Annie and Mimi jump rope in the buff

“24,25,26…27, ack!” I felt the rope coil around my ankle as my tired feet left the ground. I fell forward, my tumble cushioned by the soft grass. I heard a multitude of shutters firing all at once to record my ass cresting upward like my little cheeks were a particularly naughty couple of rolling hills.

“Ack!” As if to add insult to injury, a water balloon exploded on my face. I would complain that the water was too cold, but honestly, all this exercise has got me sweating worse than if I were in a sauna.

“A-are you ok-ack!” My fall distracted Mimi, making her likewise lose the rhythm and net herself a water balloon to the back of the head. You’ll have to excuse me, but I couldn’t muster much sympathy for the woman who was, admittedly indirectly, the cause of my current embarrassment.

Mimi was in more dire straits than me. Her whole skin was glistening with sweat and water. Her pale pink nipples are standing so sharp that I’m seriously considering using her torso as a shiv against the club.

Mimi began jumping again, her heavy breasts swinging like they were on a trampoline. Luckily, my bra kept my own puppies in check. Thank goodness, even with my more modest bosom, jumping around au natural so much can’t feel too great.

Sadly, only my bra remained. My former boss took my shirt and tied it around her waist like a skirt after I failed my third jumping streak. Like most of the club, she went to take a “strategizing lunch” after getting bored of ogling us for, I guess it was like twenty minutes?

Nonetheless, half the club remained, as well as a rotating line of bemused students who came to check out the newest attraction on campus. Every time I dared look at them, my heart jumped as I noticed them sketching my body in their mind’s canvas, with quite a lot of attention directed towards the perfectly trimmed red trail on my groin.

If there’s any silver lining to the situation, is that I’m not the Mona Lisa of the collective museum of the campus´ imagination. The lion’s share of the gazes are directed towards the Muse of Infamy, Mimi. Her face is glowing with a powerful crimson blush… which I assume isn’t that different from the ovens burning on my cheeks.

“So… is this finally a ten?” I ask Mimi between hops and bated breaths

“…n-no… Kind of like high-ish 8, but not a nine yet.”

“Are you serious?”

“Y-yeah, last week it was worse when I-ack!” Mimi tripped as she turned to stare at me. She flinched preemptively as she waited for the water balloon that was supposed to hit her… but none came. “Huh?”