Red Signal (Ch.1-2 - 5/15)
Posted: Fri May 15, 2026 2:44 pm
Hi everyone!
While I was on a break from continuing Samantha’s story, I started writing a new one. I’m sharing it here in case any of you would like to read it.
I’m still working on Sam’s story little by little — new ideas keep coming, and I’ll get back to it very soon.
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Copyright © May 2026 by McENF.
All rights reserved.
No reproduction, distribution, or publication of this work, in whole or in part, is permitted without the express written consent of the author.
All characters are over 18 years old.
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction containing intense themes of humiliation, shame, and public nudity. For readers 18+ only.
Tags: ENF, Humiliation, Extreme Embarrassment, Public Nudity, Gradual Exposure, Power Dynamics, Risk.
Synopsis:
Valeria, an observant and insecure 18-year-old girl, starts helping her best friend Lucía with increasingly risky challenges on the *Red Signal* platform to make quick money. What begins as a simple favor between friends spirals into a dangerous game of humiliation when an unexpected accident forces them to cross limits neither ever imagined.
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Red Signal: Valeria & Lucía
Chapter Index
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
I remember that Tuesday afternoon with a clarity that hurts. The sun came in through the huge window of the shopping mall and fell on the shiny floors like warm honey. Everything looked golden, fake, tempting. For us, the shopping mall had always been a borrowed place: we walked slowly, looked at shop windows without touching, shared an ice cream when we could afford it and pretended we didn’t mind not being able to buy anything else.
I was wearing my already worn white sneakers, my usual jeans and a dark blue blouse. I had pulled my hair back into a low ponytail because the heat was sticking to the back of my neck and because, when I’m nervous, I need to feel my face clear. Lucía arrived ten minutes late, coming down the escalator with that confidence of hers that always stirs in me a strange mix of anger and pride.
She had her brown hair loose and shinier than usual. The black skirt moved with every step, light, and the white t-shirt hugged her body. It wasn’t expensive clothes, but it was thought out. Deliberate. She hugged me from the side, as always, and I smelled coconut shampoo and carefully applied perfume.
“You got here early,” she said, smiling.
“You got here late,” I answered.
“Let’s eat.”
I pointed toward the fast-food area.
“Empanadas?”
“No. Today I’m treating.”
I looked at her. The word “treating” sounded strange in her mouth. We didn’t treat. We calculated. We split everything in half.
“Where did you get the money?” I asked.
Lucía tightened her jaw.
“I worked.”
I didn’t believe her. But we walked anyway toward the second floor, where the real restaurants were: tables with tablecloths, warm lights, prices we had never paid. I stopped in front of the door.
“Lucía, no.”
“Yes. I have money.”
We went in. We sat by an interior window. The air conditioning brushed my arms. The menu hit me with its prices. We ordered hamburgers, fries and lemonades. When the waiter left, the silence grew heavy.
Lucía moved the straw between her fingers. Her hands trembled a little. I knew that gesture: her thumb rubbing the nail of her index finger, over and over.
“Tell me the truth,” I insisted in a low voice.
She took a deep breath.
“I found an app. Red Signal. Or something like that. Photos. Short videos. Challenges.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What kind of challenges?”
“Risky clothes. Uncomfortable situations. Controlled embarrassment. People pay to watch that.”
Blood rushed to my neck. I imagined Lucía, my Lucía, exposing herself. Heat rose to my cheeks and an uncomfortable tingling ran across my skin. What does that feel like? The air on your skin, the gaze of strangers, the fear that someone might recognize you.
“Lucía… you’re crazy. It’s dangerous. They could recognize you, they could…”
“It’s not that bad,” she cut me off, but her voice trembled. “At first it’s really embarrassing. The first challenge was going out with a skirt and nothing underneath. Recording while I walked. Feeling every step… Knowing anyone could notice. I almost died. But they pay well, Valeria. Better than I expected.”
She took out her phone and showed me the screen. The numbers left me frozen. Enough for several good meals, to top up the phone, to buy some new underwear and even to share some ice creams without checking the price. It wasn’t a fortune, but for us it was a lot. I thought about my house, the half-empty fridge, my mom counting coins for the week’s food. With this we could eat decently for several days. Just once. For us.
“I don’t want you to be humiliated for money,” I said, but my voice already sounded weaker.
Lucía looked down. Her cheeks were red. Shame, yes. But also a nervous shine, almost pride.
“I felt horrible at first. But then I saw I could buy cookies for my mom without having to borrow. That I could stop feeling so… behind. So poor all the time.”
Her eyes shone, but she didn’t cry. Lucía never cries in front of anyone.
The hamburgers arrived. Big, perfect, obscene. I bit mine slowly. The flavor was delicious and made me feel guilty. Lucía ate in silence, but every so often she looked at me, as if measuring my reaction.
When we finished, she paid with new bills. I watched her do it with a mix of admiration and fear. Admiration because she finally could. Fear because I knew something had changed forever.
