You geek out with Greta in Geometry.

You manage to make it to class in time by running like your ass is on fire. Unfortunately, that leaves you with only one seat, head of the class, next to Greta, the geek you turned into a bimboi. She is wearing the normal school uniform, which suits her mousey minx look. She's put her blonde pleated pigtails and she wears thick black rimmed glasses, even though you know she must have 20/20 vision now. You suppose it's a nerd thing, but you aren't exactly Joe Cool yourself. Besides, you did bimboify the poor bastard, so you can at least sit next to him and make small talk.

"Hi, Greta, I'm Amy. I mean, I'm Greta...but you know that, you bimboified me." She blushes like she is the one that should be ashamed and babbles, "Sorry, I don't mean to point fingers. I'm just not used to talking to pretty girls, even though I'm a pretty girl now. Which has been great by the way. I know I should be mad and all but," she leans into whisper, "it's been amaze balls! I've been getting so much..." she blushes and whispers lower, "action! Anyway, if you still feel guilty about it, you can do me a favor and join me for Anime Club after school?"

She looks so eager, and it's such a small price to pay for putting her in this position in the first place, and to be honest, it doesn't exactly suck to find a needy nerd so socially awkward that they think you're cool. You whisper, "Sure, no problem," and try to focus on class. It ends up being a lot...harder than you thought it would be. You can barely pick out one out of every three words, but Greta is taking notes like no one's business. You guess she has a thing or two to teach you too...

"All you've got to do is get plugged." Greta explains as she walks you to the next class. "It helps take the edge off and helps you focus." As if she was offering you a breath mint, she reaches into her backpack and hands you a sparkly pink buttplug. You take it quickly, a little surprised at how she can be so embarrased to talk pretty girls but still comfortable enough to pass you a plug in the busy halls. You wonder if maybe you are the one who has their priorities out of whack, but you don't have time to ponder it if you want to 'plug in' and make it to the next class on time.

You excuse yourself and Greta gives you a knowing nod as you head into the restroom. You keep your head down and head to a stall, ignoring the crowd of bimbois gossiping and glamming up between classes. At this point the horny hum of your piercings has risen to a dull roar, and you are willing to risk being tardy for a little relief. You sit in the cramped stall and immediately pull your panties to the side to slide your pretty pink plug in with a PLOP. It sends sweltering shivers up your spine and down to your swelling shaft. Your tongue lolls lewdly as you start stroking, doing your best to keep your moans to a minimum.

Apparently you didn't do such a good job, because the stall door opens and three tall, tough looking bimbois in matching black blouses, red torn tartan skirts, and fishnet stockings with steel toed boots stand surrounding you and sneering. You notice a blood red 'D' on their blouses as the scariest of the three snarls, "Well don't stop now, slut. Give us a show." You look pitifully up at them, but finding no pity in their eyes, you decide it's best to do what they say.

You feel so strange...it's not as if you haven't had more public displays than this, but you still keenly feel the humiliation of the harpies hovering over you and judging you while you jerk. "Check it out, Donna, the little sissy looks like she's gonna cry before she cums!" The apparent leader of the pack points and laughs and somehow that only makes you clench down tighter on your plug and pump your pulsing prick harder.

"Oh em gee! I think you're right, Donna! These mid semester trannys are always the wimpiest wusses. Even tho' this one is trying to look all cool with that shit in her face." One third of the trio answers and you deduce what the D on their blouse stands for...dickheads. You ignore their taunts, not wanting to make waves when you're struggling to keep your head above water. Still, it isn't lost on you that despite all your recent soul searching and attempts to stand up for yourself, your default position is looking up at your tormentors lustfully while obeying their warped, wanton whims.

"Holy shit, Donnas! Here it cums!" The Dickheads leader calls out and just as you are about to correct her, your shaft starts shooting seed so hard and fast it hits you in the face. Suddenly all you can see is their hungry eyes as you lap up your load off your flushed face and keep stroking and squeezing until you're drip dry. You make a show of slowly sucking your spurts off of your dainty digits one by one and looking them in the eyes defiantly, even proudly.

You don't fully understand why, but you feel like it's a moral victory of sorts even if it's a Pyrrhic one. One thing hasn't changed about school, you are surrounded by dickheads with no one you can really trust to watch your back. One thing that has changed, for the first time, you aren't blaming yourself for getting bullied. This is firmly on the dickheads, and they seem to know it. "Come on, D's. We're gonna be late to class. Sides, it's no fun when they're into it." The leader snaps and her lackeys follow her out of the restroom. You hear the bell ring shortly after and make a mad dash to your next class...

Fortunately the teacher gives you a break and lets you off with a warning. The plug seems to be helping some as well, you can actually pick up one of every two words now and get almost a whole page of notes on the French Revolution. Then, you look over at someone else's notes and realize you are in French class and you make a mental note to get Greta on your good side so she will help you learn how to study better.

The rest of the day is largely uneventful, other than the trips to the restroom to relieve stress and spurt between classes. Even those seem pretty standard based on the moans and whimpers you hear in other stalls. You don't run into the Dickheads again, or any of your old 'friends', which you chalk up to this being a surprisingly big campus for being bimboi exclusive. Even at lunch you don't see a solitary soul you recognize, and you end up eating alone, just grateful for the time to reflect. Maybe you can make a change here and end your senior year with the kind of memories you always hear adults talk about but never experienced yourself. First things first, you've got to keep your head down and try to repair some of the damage you did to land you in here.

....

It seems to be working so far, you've made it to the end of your first day with a minimum of humiliation and horniness. You figure compared to what you've been through so far, hanging out with the geek girls in anime club will be a breeze.