves talking.

Chastity: 95—You like Jesus. Jesus is good. Praaaaaise God.

Popularity: 0—Who the shit are you?

>>24006

Straw poll because I'm new at this:

http://strawpoll.me/4518052

>>24007

Sun dress wins!

You throw on the sun dress and do a quick twirl in front of your mirror. The edge flares with your twist, but its modest length hides your pristine, white panties, and its bright yellow color brings light to your skin. You smile, for today is a new day.

You grab your bag and catch the bus to school.

Hundreds of bodies pace the halls, so many you lose count. You feel dizzy as you pass girls with done up hair and faces caked in make-up; their manner of dress and speech is positively unchristian. You always knew the world outside the seminary was filled with heathens, but you had no idea it was so risqué, so thrilling.

You pass a boy with slicked hair, a tight shirt, and a leather jacket. (+3 lust)

Eventually you come to your class. Just as the bell rings you duck inside. The teacher, Mr. Sprinkles, follows a few minutes later. He wears a tweed jacket with leather elbow pads. Between his teeth he clutches an unlit tobacco pipe.

“We have a new student today, class,” he says, slamming a tall pile of classic literature on his desk. “A miss…” he runs his finger down a list of names, “Bockman. Churchey Bockman. Why don’t you come up and introduce yourself.”

You walk to the front of the class.

Lust: 13— You can hear your heart beat in your ears.

Chastity: 93—The only people you hate more than sinners are the Jews.

Popularity: 5—Cute girl in a sun dress.

>>24012

Roll spaghetti check.

Spaghetti difficulty: 10

Lust modifier: 13

Spaghetti check: 23

>>24010

Neither can I! Honestly, I work one project at a time, but I've never done a cyoa or erotica before, so I have no idea where this will lead. As it stands right now, there are definite endings, good and bad, and if Chelsea ever reaches those points then the story is over.

As for update schedule I've no idea. I'll most likely be present for a few updates every day. If not every day, then every other day.

I'm very consistent, and I usually finish the shit I start.

>>24014

You a sexy bitch. That's a win.

You walk with confidence to the front of the class and lean against the white board. “Beckman. My name is Chelsea Beckman,” you say, fixing Mr. Sprinkles with a hard stare. (+3 popularity) “And I hail from Purity, South Carolina.” You smile at the class. “Down in the south we do a little o’ everythin’. Cotton pickin’, smilin’, and we’re always friendly. Just come on up and say hi. I don’t bite.” (+5 popularity)

With a bit of a skip your return to your desk. The class applauds… for some reason. That was easier than you thought it would be. Now that it’s over, you feel weight lifting from your heart. (-3 lust).

Mr. Sprinkles clears his throat and begins a reading of Pride and Prejudice. The class’ eyes glaze over.

Eventually the bell rings and you gather your things. Gym is next, you were always good at sports. But the school’s layout is unfamiliar, and you get lost.

Your shoes create a plastic clack that echoes down the abandoned halls. You can’t be late on your first day! You round a corner as your hasty walk turns into a jog.

A sound from the women’s room tugs on your ear. It’s something you’ve never heard before. You pause for a moment in front of the women’s restroom.

Do you investigate and risk being late?

Lust: 10— You’re a bit nervous.

Chastity: 93—Black people are just one of God’s many mistakes.

Popularity: 13—Confident girl in a sun dress.

http://strawpoll.me/4518533

>>24018

The ayes have it. Barely.

Something about that sound pulls you towards the restroom. You draw close and slowly push the door open.

A muscular man leans against a stall with his eyes closed. At his waist a woman in a short skirt rests on her knees. Her blond hair bobs rhythmically along the man’s shaft, which she clutches in delicate hands with long, pink nails. Her other hand slips between her legs. (+15 lust) (-5 chastity)

From deep within her throat she moans. It’s guttural, and load, and it increases in tempo and volume as the hand between her legs moves faster and faster. Her lips sound wet as she thrusts the shaft far into her throat.

This is a sin, and you need to turn away before they notice you, but your legs won’t respond.

Lust: 25— You’re distracted

Chastity: 88—A good church going girl like you shouldn’t be watching this.

Popularity: 13—Confident girl in a sun dress.

Willpower check! If you pass this you'll gain most of your chastity back.

Willpower difficulty: 25

Lust Modifier: 25

Willpower check at 50

>>24022

That's a fail.

You’re rooted in place. You know you shouldn’t be watching this, but something about her, about the intense way she focuses on the dick, stops you from fleeing. It’s almost like she is in prayer. (-3 chastity) (+5 lust)

You have gained the HORNY trait. All lust gains are now doubled. You can lose this trait by dropping your lust below 30.

Your hands unconsciously slide along your sundress towards the wetness growing between your legs.

The man groans. “Fuck yeah, slut. Just like that.” He places his hand on the back of her head and pulls her close.

She gags.

He opens his eyes and sees you. With a start, he pushes her off and fumbles for his pants. She falls to the ground and curls into a fetal position, still thrusting, now with both hands, between her legs. Her moans become screams.

“Who the fuck are you,” the jock says, walking towards you.

You fumble for the door, but he lunges for your wrist.

Lust: 30—you’re wet.

Chastity: 85—A good church going girl like you shouldn’t be watching this.

Popularity: 13—A curious girl in a sun dress.

Traits:

Horny: Lust gains doubled until Chelsea falls below 30 lust.

I need 3 agility tests at 20 difficulty + Lust. You only need to succeed at one, but for each one you fail you will gain 5 (x2 for horny) lust making the next more difficult. 50 for the first, 60 for the second, 70 for the third.

>>24025

Kay, now agility test at 60

>>24025

>>24027

One more at 70

You try to twist away, but the jock grabs firm your wrist and slams you against the wall. He presses himself against you and bites your neck. (+10 lust) You try and fail to suppress a moan.

“Oh you like this, huh?” he whispers into your ear. His breath feels hot on your skin. You try to pull away again, but his hands hold firm. He pins both your wrist above your head with one hand, and trails his other south. Eventually, he reaches your breast and stretches your sundress’s neckline, freeing it. You hear the fabric stretch. He takes the nipple in his mouth and bites, lightly, and you shriek in pleasure. (+10 lust)

You don’t want to escape. You push your waist against his, grinding your groin into the bulge of his unbuckled pants. Your resistance is token now, at best.

His hand traces even lower as it lifts your skirt and slips into your underwear. Then, he penetrates you, and you feel for the first time ever another’s touch inside your body. You like it. You need it. You want more. (+10 lust)

You have gained the lascivious trait. Lust gains are tripled until you fall below 60 lust.

His fingers move like a blur, and you feel yourself building to something. And, in a flash, it reaches a climax, and you shriek as your entire body convulses around his hand. (-50 lust) (-10 chastity) (You’ve lost the horny and the lascivious trait.)

He lets you go, and you fall to the floor, panting.

“Come on, Stacy. I don’t think she’ll tell on us now,” the jock says, helping the blonde woman to her feet. You have trouble focusing your eyes as the pair leaves through the bathroom door.

Lust: 10—you’re sweaty

Chastity: 75—That didn't make you a bad Christian, right?

Popularity: 13—A curious girl in a sun dress.

And we're back!

The end of period bell finds you lying on the linoleum floor in a puddle of your own juices. You’ve missed your gym class, and, most likely, the next one too. You examine your reflection in the mirror.

A fresh fucked teenager peers back at you. Your hair is a sweaty and a tangled mess, and your sundress, so modest and bright, is stained with fluid and stretched beyond modesty. A rosy nipple peeks from over your neckline.

Luckily, you’re the kind of girl that carries a sowing kit everywhere she goes. A bit of work leaves the sundress, if not new, then at least tolerable. A quick washing in the bathroom sink cleans most of the fluid and dirt. By the end of third period you look almost normal again.

But the memory of his fingers deep within your body stays with you. (+1 Lust)

Lust: 11—Your knees feel weak.

Chastity: 75—You haven't heard his voice in quite some time

Popularity: 13—A curious girl in a sun dress.

The rest of the school day passes without incident. After the events in the bathroom, you try very hard to remain inconspicuous. (-1 popularity), even going so far as to decline introducing yourself at the start of each class. You still manage a smile and a wave, but even those feel forced.

At the end of the day you begin your long walk home. Out through the chain link fence lining the football field, and away from the screaming and shoving crowds; you look forward to a night of quiet introspection and prayer. Maybe He’ll answer this time. Today would be a good day for Him to answer.

You hear laughter from a convenience store parking lot as you round a corner. Stacy, wearing her modified ‘Cheerleader’ uniform, stands in the center of a small group of similarly dressed girls. She appears to be telling a story

.

“—And then she screams! I’ve never seen a girl cum so hard in my life.” The story is about you. (+5 popularity) “But then, Chad always did have the best fingers.” She grins and the group laughs. “Oh, there she is now. Chelsea! Chelsea, over here!”

Stacy waves and you reluctantly join the group. “So what was it like?” Stacy asks. “Is Chad not the greatest?”

“I, uh—“ you mutter into your books.

“Oh don’t be rude. Can’t you see she’s shy?” a girl with a pierced nose says, laughing and rubbing you in a sisterly fashion on the back. The pierced girl reaches into her purse and hands you a cigarette before offering one to the rest of the group. (Chastity check failed)

http://strawpoll.me/4526552

(Popularity check passed) “Are you going to try out for cheerleading, Chelsea?” Stacy asks you.

http://strawpoll.me/4526559

Lust: 11—Your knees feel weak.

Chastity: 75—You haven't heard his voice in quite some time

Popularity: 17—The screamer from the bathroom.

You palm the cigarette and slide it into your pocket (+1 chastity). The girl with the piercings, Gabby, looks at you strangely, but says nothing. (-3 Popularity)

“Yeah,” you say, with forced cheer. “I’ll definitely be there.” (+5 popularity)

They smile at this and turn back to their conversation. You wait long enough so that your exit doesn’t seem rude before making your farewells and continuing home. That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

'The girls back home would’ve crucified me for what happened in the bathroom, but these girls just seemed to take it as another thing,' you think.

An empty house greets your return. You slip a T.V. dinner into the oven and collapse on the living room couch.

'Maybe I really can be somebody different.'

How do you spend your evening?

A: “Exploring” your body. (-30 lust) (-5 chastity)

B: Facebook (+5 Popularity)

C: Prayer (+5 Chastity)

Lust: 11— Today was fun.

Chastity: 76—You'd never admit to anyone you're questioning your faith, least of all to yourself.

Popularity: 19—Churchey Bockman, the screamer from the bathroom.

>>24096

>>24089

>>24088

>>24087

>>24083

>>24082

>>24079

C is the winner with seven votes. Looks like we're spending the evening on our knees (heh) in service to the lord.

The next part will happen after I get some coffee in me.

You fall to your knees in the little chapel you’ve built in your closet. Shutting your eyes, you whisper and plead with the Lord for guidance. The sun treks across the sky, and the shadows on your bedroom floor grow long, but even as night falls and the candles on your makeshift altar burn low, you still beg for forgiveness. (+2 Chastity)

Surprisingly, he answers. You hear faint voices in the back of your mind. They whisper and promise both wonderful and terrible things, and, at their behest, you grab the flagellant hanging on hooks above your altar and bring it down across your back. You bite your lip at the pain, (+3 Lust) but you don’t stop. Again, and again, and again, until your shift is stained with blood and your muscles ache.