We left the restaurant and walked down the hallway. The shopping mall kept shining, indifferent to us. Lucía stopped near a fountain.
“You could help me,” she said suddenly.
I looked at her.
“Help you how?”
“Taking the photos. Recording the videos. We split half and half. With you… I wouldn’t feel so alone.”
No. Say no. But the words didn’t come out. I thought about the money. About her pleading look. About that ugly curiosity already growing inside me.
“I just want to see what it’s like,” I answered at last. “If I don’t like it, you stop.”
Lucía nodded, although we both knew that promise was fragile.
“Okay.”
That afternoon we went home in silence. I felt the weight of the decision in my chest. Just once, I repeated to myself. But I was already lying. Because deep down, a part of me wanted to see. Wanted to be there when Lucía exposed herself. Wanted to feel, even from close by, that shame that made her shine in a new and dangerous way.
When I got to my room, I lay down on the bed and stared at the cracked ceiling. I remembered her hands trembling on the table, the blush on her neck, the way she crossed her legs when talking about the first challenge. What will the cold air feel like down there? The fear that someone might look?
I closed my eyes. Heat rose through my body again. Guilt. Curiosity. Jealousy. Fear.
And excitement. An excitement I didn’t want to name yet.
The next day, the institute seemed the same as always. The same smell of freshly mopped floor mixed with the light sweat of uniforms, the echo of voices in the narrow hallways and the white light of the fluorescent bulbs flickering on the ceiling. I arrived early, as usual, and sat on our usual bench on the third floor, next to the window overlooking the inner courtyard. The uniform felt a little tight on my shoulders: the white short-sleeved shirt, somewhat worn at the elbows, the gray pleated skirt that reached just above the knee and the white socks halfway up my calf. I had buttoned the shirt all the way to the neck, as always. Lucía, on the other hand, usually left the first two buttons open and adjusted the skirt a little higher with a small invisible fold.
The first class was mathematics. Professor Rodríguez wrote equations on the blackboard with chalk that creaked. I copied everything in my notebook, focused on the clean lines of the numbers, but my mind kept returning to the previous afternoon. To the new bills on the table. To Lucía’s phone screen. To that word: Red Signal.
Lucía sat next to me, as always. Her skirt brushed my leg when she settled in. She smelled of bath soap and that same coconut shampoo. She looked at me sideways and smiled slightly, a small gesture only I could read. We’re not talking about that here today, I thought. But we both knew we would.
The class passed slowly. I felt the heat of her arm close to mine on the shared desk. Every time the professor turned, Lucía moved her foot under the table and brushed mine, accidentally. Or maybe on purpose. I didn’t know. I kept my eyes fixed on the notebook, but my pulse was a little faster than normal.
In the second hour it was literature. We read a fragment of a story about secrets and lies. The teacher read aloud and I felt every word as if it had been written for us. Lucía took notes in her round, careful handwriting. From time to time she looked up at me. Her hazel eyes held that mix of nerves and excitement I was already starting to recognize.
When the recess bell rang, we gathered our things in silence. We went out to the courtyard and sat on the usual bench, under the shade of the big tree that was losing yellow leaves. The midday sun warmed the air, but there it was cool. I took out my water bottle and drank a sip. Lucía opened her backpack and took out an apple that she split in two with her hands.
“Here,” she said, offering me the bigger half.
I accepted it. The sweet juice ran down my fingers.
“Are you okay?” I asked in a low voice.
She nodded, but looked around before speaking. There were few students nearby. Most were playing soccer or gathered near the cafeteria.
“Last night I uploaded two more photos,” she whispered. “I wanted to show them to you.”
She took the phone out of the inner pocket of her backpack. She held it between her hands for a moment, as if she still doubted. Then she opened the app. Red Signal. The icon was a bright red signal on a black background. She went to her profile. The cover photo was only her silhouette from behind, blurry, without showing her face.
“These are the ones already published,” she said.
She brought the phone closer to me. The first photo was Lucía standing in front of a mirror, with her uniform shirt unbuttoned halfway. You could see the edge of the simple white bra, the soft curve of skin between her breasts and a bit of stomach. Nothing extreme. Just enough to notice her agitated breathing. The second was her sitting on the edge of her bed, with the skirt pulled up a little more than normal, showing her full thighs and the start of dark underwear. She had her legs slightly open, but not too much. Her bare foot brushing the floor. In the comments there were already several numbers: hearts, messages of admiration and, above all, virtual coins that turned into real money.
“You earned… quite a bit,” I murmured.
“With these two, yes.” Her voice was low, almost embarrassed, but there was a nervous pride underneath. “People pay more when there’s risk. When you can tell I’m… uncomfortable.”
She slid her finger and showed me the section of available challenges. The list was long. She scrolled slowly, as if she didn’t want me to read everything at once.
