Marti Ch. 01: The Streak

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

This is a prequel to my Repo'd series (which I promise that I will update soon). It gives backstory to Marti, a mailgirl in the Repo'd story whose character, although currently minor, will become more important in coming chapters. However, as this story is set in 2025, six years before the Repo'd series really gets going, it is not necessary to read the Repo'd series to understand this fiction.

The choice of categories to place the story into was difficult as there are consensual and nonconsensual aspects to the story. I selected Exhibitionist & Voyeur but this story could have been just as easily been placed in Nonconsent/Relectant, BDSM, First Time, or Erotic Couplings. If you disagree with my choice, my apologies in advance.

All characters are 18 years of age or older. The story, names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended or should be inferred. Any similarity with the names of real people is only coincidental. This story is intended as erotic entertainment only; it's pure fantasy and highly politically incorrect. Please don't try this at home. It's not written to be morally, ethically, or legally, proper. If such offends you, please don't read it.

_________

I'll never forget the day, Saturday, September 23rd, 2025, the first time that I was nude in public. I was a sophomore attending a private school, Cornetta College and, along with three of my Sigma, Zeta Lota sorority sisters, Morgan, Terry, and Suzi, we decided to attend a party at Beta Delta Nu, a frat house at nearby North Carolina Tech. It was one of our favorite party destinations.

The home of the bad boys on campus, Beta Delta Nu was often referred to as NC Tech's "Animal House." You might ask why four coeds like us found ourselves at such a naughty fraternity; it's because the naughty boys were a lot more fun. The Beta boys were cute, they served free alcohol, and their parties were absolutely wild, off the rails. You literally never knew what to expect at a Beta party. I'll admit, the place stank of stale beer, the floor was sticky in places, the kitchen was just ghastly, and the bathrooms were worse but, when you entered the Beta house, it was as if you left civilization behind and entered into a different world, a world of insanity, hedonism, free alcohol, and high octane partying.

I was already seriously feeling the buzz after allowing myself a few sips of the fraternity's signature libation, a knock-your-britches-off house punch made with sugar, powdered flavoring, straight grain alcohol, and ice, specially blended to help coeds make bad life choices. Almost pure ethanol, it was a one swallow, two swallow, three swallow, floor, concoction that went down like Kool-Aid but with an antifreeze aftertaste. I was attempting to limit myself as a little too much of this mind-altering giggle-juice and I could end up dancing on a table in the middle of the party singing bad karaoke in my skivvies or worse, agreeing to a naked forfeit bet and potentially having to streak or something.

It was the weekend of the big game, the Fighting Bobcats of North Carolina Tech versus their arch rival, the Tar Heels of the University of North Carolina. The only Tar Heel fan in the room, I'd come decked out in my Carolina blue t-shirt with UNC stenciled on the front just to tease the guys and found myself in a sea of green and gold, the colors of NC Tech. UNC was riding a four game winning streak over Tech, to tease the Beta house boys, I boasted of an easy Tar Heel victory and bantered playfully with them.

"Dreadful looking shirt you've got on there," one of the frat brothers said, referring to my Tar Heel t-shirt.

I smiled as I pulled down my shirt a little so everyone could read the UNC logo, then modeled the shirt some before twirling around so they could read the back "Go Tar Heels".

"I got this shirt four years ago." I said. "It's my lucky shirt. I wear it every time UNC plays Tech and it's never seen a loss. Let me guess, your shirt's never won."

The mostly green and gold clad Beta boys frowned.

"You need one of these pretty shirts." The young man gestured to his green and gold NC Tech t-shirt.

"I've already got one." I said. "I was given one of those t-shirts a few years ago. I use it to wash cars."

"Sacrilege," one of the frat boys complained.

"The way Tech's been losing to the Tar Heels every year, maybe it's time you guys ought to stop wearing those Tech shirts and start washing your car with them as well," I said with an expression that was half smile and half smirk.

"Brave talk." One of the frat brothers said. "Are you brave enough to back your mouth with your money?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"$100.00."

"Sorry boys," I shook my head no, "As much as I'd love to make some easy money off you, I didn't bring any cash."

"Well then, if you don't have any cash, how about backing your mouth with your skin. I'll bet this 100," the frat brother pulled a 100 dollar bill out of his pocket, "against your clothes. If you win, you get the 100 but, if I win, you streak."

