Source JSON
Post #209634 · 1 source
inkbunny.net · 3812644:5906009 · selected
Downloader metadata · database Download
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API response · CAS Download
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"writing": "Ribbon Slut: Wedgied by my Roommate\n\nThe hot water cascades over my dark pink-and-cream fur, soothing the tension from another long day of classes. I stand under the spray in the communal bathroom, the steam filling the air with the scent of my floral shampoo, making my ribbons droop heavily with moisture. My long box braids are tucked safely under my shower cap, to keep them out of the stream. \n\nDistant giggles echo from the next stall. A pair of Lopunny girls compare their shampoo brands, while the low hum of exhaust fans mixes with the drip of unused showers. The tile under my paws is slick and cold, and every so often a tail swishes past the curtain gap, reminding me how thin the privacy really is here. \n\nFur takes forever to dry properly, so most girls linger, chatting, but I always rush. I'm too aware of my softer curves in a space full of toned athletes and graceful beauties.\n\nIt's been two weeks since the semester started, for my first year of college. The school has me rooming with an athletic Umbreon girl named Imogen. I was relieved when I heard I would be sharing my space with another Eeveelution. I've always been on the shy side, and I was hoping she would be an easy friend. \n\nThings turned out differently than I expected. She makes snide comments in the dorm, the way she `accidentally' bumps into me in the halls, and those wedgies that leave me flustered and aching in ways I can't admit. \n\nI bite my lip, the memory flooding back. Two nights ago, Imogen cornered me by my desk after lights-out, her golden rings glowing faintly as she hooked her paws into my waistband and yanked upward in one smooth motion. \n\nThe cotton dug in deep, splitting my lips, and I gasped. It was half pain, half something electric that raced straight to my core. I squirmed, begged her to stop, but my voice cracked in a way that sounded less like a protest and more like pleading for more. She laughed, low and knowing, called me a `little ribbon slut' before letting go. \n\nI spent the rest of the night under my covers pretending to sleep, my thighs pressed together, replaying it until the ache became unbearable. I hate that I crave it. I hate it more that I never tell her to stop for real. \n\nI turn off the shower and begin to dry myself. I draw my towel just enough to glide between my thighs, careful not to linger too long. My butt still feels sensitive from yesterday's wedgie, the memory making my tail curl involuntarily against the tile. \n\nMy ribbons hang limp and heavy, the pink-and-blue tips brushing my damp hips like wet silk. I pat at my modest breasts, feeling them shift softly under the towel, then run the fabric down my flared hips. Everything about me feels too soft, too plush next to the sleek, leggy types who dominate this floor. \n\nSalazzle's with endless legs, Gardevoirs who glide like they're floating. I'm shorter, curvier, built like I was made for cuddling rather than strutting, and it always makes me shrink a little in shared spaces like this.\n\nThe cool air hits like a slap as I step fully out, goosebumps rippling across my cream fur and making my dark pink accents stand out brighter. My ribbons twitch, seeking warmth, curling around my arms almost protectively. \n\nI hurry toward the door, towel clutched tight, paws padding softly. I slow before I reach it, imagining Imogen waiting just outside. I picture her tall frame blocking the hall light, smirk already in place. \n\nWhat if she catches me again? The thought sends heat pooling low in my belly, traitorous and insistent. I shouldn't want that, but I really, really do. \n\nThe door swings open, and I step back to avoid being hit by it. A Liepard pauses in the frame with a confused look. I slide past her and begin walking down the hallway, the towel clinging to my wet fur, my bare paws silent on the muted-blue carpet. \n\nThe hallway smells faintly of popcorn from someone's microwave and the lingering tang of gym bags left by doors. