It's not even a contest

The room explodes in a din of laughter and wolf whistles. No... I can't do this. It's too much. You shrink into your seat, wanting to disappear. Needing to escape from the humiliation. **** to relieve the burning need in your pussy. You catch your hand creeping toward your crotch, and you stop yourself just in time. Something is seriously wrong with me. You curl your hand into a fist so tight your fingernails dig into your palm.

This wager is too far. They can keep your bra, you need to get out of here. The thought of losing again, of being humiliated again, of having to take off your panties in front of all these hateful boys, is making your head spin.

You're about to get up and walk out, bra or no bra, wager or no wager, when George confronts Lincoln. "Hey! C'mon Link, this is too far! You can't make her do that!" George is putting on his bravest face, pushing through the fear that's making his voice tremble. "Give her the bra back, and... and apologize!"

Oh, George. You're filled with overwhelming gratitude, but that feeling deflates the instant you hear Lincoln burst out laughing.

"Listen, George, she made a bet, and she lost. Rules are rules. You know how things are on Fridays." He points his finger accusingly at the shorter boy. "Now, if I recall correctly, you vouched for her. You said she wasn't a fake gamer girl, that she could hang. Things aren't looking so good for your club standing right now if she backs out."

George's eyes go wide and his mouth gapes. That threat obviously means something to him. You summon the last reserve of your willpower. You already feel pathetic enough; you can't let your cowardice be the reason your friend suffers.

You take a deep, shaky breath and stand up. "OK Lincoln, leave him alone. I made the wager. Double or nothing."

Looking at the crowd of boys, you're painfully aware that most of them are staring at your chest. Even George, the poor guy. The only exception is that boy from earlier, the one who gave you such a bad feeling when you walked in. He's looking you right in the eyes, his gaze intense and almost... hungry. Like you were a piece of meat.

Lincoln laughs again. "Alright then, looks like you're off the hook for now George." He points at joker boy in the back. "Matt, you haven't played yet today. You want a go at her panties?"

Matt stands up, even taller and lankier than Lincoln. "Thought you'd never ask, Link. Not feeling Smash Bros, though." He looks at you, a confident smile on his face. "We're playing DDR. I wanna see those titties bounce."

Your jaw drops as the boys all hoot and cheer. People still play Dance Dance Revolution? You haven't seen that game since junior high, and even back then it was considered an old novelty. You gape as one of the boys starts laying out a couple of control mats in the middle of the room. They're serious.

No backing out now. You fight the urge to fold your arms over your chest, to cover the evidence of your arousal. Taking a breath, you try to focus as you take your place on the mat. There was a brief period when you and your friends were crazy for this game, but you never considered yourself an expert. Besides, that was years ago. You don't even remember any of the songs.

Matt starts the game and looks over at you. "Ready for this, fake gamer girl?" You look back, eyes wide. You are absolutely not ready for this.

The song begins, and right away you know you're done for. Matt is expertly moving his feet, stepping and jumping and racking up points. You're caught between trying to remember how to play and trying to keep your breasts from bouncing too much. It's a losing battle. The only way to keep up with the arrows racing across the screen is to give these leering boys a show. You hate it, but you can feel a growing part of you getting hot from the attention. From the shame. From the feeling of your stiff nipples rubbing against the fabric of your shirt.

Knowing that they're all watching, cheering for you to lose, is making the pressure in your crotch unbearable. You glance at the score, and see that Matt is impossibly ahead. The pressure becomes a fire as you realize that you've already lost. The boys know it too, their cheers turning into a chant of "MATT! MATT! MATT!" The fire in your pussy is burning out of control as the weight of humiliation becomes too much to bear.

Your breath gets short and your knees start to shake. One missed step becomes two, and then your legs give out completely. Collapsing on the mat, you gasp for breath. The fire in your pussy has spread through your whole body, making you writhe with need. The game is still going, but nobody is paying attention to it. Even Matt has stopped playing. They're all just laughing at your pathetic display.

Lincoln stands over you. "Tsk, tsk. Dis-qualified."

You whine with embarrassment as you shove both hands between your legs. Why? Why does it feel so good? The boys are howling with laughter.

"Alright then," Lincoln continues. "Game's over, and a wager was made. You'll have to wait to, heh, play with yourself until after you pay up."

Tears of shame make their way down your burning cheeks. You look over at George, sitting against the wall with his head in his hands, unable to watch. You look up at Lincoln, at the smug smile on his face. His eyes are mocking you, like they can read your mind. Like they know how much you're loving this.

Sitting up, you kick off your Vans. You feel like you're in a dream, like none of this is real. The fire burning in you is making it impossible to think straight. There's no way in hell you should be giving these guys your panties. And yet, you feel yourself stand up and unbutton your pants. Almost like you want to. Like you deserve the embarrassment of exposing yourself.

Don't I? Didn't I bring this on myself? You shake your head. Where are these thoughts coming from?

You push your pants down, your breath heavy. You expected more laughter and cheers, but the room is quiet. It's like the boys can't believe it either. Once your pants are off, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You pause, looking up at Lincoln. Why? Why am I doing this? He smiles and nods, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing out more tears.

Somehow his nod was the final push you needed. Still in utter disbelief at your own actions, you push your panties down your thighs, over your shaking knees, and down to your ankles. You forget that Matt is right behind you, getting a perfect view of your pussy as you bend over.

"Oh my fucking God! She's soaked!"

You tremble as your shame is exposed. You can feel the moisture dripping from your throbbing pussy and down your thighs. The boys are hysterical with laughter. You've never heard sounds like that outside the monkey cages at the zoo. You straighten up, head swimming, and look at Lincoln. He has a smirk on his face and his hand is held out, ready to accept his prize.

You look down at the floor as you give him your wet panties. He smiles wide as he feels the moist fabric. "Goddamn you're right, Matt." He holds them up to his nose and takes a deep sniff. "Mm-mm. She may be a fake gamer girl, but she's a real slut."

You bend back down to put on your pants, needing to cover back up. Not that it matters. They all know what you are now. They know you're a pathetic loser. They know getting beat in embarrassing fashion makes you wet. They know you're a slut, willing to give your underwear to a bunch of strange boys. You just didn't know these things about yourself.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Lincoln is passing your panties around, and all the boys are getting a good whiff. Except George, of course. Poor George is still sitting against the wall, sobbing quietly. Part of you feels awful that you let your friend down like this, but another part of you doesn't care about him anymore. The part that's been ignited by the fire inside you. That part is entirely focused on the throbbing in your pussy. That part only cares about the next humiliating thing these boys are going to do to you.

Matt is dancing around with your panties on his head, drawing cheers and laughter. That gangly nerd just literally mopped the floor with you, and now he's wearing your panties like a superhero mask. The crushing embarrassment makes you shudder, your hands pressing into your crotch. You're **** to relieve the pressure, but you don't know how. This is more than just a need to get off. You look at Lincoln, your cheeks flushed. He sees something in your eyes. "I think you want another wager."

Your knees shake. You nod. RC, what are you doing?

"Are you ready to make this official, slut?"

His words make your pussy clench. Make what official?

"You can get everything back, and this can all be over, if you can just win one measly little game. " The boys laugh. You moan, unable to focus on anything but the burning need inside you.

"But if you lose again..." He smiles wide, revealing his gleaming white teeth. His eyes bore into you, like he's a wolf who just spied his helpless prey. "You're ours."

You don't know exactly what he means, but something in the tone of his voice is almost enough to send you to the floor again. That **** need inside you latches onto the idea, flaring up to seize your mind. You want to be theirs.

No! No I do not want anything like that!

Do I?