Clit Training

A quick double rap sounded upon the door of Jenny's apartment.

"Can you get that, my hands are full?" Jenny cried from the kitchen. Carla quirked an eyebrow in Michelle's direction and took another sip of her chardonnay. Michelle put her drink down but she'd not risen an inch from her seat when the door simply popped open. Upon seeing Carla and Michelle, the honey blond screamed and bounced into the apartment like a glitter bomb explosion waiting to happen.

"I did it! I did it! I did it!" Bree squealed on a crescendo. "I got the part!"

Jenny dropped her kitchen prep. Both she and Carla raced to Bree, threw themselves into a group hug and happy dance bounced.

Michelle was slower to join. Something tightened low in her torso and she wasn't certain if the fizzing sensation meant her panties were going to melt or if she was going to puke. How could that be possible? The sensations weren't even vaguely similar. Yet, Michelle had been anticipating slash dreading this moment for months. No, not for Bree to get a part as a professional performer at a quality porn production studio, but for she, Michelle, to take her turn, at taking The Dare. How The Dare had turned into 'making your besties into a slut' was beyond Michelle.

Actually, it wasn't. It was her own drunken, effed up idea that had sent Carla to the stripper pole as a means to pay her college tuition a few years back. Carla no longer needed the money but still freelanced a few evening as month at clubs around town.

Too prude never spread her legs Jenny had lost her virginity on a first date—at Michelle's suggestion. Anymore, she put out on every date unless it was a breakup date. Even then, she sometimes put out before she broke up. It'd been Bree that had turned what had once been a little 'girl's night' harassment into The Dare. Bree'd even agreed to take the next one, so long as Michelle swore on her shoe collection that she would follow suit. Bree had met the stipulations of the dare months ago—engage in online porn with one or more other performers. Bree had, once upon a Tinkerbell, wanted to be an actor after all. But now that Bree was a professional, it seemed unfathomable girl's night would commence until Michelle had been issued The Dare—which, at this point, was more like, The Ultimatum.

Michelle did envy her friends' new found body confidence, sexual confidence and all around general confidence. But what was left? Whore? Because no. No. Nope. Michelle was not doing that. At twenty four, Michelle'd just started her career and she wasn't giving it up, or putting it on pause, or moonlighting in order to fuck for money.

Wait. No! The was effed up. Career or no, Michelle was not going to fuck for money—dare be damned. Not that there was anything wrong with fucking for money. It was just that she, Michelle, was not going to be doing it.

Yup, that fizz in her core, was not her panties melting. She was definitely going to sick up.

"Oh, Michelle." Bree spoke Michelle's name with a singsong note.

Michelle plunked her glass on the counter and ran for the bathroom. One of the others, Jenny maybe, swept aside Michelle's hair just before she heaved. A few, ew gross, minutes passed while Michelle evacuated her stomach.

"You know," Carla said, a gentle tone in her voice, "you don't have to do it."

"Yes she does." Bree might've been a glitter bomb but she had a hard ass basalt streak. Which was why they all loved her. She was happy. And joyful. And didn't let anyone, even a big ass football linebacker sausage wielder, stomp on her. "She agreed!"

Carla said, "We all kinda wanted this, Bree. Michelle doesn't."

"Wanted this. Wanted this! We can't even cum unless we keep doing our thing," Bree screamed.

Jenny butted in. "But we cum so easily—and so unbelievably hard. I had no idea orgasms could be like this. Like, every time."

Carla ignored Jenny's comment and jabbed a finger in Bree's sternum. "That was my mistake. And you don't get to complain! Because I warned you. Both of you. Repeatedly. I told you to find your confidence some other way!"

"Arrrg!" Bree growled in a high pitched squeal. "Why do I have to be bi? Why are my friends so, so hot?" She shimmied in the doorway and sank into half squat. If Michelle hadn't known better, she'd've guessed that Bree had clenched so hard she'd nearly orgasmed. "You're good people. One of my safe places—shit!" Perhaps Michelle didn't know better because Bree ripped open her button fly and shoved her fingers into the pink lace covering her sex.

"Bree, don't do that!" Jenny banged her head against the bathroom door like she was trying to un-see her friend. "Friggin' a, Bree! I don't want to be bi." Jenny shouldered her way out of the bathroom. "But now I need to cum. Give me a minute." Jenny hurried down the hall and slammed her bedroom door behind her.

