Archie’s Girls

Betty and Veronica


“Naked in School”


By Jacqueline Jillinghoff


Riverdale High institutes the “Program” just as Betty’s self-esteem is at low ebb. Will attending classes in the nude win her Archie’s attention at last?


Part I

“There she is,” Betty Cooper grumbled. “And she looks like a million bucks.”

Veronica Lodge could afford to look like a million bucks. She could afford to look like as many millions of bucks as she wanted. Her father was the richest man in Riverdale, and Betty had never seen her wear the same outfit twice. Today, she had on a fabulous charcoal suede jacket over a scarlet silk blouse, crisply pressed gray slacks, and black pumps. The tout ensemble was topped off with the subtlest makeup imaginable and a choker of unobtrusive pearls. Real, no doubt. Why Mr. Lodge didn’t just ship her off to some exclusive boarding school was a mystery for the ages. But no, he insisted she attend Riverdale High so she could lord it over the peons.

Betty felt like a frump. She’d overslept and thrown on the same old jeans and purple sweatshirt she’d worn around the house Sunday afternoon, along with a pair of ratty pink tennies. One of the laces broke, and she had thrown them both away and gone without. She didn’t even have time to put on a bra. She’d skipped breakfast, too, and in her rush out the door, she’d grabbed a sweater from the dark hall closet. It turned out to be her dad’s, and it hung on her like a blanket. It hid her bouncing boobs all right, but the burnt-orange color clashed hideously with her corn-blonde hair.

Her hair! She hadn’t washed it yesterday, and a furious brushing had only puffed it up into an electrostatic cloud.

“I want to die,” Betty thought.

The girls approached one another from opposite ends of the block and met at the concrete walk that led to the front doors of the high school. Each threw one arm around the other’s shoulders and pecked at the air beside her cheek. It was their customary greeting. They were, after all, BFFs.

Veronica’s perfume was heavenly, too, like cinnamon and chocolate. Betty, her stomach empty, nearly swooned.

“Betty, what’s wrong?” Veronica said. “You look a fright!”

Whether she was worried or gleeful was impossible to tell.

“Nothing,” Betty said. “Just … Monday.”

“You should masturbate more,” Veronica suggested. “This morning I pleasured myself with my platinum vibrator, and I’m ready to take on the world!”

“Platinum? How much did that cost?”

“Money’s no object when it comes to orgasms.”

Veronica’s heels tapped on the concrete as she marched up the broad walk. Betty trudged along two steps behind, like an adjutant following the General of the Army.

“I don’t know how you’re going to ask a boy to the dance the looking the way you do,” Veronica said over her shoulder.

She meant the Ladies’ Choice Dance, which was held every April. It was a Riverdale tradition. The idea was to give wallflowers a chance to ask out boys who might never talk to them otherwise. Around school, it was known as the Losers’ Ball.

“Well,” Betty said, “if I can get a boy to say yes when I look like this, I’ll know he likes me for who I am.”

“That’s the spirit.”

A familiar voice behind them called, “Ronnie!”

It was Archie, hustling toward them from the street.

“How are you, Ron? I’ve missed you so much.”

“We went out Saturday night,” Veronica said coolly.

“It seems like such a long time ago,” Archie said.

“I’m standing right here,” Betty said.

Betty!? Omigosh! I didn’t recognize you. I thought … I mean … Omigosh!”

“It’s all right,” Betty said. “I’ve been told I look a fright.”

By any objective standard, Archie Andrews was a funny-looking kid, with his freckles and his carrot-colored hair, which he kept short and parted in the middle. His wardrobe leaned toward red corduroy trousers, penny loafers, and anything with his school letter on it. Today, it was a black sweater vest with an enormous white “R” on the chest. But to Betty, Archie was a dreamboat. She had hoped to ask him to the Losers’ Ball before Veronica got her hooks into him this morning, but she saw now the opportunity was gone.

“Have you thought about who you’re going to ask to the dance?” he asked Veronica.

“I’m still thinking about it,” she said. Betty hated how she led him on. Even more, she hated how he let her get away with it.

“What about you, Betty?” Archie asked.

“What about me what?”

“Who are you going to ask?”

She should have asked him right then, but suddenly, she was on her hands and knees, her books scattered before her. There was a concrete apron in front of the school doors, with a single step leading up to it, and Betty had tripped. It served her right, she thought, for being so distracted and jealous.

“Omigosh! Betty, are you all right?” Archie said.

“I’m fine,” she said.


Archie squatted, picking up her books, while a pair of gentle hands gripped her under the arms and raised her to her feet. The hands belonged to Jughead Jones, he of the weirdly old-fashioned beanie, and Archie’s best friend.

“You OK?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Really.” But she’d scraped her hands. They felt like they were on fire.

“Oh, Betty, look at your jeans,” Veronica said.

They were torn — a gaping hole in the left knee, with a blue flap hanging from it like a loose denim tooth. Betty tenderly put her hand through the tear. Luckily, she didn’t feel any blood.

“It’s not bad,” Juggie said. “A lot of kids wear them like that.”

“You’ll live,” Veronica said. “Archiekins …”

Taking the hint, Archie handed Betty her books and took Veronica’s. Veronica possessively hooked her arm through his and led him into the school. Jughead offered Betty his own arm as a consolation prize.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Someday he’ll come to his senses.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’ve been taking bets. You’re the odds-on favorite.”

Betty leaned into him with a giggle, touching his shoulder with her cheek, and taking the opportunity to wipe a tear on his sleeve.

“You always make me feel better,” she said.

Her eyes were still adjusting to the indoor light when she spotted portly old Principal Weatherbee standing in front of his office. He always wore a three-piece suit. Today, it was sky blue, with a butternut waistcoat. He was glowering about with that narrow-eyed, harrumph-ing look he got whenever Archie accidentally damaged school property.

He tapped Archie on the shoulder as he passed.

“And Miss Cooper, you’re here, too,” he said. “That is most convenient. I would like to see both of you in my office at once.”

The day was just starting. What could they possibly have done wrong?

“You’re not in any trouble,” Weatherbee said, as if reading their minds. “In fact, it’s something of an honor.”

“An honor?” Betty said. “What is it?”

“In my office.”

Archie handed Veronica’s books back to her.

“I’ll see you in Grundy’s class,” he told her.

“Hmph!” she sniffed, as if it was somehow his fault she had to carry her own books. Turning on her heel, she stormed off in a huff.

“See you later,” Jughead said.

He followed Veronica at a safe distance.

If she and Archie weren’t in trouble, Betty had to wonder what those two uniformed guards were doing in Weatherbee’s office. One was a tall, skinny guy, the other a short woman with big tits and a fat ass. They stood at attention on either side of the door, and their grim expressions said they meant business, whatever their business might have been.


Weatherbee dropped into the chair behind his desk with a pained “Ooof!” The vinyl cushion hissed in agony.


“I am getting too old for these small spaces,” he said. “Now, then—”


“Oh shit,” Betty said. “This is The Program, isn’t it?”


“Very good, Miss Cooper.”


“What’s The Program?” Archie asked.


 “The Naked in School Program,” Betty said. “I’ve read about it.”


“Yes, and now that the warm weather is here, it has come to Riverdale,” Weatherbee said.


“He’s going to make us take off our clothes,” Betty said.


“That is correct,” Weatherbee said. “For the next seven days, the two of you will attend all classes and all school functions in the nude.”


“Does that include the Losers’ — I mean, the Ladies’ Choice Dance?” Betty asked.


“All school functions,” Weatherbee repeated.


“Omigosh!” Archie said.


Weatherbee sighed wearily.


“Yes, Mr. Andrews, oh my gosh,” he said. “Now, the sooner the two of you remove your clothes, the sooner I can get back to my paperwork.”


Archie’s freckles had the cutest way of disappearing when his face turned red, and at this moment, his face was as red as a beet. Betty’s ears were burning, and she knew she was blushing, too. They looked askance at one another, frozen with fear.


“Come, come,” Weatherbee said. “Miss Cooper, I can see by your lack of a brassiere, you’re halfway there already.”


Still, the teenagers hesitated.


“The Program does take the modesty of its participants into account,” Weatherbee went on. “Hence, the presence of these guards. If you do not disrobe voluntarily, they are authorized take your clothes by force — and I, for one, would not mind watching that.”


“Well,” Betty said, “I guess we’re fucked.”


“Perhaps later,” Weatherbee said. “For now, we require only that you be naked. Proceed.”