Basic challenges: “Show deep cleavage in a public place,” “Pull skirt up to the waist in a fitting room,” “Let underwear be seen when bending over.” Moderate payments. Then came stronger ones: “Walk without a bra under the blouse at the shopping mall,” “Record a full outfit change in a public bathroom.” And further down, the ones neither of us mentioned out loud.
“Be completely naked in a park at sunset.”
“Remove all clothes in an elevator and record while it goes up.”
“Walk in a busy area wearing only a light raincoat and open it for a few seconds.”
“Full nudity in a parking lot at night.”
The payments for those last ones were much higher. My gaze lingered for a few seconds on those lines. I felt heat in my face. We said nothing. The silence grew dense between us. Lucía quickly passed that part of the list, as if it burned. I didn’t ask either. But something inside me stirred. A dark, hot curiosity that made me press my thighs together under the skirt. What would Lucía look like in one of those? Trembling, with goosebumped skin, trying to cover herself with her hands while someone could appear at any moment?
I closed my eyes for a second. Don’t think that. You’re her friend.
“Valeria…” she whispered. “What do you think?”
I swallowed. My heart beat hard against my ribs.
“They’re… risky. Some too much.”
“Yes.” She looked down at the apple she still held in her hand. “The easy ones I do alone. But for the ones that need a better angle… or someone to watch that no one comes… that’s where I need you.”
She passed me the phone again. In a photo she hadn’t uploaded yet, Lucía was from behind, with the skirt lifted to the waist, completely showing her round, firm buttocks under a thin black thong. The light from her room window fell on her skin, highlighting every curve. She looked vulnerable. Beautiful. Dangerous.
My mouth felt dry.
“It’s good,” I said, and my voice sounded hoarser than I wanted. “The light flatters you.”
Lucía smiled, relieved and nervous at the same time. She put the phone away.
“I don’t want to pressure you. But if we record one morning this weekend… we could earn double. We share everything.”
I nodded slowly.
“Okay,” I answered instead. “Just watch and record. Nothing else.”
The bell rang announcing the end of recess. We stood up. Lucía adjusted her skirt and I did the same with mine. We walked together toward the building, shoulder to shoulder. The brush of her arm against mine felt more deliberate now. More charged.
In the next class, history, I had trouble concentrating. I took notes mechanically while my mind returned to that photo from behind. To the curve of her waist. To the way the fabric sank between her buttocks. To the challenges neither of us had mentioned out loud.
How far would you go, Lucía? I thought, looking at her profile while she wrote. And me… how far would I be willing to watch you?
I felt a slow heat rise through my belly. Guilt. Excitement. Fear. All mixed together. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable, and crossed my legs. Lucía, as if she had sensed my unease, turned her head for a second and looked at me. Her eyes lingered on mine longer than necessary.
Neither of us said anything. But the silence spoke for us.
The rest of the day passed between classes and shared whispers. At the end of the afternoon, when we left the institute, the sun was already going down and painted the sky orange. We walked together to the corner where we always separated.
“Tomorrow after classes… can we try one?” she asked in a low voice. “Something simple. At the shopping mall. Just photos.”
I nodded. My pulse throbbed in my ears.
“Something simple,” I repeated, as if that made it less real.
Lucía touched my arm for a second before leaving. Her fingers were warm.
“Thank you, Valeria. Really.”
I watched her walk away down the street. Her skirt moved with the wind. I stayed there for a moment, alone, with the heavy backpack on my back and a new and dangerous feeling growing inside my chest.
Just photos, I repeated to myself as I walked home.
But I already knew it was another lie.
The next day, after the last class, we left the institute still wearing our uniforms. The white shirt stuck slightly to my back from the afternoon heat, and the gray pleated skirt moved with every step, brushing my thighs. Lucía walked beside me with the quick pace of someone who wants to get there before changing her mind. Her skirt was hiked up a little more than regulation, as always, and the first two buttons of her shirt open revealed the edge of her white bra. Neither of us said much during the bus ride. Just short glances and the noise of the city outside.
We arrived at the shopping mall while the sun was still high. The air conditioning greeted us like a cold embrace that made the skin on my arms prickle. The place was bustling with people: mothers with strollers, groups of laughing teenagers, couples walking slowly. We were just two more girls from the institute, in uniform, invisible to most.
We went up to the third floor on the escalator. Lucía went ahead and I couldn’t stop looking at the way her skirt moved, revealing a little more of the back of her thighs with every step. Stop, I told myself. But I kept looking.
We sat on a bench near a fountain. The water fell with a constant sound that tried to calm me.
“What are we doing?” I asked in a low voice.
Lucía bit her lower lip. She looked around and then moved a little closer to me. Her knee brushed mine.
“Something easy to start. I don’t want anything too strong today. It’s the first time outside the house.”
I nodded. I felt my heart beating in my throat.
“There are bathrooms on this floor, at the end of the clothing stores hallway. They’re big, with spacious stalls. Few people use that area at this hour.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked.
