Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
*****
"Lift up your skirt."
Becca's entire body burned, trembling as she tried to force her hands to resist, but the dug refused to relent. With each beat of her heart she could feel it searing inside of her, every inch of her under its influence. Will had told her it was just an anti-anxiety cocktail, something to soothe the stress of finals weeks—but nearly the second she'd swallowed the last drop, the effects were immediate, her world blurring at the edges.
Will had started simple, grinning a cheshire cat smile as he told her to hop up and down on one foot. To bark like a dog. To show him a sexy dance, which is when things took a turn, and he asked her to tell him how often she touched herself. Did she finger her pussy? Did she use a vibrator? What did she think about when she did it? And she'd answered, like the depraved pervert that she was, "Getting fucked in public by strangers."
That was when he ordered her to come with him across campus to the Swallow—the student operated cafe run out of the activity center's basement, a fairly large space littered with mismatched tables and chairs, always busy, always full of people. Students, professors, anyone who saw the posters and felt like getting a cappuccino. It was Becca's favorite place on campus.
Her hands shook, pinching the hem of her skirt between her fingers and lifting it, revealing the simple blue panties underneath. She saw a pair of guys at a nearby table gawking at her, but everyone else was still too wrapped up in their chatting and studying.
"Hmm," Will hummed, stroking his chin in mock consideration before kneeling down in front of her. He raised his hand, tracing a finger down the visible slit through her panties. Becca made a mmph! sound at his touch, electric even though it was so light, so teasing through the thin fabric. "These panties are pretty unsexy. Maybe you should take them off?"
Becca shook her head, chin length blonde strands slipping out of the tiny ponytail she'd pulled her hair into that morning. The drug controlled her movements, and her speech on command, but otherwise her genuine reactions were unaltered. Unless he ordered her, she could only give truthful answers, and she didn't want to take her panties off in the middle of a cafe. Her eyes traced over the dozens of people all around her, face blushing so hot it felt like her skin might start bubbling.
Will looked up at her. His eyes were dark, unmoved by her reluctance. "Take them off. Slowly."
Becca's eyes clenched shut, dropping her skirt. She hooked her thumbs under the elastic, then slowly, slowly pulled her panties down.
"That's a good girl—hold your skirt up so everyone can see your bare, naked pussy," he said as she stood upright again, stepping out of the blue cotton completely. More people were beginning to notice. Even in the corner by the couch, it was really hard to miss. Despite her blush and bitten lip and watery eyes, she throbbed between her thighs as she looked over the faces staring at her now, recognizing many of them. Brian, the guy she gave her number to last week. Melissa, her project partner in their anthropology class. Others, too, all staring at her naked cunt.
She sniffled, pulling the skirt up again to reveal herself. "Please stop—don't make me do this."
"Mm, look at that," Will whispered, eyes on her exposed sex. He licked his lips, and Becca tried to repress the shudder that ran through her at the thought of that mouth on her, here, in front of everyone.
"Will, man, what are you doing?"
The boys from the other table shook her from her dazed thoughts as they walked up behind Will, though their eyes never left Becca.
"This is my friend, Becca," Will explained, and Becca glared. They only knew each other casually, living in the same building, having a few mutual friends. The only thing she'd known about Will was that he was a dealer, and a chem major, and Julie had assured Becca he could help her with her sleep paralysis and panic attacks with one of his concoctions. Now they definitely weren't friends. "She does whatever I say."
One of the guys snorted. "Did you give her something? Jesus, you're an ass."
"Speaking of asses," Will said, gaze meeting herself. "Turn around and show them yours, Becca. Bend over for us."
Becca hated him. Christ, did she hate him. But her body moved on it's own accord, and she turned to bend over at the waist, hands against the table in front of her. Her skirt was short enough that it hid nothing, but she still felt Will flip the hem up to expose her completely.
"Now smack it," he said. "Spank yourself, you dirty bitch."
She reached one hand back, and gave her left cheek a firm slap, ass jiggling from impact. The guys behind her laughed, and Becca bit her bottom lip, trying to will herself not to cry.
"Again," Will said. "Keep going—don't stop until I say."
Her hand came down, over and over, the pain building more and more as her asscheeks stung, the skin hot to the touch every time her palm came made contact. The slap, slap, slap! sound was deafening in the cafe, and she could feel more people gathering around, pulling up chairs and whispering to themselves. Becca's mouth dropped open, whimpering out strangled noises every time she hit herself, eyes shut as she arched her back into the harsh sting.
"Tell everyone how much you love it," Will commanded. "Tell them how much you love spanking yourself for them, because you're such a naughty little girl."
Becca's voice wavered as she tried to keep her mouth clamped shut, but it was useless. The words burst out of her, "I-I love it! I love spanking myself for all of you! Oooh, fuck, I'm a such naughty little girl who loves to be spanked."
More laughter, then one of his friends shouted, "If you were really a naughty little girl, you'd take the rest of your clothes off!"
"You heard the man," Will said. "Stand up and strip facing us."
Becca turned back around, face as red as her ass. She kicked off her flats, and undid the zipper of her skirt, letting it drop to the floor near her long forgotten panties. Pulling her shirt up over her head and flinging it to the side, someone whistled and went, "No bra—what a slut!" Shame coursed hot and steady through her. Will had made her take off her bra and leave it in his room, her breasts jiggling under her thin t-shirt all throughout the long walk across campus, nipples hard and obvious under the soft white fabric. Three times he'd made her stop and flash her tits in the cool spring air, passersby doing double-takes, smirking and shouting things. But now he wouldn't tell her to pull her shirt back down. Now there she stood, naked in front of a crowd of people, at their complete mercy. Wet. She could feel it, undeniable between her thighs. And that wasn't the drug—that was all her, and she knew it.
Will walked around and came up behind her, guiding her by the arm to the sturdy wood table, long enough to fit a dozen people. He motioned for her to get up on it, and Becca obeyed, leaning back and leveraging herself up easily. From behind the table, Will reached over and pulled her back by the waist, centering her, and hooking hands under her knees to spread her legs. Everyone watched, transfixed on her naked body as they murmured and giggled to themselves.
"Do you feel that?" Will asked, letting her go.
Becca frowned. "Feel what?"
"You feel someone's mouth on your pussy," Will said, and the second the words left his lips, she could feel it—the gentle, warm pressure of an open mouth on her, kissing softly. "You feel their tongue gently tracing up and down your wet, needy slit. It circles your clit, but doesn't touch it. Just teases, slowly."