Shyly, Archie and Betty turned away from one another. Betty placed her books on Weatherbee’s desk and covered them with her father’s sweater. Then, drawing a deep breath and holding it, she crossed her arms, grabbed her sweatshirt by the hem, and dragged it off over her messy hair. Her titties popped free, jiggling. That didn’t feel too bad. Betty had always enjoyed the tickle of cool air on her stiff pink nipples. If only it wasn’t tickling her in front of the school principal and two uniformed guards. 


She toed off her pink sneakers, balancing on the edge of Weatherbee’s desk. Her heart pounded like a washing machine with an unbalanced load. Naked in school! Everyone pointing, laughing, hooting. Worst of all, that self-satisfied smirk on Veronica Lodge’s face.


But it wouldn’t all be awful, would it? In the first place, Betty was well-aware she had a terrific body, and her own taut skin was a lot more attractive than torn jeans and an orange sweater. In the second place, being nude might at least draw some of the constant attention away from Veronica. And in the third place — the third, glorious place! — she was about to see Archie Andrews naked. All day, every day, for a whole week. The thought of it made her heart beat even faster.


“Make the best of it,” she thought, and with a sudden resolve, she pushed her jeans and panties down. The denim legs sucked at her feet, turning inside out as she pulled free, but in a Riverdale minute, it was done. Betty raised her head and squared her shoulders, thrusting forth her C-cup McGuppies. She hadn’t trimmed her bush yet this year — bikini season was still two months away — but it was as golden as a host of daffodils. Never again would anyone doubt she was a natural blonde.


“There!” she said.


But Weatherbee wasn’t looking at her. His gaze had settled at crotch level just to her right. 


“Well, Mr. Andrews,” he said, “it appears you do have one redeeming feature after all.”


For the first time, Betty dared to look.


He was slender and white, and finely muscled. His pecs and abs were well-defined but not overly developed, and his thin legs were solid from all the team sports he played. But Betty had seen him at the beach many times in his bathing trunks. She could picture his chest and his thighs with her eyes closed.

It was the undiscovered country in between that captured her attention now — his brawny buns, clenched with anxiety, and his adorable little dick, with its purple-acorn tip, resting delicately on his soft scrotum. His pubic hair was a wedge of orange flame, just as Betty had always imagined it.


A hot flash passed over her body. Absently, she pinched one nipple between her fingers.


“Archie …” she said quietly.


His body was rigid with embarrassment, but he managed to turn his head toward her, slightly. He looked her over from head to foot, and he must have felt everything she was feeling, because at the sight of her, his tender stalk began to stir. Betty watched in fascination as it raised its head, defying gravity, and reached forward until it stood away from him, pointing right at old Weatherbee.


From tiny acorns do mighty oaks grow.


“Betty,” he croaked. “Bets — I’m — I —”


Despite her humiliation, she couldn’t help but smile.


“Glad to see me, huh?”


He nodded briskly, grinning like an idiot.


“Good show!” Weatherbee said. “Now if you two are finished with your mutual admiration society, you may go to class.”


He opened a drawer and tossed a pair of white towels at them. Each towel, of course, was monogrammed with a red “R.”


“Take these,” he said. “Please use them to sit on. We do care about hygiene. You may also wear your shoes, and I strongly recommend it. The floors can be cold, and there’s always the danger of stubbing your toes. Place your clothes in the boxes behind you. You may pick them up here at the end of the day. Let me see, am I forgetting anything?


“Why, yes. — Enjoy yourselves!”

Part II


Archie looked silly in just penny loafers and argyle socks — nude boys do not wear shoes well, the way nude girls do — but with his hard wood pointing the way down the hall, Betty didn’t feel like laughing. She salivated at the sight of his stiff dick. He was looking at her lustfully, too, with sidelong glances at her jiggly tits.

She groped for a word.

“I’ve never felt so — so—”


“Alive,” she said.

But that didn’t begin to describe it. Dingy old Riverdale High felt wholly new, totally strange. The lockers, the red tile floor, the fluorescent lights, the square clock bolted to the wall — everything seemed to reach out and touch her all over. The school became her shell, an extension of her nude body.

Classes had already started. The kids were at their desks, and the corridor was empty. Archie and Betty made their way quietly, each with their books under one arm and their towel over one shoulder, and for a moment they thought they might reach Miss Grundy’s class without being seen.

No such luck.

They passed an open door just as Midge Clump, Betty’s second-best friend, happened to look up from her desk. Midge’s reaction was predictable and immediate: goggle eyes, hands to mouth, and before she could think to check herself she squealed —


Then came the scrape of desks, the shuffle of feet, the thump of dropped books, and in an instant the doorway was jammed with teenage faces that expressed every degree of shock and derision.

“Hey Andrews! Nice cock!”

“Shake that ass!”

“Betty! Show us your pussy!”

“What the fuck!?

The scene was repeated every few feet as doors were flung open and the noise spread from room to room like fire on a trail of kerosene.

“Suck his dick!”

“Grab her tits!”



Archie took Betty’s hand. They walked slowly through the gauntlet, eyes front, ashamed but defiant.

“Just ignore them,” Archie said.

Shelter waited for them around a corner, at the far end of the endless hall. Miss Grundy, alerted by the shouting, stood outside her classroom, waving them in. Betty had never been so happy to see the old woman in her life, but when Archie began to pull ahead, she held him back, keeping them to their deliberate pace. She was determined not to show how afraid she was.

“Welcome, children,” the teacher said.

She followed them inside and closed the door.

The other kids gawked at them in silence. Miss Grundy had obviously prepared them, warning them not to react. Across the room stood pair of empty tablet chairs facing the class at right angles, their backs to the windows. So, they were to be set apart and put on display, like zoo animals. One of the chairs was even made for a leftie, a courtesy to Betty’s sinistral lifestyle. Miss Grundy had thought of everything.


The naked teens methodically spread their towels on the seats, bending over to give everyone a generous look at their butts, and sat down. But Archie couldn’t keep up the nonchalant pretense completely: his boner knocked the edge of the desktop, and he winced in pain.

Miss Grundy started talking as though their arrival had interrupted her in mid-sentence.


“Miss Cooper and Mr. Andrews were chosen for this Program for their maturity and their Riverdale spirit,” she said. “We —Principal Weatherbee and I — felt they will set an example for the rest of you when you are chosen for the Program, and, believe me, each and every one of you will be chosen eventually.


“Now, before we get to the lesson, it is my duty to point out that Mr. Andrews has a prominent erection.”


“I’m sorry, Miss Grundy,” Archie said. “I’m sure it’ll go down if we just ignore it.”


“Nonsense,” Miss Grundy said. “A young man should not ignore his erections. The healthy thing is to ejaculate at once. Would you care for some relief?”

“What? Omigosh! Miss Grundy? You —?”


“Of course not!”


The class burst into laughter. Betty, too. Even Miss Grundy smirked, which was as close to hilarity as she ever got. It was long time before the ruckus died down and she could go on:


“Under the rules of the Program, you are entitled to masturbate in front of the class. If you prefer, one of your classmates may give you what I believe is called a ‘hand job,’ or perform fellatio on you, if she — or he — is amenable. The choice is yours.”


Betty couldn’t believe her ears. Miss Grundy talking about hand jobs and fellatio in that clipped, school-marmish way of hers was the horniest thing she’d ever heard in her life.


“Well,” Archie said, “I guess I’d like that fellatio thing.”


Gee, like he had to think about it.

“Very well,” Miss Grundy said. “Would anyone care to blow Mr. Andrews?”

Betty’s hand shot up. A tense moment later, Veronica, who was sitting in front of the chalkboard across the room, slowly raised hers.


And, once again, Archie was her lap dog.


“Veronica? Really? Wow! Sure!”


“Archie, be considerate,” Betty said. “You don’t want to get semen all over

Ronnie’s nice silk blouse.”


“Gosh, I didn’t think of that.”


“I’ll take it off,” Veronica said. She began to unbutton.


Betty spied the lacy edge of a lovely black bra. For a second, she was scared. Veronica had a spectacular rack, and she was such a cock-tease that she never let Archie see it or touch it. She had actually bragged about that. The poor boy had been waiting for this moment since he was twelve. Once he got a look at those big round honkers, the contest would be over.


Miss Grundy saved the day.


“That is not permitted,” she said. “Only Program participants may take off their clothes. Cover yourself, Miss Lodge.”


“Really, Archie,” Betty said. “If you come on my tits, I can just wipe it off.”