“We go into the big stall. I take off my shirt and skirt… I stay in underwear. I let you take photos and record short videos. Just that. No going out. Only inside the bathroom. Is that okay with you?”
Her voice trembled a little at the end. I swallowed. It was more than I expected for the first one, but less than what I had seen on the Red Signal list.
“Okay,” I answered, though something twisted inside me. “Just inside. I’ll watch and record.”
Lucía let out a breath and smiled nervously. We stood up and walked toward the bathrooms. The hallway was relatively empty. We went in. The smell of disinfectant and cheap soap floated in the air. There were three large stalls at the back. We chose the last one. I closed the door with the latch. The space was narrow but enough. A large mirror occupied one wall.
Lucía set her backpack on the floor. She looked at me.
“Shall we start?”
I nodded and took out my phone. I set it to camera mode. My hands were sweating a little.
She started with the shirt. She unbuttoned it slowly, one by one. The white fabric opened revealing her simple bra, white with some worn lace on the edges. Her breasts rose and fell with short breaths. The skin of her stomach looked soft under the cold fluorescent light. Then she lowered the zipper of her skirt. She let it fall to her ankles. Underneath she wore a simple black thong that contrasted with the pale skin of her hips. Her thighs were slightly pressed together, as if trying to hide something.
In person, Lucía looked vulnerable. Shoulders slightly hunched, cheeks red, eyes avoiding the mirror. She trembled slightly. I could see the goosebumps rising on her arms and stomach.
Through the camera everything was sharper, more cruelly detailed. I focused. The zoom let me see the slight blush rising from her neck to her ears. The way her nipples faintly showed against the bra fabric from the air conditioning cold. The curve where the thong sank between her firm buttocks. I recorded a short ten-second video: her standing, slowly turning around on herself. Her hands didn’t know where to go: first covering her stomach, then dropping to her sides, unsure.
“Turn around,” I whispered.
Lucía obeyed. From behind, the image was even stronger. The thong barely covered anything. The line of her back, the narrow waist, the round shape of her buttocks. I recorded another fifteen-second video while she leaned forward a little, placing her hands on the wall. The movement made the fabric stretch tighter. I could see the edge of her intimate lips marked against the black fabric.
I lowered the phone for a second. In person, Lucía was breathing hard. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted. A drop of sweat ran down her temple.
“Are you okay?” I asked, though my voice sounded hoarser than normal.
“Y-yes…” she murmured. “It’s just… the fear that someone might come in.”
At that moment I felt something. A slow heat rising from my belly toward my chest. Seeing her like that, trembling, exposed, obeying… I liked it. I didn’t want to admit it. It’s just concern, I told myself. But I knew it was a lie. I liked seeing how she blushed, how her body reacted to the fear, how she tried to stay dignified while almost naked in a public bathroom.
“Another photo,” I said. “Bend over a little more.”
Lucía did it. She leaned forward, slightly spreading her legs. Through the camera I saw everything clearly: the way the thong sank between her buttocks, the goosebumped skin, the slight tremor in her thighs. I recorded a short video. Fifteen seconds in which she stayed like that, breathing unevenly. When she looked up at the camera, her eyes held contained tears and something else. Shame. Excitement. Surrender.
I lowered the phone. The silence in the stall was dense, broken only by her breathing and the distant echo of footsteps outside.
“Lucía… you look… really good,” I said. I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
She straightened up and turned around. Her cheeks were completely red. She covered her chest with one arm, though it didn’t help much.
“Really? I don’t feel brave. I feel… ridiculous.”
“You’re not,” I answered. And it was true. She looked beautiful. Vulnerable. Powerful in a strange way.
While she got dressed again, I reviewed the photos and videos. Each image made that heat inside me grow. Seeing her through the screen was different. It was as if I was looking at her in a way I shouldn’t. As if I was enjoying her shame. This is wrong, I thought. But I didn’t delete anything. On the contrary, I saved everything carefully.
When Lucía finished buttoning her shirt, she looked at me.
“How much do you think we can earn with this?”
“Quite a bit,” I answered. “It shows you’re nervous. People like that.”
She smiled with a mix of shyness and pride. We left the bathroom as if nothing had happened. The hallway was still almost empty. We walked toward the mall exit in silence. My mind kept replaying the images: her almost naked body, the trembling, the way she obeyed every instruction.
That night, in my room, I reviewed the files again. Every photo, every second of video. I felt guilt, yes. But also a dark pleasure growing slowly, like a seed I didn’t want to water but that was already sprouting.
It was just an easy challenge, I repeated to myself.
But I already knew that next time I would want more. And that a part of me wanted to see Lucía lose control completely.
That same night I sent Lucía all the photos and videos from the bathroom. I only wrote “Done” and attached the files. She replied with a heart and a “Thanks, Val.” I knew she would upload them right away. I went to bed thinking about that, about her body exposed for strangers who would pay to look at her.
