Turboslut SciTwi 01

 

I want to be SciTwi few months after Friendship Games. I wouldn't be cooped up in the Crystal Prep broom closet anymore, and the steady sunlight plus healthy diet would flesh out my scrawny physique. More pronounced breasts, wider hips, bigger butt...

 

And all the boys would notice. It would start with Flash Sentry. I want to notice his hungry stare raking every inch of my body, and realize that he's not the only one ogling at me. I've never been checked out like that by boys before (and some girls!), and I'd want to make some effort to dress up nicely. I would ditch the sweat pants and hoodie for more revealing clothes. Knee-high socks, short skirt, purple cotton thong, and a snug fitting blouse. They're leftovers from when I was a scrawny nerd, so I would have to be careful not to let anything 'spill out.'

 

I want to walk to CHS the next morning full of regrets. I'd definitely feel the skirt riding up with each step, clearly too short for my new physique. I want to get cold feet as I see throngs of students walking all around me. It'd be too late, of course. The classes would start soon and I would *have* to spend the whole day in the outfit I chose.

 

I want to walk up the stairs to the entrance and feel my lower butt entirely exposed to anyone who happens to look up. I want to feel the hungry gaze of CHS students lingering all over me. My heart would be beating like mad the whole time. I might even try to tug down at the hem of my skirt and regret picking out such a short skirt for the thong I'm wearing. I want to feel the butterflies going wild in my stomach as my steps slow down to a crawl. I want to feel the guilty realization of my sluttiness wash over me. I want to feel the dizzying sensation of slick dampness in the gusset of my thong. I want to feel my hands shakily reach for the waistband of my skirt on their own, hiking up my skirt a little higher. Someone would quietly mutter "holy shit" just behind and below me.

 

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slut

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Could you blame me? I'd be a kissless virgin with newfound confidence and a hot body to match. I wouldn't know what to do with myself except flaunt.

 

I'd still be too afraid to date anyone. But over time, I'd realize that I actually would prefer to be ogled at than get into relationships. It would all start with that guilty arousal I felt on the stairs when I flashed my tiny purple thong at the boys behind me. I want to feel the intoxicating rush and crushing guilt of realizing that I am in fact a turboslut, and it would make me slick with arousal.

 

The weeks would come and go as usual, and I'd do schoolwork like normal, except with some whorish flair. Maybe I'd reach a bit too high on the whiteboard, letting all the boys enjoy the view. Maybe I'd bend over bit too far trying to pick up the marker that my shaking hands can't hold onto. I might turn around a little too quick when someone calls me, letting the skirt flair out and secretly wishing someone had a good look of my panties.

 

I'd get even bolder over time, of course. My wardrobe would slowly fill up with short skirts and long, slinky dresses with scandalously high slits running up to the waist. When I'm feeling sultry or just want an extra boost on the test score, I'd wear those dresses with half-back side tie panties, making sure the tied panty strap sticks out through the slit. I want to see the look on all the boys when I bend over and let the impossibly slinky dress hug every contours on my butt, making the pantyline clearly visible.

 

 

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fucking UNF. scilight is a turboslut.

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God, I would own up to being a turboslut. Fluttershy likes variety in her panty drawer, but I'd fill mine up with only the sluttiest panties. Thongs, cheekies,I micro-minis, see-thru laces, and side-ties. Imagine the look on Mr. Cranky's face when I show up to his class in my old, barely-covers-my-butt Crystal Prep uniform and a tiny purple thong. I want to feel his gaze dropping down under my desk during class see him struggling to contain his erection. I'd even spread my legs for his viewing pleasure, let him get a good look at how moist his stare makes me down there.

 

Soon, I would need more. I'd get fiercely turned on by letting everyone in CHS see glimpses of my panties, but it wouldn't be enough. Don't get me wrong, I love the boys in CHS and their creepy, lingering stares. They leave me sopping wet and squirming with arousal before the day is over. But they're boys I know. I would need complete strangers do the same for me. Boys and men I've never met staring all over me, ogling at the scant fabric barely wide enough to cover my moist slit. God, I want to feel that.