“I won’t spill any,” Veronica said.


“You can’t be sure of that,” Betty said. “Archie’s so hard he could shoot off before you get started.”


“That’s true,” Archie said. “I guess it is better if you do it.”


“Glad to!”


“You don’t want to take a chance on ruining your clothes,” he said to Veronica. “That’s pretty nice of Betty, huh?”


“Oh, she’s a saint,” Veronica said.

Good old reliable Archie. Always the gentleman, and he never noticed when his rich bitch girlfriend was pissed off.

“All right, we’ve wasted enough time,” Miss Grundy said. “Let’s get to it.”


Archie swiveled around, threw open his knees, and slumped in his chair. His hard rod rested on his stomach, reaching all the way to his navel. His soft sack of balls dangled between his thighs.


Betty slid from her seat, dragging her towel to the floor, and curled up on her knees in front of him. Her bare butt rested on the heels of her sneakers. She inspected the goods closely, wondering where and how to begin. She’d never blown a guy, and she worried maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew.


Ouch — wrong expression! Come on, she told herself. You’ve read Mom’s sex manuals. You know how this is supposed to work. All those nights boning up on boners, dreaming of Archie’s cock and playing with your pussy are about to pay off.


Well, when in doubt, go for the middle. Leaning in, Betty kissed the spongy depression where Archie’s scrotum met the base of his dick. He sighed quietly.

Not the grunting animal explosion Betty had hoped for, but it was encouraging. She went lower, drawing her wet tongue gently across the solid but delicate points of his nuts.

They had a thick meaty smell, like a simmering stew, that made her head swim. She licked from one side to the other, pressing more firmly, but holding back enough to keep from hurting him.

He responded with his whole body as, lovingly, she caressed his nads with her spit-glistening tongue, washing them, tasting their salty sweat. He tilted his head back, stretched his legs. His arms opened wide, one resting on his desktop, the other on the back of his chair.

“Look at his face,” somebody said. Betty screwed up her eyes for a peek. All she could see was his pink nipples and his extended white throat, but she figured she must have been doing something right.

She lifted his dick from his stomach, cradling it lightly in her fingers. Diligent student that she was, she examined the purple lobes on the underside of the glans, and the gully between them, a pink patch of lengthwise wrinkles.

This was the frenum. A man’s super-erogenous zone, the books said. The male clitoris. Betty closed her hand around Archie’s dick-shaft and circled her thumb tentatively on the magic spot.

“Oh,” Archie said. “Um.”

Then, in a sudden flush of lust, she smothered his cock with her mouth. She sealed her lips around the fatty glans, fluttering the tip of her tongue over the bumps and wrinkles beneath it. Don’t suck, the books said: Lick. Massage. She went straight down on Archie’s solid dick, savoring the dull taste of it along her palette, until the blunt end poked the back her throat, and his rough red pubic hair tickled her nose. Feeling herself gag, she drew back, dragging her papillae oh so sensuously over that intensely erogenous bundle of nerves.

Again, Betty wriggled her tongue on the tip of his dick. Again, she slid down as far as she dared. Archie lifted his butt, longing for greater penetration. He rocked his hips, fucking Betty’s wet mouth, and together they worked up a complementary rhythm. He pushed up, she went down. She came up, he pulled back.

The classroom was dead silent. All Betty could see now was Archie’s bellybutton, rising and receding as her head bobbed, but she imagined everybody staring, vacant-eyed and wide-mouthed, at his mounting pleasure, making mental notes on her superlative oral technique.

All except Veronica, of course, who probably had steam coming out of her ears.

But what to do with her hands?  The books were vague on that score. Betty would have to improvise, but hey, she could do that. One of her hands was already in position, lightly holding up Archie’s cock, so she just tightened her grip and followed along with the smooth, up-and-down motion of her mouth. The books talked about “jacking” your guy. No reason she couldn’t jack and blow at the same time.

He’d liked it, too, when she licked his balls, and so, with her other hand, she tickled and stroked them. Working her fingers under his scrotum, she found the raised seam of his perineum, and the tight pucker of his asshole.

For a brief time, everything worked like an elaborate contraption — mouth, fist, fingers, hips and dick moving in harmony — and a brief time was all they needed. Archie’s chest swelled. His penis twitched against Betty’s tongue.

This was it. She pulled her mouth away and yanked his dick down hard just as he bucked his ass and cried out:

“Fuckin’ gosh!”

The first hot spurt hit the bull’s-eye of her right nipple. That was all she wanted — to wear his semen on her chest like a medal — and she went back to work with her mouth, quickly clamping her lips around his shooting slit. A second stream of boiling jism, and a third, knocked her in the throat. The books said sucking was OK at the moment of orgasm, and Betty sucked him dry, jacking and swallowing and taking all the creamy come he had to give.

Her classmates applauded.

Betty gave the little fellow a final smack on the end and stood up, stretching a kink out of her back. Archie sprawled in his seat before her. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Red splotches covered his pale chest and neck like continents on some weird extraterrestrial map. He had that goofy, blissful look he got sometimes when Veronica kissed him in public, but this time his satisfaction went much, much deeper. In his mind’s eye, Betty guessed, he was watching bluebirds and valentines twirl around his head.

“Thank you, Miss Cooper, for that uplifting demonstration,” Miss Grundy said. “You may be excused to wash your … hands.”

“No, thank you, Ma’am. I’m fine.”

“Very well. Class, open your books to Page 143. Who would like to read the Whitman for us?”

Jughead volunteered. Lowering his eyes, he began to murmur: “City of orgies, walks and joys …”

While the poem went on, Betty picked up her towel and wiped the spit and semen from her hands. She spread the towel on her seat again and sat down. The scratchy nap felt good her on her asshole and her pussy. She wriggled her butt a bit.

Across the room, Veronica glared at her in a red-faced rage.

Calmly, Betty scooped a thick drop of Archie’s come from her boob with the tip of her pinky. She never once took her eyes off Veronica’s as she applied the drop to her lips like high-end gloss. Then, in the final twist of the knife, she licked it off, circling her tongue around her mouth.

She mouthed the word, “Yummy.”

Archie still hadn’t moved.


Part III


If Veronica Lodge was too rich for Riverdale High, Dilton Doiley was too smart. He should have graduated when he was like twelve and gone on to MIT or someplace. The kid had a Jupiter-sized brain in a scrawny, asteroid-sized body. He launched rockets in his backyard. His beach reading was the Principia Mathematica. And he always wore a lab coat, even in gym class.

He was wearing it now, as he sat at the head of Professor Flutesnoot’s science room waiting for the bell to ring. Beside him, on the black top of the professor’s lab table, were a notebook computer and an old-fashioned aluminum colander, the kind you’d find any kitchen, with the holes arranged in the shape of five-pointed stars. No one paid any attention to him. They were all swarming naked Betty Cooper, who stood between two jabbering boys, her arms around their waists, posing for their selfies. Their hands were all over her ass.

“Hey! No pinching!” she said. “Touch all you want, but no pinching!”

Dilton didn’t dare go near her. He was a tongue-tied basket case around girls, and the sight of a naked one reduced him to mute imbecility. He sat with his legs crossed tight and his fists buried in his lap. He was close to coming in his pants when the bell finally went off.

Flutesnoot raised his voice above the excited chatter.

“Everyone be seated,” he said. “Yes, yes, we’re all happy Miss Cooper is naked in school this week, but we have our spring projects to get through. Class has begun. Take your hands off her — now — and sit down.”

The kids went to their stations in a sulk. There were eight tables in the room, in addition to the one up front, arranged in two rows of four like enormous black Lego's. Two students sat at each, facing Dilton and Flutesnoot. Betty was down front next to Midge, her lab partner this year. She was relieved her project wasn’t due until next week. She’d spent the winter growing tomatoes under ultraviolet light, and she didn’t want to be stuck lugging around the glass tanks in the nude.

When they were settled, more or less, Flutesnoot went on:

“Today’s project is from Dilton Doiley, who seems to have made some sort of computerized kitchen aid.”

Dilton tried to speak, but he only croaked.

“What was that?”

“No,” Dilton said, clearing his throat. “What it is—”

“Please stand and face the class.”

Dilton got up. He stood beside the table, his eyes glued to the clock at the back of the room, forcing himself not to look at Betty Cooper. The overhead lights flashed on his owl-rimmed glasses. He had an obvious hard-on, which strained against the fly of his surprisingly stylish chinos. It was a respectable size, too, for such a shrimpy kid. Betty was impressed.