A tortured expression flit across Bree's face. She shimmy walked, both hands in her panties far enough down the hall she was no longer in the doorway. There was a thunk and a sliding sound. Michelle imagined Bree propped against the wall, legs scissored across the floor.

A second later a moan filtered down the hall. Bree's strained, rubber band voice chased the sound. "Oh God." Michelle swore she heard an actual squelch. Bree whined. She did not miss the look on Carla's face or how her shaking fingers pressed into the seam of her skinny jeans. Michelle clenched so hard her knees knocked.

Bree's voice again. "Is Michelle done ralphing?" Her words quaked. "I kinda need to—I kinda want to—" Bree's voice steadied. "I'd like to clean up."

Carla looked to Michelle. Carla looked strained. "You good?"

Michelle swished a shot of Jenny's mouthwash and nodded. They exited the tiny bathroom. Michelle whispered to Carla, "What's going on?" She was feeling rather bewildered.

Carla ignored Michelle's question. Using the wall for support, Bree was struggling back to her feet. He legs were still shaking. Bree's jeans weren't soaked though, yet. But the same couldn't be said for the gusset of her panties.

Carla stopped beside the shell shocked woman. "Why did you have to go saying it out loud? Now we're all thinking 'safe people, safe place.' Now we'll never be able to meet up in private without a little stress relief." Carla was usually the soft, loving, supportive kind but at the moment she looked like she had a migraine.

"I'm sorry."

She was. Bree did not often look crestfallen but right now she looked like somone had crapped on her Prada collection.

Carla rested a gentle hand on Bree's quaking shoulder. "That's okay. It was going to happen. I just hope—well, it doesn't matter what I hoped." The woman hugged. Bree smelled so strongly of sex Michelle could detect her scent ten feet away. Bree walked bowl legged unto the bathroom. Carla led Michelle to the kitchen.

"Carla?" Michelle asked. She shot her BFF a WTF look.

Carla got Michelle to sit on one the barstools by the counter and pulled Jenny's laptop towards them. She gave Michelle a sideways grin. "You started The Dare. Sorta. Technically it was Bree. But you got the ball rolling. Not intentionally, I don't think. But you did."

"Yeah. I know. I was thinking about it when..." Michelle shrugged.

Carla gifted Michelle a knowing smile. "What you don't know is that I couldn't do it. I couldn't strip. Not even for an audience of one. Not until I found this." She flipped up the laptop screen and typed in the password to the lock screen. The girls all knew each other's passwords. She opened Google and typed in a web address.

Train Your Clit. Let Your Clit Train You.

Michelle looked at Carla alarmed but the warm, La Croix fizzle in her core was not of the sick-up variety this time.

"Um, what is this?" Michelle asked. She tapped a short, blunted, neutral colored nail against the screen.

Carla inflated her chest with a heavy sigh. She wasn't wearing a padded bra because it was clear that her peaks had become peaked. Carla pulled at her pants, but whether she was trying to move the seam of her pants directly over, or away from, her crease was difficult to tell.

"It's orgasm denial—until you've done what you've agreed to do."

"Um. Okay. But I can go a year, even two, without an orgasm. So can you." Michelle pulled up a barstool to the counter. She squirmed in her seat. It felt like all her organs had turned into something liquid—and very, very hot. She might be able to go a year without an orgasm but she rather wanted one right now.

"Not anymore," Carla said.

Bree joined them. "That's just it. The whole thing with the training is to get you to a place where you need to have orgasms and then not get them, unless you behave."

"You mean you have to do a video for every orgasm" Michelle didn't believe it. "No way."

A pink tide burnt up Bree's cheeks. She ducked her head, brushed a lock out of her eyes and smiled sheepishly at Michelle. "I get about a week of orgasms for every full frontal nude pic I poste on the web."

"And I can go about three weeks before I need to dance at a club. Four, if I'm willing to edge."

Jenny returned from her bedroom. Michelle noticed she had on a different pair of jeans. She went around the other side of the counter to finish prepping their snack plate. Michelle tried to steal an apple slice and got smacked for it.

"And I can go forever," Jenny said. "So long as I don't date." Michelle knew that was pretty much impossibility. Jenny had been a serial dater before The Dare. "But if I do date, and don't screw, I'm kinda screwed."

