Stacey's Roll
Stacey sighed and picked up the dice, rolling them across the board with a soft clatter. They tumbled and landed on a nine.
"White space," Stacey announced. "looks like action command spot"
Stacey raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to grab the corresponding white card. The smooth cardstock felt cool against her fingertips, and she flipped it over, squinting at the neat, printed script. Her lips moved silently as she read before she blinked and frowned.
"Your friend is feeling the heat. To be a better friend and show empathy, you should undress so she will feel comfortable doing so."
Stacey snorted, shaking her head. "Uh, nope. No way. I am so not doing this." She set the card down with finality. "Looks like this game is done. I can’t roleplay that."
Clarissa's Struggle
Clarissa, sweating harder than before, tried to suppress the wave of panic rising in her chest. The warmth had escalated into a full-blown furnace inside her, her skin clammy, the back of her neck damp. She could feel sweat sliding in uncomfortable rivulets down her spine, tracing along her back and slipping lower—between her shoulder blades, and further down, a humiliating tickle as it dripped into the small of her back, pooling in places she didn’t even want to acknowledge.
Her underwear was soaked now, clinging uncomfortably against her skin, and the relentless heat hadn’t eased for a second. Every movement sent fresh waves of discomfort rolling through her. She shifted in her bed, feeling the damp fabric of her sweatpants press tighter against her thighs, the friction making everything worse.
She swallowed hard, trying to focus, but her mind was spiraling. This was real. There was no more denying it. Something was wrong, and the growing horror lodged deep in her gut told her it wasn’t going to stop.
Stacey's Sudden Change
Stacey exhaled sharply and stood up, rubbing the back of her neck. “I, uh, need to use the restroom real quick,” she mumbled, avoiding Clarissa’s eyes as she made her way toward the door. She needed space—away from the game, away from the thick, growing uncomfortable tension that seemed to cling to the air like static.
Her fingers barely brushed the cool metal of the doorknob when a strange shiver ran down her spine. Before she could react, her hands moved—without her permission, without hesitation. They tugged at the hem of her shirt, curling beneath the fabric with a purpose that sent a bolt of panic through her chest.
“What the hell?” Stacey muttered, voice tight with rising fear. Her heart thumped erratically as she watched in stunned horror, helpless as her fingers peeled the shirt upward, baring inch after inch of her skin. The cotton fabric dragged over her ribs, catching briefly against the swell of her chest before slipping free, leaving her standing there in her pale blue bra—simple, with a tiny embroidered bow at the center, the fabric stretching taut over her skin. The air prickled against the exposed flesh of her stomach, goosebumps rising as the heat of embarrassment spread across her face.
“Guys—” The word caught in her throat, swallowed by the sheer disbelief clawing at her thoughts. The shirt hit the floor, forgotten, and before she could even process it, her hands were already moving again. They slid down to the waistband of her jeans, fingers curling with practiced ease, unfastening the button and pulling down the zipper in one smooth motion.
Stacey’s chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath shaky and shallow. The denim slipped down her hips, dragging over the curve of her rear, pooling around her ankles with a soft whisper. Her legs trembled as she stood frozen in nothing but her underwear—a matching set, light blue lace with delicate floral patterns etched into the fabric, the panties sitting snug up against her buttcrack, the bra hugging her curves in a way that now felt painfully exposed.
Cold air kissed her bare skin, sharp against the overwhelming heat radiating from her cheeks, her neck—everywhere. Her arms hung stiff at her sides, her muscles locked in the conflict between fight and flight, but there was nowhere to go. Clarissa and Amelia stared, their expressions flickering between shock and discomfort, and Stacey’s stomach churned with mortification.
But it didn’t stop there.
A fresh wave of horror surged through her veins as her hands—shaking but still moving with eerie precision—reached behind her back. The fingers that had been her own moments ago now worked against her, finding the clasp of her bra with unnerving ease.
“No, no, no—” The words tumbled out in a whisper, each syllable filled with growing dread as the clasp gave way.
