Enjoying the View 4

By SuperEvil
superevil7@protonmail.com

Copyright 2025 by SuperEvil, all rights reserved

[11,158 words]

Mitch's camera flashed again and again, each pop of light another nail in the coffin of Mrs. Parker's dignity. "Ok, Mrs. P., put your arm around Melody," he commanded, his voice full of a giddy authority. "And Sydney, you stand in front of them. Let's get a nice, happy family portrait of the Parker girls."

Mrs. Parker felt like she was moving through thick, syrupy water. Her limbs felt heavy and foreign as she draped an arm over Melody's trembling shoulders. She could feel her daughter's warm skin, slick with a light sheen of terrified sweat, and it made her stomach clench. Melody flinched at the contact but didn't pull away, her eyes locked on the linoleum floor. Sydney, hiccupping through her tears, shuffled to stand in front of them, her tiny hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Smile!" Mitch chirped, and the camera flashed again, immortalizing the most humiliating moment of their lives. 

Randy, seeing the fun, sidled up next to his sisters and his mom. "Hey, get one with me in it too!" he piped up. He grabbed Melody's other hand, his sweaty palm pressing against hers. Mitch obliged, snapping another picture. "This is the best family photo ever!" Randy declared, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

After what felt like an eternity of posing, Mitch finally put his phone away, leaving the three females from the Parker family feeling like exposed negatives in a photographer's darkroom. "Ok, enough pictures," he said, turning his attention back to his own mother. "Mom, you're not done. Let's see some more outfits. Keep going."

Mrs. Hunter, who had been standing in her plain underwear trying to make herself invisible, flinched at being called out again. "Mitch, please," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I've picked something. Can't we just go? We have the dress."

"Nope," Mitch said, popping the 'p'. "We need more. You guys wanted to come here for new clothes, right? So let's find some. How about some jeans? And a nice top. Go on."

Defeated, Mrs. Hunter trudged over to another rack, her eyes scanning the clothes without really seeing them. She pulled out a pair of dark wash jeans and a simple white blouse. As she held them up, a look of sheer desperation crossed her face. "Mitch... I'm cold," she said, her voice trembling. It was a lie, a desperate attempt to appeal to a son she no longer recognized.

"Too bad," he said, a dismissive wave of his hand his only response. "You can be cold for a little longer. Now, I want to see that. I think a little twirl is in order."

Shame burned through Mrs. Hunter like a fever. She quickly slipped the jeans on over her panties, the rough denim a bizarre sensation against her bare skin, and then the blouse. The fabric felt both like armor and like a costume. She stood there, waiting for his next command, her head bowed.

"Come on, Mom, give me a little spin," Mitch urged.

She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek, and did a slow, clumsy turn. The other shoppers averted their gazes or stared with pity, making the shame even worse. It was one thing to be naked for a crime, but to be paraded around in your underwear like this was a different, more personal kind of violation.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Mitch said, though he made no move to let her get dressed properly. "Now take that off and pick something else."

"Oh, what a wonderful idea, Mitch!" Caleb said, clapping his hands together with false cheerfulness. "I think your mom would look absolutely fantastic in some of the new lingerie we just got in. Let's go look at that. It's right over here."

Mrs. Hunter looked as if she might actually pass out. "No. Mitch, please, no. Don't make me do that."

Mitch just shrugged. "Why not? It’s just clothes, right? That's what you came here for."

"But not... not that," she whispered, her eyes wide with horror.

"Are you arguing with me, Mom?" Mitch asked, his voice turning sharp.

"N-no," she stammered, shaking her head.

"Then move," he commanded.

Caleb led the way, practically dragging a stumbling Hana along. Melody and her mother and sister shuffled behind them, and Mrs. Hunter followed, her steps so slow and heavy it was as if she were walking to her own execution. They arrived at the lingerie section, a corner of the store filled with lacy, frilly things in every color of the rainbow. It felt a million times more intimate and humiliating than the regular clothes racks.

"Ok, Mrs. H., pick something out," Caleb said, gesturing to a wall of bras and panties. "Something nice. Something for a special occasion."

Mrs. Hunter stared at the wall, her eyes unfocused. The colors swam together in a blurry mess of lace and silk. She just stood there, completely frozen.

Caleb's patience was wearing thin. "I said, pick something out," he repeated, his voice a low growl. "Now."

Mrs. Hunter slowly went over to a mannequin wearing a matching black bra and panty set, with little red bows on it. She reached out a trembling hand and touched the lace, her fingers brushing over the flimsy fabric. "This... this one," she whispered, her voice cracking with shame.

"Good choice," Mitch said with a cruel grin. "Now, try it on."

"But... I..." she stammered, her eyes wide with a new wave of horror. To try it on, she would have to take off her underwear. She would have to strip down to nothing right here, in the middle of the store. She could see men wandering all around, and other ladies stripping naked, most blushing, to try on the lingerie as the men watched on. She knew she would be so exposed in front of them too.

"Stop making this harder than it has to be, Mom," Mitch said, his voice cold and hard. "Or do you want me to give you your first infraction?"

The threat hung in the air between them, sharp and final. Mrs. Hunter knew he would do it. He was enjoying this too much to back down now. A bit of anger seethed deep inside her, though it was no match for her fear. "Don't you dare talk to me like that, Mitchell. I'm your mother!" she said, her voice shaking with a mixture of rage and terror. "You don't get to give me... punishments."

Mitch just laughed, a short, ugly sound. "Oh, but I do. And that right there? That was your arguing infraction. I've been waiting for this." He pulled out his phone, and with a triumphant tap, gave his own mother a Level 1 infraction.

Mrs. Hunter gasped as a wave of heat washed over her, and she saw her green wristband flash and change to a bright, cheerful yellow. "You... you didn't," she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. She couldn't believe it. Her own son had just given her an infraction. She felt a fresh wave of tears stinging her eyes.

"I did," Mitch said, his face unreadable. "And now you know what that means. Get. Naked." He watched, his heart thumping, as his own mother struggled with the decision. Her hands went to the clasp of her bra, her knuckles white. She shot him a look of pure venom, her jaw set in a hard line. She was clearly furious.

Mrs. Hunter just stared at him, her eyes blazing with a fire he'd never seen before. It wasn't sadness or just fear anymore. It was pure, white-hot rage. "You're out of control, Mitchell," she hissed, her voice low and deadly. And for a second, she looked like she was about to refuse, to go down fighting.

"Mom," Mitch warned, his voice cold. "One more word and you're at level 2. And trust me, you don't want that. Do what I said."