"Guys this sounds horrible." And effing hot. Michelle was pretty sure she'd started dripping. If this didn't stop, she was going to need to borrow a pair of dry panties from Jenny before the night was through. "What if you break a leg," Michelle said speaking to Carla. "Or you the dating pool dries up. Or, you, Bree, IDK, your camera breaks."

Bree snickered. "Read the page. There's safeties, dumbass. If I don't—Bree made air quotes—'behave' I can't orgasm for about two weeks and then everything resets."

"Same here," Jenny said. She took the snack tray around to the sitting room and everyone joined her around the coffee table.

"Ditto," Carla said. She brought the laptop around and plunked it on Michelle's lap after Michelle had seated herself on the couch. "But if I then do a strip tease, everything resets again and I'm back to dancing for 'gasms. There's something in the program that makes you kinda want to do your thing, so if you're able, you end up doing it."

"Sooo..." Michelle looked between her BFFs. Her ribs felt like they'd turned into a butterfly cage. "...what is my 'thing' going to be?" She was insane, but apparently, so were her friends.

"Spanks!" Bree cheerleader squealed. "Because she was kind of naughty when she said she wasn't going to do it."

Michelle hoped the others didn't notice how hard her thighs had clenched because it felt like someone had turned a hot water spicket on inside of her crease. "I never said I wasn't going to do it." Her voice sounded like a frog's croak.

"Naw," Carla said. "Too easy."

"What about anal play?" Excitement sparked within Jenny's voice.

The spicket in Michelle's cunt turned cold. "I'm not taking random dudes up my ass."

"Who said it had to be a dude? It could be a dildo, a plug, a finger or even a light—Jenny turned red—pucker massage."

"Who said you had a say, Michelle. It's a dare," Bree scolded.

Michelle rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn't sprain a muscle. "You quibbled too."

The glitter bomb blond stuck out her tongue.

"I know," Carla said slowly, "what if she fucks her boss."

"What! No!" Michelle dodged behind the curtain of her dark hair to hide her panic.

"Why?" Jenny said, clearly liking the idea. "You can't stop gushing about him."

"What if he stops being my boss?"

"Good point," Carla conceded.

"You know, your career is pretty important to you." Bree twirled a lock, her mocha eyes thoughtful. "What if you used all your assets to get ahead? The boss. The CEO. The customers."

"Guys," Michelle whined. She'd been scared but willing to play. She wasn't so sure anymore.

Jenny must've sensed that she was about to walk because she blurted another suggestion. "What if she just does what I do?"

Carla pointed a baby carrot at Jenny. "That'll never work. Michelle doesn't date. She hooks up, one time, like, every other year. She doesn't do the steady romance thing."

"Sex is easier without the messy emotions," Michelle muttered. Everyone ignored her.

Bree snagged some celery off the snack plate and dunked it in enough ranch dressing to erase any kind of dietary benefit. "So what if she just hooks up more?"

Michelle could consider that. She was, in her more honest moments, jealous of how often her friends managed to get it on. But there was still a little resistance. She opened her mouth.

Carla interrupted. "I can't take this anymore. I need to step out." Michelle had noticed her squirming in her seat for a while now. Carla pressed her hand into her sex and she stood up. As she passed Bree on the way out of the living room, she growled, "Eff you and your 'safe place.'"

Jenny turned as red as Beetlejuice and giggled in discomfort. "You are going to scare Michelle."

Bree cocked an eyebrow. "Which is why Michelle needs to do this. That way she can keep hanging with us without getting freaked out."

"I'm kinda freaked out now."

Jenny whipped around to look at Michelle. "Oh my God." A look of horror washed over Jenny's face. "No, you can't stop hanging with us. We've been, like, forever!"

"I mean," Michelle said, "who can't wait to jill?"

"You," Bree said. She got up from her chair beside the television and plopped down on the couch beside Michelle. She scrolled down the internet page pointing out The Clit Training method, highlights and hypnosis safeties. From what Michelle saw it involved subliminals and guided masturbation that stimulated self-hypnosis.

"Here's The Dare," Bree said. "You are going to clit train and then your clit is going to train you to flirt with every guy you think is hot. If he hits on you when you feel safe and available, you are going to Netflicks and Chill. If you don't, no more orgasms for you."

Something made like a hot slinky slipping through Michelle's core. "For two weeks, right? I only can't orgasm for two weeks." How was this conversation so erotic? She should be running scared right now. Shouldn't she?