The words tumbled out in a whisper, each syllable filled with growing dread as the clasp gave way. The straps slid down her shoulders, featherlight against her skin, and then the garment slipped away entirely, leaving her chest bare.
Her breasts were small, subtle curves that barely disrupted the smooth plane of her chest. Her skin, fair and unblemished, carried a soft natural tone, with the faintest dusting of freckles across her collarbones that trailed lightly down to the gentle swell of her chest. Her nipples, a delicate shade of pink, stood out against the pale canvas of her skin, reacting to the cool air brushing against her. They were proportionate, petite, and perfectly symmetrical, sitting high on her chest with an understated, natural perkiness.
There was an innocence to her exposed form, an unassuming simplicity that reflected how she often felt about her own body—functional, ordinary, something she rarely thought about beyond the practicalities of clothing and comfort. Yet, in the sudden vulnerability of the moment, each breath she took made the subtle rise and fall of her chest more pronounced, the motion catching the dim light of the room in a way that felt too exposed, too real.
Her posture stiffened instinctively, shoulders drawing inward in an effort to shield herself, but there was no escaping the reality of the moment. The cool air traced over the newly revealed skin, sending tiny shivers down her spine, amplifying the rawness of her sudden nakedness. Amelia swallowed hard, biting her lip, feeling every inch of herself in a way she never had before.
Amelia let out a shocked squeak, but Stacey couldn’t meet her eyes. Shame burned through her, spreading like wildfire, her skin prickling as if each breath of air seared against it. Her pulse pounded in her ears, a relentless drum drowning out the murmured sounds of the room, each heartbeat a reminder of her mounting humiliation.
Then, as if her body had become a marionette under the pull of invisible strings, her trembling fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties. The lace caught against her skin for the briefest moment, a delicate friction that sent a shiver up her spine, before yielding. The fabric slipped downward, skimming over the goosebumps on her thighs, brushing past her knees, before crumpling into an unceremonious heap atop the discarded remnants of her dignity on the floor.
Her skin tingled in the cool air, every nerve alight with a hypersensitivity that made her shudder. She could feel the weight of exposed vulnerability pressing down on her, thick and suffocating, wrapping around her chest like an iron band. The light in the room suddenly felt too harsh,
Her mind screamed at her to move, to cover herself, to claw back the sliver of control she had left—but she remained paralyzed, rooted in place as though bound by unseen shackles. She stood there, stripped bare in every conceivable way, her breath shallow, the raw edge of panic scraping up her throat like a serrated knife, leaving her voiceless and utterly exposed.
Ethan’s Perspective: Deer in Headlights
Ethan sat frozen, his body locked in a rigid stillness he couldn’t shake, like his brain had just short-circuited. He blinked once, twice, but the scene in front of him didn’t change. Stacey stood there—standing, but not really in control, her body moving with an eerie smoothness that felt completely wrong. His stomach twisted, not sure if he should be more concerned or... something else.
His eyes darted around the room, trying to find something safe to focus on—the game board, the door, Amelia’s wide-eyed expression—but they kept pulling back like a magnet, unwillingly drawn to Stacey. He could feel the heat rising up the in his stomach as the tabooness of what was going on, the uncomfortable weight pressing down on his chest, but it was like some instinctual part of him overrode the part that knew better.
It wasn’t like he wanted to stare; but also he did… it was like his brain hadn’t been given the manual on how to handle a situation like this. The air in the dorm room felt heavier, thicker, like it had turned against him. He shifted in his seat, trying to play it cool, but his fingers twitched restlessly against his knee.
Locked onto Stacey as her fingers worked the clasp of her bra. The tiny click echoed too loudly in his ears, and before he could even think to look away, gravity took over. The straps slid down her arms, the weight shifting forward, pulling her breasts down in a way that felt raw, too natural.
From behind, he saw everything—the soft swell of her chest tugging downward, her breast weight shifting downward as gravity took hold. The nipples, barely visible beneath her, peeked out just enough to send a hot rush of panic through him. She hadn’t covered herself yet, caught mid-motion, and Ethan couldn’t stop staring, even as he knew he should. His throat felt dry, and a sudden, stupid thought shot through his brain—they’re bigger than I thought. He swallowed hard, but he couldn’t fight the pull of the moment, the stark reality of it.
