Orientation week: Day 1

The sun was too bright, the sidewalks too crowded, and Lucy’s hoodie felt like a mistake within five minutes of stepping outside. Not that she felt like she had much choice. At least this way she could stuff Mike Sock away in the pocket if he got out of line.

A girl behind her was already doing TikTok spins in front of the dorm fountain. The group guide—some overcaffeinated sophomore in a university tee—waved a foam finger in the air like they were at a pep rally instead of walking thirty strangers around a poorly mapped campus. Lucy hung to the edge of the pack with Faith and Rox trailing beside her. Their student guide introduced herself with far too much cheer for the heat.

“Hi everyone! I’m Trina Marks, junior communications major, Gamma Tau sister, and your guide for today’s Welcome Walk!” She beamed, all enthusiasm and spunk. Her ponytail bobbed with each word. “If you have any questions about clubs, dorm life, or where to get the best boba, I’m your girl!”

She wore the university’s orientation tee, tied tight above her navel, and a name tag that said “Ask Me Anything!” Her shorts were high-waisted, her smile the smile of someone who was genuinely excited to be there, and she walked backward while talking like a Disney ride operator on Adderall.

Lucy tried to disappear into her hoodie. Mike twitched under the sleeve.

“Oh boy,” he murmured. “I smell ambition and unsatisfied thirst.”

“No,” Lucy warned. “Not her. She’s literally being paid to be here.”

“That just makes her easier.”

They rounded the corner past the athletic complex when Mike finally sprang to life. They had just passed a small group of upperclassmen sunbathing on the quad lawn, tank tops, short shorts, and absolutely no interest in what the underclassmen were doing.

“Oh-ho-ho hellloooo senior tail,” he purred, twisting to look. “You see the one in the red? I’d climb her like a campus monument.”

Lucy yanked her arm close, muttering, “Stop it. Please. Just for today.”

“You keep saying that like I’m not trying to get us a social life.”

One of the girls on the grass turned, hearing him. She raised an eyebrow. Then… she smiled. Waved. Laughed.

Faith blinked. “Oh my gosh, did she think that was funny?”

“I told you,” Mike said. “Chicks love confidence.”

“No they don’t,” Lucy hissed. “You’re just... messing with magic.”

“I’m a lifestyle,” he said. “You’re just my Uber.”

Up ahead, the tour guide paused at a building shaped like a concrete bunker. “This is our Women’s Resource Center,” she said, cheerfully oblivious.

Mike’s felt mouth twisted into a grin. “We have to go in there.”

“No we don’t,” Mallory snapped.

Rox leaned in slightly, intrigued. “Actually, I kind of want to see what happens if we do. Would he implode or become stronger?”

“I’d probably get adopted,” Mike said. “Name change. Tenure. Honorary doctorate in Domination Studies.”

Faith gasped. “Mike! That’s—!”

“Completely true,” he said. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t visit my office hours.”

Faith flushed pink and turned away.

Mike turned his attention back to the Trina. “Hey, Tour Guide Barbie,” he called out. “Is ‘Ask Me Anything’ a challenge or a lifestyle?”

Trina paused mid-sentence, blinked, and looked over her shoulder. The group’s laughter was building behind her.

“I’m sorry…was that… you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at Lucy’s arm.

Lucy held up the sock, reluctantly. “He’s... with me.”

“I’m her better half,” Mike said. “I come in sock form. I’m like a sexier Jiminy Cricket.”

Trina **** a tight smile. “Let’s keep comments respectful, please. Orientation is a safe space.”

Mike snorted. “Sure it is. So’s my lap.”

The smile twitched. She turned back to the group. “As I was saying, this building here houses our LGBTQ+ Resource…”

“Do you count straight girls who just experiment at parties?” Mike cut in.

Trina stopped. Visibly stiffened.

Lucy winced.

“I said…” Trina started, voice tight. Then…a pause. A long breath. And her shoulders dropped. Just slightly. She turned around again, and this time, when she looked at the puppet, her expression had changed. A little less indignant. A little more curious.

“I don’t usually allow heckling,” she said. “But... that was actually kind of funny.”

Mike tilted his head. “Only kind of? Baby, I’m working with five fingers and an attitude. You give me a tongue, I’ll ruin your week.”

She laughed. This time it wasn’t ****.

“Okay, fine,” she said, walking back toward him. “You’re a jerk. But you’re committed. And I respect that.”

Continuing the tour, Trina stopped in front of the campus library, an old brick building with ivy crawling up its face like it was trying to keep secrets.

