Read part 7 here or from the beginning here.
The sailor socks went. After only twenty seconds of struggling.
Instead, her normal bestseller was the whole schoolgirl thing. Despite her own disgust at the whole kinda... well, nonce vibe, she worked with what she could. And what she had was a small body and a young-enough-looking face. Apparently, she screamed "innocence" to the hordes that were into that. Particularly when performing with the pigtails.
Celia smelt the school uniform. At least, the small piece of material that dared call itself one. She hadn't got round to washing it properly since the last time. And when had that been? Tuesday? Wednesday? Christ. That was bad. Even for her. She sniffed again. Not that it smelt... bad. Just. Musty.
And a little like her ylang-ylang lube.
Nobody was really doing much in the chatroom. When they all started chatting amongst themselves like this, it was always a weird one for Celia. Was she meant to keep doing what she was doing? Stop and try to join in the conversation? Tell them to shut it; otherwise, she wouldn't bother? Yet, the slow flow of tokens trickling in at least made it kind of worth it. She could forget they weren't there and just dance to the music she had put on.
Celia had made a few different playlists. This evening, she had a playlist she had christened big boning bonanza, which, in her head, had been very funny and clever. Her other playlists shared similar themes; a playlist to get ya kissed and horny beatz for crusty meat. She drew the line at anthems to make you cums. Couldn't bring herself to pluralize ejaculation like that.
The tokens were drying up. Celia was left with a tie that reached an inch above her belly button and little else. Nobody wanted to take her into a private session, then. She could only dance for so long. And she would rather not give the lurkers in the chat a free show, either. Celia dragged her laptop so that she was back on her bed. Not her most flattering angle, but whatever. There was a soft thud at her door, followed by a louder, more persistent noise. Looking up from her screen, she saw a flash of fur come striding into the room.
Barry Meowinglow had entered, and he was hungry.
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Read part 9 here.
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