Camp Hazelwood (Part 4 Posted 9/20)

[Nathan07]

Thanks for the new part of this story!

To be honest, I still don't understand why Nikki submits so easily to Tris: she is older and in a position of authority, and in the first part she was confident enough to put her in her place.

That said, Tris is really unbearable: I sincerely hope she will be taken down a peg soon!

[jastes22]

*Thanks everyone for the feedback on the shift being too quick. As I can't go back and edit, I've tried to account for that shift a bit in this part. Regardless, hope you enjoy.*

The noise around me warped, like I was underwater—every laugh, shuffle, and whisper drifting farther from reality. My vision tunneled, locked onto the cards on the floor. My hand. Tris’ smirking face. The cards spread in front of me. My brain cycled through meaningless poker logic—flush? straight?—as if I could somehow rearrange the hand, undo the outcome, rewind the moment.

But there was no combination that fixed this.

I had lost.

I had lost, and now I had to pay.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

In less than twelve hours, I would be standing in front of every cabin, every camper—boys and girls—with nothing but my soaked panties to shield me.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Well, girls,” Tris said, stretching like she’d just finished a workout. “We better get to bed. Nikki’s got a big morning.”

More laughter. I curled into myself, arms wrapped tight over my chest, knees drawn up. My bare boobs were cold and raw in the chill of the cabin. I felt so exposed, in more ways than one. I didn’t even know what I was covering anymore—everything? nothing? I was beyond modesty. I was raw.

Tris extended a hand.

I hesitated. Touching her felt dangerous, like stepping into quicksand. But refusing would be worse.

I took it.

She helped me up with surprising gentleness, but there was a smug glint in her eye—she knew I expected a trap. That made it worse.
I turned toward my bunk and reached for my pajamas, folded neatly like they were waiting to rescue me.

“Nikki?” Tris called, her tone sharp.

I froze.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting dressed,” I said weakly. “My pajamas…”

“You’re still Tokenless,” she reminded me, arms folded like a disappointed teacher. “You know what that means.”

“No clothes,” I whispered.

She held up a finger. “Not just that. No sheets. No blanket. No exceptions.”

I swallowed. What? “But—”

“Are you going to be a good girl?” she asked softly, but there was steel under the sugar.

I hesitated too long.

Tris’ eyes narrowed. “You spent your last Token on those panties, remember? I’ll let you trade—your panties for your pajamas and a blanket. But then you do roll call tomorrow in nothing. Your choice.”

I stared at her, my mind collapsing under the weight of the decision. Naked now… or naked in front of everyone? It didn’t occur to me to refuse both.

There was no question. My voice cracked. “I’ll…I’ll sleep naked.”

“Good,” she said with a smirk. “Get to it.”

My hands trembled as I peeled off the panties, the final thread between me and total exposure. I folded them carefully and placed them on my suitcase, like they were something sacred. The girls watched silently—some smirking, some wide-eyed, some biting back laughter.
I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Tris stepped in close. Her presence filled my vision. I froze.

Her thumb brushed slowly along the edge of my pussy—uninvited, casual, like I was a statue she was inspecting. My breath caught.

“I just want you to know,” she whispered near my ear, still stroking my clit, “this is for your own good. Do you understand?”

I suppressed a groan. I couldn’t believe another female—much less a girl at least two years younger than me, was eliciting such a reaction. “…Yes.”

“What do you say?”

I swallowed. “Thank you.”

Her hand stroked my cheek with an unsettling gentleness. “Are you my good little girl?”

I didn’t want to say it. But I needed this to end. Obeying Tris’ caramel voice was the quickest way to get this over with.

“Yes. I’m your good little girl.”

I hated how familiar those words were, how they came easier and easier each time.

“Good,” she said brightly, like I’d passed a quiz. She flicked my “Visitor” Badge, biting her bottom lip as she scanned my body, like a teenager looking at her crush. I repulsed a shudder. “Now get to bed,” she said. “Big day tomorrow.”

She swatted my bare rear with a sharp little slap that made me flinch, and I scurried away. My mattress was stripped bare—Tris had yanked off every layer. I curled into a ball on the cold vinyl, one arm over my chest, knees against my stomach, and one arm in between my legs.

I laid there, freezing, wide awake, and the last forty-eight hours slid through my head like a bad highlight reel. How had this happened? One night I walk in and put Tris in her place; less than 24 hours later she was rearranging my life like she was the counselor and I’d just signed up for the role of entertainment.

The badge felt heavy under my fingers, the “Visitor” label catching on my skin like a reminder I’d chosen to wear the wrong name. That small, stupid card mattered more than I thought—made me feel temporary, replaceable. When she took it, the room didn’t see a person they respected. They saw a thing to laugh at. I froze.

I kept replaying Dan’s face—his grin when he handed me the clipboard, that half-hopeful look when he said “I’m counting on you.” He made it sound like trust. It landed inside me like duty. If I blew up at Tris, if I made a scene, what would that do to the camp? To Dan? To whatever chance I had at being taken seriously here again? That was math I did in my head: small fight now, big losses later. So I folded. A hundred tiny, tiny folds.
And every fold made the next one easier. First it was a token. Then the clipboard. Then an entire rulebook I didn’t realize I’d been carrying evaporated. The group didn’t need to force me—one whisper, one look, and the rest followed. Peer pressure is a drumbeat; after a while your feet move without you.

I should’ve said no. I know that. I told myself I would take it back in the morning—let her have the night and then reclaim authority. But it was a tall order, having already given up my clothes, my authority, even my bedding.

There was something else I didn’t want to admit. In the places where shame burned the hottest, something else flickered — a small, shameful curiosity I shoved down because admitting it felt traitorous. It’s the part of me that liked being noticed, even if it was in the worst possible way. To have all those girls, young, popular, attractive, looking at me, whether it was in shock, envy, or derivation. It embarrassed me to admit it, but the admission made the whole mess more complicated: not only was I cowardly, I was also, in some small bruise of a way, intrigued.

I hated that. I hated that I let it happen. I hated that I couldn’t decide whether I’d fight back or keep playing along. I’m supposed to be the grown-up here. I was supposed to be the one with the clipboard. But right now—right now I’m the one curled up on a mattress, completely naked, with the memory of her smile like a threat and a promise. I don’t know which I'd answer tomorrow.

I’m a good girl, I told myself, the mantra coming out as a bitter whisper. I’m a good girl. I repeated in my head over and over again, until it sounded more like a resignation than a rally.