"Right."

Was she going to do this? Was she really going to do this? It was The Dare. Shit, she was going to do this. "Okay," Michelle squeaked.

"Cool!" Jenny said. She climbed to her feet. She'd been sitting cross legged on the floor. "I'll put on the conditioning program right now."

"What?" Michelle whipped her head to face Jenny. Her flat ironed tresses probably lashed Bree's face. The assumption was verified when Bree reared backwards on the couch.

"Oh don't worry, it'll just make you hornier."

"And give you dreams."

"You don't still dream?" Jenny said. She clicked on her several linked Beats Pill about the apartment. Apparently 'the conditioner' was already cued up. A pleasant rainforest sound filled the apartment. "I still dream. Every night."

Bree nibbled her lip. "I wake up with my hands in my panties." Bree turned pink. "I stopped wearing panties to bed."

"I did too." Carla's voice sounded soft, dreamy. She looked flushed. Her eyes were a little glassy and her hair mussed. What had she been doing to herself? She rejoined the girl's club in the living room. "There was no point in soaking my panties and sheets. I keep 20 ounces of water by my bed."

"I thought I had to download something? Something custom. I mean, how does it know what to do?" Michelle said.

The misty look in Carla's gaze slowly cleared. "You know what you agreed to. So will your clit."

It would? Michelle squirmed. That seemed dangerous. They'd talked about spanks, fucking her boss, butt plugs, riding her customers and getting mounted by every guy she found to be hot. Would her clit think she'd agreed to more than the last? "Guys, this, uh, rain splatter sound is only going to make me horny, right?"

"And give you dreams. Like really, really sexy, OMG, I've never cum that hard screamer dreams." That'd been said by Bree.

"And condition you," Carla said.

"Condition me for what?" Michelle's gaze pinballed between her friends.

"To complete your training."

Bree stretched dramatically. "Yawn guys. Let's talk about something else, like, what is the name and number of that hot as fuck stud Jenny screwed last week?"

The conversation dissolved into giggles. For a next few hours, their interest rambled over a number of animated topics. A while ago, Bree had started fidgeting on the couch. She excused herself but when a strangled moan sounded from the powder room it erased all doubts as to what she was doing.

During the lulls in the conversation, Michelle read the Clit Training web page. It largely confirmed all she had been told. She was also supposed to be able to put her desire off when she needed to. But what scared her most, right now, all her friends were turning into jilling nymphos. How often did a girl really need to release her steam? If the answer was four or more times a day, how could they possibly go two weeks?

###

Five weeks later, Michelle staggered into her apartment, dropped her suitcase and clamped both hands to the crotch of her skinny jeans. She fell to her knees. Her forehead kissed the floor. Her dark tresses spread out over the floor. She rubbed, as hard a she could. It was not enough.

The website hadn't lied. At work, in the airport, on the plane, driving her car, the throb heat, spark heat, tingle heat, that seemed to be her clit's new mode of operation was easy to put aside. She couldn't completely ignore it. She felt the desire coiling, waiting to pounce, but it remained in the background, growing, until she was alone or with some guy she thought was as hot as fuck. But when she was alone, or with that guy, God help her.

Also, she seemed to be running into a lot of hot as fuck guys lately. Take that NASA engineer she'd met in Houston two days ago. Apparently, she now though a man with brains was hot as fuck even if he lacked the body.

Desperate to get off, Michelle pealed her jeans and the accompanying thong down to her knees. She shoved three fingers in her box and used the other hand to jill her clit to a froth. Michelle's core tightened, coiling like a spring. She writhed; little sparks of pleasure crawling up her spine to pop in her brain. Michelle's nipples were so taut, they hurt.

But she—could—not—get—off.

She'd asked the NASA engineer to spank her until her ass glowed. It'd still stung while he'd railed her like a battering ram. When she'd wiggled a finger into her star, she'd exploded like the Challenger.

Michelle abandoned her launch button and hit her backside with all the force she could muster. She clenched so hard, liquid heat spilled over the hand still plundering her crease. She coiled tighter, but the thread of her need did not snap.

She struck herself a second time. A scream of pain, frustration and pleasure ripped from Michelle's lips. She rammed her birdie finger into her ass. Her belly flopped to the floor. She writhed. She hovered on a Mt. Everest precipice. Michelle could not get over.