The next day, Thursday, we arrived at school in our uniforms. The white shirt stuck to my back from the humid heat. During recess, while we shared an apple, I suggested it.
“Lucía, from now on we sit all the way in the back. In the last desk.”
She looked at me with distrust.
“Why?”
“Because I saw a challenge on Red Signal that could work here. But we need to be in the back, where the teacher doesn’t control as much.”
Lucía stayed quiet for a moment, biting the apple.
“What challenge?”
“During class you take off all your underwear. You put it in your backpack and continue as if nothing.”
I saw her body tense. She looked down.
“Valeria… we’re at school. If someone notices…”
“I know,” I answered softly. “That’s why the back. No one looks back there. It’ll be quick.”
Lucía took a deep breath.
“How much can it pay?”
“Quite a bit. More than the bathroom one. Because it’s in a place where you shouldn’t.”
After thinking for a few seconds, she accepted with a trembling voice.
“Okay… just this once.”
The night before I had created an account on Red Signal as a regular user, with a made-up name no one could connect to me. I didn’t upload anything of mine, I only watched. But I discovered that you could also propose new challenges. The platform reviewed them and, if they were attractive to paying users, published them and handled distributing the reward. No one knew it was me writing them. That morning, before leaving home, I had proposed that same challenge with a decent reward. I felt a pang of guilt thinking about it, but also something hotter and darker.
In history class we moved to the last desk, by the window. The classroom was hot; there was no air conditioning and the ceiling fan turned slowly, moving the warm air. Professor Morales wrote on the blackboard, with his back to us most of the time. Perfect.
We sat down. Lucía to my left. I discreetly took out my phone and set it to video mode, leaning it against my notebook so the camera was almost hidden.
“Whenever you want,” I whispered.
Lucía shifted nervously. First she took off her shoes under the desk, without making noise. Then she slipped her hands under her skirt and slid the long socks down her legs. The skin of her calves was left bare, smooth and slightly shiny from the heat. She put her shoes back on without socks. I recorded everything discreetly: the movement of her hands, the slow descent of the white fabric down her thighs, the moment her bare feet touched the floor before she put her shoes back on.
Then came the hardest part. She slipped her hands under her skirt again. I saw her shoulders tense. She slid the black thong down her thighs, very slowly, to her ankles. She picked it up and put it in her backpack. Her breathing became more agitated. Her cheeks were red.
“Now the bra,” I whispered, still recording.
Lucía swallowed. She unbuttoned the first two buttons of her shirt with trembling fingers and slipped her hand inside. She lowered one strap, then the other. She contorted carefully and pulled the white bra out through the sleeve. Her breasts were left free under the thin fabric of the shirt. Her nipples showed clearly against the fabric from the heat and nerves. She put the bra in her backpack and buttoned up again.
Now she was completely naked under the uniform. No bra, no thong, no socks. Just the shirt and pleated skirt between her skin and the world.
I recorded several short videos during class: her hands gripping the edge of the skirt, her thighs pressed together and trembling, the slight movement of her free breasts with every breath. The heat of the classroom made little drops of sweat shine on her neck. Every time she moved in her seat, the rough wood must have rubbed directly against her buttocks and between her legs. It showed on her face: lips slightly parted, lost gaze, knees pressed tightly together.
“Valeria…” she whispered at one point, almost voiceless. “It feels… too much. The air… everything.”
I only nodded and kept recording. Inside, that treacherous heat grew. I liked seeing her like this. I liked being the only one who knew my friend was naked in the middle of class, struggling to keep her composure. I liked the power of having proposed it myself.
The class ended. The classmates started getting up and leaving. Lucía made a gesture to reach into her backpack to get her underwear back.
“No,” I whispered, gently stopping her wrist. “Not yet.”
She looked at me with wide eyes.
“Valeria…”
“We can take advantage and do another challenge here at school. Something quick. Keep everything in for now.”
Lucía stayed still, breathing hard, with the skirt barely covering her and her breasts free under the shirt. The bell had already rung, but we remained seated at the last desk. She looked at me with those hazel eyes that now shone with pure nerves. The classroom was emptying quickly and the midday heat came in through the open windows, sticky and thick.
“Valeria… I have to put my socks on,” she whispered. “It’s mandatory. If they see me without socks in the hallway…”
She was right. I nodded without saying anything. She took the long white socks out of the backpack and, with quick but clumsy movements under the desk, put them on while sitting. The fabric slid up her bare calves, rising to mid-thigh. The rest of her body remained exposed: no bra under the white shirt, no thong under the pleated skirt. Every time she moved her legs to put on the socks, the skirt lifted a little and I could imagine the warm air brushing directly against her most intimate skin. She put the underwear away again and closed the backpack.
“Done,” she murmured, but her voice trembled.
We left together for the last class of the day, English, and sat again at the last desk. The teacher was writing vocabulary on the blackboard. The fan turned slowly, cooling nothing. During the first few minutes Lucía stayed rigid, thighs pressed together and hands on her skirt. I kept looking at her sideways. Every breath made her breasts move freely under the thin fabric, faintly outlining her nipples. The heat of the room had slightly dampened her forehead.