And then she bent forward. His pulse jumped, thudding hard against his ribs as the angle shifted, granting him a view that should never have been his. Her back arched slightly, each vertebra casting a delicate shadow beneath her skin, the gentle curve leading his gaze lower, lower, until his eyes locked onto the waistband of her underwear. The lace, fragile and thin, clung for a heartbeat longer before surrendering, sliding down in a slow, torturous descent. It hugged the swell of her hips, peeling away inch by inch, revealing the smooth expanse of skin beneath. His breath caught as the fabric slipped further, past the round fullness of her rear, the dimples at the base of her spine accentuated by the light. And then—more. A dark patch of neatly trimmed pubic hair appeared, stark against the pale skin, drawing his focus helplessly to the tender line framed between the soft contours of her lips and thighs. The way her legs shifted slightly, muscles tensing in anticipation, made it impossible to look away, each movement amplifying the unbearable intimacy of the moment. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, and he could almost feel the weight of her vulnerability pressing down on them, thick and inescapable.
Ethan swallowed hard, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.
Stacey's breath hitched, her knees buckling beneath her as she crouched to the floor in a desperate attempt to cover herself, arms wrapping tightly around her chest. Her skin prickled with the shock of exposure, every nerve ending screaming that she was way too visible, way too bare. She squeezed her legs together instinctively, her trembling fingers gripping the cool floor beneath her for stability. The sensation of cool air brushing against parts of her that had never felt it before sent an unsettling shiver down her spine.
It all happened so fast—too fast for any of them to react properly—but Amelia was the first to move.
“Ohmygod—Stace!” she gasped, scrambling off her bed in a flurry of fabric, nearly tripping over her own feet in the rush. She dropped to her knees in front of Stacey, shielding her without a second thought. Her arms hovered awkwardly, unsure of how to help without making it worse, her hoodie stretching down as much as it could over her thighs in an instinctual attempt to offer some kind of cover.
She glanced over her shoulder at Ethan and Clarissa, her face flushed but determined. “Ethan—like, could you not right now?!” she hissed, her voice quick and breathless, the panic clear as she tried to juggle both helping Stacey and managing the inevitable awkwardness of a guy being in the room. “Seriously, turn around or something!”
Ethan’s mouth opened, then closed, his face burning as his gaze darted anywhere but in Stacey’s direction. “I-I wasn’t—” He shifted uncomfortably, forcing his eyes onto the game board, but the damage was already done. The image was seared into his brain, unbidden and impossible to erase. He gripped the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “I didn’t mean to...”
Amelia groaned, rubbing a hand over her face, then whispered under her breath, “I mean, yeah, guys stare, but like... seriously?” She shook her head and turned back to Stacey, lowering her voice to something gentler. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Clarissa, still sitting on her bed, shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip as she watched the scene unfold, unsure how to help. “I—uh, should we... get something to cover her or...?”
Stacey’s breath came in shallow gasps, her forehead pressed to her knees. “I-I can’t believe this is happening…” Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with the weight of her embarrassment. Every part of her felt raw, vulnerable, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that somehow, if she didn’t see it, it wouldn’t be real.
The tension in the room felt suffocating, thick with the kind of awkwardness that clawed at the back of Ethan’s throat and refused to let go. He coughed awkwardly, his hands balling into fists against his jeans. “I... uh... I’m not looking,” he mumbled, staring so intently at the game board that the swirling colors almost made him dizzy.
Amelia shot him a quick glance, exhaling sharply but without the same edge from earlier. “Just... just give us a second, okay?” Her voice was softer now, her focus entirely on Stacey, who was still trembling under the weight of it all.
Clarissa nodded quickly, scooting back on her bed to give them space. “Yeah. Take your time, Stacey,” she added gently, though her voice betrayed how rattled she was. “This... this game is seriously messed up.”
Clarissa's Realization
Clarissa watched Stacey's body betray her, and it cemented what she'd been dreading—this game wasn’t just some weird prank. The heat radiating through her, the way it refused to subside, how she was now uncomfortably aware of every drop of sweat sliding down her back and pooling beneath her... it was all real.