When at last you’re done, you replace the flagellant on the hooks and rub your wounds with ointment so they won’t scar. You feel clean, pure, as if all the terrible things you did in the bathroom have been washed away. (+3 Chastity)

But the whispers don’t go away.

(You have gained the SCHIZOPHRENIC trait. For the next 24 hours all chastity gains and losses are doubled, and, on occasion, you’ll need to make willpower checks to refrain from killing your classmates.)

It’s their voices, the voice of God and his angels, that lull you to sleep.

Lust: 14— Yo, yo, I’m Chelsea Beckman and I’m here to say,

Chastity: 81— I just love Jesus everyday

Popularity: 19—Word to your mother

The next morning finds you staring with hatred at your wardrobe. It’s disturbingly bare. For some reason you find your pilgrim wear distasteful.

*A cheerleader wouldn’t be caught dead in that,* you think.

But your sundress is filthy, and stretched besides. With a hint of reluctance, you grab your old catholic school girl uniform. You’ll need to visit the mall and pick up some new clothes soon; it’s not a good idea to get a reputation as the Catholic School Girl.

It’d suck if someone were to fetishize you.

Nobody waves or talks to you as you grab your books from your locker, but they don’t exactly shun you either. You feel invisible.

“You should burn down the school,” says God, with a disturbing amount of volume.

Mr. Sprinkle’s class is boring, and you’re beginning to realize that this isn’t unusual. Luckily, you have cheerleading tryouts at the end of the day to look forward to.

You feel your eyes grow heavy. Your desk sure does look comfortable.

Lust: 14— Yo, yo, I’m Chelsea Beckman and I’m here to say,

Chastity: 81— I just love Jesus everyday

Popularity: 19—Word to your mother

Let me get a straight 45 willpower check to prevent yourself from falling asleep.

The second your head hits the desk it’s as if a bolt of lightening struck you . (Epic Pass on consciousness… I don’t even know what stats to give you here.) With this much energy you could stay awake for days. Suddenly, Mr. Sprinkie Dink’s class doesn’t seem so boring.

(You have gained a long lasting appreciation for shitty 19th century literature. You feel enriched.)

Gym class is next. You shuffle into the locker room and follow the instructions on your orientation paper work to your locker. Girls peel off their skimpy clothing to don equally skimpy gym uniforms. It seems the presiding fashion is to order uniforms three sizes too small.

Stacy giggles as she waves to you from her locker. Her nipples create mini tents under her stretched, white shirt; you can just make out their faint red color. (-1 chastity) (x2 Schizo)

But before you can get the lock open you hear a voice shout above the commotion.

“Chelsea Beckman, my office now,” Mr. Pile shouts from his open door. Pile is a large, muscular man, in a small tank top. He wears shorts, which show off his tree trunk sized calves. His office has more one way windows than it does drywall. One, which you’re fairly certain breaks some kind of regulation, points towards the women’s shower room.

Mr. Pile flexes his calves as he props his legs on his desk. (-2 lust)

“You skipped class yesterday, Chelsea. What’re we going to do with you?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pile. I had something come up.”

“Not a very strong start to the semester,” Mr. Pile says. The chair creaks as he pulls his legs off his desk and leans forward. “I wouldn’t want you to fall in with a bad crowd. It’s for your own good, really, that I’m giving you detention.”

Detention would mean you couldn’t make cheer try outs. That’d be devastating to your popularity since you already gave your word.

(Chastity check failed)

Maybe you could “Convince” him?

Lust: 12— That much muscle isn’t natural.

Chastity: 79— You’re still hungry after your breakfast of bread and fish.

Popularity: 19— Churchey Bockman, the girl in trouble.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

Mr. Pile doesn’t seem like the most scrupulous of authority figures. You’re desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures. Time to put that Catholic school girl outfit to work.

You relax your body and your face adopts a pout. “Mr. Pile, I really, really want to be a cheerleader.” You strut to his side and massage his bicep. “Isn’t there something else I can do instead of detention?” Your finger runs along the neckline of your blouse. You tug it down, freeing a nipple.

“Oh now what’s this,” he says, sliding his hand up your thigh. “Maybe. But I can’t let you off the hook that easy.” Mr. Pile stands and places his hand between your shoulders.

*He’s so strong* (+5 lust)

You push your backside into his crotch, grinding yourself against him. “A bad girl like me has to be punished,” you say, like in all those movies you pretend to have never seen.

He shoves you to the desk and flips up your skirt. “Damn right.” (-5 Chastity) (x2 Schizo) (+2 Lust)

A loud slap echoes against the office walls. You jump as he brings his hand down again, but his other hold you in place. Again, and you squeel. (+5 Lust)

“Does the slut want more,” he growls in your ear.

(Willpower fail) (-2 Chastity)(x2 Schizo)

“Yes! More!”

Each slap is accompanied by another scream of pleasure. Another shout for more.

You hear him unbuckle his belt, and you feel a jolt of anticipation as his pants hit the floor. He rubs his dick along the groove imprinted in your soaked panties.

(Willpower pass) (+1 Chastity)(X2 Schizo)

“No, I can’t,” you say. “I’m saving myself.” You struggle against his stiffened arm.

With an animalistic grunt, he lets you up. “Fuck. Then what good are you?”

“Kill him!” God shouts in your mind.

(Willpower Pass!) You clutch your hands so tight your nails cut the skin, but you manage to suppress his voice. For now.

“Get out of here,” Mr. Pile says. “I need to take care of this.” He gestures at his erection.

You gather your discarded clothes and slip through the office door.

Lust: 24— You’re sweaty, and it ain’t because it’s hot.

Chastity: 67— Religion is so restricting.

Popularity: 19— Churchey Bockman

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

Applause greets you as you return to the locker room. Stacy stands at the forefront of the crowd clapping, with a great grin stretched across her face (+7 popularity). Despite yourself, you smile back. Your behind tingles pleasantly at the memory of the coach’s hand (+2 Lust), but it pales in comparison to the thrill of being listened to(+4 Lust).

(You have gained the HORNY trait. Lust gains are now doubled until lust falls below 30)

You squeeze your thighs together, and you’re unsurprised when they come away damp.

But not everybody in the locker room seems thrilled with your display. One mousy haired girl shoots you look of disgust. When you catch her eye, she leaves. (-3 popularity).

“Fuckin’ aye! I told you she was a screamer! I told you!” Stacy shouts. She clutches your arm and presses her large breasts against your shoulder, guiding you into a circle of her friends. “We heard the spanking all the way out here. Your voice certainly carries.”

You frown.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Gabby says. “We’ve all done it. Mr. Pile is a brute, but if we toss him a bone every now and then he let’s us do what we want.”

“And it can be quite fun sometimes,” Stacy adds.

“You slut.” Gabby turns to you. “You’re going to fit right in with the squad. That is, if we can make your tongue as loose your legs.”

“Lay off her. She’s nervous. Can’t you see it’s only her second day?”

Only your second day, and in that time you’ve opened your legs to a man in a bathroom and lifted your skirt for another. But, for some reason, it doesn’t seem to bother you as much as it should. *What’s the point of closing yourself off from experience just because some book tells you to?* You shake your head and bury that thought deep.

The bell rings and you shuffle to your next class. The needy hole between your legs steals your attention, and you can barely focus on the lessons. Two periods go by, and all you remember is an endless stream of sinful fantasies. A muscular brute bends you over the teacher’s desk in the middle of class; Stacy’s tongue dives between your legs; Mr. Pile pins you to the ground and strips your clothing piece by decadent piece. (+3 Lust)(x2 Horny)

It’s your final period before tryouts, and you’re passing the same bathroom you were in yesterday. Your pussy drips.

It’d only take a minute, and do you really want to head to tryouts this distracted?

Lust: 36— You have difficulty thinking of banishing your fantasies.

Chastity: 67— Religion is so restricting.

Popularity: 23— That cute girl you talk about to your friends.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

>>24786

With four out of seven, voting is now closed. To the bathroom!

Let me get a ten difficulty willpower test.

10 willpower +36 Lust= 46 Threshold.

“Screw it,” you mutter under your breath, and press into the bathroom. (-2 Chastity)(x2 Schizo)

It’s the same restroom as the day before. If you look closely, and you do, you imagine you can faintly make out the imprints your butt made against the tile wall. Though the sweat has long since dried, dust from a nearby construction yard has left two identical outlines. Those imprints, and the memories, are all that remain of your previous misconduct.

*I’ve got a cute butt.* But you shake your head. “I’m here to use the restroom. That’s all.” The words ring hollow in your ears.

The stall calls you like a siren. Your underwear sticks to your thighs as you peel it off and take a seat. The toilet paper you wrap around your hand provides good cover, but you know it’s just an excuse. Your hand slips between your legs.

The first touch sends a jolt from your abdomen to your heart. “Oh,” you whisper. You touch again, a little stronger. “Oh my.” The paper, now soaked with your juices, unwraps from your finger and falls into the water.

Abandoning all pretense, you brace your legs against the stall. Your breath quickens, and your hand moves in a blur.

The bathroom door slams open. A woman in leather boots clicks across the tile floor and into a neighboring stall. Though you hold your breath, your hand still moves in a slow circle. It gathers speed. Your breath quickens again. She’s right next to you; you can hear her shifting in her clothes. She has a lot of buckles.

Then, something you’ve needed since entering Mr. Pile’s office begins to grow. It picks up speed, and, with a jolt of both pleasure and fear, you realize there’s no avoiding it. You bite your lip and struggle to contain an orgasm. (-30 Lust) (Horny Trait Removed)

(Willpower check passed)

Though you taste blood, the only sound that escapes is a slight squeak you release at the height of your climax.

“That was fun,” God whispers. “But next time you should add chains.”

*He certainly is a nosy bugger.*

Lust: 06— You're all sweaty.

Chastity: 63— God is really creepy. Why do you listen to him?

Popularity: 23— That cute girl you talk about to your friends.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

You sit, soaked in sweat, until the woman in the neighboring stall finishes. Your panties are drenched, so much so that you question whether they’ll ever dry. They feel slimy against your skin (-1 Lust). With an air of resignation, you toss them in the trash. (-1 Chastity)(X2 Schizo)

The hallways are abandoned.

You arrive quite late for your final period. Eyes follow you to the back of the room. It feels as if they know what you’ve done– where you’ve been. You shrink down in your desk.

The teacher, thankfully, chooses not to acknowledge your tardiness, and soon the final bell rings. You make your way across the blacktop and through the chain link fence to football field, and the waiting cheer squad.

Stacy, Gabby, and many other faces you don’t recognize, are seated in the bleachers. They wave when they see you enter the stadium.

Dozens of girls are clustered in small groups across the field. They all whisper to each other, and you suddenly realize that, beyond Stacy and Gabby, you’ve really no idea who anyone is at this school This feels like someone’s fault, but you’re not exactly certain whose.