Midway through class I touched her arm under the desk.
“We ask permission to go to the bathroom,” I whispered. “But not together. You first, then me. We meet on the third-floor stairs, next to the big window. No one goes there at this hour.”
Lucía swallowed and nodded. She waited five more minutes, raised her hand and asked permission in a low voice. The teacher didn’t even look at her properly. She left. I waited another ten minutes, pretending to copy the exercises, and asked the same. I went out into the empty hallway.
The third floor was relatively quiet. I passed two classrooms with classes in full swing: in one I could hear the monotonous voice of the math teacher explaining fractions, in the other contained laughter from a group doing teamwork. The half-open doors let out fragments of light and sound. My heart beat hard. I went up the stairs and there was Lucía, leaning against the railing, arms crossed over her chest as if she wanted to hide from herself.
“What are we doing now?” she asked in a low voice.
I looked around. The hallway was long, with classrooms on both sides and midday light coming in through the high windows. The distant buzz of a fan, the creak of a chair in some class, the distant echo of chalk against the blackboard could be heard. No one in sight.
“A quick challenge,” I said. “Lift your skirt and your blouse. All the way up. I’ll take photos and record short videos. Just a few seconds.”
Lucía went pale. She looked toward the classroom doors.
“Valeria… not here. There are classes. If someone comes out…”
“It’ll be quick,” I insisted, though inside I felt that dark excitement growing. “No one looks this way. And the reward will be high. You saw the numbers in the app yourself.”
She paced for a moment, biting her lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The skirt moved with every motion and I knew she felt every brush of air against her naked skin. Finally she took a deep breath.
“Okay… but quick. Very quick.”
I took out my phone and set it to camera mode. Lucía positioned herself with her back to the wall, between two classrooms. First she lifted her skirt. The gray pleated fabric rose slowly up her thighs, revealing inch by inch the naked skin. When it reached her waist, everything was exposed: her round, firm buttocks, the soft curve between her legs, the skin slightly goosebumped from fear and heat. I recorded a short ten-second video, focusing from below. In person she looked even more vulnerable: her legs trembled a little, the muscles in her thighs tense.
“Now the blouse,” I whispered.
Lucía unbuttoned the first buttons with clumsy fingers. She opened the shirt until it was completely open. Her breasts were exposed: round, with nipples hardened by nerves and the brush of fabric. The hallway light gave them a soft shine. I recorded another fifteen-second video while she held the blouse open with one hand and the skirt lifted with the other. Her breathing was audible, uneven. I could hear the beat of my own pulse in my ears.
I didn’t let her lower everything right away. I prolonged the moment. I took a step back for a better angle.
“Turn a little to the right,” I said softly. “As if you were looking out the window.”
Lucía obeyed. Now she was in profile, completely exposed from the side. Skirt lifted to the waist, blouse open, breasts in the air, the skin of her stomach rising and falling fast. I recorded a third video, longer, almost twenty seconds. In the camera everything was seen with cruel sharpness: the slight sweat running between her breasts, the way she pressed her lips to stay quiet, the tremor in her knees.
From the nearest classroom came a loud laugh from a student, followed by the teacher’s voice asking for silence. Lucía tensed completely. Her eyes widened in fear. I thought: What if someone comes out right now? What if they open the door and see her like this, naked in the school hallway, with her skirt and blouse lifted? What if a classmate recognizes her face? The thought sent a liquid heat between my legs. I liked it. I liked seeing how fear made her tremble, how she tried to stay still while her whole body screamed shame.
“Valeria… please… now,” she begged in an almost inaudible whisper.
But I still didn’t lower the phone. I took another step, adjusting the angle.
“One more photo. Put your hands on the railing and arch your back a little.”
Lucía did it. Her breasts projected forward, hard nipples pointing into the void. The skirt stayed up, showing everything. I recorded a final fifteen-second video while she looked at the floor, cheeks burning. The sound of the hallway seemed amplified: the buzz of a fluorescent light, the murmur of a class reciting something aloud, the distant creak of a door opening on the floor below. Every noise was a threat. Every second that passed increased the risk.
Inside I felt a wave of guilty pleasure I could no longer deny. Look at her… so exposed, so scared, obeying me in silence. This shame is mine. I put her here. The guilt came later, but in that moment I only wanted to prolong her humiliation a little more, to see how her body reacted to the fear of being discovered.
Finally I lowered the phone.
“Done,” I whispered.
Lucía let the skirt fall and closed the blouse with trembling fingers. Her eyes were wet and her breathing uneven. She leaned against the wall for a second as if her legs wouldn’t hold her.
“Never again at school,” she said in a broken voice.
But I was already thinking about the next challenge. A bigger one. One where the risk would be truly real.