She gripped the edge of the table tighter, knuckles white. "Guys," she said, her voice shaky but firm. "We need to stop. Right now."
Amelia blinked, still caught between fascination and fear. “But, like, how do we stop it?”
Clarissa’s eyes darted to the crystal ball at the center of the board, its glow pulsing softly as if mocking her. "I don't know," she admitted, swallowing the lump in her throat. "But we have to try before it gets worse."
Stacey, standing by the door completely bare, whimpered, her arms finally moving back under her control. She wrapped them around herself instinctively, her face beet red. "This is insane," she muttered, backing away from the game. "I can’t do this. I won’t do this."
Ethan, who had been suspiciously quiet, finally cleared his throat, forcing his gaze to the ceiling. "Yeah, okay, maybe this game is, uh... a little too immersive."
The Growing Fear
Clarissa’s body still thrummed with relentless heat, every nerve alight with an uncomfortable, almost unbearable awareness. Across from her, Stacey crouched low on the floor, arms crossed in a desperate attempt to cover herself, her face hidden behind strands of hair. Her shoulders shook, silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she tried, over and over, to grasp at the pile of discarded clothing beside her. Each time, her hands froze mid-motion, trembling uselessly, as if some invisible force repelled her from reclaiming her modesty.
"Why... why can't I put them back on?" Stacey’s voice broke, a whisper of disbelief tangled with fear. Her knees pulled tighter to her chest, her arm clamped across her front, and her free hand trembling between her legs, desperately shielding herself from the others' eyes.
Amelia, still stuck in her valley-girl cadence, scrambled for the nearest blanket, her hands moving in a panicked blur. “Like, don’t worry, babe! I got you!” She draped it hastily over Stacey's shoulders, shielding her as best as she could, but the moment Amelia’s hands let go, the blanket slipped away, falling uselessly to the ground.
Stacey sobbed, curling tighter. “I can’t hold it... I can’t—”
Amelia's hands hovered anxiously, holding the blanket in place with a white-knuckled grip, her expression shifting from forced perkiness to deepening dread. “Oh my god, this is, like, so... wrong. Why won’t it stay?” She tried again, pressing the fabric into Stacey’s grip, but the moment Stacey's fingers touched it, the blanket slid free like it was slipping through air. “You guys, this is, like... seriously messed up!”
Ethan stood rigid, his usual smirk wiped clean from his face, His eyes flicked uneasily between Stacey and the board, every instinct screaming at him to do something, but what? “Alright, enough,” he muttered, stepping forward and reaching for his game piece. “Let’s just... end this.”
He grabbed his pawn, yanking at it with all his strength—but it didn’t budge. The piece felt cemented in place, an immovable object that refused to acknowledge his effort. He pulled again, harder this time, his breath catching in his throat. “Come on, it’s a stupid game!”
Clarissa, now drenched in sweat and fighting her own battle against the infernal arousal heat pulsing through her body, reached for her piece, trying to shove it off the board. It wouldn’t move. Panic crept into her voice. “It’s... stuck. Really stuck.”
Stacey, still curled in on herself, whimpered. “Just... just close it. Shut the game and we’ll pretend it never happened.”
Amelia, swallowing the growing knot in her throat, tried slamming the game board shut. The hinges refused to fold. It stayed perfectly flat, unwavering, as if rooted to the very surface of the table. She shoved it, but the board didn’t slide an inch. “It’s, like, glued down or something!”
Stacey peeked up, eyes red-rimmed and glossy with tears, her lips trembling. “We need to leave... We have to get out of here.”
Ethan nodded quickly, moving to the door. “Yeah, enough of this freaky crap.” He twisted the knob, yanking it open—
Nothing.
Beyond the doorway, instead of the familiar flickering fluorescent hall of their dorm, there was only blackness. A vast, yawning void stretched endlessly in every direction, swallowing the light of the room without a trace. It wasn’t just darkness—it was absence.