The fight seemed to drain out of her in a rush. With a choked sob of pure rage, she reached behind her back, her fumbling fingers struggling with the clasp of her bra. It finally came undone with a soft click, and she slid the straps down her arms, letting the plain white garment fall to the floor. Her breasts, which had looked larger in her padded bra, turned out to be much smaller, barely bigger than Hana's. They drooped a little, with large, dark brown nipples that were currently puckered into tight, hard points from both the cool air and her anger and humiliation. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her sensible beige panties, her eyes squeezed shut, and pushed them down her legs, revealing a sparse bush of curly red hair, over her recently shaved labia, that matched the hair on her head.

She stood there, naked now, her shoulders slumped in defeat, her anger replaced by a hollow, aching emptiness. She felt more exposed than she ever had in her life, her own son the cause of it.

Caleb whistled. "Well, well, well," he said, his eyes roving over Mrs. Hunter's body. "Looks like someone's been cheating. A padded bra, Mrs. H? Tut tut."

Mrs. Hunter's face flushed a deep, burning red, this new taunt somehow more humiliating than being naked itself. She wanted to cover herself, to hide her little shameful boobies, but her yellow wristband and the memory of Officer Davis's stern face made her keep her arms stiffly at her sides.

"Wow, Mrs. Hunter," Randy said, his eyes wide as he stared at his friend's mom. "You look... hot. Even if your boobs are small like Hana's."

The woman just glared at him, her eyes flashing with a renewed fire. She was not some piece of meat for these boys to inspect.

"Ok, Mom, try on the black set now," Mitch said, his voice flat and emotionless, as if he were ordering a pizza.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Mitch? I know what will happen if I put that on now! You're going to use that as an excuse to give me another infraction. I am NOT going to put on a stitch of clothing, even if I don't deserve to be naked," she said, her voice steady and firm. Her anger was giving her a strength she didn't know she had.

Mitch's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected her to figure that out. He quickly covered his surprise with a shrug. "Fine. Don't try it on then. Just stand there and look pretty. You've got the right idea, at least. Naked is your new look for the rest of our time here."

She hated him in that moment. She hated the smug look on his face, the casual cruelty in his voice. She hated the way he was looking at her, his eyes full of a cold, hard enjoyment of her powerlessness.

"Well, that's just perfect," Mrs. Hunter seethed, her voice shaking with pure, unadulterated rage. The anger was a mask, trying to cover up the absolute humiliation that was threatening to consume her. "I suppose you've just been dying to get your mother naked ever since you got here!" She spat. She couldn't hold it in anymore, the shame and the anger were a boiling pot inside her, and it was about to overflow. She was completely naked, her little, saggy breasts were on display, along with her thick, full-lipped pussy, with its little clamshell look and her bright red pubic hair that didn't hide anything. Her long, hard nipples, almost as red and angry looking as her hair, stood out, pointing right at him, betraying her cool demeanor.

Mrs. Hunter took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it was no use. Her face was hot, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her, and she had to fight the urge to throw up. This was a nightmare. A complete and total nightmare. And the worst part was, she couldn't wake up.

"Look, Mom," Mitch said, his voice dropping to a low, reasonable tone. "You brought us here. You and Mrs. Parker. This was your idea. You wanted this fun day out. And now you're having one. Just relax and go with it."

"Go with it? GO WITH IT?!?" she screamed, her voice echoing through the lingerie department. A few people turned to look at the naked woman yelling at her fully clothed son. "Mitchell, I am your mother! You do NOT get to stand there and tell me to 'go with it' while you're forcing me to be naked in the middle of a crowded mall! This is WRONG! This is SICK! And you are a monster for enjoying it!"

"Ma'am," Officer Davis was walking towards them again, her expression stern. "I'm going to have to ask you to keep your voice down. We have a strict no-shouting policy in the mall. It's disturbing the peace."

Mrs. Hunter turned her burning eyes on the officer. "Don't you dare talk to me about disturbing the peace! This entire town is disturbing the peace! Forcing innocent women and girls to be naked just because some perverts on the city council decided it was a good idea? It's disgusting!"

Officer Davis's face hardened. "Ma'am, I am going to ask you one more time to lower your voice. And I would also advise you to be more respectful of our laws. Your yellow wristband tells me that you're already on thin ice. Are you sure you want to add an insubordination charge to that?"

"Don't tell me what to do! I will not be quiet!" Mrs. Hunter said, her voice raising even louder.

A slow, deliberate smile spread across Officer Davis's face, a chilling contrast to the fury radiating from the naked woman. "Ma'am, that was your final warning. For causing a public disturbance and arguing with an officer of the law, you have earned yourself an orange level infraction." She raised her little remote device and, without hesitation, clicked the button.

Mrs. Hunter's yellow wristband flashed twice, the color deepening to a solid, warning orange. The change was stark, and a sudden silence fell over the small group. The anger on Mrs. Hunter's face seemed to evaporate, replaced instantly by a look of pure, unadulterated horror. She had finally pushed the button she shouldn't have.

"Orange," Mitch whispered, a slow, hungry grin spreading across his face. He looked at his mother, his eyes alight with a new kind of excitement. He had been enjoying his power, but this was different. This was a new level of power, a new level of control. And he was going to enjoy every second of it. The anger in his mother had finally pushed him to a place he hadn't known he could go.

"Hey, Randy, Caleb, would you take care of the other girls for a bit?" Mitch asked, his eyes still locked on his mother. "I'm going to have some fun with my mother."

"Sure thing, Mitch!" Randy chirped, his eyes already scanning over the naked forms of Melody, Sydney, and his mom.

"With pleasure," Caleb said with a wicked grin. He grabbed Hana's cuffed arm again and gave it a little tug. "Come on, little firecracker. Let's go look at the shoes. You can be my little shoe model."

And then there were two. Mitch and his naked, fuming mother, standing in the middle of the brightly lit lingerie section. "Now, Mom," he said, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "You and I need to have a little talk about respect."

"I have no respect for you, Mitchell," she hissed back, her voice a low, venomous hiss. "You are a horrible, horrible boy."

"That's a shame," he said, his smile unwavering. "Because I'm in charge. And you're going to learn to respect me. You're going to learn to do what I say, when I say it. And you're going to learn to like it."

"I will never like this," she seethed, her eyes flashing.

"We'll see about that," he said, his voice cold. He was not being playfully mean anymore, this was different. "Ok, Mom, you're at level 2 now. That means I can make you pose. And I want some good ones. Go stand over by the mannequins." He pointed to a display of headless, plastic torsos dressed in various outfits. It was like he wanted to compare his own mother to these lifeless, objectified forms.