“This is the Emory-Phelps Library,” she announced brightly. “Four floors of study space, digital archives, and the largest feminist literature section in the state!”

Mike perked up. “Oh, hell yeah,” he said. “Is there a porn section? Or just stories where all the men die and the women cry into wine glasses?”

Lucy clamped her hand over his face and hissed. “Mike, can we please just get through this.”

Trina’s smile twitched, just a little. “We, uh, support all kinds of academic exploration.”

Mike leaned toward her. “Ever study the impact of thongs on GPA curves?”

She hesitated, visibly flustered. “I don’t think that’s… an actual thing.”

“Then let’s do original research, sweetheart.”

There was a pause. Trina tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, avoiding eye contact. But she was blushing. And smiling.

Next, the group rounded the bend toward the athletic fields and gymnasium.

Trina gestured toward the sleek, glass-walled facility. “This is our rec center, open 24/7. Cardio, weights, yoga, spin…”

Mike interrupted. “You do yoga, Trina?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Stretching like that? Bet you could pull both ankles behind your ears and still smile for a selfie.”

Lucy whispered, “Stop. Seriously.”

But Trina was chewing her lip now.

“I mean… I do yoga,” she admitted, sheepish. “Hot yoga on Tuesdays.”

“Damn right you do,” Mike said. “No wonder you’re all glowy and flexible like a pornographic water nymph. I’ll definitely have to test that flexibility soon.”

The girl next to Lucy laughed out loud.

Trina flushed and chewed her bottom lip.

The group stopped at a small circular plaza with abstract steel structures and benches surrounded by ivy. Trina gave her spiel. “This is a popular spot for late-night hangs, poetry readings, and... well, makeouts.” She said the last part while eyeing Mike in the crowd of freshmen.

Mike cackled. “You trying to hint, Tour Whore? Because I’ve got five fingers and no shame.”

Trina laughed, high and nervous. “You’re awful. And Tour Whore?”

“You love it,” Mike said.

She didn’t argue. She just smiled and continued the tour.

---

The tour was wrapping up. The group was dispersing into the afternoon haze, most freshmen heading off in clusters or following flyers for free pizza. Lucy was almost free—almost in the clear—when Mike spoke up, low and certain.

“She’s been staring at me since the quad.”

“Don’t,” Lucy muttered. “Not now. Just ten minutes of peace, please.”

“Too late,” Mike said.

He turned to Trina—who had lingered behind, still near the fountain, fiddling with her clipboard and definitely not watching them.

“You. Tour whore.”

Trina startled. “What?”

Mike tilted toward her with that lazy, knowing smirk on his cotton mouth. “Five minutes. Somewhere quiet.”

Trina’s eyes widened. She hesitated. “I…I have another group in twenty…”

Mike didn’t wait for her to finish. “Good thing I said five then.”

Lucy felt it. The pull from the sock puppet on her hand. She stumbled slightly as her own arm reached out, hand curling into a come-hither motion. Mike’s voice dropped. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to. You’ve been clenching your thighs since I called tour whore.”

Trina swallowed hard. Her face flushed pink. She followed along, half a step behind Lucy as Mike led them both along. “I can’t…this is really inappropriate…”

“Then stop walking,” Mike said.

She didn’t.

He led them, literally dragged Lucys body, down a side hall, Trina following three steps behind, protesting just loudly enough to lie to herself. “This is… really not okay,” she said again.

“You say that,” Mike said, pushing open a heavy stairwell door, “but your panties are sticking to your shorts.”

She gasped…an offended look on her face, but she still walked into the stairwell.

The door slammed behind them.

Lucy looked between her hand, bedecked in a sock puppet, and the Trina, who was already breathing heavily. She sighed. “He’s just a sock puppet…you don’t have to do this…we can all just leave.”

Trina met her eyes, and then looked down. “I…I don’t care.” Then, without waiting, she reached for Lucy’s arm, gently guiding it towards her face.

Mike stretched his head toward her, tongue waggling. “Well damn, tour whore. You really liked my game, huh?”

Trina let out a shaky breath. “God, your voice… it’s like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make.” She leaned in and kissed him. Her lips met cotton, mashing against the crudely drawn on mouth. Her hands tangled around Mallory’s wrist. It was ridiculous and hot and completely surreal.

Mike moaned theatrically. “That’s it, baby. Worship your orientation god.”

