Secret Masochist - Game Club Ch. 02

(All characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older)

Chapter 2

Pride, and the Fall

"Alright, deal!" Your voice is a little quavery. You try to force some resolve into it. "Bring it on!"

Lincoln laughs. "Alright then. Jake, she asked for a rematch, give her a rematch."

The crowd cheers and whistles. Jake starts to set up another game. "Since this is a real match, I guess I'll use my main this time."

He wasn't playing his main? Your heart sinks. You had given him everything you had in that last match, and he had beaten you easily with one hand tied behind his back. The sinking feeling goes from your chest all the way down to your crotch, making you squeeze your thighs together again. Jesus, RC, what is going on with you?

The boys laugh as you select Princess Peach again. You don't care. She's your best shot, and you have to win. Jake selects Ganondorf this time. Really? That's his main? Ganondorf is a slow, lumbering character who is extremely hard to master. You suddenly feel better about the rematch. Unlike the fast and nimble Pikachu, you should be able to outmaneuver the muscly warlock. At least, you hope you can. He makes up for his lack of speed with punishing strength.

Again the announcer counts down, and again you open the match with an aggressive lunge. Instead of dodging this time, Jake counters, sending your character reeling. Before you can recover, he follows up with a throw and aerial combo. You desperately try to retreat, but he catches up with you easily. You've never seen someone so quick with such a slow character. Before you can even land a single hit, he scores his first knockout.

There isn't even any trash talk this time. All of the boys are just laughing at you. Your breath is heavy, your cheeks burn. That strange pressure is impossible to ignore now. You're squirming constantly, trying desperately to relieve the throbbing in your crotch. What is going on with me?

You try to focus on the game. No matter what you do, nothing works. He lands combo after combo, juggling you in the air, grabbing you and holding on while your character writhes. Like he's toying with you.

You don't stand a chance. By the time he scores his second knockout, you've barely touched him. The boys scream and holler. You can barely hear them. You are entirely focused on how completely powerless you are in the game. That strange pressure had morphed into something shockingly familiar. How the fuck am I getting turned on right now?

Jake suddenly backs off, giving you a chance to recover. Wasting no time, you go for your best attack, needing to land at least one good hit on him. You fall right into his trap. He winds up his most powerful move, and with you completely committed to your own attack there's nothing you can do. His punch connects and sends your character flying off the screen. The crowd goes wild, and you hunch forward in your seat, trying to hide from the utter humiliation.

As the cheers and raucous laughter begin to die down, Lincoln's voice rises above fray. "Three stocked! Hooooly shit. I cannot remember the last time I've seen someone get completely shut out like that." He steps over to you. "Now I believe you owe us something?"

You look up at him, eyes wide. You try to think of something you can say to worm your way out of this, but your pride won't let you.

You take a deep, shaky breath and close your eyes. Reaching your hands back under your t-shirt, you unclasp your bra strap. The boys erupt into renewed cheers, making your thighs clamp together even tighter. You dig around under your shirt, pulling the straps off your shoulders. The motion is lifting your top enough to expose your midriff, and you can feel their eyes on your bare skin. By the time you extract your bra from your t-shirt, you are squirming uncontrollably, desperate to relieve the pressure in your crotch.

Unable to look him in the eyes, you hand your bra to Lincoln. He holds it above his head triumphantly. "This is going up on the trophy wall, boys! So we can always remember the day we put the fake gamer girl in her place!"

"H-hey... I'm not—"

"Holy shit!" It was joker boy in the back again. "Look at her nips!"

What? You look down at your chest. Your nipples are rock hard and poking against the fabric of your t-shirt. Nooooo...

The tenor of the boys' hoots and laughter has changed. It's no longer just mocking. There's an edge to it that sends a thrill down your spine and, somehow, makes your nipples even harder.

You pull your arms up to wrap around your chest, hiding your shame. Lincoln laughs. "Oh, c'mon now, why are you so shy all of a sudden? It's not like we can actually see how hard your nipples are."

You can't think straight. Humiliation burns in your mind, making you desperate for relief. Lincoln dangles your bra in front of your face. "You want this back?"

Thighs rubbing together, you nod, still unable to look at Lincoln.

"Say please."

The boys laugh, the mocking sounds making you feel small and pathetic.

