No One Rides for Free Ch. 02

After seeing the slut card in Andrea's hand, I began to pay more attention to the news about this new payment system.

Law school had, of course, familiarized me with some of the new legal reforms related to the card. I don't want to bore you with obscure legal stuff, so I'll just say that there is something called specific performance, and the laws around specific performance had to be changed to allow the slut card to work. There was a company that released a phone app called Hitch, which later became the slut card. Some years after prostitution was fully legalized and the multi-spectrum anti-STI vaccines had been fully rolled out, Hitch had run a major lobbying effort to reform contract law around specific performance.

By the time I was in my last year of law school, it seemed like both Hitch and the slut card itself would be short-lived. The slut card had a lot of media attention due to shock value, and there was plenty of curiosity, but not much uptake. People like Andrea signed up for the card but most of the people who signed up didn't seem to be using the cards. Even at 1:10 odds, it was not a risk that very many people were willing to take.

The other reason that Hitch seemed doomed was media coverage of the times the card worked too well. There were a handful of stories about business catastrophes. I remember reading about a car dealership that decided it would accept the slut card, and then they went broke because they had to give away sixteen cars. Even though a few people ended up working naked at the car dealership for months on end, the dealership couldn't really make up the loss on the cars. No one would buy a luxury car just because it came with a hot babe to have sex with.

The economics were pretty simple; people who wanted to pay for sex would just pay for sex. Adding sex as a side dish to other transactions didn't work very well at all. It might be fun to know that a restaurant sometime had a blow job from an unlucky former customer on offer, but most of the time people either wanted to eat or they wanted to fuck. If they wanted to fuck, they didn't go to a restaurant. At least, that's what a bunch of pundits were saying. Hitch was seen as a bad bet, despite its initial appeal to venture capitalists and angel investors.

I decided that I agreed with these dire predictions. This, by the way, shows why no one should take business advice from me. But to be fair to my younger self, I wasn't really interested in business news at the time. The purpose of my research was to flirt with Andrea. I would find one of the numerous articles about how slut cards would be gone within the year and I'd DM it to her with a message like "You'd better use that card soon, before you lose the chance! If you want, I'll take pictures so you can tell your grandkids about it."

She would shoot back with something coy about how "How do you know I haven't already used it dozens of times?"

My problem was that I could never really talk to her in person, except a quick little "hi" when we saw each other at school. I was not good at talking to people face-to-face. In my student days, I met dozens of people online but I almost never picked someone up at a bar (the adventure with Arms at the club being a delightful anomaly). I messaged back and forth with her about her slut card for weeks.

The weeks that went by while I tried to get Andrea's attention via DMs about business news were part of a relaxed time at the law school. About halfway through our final semester, most of the class (myself included, of course) had already accepted the jobs that we would be moving into. Our job offers included clauses that said we needed to maintain our grades, so none of us should have been slacking off, but everyone did anyway.

The beautiful thing about all of the third-year students becoming suddenly lazy at the same time is that the grade curve stayed the same. We all worked less hard, and that meant there was less competition for the top grades. I was getting As and B-plusses without anywhere near the effort I had put in as a second-year student.

Really, if law students made a pact to be lazy from the beginning, I would have had a lot more time in law school to focus on getting laid.

On one particular bright spring day, Andrea and I were sitting at the opposite ends of a class called Conflicting Jurisdictions, which had about twenty people in it, all drowsy third-years. The classroom was built for about fifty people, so the instructor's voice was echoing as she droned on about her truly dull subject matter. Meanwhile, Andrea and I were messaging back and forth.

Her: Why are you so obsessed with the slut card thing?

Me: I'm obsessed with you.

Her: Lol

Me: I am also obsessed with the slut card thing.

I paused a little, summoning some courage.

Me: Because whenever I see a place that advertises that they accept slut cards I think I might find you inside.

See how much braver I am online? It's a problem.

Her: You are such a stalker!

Her: How come you're so quiet all the time except when you're messaging me?

Me: I'm shy.

Me: You make me tongue-tied.

Me: I do better when I have time to formulate my thoughts.

Her: That's actually pretty adorable, you know.

At this, I glanced up from my computer and across the room at her. She was staring back at me, an ironic little smile on her lips. I felt myself begin to blush and she obviously saw it because she smiled more broadly.

Her: Oh my god, you really are the cutest thing. What am I going to do with you?

I paused, looking at the blinking cursor and feeling that I was getting redder. My attempts at flirting had been theoretical and abstract. But now I felt like I actually had her attention. I was desperate not to lose it. I typed my response, and then felt nervous.

