Stealthily claim Pearl's fashion sense

All you can think about is how Pearl took off her hoodie at your behest. Especially the moment she handed you her jacket, and you saw how tightly fit her t-shirt was over her chest.

If you can claim Pearl’s sarcasm and totally change her personality, you can do anything you want to her, can’t you? You and Yutong proved it. You don’t have to see Pearl like that just once. It can be as many times as you want. You can see Pearl in a tight t-shirt again. You can have her take her jacket off for you again. And you can fix it afterward, too.

Anything - you can claim anything, and then do anything you want with it. All you have to do is say the words.

"I claim your sense of style and how you feel toward your clothes," you say on impulse.

Pearl scoffs and opens her mouth to chew you out. "You fucker, get out right -"

"I claim your memories about those two things too," you talk over her, adrenaline racing in your veins. "Forget I claimed them.”

Her rebuke withers before she finishes it. Her expression is stunned. “What…”

“You remember I've always owned your sense of style and your feelings about your clothes, and that I've always been a good owner for them, even though I let you use them however you want. Forget I said any of this."

Pearl’s mouth hangs open for a second, but she draws a total blank. Nonplussed, she closes it again. "Uh. Was I saying something?" she asks, confused.

"No?" you try, crossing your fingers.

She shakes her head and pauses the current video. "Sorry. Brain moment. What’s it you wanted to tell me?"

Ah, Pearl forgot you claimed anything, but she didn't forget you asked for her attention in the first place.

You take a deep breath to steady your wildly racing pulse, and a second to work up your confidence. "I wanted to talk to you about your clothes.”

“Okay…” says Pearl, warily. She knows you’re up to trouble. She looks down at her outfit - ratty black hoodie, Powerwolf graphic tee, and black cargo pants with purple socks - and back up to you with a suspiciously quirked eyebrow. "What about them?"

The weight of Pearl’s obvious disapproval over whatever you’re about to say almost stops you then and there. But ‘almost’ is a very big word. You already stole her style without her knowing about it. You’ve cleared the biggest hurdle, and now you’ve got momentum.

Reassured, your confidence grows. You assume a thoughtful attitude and make a show of leaning back in your chair to get a better look at Pearl. "I've been thinking,” you say. “What you’re wearing doesn’t really seem to be your style, does it?"

Pearl’s suspicion deepens. "What are you talking about?" she asks, narrowing her eyes. "I've had this outfit since forever. This is my style. I like black."

If you didn't know Pearl better, you'd worry your claims didn't go through. Yet Pearl would never be having this conversation if your power didn’t work. She'd tell you to fuck off the second she thought you were insulting her threads.

You smile sadly and steeple your fingers like an anime villain. "Maybe it's your style for going out with everyday stuff or attending a graduation party," you allow, "but it's night and you're home in your room. Wearing all that right now isn't your style at all."

You get an idea.

“In fact… you can’t stand it. You need another outfit ASAP.”

Pearl's brow furrows, and she looks down at herself. Slowly her expression turns from incredulity to horror. All at once she’s on her feet. "Fuck Chase, why didn't you tell me sooner?" she growls, picking disgustedly at her shirt. She drags you out of your chair and ushers you toward the door before you can make up an excuse. “Get out of my room for a second, I need to change into something else."

You dig in your heels and grab the doorframe to resist being shoved out. It then takes slapping away Pearl’s hands to stop her aggressive manhandling. "Hey, what if I want some input on what you change into?”

Pearl halts out of sheer confusion. “You do?”

“Course I do,” you say. “It’s my style, isn’t it?”

She shakes her head. “You’ve literally never done anything with my sense of style or how I feel about clothes before today, beyond saying ‘cool shirt’ or ‘nice socks’ or whatever every now and then,” says Pearl. “I’m not telling you no, but this is new from you.”

“Well, we’re out of high school now, so maybe I have a few notes,” you reply, feeling weirdly defensive.

Pearl lets the matter drop. “Okay, but make it quick," she says, turning back into her room. "I can't stand being dressed in a fucking band t-shirt and a pair of cargos one nanosecond longer than I have to, not in my own room at night. Seriously, if this is how you wanted me to feel about this shit, you should’ve told me years ago."

You follow her in. You’re emboldened at Pearl's strident reaction. She’s acting as if you owe her to be timely in changing her opinions and preferences.

“Clothes are in the closet,” says Pearl, racking open her wardrobe for you and hanging her hoodie up inside. “PJs make the most sense in my opinion, but I guess technically that’s up for debate for some reason since we’re talking about it.”

A grin takes hold of your face and doesn’t let go. The weirdness of Pearl’s reactions, the total inversion of power dynamics - you’re like a kid in a candy store with a wallet full of stolen credit cards.

"Sorry, but I need to see what we're working with, first" you say. "Strip down to your underwear first so I can see if PJs are the right move to make right now."

But far from complying, Pearl bristles. "Is this a bad joke? I'm not taking off my clothes in front of you,” she says, facing you with a withering glare. “You might be able to claim anything, but last time I checked, you didn't claim my right to privacy."

Huh. Right. You claimed Pearl's sense of style and how she feels about her clothes. You need to work her on that axis.

"No, it should be all right," you reason, improvising a way around your friend’s mental block. "You feel 100% dressed and presentable when you're in your underwear. It's… just like wearing a swimsuit. Except cooler. And sexier. Like you're breaking the rules.” Yeah, that sounds about right. “So… dressing or undressing around me doesn't feel weird either. You're totally comfortable with it."

Pearl's anger cools off, much to her surprise. "Huh. Really? That's sudden and weird and weirdly specific," she says with a suspicious frown. And yet, she lets your words become her truth anyway. "Well, even if I am weirdly comfortable with undressing in front of you, I still don’t appreciate people up and ordering me around. My sense of style's yours, but the rest of me isn't. You’ve been a good owner for my stuff so far but if you’re going to start being a tool about it, we’re going to have problems.”

"You're right, my bad," you say, trying to sound as genuine as possible. “This is sorta new for me too.”

“Just don’t do it again,” says Pearl, her expression softening a little.

Satisfied with your apology, your oblivious friend pulls her t-shirt up off over her head. Then she shucks her cargo pants and kicks them into the bundle. Pearl, now clad only in a black bra, panties, and a short pair of purple socks, picks the pile up and puts it on her bed.

When she's finished, she runs her fingers through her hair to straighten it and turns to face you.

Pearl's not the skinny girl she used to be in middle school. Her strong bra contains her sizable breasts, and her high-cut panties are stretched tight around her wide hips. A natural hourglass, she has thick thighs, a soft, if somewhat pudgy stomach, and beautifully smooth shoulders. Her round face, with dark eyes and lips, wears an expectant expression.

She puts her hands on her wide hips. "So?" asks Pearl, eyebrow quirked.

You try to contain yourself in front of your surprisingly hot goth friend. Effectively, you now control what she wears and why, and Pearl's ready to accept it without question.

Your erection throbs against your jeans.