Lust: 06— You're all sweaty.

Chastity: 61— God is really creepy. Why do you listen to him?

Popularity: 23— That cute girl you talk about to your friends.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

You only need wait for a moment before Stacy claps her hands to bring the crowd to attention. It seems she was waiting for you. She, Gabby, and another cheerleader you don’t recognize, herd the candidates into a long line; the other girls shuffle uncertainly as Stacy and Gabby pace its length.

“Too fat,” Stacy says, pointing at one of the girls. She bursts into tears, but the other members of the squad take her by the arm and lead her from the field. “Too short. Is that a mustache? Try eating something other than cake. Baldspot. Mole. Mole. Your face looks like a butt, and your butt looks like a face.” Each insult is punctuated by a pair of cheerleaders leading the insulted from the field.

Stacy pauses in front of you. She grasps your jaw between her fingers and draws your face to her. Opening your mouth, she tilts your head so that it catches the light. “Good teeth. Pretty face. Not too fat, and not too skinny,” she shoots the girl next to you a look that could flay skin. The girl is led from the field. Stacy’s hands cup your breasts and travel south. “Firm tits, of an appropriate size.” She dives under your skirt (+3 Lust). “Ah, no underwear. This one will do.”

Stacy releases you and continues down the line. When she’s done, only you and two others remain.

Lust: 09— You feel a little violated.

Chastity: 61— God is really creepy. Why do you listen to him?

Popularity: 23— That cute girl you talk about to your friends.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

Let me get three athleticism tests at twenty difficulty.

20 Difficulty + 9 Lust= 29 Threshhold

>>25292

You could say I was rolling willpower for Stacy?

“First we’re going to see if you lot can spell,” Stacy shouts. Confusion washes across you and the other candidates. “While standing on each other’s shoulders.”

You’re paired with a short, red haired girl. She’s kind of cute, in an overly chipper and sugary way. She grabs your hand and shakes it with a ferocious energy. “My name’s Diana, and I like cookies, and ponies, and I totally have a well developed backstory and character depth.” She goes into length about how her parents’ murder drove her to don a mask and fight crime. She is… cheer leader girl. “– And, well, I couldn’t very well call myself cheer leader girl if I wasn’t a cheerleader, right?” Words seem to pour out of this one like a broken faucet. “So I’m gonna get this and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” She strikes a heroic pose, but you can see her tirade has left her out of breath.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Stacy says.

You climb on Diana’s shoulders. You’re a little concerned her small frame won’t be able to hold you, but she must’ve been telling the truth about her crime fighting, for she lifts you with little problem.

“Spell Mississippi,” Stacy says.

You take a deep breath and prepare. “M– I– S– S–” a gust of wind blows across the football field. (Athleticism test pass) It doesn’t knock you from your perch, but it does lift your skirt for all the stadium to see. Hushed voices rising from the bleachers send a thrill down your spine. (+4 Lust)

“Oh wow she really is wearing no panties. I once fought a girl that wore no underwear– she was weird,” Diana says to no one in particular. You grit your teeth and think evil thoughts.

“I–P–P–I,” you finish, jumping from Diana.

Diana is next, and she scurries up your shoulder like a red headed mouse.

(Athleticism Pass)

“Spell ‘Annoying’,” Stacy says.

“A–N–N–O–”

“It’d be funny to see her fall,” God whispers.

(Willpower Check Pass)

As great as it would be, no. You’re not that cruel. “Shove off, you greasy git,” you mutter under your breath. (Will Power Epic Effect!!) To spite God, you brace your legs firmer against the ground and ensure Diana gets down safe. (+3 Chastity)(X2 Schizo)

“Y–I–N–G!” Diana climbs down

“Next up are cartwheels.” She does a couple to demonstrate. “Now you.”

The first girl falls flat on her face. You, and the rest of the group, stifle a chuckle.

Diana is next. Her cartwheels seem practiced, like she’s performed them in combat situations.

Finally, it’s your turn. “Jesus give me strength,” you whisper.

(Athleticism epic effect) (Chastity Check Passed)

“Kay,” Jesus says, appearing on your right. He’s dressed in white robes, has bleeding palms, but for some reason his hair is in dreads and he smells like patchouli.

After a moment of disconnect, you begin your set. (Athleticism pass) It’s in the middle of your first cartwheel that you feel His hands on your waste. He throws you twenty feet in the air and guides you into a series of complicated flips, like a gymnast, before lowering you slowly to the ground. You feel dizzy when your feet touch the grass.

“Don’t forget to love yourself, man,” Jesus says, hugging you. He disappears as suddenly as he came, but the smell of his patchouli lingers.

Stacy’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. “Wut.”

Lust: 13— You feel a little violated.

Chastity: 67— Jesus smells a skunk.

Popularity: 23— That cute girl you talk about to your friends.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

It takes her a moment, but Stacy eventually gathers her wits. “Those weren’t exactly cartwheels, but we’ll call that a pass.” She smiles. “Chelsea gets the spot. She’s the new member of the cheer squad.”

(+20 Popularity)

(You Have gained the Cheerleader trait. As a prominent member of the cheer squad, you’re much more visible to your classmates. All popularity gains and losses are multiplied by 1.5)

Diana is led, quite firmly, away from the group. You’re not sorry to see her go.

You lose count of the number of hand you shake in the next few minutes. Every girl seems to tell you her name, how beautiful you are, and how glad they are they you were the one that passed. Nobody seems to have a positive opinion of Diana.

“Jake is throwing a party on Friday. You should come. We’ll introduce you to the football team.” Gabby’s voice makes it clear you don’t really have much of an option.

You nod weakly.

“Great! Now about those clothes. Squad members are always impeccably dressed, and what you’re wear now won’t do.” She makes a sweeping gesture at your current garb.

“We’ll take her shopping!” Gabby chimes in. “Tomorrow. That good for you?” Gabby looks at you.

You could probably use their help picking something out, but there's no telling what they'll stuff you into.

Lust: 13— You feel a little violated.

Chastity: 67— Jesus smells a skunk.

Popularity: 43— Chelsea, that new cheerleader.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

http://strawpoll.me/4589772

Coffeeeeeeee

Then we continue.

“Sure,” you say, considerably more chipper than you felt at the start of the day. Who says you can’t have your faith and eat it too? “I’d love to. Y’all dress so pretty that I’d love your help.” Your smile beams. (+4 popularity)(x1.5 Cheer)

Stacy frowns for a moment, but it’s gone so fast that you question whether it was there at all. (-2 Popularity)(x1.5 Cheer) “Well we’ll certainly have to get you out of those frumpy clothes you’re so fond of.” Though she smiles back, it doesn’t quite seem real.

As the group breaks apart, Gabby leads you to a small supply building on the fringe of the field. She digs through the football uniforms, basketballs, and gear to pull forth a plastic wrapped uniform. She shoves it into your hands, and, in the same motion, she leans forward and presses her lips against yours.

The kiss is deep. You step back in surprise, but her arms wrap around your waist and pull you close. Her tongue dances with yours, and, despite yourself, you close your eyes and give in. Your lips tingle when the two of you part. (+10 Lust)

“Sorry, I–uh– you’re so pretty,” Gabby stutters. Her cheeks flush red.

(Chastity check…pass?)

“I gotta go,” you stammer out. The supply building door slams behind you.

Lust: 23— You feel a little violated.

Chastity: 67— Jesus smells a skunk.

Popularity: 46— Chelsea, that new cheerleader.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

Your walk home is cold and windy. Though the days are hot, the last gasp of summer ensures your nights are cold. The sun’s light is just slipping below the horizon as you step through your front door.

Your father sits on a couch in the dark. In his hands he clutches a glass of his ‘breakfast’. The ice cubes click audibly in the caramel colored fluid. “Sit down,” he says in a voice as cold as condensation. “I found this in your pocket.”

He places a single cigarette on the coffee table. It’s the cigarette Gabby gave you yesterday. “Explain.” He takes a long sip from his glass.

Your hands tremble, and you wilt under your father’s stare.

(Spaghetti check passed)

But somehow you manage to calm your racing pulse. “It’s not mine. A girl from school handed me one, but I didn’t smoke it.” Somehow that doesn’t seem like enough. “Jesus doesn’t like smokers.”

His face softens. “That’s my girl. I know it’s hard, but don’t let them soil you.” He takes another drink. “This family lives for God.”

(Spaghetti Epic Effect!)

You pause at the banister leading to your room. “Daddy, some girls from Bible Club are going shopping tomorrow for Sunday wear, and, well, I’ve only got my school uniform.”

He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a pair of hundreds. “Don’t buy anything too racy. I know what girls are like. What your mother is like.”

“Sure, Daddy.”

It’s not until your bedroom door is safely closed behind you that you breathe easy.

How will you spend your evening?

Daddy doesn’t use facebook, so you could probably announce your accomplishment without getting in trouble.

You hesitate to spend anymore time in your altar room, God’s just too creepy, but maybe a few hours spent reading the bible would do you some good?

Then again, your self-exploration in the bathroom was quite… thrilling. Perhaps a repeat is in order?

Lust: 23— Gabby’s hands were strong

Chastity: 67— Jesus smells a skunk.

Popularity: 46— Chelsea, that new cheerleader.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

http://strawpoll.me/4598431

>>25543

Apologies for the long absence.

Something.. something.. life… excuse. Whatever. Next part is below.

_________

No, God’s whispers are too uncomfortable. You’d never thought you’d feel this, but you’ve no interest in speaking with him.

Instead, you reach into a dusty corner and gather your laptop. Daddy always called it a ‘Sin Box’, but even he acknowledged that it was useful for school. You’ve never used it for school; mostly its for keeping track of old friends, and, on the rare dark and lonely nights, looking at near naked shots of Jesus. You open a few now.

After all that’s happened over the last few days, though, you find them boring. Funny, you’ve never thought Jesus was boring before.

Instead, you content yourself with looking up members of the football team.

‘A cheerleader needs to know who she’s cheering for,’ you think.

These are much more stirring. One man, a linebacker named Dante, posted a shirtless photo of himself by his family’s pool. Beads of water glisten on his coal black skin. (+2 Lust) You close his page quickly when you feel a tingle in your loins, but not before memorizing his face.

You look through old friends from South Carolina. One girl, once pudgy, has graduated to full on obesity and is getting married. She’s on her second kid, and her facebook posts cycle between self-pity and lavish adoration for her children. Reading her page gives you faint feeling of superiority. You mark her posts as high priority.

Stacy’s is nothing but her in skintight dresses at parties. In most pictures she clutches either a drink, a boy, or both. You can’t help but note that her outfits really do make her stand out.

Another friend from South Carolina has graduated from Harvard and is working on her doctorate at Yale. She’s pulling a dual internship at Nasa and the White House this summer, but plans to help build an orphanage in South America during her spare time; also she’s getting married to a CEO. How she managed to pull off graduating from College in the few short months since you moved is a mystery, but one thing's certain: you hate her. You turn off her notifications, but leave her as a friend in case you need a reference some day.

