Party Girl
Part 3
The two days that passed ended up being rougher than Marcy anticipated. Donna hadn’t taken her to any parties, yet she was unable to attend class, despite trying a couple more times. Unable to stay awake during the day, and being high and drunk whenever she was awake made it impossible to be in any class for any length of time.
Marcy was also up all night with nothing to do, and was soon desperate for a party or anything she could do at night. Finally Friday came and she was happy to go out with friends; having failed once again to attend class, she tried hard to be at the meeting place by 8pm to at least not be late for that—luckily it was walking distance.
When she arrived she was a bit concerned to discover that Donna had arranged for them to meet in a full-on night club, as opposed to a restaurant or cafe like she had assumed. Worried for how her friends would handle a place like this, she went in to look for them and found them already sitting with Donna.
“Hi Marcy, you made it!” Donna motioned for her to sit.
“Did I keep you guys?”
“We only got here 15 minutes ago, you’re fine.”
Marcy could see her friends were at least a little uncomfortable, but Donna was enjoying herself as expected. They all had sodas as Donna passed Marcy a glass of straight vodka on the rocks. She was feeling thirsty, so she took a big swig and started talking with her friends.
The conversation was predictably about academics and school, as her friends did their best to play along and ignore the environment as well as an increasingly drunk and potty-mouthed Marcy, but what Marcy didn’t predict was how little she could stand talking about these sorts of topics anymore.
“I haven’t even been to fucking classes in like a week.”
Her friends were taken aback. “Seriously,” one of them asked, “you’re going to fail!”
Marcy agreed in her head, but suddenly she found a new sensation come about. She wanted to tell them off, and wipe that look of superiority off their faces.
“Fuck you, bitch, I’m not failing shit!” She surprised herself with that statement, but even more surprising is how good it made her feel; it was almost as if someone had gently rubbed her pussy, and made her forget that she was insulting her friend.
Her other friend took offense, “Don’t talk to her like that! We’re just trying to help you here? Why are you being so mean?”
Marcy couldn’t help herself, “You’re the ones being cuntholes! I hope you bitches get assfucked by some bums.” She was aroused, but also shocked at herself; how could she say these horrible things to these people? However, no matter how much she tried she couldn’t agree with anything they said. She was also very wet now, and even smiled in pleasure as she spoke, “You’re all a bunch of fucking whoressss!”
“Fuck you too Marcy!”
“Ugh, don’t talk to us anymore.”
“What the hell, bitch?”
Her friends were disgusted and immediately left the table. Donna sat there trying not to smile as Marcy started coming down from being horny. Realizing what she had done, she broke down crying.
“Oh god dammit, what the fuck did I do??”
Donna consoled her, “You didn’t do anything; they just don’t know how to handle a girl like you anymore.”
“But-but...what kind of gir-g-g—bitch am I?”
“You just have a different lifestyle nowadays. You’re an adult in college aren’t you? People grow up, and they grow apart. You just didn’t realize how much you grew apart.”
It was true Marcy hadn’t seen her friends since before summer vacation, but had she really changed that much? She contemplated it as she finished off her fourth drink of the night. “Ugh, I don’t wanna stay in this fucking place anymore. Is there any goddamn place we can go? Maybe a fucking party or some shit?”
Donna looked coyly at her, “There is one party, but I don’t think you’re dressed up for it enough.”
Marcy looked at herself; she had barely gotten into the low-class nightclub in her shorts and v-neck top, and it was one of the showiest outfits she had. Instead of agreeing however she found herself saying, “Fuck off bitch.” Her mouth staying open as the pleasure hit her.
Donna ignored it and continued, “I happen to have an extra pair of clothes on me if you want to borrow some,” Donna lied. She had brought them on purpose, planning on this to happen.
Marcy was feeling confident at the moment, and blurted out, “k, let’s fuckin’ do this shit then! Ugh, it’s making me fuckin’ wet thinking about it!”
“Haha, you should watch what you’re saying out loud there honey!”