“What I’ve done is to adapt this kitchen colander into a kind of helmet,” Dilton said. He picked up the aluminum hemisphere and turned it upside down. “You see, I’ve put an elastic strap across the opening to hold in place.”

He plucked at the strap, whose ends were stapled around the two handles.

His gaze wandered away from the clock, and he lost his train of thought.

“Yes—?” Flutesnoot said.

“Yes! Hum! I’ve also … uh … attach — attah! — attached a number of small electrodes to the inside of the helmet.”

He flipped the helmet around, holding it open toward the class, so everyone could see the line of cotton pads that spiraled from the center of the bowl to the rim. His hands were shaking.

“Each of these … um …”

“Electrodes …”

“Yes, thank you! Well! Each of these electrodes stimulates a portion of the brain that controls various mental and bodily … uh, bodily things …”

“Functions. Responses,” Flutesnoot said.

“Functions and responses, yes. And … well, I’ve linked them to my computer though a plug-in antenna — there are no wires — and, uh … the idea is, that … well … a person puts the helmet on, and, uh, the things …”


“Electrodes, yes … send gentle pulses to the brain.”

Betty put her hand over her mouth, hiding a sympathetic giggle. The poor thing was just so horny.

“And what to these gentle pulses do?” Flutesnoot asked.

“Well, anything,” Dilton replied. “Working from my computer, I can induce any state of mind in the subject. I can call up memories, make them laugh, or move, or feel anything. The brain is, after all — hum! — the center of all feelings … the soul, if you want … and … and stimulating the body part that you think does the feeling isn’t really necessary … phantom limb pain, for example …”

“Hold on. Explain that.”

“Well, I mean, I can, for example, by stim … stimulating the brain, make it feel like you’ve stepped on a tack, even if there is no tack.”

“So,” Flutesnoot said, “you could, conceivably, subject someone to horrible tortures without laying a hand on them.”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean … I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Be careful,” Flutesnoot said. “You don’t want Homeland Security to get hold of it.”

“Well, no … but it could do good, as well. We could suppress pain without drugs, even cure addictions.”

“Are you prepared to demonstrate it?”

“No. I mean yes. But not on myself. I have to work the computer. I’ll need a volunteer.”

“We have a built-in volunteer,” Flutesnoot said. “Naked in School participants are available for any and all classroom demonstrations. Miss Cooper—”

“Yes, sir?”

“Come up here, please.”

“I’m the guinea pig?”

“That’s the idea. Your reactions will be more … visible.”

All eyes were on Betty’s ass as she bounced to the front of the room. All eyes, that is, except Dilton’s. He sat down in front of his computer again and was staring at the little screen, pretending to peck at the keyboard.

Betty faced him with her hands behind her back. She puffed up her chest and swayed her shoulders playfully, like a shy little girl.

“What do you want me to do, Dilton?” she asked.

“Put the helmet on,” he said.


“Make sure the strap is secure under your chin—”


“And stand facing the class—”

Betty snapped the computer shut.

“Dilton, look at me.”

He raised his head painfully, like an arthritic old man. Betty had never seen anything like the expression on his face. It was a perfect balance of ecstasy and terror, heaven and hell. She felt like she did when she was little, taking in stray cats and nursing birds with broken wings.

“They’re just breasts,” she said. “The world is full of them. Say ‘breasts.’”

“Buh—  Buh—”



A mocking murmur went up among the students, but Flutesnoot cut it short with a hard look. This was science, too. A lesson in psychology.

“Give me your hand,” Betty said. “Doesn’t that feel nice? Squeeze it a little. Not too hard. Now, pinch the nipple — gently. See how it gets erect? That’s you doing that. You’re good at it. That feels nice. Any girl would love to have you touch them … and suck on them. Now, what do you want me to do?”

“Put the helmet on, and stand and face the class.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

Midge called out in her tiniest, Betty Boop voice: “It’s a miracle!”

But Dilton laughed along with everyone else. What did he care if they were making fun of him? He had Betty’s pretty titty in his hand.

“I have to let go to work the keyboard,” he said.

“Aww. I’ll miss you.”

Flutesnoot pressed the colander on her head, placing the strap under her chin with a hooked finger. The points of the tiny wires dug into her scalp.

“How does that feel?” Flutesnoot asked. 

“Kind of silly.”

“We’ll see if we can change that,” Dilton said. He raised the screen again and typed in a short command.

“Ewww!” Betty said. “It’s like ants! They’re all over me! Stop it! Stop it!” Screaming, desperate, she clawed at her arms and breasts.

Dilton typed rapidly, and the ants stopped biting.

“Oh,” Betty said. “That’s nicer. That’s … that’s much better.”

“What’s it feel like now?” Flutesnoot said.

“It’s like a tingling, all down my body. My back and my legs.”

“And your breasts?” Dilton asked.

“You’ve learned a new word.” Betty teased him. “Yes, my breasts. — Oh! That’s cold!”

She was suddenly covered with goose pimples. Her nipples stood up before her eyes, so quickly she could see the areolas contract.

“How about a bath?” Dilton said.

Warm water seemed to flow over Betty’s body, wave after wave, from her neck to her feet. Her goose flesh softened, but her nipples stayed hard. She remembered she needed a shower.

“That’s nice, too,” she said.

“Let’s put it to the test,” Dilton said. “What would you like to experience?”

“Orgasm!” Midge said.

“Midge!” Betty said.

The class laughed again, but Dilton said, “I can do that. I spent a lot of time on the sexual software.”

Oh, I’ll bet you did, Betty thought.

The kids raised a chant: “Or-gasm! Or-gasm! Or-gasm!” They pounded their tables in rhythm.

“Well … OK, then,” Betty said.

“Hop up on the table,” Flutesnoot said, “so everyone can see.”

Betty did. The hard black tabletop was cold on her butt.

Dilton peered at his screen, narrowing his eyes.

“Let’s see,” he said. He tapped another command.

Something kicked Betty in the cunt.

“Hey!” she said. “How about a little foreplay?”

“Women prefer it if you work our way up to it,” Flutesnoot said.

“Sorry about that,” Dilton said. “I’m new at this.”

“Can you kiss my breasts first?”

“I can try.”

Another tap or two, and Betty felt two moist circles curl around her nipples. “Tell us what you’re feeling,” Flutesnoot said.

“It’s like a mouth on each nipple,” she said. “Warm. They’re even wet. Now … it’s like they’re sucking — both at once. Oh!”

She felt her nipples expand, and she raised her hands and pinched them.

“No!” Dilton said. “Don’t touch. Let the computer do the work.”

The hands of a ghostly lover — more than two, more than four — stroked her back. Another pair, stronger than the others, gripped her shoulders. Betty rolled her head from side to side.

“I’m getting a massage,” she told the class.

Then someone, or something, nibbled at her toes. It kissed the arch of each foot and began to work its way up her legs. It kissed the backs of her knees, where, as she sat on the edge of the table, no one could have reached, and continued up her thighs. At the same time, the mouths on her breasts moved down her tummy, leaving trails of soft after-impressions, like breadcrumbs in a forest.

At last, the mouths on her thighs and the mouths on her stomach converged at the top of her vulva.

“Oh — Dilton!”

Betty swooned back on the table, knees spread, feet dangling above the floor, giving her classmates a direct line of sight into her wide-open pussy. Glistening juices flowed from the hole, with no visible stimulation whatever, and the inner labia opened and closed like the mouth of a pink fish.

But when Betty’s head came down on the far edge of the table, she knocked the makeshift helmet out of place. For an awful instant, the signals scrambled, and all those wonderful sensations pixilated into nothing.

“No!” she said. “Not now!”

Fortunately, Flutesnoot was there to adjust the cap. The flow was restored, and the sensations focused again.

“Better?” he said.

Betty nodded breathlessly.

“Is it OK?” Dilton asked.

“Shut up and fucking do it!” Betty said.

As the tapping at the keyboard became smoother, something hard grew inside Betty’s vagina — hard and long, like a pipe. The licking on her clitoris intensified, and uncounted mouths kissed her all over her body. No real-life lover could have given her so much stimulation at once.

Her vaginal muscles clutched the invisible cock. Her pink nipples stood up under the invisible sucking. A strange trickle, like water, crept over her clitty. She longed for it to grow, to wash over her, but it was stuck, a pleasant but monotonous drip that left her wound up and frustrated.

“Ohhh,” she groaned. “You evil prick!”

“What?” Dilton said.