Some guy you met once at church a few years back makes a post calling Obama a lizard Jew. You like it. You always did think Obama looked a little scaly. (+6 Popularity)(x1.5 cheerleader)

Eventually, night falls, and you lean back on your bed and close your eyes. They feel strained after long hours of staring at the Sin Box.

You feel yourself drift off, but it’s not sleep you catch. Instead, a billion dancing lights are arrayed below you. Some are bright, some are dim, some are still, but most are moving. You reach out and grasp one. You feel a tug, and soon your entire essence is pulled by a million strings.

You open your eyes.

Behind you, a man holds his girth in his hand. He rubs your buttocks, and, unwillingly, you arc your back and moan. He presses himself against you, and you feel your lower lips part. With a single, strong thrust, he’s inside, and you scream. He grabs your hair and pulls.

And you’re back in your body. But you’re not where you left. Instead, you’re at the window, one leg tossed over in some absurd preparation to jump. It’s two stories to the ground.

“I must’ve been sleep walking,” you mutter. Yawning, you strip yourself and go to bed, but the memory of your pounding still beats inside your mind; it felt so real. (+5 Lust)

(You have gained the HORNY trait. All lust gains and losses are doubled until lust falls below 30)

(You have lost the SCHIZOPHRENIC trait)

(You have gained the MANY FACED GOD trait. For the next twenty-four hours you run the risk of switching bodies with people. Strong stimulation can bring you back. But beware: your body won’t always be where you left it.)

Lust: 30— Pain feels good.

Chastity: 67— Jesus smells a skunk.

Popularity: 55— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

>>25683

There is nothing worse than an east facing bedroom window. The first light of dawn hits your eyes, and though you bury your head beneath your blankets, the effort is futile. The sun mocks your need for sleep.

Grudgingly, you rise and wash and dress for school. The cheerleader uniform is what you’ll wear today, for though your closet burst, all its contents seem inadequate.

You peel the clothing from the plastic and pull it on. It smells like child labor. The skirt comes to your mid thigh– adequate for school dress code, but far too racy for your father’s tastes. The vest is the perfect size. It hugs your chest and shape and ends a few inches above your flat stomach. The mirror makes you tingle; you’ve never shown this much skin in public. (- 2 Chastity)

Daddy would definitely not approve, and, for some reason, that makes you all the more willing to wear it. You slide your bulky pilgrim dress over your uniform and depart for school.

Dad hands you a brown bag of lunch and kisses your forehead. “Stay good,” he says.

You shudder in pleasure. “I will,” you manage to squeeze out. (+2 Lust)(x 2 Horny)

A block from school you pull off the pilgrim dress and stuff it in your bag. You strut the rest of the way.

__

Sorry about this guys. The story kind of got away from me– I'm going to try and implement more choices/player interactivity in the future.

You strut through school with a newfound confidence, smiling at every boy and girl that catches your eye. The cheerleaders, marked by similar uniforms, nod at you as you pass; you’re a member of their caste. You’ve never felt such belonging; not in church, not in prayer, and certainly never from your father. Your skirt flicks with every step. Though it rises and falls by only an inch, its shift promises more. (+1 Lust)(x2 Horny)

Mr. Sprinkle’s class is torture. You feel warm, wet, and every fiber of your being urges you to stand and proclaim your existence.

‘Here I am world. Now look at me,’ you think.

But instead you content yourself with making at the boy in a seat two rows away. He’s a scrawny fellow, but in a way that promises hidden strength. Like a swimmer, you’re certain he could go for hours.

You shake your head– that’s not a thought you should have– but you continue staring at the boy’s coal black hair and strong jaw. Eventually, he catches you, and you turn your attention to your desk.

You’re the first through the door when the bell rings. It feels as though you’ve left behind a puddle. Your loins burn. Every touch and brush against the students in the hall sends another spark of urgency. Your bite your lip to distract yourself, but even that is pure pleasure. By the time you get to the women’s locker room you’re out of breath and on the verge of something loud.

“Here she is now!” Stacy says in her usual flamboyant manner. She leads by the shoulders to the center of the locker room. “Do a spin a spin for us. Show that body off.”

Lust: 36— You need something, but you don't know what

Chastity: 65— What daddy doesn't know won't hurt 'em

Popularity: 55— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

http://strawpoll.me/4644522

Your spin flares the edge of your skirt, and the white, pristine color of your panties catches the light. But you don’t stop when you finish your revolution; you carry it through again, faster, lifting your skirt higher.

“Work it girl,” Stacy says.

You smile. ‘Time to really show them something,’ you think. Your spin becomes a shift in your hip. Around, and around, and around; you close your eyes and let your hands roam. They trace lines of fire across your body. You bend over and slide your hands down your legs, moving to a music all your own.

(Athleticism test pass)

The group falls silent. You open your eyes, and from a place you never knew you had, you place your hand against Gabby’s chest and push her on the bench. Straddling her waist, your dance becomes a grind. Your hips shift and pound against hers.

“Damn,” one of the cheerleaders says. (+4 Popularity)( x 1.5 Cheerleader)

(Willpower test fail)

You don’t care that your skirt has climbed over your hips, nor do you care that Gabby has slid her hand beneath your shirt. The top buttons on your blouse have come undone. Gabby presses her lips against your neck, and her sharp bite sends a thrill down your spine. You shriek in surprise. (+5 Lust)( X 2 Horny)She places her hand over your mouth and bucks. Your landing sends another jolt through you; another bit of fuel for the fire.

“Chelsea Beckman! My office now!” Mr. Pile shouts from his open office door. He strokes a large bulge in his trousers.

A few girls in the crowd laugh. “Ohhh, you’re in trouble now!”

You feel a slight tug on your skirtline when you rise from Gabby’s lap. Placing one foot precisely in front of the other, you sway your hips as you walk into Mr. Pile’s office. Your clothes are askew, your shirt unbuttoned, but you don’t stop to fix them.

When you’ve shut the door, Mr. Pile slams you against the wall and presses his lips to yours. You don’t question it, you merely wrap your legs around his hips and pull him close. He humps you, and you squirm as the bulge contained in his jeans rubs on the outside of your panties. Your breath becomes short; your whispers, needy.

He withdraws and unzips. “Suck it, slut.”

(Willpower fail)

Without thinking, you grasp his shaft and drop to your knees. The position feels so natural. You press your lips against his head. His precum is salty, but to your needy tastebuds it’s delicious. You pull on his buttocks and thrust him deep into your throat. Each time your lips slide along his head you dive for another taste; it’s addicting, and soon you lose yourself in a heady trance.

His breath becomes short, and he grunts and pulls himself from your mouth. For the first time in your young adult life, you watch a man cum. He sprays his seed across your face, and you lick eagerly at the drops that land near your lips. (+5 Lust) ( x 2 Horny)

Mr. Pile collapses in his chair. “Get out of here. I’m done with you,” he waves. (-5 Chastity)

(Intelligence test fail)

The class has gathered outside the locker room. They’ve pressed against the door and crowd you as you exit.

“Slut,” one whispers.

“Wow, she really is a whore,” another says.

“Even I wouldn’t come out with cum on my face,” you hear Stacy say to another girl. (-2 Popularity) (x 1.5 cheerleader)

A drop slides down your cheek and hits the ground with a splat. Their whispers give you another rush. (+1 Lust)(x2 Horny)

(You have gained the exhibitionism fetish. You now seek out situations that put your body on display. All lust gains in public displays of sexuality are now doubled.)

Lust: 58— You need something, and you know exactly what it is

Chastity: 60— What daddy doesn't know won't hurt 'em

Popularity: 57— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

Your loins still burn come fourth period. Nothing seems to bring you satisfaction, and it takes all your willpower just to restrain yourself. Classmates, men, Gabby, Mr. Pile, Mr. Sprinkle, it makes no difference to your imagination; they circle and dance and thrust with no discrimination. You feel yourself slipping, and even your whispered, hollow prayers feel insufficient to stem the tidal wave of lust that has swept across your body.

(Popularity check pass)

You’re digging for books at your locker come lunch when you hear a light knock on the other side. Closing the door, you find the athletic boy from Mr. Sprinkle’s class on the other side. “H-h-hi-” he says. “You’re really cute and– even if I don’t really know your name– I was just hoping, maybe that you’d might want to maybe go to church group with me.” Suddenly his eyes widen. “My name’s Charlie,” he thrusts out his hand. You take it. It feels sweaty.

(Popularity check pass)

A slam echoes down the hall behind you. Dante, the boy you stalked on facebook last night, leans arrogantly against the locker next to yours. “Hey baby. Forget this fool and go out with a real man. Me. Dante. The most amazing linebacker ever.” He spins a football on one finger. “I’m great.”

Charlie looks like he’s about to shit himself.

Lust: 58— You need something, and you know exactly what it is

Chastity: 60— What daddy doesn't know won't hurt 'em

Popularity: 60— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

http://strawpoll.me/4645202

With a huff, you turn your back on Dante. “I’d love to go to church group with you.”

Charlie blushes a deep crimson. Though he eyes Dante warily, he manages to stammer out, “W-w-w-hen are you free next?”

Dante’s hand traces a line up your skirt. His fingers slip into your panties.

Such is your lust, that you press back into him. “What?” You lose your focus. “I’m sorry, I must’ve missed what you said.” The edge of your sight gets fuzzy. Your mouth feels dry. You stifle a moan. ‘Please,’ you think. ‘Just a little more.’ (+3 Lust) (x2 Horny)

(You have gained the SEXUAL FUGUE trait. Your lust has reached such a critical threshold that it is nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. Your lack of awareness makes you far more likely to land in sexually precarious situations )

“Tomorrow? Afterschool?”

‘Is that fool still talking?’ you think. “Sure. Yeah. Whatever.” You slam your first against a locker. “Come on!” you hiss.

Charlie blinks at you.

“Sorry I’m- uh- not feeling very good.” Dante’s pulls his hand from under your skirt. “But I’ll be there. I promise.” You give Charlie a smile and a peck on the cheek.

When Charlie is out of sight, you whip to Dante, intending to drag him to a bathroom and make him finish what he’s started, but the hall is empty. The late bell rings. With a sigh, you shoulder your backpack and head to class. (-2 Chastity)

Lust: 64— You have a strong urge to use the men’s room

Chastity: 58— What daddy doesn't know won't hurt 'em

Popularity: 60— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

And that’s all for me tonight, folks. More tomorrow.

Mrs. Chandler’s science class was impossible. Not only was she lying to the students about Darwin– he was really a tool forged by Satan and sent to test our faith– but she also insisted on preaching his heresy. Sure, the dinosaurs existed, but they did so alongside man. Earth could not be older than 6,000 years old. The bible said so.

“And, after the asteroid struck the Earth and destroyed the dinosaurs, mammals ruled. At first it was the small that flourished– the ones that could hide between the rocks and survive on little food while the larger reptiles died on the surface. Then the mice became apes, and the apes became us. Considering the vast amount of time the Earth has had life, we’re very young,” Mrs. Chandler says.

(Spaghetti test passed)

You raise your hand.

