"How bad is it?" Vicki asked Haley. Vicki had done her best to put a defiant spin on her public blowjob, but she already had an inkling of how it was playing out.
"Not great," Haley said.
Vicki watched her friend search for words. "Just spit it out," she said.
"There are rumors about you," Haley said. "The whole blowjob thing, and some of it is bad. They call you Vicki 'Long Time' as in like, 'me love you long time.'"
That one hurt. Not because she felt any attachment to that racist trope, but because she was sharing a sorority with that level of stupid, with people who would boil her down to a stereotype from some old movie. She was wrapped up in an institution of sisterhood, enduring shared suffering that was meant to drive them together. Now at the first sign of trouble, she was an Other, just because she looked a little different.
"I'm so sorry Vicki. They don't know you like we do. Don't know what we have to do," Haley said.
"That all?" Vicki couldn't take the steel out of her voice. Haley didn't deserve her anger. Vicki had asked Haley for the rumors as a favor.
"And that you fucked Steve, and that's why McKayla broke up with him," Haley said.
"What?"
--
Vicki had been avoiding her roommate since the blowjob. Discussions mostly boiled down to one word answers. Janette didn't seem to understand it, but she got the hint.
The blowjob had been no picnic. Vicki had been manipulated into getting face fucked in front of the whole sorority. Liz even made it look like it was Vicki's idea.
She tried not to reflect on what had happened, the gagging, the cum that got everywhere, even into her sinuses so that days later she thought she could still taste it, running through the house naked, her breasts and ass jiggling for all to see.
It wasn't that she wish it on Janette, but... It just wasn't fair. If Janette had been the one up there, it would have been no big deal. "Of course Janette chose the cock," the other girls would giggle. "Oh Janette, you're such a slut. Maybe you can show me how you do that."
Now she was Vicki "Long Time," the one who thought she could challenge Liz, could handle the cock. Boy was she wrong. Ran out crying, covered in cum.
And why hadn't Janette helped her out? Just a few weeks ago, her roommate had volunteered to strip naked and be led around on her hands and knees with a butt plug lodged in her ass.
Only one thing had changed. Janette had made a real pass at her. Not a hypothetical sharing of sexual exploration. Janette had put something on the table, taken a risk.
And Vicki had turned her down.
Vicki was pissed about quite a few things-- the humiliation, the racism, the snickering and side eye from the other girls, but her friendship with Janette might have been the worst. Whatever she'd thought existed wasn't real, at least not real in the way she thought.
Vicki was deep in her thoughts, changing out of a white top she'd spilled marinara on. She wore a basic bra, utilitarian.
"What's going on?," Janette asked. Vicki had been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed her roommate come in.
Vicki felt an urge to cover up but fought it.
"Marinara," Vicki nodded at her top.
"Not that. Vicki, something's wrong. You can tell me. You'll feel better," Janette prodded again. "I know the others--"
"Fuck them," Vicki erupted.
Janette just stared at her with those endearing eyes, a look of concern on her face, giving Vicki space to talk.
"I had to do it," Vicki said. "Liz--"
"I know. Now," Janette said. "Haley told me."
There was a note of pain her voice. Vicki had shared the circumstances of the enema with Haley before she sent her out hunting for rumors. She hadn't confided in Janette.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Janette asked.
"I tried. I-- Why didn't you help me?"
"You mean get on my knees in front of everyone I ever met and their plus one and suck Bill's cock?"
Vicki barely had the energy to whisper, "It's what I did."
"Vicki, I'm so sorry that happened. I get why you're mad. I'm mad too," Janette paused. "But why are you mad at me?"
"You didn't help me," Vicki said. "You would have done it before. You had a chance to walk away before, and you didn't. But not now, not this time."
"I didn't know," Janette said back.
"Or didn't care?" Vicki asked. She found her voice trembling, more emotional creeping through than she had anticipated.
Janette's face morphed from quiet concern to anger. Outrage.
"I thought you were worried about me," Janette said. "That's why I didn't suck Bill off. I thought you were sweet, worried I couldn't take the paddle, thought you asked me to do that because you cared about me. I... I saw how much it hurt you last time. I didn't realize you only worried about yourself. So thanks for that I guess."
Janette stormed out, if a hundred and ten pound model could storm out.
"Goddammit," Vick hissed. She wasn't even sure why Janette had come back to their room in the first place.
