"Are you kidding," she laughed. "I wouldn’t be caught dead with a loser like you." All of her frustration and anger at what had happened to her in the last couple of weeks flowed out of her heart and down the phone lines.
"B-but… I thought… what about what happened on…"
"What happened in your car was a joke," she told him. "You’ve got to be the worst fuck I’ve ever had." It felt a little strange talking like that, but on the whole, it was good to be on the giving end of some abuse rather than on the receiving end. Besides, he was such a loser!
"B-but…"
"I don’t want to hear about it, and I don’t want to see or hear from you again. Just fuck off!"
Stacy slammed down the phone. That had felt good! Almost like her old self. Cheered up, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom for a shower.
As ordered, Stacy arrived at Sharon’s house promptly at 7:00 that evening. Sharon’s mother, a large, bleary-eyed woman answered the door.
"Is Sharon here?" Stacy asked timidly. The woman smelt of beer and stale cigarette smoke.
The woman took a drag from her cigarette and gestured Stacy inside. Stacy walked into the house.
"Sharon!" Sharon’s mom was yelling down a flight of stairs. "Your little friend’s here." She turned back to Stacy. "Go right on down. She’s in her room."
Stacy smiled weakly in thanks and walked down the stairs into the basement.
"In here." Sharon’s voice came from behind a closed door at one end of a short hall. Stacy pushed the door open and entered Sharon’s bedroom. The pudgy girl was talking on the phone; she waved at Stacy to come in and sit down.
"… Yes… I know. At the agreed price. I know… uh huh… it’s just for private use. Nothing else." Stacy sat on the edge of Sharon’s bed, careful not to disturb a pile of dirty clothing. "No, that’s fine. Yeah… as long as they don’t mind… OK." Sharon hung up the phone and turned to Stacy.
"Well," she said, smirking, "let’s have a look at you. Stand up." Blushing, Stacy stood up. She was wearing a blue skirt which fell below her knees and a yellow blouse. Her blonde hair was done up in a tight, little bun at the back of her head. Sharon shook her head as she looked the older girl over. "Huh," she grunted. "That’s not gonna do." She got up and moved towards the closet. "Let’s try these on." She pulled out a duffel bag and handed it to Stacy.
Stacy took one look inside and dropped the bag. "I can’t wear these. Not in public."
Sharon just smiled and lit a cigarette.
"Every time," she rolled her eyes theatrically. "Every time we go through this same game. First you say you can’t do something. Then we threaten to release the tape and the pictures. Then, suddenly, you can do it." She looked over at Stacy. "Is all that really necessary?"
Stacy looked down at the duffel bag and began to tremble. She fought back the tears.
"Please…" How could they do this to her?
Sharon wasn’t moved.
"Put these on, you bitch," she ordered, suddenly angry. "You’ll wear them tonight or by Monday night everyone in town will know what a slut you are."
The videotape!
Reluctantly, Stacy reached down and picked up the duffel bag.
Ten minutes later, she was changed and ready to go. The central item of her new apparel was a black, patent leather skirt, which reached only halfway down her thighs. The tight skirt was fastened by a zipper on the side. (For easy access, Sharon had commented.) On top, she now wore a bright pink spandex shirt. The sleeveless blouse hugged her upper body tightly, making the most of her smallish breasts. On her feet, she wore black leather, high-heeled boots, which covered her lower legs right up to her knees. Thin nylon stockings completed the ensemble. As well, Sharon had combed out her blonde hair, so that it fell in waves across her now bare shoulders. A little extra make-up (applied by Sharon) and she looked like "a proper little whore" (in Sharon’s opinion).
Stacy fought to hold back the tears. She did feel like a whore in this outfit.
The two girls drove up to the College in Stacy’s car, but with Sharon at the wheel. When they arrived, the party was already in full swing, with music blasting raucously out of partially opened windows. It was located in a large, old house, which served as rental accommodation for students at BCN. Sharon parked the car on the street opposite the house and looked over at Stacy. The older girl sat stiffly, looking straight ahead, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
"You’re not going to have much fun with that attitude," Sharon chided. "You’re too tense." Stacy didn’t answer. Sharon sighed theatrically and reached into her large purse.
"Here," she said, pulling out a small thermos. "Have a drink. It’ll relax you." She poured a small measure of whisky into the thermos lid and passed it over to Stacy. The older girl looked doubtful for a moment, sniffing suspiciously at the liquid, but then shrugged her shoulders and drank it down. What harm could it do? Almost immediately, she felt the warmth of the alcohol in her stomach.
"One more?" Sharon asked. Stacy nodded quickly and held out the cup for a second drink. Sharon poured, and Stacy once again downed it. She felt much better already.
Sharon smiled as she took the cup back and screwed it back onto the thermos. This was the same stuff that Gary had mixed that had got Stacy so hot that night at Neil’s. With any luck, it should make things go a lot better tonight, particularly with a double dose.
"Let’s go."
Sharon opened the door and got out of the car. Stacy followed, moving a little slower on the high heels. The drink was beginning to go to her head a bit, she noticed. She felt a little unsteady. The two girls walked up the gravel driveway towards the house. Even from outside, the loud pulsing music made conversation difficult; the whole building seemed to shake with it.
Sharon banged loudly on the door. Nothing. She banged again, harder this time. A few moments later, a young man opened it and peered drunkenly outward.
"Yeah?" His eyes quickly skimmed over Sharon, and came to rest on Stacy’s scantily clad body. Stacy shivered, only partly from the cold as the man slowly looked her up and down. He liked his lips.
"Is Jim in?" Sharon was forced to yell over the music. "Tell him Sharon is here." The man at the door tore his eyes away from Stacy long enough to acknowledge Sharon’s words with a nod, and then disappeared back into the house.
Sharon turned to Stacy who was still shivering on the porch. "Remember," she said urgently. "This is a college party. Don’t start acting like a fucking kid. I have everything under control."
Stacy started to ask what she meant by this, but the door swung open and another man came out. This guy was huge; he looked like a football player.
"Sharon," he called out. "Good to see you." His eyes turned, inevitably, towards Stacy. "And you must be Stacy. Sharon’s told us a lot about you." Stacy knew that this sounded ominous, but her brain was fogged up from the alcohol, and the drugs Gary had added to it were starting to have an effect: her senses seemed heightened, but her consciousness was starting to drift. A small part of her mind recognized this feeling from that first night at Neil’s house, but she was unable to act on this knowledge. The large man - Jim? - gestured for them to enter the house. Sharon pushed Stacy through the door in front of her and then entered herself.
Behind them, the door slammed shut.
Inside, the painfully loud music drowned out any possibility of conversation. The foyer led to a short stairway which in turn opened up into the main living room of the house. This room was packed with sweating, dancing people, almost exclusively students from BCN. The air was heavy with smoke, tobacco and other types.