Preside over a fundraising event

Although the university benefits from a generous endowment and profitable investments, it still has limited funds and depends on charitable contributions and bequests to function. This was something that didn't interest you particularly until you realized that the changes in social mores resulting from your use of the Rulebook made it acceptable to employ more risqué and exploitative methods of generating donations. Following a chat with one of the student football coaches, you found yourself roped into helping out at one of their fundraisers, which you minded a lot less after finding out the event in question was going to be an orgasm race.

There's still plenty of time before festivities are due to begin, but you'd like to have a chance to meet up with the girls taking part beforehand, so you let yourself out of one of the college's side entrances and turn down the narrow streets which form a short cut to the Blue Open Air Theatre, where the meeting is taking place. Unsurprisingly, you don't meet many people until you're almost at the venue, a spacious building owned by the university and at different times either used for internal activities or rented to outside organizations. It was constructed by the lauded benefactor Nathaniel Blue less than two hundred years ago, but in a traditional style, from blocks of pale grey stone, resulting in many puzzled sightseers walking right past it, because they're expecting a different colour. You're not sure why it causes so much confusion. Just because it's called the Boat doesn't mean it floats on water.

You approach the rear entrance to see a familiar silhouette standing in a patch of stinging nettles with her back to you. Your student Lorelei, now in her second year, has the front of her vermilion skirt tucked up into her waistband and is scraping her exposed sex along the stems and over the leaves of the nettles. Even from several paces away, you can hear her whimpers. When you call a greeting, she turns and for a moment you wonder why she looks prettier than usual, then you realise it's because her cheeks are wet with tears.

"Oh, hello, Professor," she replies with a wave, "I'm just topping up my sting before the race. It hurts much more when they're still in the ground."

"Are you taking part?" As far as you know, the busty redhead has no connection with the football team.

"Yes, they had a lot more donors than expected, so they're looking for last minute volunteers and Jo asked me to help."

"How are the nettles doing? No more accidents?"

"No, it's been really good. I've not cum at all in the last six months since I started stinging myself regularly."

"Good girl." She blushes all the way down her décolletage, which dips almost as far as her navel, when you say this, her face lighting up at the simple praise. "Let me see," you continue.

She obediently steps out of the nettle patch in the black ballet boots that she wears almost all the time nowadays and presents her cunt for your examination. It's bright pink, covered in tiny white blebs, especially around the clitoris and labia, which you part with your fingers, allowing a viscous blob of arousal to ooze out onto her thigh. Now she blushes even darker and suddenly her twat clenches on your knuckle. It takes a moment for you to realize that she's edging and you decide to test her self control by fingering her energetically.

The slender student gasps and shudders at your rude intrusion, her knees nearly giving way, but despite continuing to ride the brink of climax, she manages to hold on.

"Could you cum from this?" You ask her after no less than a couple of minutes, which must seem much longer to the suffering undergraduate.

"No, Professor," she answers breathlessly, "not when I'm so sore from the nettles. I just get extremely close."

You release her from her torment (causing a sigh of relief) and allow her to suck your fingers clean, after which she thanks you for testing her. The stings may be preventing orgasm, but you're pleased to see that they're doing nothing to limit her frustration and unfulfilled sexual need. Satisfied, you enter the theatre and Lorelei follows you on shaky legs into the green room, which is no more green than the Boat is blue. Once inside, she immediately divests herself of her rather revealing moss-coloured halter top, freeing her sizable boobs to match the attire of the other young ladies crammed into the small antechamber.

There are far more than you expected. When you last spoke to Robyn, the student coach organizing the fundraiser, you were planning on sixteen students providing the orgasms for the race, but there must be about double here now, only a handful of whom you recognize. Lorelei finds a space and squeezes herself down so that one of her companions can do her make up, starting with a quick pass with a cleansing pad to remove the tears which you personally prefer over blusher and eye shadow. Thirty-odd topless teenagers and twenty-somethings is a pleasant sight to behold, but everyone is busily preparing and you barely get noticed.