Life as a good little girl/It's Tiffany!

From Create Your Own Story

"Tiffany!" you squeal, and fling your arms around her. If you were more awake, or less relieved that she wasn't someone else, you probably wouldn't have had the courage.

"Whoa! I'm not a dyke, you know," she pushes you away.

"I... I didn't mean... Um..." you stare down at the ground anxiously.

"Relax. Nice to see you too. All of you. What's this about you having no clothes?" she asks with avid interest.

"Oh. Um. Yesterday I switched rooms with Mark and Joe - Daddy..."

"Aw, it's so adorable that you call him daddy like a little girl."

Hiding a wince behind a nod and a smile you continue, "He wanted to get rid of my old stuff. Well I was such a total ditz, like usual," you say, hoping Tiff will object. Instead she just nods.

"Well duh," she grins, rolling her eyes.

Pasting on another vapid smile you try to hide the hurt. At some point you thought that cool girls would refer to themselves that way, and ever since then Tiff embraced it with a passion, often referring to you as a bimbo, ditz, or airhead whenever you did or said anything that was the littlest bit silly or dumb. It was embarrassing, but you couldn't figure out how to stop it. Kind of like the whole slut thing.

Suppressing a sigh you continue. "Anyway, I stupidly pointed to the wrong box, and it turns out that was all my old stuff."

"All that disgusting junk you brought with you from up north?" you nod. "All the ugly cropped clothes I was telling you to get rid of?" You nod again.

"But now..."

"That's fantastic!" Tiffany exclaims, jumping up and heading toward the bedrooms.

For a moment you freeze, stunned by her reaction, then trot after her. "Fantastic? But now I have no clothes!"

Tiffany waves a hand. "That's a small thing. We're building you up from scratch."

"But..."

"At least you have one good outfit. The one we picked out yesterday."

We? You wince a little as you say, "Um, that one was in the box he threw out."

"What?" Tiffany whirls to face you. "Stephi! You stupid slut, how could you lose that after all the hard work I put in to getting it for you?"

"I... Um... It was an accident."

Huffing a little, and looking annoyed, she turns away, marching down the hall to your room.

"Honestly. If you can't be trusted with good clothes you shouldn't have any at all."

"Wh-what? B-but... School..."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll bring over something for you to wear. In fact..." she stopped inside your room and looked around. "That's a perfect idea! I'll get you one outfit each day, and you'll wear it to school. When the boys see you all dressed up they'll be begging to pay you for sex. Each day you'll earn enough to get an outfit the next day. Of course, you'll still owe me for the first outfit..."

"I don't know about that. I mean, I try not to whore or fuck too close to home," you mutter, saying the only thing you can think of.

"Oh nonsense. After yesterday Morgan's probably spread those pictures he took all over town. Besides, you promised five guys that you'd fuck them like the sex-starved nympho that you are."

"What? How did you...?"

"They called me. Said you wanted them so bad you gave them all your money and phone. It seemed kind of stupid to me, but I just shrugged and said, 'That's Stephi.'"

"Th-they called? So soon? Called you?"

"That's what I said," Tiffany says with a sigh. Don't worry, I handled everything."

"Phew. I was afraid I was going to have to..."

"I told them you loved rough gang bangs and you'd happily do them and their friends until they felt you'd earned your money and phone back. It'll probably take about eight sessions, but with Morgan filming them you'll make money from him too."

"Wh-what?" you stare at her. Is she joking?

"Hey, were you planning on wearing this tiny little thing?" she points at your hankie and skirt outfit, which lies on top of your dresser.

"Oh. Um. Yeah. I figure I have three outfits, and this is probably the best."

"I like it," Tiff grins, and swipes it off the dresser, then looks around again and crosses the room to your desk.

"Damn, you really are bi, aren't you?"

"What? Buy?" you ask, trailing her, pausing in the warmth of the sunlight cascading through the large patio door that is now your room's window.

"Naked girls, nearly naked guys," she says, looking at the pictures your brother had left glued to the wall. Reaching out she flips some of them up, an act that never occurred to you. "Damn, and this is porno on this wall. Shit, you are some hardcore whore, aren't you?"