We separated to go back to class individually. I walked down the hallway with the phone heavy in my pocket and a smile I couldn’t completely erase inside.
I entered first and sat at the last desk, pulse still racing. Lucía arrived a few minutes later, pale, and settled beside me without looking at me. During the last minutes of English we didn’t exchange a word. When the final bell rang, I made a discreet gesture toward the third-floor bathroom.
“You go first,” I whispered. “Put everything back on. I’ll wait outside.”
Lucía nodded and went in. I waited in the hallway, pretending to check my backpack. Three eternal minutes. When she came out, her shirt was properly buttoned and her skirt in place. She looked more upright, but her eyes still shone with shame and her cheeks kept a blush that wouldn’t fade.
“Done,” she murmured. “Everything in place.”
We left school in silence. The afternoon sun beat down hard and the air smelled of hot dust. Instead of taking the path to my house, I stopped at the corner.
“Today I’m going to your house,” I said. “We can do homework together. I stay over sometimes, right? My mom won’t ask.”
Lucía looked at me for a second. In her eyes there was relief and a nervous tiredness that reached my chest.
“Okay. I like it when you stay.”
We walked to her neighborhood. The streets narrowed, the houses became humbler, with cinder block walls and zinc roofs. Lucía’s house was small: two rooms, a tiny backyard and a living room that also served as a dining room. Her mom worked late at the laundry, so the house was empty and quiet. We left our backpacks on the floor of her room. Lucía sat on the bed and I on the usual chair. Neither of us spoke for a while. She checked Red Signal with trembling fingers.
“Valeria… some payments for today have already come in,” she whispered. “It’s not much, but… it’s something.”
I saw how her eyes lit up and dimmed at the same time. Shame and relief. I felt the same mix, but underneath that heat I could no longer ignore grew. You pushed her yourself, I thought. You left her exposed in the hallway, trembling, with everything out. I closed my eyes for a second and the memory returned sharp: her naked body under the midday light, skirt and blouse lifted, pure fear on her face every time a door was heard.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I suggested suddenly. “It’s too hot in here. We need air.”
Lucía hesitated but accepted. We went out in simple clothes: old shorts and worn t-shirts. The neighborhood was quiet. Dogs dozed under scraggly trees, some neighbor swept the sidewalk, a distant radio played vallenato. We walked slowly, shoulder to shoulder. Lucía checked her phone every so often, biting her lip.
We reached the corner where several motorcycles were always parked in front of the blue-painted house. They belonged to Mr. Ramírez, a strict mechanic who lived alone and took care of his things as if they were gold. The newest was a big black motorcycle, shiny, that cost a fortune. Lucía was staring at her screen, walking too close to the curb. I was beside her, already thinking about the next challenge I could propose in the app, when everything happened in a second.
Lucía tripped hard on a broken tile. Her foot twisted, the phone slipped from her hands and flew forward. She tried to catch it and her whole body crashed into the black motorcycle. The impact was brutal. The motorcycle tilted, wobbled and fell sideways with a horrible metallic crash. The sound of glass breaking, metal bending, paint scraping against concrete could be heard. The rearview mirror shattered. The headlight exploded into pieces. The tank was deeply dented and a long, ugly scratch reached the engine. The fender twisted and the handlebar bent at a strange angle. The front wheel got trapped under the motorcycle’s weight and the seat cracked in the fall.
The noise was so loud that a dog barked in the distance and a door opened two houses away.
Lucía stood paralyzed, hands over her mouth. Her face went from red to white in less than a second.
“Valeria…” her voice was barely a thread. “No… it can’t be.”
I quickly crouched and picked up the phone. The screen now had a big crack, but that was the least of it. The motorcycle lay destroyed on the ground. The damage was serious. Very serious. Repairing that—special paint, new headlight, tank work, handlebar, fender, possible engine alignment—would cost millions. For us it was impossible. For Lucía’s mom, a catastrophe they couldn’t pay for in a year.
Before we could move, the blue house door burst open. The man came out, tall, in a grease-stained overall and a sour face. He saw the motorcycle on the ground and his expression changed from surprise to fury.
“What the fuck did you do?” he shouted, approaching quickly.
Lucía started trembling. I stepped in front of her without thinking.
“Sir… it was an accident,” I said with the firmest voice I could. “Lucía tripped and…”
“That motorcycle is worth more than you two will earn in your whole lives!” he continued, pointing at the wreckage. “Look at the tank… the headlight… the bent handlebar. This doesn’t get fixed with a hammer. This needs a real shop. Two and a half million, easy. Maybe more.”
Lucía had tears in her eyes. She hugged herself, shoulders slumped.
“Sir… please,” she whispered. “My mom can’t find out. She… she has no way to pay for this. She works double shifts and…”
The man, whose last name I later learned was Ramírez, passed a hand over his face, breathing heavily. He looked at us both for a long time. He had known Lucía since she was a little girl. He knew how they lived. Finally he let out a heavy sigh.