Clarissa staggered back from the sight, her stomach plummeting as if she’d stepped off a ledge. “No, no, no... where the hell is the hallway?”
Ethan stared into the void, his pulse hammering in his ears. He slammed the door shut again and turned, trying to keep his voice steady. “Okay. Not normal. Definitely not normal.”
Amelia let out a shaky breath, her grip tightening on the blanket still draped over Stacey. “Guys... I think we’re, like, stuck in here.”
Stacey’s breathing grew shallow, chest rising and falling rapidly. “No, no, I can’t—I need to get out of here!” She tried to stand, to make a break for the door, but with every frantic movement, she was reminded of her nakedness, of the way her own body refused to cooperate. She sank back down, hands trembling in helpless frustration.
Clarissa pressed a hand to her forehead, fighting the oppressive heat still thrumming through her, but she forced herself to think. "I don’t think we can leave... not until it’s over.”
Amelia, tears pooling in her eyes, nodded reluctantly. “We... we have to keep playing, don’t we?”
Ethan groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Are you kidding me? After all of this, you still think we should roll again?”
Clarissa didn’t want to say it, but deep down, she knew. The weight of reality pressed down on her, heavy and inescapable. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “We don’t have a choice.”
The words hung in the air, sinking deep into each of them like lead. Stacey let out another small, broken sob, her shoulders trembling as she pulled her knees tighter against her chest, face buried in the crook of her arms. The once-familiar dorm room—the place that used to be their safe space—felt alien now. The walls loomed closer, the air thick and unmoving, like it was pressing in inch by inch, suffocating them all.
Ethan exhaled slowly, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. His eyes flicked back to the game board, the dice, and that cursed crystal ball at the center. It glowed softly, a pulsing mockery of their predicament, daring them to continue. Whatever this was, whatever the game had become, they were past the point of stopping. There was no way out.
He picked up the dice, rolling them in his hand, the weight of them feeling far heavier than plastic should. His jaw clenched, the muscles twitching under the strain. “Fine,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s get this over with.”
Amelia barely registered his words. Her focus was on Stacey, who was trembling so badly it made her heart ache. “C’mon, Stace,” she whispered, gently helping her back onto the bed. Stacey’s limbs were unsteady, her skin still warm against Amelia’s touch, and her breath came in uneven gasps as she allowed herself to be guided. Amelia eased her onto the mattress, sitting down in front of her protectively, pulling her oversized hoodie down over her thighs in a futile effort to create a barrier between Stacey and the room.
Without hesitation, Stacey reached around Amelia, her arms wrapping tightly around her small frame in a desperate back hug. Her face pressed into Amelia’s back, her breath hot and ragged against the fabric, and Amelia felt every shudder, every small sob against her spine. She squeezed Stacey’s arms gently, murmuring soft reassurances that felt hollow even as they left her lips. “It’s okay... I’ve got you. Just... stay here, alright?”
Stacey nodded weakly, her grip tightening as if Amelia was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her damp forehead rested against Amelia’s shoulder blades, and for a moment, the room’s suffocating tension melted into the rhythmic rise and fall of Amelia’s breathing.
Clarissa swallowed against the knot forming in her throat, her eyes darting between them and Ethan, who sat frozen with the dice in his hand. The sight of Stacey clinging to Amelia like a lifeline made something inside Clarissa twist painfully. How did it come to this?
“Guys,” Clarissa said, forcing her voice to stay even despite the shakiness threatening to creep in. “We have to keep going.” Her fingers curled into the blanket beneath her, gripping it tightly as if that could somehow anchor her.
Ethan nodded stiffly, staring down at the board with a grim expression. “Yeah,” he said quietly. His voice was steady, but there was something uneasy behind it. “We don’t have a choice.”
Amelia felt Stacey’s fingers dig slightly into her sides, as if searching for reassurance she couldn’t put into words. Without looking back, Amelia reached down and patted her hand lightly, her own breathing unsteady. “We’ll get through this,” she whispered, but even she didn’t believe it.
The dice clicked softly in Ethan’s hand, the sound far too loud in the tense silence.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
But the game was waiting.