Their final trial was coming right up, and Vicki was running out of friends.
--
Vicki's head hurt even before she fully woke up. Her throat was raw from cigarette smoke. She tasted stale sugar and something else. Cum?
She groaned. Her stomach fluttered. If she hadn't puked she would soon. It had been a few days since her fight with Janette, and as far as Vicki could put together, it was the day after their final test. The "black-out fantasy."
Liz had explained it to the red collars, said there was something symbolic in their loss of consent, knowing that they were going to get fucked raw while letting go of all control. In practice, the red collars were going to get stinking drunk and let the usual collection of stunt cocks have their way with them, before and after they were too drunk to say no.
It was obviously disgusting and scary. Part of Vicki wondered if it was a setup to take compromising pictures of them, insurance in case things went wrong. What more could Liz do that she hadn't already done while they were sober?
The red collars had promised each other they would lie and cheat to avoid getting too drunk, but the pain in her body and the blanks in her memory indicated that she had fucked up the plan.
Past the pain in her head, there was a familiar throb in her pussy and an awareness of sticky cum between her legs. And her ass ached. Fuck.
Liz had been almost gleeful when explaining about the dangers of anal sex. Liz had stripped them all naked and shoved butt plugs up their asses for "their protection," explaining that anal sex when the participants were black out drunk and inexperienced was actually dangerous. Vicki hadn't been particularly grateful at the time, her asshole stretched around stainless steel.
She reached down to her ass and found... nothing. Her finger grazed her lubed up asshole and not the stainless steel base. The plug was gone. Vicki looked at her fingers. At least there wasn't blood.
Even if she couldn't remember exactly what had happened, she knew. Someone had fucked her ass. Her first time. Not with a loved one as a show of ultimate intimacy. Not with a stranger per se but completely forgotten, lost in a drunken haze.
Vicki tried to roll out of bed but stumbled to the floor, naked knees on thin carpet. She'd never felt so rotten in her life. Nothing in the room felt familiar. Vicki spotted a small office trashcan under a desk. She crawled over to it and vomited. The acid taste filled her sinuses.
She felt some small amount of relief, so small it was practically immeasurable. What was infinity minus one? Still infinity. That was her hangover level. Vicki pulled it together just enough to look around.
She was buck naked in a bedroom, with not even the faintest idea of where she was or how she got there. Morning light streaked across the room.
She heard a groan from the bed above her, a man's voice. Fuck.
Vicki wanted to crawl away, find a hole and die. Despite her extreme discomfort she felt unlikely to die. Vicki stood up on shaky legs and inspected the bed.
A naked man. He groaned again and rolled over toward her.
It was Steve. McKayla's Steve. The "stay away from him" Steve, the beyond the firewall Steve. Not a forbidden fruit. THE forbidden fruit.
The rules were explicit and adamant. Fucking a rando outside of the Program was enough to get her kicked out of school.
What level was this offense? McKayla wasn't exactly her friend, but she had at least been neutral during the initiation. What would happen now? Ritual punishment?
Vicki's sister had fucked up along these lines, had even warned her about it. Months later, Vicki still could remember her sister's words, how her voice was cold and haunted. Whatever happened had been bad, and Vicki doubted her sister had fucked the pledge captain's boyfriend.
Vicki puked again, not even making it all into the trashcan.
Steve stirred but didn't wake.
How did she get here? Would he remember? Maybe he was too drunk. Maybe she wasn't absolutely fucked yet.
Vicki tried to recall the night before, and there was so much, overwhelming flashes of sex and drinking and kissing and Janette and vast, empty stretches of nothing, certainly no Steve.
She had to get out of here.
Vicki looked around for her clothes. She found her pants, but no panties. Then her shirt. It was slick with a sheen of cool vomit. Vicki barely succeeded in holding back a round of dry heaving.
She briefly considered wearing the shirt. Dark on dark-- it was possible not to notice the throw up. But the smell. Jesus. She threw it in the trashcan with the rest of her vomit.
Vicki opened Steve's closet and pulled out the smallest looking dress shirt she could find. She slipped it over her head without needing to unbutton it. Where was her bra?
She tried to recall. Vicki hadn't worn one to the previous night's event. Hadn't brought a purse either. Had she gone directly from one to the other? Vicki scanned the room over and didn't find anything but her shoes.
She put them on and slipped out of Steve's house, not bothering to find her socks or panties.
--
