The phone rang twice before Sherry's voice came through, quiet but clear. "Hello?"
"Hey, Sherry, it's Jason," he said, pacing the sidewalk, the midday sun beating down.
"Oh, hi," she replied, a faint shuffle in the background—probably her shifting at her desk. "What's up?"
"You know about that sorority party tonight? The one Celeste's throwing?" he asked, cutting to it.
She paused. "Uh, yeah, I overheard some girls in class talking about it. Sounded loud. No one invited me, though. Why?"
"Cool, same here—well, Aaron mentioned it. I'm going, just to show my face. Wanna come with me?" He kept his tone casual.
"I can't," she said, quick but soft. "I promised my stream I'd do the cosplay today—the tattoo thing I told you about. It's already set."
Jason sighed, rubbing his neck. "Can't you just take some pics, post 'em, and say sorry for skipping the stream? Moreover the sorority girls have threatened people not attending with a hellish college life."
"What?"
"Yes, apparently they were inspired by Project-X, and wanted to do something like that."
There was a long pause, her breathing faint on the line. "Then maybe... I guess I could put pictures up tonight and stream tomorrow instead. They might be cool with that." Her voice brightened a bit, then hesitated. "But, uh, can you help me out then? My sister was gonna take the pics, but she's out, and I'm home alone. I can't do it by myself."
He groaned inwardly, the weight of the day piling on. "Alright, fine. I'm coming over," he said, resigned but firm. "Be there soon."
"Okay, thanks," she said, a small lift in her tone. "See you."
"Yeah," he muttered, hanging up, already dreading the detour but stuck with it now.
Jason's phone pinged with Sherry's address, a modest street a few blocks from the store.
He knocked, and the door swung open. Sherry stood there, white wig cascading over her shoulders, framing a skimpy orange crop top and matching miniskirt. The outfit was a weird, sexy mashup—like a prisoner crossed with a basketball player, the top barely covering her chest revealing her underboobs, the skirt hugging her hips tight. Her tattoos popped against her skin: intricate swirls on her left thigh, a jagged design curling across her midriff, accentuating her slim waist. Her thighs, thick but toned, gleamed under the hallway light. She looked good—better than he'd ever seen her—and his throat tightened.
"Hi," she said, voice soft, stepping aside. "Come in."
"Hey," he managed, following her into the house. It was decent—nothing fancy, nothing rundown—just a normal split-level with scuffed hardwood and faded wallpaper.
"Thanks for coming," she added as they climbed the stairs to her room, her skirt swaying with each step.
He stopped dead when they hit her room. Her gaming setup sprawled across a desk—RGB lights pulsing from a sleek tower, dual monitors glowing, a mechanical keyboard that screamed custom. It was flashy, badass, the kind of rig Jason used to dream about. Gaming was his first love, back when life wasn't a relentless shitstorm. He stared, a pang of envy twisting in his chest.
"Nice setup," he said, voice low, almost bitter.
"Thanks," she replied, oblivious, grabbing her phone and a pair of white stockings from the desk. She handed him the phone, screen already on the camera app. "So, uh, I just need you to take the pics. I'll pose, you shoot. Cool?"
"Yeah, sure," he said, taking it, his fingers brushing hers briefly.
Jason stood there, clutching Sherry's phone, as she perched on her gaming chair, the RGB lights casting a soft glow across her orange crop top and miniskirt.
She slid the first white stocking up her leg, her movements slow and deliberate, tugging it over her calf and past her knee. The skirt rode up as she shifted, revealing a pair of tight white safety shorts underneath—practical, snug, hugging her hips like a second skin.
Through the thin fabric, he caught the faintest outline of her pussy, a subtle shadow teasing the edges, and his breath hitched. She didn't notice, focused on smoothing the stocking up her thigh, the tattoo there—a swirling vine—flexing with her skin.
His jeans tightened, a familiar heat pooling low, but he kept his face blank, gripping the phone harder.
She finished the second stocking, then leaned over to her desk drawer, the chair creaking as she pulled out a pair of silver handcuffs. They glinted in the light, cold and unexpected. "Oh, also, help me handcuff myself," she said, tossing them to him with a small grin.
He caught them, blinking. "This character wears handcuffs?"
"Yeah," she said, adjusting her wig. "Canonically, she's a kicking expert with supernatural abilities—a fugitive, always on the run. She fights with her legs, even cuffed. It's badass."
"Cool," Jason said, voice steady despite the twitch in his pants. He stepped closer, her orange miniskirt brushing his leg as he clicked the cuffs around her wrists, the metal snapping shut with a soft click. Her hands dangled in front of her, bound but loose, and she gave them a testing tug. "Good enough," she muttered, then nodded at the phone. "Let's start."
They began with simple poses—Sherry sitting on the chair, legs crossed, the cuffs gleaming against her orange top; then standing, one hip cocked, her tattooed midriff on display. Jason snapped the shots, the camera clicking, her waist—so slim, so fucking perfect—drawing his eye every time.
Then she shifted, lifting one leg into a high kick, the motion fluid, practiced. Her skirt slid down her thigh, exposing those white safety shorts fully, the faint outline of her pussy pressing through again. He took the pic, heart pounding, but when she checked it on the screen, she frowned.
"Ugh, these shorts ruin it," she said, shaking her head. "They make it look cheap—not fugitive vibes at all."
"Try another angle?" he offered, voice rough, adjusting the phone.
She did—kicking higher, twisting slightly, letting him shoot from the side, then the front. But the shorts stayed visible, stark against her orange getup, and she groaned. "Still sucks. Okay, new plan." She held up her cuffed hands, wiggling them. "Take the shorts off. I can't with these on, and uncuffing's a hassle. Just do it quick."
His dick hardened instantly, a jolt shooting through him. "You sure?" he asked, throat dry.
"Yeah, come on," she said, impatient but calm, like it was nothing. "It's for the cosplay."
He stepped forward, knees hitting the floor as he squatted in front of her. She stood, hands useless in the cuffs, and he reached up, fingers brushing the hem of her skirt. He pulled it up, exposing the white shorts fully, the fabric stretched tight over her hips.
His hands shook as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, tugging them down slow. The shorts slid over her thighs, and then—fuck—her panties came with them, a thin orange scrap caught in the drag, peeling away to reveal her pussy. Well-trimmed, a neat patch of dark hair framing pink lips, glistening faintly in the room's light.