Mrs. Hunter glared at him, her anger still simmering just below the surface of her humiliation. But with her orange wristband a silent threat on her arm, she knew she had no choice. She walked over to the display, her movements stiff and robotic. She stood there, naked and trembling, trying to block out the world, but she could feel dozens of eyes on her.

"Ok, put one hand on your hip," Mitch commanded, raising his phone. "And arch your back a little. Yeah, just like that. You're a natural." The camera flash went off, capturing her in a pose of forced sensuality that felt like a violation.

"Now, turn around," he said, his voice full of glee. "And bend over. Just a little. I want to get a good picture of your butt." Her anger flared again, hot and sharp. She wanted to refuse, to slap his face. But she knew it was useless. With a choked sob of rage, she did as she was told, bending over and exposing herself to him and to anyone else who cared to look. The flash went off again and again, each one a fresh wound to her pride.

"Open your legs more. I want to get a good picture of your pussy. I bet dad'll love that," Mitch said with a smirk.

"Mitchell, that is enough!" Mrs. Hunter seethed, her voice trembling with fury. But before Mitch could even respond, Officer Davis was there, her face a mask of cold authority.

"What was that, ma'am?" she asked, stepping forward. "Did I hear you arguing? Disrespecting your male guardian?"

Mrs. Hunter's anger evaporated, replaced by a cold wave of dread. "No... I was just..."

"No excuses," Officer Davis cut her off. "That's your third infraction. You're now at level 3. Red." Mrs. Hunter's orange wristband pulsed and glowed a deep, shameful red.

A gasp went through the little group of girls watching from a distance. Melody felt her own stomach drop. Hana, who knew all too well what a red wristband meant, stared at her mother with a look of pure terror.

Mrs. Hunter just stood there, her body trembling, her eyes wide with disbelief. She had finally, finally, crossed the final line. She had pushed too far, and now she was going to pay the price.

"Well, well, well," Mitch said, his voice a low, triumphant purr. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. He couldn't believe his luck. His own mother, at level 3. He could touch her. Anywhere he wanted. And he knew exactly where he wanted to start. He walked around her, slowly, circling his naked, trembling prey.

"Please... Mitchell..." she whispered, her voice cracking. "Don't do this. Please."

"Oh, but I have to, Mom," he said, his voice thick with a cruel excitement. "It's the law. And as a guest of Grandview, I have to uphold the law." He stopped in front of her, his eyes roving over her body. "And I'm going to enjoy every second of it."

He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly with a mixture of nervousness and pure, unadulterated power. He hesitated for a second, then his fingers brushed against her stomach. It was soft, and warm, and it gave a little under his touch. He let his hand rest there for a moment, feeling her quick, shallow breaths, the frantic beating of her heart against his palm.

Then he started tickling her! His fingers wiggled against her stomach, and his mom yelped. "Mitchell, stop!" she gasped, trying to twist away from him. But he kept tickling her, his fingers dancing over her ribs and sides. She couldn't help it, a little giggle escaped her lips. "Stop it!" she said, but her voice was cracking. Another giggle slipped out, and she hated it. She hated him for using her weakness against her. He knew she was ticklish, so unbelievably ticklish! She wanted to scream at him, but her body was betraying her, and a weird little mix of laughs and sobs was coming out of her mouth.

"Please... stop... I can't... breathe," she gasped, tears of mirth and humiliation streaming down her face. She twisted and turned, her naked body flailing, her little breasts bouncing with her movements. She felt completely and utterly ridiculous, a naked, middle-aged woman being tickled by her teenage son in the middle of a crowded department store!

"That's it, mom! I told you, you'd learn to love it!" Mitch said with a grin, his fingers still dancing across her skin. He was enjoying this, the absolute power he had over her. He was enjoying the sounds she was making, the way her body was responding to his touch.

"I do not love it!" she shrieked between gasps and giggles. "I hate this! I hate this!"

"I think you're lying, Mom," he said, his voice a low purr. He tickled her even harder, making her fall to the floor in a heap of writhing, naked flesh. His fingers kept dancing over her belly and her ribs and her arms. She was laughing so hard she couldn't even speak anymore. "You're laughing so hard, I think you're loving every second of it." He then knelt down in front of her, his fingers still wiggling all over her body.

"Stop it! STOP IT!" she cried, her voice cracking. "I'll do anything! Just stop!" She couldn't take it anymore. Her whole body was screaming with a mix of anger and frustration and a weird, bubbling joy she couldn't control. She felt like she was losing her mind.

"Anything?" Mitch asked, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. He stopped tickling her for a second, letting her catch her breath. She lay there on the floor, panting and sweating, her body trembling.

She shook her head when the tickling stopped, but then flinched as he knelt beside her again. He brought his face close to hers, his eyes alight with a cruel excitement. "You know what I want, Mom."

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "Please, no."

He started tickling her again, his fingers moving to the sensitive skin just under her ams. "Then say it," he commanded. "Say you like it. Say you love being naked. Say you love me tickling you. Say it or I won't stop." He had a huge grin on his face, completely enjoying her misery.

"No! I won't say it!" she shrieked, her voice a high-pitched wail. She thrashed on the linoleum floor, a naked, sweaty, hysterical mess. Her mind was screaming at her to fight back, to be strong, but her body was betraying her, a traitorous, giggling, weak thing. The laughter bubbled up out of her, a high, unhinged sound that was more like a sob of pure despair.

"You'll say it eventually," Mitch said, his voice low and confident. He kept up his assault, his fingers dancing over her skin, exploring every sensitive spot, every ticklish place. He tickled her feet, her knees, her ribs, her neck, right above her pubic mound on her red little curls, and even the bottoms of her wiggling little breasts a few times. He was relentless.

"Ok! Ok! Stop! I'll say it!" she finally gasped, her voice a hoarse, broken whisper. The tickling stopped, but she could still feel his fingers hovering over her skin, a constant, torturous threat. She squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice firm.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, the words tasting like poison in her mouth. "I... I love it," she whispered, her voice cracking with shame. "I love being tickled."

"And?" he prompted, his voice a low purr.

She knew what he wanted her to say. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on her, crushing her spirit. "And... I love being naked." The words came out in a rush, a jumble of sound that was barely coherent. Her body was still trembling. She couldn't look at him.

"Good girl," he said, his voice full of a triumphant satisfaction, knowing he was starting to break down his mom’s barriers. He finally pulled his hands away, leaving her alone on the floor. He stood over her, a smug smile on his face, enjoying the power he had over her.

