Katie's Wedgie Humiliation Pt. 01

For the first time in her life, Katie felt cool.

The 21-year-old looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. It may have been her imagination, but she thought she looked taller, her smile more assured. Alone in her apartment, she was wearing only her bra and underwear — the latter being a somewhat embarrassing pair of colorful polka-dotted briefs; she made a note to finally buy herself some thongs — and she turned to admire her figure, delighted by this sudden surge in confidence.

Katie was preparing to begin her Ph.D. at Stanford: the best business program in the world, her undergraduate advisor had gushed proudly. Classes would begin the following day, and for the first time in her life, she wasn't dreading the start of school. Over the preceding month, she'd diligently stalked her cohort-mates on social media, and each time one realization grew sharper, bringing a relief that felt almost like a drug: I'm as cool as they are, if not cooler.

There was a reason these thoughts had gripped her with such a fervor. Katie was a nerd. This was true in even the most stereotypical sense of the term.She excelled at school and sheloved anime; in high school and college, while her classmates went out and got drunk and had sex, she stayed home, studying math. She had watched with bitter jealousy as the popular girls wound up in the arms of the athletic guys she secretly fantasized about. One of them in particular had occupied her more than the others. Charlie Broadman was the captain of the tennis team, with the body of a pro soccer player, but unlike his other friends — loud, guffawing rich kids — Charlie was smart. Smart, and also kind. Only Charlie and Katie had been in advanced math courses together throughout high school, and of all the popular kids, only Charlie spoke to her like a friend: he laughed at her jokes, congratulated her high performance, and sometimes smiled at her in the hallways when they passed.

But of course someone like Charlie was never going to end up with someone like Katie — the girls made sure of that. All through school, Katie tried to simply keep to herself, but since middle school, there was always a group of girls that saw her meekness and intellect as something to be punished. It had really begun in middle school, in part because they finally had an ideal venue for their torment: the locker room they used for gym class. At first it had been taunts and name-calling — "nerd," "loser," "dweeb" — but soon it escalated into more physical forms of humiliation.

Worse than anything else had been the wedgies. What had begun as a few embarrassing tugs on her underwear in the locker room in sixth grade had quickly become a sort of sport for the popular girls: not a week went by in middle and high school where these girls did not grab Katie after gym class, strip her to her underwear, and proceed to take turns bouncing her off the ground. Sometimes they had a contest to see who could pull the waistband over her head; once or twice, they hung her completely off the ground from the door of a locker, where she dangled for an hour until the girls' gym coach found her there. (Coach Sutt had done her very best to hide her laughter, but years later Katie would blush seeing the look of surprise and amusement on the coach's face as she discovered her in a humiliating hanging wedgie.) Soon, "Nerd" and "loser" had given way to a new, humiliating nickname: Wedgie Girl.

College had been a minor relief. There, the popular girls were happily ensconced in their sororities, and gave little thought to nerds like Katie who eschewed frat parties for the library reading room. Still, she had to watch with bitter envy as these girls found boyfriends; late at night, in her bed, she'd listen to her dorm neighbors' moans and the sound of the mattress squeaking against the bed frame. Sometimes she found herself touching herself listening to this, picturing herself being the one in the next room, but as soon as she orgasmed, her shame and loneliness was worse than before.

But her loneliness had paid off. Her senior year of college, Katie had been accepted to Stanford's PhD program, and by the time she arrived in Palo Alto at the end of the summer, her joy at her acceptance had metastasized into a confidence she'd never enjoyed before: for once, her intelligence would be something noteworthy, something attractive, rather than something that justified the popular girls bouncing her by her underwear. She had been assigned to an off-campus apartment where she envisioned hosting wild parties for her new graduate student friends, all of whom would look up to her as someone cool and brilliant. The school hadn't given her the name of her roommate, but she was confident that together, they'd be among the coolest and most social doctoral students on campus. Maybe, at long last, she'd finally find a boyfriend.

She had been so immersed by the mirror that she hadn't heard her apartment's front door open.

"Jesus, are those really the underwear you wear?" came a laugh from her bedroom doorway.

Katie was ripped from her reverie and looked up to see a tall, attractive blonde girl standing there. She was suddenly reminded how exposed she was, and she felt her legs cross to protect her modesty, reflexively throwing and arm over her breasts and her other hand over her crotch. Something about the shame of this stance was paradoxically even more embarrassing, and she felt her face burn hot red.