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows that make every corner feel like it's watching. \n\nI hear a door click shut, probably the Arcanine across the way. The carpet muffles my steps, but every paw pad feels loud in my head. I keep my head down, towel gripped like a lifeline, praying no one rounds the corner. But the thought of eyes on me, judging and lingering, sends a shiver down my spine, heat blooming low despite the chill.\n\nI turn down the hall my room is on, up ahead I spot Imogen by the elevators. She's saying goodbye to the sly Zoroark, Wyatt, she's been seeing since the second day of classes. \n\nImogen is tall and athletic, her sleek black fur shining under the fluorescent lights, her breasts are smaller than mine, but pert in her tight top, and her firm butt flexing as she laughs and hugs Wyatt. She's a full six inches taller than me, all lean muscle and confidence that makes my stomach twist with envy and something hotter. \n\nWyatt squeezes her rear before he waves and gets onto the elevator. Imogen turns and her red eyes lock onto me. We reach the door together, her longer legs eating up the distance while I half-jog to keep pace. \n\nShe plants herself in front of it, arms crossed, smirk widening. ``Going somewhere, Charena? Or just giving the whole floor a free show?''\n\nI clutch the towel tighter, voice barely above a whisper. ``Move, please. Someone could come by any second.''\n\nShe leans in, breath warm against my ear. ``Aw, scared? You look cute when you're flustered, Ribbons'' \n\n``Let me in, Imogen.'' My voice is shaky. ``I can't stand out here naked.''\n\nShe chuckles. ``You're not naked though, you have this little cloth.''\n\nHer paw traces the edge of my towel teasingly, not quite pulling, just threatening. Then she yanks it away in one fluid motion, the fabric whipping through my paws as she darts inside. The door slams, lock clicks.\n\nCool air rushes over every inch of bare fur. My ribbons snap forward instinctively, wrapping across my chest like a makeshift bra, while my paws clamp between my thighs to cover my pussy. I'm Naked. Completely. In the hallway.\n\n``Now you're naked!'' she taunts through the wood.\n\nHeat floods my face as I cover myself, pounding on the door, begging her to open up. Embarrassment burns, but deep down, the exposure sends a rush through me, my body betraying me with a familiar warmth.\n\n``Imogen let me in!'' I beg, as I pound on our door. ``What if someone sees me?''\n\nI hear her laugh from behind the door, a cackle I've become all too familiar with. I look up and down the hall, no one, at least not yet. \n\nFootsteps echo from the stairwell, they're slow and heavy. My breath catches. Is that the Arcanine? Or her Grovyle boyfriend? I press flatter against the door, ribbons trembling, trying to make myself smaller. The warmth between my legs grows insistent, traitorous slickness gathering despite the panic. \n\n``Imogen, please,'' I whisper, pounding softer now, afraid to draw attention. ``I'll do anything, just open up.''\n\nHer laughter filters through again, lower this time. ``Anything, huh? Tempting.''\n\nThe footsteps pause... then fade away. Relief floods me, but so does disappointment. I hate how part of me wanted them to see.\n\nTears prick the corners of my eyes, and I plead with Imogen to stop messing around. ``You've had your fun, please open the door!''\n\nHer laughing calms down, and the door swings open. ``Ok, Char, no need to cry like a baby.''\n\nI run into the room, and close the door behind me. The warmth feels nice on my still soggy fur. I stand in the center of our dorm and pant, trying to catch my breath. I wipe the moisture from my eyes, as Imogen begins to laugh softly again. \n\nI grab my towel off the floor, where she dropped it. I finish drying off my damp fur, before tossing it into my laundry basket. I pull off my showercap, carefully feeding my ears through the holes cut out for them. \n\nImogen flops onto her bed, kicking off her shoes with a casual grace. The dorm is small, our beds along opposite walls. The floor is cluttered with textbooks and snacks, the air faintly scented with her musky perfume.