She felt completely broken. Her anger was gone, replaced by a hollow, aching emptiness. She wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Instead, she laid there on the cold, hard floor, a naked, sweaty mess, her spirit completely crushed. She wanted her mom. She wanted her husband. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

"That was hot, Mitch," Randy said, walking over, his eyes wide with excitement.

Caleb, who had been watching the whole scene with a look of deep satisfaction, finally decided it was time to go. "Well, this has been fun, Mitch, my man," he said, slapping Mitch on the back. "But I gotta run. It was a pleasure meeting you all. Especially you two," he added, winking at Melody and a cuffed Hana. He gave Hana's bare bottom a final, sharp slap, making her yelp. "And you too, Mrs. H. You're a firecracker. I see where Hana gets it from. Maybe I'll see you all around sometime."

And with that, he was gone, leaving all the females in a state of shock and misery.

"Ok, Randy," Mitch said, turning his attention back to his friend. "Your turn. You get to have some fun with my mom." Watching her as she got back to her feet.

Randy's eyes widened. "Seriously? I can... touch her? Anywhere?"

"Anywhere you want, buddy," Mitch said with a grin. "She's all yours."

Randy walked over to Mrs. Hunter, hesitant at first, then growing more confident. He reached out a trembling hand and placed it on her breast. Her nipple was hard, and he could feel her heart pounding beneath his palm. He let his hand linger there for a moment, then slowly, cautiously, let it travel down her stomach, his fingers exploring the curve of her hip, the softness of her thigh, before finally running a finger along the crease of her clam-shell.

Mrs. Hunter shivered on her feet, her eyes squeezed shut, her body rigid with a horror so profound it was almost a kind of numbness. She wanted to scream, to fight back, to run away. But she was frozen, a prisoner of the cruel, twisted laws of this town.

Before anyone could react, Mrs. Parker, who had been standing by in a state of stunned silence, finally snapped. She had watched her own daughters be humiliated, her oldest friend be stripped and degraded, and now she was watching her male child, her own baby, touch her friend in such a perverse way. Something inside her broke.

"That's it!" she yelled, her voice cracking with a fury that seemed to shake the very air around them. "We are leaving! Now! This has gone far enough! We are going home, Mitchell, and you are not going to stop us!"

Mrs. Hunter, her shame momentarily forgotten, saw her chance. She pulled away from Randy's clumsy, exploring hands, her face a mask of desperate hope. "Yes, please! Let's go home! We shouldn't have come here in the first place. It was a mistake. Please, let's just go!"

Mitch just stood there for a moment, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. He let their desperate pleas hang in the air for a second, savoring their panic and misery. "Go home?" he said, his voice a low, mocking purr. "But we haven't even been to the arcade yet. I haven't beaten Randy at air hockey. And I was really looking forward to that."

His casual, dismissive tone was a thousand times more crushing than any angry shout. He wasn't even angry. He was just… amused. He was enjoying their suffering.

"Please, Mitchell," Mrs. Hunter begged, her voice now a raw, ragged sob. "I'll do anything. Just... let us go. I won't tell your father. I swear."

"Dad can't do anything, Mom," Mitch said, a cold, hard look in his eyes. "I'm in charge here. And I say we're going to the arcade."

He turned and started walking, a confident swagger in his step, expecting everyone to follow. For a second, it looked like the two mothers might actually refuse. But then they looked at each other, their eyes filled with a shared, hopeless defeat. Mrs. Parker put a comforting arm around Melody, and Mrs. Hunter did the same for a trembling Sydney. They all shuffled after him, a procession of naked shame and misery, with Randy trotting along excitedly behind them with a miserable looking Hana.

They hadn't made it thirty feet from the department store when another enforcement officer, this one a tall, stoic-looking man with a thick mustache, stepped directly into their path. He was accompanied by a younger female officer with a no-nonsense expression and a rolling cart filled with supplies. The two women flinched back, their hearts sinking. They had had about as much interaction with the law as they could stand for one lifetime.

"Hold on there, folks," the male officer said, his voice a flat, bureaucratic baritone. He looked over the group, his gaze lingering on the two naked mothers. "I couldn't help but notice you two are in violation of Municipal Code 800-B, Section 4."

Mrs. Hunter and Mrs. Parker exchanged a confused, terrified look. "What... what does that mean?" Mrs. Hunter asked, her voice barely a whisper. Her mind was already racing, trying to figure out what new hell they were about to be subjected to.

The officer didn't answer her directly. He just pointed a stern finger towards their wristbands. "Any female at or above level 2 is prohibited from having any pubic hair. It needs to be removed as part of your punishment. You both are not in compliance."

"Oh, god," Mrs. Parker breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. She had completely forgotten. Back at the stripping pavilion, they had seen the girls get the hair removal treatment, along with officer Bright. The idea that she would have to go through it too had never even crossed her mind. The thought of being touched down there, in the middle of the mall, by a stranger, was a fresh wave of horror.

The female officer wheeled the cart closer. On top was a large tub of the same bright green hair removal gel, a spray bottle, a stack of white washcloths, and a box of disposable nitrile gloves. "Alright, ladies," the woman said, her voice crisp and efficient. "Both of you, stand with your legs spread and your hands behind your head. Now."

The two naked women looked at each other, a silent, desperate plea passing between them. There was no escape. With a shared sense of utter defeat, they did as they were told. They spread their legs wide and laced their fingers behind their heads, a position that left them feeling almost as exposed and vulnerable than they had in front of Mitch's camera. They were presented like specimens on a slab for all to see.

The female officer snapped on a pair of gloves with a loud snap. "Red, you're first," she said, scooping a large, green glob of the gel onto her gloved palm. "Try to stay still."

Mrs. Hunter squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling like a leaf. She braced herself for the touch, her mind screaming. The officer's cool, gel-slicked fingers made contact with the wiry curls of her pubic hair. It was a clinical, impersonal touch, but to Mrs. Hunter, it felt like a brand. The gel was cold and slimy, and the officer's fingers worked it in thoroughly, coating every inch of her most private area, from her pubic mound down between her legs, even making sure to get the sensitive skin around her rear entry.

After what felt like an eternity, the officer stepped back. "Two minutes," she announced, looking at her watch. Mrs. Hunter could feel the gel starting to tingle and warm on her skin, a strange, unpleasant sensation that was a constant reminder of her total lack of control.

Next, it was Mrs. Parker's turn. She tried to prepare herself, to go to some other place in her mind, but it was impossible. Every nerve ending was on fire, every sound was amplified. She could hear the quiet hum of the mall's ventilation, the distant chatter of shoppers, the crinkle of the officer's uniform as she moved. Then she felt the cold, slimy gel being applied, the officer's fingers probing and spreading the chemical mixture over her full, dark bush. Just like with her friend, the officer was efficient and thorough, her movements practiced and devoid of any emotion.

