CHAPTER 2: I am given a new uniform and travel to a new part of town
In my absence Chloe and friends had forced open my locker, and all of my things - clothes, money, keys, 'phone, purse, make-up and so on - had been emptied out.
In their place was just a shoe-box, with a post-it note attached.
With a sinking heart I read the note.
"Dear Little Miss Goodie Two-Shoes,
We couldn't wait for you any longer. What were you doing in there with Coach? (as if we didn't know, slut!).
We've gone to the restaurant to set up your squad dare. We've ordered you a pre-paid cab. Go to the Sake Lounge where we will give you your stuff back in exchange for a forfeit.
P.S. As an extra penalty for being Coach's slut, we decided that you don't get to wear panties.
Love and kisses,
Chloe."
I smiled ruefully, trying to compose myself.
I dried myself down a little and cleaned myself up before opening the package. I felt my heart sink even lower as I saw the outfit that I was to wear.
The most conspicuous part of it were a pair of bright red, high-heeled shoes. I wondered where Chloe had got them, and how difficult it would be to walk in them. My highest heels, those that I wore for special occasions, were not even half the height of these.
The other items in the shoe-box were two scraps of cotton. On further examination they revealed themselves to be a skirt and a crop top. Eager to be wearing something at least, I put them on.
The skirt was bright red, matching the heels, and absurdly short. On the front and back of it was a motif, a diagonal cross in blue, with each limb of the cross containing white stars. It was even shorter than our official uniforms, which were already, in my opinion, too short to wear off the field. Furthermore it was split on one side, all the way up to the waist band with two buttons, one white and one blue, just an inch or so apart, all that held it together.
It brought a new meaning to the term 'skimpy', and I was in little doubt that wearing such a mockery of a skirt, without panties, in a public restaurant, would be a nightmare.
I put on the crop top, which was tight and low cut, revealing plenty of my cleavage and also baring my midriff. It was also held together by a couple of buttons, at the front, in the middle, which made it easy to put on, but it seemed as if they might give way at any moment. I strongly suspected that Chloe had especially chosen one that was a size or two too small for me. It would be just like her. It had the same diagonal cross motif as the skirt.
I checked the corners of my ransacked locker.
Nothing.
I sighed again then sat down and began to put the heels on. I knew that it would require careful concentration just to walk in them.
Once I had the heels in place I stood and, wriggling, pulled the skirt as far down upon my hips as I could make it go, straining the little blue and white buttons as I did so. Even when I had pulled it down so that they were practically popping off it was still only just long enough to afford any basic decency and I could see that even the slightest breeze was going to compromise my modesty severely.
The anticipation of being out in public wearing such an ensemble, no doubt coupled with the memory of my encounter with Coach Lafitte seemed to combine to send an insistent surge of sudden desire through my body.
Almost without knowing I was doing it, my hand was gliding over my right breast, feeling my nipple hard and projecting through the tight top. My fingers sliding down over my taut, bared midriff. I tilted my head back slightly and parted my lips, feeling down still further over the thin material of my skirt, and then up and underneath it.
I moaned quietly as the questing tips of my fingers found the little nut of my protruding love bud. I felt a quake of excitement course through my provocatively clad body. I ran my finger back and forth over the hard little nut of flesh. Then I caught sight of myself in the changing room mirror, standing, knees bent, hand exploring under my tiny skirt. For a moment I thought that I might climax there and then.
It was as if sucking off Coach Lafitte had triggered something deep within me. I had always been a shy girl, determined not to do anything that might be regarded as 'naughty' or 'scandalous', and yet I had just pleasured a black man, much older than I, at his command, nude upon my knees, my hands behind my back.
Now, just thinking about it, here I was wantonly touching myself in the squad changing room.
These did not seem to be at all the actions of a shy, demure, English rose, and yet, as I glanced down at my half-clad body once more, I whimpered softly, and almost without realising that I was doing so, pressed my slim fingers inside myself, pushing gently. The muscles of my dripping sex contracted about them, as I began to work back and forth. A further, louder, moan of pleasure escaped my parted lips and I threw back my head and closed my eyes tightly, allowing the thrilling sensations to wash over me.
I was lost in the pleasure that my actions were eliciting from my body. I groaned loudly, my breasts pressing forward against the thin fabric of the crop top. I knew that my climax was already close, and that it was going to be immense. I began to move faster and faster, ramming my hips forward, lost in myself, oblivious to everything except my wanton desires. I felt the juices from my sex soaking my fingers.
"You order taxi, girlie?"