 

It'd be a new low even for a turboslut like me. I'd get carried away preparing for my first "outing" and pick out an short dress, thigh highs, and thin white panties. When the excitement of it all subsides, I'd be freaking out. I'd be standing in the mall, wearing a dress that wasn't even long enough to extend past my fingertips. I want to hear a boy muttering something about "zettai ryoiki" and feel my face light up like fire. Even with my thigh-highs pulled up as high as possible, there would be far too much of my upper thigh left bare in the cool air.

 

I'd yelp and try to tug my dress down, realizing belatedly that it's actually short enough to show some underass. I'd desperately wish for the safety of my room, but the next bus wouldn't be here for two hours. I want to be stuck in the mall dressed like a whore, being left with no choice but to let everyone see way too much of me.

 

I'd try to walk carefully looking for a secluded place to hide, but my short dress would keep riding up with each swing of my ass, revealing my tiny white panties to everyone. I want to feel myself getting wet from all the attention, and panic replaced with confident arousal. I want to corner an unsuspecting boy and slowly raise the hem of my dress for him. My panties would be sopping wet by then, leaving my swollen ladybits clearly visible through the moist fabric. I'd give him a wink and raise a finger to my lips. It would be a secret between us.

 

 

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Get back here and parade your ass around some more, slut. You know you want to.

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Please don't call me a slut. It's really degrading and I like it a bit too much.

 

All the groping talk got me thinking: What if I was the same turboslut SciTwi doing my turboslut thing, and someone laid their hands on me? Now, normally I'd take care not to let that happen in the first place. I'd dress a bit more modestly, avoid secluded areas, stick to places with reasonable security like malls or the school. I'd also avoid doing anything too slutty when I'm in front of strangers. I'd stick to just exaggerating my twirls, giving my hips more swing when climbing stairs, but nothing so explicit like I'd be doing for the boys in CHS.

 

I'd get complacent over time, of course. My thirst for more exposure would drive me to see riskier venues for my "display." Maybe even pick up riskier acts. I might start with taking the bus home much later after school to get fresh eyes lingering on me. The bus would be full of commuters, and I'd lodge my body, scant state of dress and all, into the crowd. After being squeezed for a few stops, my already-short skirt would be bunched up around my waist, leaving my thong exposed. My arms would be stuck and I wouldn't be able to fix myself.

 

I want to feel a big, meaty hand groping me right there and then. It'd start with an innocent brush of a knuckle. But after a probing touch, he'd realize that I'm stuck. I want to feel the rough callouses groping me, tracing the contours of my thong and squeezing the bottom of my butt. I'd bite my tongue and hope that he doesn't reach low enough to feel the sopping wet fabric, but he'd do exactly that. I want to feel his massive digits peeling away the bottom of my thong and fingering my moist slit. I want to moan involuntarily and cling onto the man in front of me in ecstasy, only to feel a second pair of hands tugging down at my thong from the front.

 

I'd be stuck between two perverts, getting more than what I bargained for, and loving every minute of it.

 

 

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What if you had to start riding a bicycle in your short skirt? What if other would-be sluts started to imitate you, or ask for advice? What if you started a club for sluts and you competed for slut awards that you could wear on your uniform or backpack? What if your neighbors discovered your proclivities and you noticed them looking in through your windows in the evenings? What if a teacher offered to give you straight A's in exchange for your pantsus? What if it was a grill teacher? What if you had to be spanked to correct your sluttery? Inquiring minds want to know.

 

Slut.

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I'd take the most public route possible, ones with a lot of pedestrians.

Refer them to Rarity for the... ehem, skirt length alterations.

I wouldn't start a club. Slutting is a personal experience, and everyone should do it pressure-free in a way that suits them best.

I might consider putting on a private show just for those perverts. :)

I'd never had problems with my grades. Especially not after spreading my legs daily for Mr. Cranky's visual enjoyment.

S-see pic.

Why would anyone do such a thing?

S-stop. You're making me all hot and bothered.

 

 

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Moar, slut.

 

Like dis. Slut.

 

I need to live vicariously through you.

Slut.

 

pretty pleaseslut

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After the bus fingering incident, I'd be remorseful of my turboslut ways. I'd wonder what I was thinking, letting bunch of strangers finger me raw on the bus. I might even try to stash away my slutty clothes, swear to myself I'd never let it happen again. But the mind-numbing sensation of meaty fingers probing my slit would linger, and I'd relapse back to my slutty ways.

