The compromised cheerleader

Ramona pressed her back against the bedroom door, searching for somewhere she could hide from her neighbor. She didn't have time to throw on socks, let alone enough to be decent. The bathroom was closer, but the closet gave her a chance to put on some clothes, so she dove for the open closet, pulling it shut as she heard a knock on the bedroom door.

Peter heard a small ruckus behind the pastel door he just struck. "Are you okay, Ramona?" He asked, concerned she might have fallen into any number of compromising poses and be in need of his help. His rapping fist was enough for the door to swing fully open, revealing the vibrantly decorated room he expected of a popular cheerleader. It was currently empty, but he could hear rustling from a pair of doors next to her bed. "I got your text." He called through wooden slats. "Who gave you my number?" Derrick shifted anxiously between feet. Being in the bedroom of a girl his age was a fantasy he never thought he'd fulfill, but getting caught rifling through Ramona's personal belongings would literally get him killed, either through shame or a jock's haymaker.

Through the bifold doors, Ramona saw her creepy neighbor peering around her room. "probably hoping to pocket a stray pair of panties." She thought bitterly. She looked around for the most concealing thing she could throw on and chase Peter out of her room, but a muffled *PING* reminded her that she had wardrobe guidelines. Instinctively reaching for the phone in her pocket, she realized it was still on her bed! She panicked through her closet, frustrated that it was in the cleanest state it had ever been; the typically ankle deep pile of laundry was nowhere to be seen, packed away in the drawers of her walk in closet. She flung each one open, but they seemed filled with her sluttiest articles: thongs, demi bras, tight miniskirts, cropped t shirts, and much more. They would meet her outfit restrictions, because they were much more scandalous than required. She appraised two tops in her hands, trying to gather the courage to pick something and go, when her arms grew chillier, like an AC was cranked in her very soul. It spread quickly through the rest of her body, until she felt nothing below her slender chin. She watched, helpless as she dropped the only two tops she'd have felt comfortable meeting Peter in and walked calmly toward the full length mirror deep within the closet. Even while alone, she could see her possessed body strutting as confidently as she had gone up her driveway. She stopped a few feet away from the walled mirror, seeing her sexy figure framed perfectly in the glass. The controlling chill crept slightly up her face, immobilizing her head and forcing her to watch everything unfold.

Peter eyed the closet for a few moments more, expecting the cheerleader to come either kick him out or explain why she invited him over. What had she meant about 'playing'? He sat on her plush bed, enjoying the silky feeling against his palm and imaging what parts of Ramona had laid here before. As he pictured her sprawled across it, waiting for him as a lover, he felt a vibration in his pants, almost like a stroking hand on his growing bulge. He fished out his phone as saw another text from Ramona. She must have her phone in there. Why don't you help me pick out an outfit? I'll put on aaaaaaanything you choose :* The text included a hyperlink, which Peter hungrily clicked. He expected some kind of cam show set up with a live feed, but instead found an app instantly download and open for him. "Custom Girls: Dress Up." He read aloud, and after a brief intro page including confetti, balloons, and trumpeting fanfare, the game loaded up, giving Peter a little chuckle. It was a dress up game, and the character model was made to look exactly like Ramona, specifically a nude version. He was impressed the game could render such a detailed model; it could have been a live video if digital Ramona wasn't standing in a white void. He watched the idle character shift her weight patiently, seemingly watching him right back. The camera must track his eyes; he'd have to look at the permissions later. For now, it was time to play.