"I — sorry — I — didn't see you," Katie heard herself say. She looked around desperately for a spare pair of shorts and a t-shirt, but realized she'd left them in the bathroom across the hall.

"I figured my roommate would be nerdy, but God, those panties are next level," the attractive blonde girl smirked. She was wearing a pair of short athletic shorts and a men's lacrosse t-shirt — definitely taken from the bedroom of a boy she'd slept with — that had been cut into a crop top. "I'm Maddie. I see you took the liberty of choosing yourself the bigger bedroom."

"H-hi — Katie," Katie said, feeling her legs cross even more in a desperate attempt to hide her childish underwear. "S-sorry — we can switch if you want, or—"

"Well, it's too late for that," Maddie said, nodding to the anime posters Katie had already hung from the wall over the bed. "But I want to get one thing straight. You might not know who I am, but you will soon enough. And the fact that I'm stuck living with someone like you is a crime against fucking nature. I'm not your friend, and you're not mine, and while we're living under the same roof I expect you to be fucking invisible. And what we have here is a chance for me to show you what happens when you act otherwise. Put your hands by your side."

Katie was dumbfounded, unsure that she had heard this girl correctly. She had been so taken aback by this stranger's hostility that she'd briefly forgotten that she was wearing only her bra and underwear. This had to be a joke: this Maddie was clearly just fucking with her in the way that friends fuck with each other; there's no way someone could be so aggressive without any reason. In a minute the cool girl who'd stared back at her from the mirror would be back, laughing off her embarrassing underwear choice as she and her new roommate stepped out for drinks.

But the cool girl in the mirror was long gone, and all of a sudden Katie thought of the locker room after gym class in high school. "You deserve this," the lacrosse captain had told her one afternoon after her teammates had stolen Katie's clothes as she showered and proceeded to spank her as she attempted to flee, naked and ashamed. Standing there years later before her new roommate, she heard these same words in her head, and believed them. Rather than fighting back or pushing Maddie away, Katie felt herself lower her arms to her seide with an almost preprogrammed docility. I deserve this, she thought to herself, flushing with shame at her own meekness, exposing her bra and underwear.

The girl named Maddie burst out laughing. "I'm pretty sure my eleven-year-old stepsister has the same underwear," she said, and Katie felt her knees buckle further from the embarrassment as Maddie stepped toward her. "Now turn around."

Again hating herself for her own docility, Katie felt herself oblige, somehow knowing what would come next.

"Such cute elastic," Maddie sneered, as Katie felt the blonde girl's fingers grasp her underwear's pink waistband. Maddie pulled the waistband back slightly, exposing Katie's pale naked buttocks from above. "Consider this a warning."

It was all too familiar: the first yank on her pink, blue, and green polka-dotted underwear, the sudden ache of pressure and pain as the cotton stretched to disappear between her butt cheeks, the way she felt herself squirm as the heels of her feet were lifted from the ground. Worse than anything, though, was what she couldn't control: the way she felt her suddenly exposed butt cheeks clench instinctively from the pain and shame; the way her knees buckled even further.

And of all of these uncontrolled reflexes to the humiliation and pain of being hoisted up by her own underwear, none was more embarrassing than —

"Wedgieee," Katie heard herself moan.

"And that" — Maddie gave a final yank that came close to tearing the underwear altogether — "is why you're going to choose to be invisible."

Katie felt the waistband snap humiliatingly back against her waist. Her hands flung to her exposed pale buttcheeks, desperate to find what modesty she could. It was in an almost instinctive reflex to the discomfort that Katie impulsively tried to fix her underwear, and Maddie burst out laughing. In the years since Katie's last wedgie, she had forgotten that the feeling of pulling the underwear from between her butt cheeks was somehow as embarrassing as the wedgie itself: the brief moment when doing so exposed her butt completely; the little gasping moan that always accompanied the relief of pressure from the underwear bunched between her cheeks.

"I'm — I'm sorry," Katie murmured, her face hotter and redder than it had been in years. Maddie turned her around and looked down and laughed even harder; to her horror, Katie looked down too to realize that the wedgie had tugged the front of her underwear between the lips of her vagina, and that her pubic hair was exposed on either side. Her quiet moan as she pulled it from her vagina was more reflexive than the last, and Maddie laughed even harder.

"Looking cute, Wedgie Girl."

And as Maddie turned and left the room, Katie looked in the mirror to see her underwear still bunched to expose the edges of her pale buttocks.