I was hardly surprised by the offer. The frat boys would do anything to get one of us girls naked: money, free alcohol, dares, flattery, come-on lines, games, bets, whatever; it was as if it were their mission in life to separate pretty girls from their modesty. But, while I'll admit that their fraternity punch had me feeling no pain, I didn't think that I wasn't quite so schnockered that I was ready to make a complete fool out of myself.

If I needed any reminder of why not to enter into a naked penalty bet at the Beta house, all I needed to do was look around. A museum to drunken and humiliated coeds who'd foolishly agreed to a streaking bet or other naked wager, the frat house's walls were lined with literally hundreds photos of embarrassed naked young women, along with their underpants, tacked up on the wall as trophies. An exhibition all of the girls, over the last twenty years or so, who'd gambled their dignity at Beta house and lost, the Beta house's "Wall of Shame" collection covered the walls of the living room, kitchen, hallways, stairs, doors, and even a few over the commodes and Beta had an even more extensive photo gallery of all their bimbos (the name the frat boys gave to a girl who'd lost a bet and got her photos and panties displayed on their wall) featured on their website.

"You wish," I laughed, having no intention of becoming one of their "Beta Bimbos."

"How about 200?"

"Not happening," I said but, as the frat boys were fun and I wanted to flirt with them a little, I offered a compromise. "I tell you what, if the Tar heels win, you give me $50. But, if Tech wins, I'll come back here at noon tomorrow and I'll wash and wax your car with this shirt." I smiled mischievously, cocked an eyebrow, and gave them a bit of a shimmy. "I'll even wear my really short shorts and a little crop-top Tech t-shirt when I do it. What do you say?"

In truth, I wouldn't mind putting on a little bit of a show for them. I'd be fun. The frat boys loved this sort of thing and I didn't mind giving them a little cheesecake. They were a very appreciative audience and loved a playful banter as much as I did. It'd be a little work, some bending way over, and wiggling my ass occasionally but, after all the crap I'd given them, if Tech won, they'd deserved a little retribution. Besides, I could really use the money if the Tar Heels won.

The boys all licked their lips and grinned as they fantasized about my proposal. Seemingly very intrigued by my offer, they appeared to be on the verge of accepting it when Morgan, my friend and sorority president, stepped forward and raised her hand as if to say "halt."

"Wait a second, how about a simpler bet?" Morgan interjected as I took another sip of the fraternity punch. "How about just loser streaks?"

Blowing spiked punch out of my mouth and nose, I coughed and gasped for air as I aspirated copious amounts of the flavored ethanol into my lungs.

"What?" Still choking and gagging from inhaling the alcohol, I looked at Morgan in disbelief. "No!"

Overhearing what sounded like the beginnings of a naked wager, Grant Collins, Beta's president walked up. Grant usually represented Beta house in attempting to get achieve any type of a bet between a sorority house and Beta, particularly a naked forfeit bet like a streak.

"So if Tech wins, Marti's got to streak?" Grant said.

"Maybe," Morgan said.

"No," I blurted out, between coughs. "Morgan, you know that you can't do this."

As presidents of their respective Greek houses, both Morgan and Grant were authorized to negotiate forfeit bets on behalf of pledges and every pledge of both Sigma and Beta was required to risk at least one such naked penalty wager as part of their initiation. But, Morgan knew damned well that she had no authority to broker a bet on behalf of full-fledged sorority members such as myself.

"Let me handle this," Morgan whispered back.

"Morgan, you're drunk," I said.

"Trust me," Morgan said. "I know what I'm doing. I can get us a better deal."

"No," I said, "there is no deal. Please, just stay out of this, okay?"

"What do you mean by maybe?" Grant asked.

"You're going to have to sweeten the pot," Morgan said to Grant.

"It's already an 8 ½ point spread. How much more do you want?" Grant asked.

"If Tech wins, Marti streaks but ..." Morgan paused for dramatic effect, "if UNC wins, three of you Beta boys have to streak."

"Three?" Grant complained. "That's not fair, it should be one for one or three for three, not three for one."

"No," I said, this time emphatically. "This is getting out of hand."

"It's non-negotiable." Morgan said, ignoring me. "The bet is three to one or there is no deal."

