Lindsay calls you out, then spikes your drink

Lindsay chuckles, leaning back, her foot nudging the oh-so-taut suspender meant to be attached to a garter belt. With it attached to one very stretched out pussy lip it makes you gasp.

"Come out, slut," Lindsay orders with a steely voice. "Don't clean up, just come out or I'm going to reveal you to the entire room."

Gulping, you find the edge of the tablecloth and slide out from under the table, hoping that no one notices.

Above the table you can see that she's everything you're not. Blonde, tall, confident-looking, dressed in a way that makes you think 'well off', if not rich. She also happens to have large breasts that fill out her dress in a way your never have. Her lips quirk with amusement as she takes in the mess Jacob made, and you find yourself fidgeting under her gaze.

"So, you're the fuck puppet he's with now," she says, giving you a disparaging gaze before pushing a tall glass full of cloudy liquid. "Here, drink up."

"I don't..."

"Drink!" she orders, and you grab the glass, sipping a little of the liquid before you can think to refuse.

"Don't sip, guzzle it. Ladies sip, whores guzzle. So guzzle!"

Ducking your head to avoid herstrict eyes you guzzle the drink, **** a little at the strong taste. It tastes odd, like there are granules of powder in it, but her steely eyes dare you to defy her and you find yourself caving under her intimidating presence.

"Good girl. I'm taking over your date."

"Wh..." you try to protest, but your brain can't seem to get the words to your mouth. It isn't that you feel drunk, or numb. Rather the opposite, you feel alive, highly sensitive, but almost like you're not the person in control of your body now.

"I'll keep Jacob pre-occupied. You, go outside and walk away with that 'I wanna get fucked' wriggle. I don't care what you do. Walk, pick up someone, or go to that sleazy little dance club across the way. So long as you don't come back here. Got it?"

Like a puppet on a string you nod, and get up. Through the dazed feeling you feel people look at you, whispers start about the sprays of white adorning your face and hair, and yet you can't duck your head or hurry. You just walk, swaying your hips in a cum-hither motion until you make it to the parking lot, where you vaguely wonder what will happen to you next.