“Doiley, stop teasing the girl,” Flutesnoot said. “Give her what she wants.”

“Yeah, Doiley,” Midge said. “Give her what she wants.”

“I thought she wanted foreplay.”



Dilton smacked a final key, and the trickle on Betty’s clit burst into a geyser. She rolled up into a ball, exposing her asshole to the class. Then she flung out her legs, flattening herself into a board, rigid. One sneaker flew off. The other hung loosely from her toes. A pure, abstract ecstasy pulsed deep inside her vagina. Her skin seemed to bubble all over. She groaned. She writhed. She clasped that stupid colander tight to her head, grinding those incredible pleasure points into her skull.

This beat a platinum vibrator all to hell.

“All right, you’ve got your A,” Flutesnoot said. “You can stop now.”

“No!” Betty gasped. “Don’t stop! Please don’t stop! ”

Flutesnoot once told the class that laboratory monkeys, hooked on cocaine, would bang the lever that dispensed the drug, again and again, frantically, until they died. That was Betty at this moment: a naked sex monkey that didn’t care if she starved to death, so long as she could keep coming — and coming and coming.

“She’s crazy,” said somebody from far away. It might have been Midge. “Bring her down. But slow.”

“More! Oh God please more!”

She came again, for the she-didn’t-know-how-many-ith time, but this orgasm was less intense than the others. Only a sliver less, but the difference was perceptible. And each one after that was weaker than the one before. The waves ebbed. The peaks and valleys evened out. Betty felt herself floating through space, gliding to a soft landing on the table.

“Dilton,” she sighed, “you’re going to be the most popular boy in school.”

Flutesnoot carefully removed the helmet, and the pleasure that had filled her body simply vanished, snapped off like a light. Midge took her hands and hauled her to a sitting position. The room was spinning. Her muscles felt … runny. She slipped off the table and would have dropped to her knees if Midge hadn’t caught her.

It took all her strength just to hold her head up, but the sight of little Dilton gathering his few props was worth the expended effort: He hadn’t noticed it yet, and neither had anyone else, but there was a dark round stain on the front of his pants.

Betty cackled, hanging on Midge’s neck, and soon she was laughing so hard she couldn’t stop.

Part IV


“Carry your books, Titty Girl?”

“I only have the one.”

“Hence the offer.”

“So it’s not too much work.”


“That’s what I love about you, Juggie. No effort is too small.”

It was their U.S. history text. Jughead clapped it against his own copy with a flourish. Betty took his arm, as she had that morning, and they strolled together down the hall — the beanpole in the beanie and the naked, natural blonde. Jughead was the only boy in the school, other than Archie, who hadn’t tried to cop a feel all day. She wondered if he was gay, but it was hard to tell. He hadn’t gone nuts over Archie, either, and he loved Archie like a brother. Juggie was just her friend, but she suddenly realized she hated that word — “just.” It made friends sound unimportant, and today she had learned how important they are. It was sad she never had the same feelings for Jughead she had for her redheaded goofball.

“What’s your next stop?”

“Locker. Then Weatherbee’s office.”

The school seemed big and quiet at the end of the day. Betty and Juggie had waited in the classroom until the place was empty. Betty was weary of the mobs and the groping. She just wanted to put on her ugly old clothes and go home. This morning, it had killed her to be seen in them. Now, after seven hours of nudity, she was grateful they were waiting for her.

“So how was your first day?” Jughead asked.

“It had its moments.”

“I can think of two … Hello, what’s this?”

A line of girls stood outside Mr. Flutesnoot’s classroom. The door was closed, but through the window they saw Veronica sitting on a lab stool. Dilton stood beside her, setting the weird colander-helmet on her head. Behind them, on the table where Betty had screamed in ecstasy, was a pile of dollar bills.

“He’s charging?” Betty said.

“You got the free sample.”

“The line forms to the rear,” a girl said.

“It’s okay,” Betty said. “We’re just looking.”

“Slut,” the girl said.

“Word travels fast,” she said to Jughead.

They went on.

“If I know Ronnie,” Juggie said, “she’s complaining the hat isn’t stylish enough.”

“She’ll forget about that.”

“Think it’ll ever replace head-to-head sex?”

At that moment, Archie stepped out of an empty classroom.

“Oooo, I hope not,” Betty said.

“Hey,” Archie said.

“Hey. You hiding out, too?”


“Juggie was nice enough to keep me company.”

“Nobody wants to hang with me today. Everybody’s avoiding me.”

“Yeah. Naked girls have all the luck.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

“Well,” Jughead said, “I can see you want to compare notes. Dinner at Pop’s?”

“I have baseball practice,” Archie said. “Six-thirty?”

“Sure. You, too, Bets.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Wear something stylish. Wear something.”

He handed Betty her book and disappeared into a stairwell. Poor Jughead — always the third wheel.

Betty suddenly felt more self-conscious than she had all day. She and Archie stood quietly for a moment.

“I heard you put on quite a show in Flutesnoot’s class,” Archie said, just to be talking.

“I don’t really remember it.”


“I remember feeling like an animal.”

“Sounds awful.”

“No, it was great. How’s little Roscoe?”

She patted his shrunken penis.

“He’s behaving,” Archie said. “I haven’t had a hard-on since —”

“Since I sucked you off.”

“You know, you didn’t fool me.”


“All that hooey about Veronica’s blouse. That’s not why I picked you.”

“Then why?”

“Because you wanted to do it,” Archie said. “She only said she would to stop you. I’m not as clueless about her as everybody thinks.”

Betty placed her hand on his shoulder. Boosting herself on her toes, she kissed him on the corner on the mouth. He took a step toward her. Their thighs touched, and they moved front and center, kissing full on. He cupped a hand over her breast — the one that still bore the glaze of his dried come. He teased her nipple, and it hardened. His penis hardened, too, poking her leg at an awkward angle. She flipped it up and leaned into him, pressing it between them.

“Archiekins,” she said, “put your cock in my pussy.”

They dropped their books and towels right there in the hall and threw their arms around each other. Crushing their bodies together, sucking at one another’s tongues, they stumbled back into the classroom. Archie slid his fingers between her legs. Her cunt grabbed at them. Betty stepped out of her sneakers as she fell back, lying naked across the teacher’s desk. Archie stood over her, kicking off his loafers.

Betty rubbed her pink pussy, running her fingers through her blonde curls. With her other hand, she pinched a pink nipple and stretched it like a rubber band as far as it would go. Archie’s penis nearly burst from its own skin as he watched her masturbate.

“Do it,” she said. “Fuck me right here.”

Gripping his shaft, he pushed the fat purple head against her pliant labia. Her fingers, still rubbing her cunt, parted to let him through. He worked his dick like a spoon stirring a thick batter. Betty’s vaginal lips expanded. They pinched a little. She gasped and bit her lip.

“Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t care if it hurts,” she said.

She should have known better. Archie Andrews would die a virgin before he caused pain to anyone he loved. Some brave girl would have to take him in hand — literally — and it looked like it was up to Betty to take one for the team. She lifted her feet to the edge of the desk and pushed herself to the center.

“Climb up,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Archie, come on! I’m dying here!”

“Well, if you insist.”

“I insist, for Christ’s sake!”

Archie climbed onto the desk. Hovering above her with fully extended arms, he settled his pelvis between her thighs. Betty reached between their bodies, and, grasping his dick — an amazing steel rod in a sheath of baby-soft skin — aimed it at the gates of her gushing cunt.

“Push, a little,” she said. “A little more. Little more. — Ah!”

“I’m hurting you.”

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay,” she whispered. “Sweet boy. Sweet, sweet boy. Ohhhh, here comes the choo-choo!”

And his engine steamed through her slick tunnel. Any pain she felt was buried beneath the wild beating of her heart. 

She opened up, engulfing him, and in a flash he was in her up to his balls. His bristly sack tickled her butt. She wrapped her legs around him, and he levered himself down, with her pussy as the fulcrum, laying himself on top of her.

He pushed with his knees on the hard desk, and— ah! The boy learned fast. He came at her from every side, every angle, his butt gyrating, stretching her till she thought she couldn’t hold him any more. But they fit together flawlessly, like a hand in a glove. Like a piston in a well-oiled engine. Like a big gun in a snug leather hol —  

“Oh, fuck it!” she cried.

His pubic bone ground into her clit. Their rutting shook the desk, and her titties whipped and bobbed with each hard thrust of his cock. Archie bit them playfully, like a puppy snapping at soap bubbles, and caught a nipple between his teeth. He gave it a deep suck that curled Betty’s toes.