 

On the first day of relapse, I'd try to pick out something relatively modest and promise myself that this would be the last hurrah. Tiny black scrunchback panties, poofy skater skirt, thigh boots, and a cardigan with no bra. The skirt would balloon out and show too much thigh, but it'd be the longest skirt I have. Oh, how far the modest nerd has fallen. The arousal I feel would be accentuated by the soft fabric of cardigan rubbing against my bare nipples. I'd be struggling to keep myself modest, brushing down the back of my skirt constantly to make sure that I stay covered.

 

The boys would stare as usual, and I'd find myself falling naturally into my role as a classroom eye candy. I'd volunteer for every problem, reaching high on the whiteboard, making sure all the boys gets to see my half-covered butt peeking out from under the hem of my short skirt.

 

The bell would ring, and Mr. Cranky would ask me to stay. He'd say something about my latest test score, and how it needs a "boost." I want to feel the perverted grin spread across his face as his hands creep up my bare thighs. I want to comply like the turboslut I am, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand to the thin waistband of my black scrunchback panties. He'd slap my butt hard, telling me that he's the one in charge, and begin to cup and grope my pubic mound. I want to feel his fingers push the bottom of my panties aside, and slip into my moist slit. I want to buck my hips into his hand, let out a whorish moan. All for that perfect test score.

 

 

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Because Principal Celestia nad VP Luna are pretending to be worried about the school's image so they have an excuse to take turns bending you over their desks and paddling you. Would you play along, and feign remorse, or would you moan like a whore unable to control her base instincts? Would you go to their offices and tell them what a shameless slut you are and ask them to treat you like a bad girl because you deserve it? Would you have to stop in every day and lift up your skirt for them so they can be sure you *are* wearing panties, and that they're not something out of a porn store...until you duck into the girls room to swap them out for something better. How long until they catch on?

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SciTwi would HATE the panty checks. I can't imagine being that turboslut and being forced to wear boy shorts all day. I'd get randomly called in by the sisters to lift my skirt up and make sure nothing too lacy or strappy is going down there. Luna would then dismiss me, patting my ass and calling me a good girl.

 

I'd get tired of the panty restriction quickly. While furiously rubbing my slit one night after an especially pent-up session of public park sluttery, I'd get an idea. The rule says I *have* to wear boyshorts under the skirt, but says nothing about what I can wear *under* the boyshorts.

 

The next morning, I'd get dressed as usual with something extra. A snug pop band shirt cropped at the navel, short side-zip skirt, thigh highs, and burgundy boy shorts. Underneath the boy shorts, a tiny pink thong. I'd get called in to the principal's office in the morning, have my boyshorts inspected, and let go with a pat on my butt.

 

In the classroom, I'd mutter something about the AC not working. I'd stand up, unzip my skirt and slowly pull it down, bending over all the while. I want to glance behind me and see the looks on all the boys' faces. I'd gently wiggle my butt and ask them what's wrong. They're just "shorts" you know. I'd pick up my discarded skirt, put it in my backpack, and strut around in front of the class. Tidying up markers and whatever else for Mr. Cranky. I want to feel their eyes fixated on me.

 

When the class starts, I'd make sure to sit on the edge of my seat. The boy sitting behind me would get a full view of my boy shorts, bottom half of my ass visible even from his angle. It'd be like those girls in volleyball shorts he likes so much, but much closer. The thin cotton fabric of my boy shorts would hug all the contours. Dimples, faint outline of my pink thong, he'd see all of it. I want to stare back at him occasionally, make eye contact, and see his eyes widen when I tug on my thong for that whale tail that he's dying to see.

 

Of course, Luna and Celestia would get a wind of my illegal sluttery quickly. I'd get called in for another panty check, and I'd just put my skirt back on like nothing happened. The boy behind me would sigh in disappointment, and I'd lift up my skirt for him on the way out. I'd be extra slutty for him when I'm back.

 

By the time I arrive at Celestia's office, the sisters would be waiting for me with a paddle. Before I can even say a word, Luna would grab me by the wrists and bend me over the mahogany desk. I want to feel Celestia's sharp fingers digging into my waistband, stripping my boyshorts down from under my skirt. I want to hear them berate me, pulling on my pink thong with my skirt upended around my waist. It'd be humiliating, but at the same time, there would be butterflies going absolutely wild in my stomach. I want to feel a wave of shamed arousal wash over me.

 

The paddling would start with my pink thong still on. I hate spanking, it's a shit-tier fetish, but I'd still find myself letting out bestial moans like a whore. The sound of spanking would pick up a slightly moist tone as my inner thighs begin to drool with arousal. Luna would berate me, digging her hand under my shirt and pinching my erect nipples. I want to hear myself howl in base arousal, feeling myself nearing the edge. The spanking would stop abruptly. The sisters would know what's going on, and they'd deny me the climax.

 

With the spanking done and my buttcheeks on fire, I'd be squirming and humping against the desk, trying to claim the climax denied me. Celestia would pull me up by my hair, and rip my boyshorts off of my legs. Luna would toss me a skirt that looked more like a thick pleated belt, ordering me to put it on. She'd tell me that it's my punishment for disobeying. I'd have to spend the rest of the day in my tiny pink thong and a skirt that extended barely past my wrists. I'd have to feel my stinging butt every time I sit, to be reminded.

 

 

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I bet you'd be staying after classes a lot. I bet you'd lie in bed, masturbating to the feeling of all those eyes on you, all those hands rubbing over your body, all those people whispering behind your back. Would your face get red? I bet the shame would make your cunt even wetter.

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It wouldn't be my fault. Mr. Cranky would always find something wrong with my homeworks or quizzes, and deduct just enough points to get my attention. He'd ask me to stay after class, and there would always be some kind of "physical" price for fixing it.

 

As much as I want him to, he wouldn't be able to finger me *all* the time. Celestia and Luna would be prowling the hallway, and he'd lose his job if he got caught with his hands under my skirt. He'd have to settle for me teasing him: Lewdly bending over and picking things up from the floor. Erasing the whiteboard on tiptoes with my skirt hiked up. Grinding my moist cooch against the corner of his desk as he tries to "figure out" the grading mistakes. Letting my boobs spill out as I bend over some calculations.

 

God, the shame would be unbearable. Every class period would end with me feeling absolutely degraded, wondering how a nerd with a bright future became an object of lust. But it'd also turn me on something fierce, leaving my panties soaking wet and legs quivering as I walk down the hallway.

 

In certain times of the month, the arousal might prove to be too great. The lingering gazes of all the boys would be too much for me to handle, and I'd duck into a less populated hallway. I'd shove my shaking hands down my panties, and feel my dripping wet cunt swollen with arousal. I'd finish myself off right there and then, not even paying heed to the several pairs of eyes fixated on my sopping wet and transparent panties. I want to feel the unbearable shame of watching boys whip out their phones as I climax. I want to feel my legs give out and leave me collapsed on top of my own puddle of public culmination.

 

 

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This is the best thread that I have ever seen on this board.

God bless you, Twilyslut.

How far would you go to get off in public?

Would you suck a cock in the hallway?

Let boys shove their sweaty dongs between your thighs?

HOW LOW CAN YOU GO

HOW LOW

CAN YOU GO

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Celestia and Luna would be sticklers for rules, understandably. They'd be okay with playing along with my sluttery, letting me borrow their slutty panties, spanking me and forcing me to wear slutwear in school as "punishment." But some things would be off-limits, like teachers fingering me for better grades, or boys exposing their dongs for me in school grounds. I'd find ways to do all of those anyway, but I'd have to be super careful not to get caught.

 

On a particularly rough month, my arousal would become unbearable. I'd show up to school wearing a slutty getup, fully prepared for a public outing right after school. I'd take cues form Rarity's whorish styling guide: Bridal-white push-up bra, a matching lacy thong, garters and white thigh-highs, 4-inch heels, and a slinky white dress with side slits running up above my waist. The whole ensemble would look like something out of a pornographic wedding flick. I'd be staring at myself in the mirror, stunned and aroused, occasionally turning around and checking out my own butt. The lewd 'Y' would be visible just below my butt dimples, and I'd shudder in ecstasy. I'd be desperate to let all the boys see me like this.

 

After the grueling few hours of classes, it'd all be over. Everyone would cheer and rush out of the classroom, and I'd sigh with relief. My mind would race, trying to pick out a public place to relieve my pent-up lust. I'd get up and realize just how moist I am in my lacy thong. I'd feel the need to get my sluttery fix NOW, or I might end up doing something regrettable, like sucking off a stranger.

 

I'd pick out a boy, not caring who he is, and lock eyes with him. That poor thing. He'd stutter, wondering what a slut like me would want with him. I'd close the classroom door behind me, do a twirl, and stick my butt out for him. I want to see the look on his face as I slowly lift the rear strip of my side slit dress, holding it up in my arm, leaving my sopping wet lacy thong for him to ogle at.

 

Inevitably, he'd lose control and dry hump me. Or it'd be me who loses control and drive my moist cunt into his crotch. Either way, he'd cling onto my tits from behind, groping me and humping me like a dog. I'd yelp and try to push him away. I'd be in big trouble if Celestia or Luna found me like this. But the push and shove would just lead to me clutching at his wrists and guiding his hands lower and lower, all the way down to my moist lacy thong. I want to feel him roughly cup my pussy and peel the lacy fabric away, trying to slip his calloused digits into my sopping wet pussy. I'd let out a guttural moan and buck my hips against his hand desperately wanting him to pleasure me.

 

Alas, his fingers alone would not be enough. I'd need something lewder to get my fix.

 

I'd unzip his pants and free his stiff member, and gently guide his veiny cock inbetween my moist thighs. I want to see the look on his face as I ask him to thrust away, grinding slowly against his stiff cock with my moist cunt, separated only by a sopping wet lacy thong. I want to throw my head back and moan as I feel his cock rub against my engorged clit. I'd look down occasionally to see the lewd display of his head peeking out inbetween my inner thighs, and it'd drive me absolutely wild.

 

After what seems like an eternity, he'd finally let out ropes of his passion, staining the front of my dress. I'd be too busy mired in my own arousal to notice. He'd pinch my nipples with the final stream of passion, and I'd cum violently on top of his dick. I want to feel my knees grow weak as waves of pure bliss wrecks my brain. I want to feel my legs quiver involuntarily. I want to feel the shame of having came all over my panties and my dress stained with cum.

 

I want to walk out of the classroom with my hair in total disarray. I want the world to see the dried mess on my dress, the half-lowered strap of my lacy thong. After today, nobody would doubt that I am in fact a turboslut.

 

 

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Look, slut, you're gonna have a lot more fun if you just admit what you are, and embrace it. Your'e a slut. Say it. You'll feel better when you do. You love to show off, you love to make the boys and girls hot and bothered. You love to wear tiny skirts and tinier underwear, decoletage and no bra, you love the eyes on your most intimate regions, and the rumors flying about you. You probably started some of them yourself, didn't you? It's ok, slut, we're all friends here.

 

Now, bend over and slide those panties down. Right here in front of everyone, and tell us all what a Slutty McSlutslut you are. Then you earn your reward of being told how to dress.

 

Yes You have the guys fapping, and the ladies schlicking. How does that make the school's biggest slattern feel?

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The rumor would start on its own without any input from me. Between me strutting around the hallway in miniskirts and having too many "after class" sessions with Mr. Cranky, there would be some truly ridiculous rumor floating around. "SciTwi is letting Cranky finger her raw for points" or "SciTwi sold her normal underwear on Ebay and bought a bunch of slutwear."

 

I'd love the rumors to bits, though. Every time I walk by a group of boys, I'd overhear them whispering something about "turboslut" or "cocksleeve." I'd pretend not to hear them, but my cunt would be drenched by the degradation. After realizing that lewd rumors about myself turns me on something fierce, I'd start a few of my own. I'd tell closeted nerds like Micro Chips that I'm a trap, and turn around and tell chads like Flash Sentry that I hop portals to take horsecock in my cunt. God, just imagining those boys viewing me with disdainful lust makes my legs quiver with arousal.

 

I'd never do such a thing on the Internet! Well, a-at least not yet. Instead, I'd occasionally corner a random boy or a girl when I'm feeling extra slutty, slowly peel my panties down halfway, and let them see just a tiny peek of my swollen folds.

 

Like another day in CHS, except somehow more intimate. I'd feel like I'm doing some kind of confessional, writing all of my slutty escapades down in a diary.