"Oh. Uh. Hah. Yeah," you lie with a vacant smile. You'd rather have her admire you for the horrible posters than admit that your brother left them glued to the walls. "I picked some of the scenes I wish I were doing.. The guys are ones I wish were pounding me. And the babes? Well damn, I'd like to either stick my face between their legs or give them a massive strap-on and the hole of their choice."

Tiffany pauses, staring at you like she's flabbergasted. "O-kay. I, um, prefer guys. I mean, a girl going down on me I guess I can get behind, under the right circumstances, but lezzy stuff?" she shivers.

"I... I thought... What about that sleep-over?" you ask, confused. You thought Tiff was okay with everything. Had you crossed some line without knowing it?

"What sleep-over?" she looks confused.

"You know, the one where you practically forced a girl to go down on you and then spread it all over the school?"

Tiff looks like she's thinking hard for a moment, her face looking almost uncertain. Then she smiles, a little blankly, and nods. "Right. Damn bitch had it coming."

"I loved that story. It was so hot," you admit with a blush.

Tiffany blinks at you. "Seriously?" you nod bashfully, and she looks for a moment at the hardcore pictures. "Damn, I should have seen it. You like being dominated, practically forced. The girl in all of these is being submissive."

"Huh?"

"Well, skank, let's go back to the living room."

"Oh. Sure. Shouldn't I put on those clothes first?"

"No," is all she says, leaving you to follow after a stunned second.

"No?"

"Nope. We don't want you to wear clothes until you absolutely need to. After all, it seems you can't be trusted with them," she tells you while striding away, apparently expecting you to follow. Obediently, you do.

"What? B-but, it wasn't my fault!" you whine as you trot along behind her.

"Sit on the back of the couch, Stephi," Tiffany tells you as she pulls the living room drapes wide open. The morning sun immediately brightens the room as it shines directly inside.

"F-facing the window? B-but, people will see!"

"Oh don't be such a pussy. You'd probably have an orgasm if they did. Anyway, I just want lots of light so I can do your nails properly."

"Nails?" you brighten. "You're going to do my nails?" The thought of Tiffany - your best friend, your only friend, the object of your massive crush - doing your nails is enough to make you hop up on the back of the couch like you don't care at all that you're naked and in full sight of anyone walking by. Besides, you tell yourself. It's Sunday morning, so there probably won't be much traffic.

"Alright, I've got the colors all picked out. I'll walk you through it as I do them."

Having never dared to paint your own nails - and never been told how to anyway - you hang on Tiffany's every word as she guides you through it. It takes awhile, particularly because she seems to think she has to talk slow and repeat things for you to understand them, but eventually you have beautiful pink nails on both your tiny little toes and your dainty hands.

"They look beautiful!" you sigh, holding up your fingers after she lets them go.

"I know, right? Now for the next step."

"Next step? You're not done? Don't they just have to dry?"

"I'm doing things a little different today. Hey, why don't you tell me about some of your sex adventures while I do the second stage?" she asks, fiddling with her phone a moment before putting it beside you on the couch, face-down. "And make sure you speak loudly since I'll be concentrating."

"Oh. Um. Well..." you strain your mind, trying to remember a story you haven't told her. Normally you research one story, then tell it to her. You're pretty sure you've told her all the porn scenes you've scene. Except... you gulp.

"Um, well... there was this one time that I was cutting through this filthy alley. I was in my schoolgirl outfit..."

"I thought you didn't have uniforms at your old school," Tiffany remarks, pulling out what looks like glitter nail polish.

"Oh, um... we didn't, but I had an outfit. I liked to wear it. To, um, tease the guys. It had a tiny little skirt and a top that showed my belly button. My nipples would show through the white fabric, and the teachers and boys would go crazy. But, um... Anyway, I was heading through this alley with garbage all over because it was a shortcut, but it was kind of dark and before I knew it I was surrounded by these homeless guys."