“Yes, Ms. Bockman. You have a question?”

“A couple. If we descended from monkeys, then why are there still monkeys?”

Mrs. Chandler blinks at you. “I– uh– what? That doesn’t make any–”

It seems you’ve caught her off guard. Now is the time to strike. (Epic effect!) “It’s a simple question, Mrs. Chandler. If we descended from monkeys then the monkeys should be gone. They aren’t, therefore evolution is false and we never descended from monkeys.” (+5 Chastity)

“There was a branch and,”

“No, Mrs. Chandler. Now you’re backtracking. That’s so typical of you Evolutionists. You always change the story when it’s convenient. Well I, for one, have had enough. Show me the evidence.”

“There’s loads of it. Just look at the fossils.”

“Evidence, Mrs. Chandler. Show me the evidence.” A few students have pulled out there cell phones and are now recording the exchange. You expect it’ll be on the jewtube by this evening. You smile and launch another assault, and soon you have her fuming. (+4 Popularity) (x 1.5 Cheerleader)

“There’s a clear example in homo–”

“I don’t see what the queers have to do with this, Mrs. Chandler.”

Mrs. Chandler screams and storms from the room. The door slams behind her.

You lean back in your chair, a satisfied grin pasted across your face.

Lust: 64— You have a strong urge to use the men’s room

Chastity: 63— What daddy doesn't know won't hurt 'em

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

The end of class comes too soon. It was a half hour before Mrs. Chandler managed to control herself and return to the classroom. Her voice was hoarse. You smile and nod each time she comes close to meeting your eye. For the rest of the lesson, she avoids you.

http://gifrific.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/jack-nicholson-smile.gif

After school you meet up with Stacy and Gabby and head to to mall. The trip is long, but the boy Stacy drafted to give you a ride serves as ample distraction. His name is Henry, or Harry, or Frank, or something. You really don’t care. You’re more interested in his biceps.

“So we’re thinking you’d go excellent with a strong red color, but yellow or purple can work too. You’re loud in bed, so I think your wardrobe should reflect that,” Stacy leads you to a department store and collects a cart. “Have you tried makeup?”

“Never. Daddy never let me.”

“Well it’s a must have in high school. Though I think you’re very pretty with the all natural look you’ve got going, I think you could definitely do with a bit of foundation, and mascara, and lipstick,” she continues to rattle off names of pastes and paints. Gabby follows along meekly, occasionally smiling at you with encouragement.

“I’m gonna have to hide that stuff from Daddy,” you say.

“Well, you’re not alone. You’d be surprised at the stuff I keep from my father,” Gabby says with a smile. You get the feeling she isn’t referring to clothing.

You follow Stacy for a time, but you quickly find that her energy is inexhaustible. She runs to a from the clothing racks, pulling shirts and skirts and pants and accessories, and then she piles them at your side. Soon, you have a mound waist high of scanty fabric designed for every situation.

A boy passes through the women’s section. He’s carrying countless bags as some girl tugs him from rack to rack. He has strong, muscular shoulders and sleek black hair. Your eyes meet. His are blue. You smile, and the lust you’ve been holding since the morning threatens release. He smiles back.

(Awareness test fail)

“Here, try this on,” Stacy says, breaking your revelry and shoving a bra that is more air than cloth into your hands. “And let me know if it fits.”

When you turn back, the boy is gone. You take the bra and trudge into the waiting room. “It’s too small,” you shout.

“Damn, a pretty face and a large chest. You’ve really got it all,” Stacy calls back. “Let me get another.”

And so it continues. For the next four hours you leave the changing room only to parade some new outift for Stacy and Gabby. Eventually, you have four bags of clothing, and you leave a massive pile of waste in your wake. You almost feel bad for whatever minimum wage-slave has to pick it up.

You walk to the checkout line.

“Oh, look at that!” Stacy says, dragging Gabby behind her. “We’ll be right back!”

And suddenly you’re next. You can’t tell if the checkout boy is cute, or if your jumpstarted libido is making you think so. Either way, you like the sure way his hands flip the merchandise under the scanner. You like the confident manner in which he holds himself and looks into your eyes. They’re green, like a forest in the brightness of noon. You can just imagine the bulge in his crotch growing, and growing, and growing and—

“Ms. Ms. You’re drooling,” he says.

You smile in embarrassment and wipe your mouth. “What?”

“Two-hundred and fifty-six dollars. Will that be cash or charge?”

You reach for your purse, but find it gone. “Uh,” you swing around looking for where it might be, but you can find no trace. It must’ve been stolen. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money. I think someone must have taken it.”

“Sure. I’ll just put these back for you then.”

“No, wait!” You grab his hand. It’s so firm. “Maybe…”

His eyes travel slowly from your flat stomach, to your breasts, and to your face. “Yes?” he says.

Your loins urge you to take his hand and lead him some place secluded, but a distant and fading voice begs temperance.

Lust: 64— You have a strong urge to use the men’s room

Chastity: 63— What daddy doesn't know won't hurt 'em

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

http://strawpoll.me/4681827

Your lust wins. Again. “Maybe we can work out a discount,” you say. (-5 Chastity)

His grin turns devilish. “It’d take an awful lot of convincing for me to forgive two-hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I can be quite persuasive.” And then you can’t wait any longer. You grab his hand and tug, insistantly. He follows, that wide-grin still plastered across his face. You lead him at a half jog towards the far end of the mall. “Do you have a car?”

“Yeah, sure I got a car, but it’s parked right near the entrance. People walk by there all the time.” His brow furrows. “We’ve got a bed set up in storage on the third floor. The other guys take their girls up there after hours. Nobody would bother us.”

You tighten your grip on his hand. Your heart beats faster. “No, the car. We need to use the car.” You don’t know where these words are coming from, but nothing you’ve ever said has felt so true. (-3 Chastity)((+5 Lust) (x2 Horny))

“Ok, whatever.” He grabs your butt. You squeek and absentmindedly rub his package. It’s as big as you hoped it would be. (+5 Lust)( X 2 Horny)

The clerk guides you by the ass. For each person who gives you a strange look, you feel a little more wet. A little more urgent. By the time you leave the mall you’re a hot and slavering mess. He pushes you into the back seat and peels off your panties. You give them a slight kick, glad to be rid of them. (+5 Lust) (x2 Horny)

“Holy shit, girl. These are soaked.”

You barely hear him. You rub furiously at your clit. Moaning, you grab his dick and pull him towards you. When he’s in position, you bury his tip in the back of your throat. Your lips slide along its shaft while your hand moves in a blur between your legs. You savor the salty taste of his sweat and cum, pushing and plunging the source of your pleasure farther and farther, deeper and deeper, into your mouth. It’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted. (+5 Lust) (x2 Horny)

“Woah, slow down.” He pulls the head from you mouth with a pop. You growl in frustration. “Sit on this,” he says.

It’s difficult maneuvering in the back of that car, but he manages to work it so he’s laying on his back and you’re on top. His head pressed between your legs.

(Willpower pass!)

It’s tempting, but instead you straddle the shaft and slide your pussy’s lips along its length. Your lubricant makes the movement effortless, and your hips shift with a violent purpose. But each time his head presses between your legs you push it away. One wrong move and he’ll be inside.

‘Would that really be so bad?’ you think. ‘What has my virginity ever done for me?’

“Just put it in!” the clerk says, as if reading your thoughts. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

Your speech comes with panted breath. “No, saving… marriage.”

“Really? You don’t seem the type… How about just for a second? The tip doesn’t count.”

(Gullibility test passed!)

He’s right, the tip doesn’t count, but you don’t think you could control yourself if it went in. You increase the tempo. “More. More. More.” And you feel yourself building to something mind blowing. Suddenly, it crests, and the entire world goes black.

(Epic effect) (-100 Lust)

(You have lossed the HORNY and the SEXUAL FUGUE trait)

Lust: 00— Whatever that was, you want more.

Chastity: 55— Your priorities are changing

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

And that’s it for me today.

Below you a billion lights flicker in an ebony ocean. They pulse in alternating patterns; some move fast, some slow, some are bright, but most are dim. So dim that the ocean seems to swallow them, and then, suddenly, they emit a great blast of light, only to fall again into the ocean’s cold, dark embrace.

Your body is gone. Strangely, this fact doesn’t bother you as much as it should, for, though you lack form, you in no way lack will. Your ‘consciousness’, as you’ve come to understand it, responds to your slightest desire.

You push towards a bright, red light. Its pulse is hypnotic. Your mind touches it, and it’s as if your essence is caught by hook. Tugged, you fall towards the light.

The universe goes red.

“Do not shirk! Do not falter! Give them death in the name of Emperor!” shouts a man. He stands on the lip of a trench, clutching a chainsaw in the shape of sword. The sword’s hum is just barely audible over the deep, thrumming sound of distant explosions. “The Emperor has blessed you, of the thirty-seventh penal legion, with one chance for redemption. See that you do not disappoint.”

A great cheer erupts around you.

A strange hunk of metal weighs heavy in your hands. You turn to your neighbor. He’s a tall, black man, with scars and burns covering most of his skin. “Where am I?” you ask.

“You gonna die!” he shouts with a grin. His arms are wrapped in a series of strange tubes pumping green fluid into his veins, and his hands shake with barely contained enthusiasm.

You feel a nudge behind you. “Yeah, I was in denial for a while too. Hell of a time to wake up, though.” He thrusts out his hand. “Prisoner 8-425487, or Lucious. They say I killed twenty-seven people. I’m innocent, though. Well, of the twenty-seventh at least.”

You shake his hand slowly. “Chelsea. I go to high school.”

“Hah! You funny. So them’s over there is a fortress of a million screaming Khorne fanatics, and we’re the first wave. Here’s how it’s going to work: we’re going to run at them, and if we don’t, that shiny man in the hat is gonna shoot us. Got it?”

You nod. “Do the bullets make you orgasm or something?”

Luscious frowns at you. “Are you fucking stupid?”

“Forward!” screams the shouty man in a hat.

“Uh-oh, time to die. Stick with me and I’ll try to find a way to make it quick.” Luscious says, leaping over the edge of the trench.

You follow, still confused.

_____

I need three unmodified combat rolls at sixty difficulty.

A million screaming bodies are arrayed in front of a giant wall. Their line stretches from one end of the horizon to the other..

“Jesus, that is a literally a million people,” you say. Though, now that you look closer, you notice that most would not qualify as people. Some sport extra arms, some horns, but even more appear to have fused at least one of their limbs to their weapons. The horde unleashes a blood curdling screech as it abandons its fortifications and charges.

The soldiers around you appear to have expected this strange, suicidal charge on the part of the defenders. “Assume forward defensive positions,” the shouty man in a hat screams. “Not one step back!”

A line of men, their uniforms far cleaner than yours, assume your unit’s position in the trench.

Artillery strikes amidst the charging Khorne fanatics, throwing bodies a mile high. Blood and meat rains across the battlefield. They don’t even slow their charge.

“By the Emperor, what are you doing? Get down,” Lucious says, appearing by your side and tugging you into a shell hole. “And shut your mouth before someone sticks a bolter in it.”