Then suddenly he shifted into low gear. He slowed down and fucked her straight on, with long strokes of his dick. Betty dug her nails into his shoulders. She felt the muscles tighten. His penis trembled inside her. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Neither could she. 

“Archie —”

“Yes —”

“Archiekins — dearest.”


“Will you take me to the dance?”


He was probably talking about the sex, but as far as Betty was concerned, it counted.

His semen flooded her cunt, which spasmed in reply. She bit his neck to muffle her ecstatic screams, and for a glorious instant they were the only boy and girl in the world, oblivious to everything. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed — not the school, not the Program, and certainly not the voices in the hall.


Dilton’s invention had given Veronica a satisfactory orgasm, but it had done little to improve her mood. She strode down the hall at her usual clip, with Midge at her side and her resentment on simmer.

They passed the open door just as Veronica was saying, “Boy, Betty sure is full of herself since she was chosen for the Naked in School Program!”

After three steps, they stopped short. They turned toward each other in confusion, not quite sure they had actually seen a naked, humping butt inside the classroom. Gradually, a pair of dim light bulbs brightened over their heads.

“I hate to tell you, Ronnie,” Midge said, “but I don’t think that’s all she’s full of!”


Veronica raced to the door, kicking a textbook out of her way. She loomed at the threshold, speechless at the sight of Archie’s ass stuffed between Betty’s raised thighs, and those socks — those infuriating socks he didn’t bother to take off.


But Veronica Lodge was never speechless for long.

“Get off her!” she shrieked. “Get off her, you bastard!”

She charged into the room, spitting like a cat. Lightning bolts flashed from her eyes. To Betty, relishing the aftershocks of her orgasm, they were kind of pretty. 

“Oh, hi, Ronnie,” she said. “I found somebody to take me to the dance.”


“Archie Andrews, explain yourself!”


He looked up in a post-coital stupor.


“Well, she asked me to take her,” he said.


“Not the dance, you fucking moron! Explain this!


“You said it yourself — he a fucking moron,” Betty said. “Or a fucking moron.”


The flippancy only provoked a fresh torrent of abuse. Veronica raised her fists high above her head. She would have beaten Archie senseless if Midge hadn’t grabbed her by the waist and, somehow, despite the kicking and screaming, dragged her back outside.


“We’re through, Archie Andrews!” Veronica screamed. “You hear me? If you fuck that little slut one more time, we — are — through!”


The door slammed shut.


“I’ve never seen her so mad,” Betty said. “And that’s saying something.”


“I’m just sorry she ruined the moment for you.”


“Archie, you will never understand women. She made the moment perfect!”

Part V

Reggie Mantle settled back in the driver’s seat of his convertible, relishing the blowjob. He would pay for it later, he knew — Veronica never touched a guy’s dick without demanding something in return — but for now, all thoughts of intrigue were banished as her supple tongue slithered about his glans. The bitch was amazing. She knew just where to lick, when to jack, how hard to suck. Archie Andrews, the poor boob, would never know the ecstasy of a Veronica Lodge Special, simply because he gave in to her whims so quickly she never had to resort to sexual persuasion. He’d been a fool to turn her down in Grundy’s class this morning. From what Reggie had seen, Betty’s oral ministrations were all enthusiasm and no technique.

Not that Andrews would know the difference.

It was obvious the performance had pissed Ronnie off no end, and she was giving Reggie head in part to take her revenge on Archie, in part to prove that she was still the best cocksucker at Riverdale High. Veronica Lodge would never come in second to anyone — especially Betty Cooper. Reggie had nothing to do with it.

Which was fine with him.

“Girl, you are the shit,” he murmured, combing his fingers through her shining black hair. “You are the fucking shit!”

The more he built her up, the more eagerly she performed. Her head bobbed and jerked, tensing him to a seminal blast, and for the coup de grace, she deep-throated him. The ring of muscle, or gristle, or whatever the fuck it was, relaxed, drawing him in. Then it tightened again, gripping the head of his throbbing cock. His animal grunt echoed through the darkness of lovers’ lane. She stayed with him as he shot off, timing her swallows to each spurt. His semen flowed neatly down her gullet.

Then, as quickly as he climaxed, she let go and sat up. She brushed the front of her jacket, and, holding it open, inspected her blouse. It was spotless, of course.

“Spill his come, my ass,” she said.

“So that’s what’s bothering you.”

She ignored that. Ronnie opened a compact, and an LED flicked on, encircling the little mirror.

“Now, I have something I want you to do for me,” she said, freshening her lipstick.

“At your service, Madam.”

Here it comes.

“Take this,” she said. Reaching under the seat, she handed him the plastic bag she’d brought along on their last-minute date. Inside the bag was a gun. Oh, not a real gun. Veronica wasn’t that crazy. It was a paintball gun, and a really cool, expensive one, like something out of a spy movie, with a long, thin barrel, a gleaming blue grip and a capsule-shaped ammo chamber along the top.

“It’s loaded and ready to go,” Ronnie said. “I had to bribe the guy for the indelible paint he keeps under the counter. He said it doesn’t wash out of clothes, and if it hits bare skin, it’ll take like two weeks to wear off.”

“I get it. You want Archie to go through the rest of the program with a flaming red butt.”

“Not Archie. Betty. The paint is brown. Get her in the ass. It’ll look like she shit herself.”

“Come on,” Reggie said.

He’d do anything to humiliate Archie, but picking on Betty was a new low.

“If you ever want these lips on your cock again, you’ll do as you’re told.”

She had him there. They sat in silence as he wrestled with what was left of his conscience.

“Oh, all right,” she said finally. “If you want to go after Archie, too, I won’t mind. Just make sure I’m not around when you do it.”

“Right in the balls,” he said, starting up his car. He drove out slowly between the rows of glowing red taillights. For a Monday night, there were a lot of kids in the park. Now that spring was here, the teens of Riverdale were horny, and this shady lot was the town’s most popular make-out spot. Little Riverdale, they called it. The custom was to leave your parking lights on so drivers could enter and exit with their headlamps off. But who cares about courtesy? Just to be a dick, Reggie cranked up his high beams. It was quite a show. In car after car, couples were in a state of partial to total undress. The white blaze slid caressingly across the girls’ bare tits and raised legs, the boys’ humping butts. Hateful curses and shouts of vengeance followed them into the road.

Reg didn’t bother to zip up. He liked the feeling of the night air on his cock as it dried Ronnie’s spit. On the way back to her mansion, they passed Pop’s burger joint, catching a glimpse of Archie, Betty, and Jughead through the bright front window. Crumpled napkins, empty plastic baskets, and tall paper cups speared with red straws littered the table in front of them. Juggie was talking and gesturing, and Archie and Betty were laughing hard.

Well, they wouldn’t be laughing for long.


Betty marched into school Tuesday morning ready and willing to strip. Today, there would be no unpleasant surprises. She had showered, washed her hair, lacquered her toenails and trimmed her bush. To make her entrance, she was dressed for spring in a sleeveless shift with a zigzag print of teal, yellow, and black, and cork-soled, strap-on wedges that tightened her calves in the most alluring fashion.

Archie, already nude, was waiting for her when she reached her locker, surrounded by a crowd of teen voyeurs. His dick, in its softened state, was small, resting lightly on his tightened sack. Betty hoped that condition would change in a moment.

“Archiekins,” she said, “would you mind?”

She flipped her ponytail forward over one shoulder. Archie, taking the hint, unzipped her down the back. Betty stepped out of the shift carefully, and, with all deliberation, opened her locker and hung it inside. The wolves were salivating, their tongues practically hanging out, and she didn’t want to disappoint them.

“Oh, dear,” she said, “I seem to be having trouble with my bra. You —” she pointed to an pimple-faced shrimp with glasses thick as beer steins — “could you unhook it for me?”

The shrimp hesitated, until somebody behind him gave him a shove, and he fell into her arms.

“It’s easy,” she told him, presenting him with her long, smooth spine. “Just pull it out a little, and push the straps in.”

She could feel his hands shaking as he twisted and tugged. The crowd, mostly boys, was getting restless, but Betty gave the kid all the time he needed. It was a teaching moment, the kind the program was designed for: Someday this little weasel would be in the backseat of a car with some hot, horny girl as pimply as he, and the experience would come in handy.

After much fumbling and grumbling, the bra sprang open. The shrimp jumped back as if some vicious dog had snapped at him. Betty turned about and faced the crowd, keeping her arms crossed over her tits as she plucked the straps from her shoulders.

