Harass a freshman couple

Near the shaded path by the library, you spot your next targets: a freshman couple walking hand-in-hand.

The girl is strikingly pretty in a wholesome, girl-next-door way. She has shoulder-length chestnut hair, bright hazel eyes, and a naturally athletic figure. Her outfit is conservative and modest: a crisp white button-up blouse tucked neatly into a knee-length navy blue pencil skirt, paired with sensible black low heels. A simple silver necklace rests at her collarbone, and she carries a small leather satchel. Everything about her screams “serious student” rather than party girl. Her boyfriend is a tall, slightly awkward guy with glasses, wearing jeans and a hoodie, looking every bit the protective first-year boyfriend.

You fall into step behind them for a moment, then circle around to block their path with a friendly smile. “Hey, freshmen. Quick game. Sophie, right?” You’d overheard her name from their conversation. “Hand over your panties. Right here, under that skirt.”

Sophie blinks, her cheeks instantly flushing pink. “Excuse me?” Her voice is polite but firm, clearly shocked. She glances at her boyfriend, Jake, who tenses up immediately.

“Dude, back off,” Jake says, stepping slightly in front of her. “That’s not funny.”

The surrounding students slow down, drawn by the sudden confrontation. Phones emerge casually. The Trickster’s influence turns the scene into prime entertainment rather than a crisis. A small crowd of twenty-five or so gathers, murmuring and grinning in anticipation.

You hold up your camera. “It’s simple. Take them off under the skirt, step out of them over those heels, and hand them to me. Do it nicely and you two can keep walking. Refuse, and I’ll make sure the whole campus hears about how uncooperative you were on your first week.”

Sophie’s blush deepens, spreading across her neck. She smooths her conservative navy skirt self-consciously, the modest length suddenly feeling far too revealing under everyone’s gaze. “This is ridiculous. We’re just trying to get to class.” Her tone stays steady—no tears, just clear embarrassment and reluctance. Jake looks torn between anger and uncertainty as the crowd’s expectant chuckles grow louder.

“Come on, Sophie,” a girl in the crowd calls out lightly. “It’s just a prank. Don’t be shy!”

After a long pause, Sophie lets out a shaky breath. The social pressure, combined with the strange, almost hypnotic sense that resisting would only make things worse, wins out. “Fine,” she mutters, cheeks burning. “Just… get it over with.”

She reaches under her knee-length pencil skirt with both hands, careful and deliberate. The modest fabric hides most of the action, but the crowd knows exactly what’s happening. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties—plain, practical white cotton—and tugs them slowly down her legs. Balancing on her low black heels, she steps out of one leg, then the other, the panties sliding smoothly over her shoes. The process is awkward and prolonged due to the tight skirt, forcing her to shift her weight and bend her knees slightly. A few inches of bare thigh flash briefly as she works the fabric free.

Finally, she straightens up, holding the warm white panties crumpled in her fist. Her face is a deep shade of red, but her expression stays composed—reluctant and humiliated, yet resolute. She extends her arm and drops the panties into your waiting hand.

“Good girl,” you say, dangling the modest white underwear for the crowd to see. “Conservative choice. Matches the outfit perfectly.” You tuck them into your suitcase with the others, patting the bag. The crowd erupts in appreciative laughter and applause.

Sophie smooths her skirt down firmly, now completely bare underneath the conservative navy fabric. The knee-length hem suddenly feels dangerously short without any barrier. She stands straighter, pressing her thighs together, a visible shiver running through her as a light breeze stirs the material. Jake puts a protective arm around her shoulders, his own face flushed with secondhand embarrassment.

“Happy now?” Sophie asks, her voice level but tight. She adjusts her blouse, making sure every button is secure, maintaining as much dignity as possible despite the situation.

“Not quite. Give us a slow turn so everyone can appreciate the effort,” you instruct.

Sophie hesitates, then complies with clear reluctance. She turns in a slow circle on her heels. The pencil skirt hugs her hips and ass, the absence of panties making the outline of her body more noticeable to sharp eyes. A few wolf whistles cut through the laughter as the crowd enjoys the show. “She actually did it,” someone comments. “Respect for the commitment.”

You lift the back of her skirt for just a second with two fingers, exposing her bare rear to the group behind her. Sophie gasps sharply and yanks the fabric back down, shooting you a glare, but she doesn’t break or cry. The flash of smooth, bare skin draws more cheers.

“Nice,” you tell Jake. “Your girlfriend’s got guts. And now everyone knows she’s going commando under that proper little skirt for the rest of the day.” You snap several photos: Sophie standing there in her conservative blouse and navy skirt, the subtle tension in her posture, the way she keeps adjusting the hem.

The couple starts to walk away, Sophie moving with careful, measured steps to avoid any accidental flashes. Her satchel swings at her side as she keeps her head high, cheeks still burning but refusing to let the humiliation show beyond the deep blush. Jake sticks close, muttering reassurances.

The crowd disperses with satisfied chuckles. “Best freshman orientation ever,” one guy says, giving you a nod as he passes.

You continue on your way, the fresh pair of panties joining the growing collection in your suitcase. Sophie and Jake disappear toward the academic buildings, the conservative outfit now hiding a very different reality underneath. Every step she takes would remind her of the missing layer, the cool air brushing against bare skin beneath the modest navy skirt.