"Oh gross... You fucked homeless guys? Damn, I knew you were a skank, but... Hmm... It is kind of delicious thinking about you with a bunch of smelly old guys. I bet they fucked you all night and you got turned on by how filthy they were, right Stephi?"

"Um, right. All night. They were so horny..." you laugh, covering your anxiety. You'd never told this story because you were sure Tiffany would think it was disgusting. It's a little insulting that she so readily accepts that you'd be eager to do a bunch of stinky old bums, but...

Tiffany starts working on your toes as you try to remember the details. It was a text story rather than a video, and you have to strain to remember the details while also not mentioning everything that happened in the story. Tiffany probably would be suspicious if you mentioned the dog, or the fisting, or being taken back to their homeless city where you were forced to do the homeless king. Or rather, the character was.

"It's a good thing I'm done with your toes. I was having a hard time working on them with the way your legs kept spreading," Tiff remarks, bringing you back to the present. "I'm gonna do your fingers now. Keep talking."

"Ah. Right. Well, um..." marshaling your thoughts you go on to recount more of the story, trying to add as many details as you can without straying into the unbelievable. The problem is that with your lack of experience it's almost impossible for you to tell what's realistic and what isn't. You end up relying on the porn videos to figure out what to say. You really need to get laid, you decide. So you can tell the stories more accurately, of course.

At long last both your story and Tiffany's efforts are done.

"There. Now stick out your arms," she orders.

"What? Why? I want to look at my nails," you complain, but obey.

"Because I don't want you to ruin the nails. I mean, I did put in every effort to make them all but indestructible. I used the good stuff, so they could conceivably last weeks if you were real careful, but since we just finished I don't want anything touching them for awhile. Anyway, I'm going to put on your tiny little skirt and top."

"Oh. Right, I'm so dumb," you grin.

"You're going to need to close your legs and hop of the couch so I can do this, Stephi," she tells you, making you blush as you oblige.

"Forgot," you mumble.

"No worries. Step up to the window so I can have some room and light."

Window? You stare at the window as you step forward. All this time you'd been so focussed on your story - and how close Tiffany was to your moist sex - that you'd barely paid any attention to the fact that you were right next to a large window, through which anyone passing by could have seen you. Had they? Did anyone stop and stare at the naked girl spreading her legs in front of them?

Your thoughts are so turbulent you hardly notice Tiffany wrapping the hankie around your top, or her pained efforts to tie it behind your back. Or her straining to making the skirt's zipper teeth touch, let alone pulling it down.

"Well, I guess that's as good as we're gonna get it. I'm just gonna make sure the next part of our day's all set. Take a look in the mirror," she says, waving you to the front closet, which has mirrored doors.

"That... that's kind of short," you say, staring at the skirt. The zippers barely met, and only zipped maybe an inch if that. Tiffany had arranged it so that the resulting slit would let your left thigh through, so that one side of the skirt would rub the inside of your left thigh, the other side would rub the outside. It was even shorter than you thought it would be, probably an inch between the bottom edge and your bald pussy lips.

As for the top... Tiffany had draped the hankie over a drawstring, tying it dead even with your nipples so that the hankie, which was both smaller and thinner than you remembered, pointed downward from there toward your crotch. Looking at how small it was you wonder why you thought it could be tied behind your back. The ends of the hankie don't even reach your back. This was the same hankie you'd been looking at, right? Not the normal sized one that had also been in the box?

And your nails... You stare at the bed nails, each with something written upon them. In the mirror your toes say 'EROHW PAEHC' while your fingers say 'LANA<heart>' and 'YALZE'. Your mind struggles in vain to reverse the letters to make sense of them.

"Alright, slut, all set!" Tiffany exclaims next to you, making you jump in surprise and lose your train of thought just as you thought you were about to translate at least one of the words.

"What? Set for what?"

"Well, we've got that high school party in the afternoon. But before then..."

Life as a good little girl/To meet Morgan and the guys

Life as a good little girl/To go improve your look even more

Life as a good little girl/Tiffany suggests you make some money... somehow