I looked over at her again, and I saw that she was now openly staring back at me. She raised one bushy eyebrow in a manner that was both provocative and shameless. God, did the professor not see what was going on in her class? I looked over and, no, she was still talking about forum non conveniens motions. I sucked in air and hit Enter.

Me: Whatever you want.

My breath caught as I waited. The little dots bounced to show that she was typing a response. I didn't dare look up at her.

Her: Hmmm.

I was so nervous. The dots bounced again. I just kept staring at my laptop and willing a new message to come in.

To my surprise, her next message was just a hyperlink to some website with a bunch of random numbers and letters in it. It wasn't anything I recognized. I clicked the link and found "Welcome to virtual slut card!" I went back to the messaging window confused, trying to figure out what her game was.

Her: I've got an idea, since you're so obsessed.

Her: This website does the one-in-ten odds thing that the card does. You and I can log in together and it'll act as if you're shopping at the Andrea store.

Her: You name something you want, and take the risk.

I checked out the website a little. It was obviously something coded by a random CompSci major as an afternoon project. It had a terrible colour scheme and was badly laid-out and quite simple. Still, it doesn't take much sophistication to mimic the way a slut card works.

Me: I LOVE this idea. Do you want to come over to my place or something after class?

Her: We could.

Her: Or we could start now.

Her: It's up to you; store's open. But I'm warning you...

Her: When your luck runs out, I'm not waiting.

Really? Would she make me strip in class if I tried to "buy" something from her here? I doubted she really would. It would create a lot of trouble for me. Anyway, I could just say no. Couldn't I? Well, there's all that stuff we studied about specific performance, but I doubt she would take me to court over it.

It was making me wet just to think about (including the legal implications, which demonstrates how much law school messes with your mind). I realized that I wanted to lose. I wanted her to have control over me. Maybe she would make me walk over and kiss her, or move my seat next to her so that she could subtly run a hand up and inside my shirt. Not knowing what she had planned, only knowing that she wouldn't wait until class was over... I decided I'd give her fifteen minutes.

Me: What's on sale? What can I get for $25?

Her: Let's see-$25 is equivalent to 15 minutes if your number comes in. How about I go through my phone and send you the last nude I have saved?

I was enjoying this, and decided to haggle with her. I knew the website was probably a sham, and it probably always makes the "buyer" lose. So it didn't matter what she was "selling," I wasn't getting it.

Me: No way, that's not worth $25. I'd pay $5 for that.

Her: Okay, make it two nudes for ten dollars.

The screen of the website lit up with "Pay $10 / Risk 0:06"? and "Yes"/"No."

I held my breath and hit "Yes." Time to see what she could do if she had me at her mercy for six minutes.

To my shock, the screen didn't go red. Instead a dialogue box popped up saying "Enjoy your purchase."

I let out a small sigh. I was a bit disappointed. But then, as I watched her, Andrea pulled her phone from her pocket and started scrolling. Shortly afterwards, my phone started to vibrate in my pocket. Once, twice, I tried to look casual as I pulled it out.

God, she was sexy. The first pic just showed her torso, with her hands pushing her perky tits together to create a bit of cleavage. Her nipples had perfect little round areolas and stuck out like pencil erasers. The next picture showed her ass from behind, as well as her bare feet. She was kneeling in front of a mirror, and shooting over her shoulder. I'm not normally a foot person, but I was obsessed with every inch of her body. I zoomed in on her ass to see if there was a hint of pussy lips showing. It was too dark to be sure.

Me: You are so sexy.

Her: Do you want to know what I would have done if I had gotten you for six minutes?

Me: Yes.

Her: I would have made you go to a secluded place in the library and send me a video of you touching yourself.

Me: Oh fuck, that's a good idea. I want that now. How much?

Her: How much what?

Me: At the Andrea store, I mean. How much will it cost to send you to the library and send me a video of your pretty little fingers rubbing your pussy until you come as quietly as you can?

Her: Are you serious? I can't do that. What if I get caught?

Me: It was you idea. How much?

Her: Not for less than $500.

What would she do with me for five hours, I wondered. But staring at her bare ass on my phone was making my mind cloudy. I tapped "Yes" as fast as the message came in. "Enjoy your purchase," the website said. Ha ha!

Her: Oh fuck, I didn't think you'd do it.

It took Andrea about fifteen minutes to get set up. She needed to leave class, surreptitiously search for a quiet spot in the library, and then call me on a video call. She left her stuff in class so that people would think she was just going to the bathroom.

I was beyond impatient, but eventually her image showed up on my phone, I turned off my own camera. Nothing in the deal said she was going to be able to see me, after all.