\n\nOther than the beds, the only furniture in our room is two desks at the base of our beds, and two dressers we have next to each other below the window on the wall opposite the door. \n\nThe overhead light is dimmed low, just the desk lamps and the soft glow of Imogen's yellow rings casting warm shadows across the cluttered floor. The only sound is the hum of the mini-fridge and distant hallway chatter filtering through the thin walls. \n\nMy side smells like vanilla candle wax and laundry softener. Imogen?s has the sharp musky edge of her perfume mixed with gym sweat and whatever dark-cherry energy drink she's chugging before bed. It makes the room feel divided, like two territories in one small space. \n\nHer side of the room is decorated sparsely with posters of bands I've never heard of, and a photo collage of her friends from back home. My side is much softer. A pastel tapestry hangs on the wall next to my bed, and I even brought my own pink sheets and purple blanket for the bed. \n\nI don't feel much embarrassment being naked in the room with her, especially since she isn't even paying any attention to me. I mean, we've both seen each other bare-furred plenty since we started here, but I still get that nervous excitement when I feel her eyes on me. \n\nI go over to my small dresser and fish out my lacy black panties. I blush and side eye Imogen to see if she's looking. I slip the delicate fabric up my legs, the lacy hugging my round butt and sliding over my fur. \n\n``Ooh, sexy undies for bed?'' Her voice has that teasing lift that lets me know I have her attention. ``Who are you trying to impress, ribbon girl?'' she props herself up on an elbow.\n\n``They're just comfortable.'' I tell her, my cheeks burning.\n\n``Uh-huh.'' Her smirk widens, rings glowing a shade brighter. ``Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Char.''\n\nI turn away to hide my blush, as the heat begins to pool lower. Her voice follows me like a touch, making every slide of fabric feel performative. I want her to stop looking, but I also never want her to stop.\n\nThe lace settles high on my hips, the delicate pattern scratching lightly against my fur in a way that's almost ticklish. I smooth it down over my butt, feeling the way it cups and lifts, accentuating curves I usually try to hide. \n\nMy tail flicks nervously, brushing the backs of my thighs. I glance at Imogen again, and she's scrolling her phone now, but her ears twitch like she's listening. Heat creeps up my neck as I step into the gray pajama bottoms, pulling them up slowly so the waistband snaps gently against my fur. \n\nThe loose black shirt comes next. It drapes off one shoulder, exposing the cream fur there, and the bottom shows off my midriff. I tug it down self-consciously, but I leave some of it rumpled, hoping she'll notice, comment, or do something.\n\nAn idea flashes into my head. I walk over to my backpack, bend down, and start to rummage through it. My butt sticks out, my pajamas stretching taut, and my panties peeking over the waistband. I hold my breath, hoping she'll notice.\n\n``Have you seen my phone charger?'' I say to avoid suspicion, and get her attention. \n\nI make a show of digging deeper into the backpack, knees bending, tail lifting slightly as my butt pushes out toward her side of the room. The lace edge of my panties is visible above the waistband like an invitation I can't voice. \n\nMy pulse hammers so loud I swear she can hear it. Please notice me. I think, even as shame burns in my chest. I pretend to search harder, shifting my weight so my hips sway just a fraction. \n\n``Seriously, where is it?'' I mutter, voice breathy.\n\nMy heart races as I hear her bed creak, her footsteps are quick behind me. She grips the back of the panties and pulls them up, forcefully. \n\nThe fabric bites in sharp and sudden, wedging deep between my cheeks with constant pressure. I lurch forward, paws flying between my legs to cup myself, a quiet screech escaping before I bite it back. \n\nThe lace digs, stretching taut, sending sparks of stinging pleasure racing up my spine. My legs tremble, and I feel the wet heat building already, dampening the front of the panties.\n\n``Still comfy?'' Imogen mocks, twisting the waistband for emphasis.