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Trixie Tang threw open the door to her bedroom. The week was over, finally, and she felt absolutely drained. She plodded on heavily legs over to her bed and collapsed as if dead. She felt the cool and soft comforter gently welcome her as she sank into the memory-foam mattress. This week had been hellish. Never in her entire school career had she had such a calamitous five-day stretch – not since the Art Deco Fiasco.
She managed to drum up enough energy to roll herself over and stare blankly at the ceiling as her mind swarmed with disjointed memories of her encounters with the Turner boy and all the emotions that came in consort. Truth be told, it was only the latter half of the week that had been a whirlwind of destruction, but what a whirlwind it had been. From performing the damning poem and then locking herself in a closet with Turner one day, to avoiding the popular table at lunch and readily agreeing to remain his chemistry partner rather than switching to Chad the next, she was awash with revelatory feelings that conflicted with the core of her carefully constructed identity.
She huffed to herself. "It's no wonder V's been smiling wider this week. I'm unraveling. And she sees it." Trixie stared up at the vaulted ceiling as if some magical fix would present itself from out of the ether. Instead, her eyes focused on a particle of dust that floated through the air on an artificial air current. "Conniving bitch."
She allowed herself a few more moments of rest in silence as she tried to quell the chaos in her mind, then kicked her legs straight up, swung them back down, and used the momentum to pull herself upright. She came to an abrupt stop with her hands on the edge of her bed and her feet playing in the plush carpet of her bedside rug. As her toe wiggled among the fibers, she stared at her purple socks. The last time she'd worn this pair she'd— She curled her toes, partly in protest, partly in remembrance.
"Trixie? Don't forget you've got a podcast interview this evening!"
She grunted to herself but responded with a cordial, "Yes, Father!" She wasn't especially pumped to guest star on a podcast that celebrated the life of a social elite; a life she was quickly growing to dread. What would benefit her to gain further prestige if it cost her herself? Her fingers curled around the edge of her bed, and she felt the soft sheet bunch up in her grasp. It almost felt like holding his hand again. Another grunt and she pushed herself off the bed.
She trotted across her room headed for the attached full bathroom, kicking her book bag on the way. As soon as she crossed the threshold of the bathroom, she peeled off her socks, leaving them on the soft carpet behind her. Her bare feet made contact with the cool bathroom tile; a jolt shot up her leg, and she hissed slightly. The cold discomfort felt refreshing, like a splash of cool water on her face after waking from a night's rest. She continued to peel off her clothing, choosing to leave each article discarded on the floor as breadcrumbs rather than placing them in the hamper until she was standing before the mirror, naked.
She stared at herself for a good while, her eyes inspecting every centimeter of skin and hair, her mind cataloging every out-of-place strand and every blemish. She ran a hand over the faint birthmark just below her collarbone and placed a finger over it, imagining life without the mark. She usually used make-up to hide it, but for some reason she'd been declining to do so in recent days.
"What's that?"
"It's a birthmark, stupid." Trixie snapped back.
"Oh," he replied, a bit deflated. "I never knew you had one…"
"Well, duh! I always cover it with make-up!" She glared at him. "But we– you must have smudged it off earlier. So I'll have to re-apply that before I leave…"
"Why?"
"Because it's ugly!"
"I don't think it's ugly." He stared at her reflection in the mirror. "I like it! It looks cute."
The memory faded like an echo, but the imagery remained. Her, standing in that pedestrian bathroom next to him, naked just as she was now… except also refreshingly ravished. Her hair was disheveled and wild, her mascara was smudged, and her cheeks were red. She could still see, and feel, a little bit of him dribbling out from between her legs and running down her thigh in her mind's eye. There was something so normal about the situation, something so comfortable. She blinked and just like that, she was back in her spacious bathroom, no longer looking at her reflection in a dingy small mirror with smears from a paltry attempt at cleaning, but instead in a bright and pristine wall-wide mirror that sparkled like crystal.
She tore herself from her reflection and found something for her hands to do while her mind reoriented her. She adjusted the purple towels on her shower rack in silence, choosing instead to just listen to the rustling of the cloth over the solid gold bar. Once the two edges of the towel aligned perfectly, she reached into her shower for the activator. As her fingers rested on the waterproof LCD display her mind went back in time again.
"How the hell does this work?" Trixie fiddled with the handle of the shower.
"Do you need help?" he asked, his voice muffled from the other side of the bathroom door.
She frowned, annoyed. "It's just a shower, dweeb! I know how to use a shower!" She twisted it to the left and after a worrying spurt of air and mist from the shower head, water shot against the acrylic wall of the prefab stall. "Ugh, finally."