"Morgan wait," I said. "I'll wash a car of theirs in my bikini if UNC loses but that's it. That's as far as I'll go. I'm not streaking."

"Don't worry," Morgan whispered to me. "It gets better."

"Better?" I asked. "What do you mean better? Better for who?"

Grant paused for a second to consider the offer. Clearly he didn't want to give up on the bet.

"Which three of us?" Grant asked.

Morgan smiled, "That's what'll make it interesting. We girls won't pick which of you three boys have to get naked for us until the game is over and then, whoever we pick, will have to strip buck-naked and streak immediately."

Although the young men looked a little alarmed at the risk the wager posed to each of them, they licked their lips and seemed ecstatic about the prospect of getting to undress me naked and run me around in public for their enjoyment.

"Who picks?" Grant asked.

"After the game, we'll line all you guys up and all us girls in the room will vote on which three of the guys in the room gets to pay up on the bet and strip for us," Morgan said.

"So they'd be no way for any of us to know who'd have to streak until you vote?" Grant asked.

"That's the idea," Morgan said. "You're all at risk, every guy in this room." Morgan looked right at Grant and smiled. "Including you. It'll make it more fun that way."

Grant was a decidedly handsome and well-built young man, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by Morgan. I had no doubt that Morgan was attempting use this bet to get to Grant. A bit of a domineering megalomaniac even when she was sober, Morgan would absolutely delight at punishing such a pretty boy as Grant, having him at her mercy, strip him naked, make him streak in the most embarrassing of places, and then revel as she forced Grant to beg her on his knees to give him his clothes back and let him back in the car.

"Why me?" I said to Morgan, loud enough for the whole room to hear, "If you want someone to streak so badly, why don't you do it?"

Suddenly the entire room turned their attention to Morgan, grinning at the idea that Morgan would be forced to risk her dignity. Startled, Morgan seemed conflicted and reluctant to answer. Obviously, Morgan neither wanted to lose her modesty by entertaining the guys by running around bare-ass in public nor did she want to have her panties and photos end up on Beta's wall of shame and the internet for all to see.

After all, she was Morgan Lancaster, a spoiled rich party girl, a certified arrogant blueblood, with a long pedigree of rich ancestors and relatives. A Lancaster, such as herself, didn't debase herself with acts of lewd public behavior, like streaking; it was beneath her. She didn't see it as her calling to be degraded publicly in front of others, that fate was reserved for lesser people, commoners like me.

"Are you scared?" Grant teased Morgan. "I wouldn't mind getting to see you give us a little show. What do you say?"

Morgan thought for a moment. While she didn't want to back down to Grant's challenge and just let the opportunity of getting such a deliciously handsome young man as Grant at her mercy go, Morgan didn't want to risk having to give the Beta boys a public hoochie show either. Morgan needed a way out, a way that she could still preserve the bet by force me into betting my skin instead of Morgan having to bet hers. Suddenly, Morgan smiled, as if she'd thought of something.

"Okay, then let's vote on it." Morgan said.

"Vote?" The idea took me by surprise.

I should have said something right then and stopped the vote, I really should have. Trusting Morgan Lancaster with my dignity was like hiring Bonnie and Clyde as bank guards, like picking babysitters off the sex offender registry, like trying to use a weed eater to cut your hair, like sunbathing naked under a beehive, or like trying to dry your hair in a microwave oven, it wasn't just a bad idea, it was a terrible idea. But, I didn't protest. Instead, I just considered my options.

You see, I had my own motives for the bet going forward. I'd love to see Morgan talk herself out of her clothes and onto the Beta house wall of shame. Even if it involved a little risk to myself, I'd delight in watching Morgan lose her dignity and make an embarrassing scene out of herself.

Although we ran around together, there was no real love lost between me and Morgan. In truth, I didn't like Morgan much and the feeling was mutual. She looked down on me as just poor white trash while I considered her simply as rich white trash. She wore Prada, I wore Walmart; she drove a Porsche, I didn't own a car; she payed full tuition, I could only afford Cornetta because of a tennis scholarship. And, I wouldn't have minded any of this except that Morgan loved to rub it in my face, particularly when she was drunk:

"Oh my, did you get that ensemble at the thrift store or from your grandmother."

"A piece of advice, just because you're cheap, doesn't mean that you have to dress like it."