Suddenly you remember the hunk of metal you’ve been tugging around. “What is this thing?”

“That’s a lasrifle. Point it towards the horde and pull the trigger.”

Just then, the enemy passed a little flag some brave soldier had raised in the center of the battlefield, and, as one, the line of soldiers opened fire. Several charging cultists fell to the onslaught. Their comrades ignored their screams, trampling their bodies like they were little more than mounds of dirt.But no matter how many were felled, more took their place. The line drew closer.

You fire your lasrifle, and are surprised when one of the cultists falls. Again you fire, and another falls. Each press on the trigger emits a little flare of light; your gun grows hot. Still, the enemy advances, and you begin to realize that they have absolutely no intention of having intercourse with you.

“They really aren’t going to have sex with me, are they?”

“Oh, they’ll fuck you. They’ll just wait until after you’re dead.”

The horde is so close now that you begin to make out what they’re screaming. “Blood for the Blood God. Skulls for the Skull Throne,” they chant.

Health: A-Ok!

The first cultists reach your line. A man with chainsaws for hands severs the the head of a soldier, and, without stopping, does the same to another. The defenses waver. He cuts through man after man. When the last falls, he runs at you.

(Combat test pass)

You fire on him. With each press of the trigger, his skin bubbles and pops. You strike his leg, and he falls to his knees, allowing the force of his revving chainsaws in the mud to drag him forward. You put one final round in his skull, and he slumps into the dirt. Dead. His mouth is twisted into a wide grin.

Hours pass. Men fall by the thousands. You lose count of the number you’ve slain, and your gun runs dry. Lucious has long since disappeared, tossed like a doll into the swarm of screaming fanatics.

Three times you’ve repelled their charge, and three times they’ve returned. Each time is harder than the last.

“Once more, for the Imperium!” the shouty man in a hat says. Somehow his clothes seem just as clean, his enthusiasm no less than it was before. You draw strength from his example.

The soldiers cheer. “For the Emperor!” you join.

A cultist leaps over the line and lands amongst your group. His legs are cannons, and his arms are also cannons; the absurdity of the man doesn’t even phase you anymore. The Shouty Man swings his chain sword at Cannon Legs. Cannon Legs fires his… cannons… into the ground, and the resulting explosion throws him into the air. He fires the guns on his arms to stabilize himself, then points all four of them at you.

(Combat test failed)

Your body is riddled with bullets. Pain, like you’ve never before experienced, rips through your form. You scream, and your vision goes black.

(And the author is really bored with this storyline)

You wake to handcuffs. Two overweight security guards stand over you.

“She’s pretty cute,” says one.

“You weren’t saying that when she was biting you.”

“Yeah, but she’s all calm now. She’s got a nice face.”

You moan and sit up, clutching your head. It feels like a construction yard.

“Shit, do you think she heard me?”

“She wasn’t going to date you anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

Their bickering feels like knives in your skull. “Please, stop. Where am I?” you ask.

“I’m Paul,” says a neckbearded security guard, “And this is Blart. You’re in the mall.”

“You freaked out and attacked people yelling something about the ‘Emperor’. Did you take any drugs, miss?” Blart moves a flashlight between your eyes. “Ecstasy? Cocaine? How many marijuanas did you inject?”

Paul grabs Blart’s arm and pulls him away. “Stop it, you’re scaring her.”

“We need to find out what she injected before the cops get here.”

You perk up. “The cops are coming?”

Blart smiles. “Oh yeah, and they’re gonna arrest you. Destruction of property, public indecency, assault, and loitering. You’re going away for a long time.”

“Are you sure they’re coming?” Paul asks. “It’s been like five hours.”

“They have to.”

“Maybe if you didn’t call them every day they’d come faster.”

Your feet are unbound, and the door is wide open. You’ve never been arrested before, and the thought of what your father will do to you when he finds out sends a chill down your spine. Maybe you could escape?

Then again, you’ve really no idea what’s going on. Apparently you’ve hurt some people. Maybe you’re in enough trouble already?

Lust: 00— Your head hurts something fierce

Chastity: 55— Your priorities are changing

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

__

http://strawpoll.me/4742829

‘Screw it,’ you think. ‘I don’t want to know what my father’s going to do to me.’ (-3 Chastity)

The door is a dozen feet away, but the two security guards have their backs turned. “I only call when we need them,” Blart says.

You step lightly towards the door, cursing under your breath at every clink from your handcuffs. The pair of security guards smell of sweat and mall food. You struggle not to gag.

“But every day? Our job is not that important.”

“I’m protecting one of the vanguards of America: a mall. Is America important, Paul?”

You’re paying so much attention to their prattle that you fail to notice a warp in the linoleum. You trip and fall against the doorway.

“Shit! She’s escaping.”

“No, my waifu!”

(Athleticism test pass)

Your feet hit the ground in a sprint. Paul is right on your trail. ‘For a fat man he runs real fast,’ you think. But soon his breath grows short and he begins to lag behind.

“Get the Segways!” he shouts.

Down the escalator you leap, taking the steps two or three at a time. You shove an old man and his granddaughter to the side. He hits the banister hard. “Sorry!” you call over your shoulder. He’s a war veteran. (-1 chastity)

Your shoes slap against the linoleum. The crowd stands mutely as you shove your way through them with handcuffed hands.

“Make way for the law!” the security guards shout. They barrel through the mall patrons with a frightening speed. Blart’s Segway blares the star spangled banner through jury rigged speakers.

Just then you reach the edge of the crowd. The sliding glass doors open, and beyond them lies freedom. You look back just in time to see Blart pull out a taser and point it at you.

“No!” Suddenly Paul is at his side. He rams his segway into Blart’s and jolts his arm. The taser fires, striking the old man who had just arrived at the base of the escalator. “Run, beautiful!”

“Treason!” Blart shouts.

You run across the parking lot.

Lust: 00— Your head hurts something fierce

Chastity: 52— Your priorities are changing

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

>>26196

Coming up. I've gotta fill in some plot holes first.

It’s three blocks from the mall before you feel comfortable slowing. An ambulance passes with full lights and sirens, but other than that there’s no sign of the police. You try to pull your hands from the handcuffs, but all you manage to do is bruise your wrist. ‘They’re stuck real tight,’ you think. ‘And I’ve still no real idea what’s been happening over the past couple hours.’ You pull out your phone. ‘Maybe Gabby knows.’

She picks up after only one ring. “Hello? Chelsea? Where you been girl?”

“I was - uh - helping somebody with their car.”

“Sure, ‘helping’. Well drop on by. I got your shit with me right here.” Gabby gives you her address, and, surprisingly, it’s only a few blocks away. You hang up the phone.

Gabby’s house is on a hill. It’s three stories, an old victorian, and the paint is peeling. The lawn and garden are overgrown. You knock on the door and Gabby opens it.

She looks at you wrists. “Handcuffs?”

“It’s a long story.”

“But interesting, I hope.”

“You got a key?” you ask, in jest.

“Do… do you not?” Gabby grabs the handcuff chain and pulls you upstairs.

Black leather seems to be the motif for Gabby’s bedroom. From the walls dangle heavy, thick chains, and at their ends are leather restraints. Whips hang from hooks in the walls. Gabby opens up a drawer and fishes around for a moment, pulling out a silver key. “You gotta come a get it though.” Her smile turns mischievous.

Lust: 00— Your head hurts something fierce

Chastity: 52— Your priorities are changing

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

http://strawpoll.me/4749854

You grin back. “For the Emperor,” you say.

“What?” But that’s all Gabby can get out before you’re on her. Your leap takes you across the room, and you slam your shoulders against her waist, tackling her into the bed. The bed bounces, throwing you and her to the wood floor. Your breath escapes in a gasp.

Then, Gabby is on you. She grabs your shirt and pulls, spraying the buttons in a dozen directions. They clatter across the floor and your tits pop free. (+10 Lust)

(Combat test pass)

You waste little time in grabbing her own shirt. Pulling on it, you drag her to the floor and straddle her. Gabby breathes heavy, her great chest heaving like a bellow with every breath. She looks at you with lust.

https://youtu.be/25QyCxVkXwQ?t=1m58s

“Where’s the key?” you say.

“I’ll never tell.”

“I have ways you making you talk.” Your hand trails down her neck, coming to a rest on her nipple. You pull lightly. Gabby moans and writhes, but you continue to tug. “Tell me what I want to know!”

“Never!”

You pinch, eliciting another squeal from Gabby. Then, suddenly, you see a flash of silver around her wrist. “Ah, gotcha.” You grab the key.

(Combat test fail)

Gabby bucks her hips and sends you flying. You land with an umph against the wall, stunned.

(Epic fail)

Something clicks. Looking over, you see Gabby has hooked a wall restraint onto your handcuff chain. You pull on it, but all you manage is to bruise your wrist.

“My turn,” Gabby says, grabbing a whip from the wall. She brings it across your naked leg. You gasp and bite your lip, pulling frantically against the restraints. Another smack, and your legs turn red. The sensation, both pleasure and pain, grow with every successive strike. Your squeals become moans, and soon you’re not certain if you even wish for her to stop.

(+10 Lust)

“Hmm, I think we’ll need something stronger to break you,” Gabby says. She turns around and begins to dig through her nightstand drawer. “Now where did that thing go? I was just using it.”

Now is your chance. You open your handcuffs with the key you palmed, and they fall to the floor with a clatter. Gabby, though, is so engrossed in her search that she doesn’t hear you.

“There you are!” Gabby raises a vibrator above her head in triumph.

(Combat test pass) (Epic effect)

“Perfect,” you say, snatching it and pinning her to the bed to the bed. Flicking it on, you plunge the humming shaft under her skirt. It’s so wet it slides right in. Gabby thrashes, but you lock your elbow and hold her tighter. You thumb the vibrator’s knob to its max setting. The hum grows louder.

Gabby’s moans become voiceless. Her eyes open wide, and her entire body tightens. You feel her muscles tremble through your pinning hand.

Then, she relaxes. She pants into the bed and closes her eyes. Her body is covered in a bright sheen of sweat. You brush a damp lock of her hair from her eye and plant a kiss on her forehead. It tastes of salt.

(-3 Chastity)

Shutting the door behind you, you creep down the stairs and out of the house.

Lust: 20— Your head hurts something fierce

Chastity: 49— Living for today is what's important.

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

Gabby was nice enough to leave your bags next to the door. Before you leave, you pull on your pilgrim dress from your purse. Sighing, you look at yourself in the mirror. ‘Is this really what I used to wear?’ you think. ‘It’s so boring.’ But Daddy expects you to be his perfect Christian angel, even if that angel is coming to know the joys he never told her about. ‘I should make up for lost time.’ You blow a kiss at your reflection, gather your things, and head home.

Storm clouds are overhead, and the air with the threat of rain. Your father’s car idles in the driveway. The door opens with a creak.

Your father sits in an armchair in the center of the living room, drinking from an auburn filled glass. The bottle next to him is nearly empty. “Where’ve you been?” hey says. His voice is cold.

“Out. With friends.”

“You’re late. You promised me this wouldn’t happen.”