Randy and Mitch were watching the whole thing, their expressions rapt. Randy had a huge, goofy grin on his face, while Mitch had a more thoughtful, calculating look in his eyes. He was clearly enjoying the show, savoring every moment of the mothers' humiliation.

Sydney and Melody were standing off to the side, their faces pale with shock. They couldn't believe this was happening. Melody and Hana had this happen to themselves, but seeing it happen to their own mothers was a whole different level of horror. And Hana, Hana was blushing from head to toe. The thought of her mother being made bald down there, just as she was, was almost too much for her to handle. She found it fascinating that her body had so much in common with her mom's body.

After the two-minute wait was up, the female officer picked up the spray bottle and a washcloth. She started with Mrs. Hunter. The neutralizing agent from the spray bottle was cold, and the washcloth was soft against her now-bare skin. The officer wiped away all the hair, leaving Mrs. Hunter's private area as smooth and bald as a baby's bottom. It was a bizarre, disconcerting sight. With her red pubic hair gone, the soft, pink lips of her sex were more visible, and their little clamshell shape was even more pronounced.

"Red, you're done," the officer announced, moving on to Mrs. Parker. She repeated the process, spraying the neutralizing agent and then wiping away the hair, leaving Mrs. Parker's private area just as smooth and bald as her friend's. Her labia were more traditional in shape and looked like a delicate flower that had bloomed open. Without her thick bush of hair, it left her looking so much younger and more exposed. She couldn't remember the last time her private parts had felt so vulnerable to the world.

The male officer, who had been watching the whole procedure with a stern, impassive expression, gave a curt nod. "Good," he said, his voice flat. "You are now in compliance with Municipal Code 800-B, Section 4. Carry on."

And just like that, they were gone, leaving the two women standing there, their legs still spread, their hands still behind their heads, their most private parts now completely exposed and hairless. They looked down at themselves, a fresh wave of shame washing over them.

Mitch, who had been watching with a look of deep satisfaction, finally spoke. "Ok, time to go to the arcade."

He turned and started walking again, a confident swagger in his step. The two women, their spirits completely crushed, slowly lowered their arms and closed their legs. They exchanged a look of shared misery, then shuffled after him, a procession of naked shame.

The arcade was a cacophony of flashing lights, blaring music, and the sounds of electronic mayhem. The air was thick with the smell of popcorn and cheap pizza. It was a place of fun and excitement, but for Melody, Hana, and Sydney, it felt like walking into a new, brightly-lit circle of hell.

"What do we do first?" Randy asked, his eyes wide with excitement as he looked around at all the games.

Mitch scanned the room, his gaze landing on a large, raised platform in the center of the arcade. It was a dance game, with a giant screen flashing colorful arrows and four pads on the floor for players to step on. A group of naked girls, all giggling and sweaty, were currently dancing to a high-energy pop song, their bodies moving in a dizzying blur of jumping and jiggling. They were all local girls, used to this kind of humiliation, but to the newcomers, it was a shocking and deeply unsettling sight.

"Perfect," Mitch said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Ladies, you're up."

Melody, Hana, and Sydney all stared at him, their eyes wide with horror. "What? No! We can't..." Melody stammered, looking at the jumping, jiggling girls on the platform. The idea of doing that, of putting her naked, helpless body on display in such a public, energetic way, was a fresh nightmare.

"Can't what? Can't have fun?" Mitch asked, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "Come on. It'll be great. You three can go together. A little dance-off."

Little Sydney, who had just been punished for her teasing, knew better than to argue. She just hung her head, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Hana, still with her hands cuffed behind her back, had no choice but to follow, her movements stiff and awkward. Melody shot a desperate, pleading look at her mother, but Mrs. Parker just shook her head, her eyes filled with a mixture of pity and a helpless resignation. They were all trapped.

"Go on," Mitch prompted, giving Melody a little shove toward the machine. "Get up there. And you two," he added, pointing to Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Hunter. "You're going to watch."

The two mothers, still naked and utterly humiliated, followed their daughters to the dance platform. They stood there, like two naked, shamefaced sentinels, forced to watch their children's next round of degradation.

Melody, Hana, and Sydney climbed up onto the platform, their bare feet sticking slightly to the worn plastic pads. The machine beeped, and the screen lit up with a new song, an even faster, more frantic beat than the last one. "Let's go!" a cartoonish voice from the game chirped, and the arrows started scrolling up the screen.

The three girls just stood there for a second, frozen with fear and shame. But Mitch was watching, his arms crossed over his chest, a stern, expectant look on his face. They knew they had no choice.

With a sob of despair, Melody started to move, her feet awkwardly stomping on the flashing arrows. Her body, once a source of shy pride, was now a spectacle of bouncing flesh. Her B-cup tits, usually held securely in a bra, were now free and unsupported, jiggling and wobbling with every stomp and clumsy jump. Her butt, round and soft, jiggled with each clumsy step, and her flat stomach quivered with the effort of keeping up with the frantic beat.

Hana, with her hands cuffed behind her back, had it even worse. She couldn't use her arms for balance, so she just hopped from one pad to the other, her small A-cup tits bouncing like little jelly molds. Her red hair, damp with sweat, flew around her face, making her look even more frantic and desperate.

Sydney, the youngest and smallest, was a blur of motion. Her skinny little body moved with a frantic energy, her flat chest and tiny butt barely moving compared to her older sister and Hana. But she was trying, trying to keep up, trying to please Mitch, to avoid getting into any more trouble.

Mitch, meanwhile, had his phone out. He was recording the whole thing, a huge, triumphant grin on his face. He zoomed in on Melody's jiggling tits, then panned over to Hana's frantic, hopeless hopping, and then to Sydney's desperate, clumsy attempts to keep up. "This is gonna make an awesome Christmas card," he said, his voice full of a giddy, cruel delight. He was getting every angle, every moment of their humiliation, immortalizing it on his phone.

"Christmas card!" Hana gasped. "No! You can't!" She was so horrified that she stumbled and missed a step, the machine beeping at her mistake. But Mitch just laughed, his finger still tapping the record button.

"Oh yes I can, sis," he said, his voice a low, taunting growl. "Dad's gonna love it. And so are Uncle Jeff and Uncle Bob. Maybe I'll send them a little holiday greeting early, just to give them a preview."

"Please, no," Melody begged, her voice a hoarse, desperate whisper. She was trying to dance, but the thought of her naked, dancing body being shown to her family, to her friends, was too much. She missed a step, and then another, and soon the machine beeped and booped at her, a symphony of failure.