“Suck a cock, cumslut!” Marcy fired back, biting her bottom lip in pleasure afterwards.
Donna just smiled at her as she led her to her car.
Marcy adjusted her breasts as she posed for Donna. She was definitely uncomfortable.
“I don’t know about this Donna, I feel like a whore,” she said, pulling up the edge of her tube top. It was bright red and definitely a size too small. They squeezed her breasts together, showing ample cleavage, and her tits kept threatening to pop out of it.
“No way, you’re just not used to looking fucking hot!” Marcy looked at Donna squeezing her thighs together. No doubt she was feeling nervous about the black leather micro-miniskirt.
“But Donna,” she lowered her voice, “I’m not even wearing any bra—or at least panties! Guys are gonna be able to see my snatch!”
Donna started walking into the car. “Fine, let’s go home. You can probably figure out how to have some fun there, right? Maybe you can study or something.”
Marcy tottered over in her 5-inch heels, “No! I really want to g-g-g-go, okay? Fuck, I just don’t wanna look like a slut!”
Donna, “If you want to go, get in the car. I need to do your makeup still.”
Marcy just looked at Donna, then huffed and got into the car. There was no way she was going to go home right now.
The two strutted towards the party. Marcy licked her lips, tasting the lipgloss covering the coat of red. Her eyes felt heavy from the mascara and dark, heavy eye makeup. She wanted to scratch her nose, but she didn’t want to ruin the thick foundation she wore, giving her a smooth, fake complexion. At least walking in her heels was easier than she thought it would be, she mused.
Donna had made her look like a dark, sexy vixen, and with the help of a few drinks, Marcy had more or less acted that way. She had cursed and stumbled her way into a number of guys who, given her outfit, had figured she was looking for action. By the end of the night she had made out with at least three different guys, and gave out her phone number to another. She had never made out with a random man before, but knowing she was dressed the way she was and feeling the effects of the alcohol had all but removed her inhibition. When they finally left the party, she melted into the car seat, passing streetlamps flashing the glistening wetness on her thighs.
While last night was fun, Marcy had certainly forgot her friend troubles by the end of it all, Donna had enjoyed the following week even more. Over the next few days, Marcy had discovered many of the changes in her that occurred that night. The first morning she woke up only to fall on her face. After stumbling many times, she discovered she wasn’t walking how she was used to. After some experimentation, it turned out she needed heels to walk easily. She was still hung over from the previous night, so she didn’t think about it too hard and figured it was because her feet had grown accustomed to it from the previous night. Which indeed they have, but she didn’t know that they were permanently like that; if she didn’t wear heels she would find herself in mild pain and incredibly clumsy, constantly tripping over her feet.
She had slept in the nude that day (the first of many), and discovered that she couldn’t wear any underwear—at least not without feeling incredibly irritated in those regions. Feeling frustrated, she threw the underwear on the ground, and took a swig of a nearby bottle of rum. Eventually she discovered that not only could she not wear underwear, but that any clothing that covered any more skin than what she had worn the previous night it would cause her equivalent irritation. Her skin had permanently received this condition, forcing her to put back on the clothes she wore the previous night, much to her consternation.
The shocks weren’t over, however. As she washed the makeup off her face and dried it off, she noticed her face beginning to break out in a rash. Finally having enough of this, she ran over to her roommate and freaked out on her.
“Donna! Something weird is going on! I can’t walk right and clothes are making me itchy and look at my face your makeup made it all fucked up!”
Donna had moved Marcy back a little, “Whoa whoa, slow down there Marcy. I’m sure the wild evening threw you off a bit; you did make out with all those guys remember?”
Marcy blushed, but you couldn’t see it underneath the redness her face already had. “What’s wrong your face sweetie? Did you wash off the makeup?”
Marcy snapped out of her embarrassment, “It was your makeup that did this, bitch! I told you I didn’t want to wear it!”