"P-please..." Your breaths are hot and shallow.

"Double or nothing?"

You finally look up at him, tears of shame stinging your eyes. "W-what?"

"If you want this back, you're gonna have to earn it. That means another game and another wager. So whaddya say?"

Without thinking, you nod. You had to escape from this crushing embarrassment. You had to win, to prove to these boys that they were wrong. To prove to yourself that you were better than this. That being humiliated in front of all these losers wasn't making your pussy throb.

"All right then! We have a bet! Double or nothing means you win, you get your bra back and you're a full member of the club, no more fake gamer girl."

Alright, let's go, I can do this.

"And if you lose..." The room gets quiet. Lincoln lets the moment hang. Your breath stops as you realize where he's going.

Wait, double or nothing means...

"We get your panties."

The room explodes in a din of laughter and wolf whistles. No... I can't do this. It's too much. You shrink into your seat, wanting to disappear. Needing to escape from the humiliation. Desperate to relieve the burning need in your pussy. You catch your hand creeping toward your crotch, and you stop yourself just in time. Something is seriously wrong with me. You curl your hand into a fist so tight your fingernails dig into your palm.

This wager is too far. They can keep your bra, you need to get out of here. The thought of losing again, of being humiliated again, of having to take off your panties in front of all these hateful boys, is making your head spin.

You're about to get up and walk out, bra or no bra, wager or no wager, when George confronts Lincoln. "Hey! C'mon Link, this is too far! You can't make her do that!" George is putting on his bravest face, pushing through the fear that's making his voice tremble. "Give her the bra back, and... and apologize!"

Oh, George. You're filled with overwhelming gratitude, but that feeling deflates the instant you hear Lincoln burst out laughing.

"Listen, George, she made a bet, and she lost. Rules are rules. You know how things are on Fridays." He points his finger accusingly at the shorter boy. "Now, if I recall correctly, you vouched for her. You said she wasn't a fake gamer girl, that she could hang. Things aren't looking so good for your club standing right now if she backs out."

George's eyes go wide and his mouth gapes. That threat obviously means something to him. You summon the last reserve of your willpower. You already feel pathetic enough; you can't let your cowardice be the reason your friend suffers.

You take a deep, shaky breath and stand up. "OK Lincoln, leave him alone. I made the wager. Double or nothing."

Looking at the crowd of boys, you're painfully aware that most of them are staring at your chest. Even George, the poor guy. The only exception is that boy from earlier, the one who gave you such a bad feeling when you walked in. He's looking you right in the eyes, his gaze intense and almost... hungry. Like you were a piece of meat.

Lincoln laughs again. "Alright then, looks like you're off the hook for now George." He points at joker boy in the back. "Matt, you haven't played yet today. You want a go at her panties?"

Matt stands up, even taller and lankier than Lincoln. "Thought you'd never ask, Link. Not feeling Smash Bros, though." He looks at you, a confident smile on his face. "We're playing DDR. I wanna see those titties bounce."

Your jaw drops as the boys all hoot and cheer. People still play Dance Dance Revolution? You haven't seen that game since junior high, and even back then it was considered an old novelty. You gape as one of the boys starts laying out a couple of control mats in the middle of the room. They're serious.

No backing out now. You fight the urge to fold your arms over your chest, to cover the evidence of your arousal. Taking a breath, you try to focus as you take your place on the mat. There was a brief period when you and your friends were crazy for this game, but you never considered yourself an expert. Besides, that was years ago. You don't even remember any of the songs.

Matt starts the game and looks over at you. "Ready for this, fake gamer girl?" You look back, eyes wide. You are absolutely not ready for this.

The song begins, and right away you know you're done for. Matt is expertly moving his feet, stepping and jumping and racking up points. You're caught between trying to remember how to play and trying to keep your breasts from bouncing too much. It's a losing battle. The only way to keep up with the arrows racing across the screen is to give these leering boys a show. You hate it, but you can feel a growing part of you getting hot from the attention. From the shame. From the feeling of your stiff nipples rubbing against the fabric of your shirt.

Knowing that they're all watching, cheering for you to lose, is making the pressure in your crotch unbearable. You glance at the score, and see that Matt is impossibly ahead. The pressure becomes a fire as you realize that you've already lost. The boys know it too, their cheers turning into a chant of "MATT! MATT! MATT!" The fire in your pussy is burning out of control as the weight of humiliation becomes too much to bear.