I could tell where she was. It was one of the library's private study rooms. The rooms have big windows connecting them to the main part of the library, probably because they knew that student would try to fuck each other in the study rooms.

Andrea's solution was to prop up her phone against a wall and sit under the table so that no one could see her through the window. It was a bit of a tight fit. I watched her struggle to pull her jeans down just enough that she had freedom to move, while keeping her head below the height of the window. When she settled in, her face wasn't in the frame, just her half-down jeans and the baby blue men's boxer shorts she was wearing under them. Hot, I thought to myself.

Then her hand appeared in the image. She was teasing herself by rubbing her pussy through the boxers. God, that looked good. I wished it was my hand instead of hers.

I was startled away from my phone by the sound of movement. Everyone was getting up and packing their bags. Class was over. I needed to get somewhere else to enjoy the rest of my show before the next class came in. I folded up my computer while I kept one eye on my phone, where Andrea was pulling down the boxers slowly, bit by bit. I saw the top of her pubic hair, a neatly trimmed dark triangle. I had half expected her to be all-natural, but this was even better.

"Do you think Andrea's coming?" My eyes darted upwards to see Raheem, who was standing very close to me. If he looked down... I tilted my phone away from him in what was hopefully a nonchalant gesture. It was then that I realized he was gesturing towards her still-open laptop. A number of students from the next class were filing in. Coming back, he meant.

"I can get her computer to her," I said.

I used all of my subtlety while crossing the classroom, making sure not to close my video chat while also making sure no one could see what was on my phone's screen. I assure you it was very smooth, but the downside was that I couldn't see either.

I packed her computer up as fast as I could and left the classroom. As soon as I was in the hallway, I hungrily went back to watching Andrea. She had wrestled her jeans and boxers to her ankles at some point, and was now off-centre in the frame. I could see her smooth little pussy and most of her white thighs as well. She was so pale! I wanted to grab the inside of her thigh and make her gasp.

I wanted to run my tongue along her pelvic bone and devour her.

Fuck this, I thought. I'm going to the library.

As I began to walk purposefully, I found moments of privacy when I could glance at my phone. She was using three fingers to rub against her clit hard. I made it to the front door of the library.

I glanced again when I was hidden between bookshelves. She was fucking herself with two fingers from her left hand now, still rubbing her clit with the right hand.

I looked carefully at the carpet and wall behind her on my phone screen. Definitely study room 5E. I had a small group project that met in that room the year before. I dropped my phone into my purse. As I walked towards the window of study room 5E, I started to doubt myself. The room seemed empty.

Then, when I was close enough, I saw her bunched up jeans and one of her big combat boots sticking out under the table. Good hiding job, Andrea, I thought. I opened the door as silently as I could.

She was being quiet, but now that I was in the room, I could hear her breathing and the squishy wet sounds of her fingers going in and out of her pussy. I could smell her arousal in the unmoving air of the small study room.

She hadn't noticed me yet, and was facing her camera. Bad decision to keep her back to the door, really. Not wanting to make her jump, I said "Now that's what I wanted to see," and softly sat down behind her, reaching a hand up into her shirt to play with one of her nipples. I hoped that I was as well-concealed as she was.

Now that there were two of us under the table, we had to squeeze up together, which I certainly didn't mind. The back of her neck smelled as good as I remembered from the club. Her braless breasts were a joy to fondle.

She turned her head towards me and smiled. "What the hell took you so long?"

I kept my hand on her breast and slid two fingers of my other hand into her mouth. She knew exactly what to do, sucking my fingers as if they were a cock, running her tongue all around my fingers. It was only a second or so of her being finger-fucked from both ends before she began to twitch and tense up.

"That's it," I whispered in her ear. "Come for me." I kept two fingers in her mouth and wrapped the rest of my hand over her lips to muffle the soft moans that she wasn't able control anymore.

She shook and stiffened for what felt like almost half a minute before finally relaxing and falling back against me. "Fuck, that felt good, Miranda," she said.

"How many times can you come in a row," I asked.

"Oh, lots. But you only bought one." She said, squirming as she began trying to pull up the baby blue boxer shorts.

She was right, I though. So I stood guard as she wrestled her jeans and underwear back on.

"Come over to my place tonight?" I asked.

"I'll come over for $150, but you're on the hook for supper."

"Deal."

I unfolded both of our laptops and we set up the transaction on the study room table. At this point we seemed like we were using the room for its intended purpose. There was no reason to think anyone suspected us of any misbehaviour. "Enjoy your purchase," the website said.

I intended to.