\n\n``Let me go,'' I beg, but my voice cracks, half-hearted, almost a whine. \n\nInside, I'm screaming the opposite. Harder, please! Don't stop! My ribbons twitch uselessly at my sides, curling in embarrassment and helpless arousal.\n\nShe doesn't let go, instead she gives another sharp tug, bouncing me forward onto my toes. The lace saws deeper, friction igniting every nerve between my cheeks and straight to my clit. \n\nA fresh gush of wetness soaks through. I can feel it now, unmistakable, clinging to the fabric. My knees buckle slightly, paws pressing harder to hide the evidence, but the pressure only makes it worse. No, better.\n\n``These are sexy, Char?'' she mocks again, voice amused as she twists the waistband in her fist, forcing the material to ride higher.\n\n``Please, Imogen!'' I gasp, the words half sob, half plea. ``It hurts...'' But the lie is obvious in my trembling legs, the way my tail curls upward instead of tucking.\n\n``Does it?'' She leans in, breath hot against the back of my neck. ``Funny. You don't sound like it hurts.''\n\nMy ribbons coil tighter, useless, as another spark races through me. Harder. Please don't stop!\n\nShe pulls me back by my panties, making me walk with the fabric still buried deep between my cheeks. The front of the panties slips between my pussy lips, and presses hard onto my clit. She pushes me forward onto my bed face-first. \n\n``Aw, what's the matter? Can't handle a little fun?'' she purrs mockingly. \n\nShe tugs my pajama bottoms down, exposing my panty-clad bottom to the empty room. She gives another pull, lifting my legs off the ground, and I squeal, kicking futilely in the air. \n\nThe pressure builds, a mix of sting and spark that makes a wet spot bloom on the front of my panties. Shit, I'm getting so turned on, can she see it?\n\nShe releases the panties and I drop to my knees. She follows up with a smack right on my left ass cheek that echoes in the room.\n\nCRACK!\n\nThe sting spreads across my left cheek, radiating outward in waves. I rub the spot instinctively, and the pain makes my pussy clench around nothing.\n\nI flip over, propping on elbows, trying to look indignant. ``You can't just pick on me like that! It's not fair!''\n\nImogen's scowl deepens, but her eyes gleam with dark amusement. She flips me back onto my stomach with one easy shove, claws hooking the ruined waistband again.\n\n``Not fair?'' she echoes, voice dripping mockery. ``You think I care about fair, Char?''\n\nMy stomach flips. ``I-I don't-''\n\n``Save it.'' She yanks experimentally, just enough to make me yelp. ``We both know you love it, slut!''\n\nShe yanks upward again, my legs kicking uselessly as my toes leave the ground. The lace saws mercilessly with every bounce. First forward, then back, then up, and down. It's like she's using me as a living yo-yo. \n\nMy weight pulls the fabric tighter, the front panel grinding hard against my swollen clit with each drop. Wetness slicks my inner thighs now, dripping in tiny trails I feel cooling on my fur. My breaths come in short, desperate pants and my ribbons thrash wildly, wrapping around my own arms like they're trying to hold me together.\n\nImogen laughs low in her throat, the sound vibrating through her grip. ``Look at you, dangling like a caught Magikarp. Bet the whole hall could hear those little squeals of yours if I bounced you hard enough.''\n\nI bite my lip to keep quiet, terrified, yet thrilled, that she might actually test it.\n\nShe bounces me, the fabric digging deeper and deeper with each move. I want to scream, but if someone comes to check on us, it'll ruin the moment. \n\nShe continues to bounce until I hear the first threads of the panties start to pop. Then she sets me down, giving me a flicker of release. \n\nHer final pull is brutal, fabric screams as threads give way one by one, then all at once. The panties rip clean off with a sharp snap, leaving burning lines across my hips and between my cheeks. \n\nI collapse forward onto the bed, paws scrambling to catch myself. No pajama bottoms. No panties. Just my shirt.\n\nI lie draped over my bed, quivering. My dripping pussy and flushed inner thighs on full display. my tail lifted and twitching above a very bare, very round butt.\n\nWarm air hits my wet fur and I blush slightly. I curl up, ribbons whipping around to cover what they can, but it's useless. I?m completely exposed in front of her.