You are a good girl. You come from a nice family. They were never too overbearing, they supported your interests and rooted for you at your soccer games. Sure, church could be a drag and mum a tad too skittish when you started dating, but all in all, nothing too bad. You chose good boys, boys that made you feel safe- perhaps because you never felt too invested in them. At least your dad liked them, perhaps because they were a lot like him. You gave a blowjob or two, had some underwhelming sex, and thought that was happiness.
Then college happened.
Everyone changes in college, you know that. But at some point something inside you felt so... free. Away from mom and dad, away from the church, away from the small town. You started experimenting. Going to raves. Having one night stands.
But you're still the same good girl you always were, you lie to yourself- even now, even as the older man at the party hands you that pill. That deep blue pill that seems to sparkle with a life of its own, as if it held an entire universe inside it.
You're not dumb. Taking pills from men you've just met is pretty much the definition of something you wouldn't do. But in this place, the music pumping and adrenaline rushing, his blue eyes studying your face, the need to feel something new... it's all too much. You smile as you slip the blue pill under your tongue and dance on.
Well, that was a bust, you think. The pill was like those homecoming queens back home: pretty but useless. At least the music is good, so you keep dancing. The people look good too.
How come you didn't notice it sooner? Everyone looks great! The men swagger and smile confidently, and the women explode in beauty in a million different varieties: goth girls, club girls, classy girls, trashy girls. You've never considered yourself anything but straight, but... you certainly wouldn't mind a bit of experimentation.
It's hard to think when everyone around you is hot as fuck. You try to discern who among the dancers could be a fun partner for a little fun... the answer is obvious: anyone. Everyone.
Is it you or are they all dancing towards you? Around you? And why is that not only not alarming but... natural?
Anyone. Everyone. Now. Now. Now.
No. This is wrong, somehow. They weren't all hot when you came in, were they? Your pussy quickly tells you the answer: it doesn't matter. It's soaking wet and burning and in need of a good fucking and licking.
As if from a great distance, you hear the DJ announce something.
"Ladies an gentleman, we have someone susceptible to the blue pill! This is a code blue, everyone!"
Doesn't matter. You need it. You need cock in your mouth, and cum on your tits and cunts to lick and your asshole nice and pounded. The crowd comes closer. They egg you on.
"Blue! Blue! Blue!", they chant.
Blue. Such a nice name. Maybe that should be your name. Who cares about names? You're past the need for a name. All you need is to be used and abused and passed around.
You lower your panties and bend over, your short skirt riding up.
You are a good girl. As you feel the first if many yummy cocks enter your needy pussy, you're grateful that Blue isn't.
Did you enjoy this text? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu