I stepped through the apartment door, my body slightly tired—I had just finished a long day at the Los Angeles school, where the boys had once again followed me with their gazes, but I managed to resist them.

My blonde hair had come loose from a low bun, falling in messy strands over my shoulders, and my clothes—a navy blue T-shirt, black skirt, gray jacket, and socks—were slightly wrinkled. It was almost six o’clock, and I dreamed only of a shower and bed—the day had been exhausting, full of small battles.

After that crazy day at school without panties, I managed to keep myself out of trouble for a week and focus on work.

"This week, I’ve been good and focused on why I came to this city," I thought, tossing my bag onto the couch and taking a deep breath, recalling a successful week at school.

Things had gone really well at school; the boys all passed last week’s assessment, some barely, but they passed nonetheless. I had managed it, and for the first time, I dared to admit to myself that Laura’s suggested strategy had been helpful, especially for those boys.

I was very proud of myself and received kind words and praise from colleagues.

"Stella, you’ve worked miracles with them," they said, and, "None of us would have believed this at the start of the year."

My thoughts were interrupted by Laura. "Stella, you’re back!" she said, her voice full of energy, and I felt my shoulders tense—Laura, my roommate, was always like that, vibrant and confident, her wavy dark brown hair and sparkling brown eyes filling the room, her slim figure and beautiful features—high cheekbones, full lips, slightly curved nose—making her someone who drew attention, and I, innocent and shy, was always a bit in her shadow.

"I invited Marcus over for dinner—he’ll be here soon!" she added, and I froze, my heart beating slightly faster.

"Marcus?" I asked, my voice trembling, Laura appeared at the kitchen door, smiling slyly, her black top and short jeans accentuating her toned body, and she smelled faintly of vanilla, mingling with the garlic and bacon aroma wafting from the kitchen.

I asked if Sergei was coming too, and she gave a negative response. The last time I saw Sergei dancing, he’d said he wanted to talk to me about something.

Laura continued, "Marcus is coming alone, I really like him, and I want you to help me keep the conversation going tonight," she said, stepping closer, and I blushed.

"I’m tired, Laura," I mumbled, my hands trembling slightly around the strap of my bag.

"I just wanted to go to bed…" I said.

"Oh, don’t be boring!" she interrupted, pulling me into the kitchen. "We’ll eat together, chat, drink wine—it’ll relax you!"

I wanted to protest. "Laura, I really…" But her confidence was, as always, too much. I was always like this, susceptible to her influence, and wine sounded dangerous but also tempting. "Fine," I nodded finally, my voice quiet, and I felt that anxiety, that innocent tension I always carried, starting to rise within me.

When Marcus arrived, the table was already set—Laura had made a simple pasta carbonara, smelling of garlic and bacon, steam still rising from the plates, and two bottles of red wine awaited opening, their dark glass glinting in the kitchen’s lamplight.

Marcus was tall, with dark brown hair and a soft smile—he wore a casual shirt and jeans, giving him a relaxed look, and his eyes sparkled as he looked at Laura.

"Hi, Stella," he said, extending his hand, and I shook it, my cheeks burning slightly.

"Hi," I replied, my voice almost inaudible, and I felt his gaze slide over my T-shirt.

"You look kind of tired today," he added, and I nodded.

"Long day," I mumbled, sitting at the table as Laura opened the first bottle of wine and filled the glasses.

We ate, talked, and drank—the pasta was salty and creamy, the wine red and slightly bitter, and Laura kept the conversation alive—she talked about her day, Marcus’s job as a bartender, how she loved LA’s nightlife, and I shared about my successful week at school.

She kept talking about school. "Stella, you should have more fun," Laura said, laughing, and I blushed.

"I like keeping things calm," I replied, raising the glass to my lips, and the wine warmed my body, and my senses—it was my second glass, and I felt my shoulders relax, my head starting to spin slightly.

"You’re too sweet for this city," Marcus said, and I felt my heart beat faster.

"She’s innocent," Laura added, her brown eyes twinkling mischievously, and I blushed even more.

"Stop it, I’m not," I protested, my voice trembling, trying to smile, but their confidence filled the room, leaving me feeling even more vulnerable—but the wine did its work, and that anxiety inside me started turning into something else—a light heat creeping into my body.

When the table was cleared—plates in the sink, wine bottles half-empty—Laura placed an empty bottle on the floor.

"Let’s play spin the bottle!" she announced, her eyes sparkling.

"If the bottle lands on you, you answer a question or, if you don’t want to, take off a piece of clothing!"

I stared at her, my heart pounding. "Laura, no," I said, my voice trembling. "I’m tired, I don’t want…"

"Oh, don’t be boring!" she interrupted again. "It’s fun!"

I blushed—the wine had relaxed my body, fogged my senses, and it made me shyer. "I don’t know…" I mumbled, my hands trembling.

"Come on, it’s just a game!" Laura said, and Marcus nodded in agreement. "It’s fun—I’m in!"

Laura pulled me into the kitchen. "I want to grill Marcus a bit—he really likes me, and I want to know more about him," she whispered, her brown eyes gleaming.

"But how?" I asked, my voice trembling, and she smiled slyly.

"We’ll make a deal—put on a few extra clothes, and you help me question him—if he doesn’t answer, he has to take something off! There are two of us, so we have twice as many clothes, we can grill him well, and if he refuses, he’ll have to strip. It’s fun.

And besides, you said yourself you don’t know much about Sergei, what he does, this is your chance. It’s a plan!"

I blushed. "Laura, this is crazy…"

"No, it’s fun!" she interrupted. "Help me, Stella—you promised!"

I nodded reluctantly, my heart pounding. "Fine," I mumbled, and we put on extra clothes—I added a gray jacket over my T-shirt and pulled on socks, Laura added a long cardigan over her black top and short jeans. "It’s a game," I thought, the winemaking my head spin slightly, and I felt that anxiety mix with a strange anticipation.

We sat on the floor, the bottle in the middle—my clothes were black lace panties, a lacy black bra, a navy blue T-shirt, a black skirt, a gray jacket, and socks—I spun first, and the bottle landed on Marcus.

"An innocent question to start," I said. "What was your first impression of Laura?" Marcus laughed. "She was beautiful and fun—I thought she was the life of the party," he answered, and Laura giggled.

"Good answer!"

The next spin and the bottle landed on me. "Stella," Marcus began, "what was your first impression of Los Angeles?"

I blushed. "It was… big and scary," I answered. I wasn’t used to such a bustle, and they nodded.

"That was easy," Laura said, and I felt relief. "This isn’t so bad," and the wine relaxed my body.

The next spin—the bottle landed on Laura. "Laura," I asked, "what’s your most embarrassing moment at a party?"

Laura laughed. "Once I danced on a table and fell off—everyone laughed," she answered, and we giggled.

"That’s so you," Marcus said.

The next spin and the bottle landed on me. "Stella," Laura began, "how many relationships have you had?"

I blushed—it was innocent but personal. "One," I answered quietly, looking down, and Laura nodded encouragingly.

"Good girl!"

The next spin, the bottle landed on Marcus. "Marcus," I asked, "what was your first impression of me, and one thing I should do to fit into this city better?"

He laughed. "You were sweet and quiet—like someone who needs a bit more courage, be freer, and let things happen," he answered. "That’s true," I thought, and Laura giggled.

The next spin and the bottle landed on Laura. "Laura," Marcus asked, "how quickly have you kissed someone you just met?"

Laura laughed. "Eh, 10 minutes," and we all laughed again. How does Laura manage to be so free and fun, I wondered.

Fourth round—the bottle landed on me. "Stella," Laura asked, "which guy in the city do you like the most right now?"

I blushed—Javier and Sergei came to mind. "I… I don’t want to answer," I mumbled, my heart pounding, blushing, I took off my socks—my bare feet felt vulnerable on the floor, and I felt Marcus and Laura’s gazes.

Next, the bottle landed on Marcus. "Marcus," I asked, "have you ever dreamed about Laura?" He laughed. "Yeah, maybe once," he answered. Laura’s eyes sparkled, and she playfully hit his shoulder with an open hand.

"Only once, huh!" she exclaimed.

The next spin and the bottle landed on me. "Stella," Marcus asked, "who have you been most in love with?"

I blushed. I didn’t dare tell them it was my history professor in college, brilliant, with a great sense of humor and gray hair, 28 years older than me.

"I don’t want to answer," I mumbled, my heart pounding, and I took off my jacket—my T-shirt and skirt remained, and I felt their gazes linger on my body. "It’s a game," I reassured myself, but I felt it starting to affect me. "This is getting too dangerous," I thought.

Next, the bottle landed on Laura. "Laura," I asked, a bit teasingly in retaliation for dragging me into this game, "what’s the nicest thing Marcus has done for you?" I waited curiously for her answer, recalling that passionate night in the next room when Laura couldn’t control her moans.

She looked at me suspiciously and blushed slightly. "I won’t answer," she said, and took off her cardigan—her black top and short jeans remained.

The next spin and the bottle landed on Marcus. "Marcus," Laura asked, "what’s your most secret desire regarding me?"