The water sprayed in a hard, uninteresting pattern. She reached up to the head to switch the mode to something softer for her skin, but groaned as her hand found that there was no other mode. Like the basic shower heads in the locker rooms, this was a default fixture. She sighed and resigned herself to her fate.
Trixie stepped over the raised lip of the entrance and slipped under the harsh stream. A moment later, she let out a bloodcurdling shriek and recoiled from the stream as if it had struck her. She pinned herself in the furthest corner from the spray as she curled in on herself with one leg raised and hands covering her delicate bits.
He burst into the bathroom less than a second later. "What is it? What happened?" His eyes searched the bathroom for anything that dared to offend her.
"It's fucking cold!" she screamed back, mortified.
He chuckled and his shoulders relaxed. "You have to twist the knob, Trixie."
"I did, Turner!" She glared from the opposite side of the icy water. "Your bathroom's just stupid!"
He reached into the stall, through the icy water, and pointed to the handle she'd just activated. "Pressure knob." Then he rested his hand on a second knob attached to the handle that she'd missed. "Temperature knob." He gave knob a firm twist. "How hot do you like it, Trixie?"
She only stared at him through knitted brows with a pout on her lips.
The HydroSystem Pro beeped twice, warning her it was about to time out and she returned to the present. Her fingers quickly danced across the screen in a memorized pattern. Water spewed from the high-end OceanSpritz 4000 shower head according to her personalized hydro-profile, the perfect temperature and the perfect pressure. The ease of the whole action almost disgusted her.
A second chime, this one more pleasant than the warning beeps, alerted her that the water was at the exact specifications she'd programmed. She slid open the door and took a step into the shower, pausing halfway in to ensure her towel was still within reach. As she made a final adjustment to her towel, she caught a glance of her backside in the mirror and nodded approvingly.
Inside the shower she stood, head bowed, beneath the comfortable spray. She felt the water pitter-patter over her skin like little fairy kisses and watched it swirl down the platinum drain. The current setting branded itself as 'calming rain', and while usually it was a godsend for her nerves, at the moment she just felt numb to it. The warm water cascaded down her skin, but it barely registered to her.
It took her a few moments to collect herself as she tried to focus on where she was right now. With a mindful deliberateness, she reached for the neatly organized tray of body and hair care items and plucked a nylon hairbrush from the tray. Then, she reached back and started sliding the soft bristles through sections of her silky, black hair, a process made almost meditative with the water.
"One… Two… Three…" She counted each stroke, extending her arm with precise, methodical movements that would have made a violinist jealous. "Four… Five…" She felt the brush tug gently against her scalp.
His hand was in her hair, a lock held fast in his grip as he pulled back on it like a leash while his other hand rested firmly on the small of her arched back. Her face was smushed up against the clouded glass of the shower stall, her ragged breathing fogging it up. She felt her breasts bounce in time with his animalistic thrusts as he stretched her out.
"Elev—" Trixie paused mid-stroke in her hair and screwed her eyes shut trying to blot out the memory. She repeated the stroke, this time with more resolve. "Eleven…" she said with a determined tone, as if scolding herself. "Twelve…" She allowed herself to open her eyes and resumed her routine. She focused on the mindless motion, on the brush sweeping through her hair, on the water dancing across her skin.
Lukewarm water fell in uncontrolled pelts over both of them, the noise of the shower barely drowning out their grunts and moans. She felt the cool water swirl around her spread feet heading for the tarnished drain and she tried to close her eyes – to ignore the repercussions of her actions, to imagine the water was washing her sins away. Her eyes fluttered back open as Turner again slammed into her and she couldn't help but smile and laugh, consumed by the unbridled rapture of this rebellious freedom. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she reached back to grab him. To hold him close.
She caught herself moaning and clamped her mouth shut as her cheeks turned beet red. She clutched her brush tightly in both hands as if it were the only thing anchoring her to this point in time, and if she were to let go, she'd be swept away in the current of the water and her memories to a time and place where she was not Trixie Tang.
The memories were such a burden, but she couldn't dare wish them away. As heavy on her as they weighed, there was a distinct comfort in them.. A truth. She shivered despite the perfect temperature water and her shoulders shuddered. She put a hand to her chest in an effort to tame the raging beast behind her rib cage and rested her head against the slick frosted glass of her shower.
Trixie pressed her forehead into the shower stall as her fingers squeezed against the glass searching for something - anything - to hold onto. Her hair clung to her shoulders and back like a moist blanket as two tender yet strong hands remained latched to her hips. With each thrust, his fingers dug into her flesh as if trying to reach her hip bone. She felt his heavy sack slap against her hood rhythmically and bit her lip to keep another laugh from escaping.
Trixie, eyes closed, started to rock back and forth with the memory. She slid her hand between her bosom slowly. It glided down her chest and over her taut tummy, tickling her navel on the way. Her middle two fingers dragged over her wet skin headed for her most sensitive area.
The boy sped up. The slaps from his sack were more frequent and frantic; his reach inside her more driving and blissfully invasive. The small bathroom was filled with the wet staccato of his pelvis smacking her rear, the consistent percussion of the shower water, and the intermittent stifled vocalizations of the two out-of-breath 18-year-olds caught up in another bout of passion. It sounded to her like a forbidden a Capella piece, a composition of gasps and skin and water that would be heard outside of this private studio.
Her fingers brushed over the sharp stubble of her regrowing pubic hairs and rested at her clitoral hood. She was barely touching the nub within and already she could feel desire and lust building. She exhaled slowly as her fingers applied slight pressure to the engorged organ.
One final slam. She felt herself take every inch of him and couldn't help it but shriek her pleasure. Her legs wobbled and she had to brace herself against the dingy glass to stay on her feet. She felt him slide out of her, much to her bemusement, and then felt the weight of his meat rest between her cheeks.
He let out a wordless exclamation, and a second later she felt a new, thicker liquid strike her lower back repeatedly and cling to her. Each load sent a shiver rippling through her on contact. Once done, the boy ran his hands up her sides and wrapped his arms around her from behind with a care and longing she'd never felt before. She couldn't help but lean into his embrace, catching a glimpse of their reflection in the smeared mirror outside of the shower as their lips drew closer and—
No. Her memory-interrupting thought caught her by surprise and halted her fingers before they got started on her clit. She thudded her head against the glass and summoned all of her willpower to drop her hand to her side even as she still could feel the ghost of his hands caressing her body. Shaking with gritted teeth, Trixie Tang sobbed in her shower. What's this loser done to me?
Half an hour passed and Trixie Tang emerged from her shower looking like the picture of perfection everyone expected from her. Her eyes glazed over her room, dispassionate, and she approached her closet and threw open the doors with little regard for their railings. Her fingers walked over the shoulders of a few outfits before she settled on a purple and blue skirt and blouse combo with a plunging neckline. Scandalous, yes, but princesses had to parch the masses every once in a while to remind them just what they were never going to get. She took down the outfit and exited her closet.
With the flick of her wrist, the blouse and skirt were on the bed and Trixie resumed toweling off. As she finished gently tousling her luscious hair, she stared blankly at her reflection in her vanity mirror. Her bare skin glistened as the beads of water that clung to her caught the artificial light. She almost looked divine. Her eyes fixed on her birthmark.
He gently rubbed his finger over the permanent blemish. "You shouldn't hide it, you know. It's not some sort of defect. It's just a little beauty spot."
"Newsflash Turner," she replied as she glared at herself in his bathroom mirror. "It's an irregular collection of pigment-producing cells in my skin. It is quite literally a defect." She looked at him, frown still stuck to her face. "And you better not tell anyone I have this, you hear me?"
"Why?" He sounded genuinely confused. "It's just part of who you are. It doesn't make you any less beautiful, does it? If anything, it makes you that much more unique." He gave her a toothy smile that made him look even more like a chipmunk than usual. It was cute.
Her frown fell into a small pout. "I'm not supposed to be unique. I'm supposed to be perfect." Even as she said the words, she felt her cheeks burn and her stomach churn. Whatever high horse she was attempting to mount likely fell flat considering what they'd just done. Twice. Her eyes walked down his surprisingly toned body and rested on his flaccid manhood in spite of her and she had to narrow her eyes to keep it from being obvious.
Tim didn't seem to notice. He only tilted his head to the side and looked at her with a flicker of empathy. "Would you prefer if everyone was just some sort of… amorphous grey blob without blemishes or imperfections? That'd be pretty dull…"
Trixie folded her towel in her hands and set it on top of her vanity, then stepped back to get a good look at herself in the mirror. She twisted her body to the side, tightening the muscles in her leg. Her eyes traced the strong line made from the tip of her toes up to her glutes. She twisted the other way and did the same and assessed the even muscle definition. She planted both feet flat on the floor and faced front again.
She stared at herself, judging the tone of her belly and flexing intermittently to appreciate just how carved yet smooth her abs looked. Her eyes followed her inguinal canal down her inner thigh. She knew her hair was coming back in, but for the moment the stubble wasn't visible. Though it wasn't like anyone would be seeing her crotch anytime soon… right? She lifted her eyes to her chest.
She clocked the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her shoulders were lithe and square, her neck defined and straight, her breasts were high and full. She was the picture of physical perfection... and yet her eyes zeroed in on that one blemish just beneath her collar bone. Her eyes bore into the perceived flaw as if looking at it hard enough would erase it from her body.
I'm supposed to be perfect. She tightened her mouth and muscle memory kicked in. She opened the top drawer of her vanity in a mechanical way and a neat and tidy collection of make-up stared back at her. Her hand hovered over the items for a mere second before she nabbed the proper concealer and popped it open, placing the cover on the countertop. She swept two fingers through the powdery paste and brought them to her skin.
"I think you are perfect, Trixie." Tim's finger shakily tapped the mark on her flesh. His touch was warm and comforting; and as he started to gingerly circle the area with the pad of his finger, she felt a strange sense of relief wash over her. "Just the way you are."
Her hand stopped, the paste mere millimeters from the blemish, and refused to move closer. She stared at her reflection with a look of distress written plainly on her face. She wanted to cover the dot up, to just slather it in make-up and call it done; iron out this one noticeable flaw. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Why?
Because he likes it.
She stood there for a few seconds digesting her feelings and then reached for a make-up remover wipe to clean off her finger. Her heart was beating in her ears. When was the last time she'd left the mark uncovered in public? It had to have been years – at least not since her first pageant in third grade. And to just discard the paste without using it… she had to admit it hurt a bit. This brand wasn't cheap nor widely available. But what was done was done. She finished cleaning off her fingers, replaced the concealer in the drawer, then pushed the drawer closed. The definite click of the drawer locking into place sealed her decision.
Please don't let me regret this… She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Things were only getting more complicated by the day ever since that evening in Turner's home. She heard her phone buzz and a quick glance let her know that Veronica was calling, no doubt inquiring about her status before the interview. She ignored the call and watched the phone kick her friend to voicemail after three rings.
As the call blinked from incoming to missed, a few more missed notifications faded in on the lock screen. A rambling text from Veronica, a few generic texts from Remy trying to get into her good graces, a text from Tim regarding Chemistry homework… She bit her lower lip in restrained, unconscious desire, but managed to swipe away from the message. As she scrolled the rest of her notifications, one in particular caught her eye: a text from Chad.
"Hey, babe. Hope you're good. Haven't heard from you today, so here's something to make you miss me."
Her blood ran cold as she read the text aloud. The icon on the message meant that he'd attached something to it, something that wasn't just mere words. Her finger hovered over the badge. Part of her was curious as to what it could be, but the rest of her had a feeling she knew exactly what he'd attached. He'd sent the message while she'd been in the shower, so already she'd left it unseen for fifteen minutes. She had stuff to do, surely he could wait longer? Then again, she wouldn't be the perfect girlfriend if she didn't view his message in a timely manner. With the conflict resolved, she unlocked her phone to view the full thing.
A scandalous shot of Chad greeted her. He stood in his father's second garage leaning against his beloved motorcycle and wearing a biker vest. And nothing else. One hand was extended taking the selfie and the other held onto his manhood in a purposefully sloppy way that didn't actually prevent her from seeing much. Dark flesh spilled out from behind his hand and between his fingers and the glans was clearly visible despite his 'best' effort to hide it. It was clear that, aside from his rippling pectorals framed perfectly between his biker jacket, his junk was the clear subject of the photo. She could tell by the look on his face that he was confident the salacious image would be titillating.
She felt nothing.
Guilt consumed Trixie Tang. Since the start of Senior year, Chad had been trying to coax her virginity out of her. Tempting pictures, romantic dates, expensive gifts, yet she'd held out against him – partly because she didn't feel that spark and partly because she knew what would happen if she did give in. As charitable and kind as he was, Chad was a conqueror; being braggadocious and collecting trophies were integral parts of who he was, and she was sure that to him, she was the highest trophy of all. And what would happen after he added her to his shelf? Not what happened with Turner, that's for sure. Everyone would know and she'd lose some of her appeal while he'd gain more social clout.
Tim… Thoughts of the pink-shirted boy slid into her mind and she felt something aside from guilt now. She felt lust. Her crotch warmed and her breathing became a touch shallower as she remembered the size of the boy in the locker room, how he felt in her hand and against her skin. She closed her eyes and a moan slipped by her defenses and out of her mouth. Her hand went south as if on a mission and patted her lower lips a few times as if she could tame her desire. But each pat only sent quivers through her. Fuck.
She propped herself up against the vanity and scrambled in her panty drawer for something, anything, to bring her relief. She'd felt the urge earlier in the shower but had managed to ward it off, but now it returned as an avalanche. Her hand frantically swept through the bottom of the draw for any one of her hidden toys, stirring up the carefully organized piles of undergarments into a chaotic mess of clothing as her other hand desperately clutched and rubbed her crotch. Finally, her fingers found a thing of smooth silicone and eagerly, she pulled the toy out and placed it on the counter.
Her grip on her crotch relaxed and her eyes bulged a bit. Oh… She placed both hands squarely on the countertop and stared down at the small anal plug. Despite its diminutive size, it seemed to loom large before her. Chad had bought it for her as a gag birthday gift, his way of playfully telling her she had a stick up her ass after she'd declined to party with him in Ocho Rios citing ethical and image concerns. She'd tossed it in the drawer without a second thought and forgot it existed. Now, though, it sat before her just waiting for its maiden voyage and there was a part of her that did want to try it out…
"Oh. Em. Gee. Trixie Tang! Put on some clothes!"
Veronica's shrill trill nearly made Trixie jump out of her skin. She spun around and braced herself against her vanity counter. Veronica stood in the doorway with her arms crossed looking a bit too giddy. "V? What the heck are you doing here?"
Veronica rolled her eyes and pushed off of the door frame, playful dismissive. "Like, I'm here to pick you up for the Delight-Lee Podcast? Duh!" She approached. "You forgot that we're carpooling? You should be dressed by now!" She leered at Trixie a bit, a smirk playing on her face. "Unless you are dressed, in which case I approve."
"You're disgusting, V." Trixie turned back around and shook her head.
"That's not a no!" Veronica teased back in a sing-song voice. She closed the door behind her and then flopped onto Trixie's bed carelessly, her eyes going to the outfit her friend had laid out.
"Don't crumple my skirt."
Veronica looked from the baby blue garment to Trixie's bare ass. "Cute little thing. Planning on wearing anything under it?"
Trixie's head snapped to Veronica, fury steaming from her dark expression. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"
Veronica gave Trixie a wry smile. "I caught a glimpse under that tight white skirt you wore at school this week." She pursed her lips and wagged a finger at Trixie. "Naughty, naughty."
Trixie's face burned. She remembered Veronica had given her a second glance as she'd descended the stairs that afternoon but had thought nothing of it. Her heart skipped a beat. "That–That was an accident," she stammered. "A wardrobe malfunction that I swiftly fixed." She turned back to the mirror and started changing her earrings out. Veronica was right about one thing: she was running out of time to get ready, and while being fashionably late was acceptable for dances and dinners, it was not appropriate for scheduled guest appearances. "Did you tell Tad?"
"And have him pester me to do the same as you?" She let out a bleating laugh. "As if! Did anyone else see?"
Trixie's cheeks burned red as her thoughts returned to Tim. "No."
"Shame. Would have been a juicy rumor." She grinned as she rose from the bed and stalked to Trixie's side. "You're such a closet-freak, Trix."
"I am not!" she protested. "It was an accident!"
"Sure," Veronica sarcastically agreed. She waved casually at the toy on the dresser "And that li'l rocket is out only for decoration, hm?"
Trixie looked back down and grumbled to herself. The anal plug stood proud before her. "V… Can you just wait outside?"
Veronica ignored her. "At least I know why you're running late." She rested her hands and chin on Trixie's shoulders and pouted in the mirror. Her eyes locked on Trixie's in the reflection. "Someone's a little pent up, huh?"
Trixie took a deep breath and shrugged her friend from her shoulder, unsuccessfully. "It's not like that. I was just reorganizing some things…" Her voice trailed off as she opened her underwear drawer and pulled out a few panties that color-coordinated with her outfit.
Veronica, still perched on Trixie's shoulder, frowned. "Uh, like, what's that?" Before Trixie could stop her, Veronica's finger went to her collarbone, pressed into her flesh, and rubbed at her birth mark. "Some make up or something?"
Trixie yelped in shock. "Ouch! V–!"
Veronica didn't seem to hear, or care about, Trixie's exclamation. But when she removed her finger from Trixie's skin and the dark spot remained, Veronica freaked out. "Oh, ew!" she squealed long and high. "What is it?"
Trixie bit her lower lip defensively. "It's a beauty spot!" She fought to push Veronica from her back.
"A beauty what? Pox?" Whatever simple explanation Trixie provided didn't seem to latch in Veronica's brain. "Like chicken pox? Oh, gawd, are you infected? Is it contagious?" She recoiled a bit and stared at her finger for a moment. Then, she began to shriek, wiping it vigorously on her shirt as her other arm still clutched Trixie close.
"A beauty spot, a beauty spot!" Trixie repeated, flustered. Their limbs became entangled as she fought to get free. "Get off, V!" Finally, Trixie managed to push Veronica from her back. "It's a just birthmark!"
Veronica's shrieks died down and she flinched, confused. "You have a birthmark?" She tilted her head like a lost puppy. "Uh, since when?"
"Since birth?" Trixie sardonically responded. After being met with only a blank stare, Trixie sighed and looked back at her reflection "I usually cover it with makeup but today I'm trying something different…"
Veronica said nothing. She only gave Trixie a curious look up and down before expressing a nasal sigh and raising her eyebrows, chagrined.
Trixie tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Too genuine, she thought. Roll it back. As she returned attention to choosing a panty, her phone buzzed again with a new notification. The screen lit up from standby and the notification – and Chad's nude – flickered to life.
Veronica hooted at the sight. "You were 'reorganizing things' my ass!" She chortled as she snatched the phone before Trixie could. "Or maybe 'your ass' is more appropriate, all things considered." She giggled at the toy standing at attention on the counter before greedily inspecting Chad's photo. "Jeez, he's got a monster on him." She looked up at Trixie. "How have you not jumped on this yet?"
"Because I'm not loose like you," she said with her tongue poking out between her lips.
"I'm not loose," Veronica corrected. "I'm, like, totes fun. And if you're so concerned with your virginity – passé, bee-tee-dubs –, at least you're on the right track to give your guy something." She gleefully smirked at Trixie and wiggled her ass before returning her attention to the photo. "Gonna respond or, like, leave him on read?"
"What?" Trixie asked, one foot already slipping into her panty.
"Your beau," Veronica clarified. "Gonna respond? Or should I?" She cheekily lifted her shirt, exposing her white bra and mimed snapping a photo with Trixie's phone. "I mean, if you're not gonna use it…"
Trixie tightened her mouth to keep from smiling as she snatched the phone from Veronica's grasp and tossed it onto the bed. "You're a problem."
"That's my motto, Trix." Veronica kicked her feet idly for a moment before jumping off the bed. "Don't be the bigger person." She snuck behind Trixie, then yanked her panties back down around her ankles in one, strong motion. "Be the bigger problem." She grinned in the mirror from behind Trixie, her eyes fixed on her friend's expression.
"V!" Trixie exclaimed as her body instantly coiled in on herself to cover her modesty. "What the hell?" A hot mix of feelings washed through her system and she fired up an embarrassed glare would have broken anyone else. But Veronica wasn't like anyone else. She remained unphased.
"Gawsh, bitch, c'mon! We've seen each other butt naked before! You, like, don't have to hide it! And your hand's practically glistening in your honey! Just admit that you were flickin' the bean, finish up, and we can move on." She sounded almost impatient or annoyed and wore an expression of pure, unimpressed judgment. "'Sides, you were clearly setting up to do something with that toy he bought you," she continued, jabbing a finger at the plug. "Just, like, pop the li'l sucker in and shoot him a fanny pic!" She planted an opened hand on her cocked hip and started tapping her foot. "He'd appreciate it more than a drab 'thanks, babe'."
Trixie still felt the red stinging her cheeks, but couldn't deny that Veronica was somewhat right. She'd left Chad on read for a lot longer than usual, any longer would be a problem – especially if she didn't make up for the gap of time with something he would deem worth the wait. She looked at the plug on her counter and gulped. "Fine… Just… Let me grab some lube."
"Atta girl!" Veronica clapped, then flopped back onto Trixie's bed. "And hurry up! We have somewhere to be."
"You keep saying 'we' as if you are on the podcast, too." Trixie started rubbing some lube over the toy and then transitioned to applying a dollop to her anus. It flinched in protest against the cool gel.
"Uh, duh! I know! But you can put in a good word for me, right?" She batted her baby blues at Trixie as the raven-haired girl grabbed the anal plug. "Like, once they get to know I'm kind of a big deal, they should totes send me an inv, right?"
Trixie positioned the plug against her asshole and started to push. Instinctively, her butt tightened up against the invader. To say she was inexperienced with butt stuff was an understatement. She'd never so much as inserted a finger. But in these recent days she had experienced a string of firsts, what was one more? "Mmph…Right," she replied in a strained voice as she felt the plug finally force her sphincter open and stretch it wider until the bulb was consumed by her hole and the rest was sucked in. She inhaled a moment as the plug came to a rest and the cool, flanged end stopped against her flesh.
