The Humiliation Challenge I Completed at University

Since I published the previous story, I’ve received many more challenges than I expected, and I promise to keep fulfilling them one by one, along with the new ones that keep appearing in my inbox. Thank you to everyone who took the time to write to me. From what I read, there’s a certain consensus that the first challenge I set for myself was resolved well, so today I’ll try to live up to the second.

This time I decided to combine several similar suggestions into a single day, because they fit together too well to keep them separate. After reading them all, the challenge for the day ended up taking shape like this.

Spend the entire morning at university without underwear. Carry the thong folded in my pocket and, every time I felt too wet, go to the bathroom to touch myself without permission to finish, and then dry myself with that same garment. As if that weren’t enough, I also had to have several degrading phrases written on my body. And when I got home, a final humiliation that would close the game.

The first thing I did when I got up was choose my clothes. I had two options on the bed: tight pants or a miniskirt with a top. Given the time of year, and above all the complete absence of anything underneath, I chose a fitted black pair of pants and a top, with a coat over it. I hope the coat doesn’t count as cheating, because inside the building I wore it open the whole time, without buttoning it even once.

Before getting dressed there was the other thing. I uncapped a black marker and started on my thigh, with a steadier hand than I expected: “I’m a slut.” The second phrase went under my breasts, carefully measuring the height so the top wouldn’t let it show: “I deserve to be humiliated.” The last one was harder, because I had to twist myself in front of the mirror to reach my ass: “I obey Dorian.” And no, I have the slightest idea who Dorian is, or whether that’s how it’s spelled. I only know that today I had to walk around with his name marked on my skin, in the most hidden place.

I’d like to say that after that I got dressed, but it wasn’t that simple. Writing those words, reading them softly over my own body, had already left me wet. So the challenge started before I even left: I had to lie down on the bed, spread my legs, and stroke myself.

I moved my fingers slowly at first, then faster, thinking about the fact that I would have to tell you about this exact moment, that I would be exposing it to you in the finest detail. Just as the heat began to build, I forced myself to stop. I took the thong and ran it between my folds to dry myself, still trembling with need.

Only then did I get dressed. The pants clung to every curve, and the feeling of having nothing underneath made me feel half naked in my own room. I tucked the already stained thong into my pocket, folded carefully so the lump wouldn’t show. In the mirror, the outline of my sex and the curve of my ass were boldly visible. It was a bizarre sensation: normally I worry about my underwear showing through, and now there simply was no underwear to hide.

***

On the way to the faculty, my mind kept asking the same question. Would anyone notice? The most obvious thing was the lack of a bra, and I was terrified it would become obvious the moment I got turned on. Before going into class I noticed I was already soaked again, so I went to the bathroom, pulled my pants down to mid-thigh, and rubbed my clit for just a few seconds, just enough to raise the level even more without allowing myself anything else.

I didn’t linger. I didn’t want to be late and give myself away. I dried myself with the thong, put it back in my pocket, and left with my face flushed. Knowing I had that wet piece of fabric in my pocket, pressed against the material of my pants, made me nervous and turned me on in equal measure.

The first class felt endless. I was restless in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs, feeling the seam of my pants press exactly where it shouldn’t. Every time I changed position, the fabric brushed my bare skin and a shiver ran up my spine. I’d swear more than one glance landed where it shouldn’t, and each one of those glances was a small confirmation of what I was doing. When it ended, I was wet again, and this time I actually had time to complete the full part of the challenge.

I went to the bathrooms at the back, nervous about what I was about to do. I went into the last stall, checked twice that the door was properly locked, and sat on the toilet. I pulled my pants down to my ankles and there, with the phrase “I’m a slut” staring back at me from my thigh, I started stroking myself.

I thought about the other two phrases I had hidden and lifted my top to make the one on my chest visible. It wasn’t necessary; that wasn’t part of the challenge. But, as it said right beneath my tits, I deserve to be humiliated. That line reminded me that even if I was alone between four tiled walls, thousands of people would be imagining me and judging me as they read this. The idea set me on fire.

I slid two fingers inside without stopping playing with my clit. I could hear the constant squelching in the silence of the bathroom, and that made me feel even more embarrassed and even more aroused at the same time. I was a breath away from orgasm when I stopped dead. I stood there for a moment, furious with myself for obeying the will of someone I don’t even know before my own. But I didn’t go on. I took the thong, dried myself, and pulled my pants up.

When I adjusted my top, I discovered that my nipples, now rock hard, were pressing outrageously against the fabric. I felt the urge to close my coat and cover up. I didn’t.

***

Back in class I could feel how some gazes dropped toward my chest and tried to hide it without fully succeeding. I was hotter than ever, unable to focus on a single word the professor said. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I had just touched myself in the university bathrooms, about the phrases written on my body, about the thong soaked with my own fluids tucked away in my pocket.

I had to repeat the ritual a couple more times throughout the morning. Every time was the same: lock myself in, stroke myself to the edge, stop just before I fell, dry myself with the piece of fabric now useless for anything else, and go back to class with a red face and taut nipples. More than once someone came in while I was inside the stall. Then I kept touching myself more slowly, holding my breath, careful that the wet sound of my fingers wouldn’t be heard. That threat of being discovered brought me even closer to the limit I had forbidden myself to cross.

When the last class finally ended, I left the building relieved. I had gotten through the hardest part of the challenge: spending the entire morning without allowing myself to finish. But the ending was still missing, and I was aware that I had left the worst part for last.

***

I got home with my legs trembling with need and went straight to my room. I reread the instructions for the final humiliation. I had to pull my pants down, put the thong over my head, and masturbate until I came, imagining it being fucked into me from behind. An ending obviously designed to degrade me. But, luckily, no one was going to see me or judge me in that pose, right?

The truth is I didn’t feel that way.

I felt exposed before all of you. It’s true that you aren’t seeing me directly, but you know exactly what I’m doing, and also what I’m thinking while I do it. That certainty weighed more than any glance.

With that in my head, I pulled my pants down, knelt in front of the bed, and placed the thong full of my fluids over my hair, that garment I hadn’t used all morning for anything except wiping myself between my legs.

I brought two fingers to my clit while I rested my other hand on the mattress. I started to imagine someone penetrating me from behind, slowly, unhurried, setting a rhythm I didn’t control. I imagined what that scene must look like from the outside: the pants half down my legs, the dirty thong on my head like a ridiculous crown, degrading phrases scattered over my skin, and me rocking my hips back as if I were really being fucked.

I didn’t take long to come. After a whole morning on the edge, the orgasm came almost immediately, long and violent, leaving my forehead pressed against the bed and my breathing broken. I felt dirty, exposed, humiliated, aroused, and, above all, strangely fulfilled.

I stayed like that for a while, catching my breath, with the phrases still marked on me and the name of that Dorian guy throbbing on my skin. Of course, you can keep sending me challenges, stories, criticism, or anything else you can think of. I’m here for you. I hope you enjoy your toy as much as I enjoyed obeying.