He laughed. "I won’t answer," Marcus said and took off his shirt—his toned chest and arms were visible, and I felt that heat inside me grow. "This is going too far," I thought, the wine making my head slightly foggy.

Damn, the bottle landed on me again. "Stella," Marcus asked, "what’s the worst thing you’ve done or experienced in this city so far?"

I blushed—the movie night at Sergei’s cabin, the day at school without panties, and getting caught on the bus came to mind. "I won’t answer," I mumbled, my face burning.

I was at a loss for what to do, but finally I unhooked my bra with trembling hands and carefully pulled it out from under my T-shirt. The T-shirt was tight, clinging to my body, and I felt my aroused nipples rise, pressing through the navy blue fabric, and Laura and Marcus’s gazes burned my skin, making my body even hotter.

Next, the bottle landed on Marcus. "Marcus," I asked, "do you want something more with Laura?"

He laughed. "Yes," he answered, and Laura looked pleased.

The next spin and the bottle landed on Laura. "Laura," Marcus asked, "do you want something more with me?" Laura giggled.

"Yes," she answered, and I felt that heat inside me grow, and when the bottle landed on me, Laura announced, "Stella, what’s your most embarrassing experience at school?"

I blushed again. Why do they keep asking these questions? "I can’t answer," I mumbled, my face burning.

How am I in this situation again? We were supposed to grill Marcus, and now I’m the one in trouble.

"We’re waiting eagerly," Laura commented, her eyes sparkling, and Marcus smirked.

I should have ended this game, but I didn’t dare refuse. I stood and took off my skirt—my panties and T-shirt remained, the T-shirt was long, but when I sat, half my buttocks were exposed.

"I think I’m done now," I said, my voice trembling, but Laura whispered in my ear, "You promised to help me!" I nodded. "Last round," I mumbled and felt my head spin from arousal and wine.

Ninth round—the bottle landed on Marcus. "Marcus," I asked, "What does Sergei do for work?"

He said, "I can’t answer for him, he’ll have to tell you himself soon." "So I won’t answer," he said, and took off his jeans—he was left in his boxers, and I felt my face burn—his half-naked body, and toned muscles, increased my confusion and arousal.

The next spin and the bottle landed on Laura. "Laura," I asked, "what’s your naughtiest fantasy?"

She blushed. "I won’t answer," she mumbled, and took off her top—her short jeans and sexy black lace bra, covering her ample breasts, remained.

The next spin and the bottle landed on me. "Stella," Marcus asked with a sly smile, "have you ever done something naughty in a public or risky place?"

No, not another question like this—the image of my school office, unable to control my desire, and getting caught on the bus flashed before my eyes. "I won’t answer," I mumbled. "Why am I always the one in the worst situation?" I thought, my heart pounding, and I looked at my T-shirt. "I can’t take this off," I said, my voice trembling.

"It’s the rule!" Laura exclaimed, giggling.

"We didn’t make these rules!" Marcus added, and they laughed.

"I don’t want…" I started, my face burning, and my hands trembled.

"We’ll cover our eyes," Laura said, and Marcus nodded.

"We promise!"

I blushed even more. "This is too much," I thought, but their giggling, the wine, the pressure—finally, I gave in. "Fine," I mumbled, my voice barely audible.

They covered their eyes with their hands, and I stood slowly—my heart pounded, my body trembled. The wine had broken my resistance—blushing, I pulled my T-shirt over my head, my hands moving slowly, and it fell to the floor—I was left only in black lace panties—my breasts were bare, my buttocks almost visible, I quickly covered myself—one hand pressed to my breasts, the other covering the spot between my thighs under my panties.

"This is madness," I thought, my face burning. "Okay, you can look," I mumbled, my voice trembling.

They opened their eyes, and I felt their gazes—Laura and Marcus looked at me, their eyes lingering on my body, my futilely covered breasts, my other hand trying to hide something.

"That’s a sexy pose," Laura said, her cheeks flushed, and Marcus’s eyes gleamed as they looked at my attempt to cover myself.

"They see me," I thought, my face burning, and that arousal, that shame was too strong. "I can’t handle this," I thought and stood quickly, one hand still covering my breasts, the other holding the strategic spot under my panties.

"I need to go to bed," I said, my voice trembling, and I rushed to my room—my legs stumbled slightly, my heart pounded, and when I collapsed onto the bed, lying there, I was aroused and confused—the wine, their gazes, this game—it was too much, and I felt my body tremble, my breathing rapid, and I knew I was in trouble again. But how could I fall asleep like this?