Yes, but it's not enough.

The whistles, cat calls and chants stop for a brief moment. There is silence when I open wide my bra and strip it off, exposing my bare tits to the crowd.

“Damn,” some guy is the first to break the quiet, “what a set!” Which ignites a new wave of cheers.

“Must be cold in here,” someone else comments, “look at her nips.” Which only furthers their applause. Instinctively, I cross my arms in front of me, covering my breasts and hiding how shamefully erect my nipples have become.

"Please, let me keep a little dignity." I beg.

My plea is answered with boos followed by a new chant; “Take it all off! Take it all off! Take it all off!” The mob is insistent that I must pay in full.

Resigned to my fate I let go of my breasts and push my thong down over my hips, thus causing my last piece of clothing to fall to the floor, stripping myself completely naked in the middle of the crowded gym.

“What a slut.” One of my sorority sisters quips, “Her nipples are not the only thing that is swollen.” The cheers now give way to cruel and mocking laughter. I hunch over trying to cover myself once again. My right arm presses against my breasts, while my left hand covers my clitoris, which has indeed become enlarged, firm and moist. “Damn it.” I mutter to myself, angered that my own body has added to my humiliation.

Through the boos the ringer who tricked me into the fake date approaches. “Drop the arms.” He demands.

“You've had your fun,” I hiss back, “and I've paid up.”

“No you haven't.” He cuts me off. “The wager wasn't for your clothes, but that 'you had to get naked,' which means we have all earned the right to a good long look.” He leans in with a threatening look, “Pay up or we're going to tell the dean about all that money you've made off us by illegally gambling on school grounds.”

“No.” I whimper as my mind races pondering the threat. His definition of the wager I have to concede is correct and I simply can't get expelled. “Fuck!” I swear and stamp my foot in protest, but I also drop my hands to my side.”

“Good girl, legs apart.” He commands, “Hands behind your head.”

I straighten up, spread my legs and take hold of the back of my head with my hands.

“Stomach in, chest out, loser,” He grins, “and smile for the cameras.”

Clenching my abdomen muscles I arch my back a bit, causing my tits to jut forward. The last order, however, I simply can't bring myself to obey. With a resolved grimace I try not to concentrate on the crowd before me and instead stare past them. No one complains, it seems they're focusing on other things besides whether I am smiling or not.

My pose is greeted by the clicking sound of a dozen camera apps going off at once.

“Welcome to Instagram, bitch.” One guy laughs.

“My vid on Dailymotion has already 500 hits.” Another adds as he fiddles with his phone while asking, “What's her name again?” I wince as several of my sorority sisters quickly give him the correct spelling.

For over ten minutes they make me stand in this compromising position and endure their inspection, ogling and photography.

Finally, my “date” walks up to me again. “Not so tough are you now, loser?” He waves the stack of thousand dollars in front of my face. “Care to make another wager?”