(Chastity check failed)

Suddenly you can’t take it anymore. All the rules, all the prayers, all the false tales he’s told you. It all seems like too much. “Well maybe if the curfew wasn’t so early I wouldn’t be late!” you shout.

Your father slams the glass on the table next to him. It shatters, spilling its contents across the wood and into the floor. “Young lady, you will not take such a disrespecting tone with your father!”

“Fuck you.”

“Go to your room. You will not leave this house except for church and school until I say otherwise.”

“It’s your fault Mom isn’t here! She couldn’t stand to be around you!”

He unbuckles his belt. “One.”

“You drive everyone away! I hate you.”

“Two. I’m warning you.”

“I wish you weren’t father!” You stomp up the stairs and slam your door.

Lust: 20— Your head hurts something fierce

Chastity: 49— Living for today is what's important.

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

(You have gained the TIME OUT trait. You must come directly home from school and cannot leave the house. That is, unless you sneak out, of course.)

How do you spend your evening?

http://strawpoll.me/4771312

Four tall walls and a wooden cross are all that fill your room, but their familiarity grants your trembling hands peace. The pace of your father’s drinking, though never exactly slow, has increased in tempo since the divorce. He was never a violent drunk, at least not to you, but then he always had your mother, and God, to keep him in line.

A microwave dinner grows cold on your bed. Mom was always the cook, and without her your dinner variety has shrunk to that of the frozen food section. If you were to venture into the kitchen, a chilling prospect as it would take you through the living room, you’d find a hundred empty boxes from a hundred similar meals and a hundred identical dishes. Even so, the fact Dad took the time to put something together touches you.

You fall onto your bed. Fat tears well in the corner of your eye but are absorbed by the pillow; its cloth grows wet. You muffle your sobs deep within the pillow’s stuffing.

Its a long time before you can stifle your tears. When your eyes are dry, you lay on your back and trace the lines in the ceiling. Something was released tonight, something heavy.

“I guess I should make sure these all fit,” you say. It feels good to hear someone’s voice, even if that voice is your own.

The first piece is a pleated miniskirt that goes to your upper thigh. You do a little spin in front of your mirror, admiring the way the edges flare high enough to draw the eye yet low enough to hide all that’s important. Stroking your bare skin, you toy with the skirt’s edge. Up, down, up, down, a flash of something more, then back down. You giggle. (+3 Lust)

Next is a low cut vest, worn without a bra. High heels seem to fit best with it, though you admit they make you look a little trashy. “It’s hard being popular.” You stroke the lower curve of your breasts, shoving your tits into greater prominence. “It really makes me pop.”

The club dress is your favorite. Skintight, it clasps your thighs together and shows off your bust. “At least I won’t be easy wearing this, even if I look it.” It’s so tight that you’d cut a man in half if he managed to crawl between your legs. Daddy would have a heart attack if he saw you now. You check to make sure the door is locked before continuing.

The rest of clothes are more practical, though all of them are far beyond what your father, or indeed yourself just a few days ago, would find skimpy. You pull out each in turn and jam them deep within your wardrobe.

Finally, you come to the last piece. It’s an ankle length, loose fitting, grey dress. Funny, you don’t remember purchasing it. Wearing it makes you feel like you’re wrapped in an elephant hide. The fabric is hot and scratchy against your skin.

You do a spin. “It’d make daddy happy,” you say, “and it could be fun without underwear.” (+1 Lust)

The fabric tightens. It feels softer, more sheer, and the ankle length hem rises slightly. You try to pull it off, but it doesn’t budge. “What the shit?”

(You have gained the EXHIBITIONIST’S DELIGHT trait. You cannot remove the woolen dress, but it will change to better reflect your behavior. Be careful, or you might find yourself wearing nothing at all.)

(You have lost the MANY FACED GOD TRAIT. Thank Christ.)

Lust: 24— Your head hurts something fierce

Chastity: 49— Living for today is what's important.

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

The night is scratchy and long, and morning brings nothing but pain. Your can scarcely rise from bed in time to beat the third snooze alarm. You brush your hair, curse the woolen dress, and leave for school.

Dad is stretched across the couch. Empty bottles are strewn around him. He shivers in the chill, morning air.

You pick up a blanket.

http://strawpoll.me/4880833

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

>>26800

And lay it across his shoulders. Whatever else he might be, he’s still your father. (+3 Chastity)

Your clothing shifts and contorts around your body, changing in color and texture. There’s a mirror in the hallway. You rush to it. The dress has become a sweater and jeans combo. It radiates a casual aura, but your old church name emblazoned across the chest, St. Mary’s Seminary for the Repressed, speaks of passed days. This is the kind of outfit you’d have worn back in South Carolina. Back home. Back when Mom and Dad would gather around the kitchen table and ask you of your day. Back when Mom would tuck you in, and when Dad didn’t drink so much. (+1 Chastity)

You shake your head, but the memories stick like cobwebs. You miss Mom. In any case, they’re comfortable clothes.

The sky is a steely grey. Summer is in full retreat, and the winds spinning the brown leaves across the pavement promises a short autumn. The school’s parking lot is packed with cars. As a pedestrian, though, you avoid that traffic and frustration, and you pass through the school’s gates with upbeat bounce to your steps. “Today’s going to be a good day,” you say to yourself.

Stacy stands by her locker in the middle of a cluster of boys from the football team. She’s whispering excitedly. “There she is!” Stacy says, pointing a long, manicured finger in your direction. “She’ll take care of you.”

You don’t like the glint in Stacy’s eye.

__

I need one persuasion test at 15 difficulty and, if that fails, two combat tests at twenty difficulty.

Persuasion difficulty 15 + 24 Lust = 39 Persuastion Check

Combat difficulty 20 + 24 Lust - 5 Emperor’s Finest = 34 Combat Check

Combat difficulty 20 + 29 Lust - 5 Emperor’s Finest = 39 Combat Check

Lust: 24— Your head hurts something fierce

Chastity: 49— Living for today is what's important.

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

>>26968

“Chelsea’s a slut. She’ll take care of all you,” Stacy says. The boys look at you. “A few days ago she banged Mr. Pile on his desk. Ask anyone, Chelsea moans like a cat in heat.”

Tears well in the corner of your eye. Today was going to be such a good day, too. “Why?” you ask. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are.” Stacy’s voice is far too chipper. “I’m just giving you what you want. Dick. You can thank me later.” She waves a dismissive hand and begins to walk away.

A crowd gathers to watch. “She’s lying! I’m not that kind of girl.” The boys advance on you, their muscular arms swinging distractingly. You bite your lip. (+3 Lust)

“Grab her tits. She’ll show her true colors.”

(Persuasion test pass)

And then your tears turns to rage. You plant your feet and square your shoulders. “I’m not a slut!" (+5 Chastity)

The boys hesitate. “I don’t want to do anyone unless they’re willing,” one of them says. He looks uncertainly at Stacy. “I’m not going to force her.” The rest nod.

(Persuasion epic effect!)

Then an idea occurs to you. A wicked, delicious, idea. “I’m not a slut. But Stacy is.”

“What?”

“It’s true!” a girl from the crowd chimes in. “She sucks men off in the ladies room all the time.”

“Oh yeah. It’s super gross,” another says.

Soon the gathered students are all chattering away, recounting Stacy’s various exploits on the roof, the men's room, and with teachers. The football players look at each other, nod, and march towards Stacy. She shrinks back. “Stop! I’ll tell a teacher!”

“No she won’t,” you say. “Look at her, she’s begging for it.”

Indeed she was. Stacy’s nipples formed rock hard mountains on her chest. Her eyes flicked to the crotches of the advancing boys. “Stay back!”

The first football player grasped Stacy around her waist and threw her over his shoulder. “Take her to the hole!” one of them says.

“To the hole!” the rest shout.

The football player marches in the direction of the men's room. He’s followed by a dozen students.

“This oughta be good,” you say to yourself.

The men’s room is like all public restrooms: disgusting. The bathroom is so packed that the door barely shuts. The football player throws Stacy into the middle stall and padlocks the exit. He goes into the stall next to it and shuts the door; one of his teammates does the same on the other side. The crowd forms a line outside each door.

“What’s ‘the hole’,” you ask a pasty faced boy.

“A glory hole! Before a big game the team gets the school’s nastiest slut and locks her in there. They won’t let her out until she’s sucked every dick that wants it.”

“What about the teachers?”

“It’s kind of a wink wink nudge nudge kind of deal. They ‘know’ about it, but the powers that be think it builds school spirit.”

The sound of Stacy’s fists on the stall door is replaced by choked gasps. The stall on the right opens, and a football player emerges. His face is red, and he zips up his pants, but a great grin is plastered from ear to ear. The next person in line shuts the door.

The bell rings.

“She’ll be at it for a while,” the pasty faced boy says. “You might want to get to class.”

You leave the bathroom, and Stacy’s desperate slurps, behind you.

Lust: 27— Was that a little mean?

Chastity: 58— It's more the ritual than the belief that give you comfort.

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

Stacy is still absent come gym. Though you can’t remove your clothes, they do have the decency to transform into something resembling your gym uniform. The shorts are a bit, well, short, and the sports bra is tight, but at least they’re appropriate.

Your locker shuts with a metallic bang. Mr. Pile pokes his head out of his office. “Chelsea, where’s Stacy?”

“Busy.”

He looks you up and down. “You’ll do then. Come here.”

You’re fairly certain you know what he wants. On the one hand, saying no might get you in trouble, but on the other It might be time to end this before it goes too far. Then again, your mind does keep imagining Stacy’s lips sliding along your classmate’s cocks. Your mouth waters. Mr. Pile’s dick was so delicious last time…

But then, what would Daddy think?

Lust: 27— Was that a little mean?

Chastity: 58— It's more the ritual than the belief that give you comfort.

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

http://strawpoll.me/4906182

Placing one foot precisely in front of the other, you strut into Mr. Pile’s office. With every step your hips move like the gentle roll of a ship, and you can feel your confidence grow.

Mr. Pile shuts the door behind you. He takes a moment to appreciate your assets. “I don’t know if it’s me, but I think you’re getting hotter,” he says, sliding his hand along the skin of your lower back. “So slender and smooth. And you say you’re a virgin?” His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps.

You giggle and press yourself against his hand.

“Such a waste,” he says.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Pile?”

“I’ll let you figure that out for yourself.” He unbuckles his pants, leaving them done up yet pulled apart. His boxers are a dark grey.

In a move that has, by now, become routine, you drop to your knees. The position feels comfortable, and the only real change is what you’re on your knees for. You dig into Mr. Pile’s pants and grasp the familiar girth of his dick. Your hand lacks the size to wrap fully around it. Opening your mouth, a few drops of drool fall onto the carpet. Your stomach flutters in excitement. You plunge his length deep into your throat and tremble at the taste. (-2 Chastity) (+10 Lust)

The motion and repetition lulls you into a trance. You close your eyes and simply savor the feel of his length sliding along your lips; his ragged, barely constrained breath is a sound more beautiful, more pristine, than a choir of angels.