"I'm sorry, I'd give you a nasty look but I see you've already got one."

"Do you really have that poor of fashion sense or are you just too poor to prove otherwise. Personally, I think it's choice 'C,' all of the above."

"Did you grow up in a trailer park or do you just act like trailer park trash for the hell of it?"

But, like me, Morgan, preferred to get rowdy with the rabble instead of party with the class (the rabble were a lot more fun). Despite her wealth, Morgan loved the hot tub bashes over ugly sweater parties, Beta house punch over fine wines, sexy athletes over rich aristocrats, jeans over dresses, debauchery over civility, madness over sanity, and streaking bets over polite conversation. As I was the one with friends in low places, she needed my connections and, as I was without a car, I needed her transportation. Combine that with the fact that we were both good friends with Suzi and in the same sorority, it caused us to end up partying together a lot.

Stepping up on a chair, Morgan whistled for silence.

"Quiet down please. I need everyone's attention here," Morgan said as the clamor in the room began to calm. "To make tonight's game more interesting, the Sigma sorority has agreed to make a streaking bet with Beta."

Utter pandemonium ensued. Even the other women in the room cheered. It was clear that the frat house was in the mood for a naked forfeit wager and would delight in watching someone to make a boob of themselves. Morgan gestured to the crowd to quiet down.

"The bet is, if the Tar Heels win, three of you Beta boys has to streak for us but, if Tech wins, it's a Sigma girl that's got to streak for you."

Again, a huge cheer erupted but Morgan waved to the crowd to hush.

"But, we need your help. We're trying to decide which one of us girls gets to represent Sigma if we lose, me or Marti," Morgan said as she pointed at me.

Everyone in the house looked at me expectantly, eager to see if I'd back down or bow out of the bet but, against my better judgment, I still didn't say anything. Instead, I just continued to ponder my answer. Clearly Morgan thought I'd win but I thought she was wrong. I really felt Morgan had the better chance of winning. A bleach blond with aftermarket boobs, Botox lips, and a jersey tan, Morgan flaunted her wealth and her privileged upbringing enough that I was confident the frat brothers would enjoy watching her make a bimbo out of herself. Morgan constantly put the Beta guys down and demeaned them:

"Did you eat way too many paint chips when you were a kid?"

"I certainly hope you're sterile. I'd hate to think that they'd ever let someone as stupid as you are breed."

"What do you use for birth control? Your personality or your looks?"

"I'm really glad to see you're not letting your education get in the way of your ignorance."

"Have you ever thought about taking a bath? Seriously, you out to consider it."

Surely most of the frat boys would find it fun to watch a haughty blueblood like Morgan be forced into giving them a nudie show, if nothing else, just to watch the spectacle of it

Still, I'll admit that it was a risk, a big risk. Big enough that I probably wouldn't have considered allowing the vote to go forward had I been completely sober. My first problem was that I was probably the best looking girl at the party, better looking than Morgan to be sure. Even more concerning, the Beta guys liked me a lot more than Morgan and guys usually enjoy seeing girls they like get naked more than girls they don't. I had no doubt that the horny Beta boys would absolutely delight in watching me prance around bare-ass for them. Worse yet, I was the only person in the room wearing the Carolina blue colors of the hated UNC Tar Heels and it was game day.

Of course I knew that what I was doing was dangerous, even reckless, but I was pissed (and a little sozzled, more than was wise to be dabbling in streaking bets). What set me off was that Morgan was trying to bet my skin simply as a monkey's paw to get to Grant. Morgan regarded my dignity as nothing more than cheap entertainment, a risqué sideshow that she could casually wager for her own ends and I wanted to give that haughty bitch a taste of her own medicine. After all the shit I'd taken from Morgan, I'd love to watch her fake titties and spray tanned ass be forced to streak and get herself bimbotized. Unfortunately, the opportunity to see Morgan get her due wouldn't come often (I'd never seen her put her ass on the line before), maybe never again, and I hesitated to just let it go.

So, as everyone looked at me excitedly to see if I'd agree to the bet, I finally gave them a hint of a guilty smile and an ever so slight nod of my head yes. Delirium ensued with the guys cheering and yelling at the top of their lungs. Morgan had to wait for almost a minute for the ruckus to subside enough to continue.