Life as a good little girl/Pay for your outfit and leave
From Create Your Own Story
Tiff's laughter dies down, but she's still far too amused to notice that you're not laughing along with her.
"Can we do something else?" you plead, and she grins, wiping carefully at her eyes so that she won't ruin her make-up. God you wish you were old enough to wear make-up.
"That's the spirit Stephi. If one guy screws you, go look for more."
"What?"
"I guess we're just gonna have to buy this outfit."
"We could get something else," you say uncertainly. Looking down at yourself reminds you of just how scandalous your outfit is. It practically displays your flat chest, and skirt keeps pulling up like it wants to show off your embarrassingly hairless girly bits.
Tiff looks you up and down, and reaches out, running her fingers along the edges of the skirt from your collar bone down over your amazingly sensitive breasts. You feel her long painted nails gliding over your skin, sending a flood of delight to your confused brain. Up and down her fingers move as she ponders the outfit.
"I like this outfit. It makes you look like such a cheap whore," she comments, and her fingers lightly move from the cleavage of the shirt to the bottom hem, gliding softly over your little nipples until they slip under the edge of the shirt. If you had breasts she'd be caressing your underboobs. "You like that, don't you?" she whispers with a crooked smile.
"Y-yeah," you gasp, wanting her to touch you more. She reward you by giving your nipples a painful pinch before dragging you out of the change room.
"I knew you were a hardcore skank. Let's go pay for this stuff.
Dazed by the close contact, and off-balance from her tugging you follow her without quite realizing where you're headed at first. Then you spot a teenage boy slouched behind the till, a magazine or comic book hidden in his lap.
"Hi!" Tiff chirped, making the boy jump. He eyed her up and down with some interest.
"My slut friend Stephi wants to buy these amazing clothes. We think they express her whorish nature perfectly. Don't you?"
Your cheeks burn, both at her words and the boy's attention as he looks you up and down, his mouth popping open.
"Amazing...?" he repeats, and Tiffany smiles.
"I know, right?"
The boy's adams apple bobs up and down as he looks at you. "I'll need to, um, scan the tags..."
He trails off, and picks up the scanning machine, and hesitantly comes around the counter.
"Tags?" you ask. You don't remember seeing any tags. Looking down at them you still don't.
"Would you please, um, pull out the tag for the shirt?"
"The.. where's the tag?" you ask, looking at Tiff. She reaches out and pulls the shirt open.
"Yeah, where's the tag?" she echoes, hands roaming around your back briefly before going to the front, where her hands grope your tits, sending zaps straight into your nipples. Your legs nearly give out and you find yourself leaning against your besty, your legs spreading as you instinctively try to balance yourself.
"Nope. Not here," Tiff gleefully says, and her fingers slip under the fabric, her nails scrapping across your chest until they reach your nipples where they close mercilessly, capturing your ecstatic nipples in a ruthless pinch.
You squeal, nearly peeing yourself, and only her grasp keeps you on your feet.
"Oops," she chuckles. "That's not it."
Tiffany's fingers withdraw, and your nipples throb, both from painful and the wish that she'd do it again. Instead her fingers slip under the hem of the shirt as if searching, until they come to the tiny little knot. "Is it here?" she wonders, and before your lust-filled mind can think to stop her she yanks your shirt open wide.
The boy stares at your chest, then looks away, then back at your chest. You, on the other hand, are trying to decide whether you want to close your shirt by batting at Tiffany's arms, or stay leaning against her. You can feel her breasts, so much larger than yours, pressing softly against your back, and you want to rub yourself against them.
"Oh here it is in the collar!" Tiffany crows, and turns you around, wrenching the shirt off your shoulders. A startled exclamation escapes you, and you try far too slowly to catch the shirt before it hits the ground.
"Oops," Tiff says innocently, "Could you get that?"
Startled out of his dilemma the teen eagerly stoops, using the shirt as a way to avoid looking at you. A small part of you wonders what's so wrong with you that he doesn't want to look?
"That was brilliant," Tiffany whispers in your ear. "I thought you were going to catch it, but you let it drop so you could show off your tiny tits. You're such a hardcore exhibitionist, aren't you?"
Not wanting to ruin your standing with her you mumble something in the affirmative and try to decide if she'd think less of you if you used your hands to cover up. Or maybe grabbed something from a rack.
"Now the skirt, right?" Tiff asked, and reached her hand up both sides of the skirt while the teen, still crouched, stared up, his adam's apple moving up and down.
"Gee, I don't feel it..." Tiff's hand groped your ass, the other cupping your sex, which immediately sends a zing through your body. "But I sure do feel something. You are sooo wet, you slut!" she scolds you, and you moan in response, humping the air as her fingers abruptly pulls away.
"Oh wait, here we go!" She crowed, and yanked the front of your skirt up to your belly-button, exposing the entirety of your hairless young sex to the shocked cashier.
"You can scan it any old time. Believe me, Stephi could stay like this forever if you wanted."
"Tiff..." you whine a little, then blushingly say, "It's okay, you can do me."
Tiffany's laughter makes you realize what you said, but the cashier reaches up with a shaking hand and scans the exposed tag while his eyes scan your pussy.
"Uh... Um...." the poor boy looks around as if dazed, then stares at the scanner, still held above your crotch. Seeing it reminds him of what he's supposed to be doing and he stands up, shirt and scanner in hand. He looks over at the cash register and taps a few keys. "That'll be seventy three dollars, and eighty-three cents," he says, voice cracking.
"Seventy three... But I've only got sixty!" you exclaim, forgetting for a moment that Tiffany is still showing off your privates. "Tiff, do you have money?"
"Hey, don't look at me, I'm not the one who's selling her body to anyone who can pay," she answers unhelpfully.
"No money, no clothes," the cashier says in a wobbly voice. "You'll have to put those back."
"But my clothes were, uh, stolen!"
The teenager points a shaking finger to a sign beside the change rooms that reads 'We are not responsible for stolen items'.
Life as a good little girl/Buy something else
Life as a good little girl/Use the barter system. Your services for a tiny little discount
Life as a good little girl/There's a lost and found nearby, maybe you can get clothes there