Do women actually like this? she thought as her body accommodated the foreign object. It's so uncomfortable… But soon her insides settled and comfortably hugged the invader. She hated to admit it but she actually felt a strange sense of comfort from the feeling of something plugging her up. There was an involuntary twitch in her rear, a sudden muscle spasm that tugged the plug deeper for a fleeting second before everything relaxed once again.
"Oh, it's so cute!" Veronica cooed as she stared at Trixie's now-decorated ass."'Especially when you, like, suck it in a bit like that."
"God, V! Don't fuckin' look!" She covered her rear and gave Veronica a befuddled look. "That's so weird!"
"But it's got a cute ice-purple gem on the flange!" She laughed at her friend's discomfort, kicking her legs in the air. "How could I not look when it's so shiny? It's begging to be seen."
Trixie rolled her eyes as her finger played with the end of the plug sticking out of her ass. A minor wave of pleasure radiated out from the motion. "The things you talk me into…" She sighed. "Hand me my phone."
Veronica grabbed it. "You got another message, Ms. Popularity. Who's 'Empty Bus Seat'?" Veronica asked as she lazily unlocked and then scrolled through Trixie's phone.
Trixie plucked her phone from Veronica's grasp. "A nobody," she answered quickly and dismissively as she navigated to the camera app. "Just that Turner kid."
"Oh gawsh! You have Timmy Turner's cellphone number?" Veronica laughed again, then she seemed to light up as if struck by a revelation. "Wait, he has your number? Like, he can text you when he wants?"
"That's what that means, yes," Trixie replied a bit impatiently as she fiddled with the camera settings.
"Why in the name of Prada does that dweeb have your number?"
Trixie shot Veronica a glare and snapped back, "He's my Chemistry partner, unfortunately, so if I want a good grade he has to have my number."
She turned her back to the mirror and aimed the camera at her reflection, ensuring to pick a flattering angle. Then again, all angles were flattering angles. She studied her reflection a moment before making a calculated bend. Her cheeks parted, framing the jeweled plug nestled between her cheeks. Then, she twisted her shoulders just enough to reveal the elegant curve of her breast. A bitten lip, a cascade of dark hair over one shoulder to contrast the flesh of her breast, and a sultry, half-lidded look completed the pose. Satisfied, she snapped the photo. "He knows better than to just… text me." She judged the picture and then edited it, throwing a caption on there: I miss you. "Besides, don't you have Melvin's number?"
Veronica let out a prolonged groan. "You know Melvin was just some freak I had to work with on the school paper, Trix! Like, I haven't texted him a message since the end of last year!"
"Then you understand," Trixie replied confidently as she fired off the photo.
Veronica made a face and rolled her eyes. "What-ever." She punctuated the two syllables with all the valley attitude she could muster. "Just, like, hurry and get dressed so we can get going!"
Trixie glanced at Veronica as she closed the phone. "Can I take this out of my ass first?"
Veronica gave her back a cheeky grin. "I dunno, Trix. Do you want to take it out?"
Trixie's lip curled up in faux disgust and she scoffed. "Fuck you, V."
"Only if you ask nicely." She batted her lashes again with a devious grin.
Trixie chuckled under her breath as she pulled on her blouse, then reached to her behind and, after a few moments of discomfort, popped the plug out of her anus with a chirp. A weird feeling of ecstasy she couldn't explain shot through her as the plug left her ass. She had to admit she missed the full feeling. Please don't become a kink… she begged herself as she delicately placed the plug in her hamper for later cleaning, then pulled her panties back up. As she continued getting ready, Veronica whipped out her own phone and started brainlessly perusing her socials.
"You better not be taking a picture of me," Trixie warned as she put on a strapless bra.
Veronica looked up innocently. "Why would I need to do that? Aren't you sending me a copy?" She sounded almost incredulous but the sparkle in her eye made the joke clear.
Trixie looked down at Veronica with a withering expression.
"Calm down Mom," the blonde whined. "I'm not, like, snapping a candid or something. You think I'd just breach your space like that?"
"Yes." Trixie adjusted the strapless bra holding her breasts in place. "You did just break into my room without even knocking."
"Okay, but to be fair, Rita let me in, so… Blame your mom." She sucked her teeth a moment. "Besides, what would I want with a shot of your fat ass anyway?"
"It's not you I'm concerned with, it's Tad." Her voice went flat, serious. "I know he goes through your phone, and you and I both know what he's done."
Veronica's face darkened for the first time since she'd arrived. There was no snappy comeback or witty retort. Her peppy, perverted attitude evaporated in the blink an eye. It was clear her mind was going back to the same event Trixie was thinking of: the Halloween party at Calvin Caldwell's manor.