Trina laughed against him, her mouth parting slightly, her tongue rubbing against him as the kiss deepened. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Only to good girls like you,” he purred.

Lucy stood frozen, arm held captive as Trina kissed and licked at the sock puppet, grinding her thighs together.

“You ever tongue-kissed poly-blend?” Mike whispered.

Trina pulled back, dazed and flushed. Her lipstick was smudged. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat. She leaned back in and continued making out with the sock puppet, her kisses growing needy, a moan escaping her as she rubbed herself against Lucy’s entrapped arm.

Lucy tried to think of anything else. Math. Politics. Her grandmother. Baseball. None of it worked.

Especially not when Trina moaned softly and guided Mike down, to her chest, placing it squarely over one round, perky breast.

“Oh my God,” Trina and Lucy said at the same time, with opposite inflections. Trina worked her shirt over her head as mike snaked his way behind her, unhooking her bra. “Damn, I can’t believe you were trying to hide these perky little B cups from me, tour whore.” He said, gently rolling one of her nipples, causing her to gasp with pleasure.

Lucy kept her eyes glued to the far wall, her other hand braced against the concrete like she could hold her dignity in place by sheer pressure.

“Please…don’t stop.” Trina moaned, as Mike slowly slide down off her tit, down her bare stomach, and tugged her shorts down, revealing an orange thong.

“Damn tour whore, why wasn’t this on the orientation walk?” Mike said, as he traced lines up and down the front of the thong. “You can give a thousand Welcome Walks, babe, but that thong says you want a full-campus crawl.”

Mike slid into her thong, and Lucy could feel her hand, the one that was more part of Mike than her, gently begin rubbing against Trina’s soaking wet cunt.

“Oh…fuck Mike!” You're tongue feels so good!” Trina’s scream echoed in the empty stairwell as her hips humped at the puppet.

Lucy felt first one, then another and finally a third finger, surrounded by cotton, slide into Trina’s folds, eliciting another loud scream from the tour guide.

“Damn tour whore, you’re cumming already?” Mike said with a laugh, his voice muffled.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!” Trina screamed, her hips bucking, her hands firmly around Lucy’s wrist, pulling it harder against her cunt. The hand that made up Mike’s entire physical being skillfully fingered Trina, curling and twisting its fingers to hit all the right spots. The puppet's tongue flicked and sucked, driving Trina wild with pleasure. Her moans turned into **** cries as she reached another climax, her body shaking, as she collapsed to the floor, bonelessly.

---

The stairwell was quiet again, but it wasn’t the same. Trina leaned against the wall, one hand braced on the rail, the other resting limply over Lucy’s wrist, still holding it like it was holy. Her ponytail was half-loosened, strands of blonde hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her lips were parted. Her eyes were glassy. ““Holy shit,” she murmured. “That was... not on the tour schedule.”

Mike chuckled, slow and self-satisfied. “You’re welcome, Tour Whore.”

Trina blinked slowly, then giggled, almost dazed. “My boyfriend never…he tries but… it’s not like that. Not like you.”

She gave the sock one last, lingering stroke with her fingers. Then Mike laughed. It was a rich, triumphant sound, cocky enough to echo down the stairwell. “Oh man,” he purred. “Another one for the scrapbook.” He twisted his felt head to glance up at Lucy. “That’s, what, two orgasms and we haven’t even hit syllabus week?”

Lucy just stared at him, mortified. “She has a boyfriend, Mike.”

Mike didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Had a boyfriend. Now she has memories.”

He wiggled his fingers proudly, voice rising with mock authority. “Let it be known: the sock has conquered the tour guide. A woman of campus rank and tight shorts hath been undone!”

Lucy facepalmed.

“And the best part?” Mike continued. “Boyfriend probably bought her dinner. Carried her books. Called her beautiful.” He grinned wider. “All I did was talk shit and kiss her through poly-blend. And she came.”

Trina whimpered faintly in the background. “I didn’t mean to…” she mumbled, eyes still distant. “It just happened.”

“Damn right it did,” Mike said. “I’m like a wet dream in sock form. Tell your sorority.”

She giggled again—giddy and wrecked. Then she turned to Lucy. “Give me your phone.”

Lucy blinked. “What? Why?”

“I wanna make sure he can reach me.” Trina held out her hand. “Please.”

Still stunned, Mallory fumbled in her hoodie pocket and passed it over. Trina took it, opened the contacts app, and typed with manicured fingers. She handed it back with a proud smile. Lucy looked.

Contact Added: TOUR WHORE