"Shut up and dance," Mitch snapped, chuckling with delight. The camera was still rolling, and he wasn't going to miss a second of their humiliation. "You look so sexy when you're dancing like this."

Melody's face, already flushed from the dancing and the shame, turned a deep, burning red. Her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to wipe them away without missing a step. But it was no use. She was a mess, a naked, dancing, sobbing mess.

"God, your boobs are jiggling so much, Melody," Randy said, his eyes glued to her naked body. "They're like, really bouncing. It's kinda sexy."

"Shut up, Randy," she snapped, her voice a choked sob. But there was nothing she could do. She just had to keep dancing, her tits bouncing, her body on display for their cruel, leering eyes.

"You look good when you're all sweaty," Mitch said, his voice a low, teasing purr. "And your skin is all shiny. I bet you're getting really warm, aren't you?"

Melody didn't answer, her face a mask of pure misery. But Mitch just kept talking, his voice a constant, taunting hum in her ear. "I bet your pussy's getting really wet, too. All that friction, all that rubbing. It must be driving you crazy, being all exposed like this, your tits bouncing around for everyone to see."

"Stop it," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music and the beeping of the game. But Mitch just laughed, his voice a low, mocking growl.

"Stop what?" he asked, his voice a teasing, singsong tone. "Stop telling the truth? Stop pointing out how hot you look? I can't help it, Melody. You're just too sexy when you're embarrassed."

She wanted to scream, to run away, to hide. But she couldn't. She just had to keep dancing, her body on display for Mitch and his camera, her humiliation captured forever in digital form.

"You girls look so much better without your silly clothes," Randy said, his voice a mix of genuine admiration and a sadistic glee. He was enjoying this, enjoying the power he had over them, the ability to reduce them to naked, dancing puppets. "And the way your bodies move, it's like, really sexy. Like, you're all jiggly and wobbly, and your little nipples are so hard." He was staring at them, his eyes wide and greedy.

"Shut up, pervert," Hana hissed, her voice a choked, angry sob. But Randy just laughed, his gaze locked on her small, jiggling breasts.

"Your boobs are so tiny, Hana," he said, his voice a mix of mockery and genuine fascination. "But they still jiggle. And your butt, it's like, really cute. It's a plump little bottom, and it's all pink and jiggly."

"Stop it," she whispered, her face flushed with shame and anger. But Randy just kept talking, his words a relentless assault on her dignity.

"I bet you're getting wet down there, too," he continued, his voice a low, teasing growl. "All that dancing, all that movement. Your little pussy must be so sensitive, so exposed. And you're all sweaty and sticky. It must be driving you crazy, knowing that we can see everything, that we're watching you squirm and jiggle."

"Shut up," Sydney whimpered, her voice a small, broken sound. She was the youngest, the smallest, and the most vulnerable. Randy had always been mean to her, always teased her, and now he had free rein to humiliate her in front of everyone.

"You're so skinny, Sydney," he said, his voice a low, mocking whisper. "Like a little bird. But you still jiggle. Your little flat chest, your tiny butt. It's like, you're not even a girl yet. Just a little stick figure."

"Please, stop," she begged, her voice a desperate, trembling plea. But Randy just laughed, his eyes roving over her naked, dancing form.

"I agree, Randy, I like the girls better without any clothes on too," Mitch said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. "It's like, they're finally showing their true selves. All that pretending, all that hiding behind clothes, it's just a lie. This is who they really are. Naked, vulnerable, exposed. It's beautiful."

"And they jiggle so much," Randy added, his voice a gleeful, excited shout. "It's like, they're not in control of their own bodies. They're just bouncing around, all wobbly and helpless. It's hilarious."

"Shut up," Hana hissed, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "Just shut your mouth, Randy. You're a disgusting, creepy little worm."

Mitch just laughed, his voice a low, mocking rumble. "Oh, come on, sis," he said, his voice dripping with a cruel, sadistic amusement. "Don't get mad at Randy. He's just appreciating you. Enjoying the view. Admiring the way your little body jiggles and shakes. It's a compliment, really."

"You're sick," Hana spat, her voice a low, venomous hiss. But Mitch just laughed again, his eyes twinkling with a dark, gleeful light.

The song finally ended, and the three girls collapsed in a heap, their chests heaving, their bodies slick with sweat. They were all crying, their faces red and blotchy with shame and exertion.

"Good job, girls," Mitch said, his voice dripping with mocking praise. He turned to the two mothers, who were standing there, their faces pale and drawn. "Ok, you two. Your turn. I want to see what you've got."

Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Hunter just stared at him, their eyes wide with disbelief. "What? No, we can't," Mrs. Hunter stammered, her voice a raw, ragged whisper. "We're... we're not... we're not built for that."

"Your turn, Mom, or you can go to level 4," Mitch said, his voice cold and hard. He looked from his mother to Mrs. Parker, a challenging look in his eyes.

Defeated, the two women climbed up onto the platform, their movements slow and heavy with shame. The machine beeped, and the screen lit up with another high-energy song.

Mrs. Hunter, still furious but now also deeply humiliated, just stood there for a moment, her body rigid. Then, with a choked sob of rage, she started to move, her feet stomping on the arrows. Her body, with its small, sagging breasts and soft, rounded belly, was a stark contrast to the girls' younger, firmer forms. She moved with a stiff, robotic gracelessness, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated misery.

Mrs. Parker, meanwhile, was a vision of pure, helpless despair. Her body, fuller and softer than her friend's, bounced and jiggled with every clumsy step. Her large breasts, with their long, light-pink nipples, swung free and unsupported, a spectacle of fleshy abandon. Her face was a mess of tears and sweat, her eyes squeezed shut as if she could somehow block out the world, block out the sight of her son and his friend, recording her shame.

"Look at them go!" Randy whooped, his eyes wide with excitement. He was pointing at the two naked women, his face alight with a cruel, childish glee. "Look at all that jiggling! It's like a Jell-O convention!"

Mitch just laughed, a short, ugly sound. "You two are pathetic," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "You call that dancing? Come on, at least try to have a little fun. Get those titties bouncing!"

He zoomed in on their bouncing bodies, capturing their every moment of shame. He especially enjoyed the sight of his own mother, her face a contortion of rage and humiliation as her body betrayed her, jiggling and bouncing for his entertainment. He was getting every angle, every moment of their degradation, immortalizing it on his phone.

"What's the matter, Mom?" he taunted, his voice a low, mocking purr. "Not used to this kind of exercise? Maybe you should have spent a little more time at the gym and a little less time nagging me. And you, Mrs. P., I bet Mr. Parker would pay to see this. Or maybe he'd pay to make it stop. I can't decide."