\n\nImogen dangles the shredded lace from one claw, inspecting the dark, glistening wet spot at the front like it's evidence in a trial. \n\nShe chuckles, low and satisfied. ``Look at that mess. You're such a perv, Charena. Dripping like this from a little wedgie? Pathetic.''\n\nShe tosses the rags onto my desk, where they land with a soft, humiliating plop. My face burns hotter than the sting ever could.\n\nI pant on my bed, my body humming from the ordeal, the warm air teasing my sensitive pussy. I stand, my legs shaky. I look over my shoulder at her. \n\nImogen has already climbed back into her bed, without another word. She?s facing the wall, her phone screen lighting up her fur as she starts to scroll.\n\nI grab my pajama bottoms off the floor, where they were unceremoniously stripped off of me. I pull them back up, the fabric rough against my sensitive fur. I don't bother with underwear this time. \n\nI climb into my bed and slide under the covers, turning away from Impgen. My mind replays every yank, every taunt, and heat pools between my legs. I can't ignore it, not anymore.\n\nI lie on my side, with my knees drawn up, the sheets are cool against my still warm fur. My pussy throbs insistently, a deep ache that refuses to fade even now that the wedgies are over. \n\nI tell myself to just sleep. I have classes tomorrow, I need rest. My body doesn't want to listen, it's needy. Every shift of the mattress sends a fresh pulse between my legs.\n\nI glance back again. Imogen's breathing is slow and even. Her phone screen has dimmed, casting only faint light across her black fur. I'm safe... Maybe. My paw trembles as it moves down, hesitating at the waistband. One touch and I'll be lost. I know I should stop. I know I won't.\n\nI pull the front of my pajama bottoms down, just enough for my paw to drift lower. I rub my sensitive lips, feeling the heat and wetness coating my claws. I bite my lip to stay quiet, circling slowly at first, then faster as the memories flood. \n\nI think about her stripping me in the hall. The wedgie lifting me off the ground, after I talked back. The rip of the fabric, while she bounced me. And her calling me a slut, for the wet spot she found. \n\nI plunge two claws inside, but imagine they're Imogens. I curl them, thinking about what would have happened if she didn't stop. What if she'd pinned me down, yanked my panties harder, called me her little ribbon slut? What if she made me cum right there while she was bouncing me in her grip? \n\nThe fantasy tips me closer, and my hips rock involuntarily against my hand, sheets rustling faintly. I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't crave her cruelty. But damn, I do.\n\nMy pace quickens as my excitement builds. My claws thrust deeper, the slick sounds muffled by the covers. My free paw clamps over my muzzle, but a tiny whimper escapes anyway. \n\nImogen shifts in her bed. It's just a little rustle of sheets, but I freeze. My heart is slamming, and my lips are pulsing, squeezing my fingers hard. Did she hear? Is she listening?\n\nThe thought of her turning, golden rings glowing as she watches me fall apart, sends me over. My body arches under the blanket, ribbons spasming, tail curling tight as the orgasm crashes through me in silent, shuddering waves. Wetness floods my fingers, soaking the pajama fabric. I bite down on my paw pad to stay quiet, riding the aftershocks until my muscles finally go limp.\n\nI lie there panting, paw still between my legs, the last pulses fading into a warm, heavy glow. Then shame creeps in slowly, mixing with the satisfaction. I just came thinking about my roommate bullying me, ripping my panties, calling me pathetic, and I don't regret it. Not really.\n\nTomorrow she'll probably tease me again. Maybe worse. The idea makes my pussy twitch with fresh heat, but I'm too exhausted to go again. \n\nI pull my bottoms back up, the wet fabric clings to my fur. I roll onto my back, and stare at the ceiling. I grab my bonnet off the bedpost, put it on, and carefully tuck my braids into it. My ribbons relax, draping limply over the pillow as I lie my head down.\n\nI don't know what this makes me. But I know I want more.\n\nThe End\n\n"
}