On the precarious, well-lit catwalk, the dancer slid forward, limbs writhing intime with the music. She wore almost nothing: a pair of stiletto high-heels,black stockings, a spangled, gold g-string and a pair of tassled pastiescovering her nipples. And a bright, shiny charm bracelet on one wrist. Hertits, small and firm, bobbed up and down as she gyrated back and forth acrossthe small stage.

The music drew her forward; bit by bit, piece by piece, the minimal clothingcame off until, finally, she stood naked and exposed before the watchers. Theshapeless mass of the audience was no longer silent, but was instead callingout what seemed to be a name, over and over again. Dimly, the dancer sensedthat she should be frightened, but she wasn’t. Instead, she began to becomemore and more excited. Rubbing her breasts with one hand, she began to pant andmoan as the shouting grew louder. The colored lights above her began to move…rotating wildly… pulsing on and off. Her pussy was damp and inviting when sheinserted first her middle finger, and then middle three fingers.

Her excitement grew to the point of orgasm; the name chanted by the audiencebecame louder and louder… Suddenly, there was a loud ringing sound, again andagain as the lights sped up. She tried to ignore it, concentrating on theswiftly approaching orgasm, but it kept ringing and ringing… the hoarsechanting became clearer until, abruptly, she could make out the name:

"Stacy!"

Stacy Richards sat bolt upright in bed, sweaty and dishevelled. Her mother’svoice had shouted out her name from the bottom of the stairs. "Stacy. Answeryour phone."

The phone beside the bed was ringing. Stacy glanced over at the bedside clock:almost 10:30 - a bit early to be calling on a Saturday. She reached over andpicked up the phone.

"Hi Stace." It was Sharon. Of course.

Stacy fought back an urge to slam down the phone. "What do you want?" sheasked, fighting to contain her anger.

"Just to tell you that we’re going out tonight; girl’s night out." Sharonsounded pleased with herself.

"What are you talking about?" Stacy fought to clear her head of the lastvestiges of sleep.

"There’s a party at BCN tonight," Sharon explained. "We’re going." BCN stoodfor Bakersville College North. At the time the campus was opened, there was aplanned second campus to be built south of the town, but that had neveroccurred. The one college was still, however, called "North".

"I can’t do that," Stacy argued, fighting down a sudden surge of panic. "I’m…uhm… busy tonight."

"Do I have to make threats?" Sharon asked. "You know what your options are.Besides, you might enjoy yourself."

Stacy sighed with resignation. She knew very well that she would have to agreewith whatever Sharon said. If not, she would be ruined at Greenwood. "OK," shemuttered. "I’ll be there."

"Fine." Sharon was matter of fact; she had expected nothing else. "Come to myplace at 7:00. Oh… we’ll be out all night; tell your mother that you’ll bespending the night at a friend’s house." The line went dead as Sharon hung upbefore Stacy could reply or protest.

Slowly, Stacy put the receiver down and ran a shaky hand through her mattedhair. Only then did she notice that her body was covered with a sheen of sweat.The dream! She pushed back the covers and looked down on her body: her nippleswere firm and erect and her pussy was slightly damp. Could that dream reallyhave been exciting her? All she remembered was being naked… and all those menwere watching! She placed a finger on her clit and began to rub, moaningsoftly. Just the memory of the dream was exciting! What was happening to her?Despite her confusion, she continued to masturbate herself, quickly bringingherself to climax.

Just as the orgasm died away, the phone rang again. She picked it up.

"Hello?" It was Barry Packard. Just what she needed. She had noticed that hewas trying to talk to her at school, but she had managed to avoid himsuccessfully ever since they had fucked a couple of weeks ago in the front seatof his car.

"Hi Stacy," he greeted her. She remained silent.

"Uhm… I was just wondering if you wanted to… like, you know… go outtonight, or something."

"Are you kidding," she laughed. "I wouldn’t be caught dead with a loser likeyou." All of her frustration and anger at what had happened to her in the lastcouple of weeks flowed out of her heart and down the phone lines.

"B-but… I thought… what about what happened on…"

"What happened in your car was a joke," she told him. "You’ve got to be theworst fuck I’ve ever had." It felt a little strange talking like that, but onthe whole, it was good to be on the giving end of some abuse rather than on thereceiving end. Besides, he was such a loser!

"B-but…"

"I don’t want to hear about it, and I don’t want to see or hear from you again.Just fuck off!"

Stacy slammed down the phone. That had felt good! Almost like her old self.Cheered up, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom for a shower.

As ordered, Stacy arrived at Sharon’s house promptly at 7:00 that evening.Sharon’s mother, a large, bleary-eyed woman answered the door.

"Is Sharon here?" Stacy asked timidly. The woman smelt of beer and stalecigarette smoke.

The woman took a drag from her cigarette and gestured Stacy inside. Stacywalked into the house.

"Sharon!" Sharon’s mom was yelling down a flight of stairs. "Your littlefriend’s here." She turned back to Stacy. "Go right on down. She’s in herroom."

Stacy smiled weakly in thanks and walked down the stairs into the basement.

"In here." Sharon’s voice came from behind a closed door at one end of a shorthall. Stacy pushed the door open and entered Sharon’s bedroom. The pudgy girlwas talking on the phone; she waved at Stacy to come in and sit down.

"… Yes… I know. At the agreed price. I know… uh huh… it’s just forprivate use. Nothing else." Stacy sat on the edge of Sharon’s bed, careful notto disturb a pile of dirty clothing. "No, that’s fine. Yeah… as long as theydon’t mind… OK." Sharon hung up the phone and turned to Stacy.

"Well," she said, smirking, "let’s have a look at you. Stand up." Blushing,Stacy stood up. She was wearing a blue skirt which fell below her knees and ayellow blouse. Her blonde hair was done up in a tight, little bun at the backof her head. Sharon shook her head as she looked the older girl over. "Huh,"she grunted. "That’s not gonna do." She got up and moved towards the closet."Let’s try these on." She pulled out a duffel bag and handed it to Stacy.

Stacy took one look inside and dropped the bag. "I can’t wear these. Not inpublic."

Sharon just smiled and lit a cigarette.

"Every time," she rolled her eyes theatrically. "Every time we go through thissame game. First you say you can’t do something. Then we threaten to releasethe tape and the pictures. Then, suddenly, you can do it." She looked over atStacy. "Is all that really necessary?"

Stacy looked down at the duffel bag and began to tremble. She fought back thetears.

"Please…" How could they do this to her?

Sharon wasn’t moved.

"Put these on, you bitch," she ordered, suddenly angry. "You’ll wear themtonight or by Monday night everyone in town will know what a slut you are."

The videotape!

Reluctantly, Stacy reached down and picked up the duffel bag.

Ten minutes later, she was changed and ready to go. The central item of her newapparel was a black, patent leather skirt, which reached only halfway down herthighs. The tight skirt was fastened by a zipper on the side. (For easyaccess, Sharon had commented.) On top, she now wore a bright pink spandexshirt. The sleeveless blouse hugged her upper body tightly, making the most ofher smallish breasts. On her feet, she wore black leather, high-heeled boots,which covered her lower legs right up to her knees. Thin nylon stockingscompleted the ensemble. As well, Sharon had combed out her blonde hair, so thatit fell in waves across her now bare shoulders. A little extra make-up (appliedby Sharon) and she looked like "a proper little whore" (in Sharon’s opinion).