"Oh, dad would love this!" Randy chirped, a huge, mean grin on his face. "He's always complaining about you being a little chunky, Mom! Now we can see why! All that jiggling! You're putting the 'fun' in 'fun-bags'!" He laughed so hard at his own dumb joke he almost fell over.

Mrs. Parker let out a choked sob, her steps frantic. She could feel the way her whole body was shaking with her efforts, and she knew Randy was right. She did jiggle. She jiggled everywhere. Her big boobs, her soft tummy, her butt, her thighs, everything jiggled with every clumsy step. The shame was a physical weight, crushing her, making it hard to breathe. It was one thing to be naked in front of a crowd, but to be performing like a trained seal for her own son's amusement, while he made cruel jokes about her body, was a level of humiliation she hadn't known existed. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"What do you think dad would say, mom?" Mitch asked, his camera still recording. He panned from his own mother's sweaty, angry face to Mrs. Parker's tear-streaked one. "If he could see you now, your little clamshell pussy all on display, trying to keep up with this machine. Do you think he'd be proud? Come on, tell him how much you love being naked! I'm going to show this video to him later."

Mrs. Hunter stopped dancing, her body rigid with a fresh wave of pure, white-hot rage. She spun to face her son, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Mitchell Hunter, don't you dare," she seethed, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. "You are not recording this. You are not going to show this to your father. If you do, I swear to God, I will..."

"You'll what?" Mitch asked, lowering his phone, a challenging look in his eyes. He was not scared of her. He was enjoying this, enjoying the look of impotent fury on her face.

"I will... I will..." she stammered, her anger deflating, replaced by a cold, hollow fear. She had nothing. No threats, no leverage, no power. She was just a naked, middle-aged woman, her body on display for her son and his friend, her little clamshell pussy a subject of casual, cruel conversation. She was nothing. With a defeated sigh, she looked straight into the camera and said, "Hi, John. I was just telling Mitchell how much I love being naked. It is a lot of fun." She said, with a completely fake, angry smile.

Mitch just laughed and turned back to the dance machine. "Get back to it, Mom. You're not done. And you, Mrs. P., keep those titties bouncing. Randy, get a good close up of your mom for your dad."

"Ok!" Randy chirped, his phone out now, too. He zoomed in on his mom's large, jiggling breasts, the camera's unflinching gaze making her feel even more exposed and violated. "Look at those things go!" he said, his voice full of a cruel, childish glee. "They're like two big, sad water balloons! Dad's gonna get a real kick out of this!"

Mrs. Parker let out a choked sob, her steps becoming even more frantic. She could feel her son's eyes on her, his camera a cold, unfeeling third eye, recording her shame. She felt like a piece of meat, a spectacle for their amusement. Her body, her face, her very soul was on display, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The song finally ended, and the two women collapsed in a heap, their chests heaving, their bodies slick with sweat. They were both crying, just like their daughters, their faces red and blotchy with shame and exertion.

"Good job, ladies," Mitch said, his voice dripping with mocking cheerfulness.

The two women slowly, shakily, climbed down from the platform, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and shame. They stood there, naked and defeated, waiting for his next command.

Melody, who had been watching her mother's humiliation with a sense of growing horror, felt a fresh wave of defiance wash over her. She couldn't just stand there and watch this anymore. She had to do something. She saw a discarded arcade hoodie on a nearby bench. It was a ratty, stained thing, but it was something. It was cover. She darted over, grabbed it, and quickly slipped it on. It was big and baggy, but it covered her naked body, and for a second, she felt a tiny, fragile sense of relief.

But it was not to be. Officer Davis, who seemed to appear out of nowhere whenever a rule was broken, was there in a flash, her face a mask of cold fury. "What do you think you're doing, young lady?" she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting.

"I... I was just cold," Melody stammered, her voice trembling with fear.

"That's no excuse," Officer Davis said, her eyes narrowing. "You know the rules. You are not allowed to wear clothes. Ever. That's another infraction. And for trying to hide your body after already being warned, that's a two level jump. Level 4." She tapped her remote, and Melody's orange wristband pulsed and glowed a deep, shameful red. The officer pulled out a pair of cuffs from her belt. "Hands behind your back. Now."

Melody just stood there for a second, her mind completely blank. Level 4. Red. The final level. The one she'd seen that poor girl in the march enduring. This was it. This was the end of her world.

She slowly, shakily, brought her arms around behind her, her wrists meeting with a soft click as the cold steel of the cuffs snapped shut. She was completely, utterly helpless.

Officer Davis gave her a sharp shove. "Now get over there and wait for your punishment."

Mitch watched the whole scene, a feeling of absolute power coursing through him. He walked over to the cuffed, trembling girl, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Well, Melody," he said, his voice a low purr. "It seems you've been a very naughty girl. You know what happens now, right?"

Melody just nodded, her head bowed, her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn't speak. The tears were streaming down her face, and her body was trembling with a fear so profound it was almost a kind of numbness.

"Good," Mitch said, his voice still low and commanding. "Then you won't mind if I… give you a little reward." He grabbed her arm and led her behind a large, noisy game cabinet. The flashing screen and blaring sound effects provided a small, flimsy shield of privacy from the rest of the arcade.

Melody's heart was pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She knew what was coming. She knew he had the right to do whatever he wanted to her, and she knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him. She just stood there, her cuffed hands digging into her back, her body a statue of helpless dread.

"So, I've been thinking, Mel," Mitch said, his voice soft and conversational, as if he were just asking her about the weather. "We've known each other for a long time, right? And I've always kind of liked you. You know, as more than a friend."

Before she could process his bizarre, out-of-place words, his hand was on her. It wasn't a punch or a shove. It was a slow, deliberate exploration of her naked, trembling body. He started with her back, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine, sending shivers all through her body. Even if she was horrified, she couldn't help how her skin responded. His hand moved lower, to the small of her back, then to the soft curve of her butt. He let his fingers linger there, squeezing her soft, yielding flesh, and she let out a little whimper of shame.

"You've got a really nice butt, Mel," he whispered, his voice a low, husky purr. "I've always thought so, even when you had those ugly jeans on. But this… this is much better."

He then moved around to her front, his eyes roving over her exposed body with a possessive hunger. His hand came up and cupped one of her B-cup breasts. She flinched, a gasp escaping her lips. His thumb brushed over her nipple, which was already a hard, little nub from the cool air and her fear. He started to roll it between his thumb and forefinger, a slow, deliberate movement that sent a confusing jolt of electricity straight down to her pussy.