Donna just smiled at her, “Now Marcy, your face had that rash on it last night, why do you think I used that makeup? Did you know that rash you have can be cured by wearing makeup? I bet you didn’t, and if you just relaxed I would have explained it.”
“I-I—” Marcy didn’t believe her, but she was too drunk and still a little high to think of a retort.
“Stop scratching your face and come here.” She proceeded to spend the next 20 minutes applying the same heavy makeup of the previous night. “You have to do all of it or it won’t be that effective. There. Still itchy?”
Marcy thought about it and realized her skin felt fine now. “I-I...shit. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” She declined to let Marcy know that the skin on her face would forever need similar heavy makeup for the rest of her life lest the rash come back. “Don’t worry about the other things. For now I’ll take you shopping, we might as well get you things you can wear so you don’t have to wear the same thing every day.”
Marcy felt shy about her ignorance, “...k.”
It took Marcy everything she had to ignore the stares from everyone at the mall. It was one thing to be wearing what she wore to a party, but in a crowded mall she stood out far more than she wanted to. She rushed into the store Donna had taken her to; it was the sluttiest store in the entire mall, but where else was she going to find clothes this skimpy, she figured.
As Marcy tried on item after item in the pile Donna had placed for her, Donna made her next move. Sure Marcy was a slutty, drunken party girl now, but she didn’t have any spice to her. Her heart was good at its core, that’s why it’s been so hard to corrupt her directly, but that didn’t stop Donna from working her way towards her goal.
“How’s that top, Marcy?”
“S-small...” Marcy whimpered back.
Donna started whistling and looked upward, closing her eyes. If you looked closely you could still see the flash of red. She turned towards Marcy’s door and opened it up, ignoring Marcy’s yelp of surprise.
“C’mon, we’ve got to go.”
“Wait, I’m still wearing—”
“It’s fine just wear your old stuff on top.”
She whispered in panic as she was dragged out of the changing room, “no, fuck, stop, just wait!”
Donna was pulling her towards the front of the store, “Don’t get caught now or you’ll be a thief. Shoplifting laws are pretty rough, y’know.”
Marcy got instantly nervous, trying her best not to let the stolen clothes show from underneath the clothes she came in. They made their way to the front, and Marcy discovered something else, she was getting horny. She wasn’t sure why, but the more she got closer to exiting the store, the more she felt like she was going to have an orgasm. She was already moaning to herself as they got towards the last aisle, when they were interrupted.
“Did you find everything okay?”
Marcy tried to answer but her horniness was stifling, and she was trying her best not to let any fluid leak down her legs. Luckily Donna covered for her.
“Yes, thank you!”
The worker smiled and the two left. They sat at a bench a few stores down and Marcy bit her fist, trying to stifle moans from an orgasm. Stealing that felt good! Better than she ever thought it could feel!
“I-I just, I just stole something!” she exclaimed, breathing raggedly.
“How was it?”
“Fucking hot!” Marcy said, surprising herself.
It turned out associating stealing with intense orgasms was a good motivator to push someone, even Marcy, towards a life of petty crime. Over the next couple of weeks she practically stole herself a new wardrobe. Donna had worked herself to plenty of orgasms over the thought of just how deep into the hole Marcy has fallen.
Marcy tried to dig herself out, in whatever ways she could, but Donna was good at stopping her. When Donna found out Marcy had been secretly seeing a guy on the side (a man she had given her number to a few weeks ago at a party) she was furious; her Marcy wasn’t the kind of girl who could have a boyfriend, or at least a steady one. A pair of red eyes later and Marcy had a new penchant for using sexual favors for nearly anything—getting out of a jam, getting free drinks, even saying thank you. As such her boyfriend quickly broke up with her, calling her a cheating skank. She cried hard that night; understandable as she really didn’t know that giving a blowjob to the waiter wasn’t an acceptable tip. Her boyfriend troubles were quickly put behind her, however, as she received a letter in the mail. It was from the school (she remembered just then that she did in fact attend school), demanding that she meet with the dean about her absence for the last month.