“Aw, come on!” somebody said. But Betty would not be rushed. The bra dangled from her pinkie, but she kept her hands clamped over her nipples, teasing.

“Be patient,” Archie told the kids. “Anything worth having is worth waiting for.”

But the look in his eyes said “hurry up,” and his cock was coming to life, all on its own.

Betty lowered her hands. The crowd gasped.

“You got something on your breast,” the Shrimp said.

“Oh no,” Betty said. “Where did that come from?”

It was a smudge, the color of ash, just off her left nipple, on the cleavage side. Betty licked the tip of her middle finger and rubbed until the spot was gone and her tit was once again as white as a daisy. Her nipple stood up in response, flushing to a deep pink, and the Shrimp’s knees buckled. The boys to either side had to hold him up by his armpits. 

“That’s better,” Betty said, holding her tit up, looking it over.

The ritual ended with Betty Finally she slipping her panties off over her sandals. Turning one last time to her locker, giving the group a generous view of her pert bottom, she folded her underwear, placed it on the top shelf, beside a stack of books, and took out her Riverdale nudity towel. When she faced the group again, Archie’s cock was fully erect. He rolled it absently between his fingers.

“No no!” she said, playfully smacking his hand away. “We must wait until the designated relief period!”

“I’ll be dead by then.”

“You’re sweet.”

The other kids dogged their heels as they made their way to Miss Grundy’s class. Betty glanced over her shoulder, and through the press of faces she saw Principal Weatherbee at the entrance to a stairwell, grinning at her. She thought she saw him wink. He seemed very happy about something.

“You were having fun back there,” Archie said.

“You boys are so easy to toy with.”

What she wanted was to blow Archie in Miss Grundy’s class again, but unfortunately, she didn’t get the chance. Today, Miss Grundy suggested they masturbate for everyone, so girls could see how boys do it, and vice versa. Another teaching moment, and Betty had to admit, she did learn something. She expected Archie just to yank it, the way she imagined boys did, but his technique surprised her. Standing in the front of the room, leaning with legs wide and his ass bunched against the teacher’s desk, he hooked his fingers lightly under his softening scrotum and made circles with his arm, moving his stiff dick across his stomach with the heel of his hand. With his other hand, he lightly brushed his chest and nipples. He blushed all over as he got into it, breathing through his mouth and staring at Betty’s boobs, his arm going faster until pearls of semen bubbled up beneath his wrist, suddenly, and rolled down his legs. 

 “Jerk off,” Reggie muttered. 

“Mr. Mantle,” Miss Grundy said, “my one hope for you is that one day you can learn to give yourself as much pleasure as Mr. Andrews has. That was excellent, Mr. Andrews. It will be reflected on your quarterly grade. Now, Miss Cooper.”

Wow — extra credit for masturbation. Is this a great country or what?

Archie sat down, wiping himself with his towel. Good thing he went first. His demonstration got Betty’s pussy hot and wet, and it wouldn’t take much effort to get off. Bypassing Grundy’s desk, she shocked everyone by lying down in the center aisle, between two rows of students. The kids rearranged themselves in a ragged semicircle below her as she spread her legs, giving them a bird’s-eye view of her glistening pink gash. Already she counted half a dozen erections. There was no mistaking them as they inflated the boys’ pants. Jughead was rubbing himself discreetly over his fly. Only one person didn’t join the crowd south of her pussy: that was Veronica, who stood directly above her head, her face seemingly upside down. At that angle, her expression was hard to read.

Since Archie had been so creative, Betty thought she’d try something different, too. Usually, at home in bed, she would stuff a couple fingers up her cunt while kissing Archie’s picture, but now, with the real thing standing naked at her feet, all she needed to do was curl her middle finger, press the highest knuckle into her clit, and jiggle her wrist while gazing up at the underside of his boner and the cursive “w” of his balls. It was the most delicately sexual feeling, and it drew her toes apart.

But it didn’t stay delicate for long. In a minute, maybe two, as the pressure built from within, her hand took on a will of its own, as uncontrollable as the creature in a horror flick that escapes from the laboratory. Take your time, she told herself, but it felt too fucking good. Her knuckle dug down and her splayed fingers batted her thighs as her wrist shook, rattled and rolled.

“God,” she whimpered. “Motherfucking God.”

Her mind rose from her body as she came, and she saw herself as if from above, squeezing her tits and lashing her clit. There was the top of Archie’s red head, too, with the sharp white part down the middle, and his cock sticking out from under like Pinocchio’s nose. He was rock-hard again, and this time he yanked his dick in the classic “jerk-off” manner. Suddenly, another naked cock popped out above her, then a third, and a fourth. The unspoken impulse surged through the group. Cocks sprouted like mushrooms, until every boy in class had whipped it out.

“Miss Grundy,” Betty said, as she realized what was about to happen, “isn’t this against the rules?”

But Miss Grundy didn’t intervene. She was standing to the side, at Betty’s jiggering elbow, discreetly inserting a yardstick up her skirt. The girls in class got in on the act, too, wanking off with their hands down their panties. But when girls come, they only get squishy. Boys, on the other hand —

“Thar she blows!” Betty cried.

Torrents of hot jizz rained on her face and her tits and tummy and legs, and her climax, which had begun to fade, reared a second time. She felt like a filthy whore, masturbating for her classmates, crisscrossed with cock-spatter, and she loved it. Her body was a living work of abstract art, a sexual drip painting, a Pollock in sperm. 

Her orgasm went on long after the last cock was squeezed dry, but at last, her mind rejoined her body, and the room stopped spinning. She was gazing up at her classmates again. They looked too funny, the girls with their hands stuffed between their legs, the boys holding their dorks. For a time, nobody spoke. Everybody seemed embarrassed.

“Sorry,” Jughead said finally, tucking his rather impressive cock back into his jeans. “We couldn’t help it.”

“Of course not,” Betty said. “I’m too fucking hot. Could somebody please hand me my towel?”

“Here you go,” Veronica said.

The wad of terrycloth landed on her come-covered boobs.

“Thanks, Ronnie.”

“Oh, no,” Ronnie said, “thank you.


There is nothing like a community orgasm to start the day. The circle jerk in first-period English, and Betty’s being such a good sport about it, left the class in a glowing mood, and it became the talk of the school. Awed whispers followed her bare ass down the hallways all morning. At lunch, making her entrance in the cafeteria, she was greeted with a round of applause.

The best part was, she and Veronica were friends again. They ate together, and when Betty announced, after wolfing down her Cobb salad, that she was still sticky and had gunk in her hair and simply had to grab a shower, Veronica asked if she’d like some company.

They emptied their trays and headed off to the athletic wing, arm in arm.

Ronnie was dressed simply today, by her standards, in a salmon-colored top with a string bow, and black corduroy jeans that were just painted on her ass. Like Betty, she had long legs and no waist, and she could get away with tightest slacks and the tiniest skirts.

“I love your top,” Betty said.

“Yours is getting all the attention.”

“You’ll get your turn.”

“And I am not looking forward to it,” Ronnie said.

“Why not? A body’s just a body. And you have a great one.”

“But if everybody gets a share for free, my stock loses value.”

“Leave it to you to put it like that.”

The girls’ shower room was a maze of cinderblock stalls painted two shades of blue — sea below, sky above. One end opened on Riverdale High’s indoor pool, the other, though a single swinging door, on a dim corridor that separated the pool from the gym. The pool, the gym and the showers would fill up later in the day as the various practices got started, but for the moment, they were deserted.

Betty got a washcloth from the wire rack, and Ronnie, sitting on one of the benches lined up between the rows of showers, watched as she slipped out of her wedges and turned on the faucets, testing the temperature of the water with her hands before she placed herself under the stream.


The water was warm and loving, like a mother’s arms. Betty pumped some emerald body wash onto her cloth from the dispenser on the wall and lathered herself all over. She circled her boobs, which wobbled at her touch. Foam gathered in the coils of her blonde bush. She was facing the showerhead, scrubbing her thigh, when a pair of soft hands, tipped with blood-red nail polish, slipped beneath her arms and cupped her soapy tits. Lips and a tongue tenderly brushed her shoulder, her back, the curve of her neck. She whirled around into Ronnie’s embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” Ronnie said through the patter of water. “Let’s not let anything come between us again.”

Betty smirked.

“There’s nothing between us now,” she said.