"Please..." she whimpered, her voice a raw, ragged whisper. "Mitch... please don't."

But even as she spoke the words, her body was betraying her. A strange, hot warmth was spreading from her chest to her belly, pooling between her legs. His touch was firm and confident, and it felt… good. It felt good in a way that made her feel sick with shame. She shouldn't be enjoying this. She should be fighting him, screaming, trying to get away. But her hands were cuffed, and her body felt like it was made of lead, heavy and unresponsive. All she could do was stand there and let him touch her, a passive participant in her own violation.

"I think you're lying, Mel," he said, a smug grin spreading across his face. "I think you do like this. I think you've always wanted me to touch you like this."

He was right, and that was the most humiliating part of all. A part of her, a deep, secret part that she'd never admitted to anyone, had fantasized about this. About him. About his hands on her body. But not like this. Not in the middle of a loud, crowded arcade, with her hands cuffed behind her back and her mother and her siblings watching.

His other hand went to her other breast, giving it the same attention as the first. He was kneading them, squeezing them, his fingers teasing her sensitive nipples. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she felt a fresh wave of shame wash over her. She could feel her pussy getting wet, and the thought was horrifying. He was turning her on. He was actually turning her on, against her will.

"Please..." she whispered again, but this time the word was different. It wasn't a plea for him to stop. It was a plea for… something else. She didn't know what. She just knew that her body was on fire, a confusing, overwhelming mix of shame and a strange, terrifying pleasure.

"You like that, don't you?" he whispered, his voice thick with a new kind of excitement. He could feel her nipples hardening under his touch, could see the way her body was responding to him. He knew he had her.

She just nodded, her head bowed, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face. She was so ashamed of herself, of her body's betrayal. She was a traitor to her own dignity.

His hand slowly, deliberately, traveled down her stomach, his fingers tracing the line of her hipbone. She flinched, a little gasp escaping her lips. He was getting closer to her most private place, the place no one had ever touched before. She wanted to scream, to run away, but she was frozen, a prisoner of her own body's treacherous desires, and the laws of Grandview.

His fingers found the soft, smooth folds of her slit. She was soaking wet, a fact that was both deeply humiliating and intensely arousing. She couldn't believe this was happening. She couldn't believe her body was reacting this way.

"Wow, Mel," he whispered, his voice full of a giddy, almost boyish wonder. "You're really wet. You're a naughty girl, aren't you?"

She just nodded again, her body trembling with a confusing mix of shame and desire. She couldn't speak. The words were caught in her throat, a tangled mess of conflicting emotions.

He started to explore her, his fingers sliding up and down her slick, wet folds, finding her clit, a hard, little nub of pure sensation. He started to rub it, slow, deliberate circles that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. She let out a little moan, her head falling back, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh, god..." she whispered, her voice a raw, ragged gasp.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low, confident purr.

"Mm-hmm," she managed to mumble, her mind a blurry haze of pleasure and shame. She nodded her head vigorously.

He kept rubbing her clit, his other hand still on her breast, teasing her nipple. The combined stimulation was almost too much to bear. Her legs felt weak, and she had to lean against the cool, vibrating plastic of the arcade machine to keep from falling over. The loud, frantic music and the sounds of digital combat from the game seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the frantic, pounding beat of her own heart.

"I've wanted to do this for so long, Mel," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea."

That confession, spoken so softly in the noisy chaos of the arcade, broke through the haze of pleasure and shame. A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face. He wasn't just doing this because he could. He was doing this because he wanted to. He wanted her. And in that moment, a part of her, a deep, desperate part that had been starved for affection and approval, was happy. It was a horrible, twisted, shameful happiness, but it was there all the same.

"Me too," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the blaring game. She looked into his eyes, her vision blurry with tears, and saw a reflection of her own confused desire. He was just a boy, her awkward crush, and he was just as lost and overwhelmed by all of this as she was. Maybe Grandview wasn't so bad after all, she started thinking, maybe this was ok. Maybe this was right.

He took his hand off her breast and put it on her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her skin. "You're so beautiful, Mel," he whispered. "Even more beautiful without all those dumb clothes."

He kissed her. It wasn't a rough, demanding kiss, but a soft, gentle, almost hesitant kiss. It was a first kiss, a clumsy, fumbling exploration of lips and tongues. And it was perfect. She kissed him back, her cuffed hands useless behind her, her whole body leaning into him, a testament to her newfound, confusing surrender.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, their faces flushed. "Wow," he said, a goofy, lopsided grin spreading across his face.

"Yeah," she said, a small, shy smile playing on her lips. "Wow."

"We should get back," he said, his voice a little hesitant. "They're probably wondering where we are."

"Wait," she breathed heavy, "Please, finish me." It was weird for her to be the one asking for this, but now, she was desperate. She needed him to finish her off.

He grinned. "Ok." He slid his finger back into her wet slit, but this time he went lower, teasing the entrance to her virgin hole. She gasped, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He slowly pushed his finger inside her, a little bit at a time, letting her get used to the strange, new sensation. It felt good, a little bit of pain mixed with a whole lot of pleasure.

He started to move his finger in and out, his thumb still rubbing her clit. The dual stimulation was overwhelming. She could feel the pressure building inside her, a hot, tight coil of pleasure that was just waiting to spring loose. She was getting close, so close.

"Don't stop," she panted, her hips moving in time with his thrusts. "Please, don't stop."

"I won't," he promised, his voice a low, confident purr. He increased his pace, his finger moving faster, his thumb rubbing her clit with a renewed intensity.

The coil of pleasure inside her snapped, sending waves of pure ecstasy washing over her. She cried out, a hoarse, guttural sound of pure release. Her body convulsed, her legs trembling so violently she thought she was going to collapse. It was the most intense, overwhelming feeling she had ever experienced, a feeling so powerful it was almost scary.

When it was over, she slumped against him, her body limp and spent. He held her for a moment, his arms wrapped around her, a silent, comforting presence in the noisy chaos of the arcade. Then he carefully pulled his finger out of her, a little string of her wetness clinging to it. He looked at it for a second, then stuck it in his mouth and sucked it clean.

"You taste good," he said with a grin. She blushed, a fresh wave of heat washing over her face.

"P-please," she whispered, her voice a ragged, broken pant. "Be… be my boyfriend." It was all she could think about. Now that she had given into him, she was his girlfriend. He had to be her boyfriend.

"Of course," he said without hesitation. "Now, come on. Let's go." He took her elbow, and they walked out from behind the machine. Melody felt a little wobbly on her feet, but she also felt a weird sense of relief. Like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.