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of my tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta,” Mr. Pile recites. His knuckles grew white on his desk. “Oh Jesus, I can’t remember the rest. Get off girl, or else I’m gonna cum.”

But you don’t listen. So wrapped in your prayer that you don’t notice the shaft begin to pulse. The head grows firm, the length veiny, and it’s only when Mr. Pile let’s loose a deep and guttural grunt that you return to your senses. Your mouth floods with a salty and decadent taste. You swallow audibly.(-2 Chastity) (+10 Lust)

– Next part coming up–

Mr. Pile falls against his desk. He takes great gasps of air as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “You’re something special, girl.” He digs around in a drawer. Heavy objects thump and shift within, but eventually he produces a glass bottle filled with a clear fluid. ‘Kamchatka Vodka’ is written on the side in black and red letters. He draws long from the bottle, and small bubbles rise to the top. When he’s done, he slams the thick glass on the table, wipes his mouth with the back of his hairy arm, and belches. “Take a swig. That shit will put hair on your chest.”

You pick up the bottle, sniff tentatively, and take a small sip.

Thousands of miles away, in the very heart of the siberian steppes, a ninety-seven year old woman crawls from her yurt. Her face is lined with countless wrinkles and weathered by a near century of wind and sun. In her time, she’s born fourteen children; all of which came to life barefaced and screaming in the tent behind her. She has fifty-six grandchildren, none of whom she likes, and once dueled a pack of siberian wolves with a powder blue teacup.

Every item has a purpose. That bottle of vodka was made for her.

You gag and spit the alcohol across Mr. Pile’s desk. The burning flavor lingers unpleasantly on your tongue.

“A little strong?” Mr. Pile laughs. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Only heaven knows why anyone would want to acquire it.” You frown and spit into the carpet.

Mr Pile takes another drag from the bottle. “It makes getting through the day easier.” He replaces the top and returns it to the drawer. “Ready for another go?”

>>27281

You shut the office door behind you and stumble into the shower. Its cold water washes away the sweat. Your senses gather.

Everything feels more intense. The cold water pinging off your near naked body thrills you like a chilled drink held to overheated flesh; the drops hitting the ground are near deafening. Yet through it all, the giddy feeling persists.

Once, when you were very young, a cardinal visited your sunday school. He’d held a talent show before all the parents. Most of the kids had performed some trite skill– hoola hooping was a favorite– but you had done something different: you had recited the entirety of Genesis. The stage had seemed so very tall then. When you were done, the crowd erupted in applause. The cardinal awarded you first prize.

That was nothing compared with the pulsing excitement you feel now. Your hands shake under the cool water. Frankly, it feels unnatural. Manic, even.

You climb out of the shower and dry yourself off. The familiar body wide twitch tells you that your clothes have reformed themselves again. You step in front of the mirror.

You still wear jeans, yet now they’ve torn in hundred places, revealing more of your thighs and legs then they cover. Your sweatshirt has changed, too. Gone is the heavy wool, replaced by a light and breezy cotton, The shirt now ends three inches above your navel and shows off the underswell of your breasts. “Saint Mary’s Seminary for the Repressed,” remains printed across

your chest, though. At least there’s that.

It’s hard to get mad at the clothes when you’re feeling this good. Walking away from the mirror, you realize your shoes have been replaced by two-inch heels. They clack, like an advertisement, on the linoleum.

After fifth period you see Stacy stumble out of the men’s room. She’s plastered from head to toe in a thick, white glaze, and she stumbles against the lockers as she walks down the hall. Her eyes are misted over. You feel like you can empathize.

It’s on the way home that you receive the text message.

“Do you still want to go out?” It’s from Charlie.

“Crap,” you mutter. With all that’s happened you’ve forgotten your date with Charlie. Daddy’s restriction means you need to go home, but you could defy it, or you could go home and sneak out. Then again, the restriction will give you a perfect excuse to bail on him.

A minute later you receive a second text message.

“Where’re you meeting Charlie?” It’s from Dante.

(Exhibitionism triggered!)

You can’t believe his gall, but then it is kind of hot. Maybe it’d be fun to tell him and spend the night teasing the muscle headed jock. You’d be there only for Charlie, of course, but you can’t help if Dante just happens to be in the same place as your date.

Lust: 00— You’re not really certain who or where you are right now.

Chastity: 40— You’re not a slut.

Popularity: 66— Chelsea, that cute girl everyone's talking about.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

Author’s Note: This vote is going to be kind of complicated to work out. There are four options, but to make certain everyone’s preferences are taken into account, y’all will be able to vote for more than one choice. Click the button next to each of them you like the best.

http://strawpoll.me/4925169

Your fingers move in a blur across your phone. “SBIGTTCASSAHFCYPMUPFSAF,” you text to Charlie. (+2 Popularity)(Cheerleader X 1.5)

“W-w-what?” he texts back, taking the time to type his stutter.

“Sure! But I’ve got to take care of some stuff at home first,” you translate, “Can you pick me up from school around five?”

“C-c-can do!” (+3 Chastity)

You jam your phone in your purse with a snort, trying to remember why you agreed to this silly thing in the first place. There are an infinite number of men stronger, more confident, and better looking than Charlie. Still, there’s something to be said about a good old fashioned 50’s sentimentality towards women. That is, with the right pair of rose-colored glasses, of course.

Your phone buzzes. “Speaking of stronger men.”

“Where you heading?” Dante texts again.

A surge of blood pulses through your groin. You press your legs together. “Mm, I really shouldn’t,” you mutter. But instead you type, “Leaving from the school at five.” Then, more to assuade your sudden guilt, “Don’t come.” There, that should take care of that. (+2 Lust) (-3 Chastity)

The familiar tingle begins again, dancing across your chest and legs. Your shirt grows thinner and shorter, and the rips on your pants widen. Great patches of cream colored skin shine in the afternoon sun.

You giggle, the strange giddiness buoying your mood, and skip home.

Lust: 02— Your knees still feel weak from earlier.

Chastity: 39— The loss of your virginity should bother you more than it is.

Popularity: 69— Chelsea, that cute girl who can’t say no.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

Voting will happen in the next post.

Daddy’s car is in the driveway. It’s a black Mercedes with polished hubcaps and a waxed hood. Though he makes excellent money, Daddy is never one to show it off. A bit of wood dangles from the Mercedes’ rearview mirror. It’s carved, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God. Mark 10:25” The car is his sole display of wealth. The thought of someone jamming your father through the eye of a needle brings a smile to your face.

You trail a lone finger along the car’s ebony length. Clothes shift around your frame, tightening and loosening and growing, until you’re left with your old sweatshirt and jeans combo again. This time, though, the wool rubs pleasantly against your nipples. It seems that whatever force controls your wardrobe decided against underwear. (+1 Lust) Silently, you give thanks. The thought of explaining that half shirt to your father was not a pleasant one.

He’s in the kitchen, opening two boxes of Hungry Man Selects, Fried Chicken Dinner. This will be the third time in a week you’ve eaten that particular meal, and while it’s no Marie Callender's, at least he’s not experimenting with Banquet Meals again. That week of tin tasting beef stroganoff is not one you wish to relive.

“Oh good, you’re here. I didn’t want to have to go combing the neighborhood for you.” He opens the oven, shoves in the “food”, and shuts the door with a metallic bang. “These’ll be ready in an hour. We’re watching Passion of the Christ tonight.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

Your father crosses the room and wraps you in his arms. He smells of fresh soap, and his embrace is strong. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says. “It’s been rough without your mother.”

You press your face into his shoulder. When he let’s you go the spot is damp. Wiping your eyes, you try to ignore a sudden lump in your throat.

He pats you on the head and leaves. “Could you pour me a glass of scotch?” he calls from the living room.

You open the cupboards and find the alcohol.

From the corner of your eye, on the medicine shelf, you spot a plastic bottle. Its logo is of a smiling cartoon skeleton tossing brightly colored pills into its mouth. “Pale Rider’s Sleeping Solution,” reads the logo. And underneath, “Warning: Non Childproof Container.”

The pills give you pause. With your father being all buddy buddy, they would probably be the only way to make your date on time.

Lust: 02— Your knees still feel weak from earlier.

Chastity: 39— The loss of your virginity should bother you more than it is.

Popularity: 69— Chelsea, that cute girl who can’t say no.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit

http://strawpoll.me/4983990

Looks like we're just about 22 days since the last update. Did you forget about us, Quill?

The pills fizz and pop in the amber fluid but quickly dissolve. Scotch, or the smell of it at least, is what reminds you most of home. For the longest time that sweet scent on his breath meant an evening curled on the couch watching a sermon on the television. Frankly, poisoning him with what amounts to the core of that memory feels almost blasphemous. (-2 Chastity)

Drops of condensation slide down the glass. Dad takes the glass from you and sips. He closes his eyes and leans back, a contented smile on his face. “I love you, sweetie,” he says. “And that’ll never change.”

The television hums to life.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen The Passion of the Christ. In fact, Jesus’ near shirtless table building scene was what you used to reach– what you know now was– your first orgasm. Frankly, seeing it now, after all that’s happened, it seems almost tame. Still though, it leaves you a little flustered. (+2 Lust)

Dad’s snores fill the room. You lay a blanket over him and pad his head with a pillow, careful not to wake him. “I love you too, Dad.” You kiss his forehead and sneak out the door.

The afternoon surrenders to the evening as you head to school. From somewhere far away, a handsome, despotic God-like figure releases his grip on your mind. His voice quiets, and you come to realize that it’s always been there; always leading you to where He chooses to go.

Freewill: you’ve never experienced it before. You smile and skip down the road, letting loose triumphant whoops to the heavens, and for the first time you’re aware that you can do whatever you want. Whatever please.

Life is good.

Then, from that same heavenly realm, a cacophony of voices, all equally loud, take His place. They shout orders, and you can’t help but obey.

(You have gained: The Will of the Many. All choices will be dictated and voted on by the audience.)

You lower your head, your bubble of happiness popped, and trudge to school, as the voices demand.

Your clothes morph into an upper-thigh length skirt and a tank top.

Charlie is leaning against his car in the school’s parking lot. From the corner of his eye he nervously watches you approach, trying, yet failing, to appear disinterested. He wears a checkered button up shirt, something clearly picked out by his mother. Still though, he’s handsome, in that deer in the headlights kind of way.

“Y-y-you’re really pretty.”

“Thanks,” you say, blushing.”That’s sweet.”

Charlie chuckles and opens the door. As you enter the car, from the corner of your eye you see Dante in the cab of his truck. He waves when you see him, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“W-w-where would you like to g-g-go?”

___

Well? What does Chelsea suggest? Suggestions are open for the next fifteen minutes and will be followed by a voting period. I hold veto power on all unreasonable suggestions, of course, but otherwise the sky's the limit. She can point out Dante is following her, head to make out point, see a movie, walk through the park, or really whatever.

Lust: 04— Your knees still feel weak from earlier.

Chastity: 37— The loss of your virginity should bother you more than it is.

Popularity: 69— Chelsea, that cute girl who can’t say no.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mYyULtLIvejTTHMWkengWQCwVh974ZK_Udohk8PHb4E/edit