Two Halloweens ago, Caldwell hosted a Halloween shindig for Populars at his manor while his folks were away on business. Trixie and Veronica had attended as a matching duo of slutty mimes – face paint, berets, leotards, fishnets, the works. Other attendants joked that the two were dressed so similarly, it was hard to tell them apart in the dark. At one point, Tad had felt up Trixie and she had to remind him she wasn't his girlfriend. He claimed that it had been a mistake, that he'd thought she was Veronica; yet he didn't stop touching her. If anything, the light petting turned to groping after she told him who she was, and she had to get away from him. Later that night, he'd cornered her in a hallway, his phone out. She'd shouted, but the music was too loud and he callously rebuked her for being a terrible mime, reminding her they were silent. By the time Veronica and Calvin found them, Tad had already unfastened the buttons in the crotch of Trixie's leotard. The only saving grace had been that his whiskey-slowed fingers were unable to worm past her panty, they were only able to fumble impotently between her legs.
"He was stone drunk, Trix." Veronica's voice was devoid of its customary bubbliness. It was a line Trixie had heard repeated so many times, she'd become dull to it. Veronica, on the other hand, seemed to find some form of solace in the lie.
"Not an excuse, I'm afraid." Trixie huffed as matter-of-factly and disconnected as she could. Her fingers clenched her blouse in a white-knuckle grasp as she stared at herself in the mirror. Even two years later, she would wake some nights feeling his hands running up her thighs, rough and violating, unlike the touch of a certain pink-shirted boy.
Veronica had been livid, throwing blame at both of them for betraying her trust. The two girls had a screaming match with Veronica on the verge of throwing hands and Trixie on the verge of tears. It wasn't until Calvin intervened that a cooler head prevailed and wrestled the truth out of Tad, who dismissed it as 'no big deal' since anyone would jump at the chance to fuck Trixie Tang. Veronica's ire flipped on a dime from Trixie to Tad. It was one of the few times Trixie saw such raw emotion shatter Veronica's valley-girl nonchalance as she furiously demanded answers from her boyfriend.
"Why her? Why the fuck with her? What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing's wrong with you, babe. But, I mean, you're just not her."
Trixie froze, blouse in hand, as she remembered his soulless reply and the haunting wail from Veronica that followed. The whole night had shaken Trixie; and while Veronica somehow managed to forgive and seemingly forget, Trixie couldn't. Chad, to his credit, broke ties with Tad the next day. Their friendship never truly recovered. Trixie came to find comfort in Chad's presence and eventually that comfort turned into a facsimile of romance, and so they fell into a relationship. She knew she couldn't avoid Tad forever – Populars only stuck with Populars, after all – so she was more than happy for Chad to act as a guard dog whenever the blond was nearby.
The tenuous friendship between the four was eventually repaired publicly after over a month of apologies to both Trixie and Chad, and the group got him to vow never to have more than two drinks at a party again. But she saw the glances he gave her when he thought she wasn't looking; thirsting, dark glances. The alcohol hadn't clouded his intentions, it had only revealed them.
Her body moved on its own, mechanically pulling her blouse over her head. The feeling of the soft fabric against her skin broke her out of her trance and resumed breathing. A glance in the mirror at her friend's reflection told her she'd struck a nerve. Veronica's face was downcast and her smile had long since shriveled into a rueful point as she stared blankly at her phone while her fingers restlessly picked at the device's expensive casing. An iota of pity budded in Trixie. She recalled how harsh she'd thought of Veronica earlier, mentally labelling her a conniving bitch, but that wasn't entirely fair to her, was it? She felt her jaw unclench. You deserve so much better than you accept, V…
She cleared her throat and tried to change the subject. "How much time do I have now?" she asked softly, her voice deliberately lighter.
Veronica sniffled and barely looked away from the short brainrot looping on her screen. "Five minutes, Trix." she replied in a subdued voice.
"Huh…" Trixie strutted by Veronica doing her best to shoulder the burden of her friend's mental health and opened the door. She playfully looked over her shoulder despite the gnawing memories. She caught a glimpse of the socha that Veronica's fast and flippant attitude so carefully guarded and swallowed the words she wanted to say. "Then why aren't you in the car already? I thought you wanted to be on the Delight-Lee Podcast?"
Veronica blinked once, more purposeful than usual. In that blink, her temperment shifted from somber and deflated back to the every-bright valley girl. She looked up in shock and gasped, the corners of her mouth curling up into a little smile as the light returned to her eyes. She scrambled to get off of the California King bed as her perky attitude returned full force.
"Oh, you bitch!" She chased Trixie out the door.