Your breath gets short and your knees start to shake. One missed step becomes two, and then your legs give out completely. Collapsing on the mat, you gasp for breath. The fire in your pussy has spread through your whole body, making you writhe with need. The game is still going, but nobody is paying attention to it. Even Matt has stopped playing. They're all just laughing at your pathetic display.

Lincoln stands over you. "Tsk, tsk. Dis-qualified."

You whine with embarrassment as you shove both hands between your legs. Why? Why does it feel so good? The boys are howling with laughter.

"Alright then," Lincoln continues. "Game's over, and a wager was made. You'll have to wait to, heh, play with yourself until after you pay up."

Tears of shame make their way down your burning cheeks. You look over at George, sitting against the wall with his head in his hands, unable to watch. You look up at Lincoln, at the smug smile on his face. His eyes are mocking you, like they can read your mind. Like they know how much you're loving this.

Sitting up, you kick off your Vans. You feel like you're in a dream, like none of this is real. The fire burning in you is making it impossible to think straight. There's no way in hell you should be giving these guys your panties. And yet, you feel yourself stand up and unbutton your pants. Almost like you want to. Like you deserve the embarrassment of exposing yourself.

Don't I? Didn't I bring this on myself? You shake your head. Where are these thoughts coming from?

You push your pants down, your breath heavy. You expected more laughter and cheers, but the room is quiet. It's like the boys can't believe it either. Once your pants are off, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You pause, looking up at Lincoln. Why? Why am I doing this? He smiles and nods, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing out more tears.

Somehow his nod was the final push you needed. Still in utter disbelief at your own actions, you push your panties down your thighs, over your shaking knees, and down to your ankles. You forget that Matt is right behind you, getting a perfect view of your pussy as you bend over.

"Oh my fucking God! She's soaked!"

You tremble as your shame is exposed. You can feel the moisture dripping from your throbbing pussy and down your thighs. The boys are hysterical with laughter. You've never heard sounds like that outside the monkey cages at the zoo. You straighten up, head swimming, and look at Lincoln. He has a smirk on his face and his hand is held out, ready to accept his prize.

You look down at the floor as you give him your wet panties. He smiles wide as he feels the moist fabric. "Goddamn you're right, Matt." He holds them up to his nose and takes a deep sniff. "Mm-mm. She may be a fake gamer girl, but she's a real slut."

You bend back down to put on your pants, needing to cover back up. Not that it matters. They all know what you are now. They know you're a pathetic loser. They know getting beat in embarrassing fashion makes you wet. They know you're a slut, willing to give your underwear to a bunch of strange boys. You just didn't know these things about yourself.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Lincoln is passing your panties around, and all the boys are getting a good whiff. Except George, of course. Poor George is still sitting against the wall, sobbing quietly. Part of you feels awful that you let your friend down like this, but another part of you doesn't care about him anymore. The part that's been ignited by the fire inside you. That part is entirely focused on the throbbing in your pussy. That part only cares about the next humiliating thing these boys are going to do to you.

Matt is dancing around with your panties on his head, drawing cheers and laughter. That gangly nerd just literally mopped the floor with you, and now he's wearing your panties like a superhero mask. The crushing embarrassment makes you shudder, your hands pressing into your crotch. You're desperate to relieve the pressure, but you don't know how. This is more than just a need to get off. You look at Lincoln, your cheeks flushed. He sees something in your eyes. "I think you want another wager."

Your knees shake. You nod. RC, what are you doing?

"Are you ready to make this official, slut?"

His words make your pussy clench. Make what official?

"You can get everything back, and this can all be over, if you can just win one measly little game. " The boys laugh. You moan, unable to focus on anything but the burning need inside you.

"But if you lose again..." He smiles wide, revealing his gleaming white teeth. His eyes bore into you, like he's a wolf who just spied his helpless prey. "You're ours."

You don't know exactly what he means, but something in the tone of his voice is almost enough to send you to the floor again. That desperate need inside you latches onto the idea, flaring up to seize your mind. You want to be theirs.

No! No I do not want anything like that!

Do I?