They hugged, their naked bosoms flattening together through the slippery film. And they kissed, like lovers, for the first time in their lives. Archie wasn’t the only one who had been waiting to make it with Veronica. If only he could see them now.

“You’ll ruin your makeup,” Betty said.

“It’s waterproof.”


“Here, let me.”

Veronica took the washcloth and scrubbed between Betty’s legs, then down her back, digging deep into Betty’s butt and over her asshole. Betty returned the favor, pumping more gel and lathering Ronnie’s body with her bare hands. When the suds, breaking up beneath the fine-needle spray, slid from Ronnie’s tits, Betty couldn’t resist: She had to know what it was like to suck on those hard red nipples. They swelled in her mouth, each in turn, tasting of chlorine, while the jets of water danced and sparkled on the firm white globes.

And as she sucked, she slipped her fingers into Ronnie’s crotch. The tough outer lips, which had always reminded Betty of a coconut husk, parted, and she entered that wonderfully tight, swollen hole she knew so well from exploring herself. Girls know what girls like. She pushed a finger inside, where it was warm and slippery and strangely isolated from the shower, like a hearth offering shelter in a downpour.

Shuddering with delight, Ronnie leaned back against the side of the stall. Betty slid down, crouching in front of her. She kissed Ronnie’s shimmering black bush. The shower, dousing her from high above, made breathing tricky, but she persisted, gulping air and spitting water as her tongue broke through Ronnie’s pubic hair and found the rubbery bolt of her clit. How could they ever fight again after this?

“Ugh!” Ronnie’s voice rang through the empty stalls. “God that’s good! That is so fucking good!”

She clutched Betty’s wet hair and jammed her face deeper into her cunt. Betty, caressing Ronnie’s ass as she slurped and licked, heard her gasping over the rush of water. The gasps grew shorter, quicker, higher in pitch. Ronnie’s thighs tightened about Betty’s chin. Her bosom heaved.

“I’m coming!” she cried. “Do it! Do it now!”

 Ping! Ping! Ping!  Three sharp blows stung Betty in the ass. She squealed, spinning with the force, and came down on her butt just as a fourth shot burst on her tit.


It was like getting snapped on the nipple with a wet towel. For a second she thought she was bleeding, but the stain was brown, not red. Paint. She clutched her smarting boob, but she couldn’t wipe the crud off. The shower only made things worse, smearing the stuff until it covered her hands and tit. A river of it ran from between her outstretched legs, like a brown menstrual flow, swirling down the drain.

“What the fuck!

She looked to her friend for help, but Veronica was still in the throes of orgasm, her hands clamped to her pussy, the pink meat bulging through her fingers.

Betty struggled to her feet. She turned off the shower, and in the sudden chill that followed, Ronnie gave up pleasuring herself.

“Oh — oh dear,” she said, dreamy from her climax. “What happened?”

“Some asshole shot me with paintballs. Oh God. Oh God.”

Betty began to cry. Her reign as the Fairest in the Land was over.

“Gee, what a shame,” Ronnie said.

She calmly left the stall and got a towel. As she dried her tits and her arms, she looked Betty over with a jeweler’s appraising eye.

“You poor thing,” she said. “You’re just a mess. It’s all over your backside, too, and down your legs. I hope this doesn’t ruin the rest of your time in the program.”

“Oh, I doubt it will,” said a voice.

Their heads spun ’round — Ronnie’s left, Betty’s right — and there, near the entrance to the pool, stood Weatherbee, his face red with anger. In one fat fist, he held Reggie by the scruff of the neck. In the other, he held the barrel of a weird-looking plastic gun.

“Mr. Andrews is in my office at the moment, in much the same condition as you are, Miss Cooper,” he said. “I don’t know which is more reprehensible — vandalizing the genitals of a handsome young man, or ruining a perfectly hot lesbian scene.”

He gave Reggie a shake.

“What have you got to say for yourself?”

Reggie was silent, wavering between telling the truth and the prospect of more oral sex.

“Very well,” Weatherbee said. “I shall have to call your parents.”

“It was her idea,” Reggie blurted out, pointing at Veronica. “She was jealous of Betty, and she wanted her out of the way.”

Veronica stamped her dainty bare foot.

“Asshole! You know what’s never going to happen to you again.”

“I’m sorry. I’m in enough hot water with my folks as it is.”

“All right,” Weatherbee said. “What about the paint?”

“It won’t come off,” Veronica said haughtily, playing her trump card. “I guess she’ll just have to go through the week like that.”

“Miss Cooper, you and Mister Andrews are excused from the Program until your bodies are spotless once again. Mind you, this is only temporary. You will have to finish out your week as soon as you are able.”

“Mr. Weatherbee, I can’t let you do that,” Betty said. “The Program is far to important to be suspended.”

“Not to worry, child. I think we can find a pair of volunteers to take your place. Can’t we, Miss Lodge?”



Saturday arrived, and well-dressed students packed the gym for the Ladies Choice Dance. The DJ was hot. He played all kinds of stuff — even country swing, Betty’s favorite kind of dance music. She wore a one-shoulder purple dress with a flared skirt she could shake and wave as she twirled about the floor. Her date, a lanky red-haired boy, was more conservative, but dapper in a blue suit and red silk tie. The other couples gave them wide berth to let them show off their moves, and applauded them when they were through.

When the DJ took a break, and the dancers cleared the floor, Betty and Archie each got a ginger ale. Archie got an extra, and they strolled over to Ronnie’s table.

She looked terrific, Betty had to admit, in her pearl choker, black sling-back heels, and nothing else. She’d had accented her rack with some glitter and a touch of rouge on her nips. She never lost her sense of style, even in the nude. Boys were dying to ask her to dance, but she was giving off such negative vibes they didn’t dare come within five feet of her. Sitting alone, she leaned with one elbow on the table and her cheek propped on her fist. Her face blushed with red hatch marks, and a little gray cloud, shaped vaguely like a question mark, hovered above her head.

 “Hey, Ronnie,” Archie said. “May we join you?”

“Fuck off,” Ronnie said.

They sat down anyway. Archie placed the extra drink in front of Ronnie, while Betty looked around for Reggie. He had been banished to a far corner of the room, where he was trying to make small talk with some girls who took turns yanking his wiener. It had been sort of a game all week, and it did not look pleasant.

“I love what you’ve done with your hair,” Betty said.

“Yours looks nice, too.”

“Cheer up,” Archie said. “Your week’s almost over, and Betty and I still have the rest of ours to go.”

“No,” Ronnie said. “Weatherbee said this week doesn’t count. I have to go through it again when my time comes.”

“Ouch,” Betty said.

“You’re a pretty sore winner,” Ronnie said.

“And you’re an awful loser.”

The DJ returned. The music revved up again. Jughead emerged from the crowd. He had on a smashing gray pinstripe suit, which went surprisingly well with his beanie.

“Betty, may I have this dance?” he said.

“Thanks, but I’d like to sit this one out. Ask Ronnie. She looks like she could use a good time.”


“Go away.”

“Come on,” Betty said. “Since when are you a wallflower?”

“All right,” Veronica said. “What the hell.”

She drained her drink in one swig, as if it was something stronger than ginger ale, and got up. Betty watched her ass appreciatively as she sashayed to the center of the floor.

“Hey,” Archie said, “wanna go fuck in my car?”

“You’re on!” Betty said. “But let’s keep our clothes on this time. It’ll be different.”

“Gosh, you’re kinky.”

They made their way to the corner exit, where Mr. Weatherbee and Miss Grundy stood like guards, keeping watchful eyes on the crowd. At the open threshold, a step away from the thrilling night air, they took a last look back at the dance floor. Juggie was a total spazz. He held Ronnie delicately by one hand as his legs flailed in every direction. It was like he had six of them. His other hand held his beanie in place. Ronnie, for her part, barely moved, shifting almost imperceptibly from one foot to the other, but still, the effect was extraordinary.

“She does have a sweet ass,” Archie said. “You don’t mind me saying that, do you?”

“Why?” Betty said. “It’s true.”

“You know, I’ve spent a third of my life wondering what she looks like naked.”

“And now that you know?”

“I see her a lot more clearly.”

“Her stock crashed.”


“Private joke.”

She raised her arm and waved.

“Have fun!” she called, even though no one but Archie could hear her over the thumping bass. Ronnie gave her the dirtiest look, and in a moment, the crowd closed around her, and she was lost from view.

Betty took Archie’s arm.

“Let’s go, lover,” she said.


The End

© 2013, 2014 by Jacqueline Jillinghoff

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