“I’m not calling the police,” he said at last, calmer but still angry. “Nor am I going to talk to your mom. I trust you, Lucía. You’ve always been a good girl. But you two have to pay for this. I’m not losing my motorcycle over carelessness.”
Lucía looked up, hopeful and terrified at the same time.
“How… how do we do it?”
“I’ll give you one month,” he answered, pointing at the motorcycle. “Exactly thirty days. In that time you get the money together and bring it to me in full. Two and a half million. If not, I’ll have no choice but to report it and talk to your mom. Understood?”
Lucía nodded slowly, lips trembling.
“Understood,” I whispered for her.
Mr. Ramírez looked at us one last time, shook his head and started lifting the motorcycle with effort. We stayed there, motionless, until he dragged it into his yard and closed the door without saying anything else.
The silence that fell afterward was dense. Lucía hugged herself tighter. A tear ran down her cheek.
“Valeria…” her voice broke. “This is a lot of money. Too much. We have no way… there’s no other way.”
I looked at the ground where the trail of paint and broken glass remained. I felt a knot in my stomach. Guilt. Fear. And, beneath all that, that dark excitement I could no longer deny. Now there really is no way out, I thought. Only the app. Only stronger challenges. More exposure. More shame. And I’ll be there, recording every second.
“Let’s go home,” I said softly, taking her by the arm. “No one saw us. We’ll think tomorrow. But you saw the higher challenges on Red Signal yourself. The ones that pay much more. We can… we have to try.”
Lucía didn’t answer. We walked back in total silence. Every step felt heavier. When we entered her house, she dropped onto the bed and covered her face with her hands.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she murmured between her fingers. “My mom can’t find out. Never.”
I sat beside her. I put a hand on her shoulder. I felt the heat of her skin, the trembling that still wouldn’t stop. That night I stayed over, like so many other times. We shared the narrow bed, with the fan turning slowly above us. Lucía fell asleep late, tossing and turning and murmuring in her dreams. I stayed awake for a long time, staring at the cracked ceiling and feeling the heat of her body next to mine.
The accident had changed everything. Now the money wasn’t just for eating better. It was to save ourselves. And I, in the darkest part of me, knew I was going to use that fear to take her much further.
I woke up with a start. The room was in darkness, lit only by the weak light of a streetlamp coming through the half-open window. The fan turned slowly above us, moving the hot, sticky air. Lucía was sleeping beside me, or so I thought at first. Her body was tense, her breathing irregular. I felt the heat of her skin against my arm, the slight tremor of her shoulder.
I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the wrecked motorcycle, Mr. Ramírez shouting, the two and a half million we had to pay in thirty days. It’s too much. It’s impossible. The knot in my stomach wouldn’t go away.
“Are you asleep?” I whispered, turning toward her.
Lucía opened her eyes immediately. Her pupils shone in the darkness.
“No,” she answered in a low voice. “I can’t. Every time I fall asleep I see my mom’s face when she finds out.”
We stayed silent for a moment. Only the buzz of the fan and the distant barking of a dog in the street could be heard. Lucía sat up a little, leaning on one elbow. Her t-shirt rode up, revealing a strip of skin at her waist.
“Valeria… this is serious,” she murmured. “Two and a half million. In one month. My mom can’t know. If she finds out, she’ll die of anguish. Or worse, she’ll go even deeper into debt.”
“I know,” I said, and my voice sounded hoarser than I wanted. “There’s no other way out. No job, no loan, nothing. Only… the app.”
Lucía closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. The weight of the debt seemed to crush her against the mattress.
“Red Signal,” she whispered, as if saying the name out loud made it more real. “Before it was just to eat better, to feel like we could. Now… now it’s to keep from sinking.”
I felt my heart speed up. Guilt squeezed my chest, but beneath it something darker, hotter grew. You’re the one who got her into this. You pushed her all day. Still, I couldn’t stay quiet.
“We could try something now,” I suggested in a low voice. “Tonight. We’re awake. The neighborhood is quiet. No one would see us.”
Lucía looked at me. Her eyes widened with surprise and fear.
“Now? Seriously? Valeria… I’m exhausted. And scared. I don’t know if…”
“It won’t be big,” I insisted, although inside I already knew that wasn’t entirely true. “Something small to start. Just to see how much comes in.”
She hesitated for a long time. Finally she sat up in bed and looked for the phone under the pillow. I moved closer until our shoulders touched. We opened Red Signal. The screen lit our faces with a cold blue glow.
We found a simple nighttime challenge: walk two blocks with the skirt pulled up to the waist, no underwear, recording while feeling the air. It paid little, barely fifty thousand. We saw it and kept scrolling. There were bigger ones, but the numbers hit us when we calculated.
“With these… we’d need to do twenty or thirty challenges just to get half,” Lucía said, her voice breaking. “Twenty times exposing myself. Twenty times feeling like I could be discovered.”
She slid her finger further down. The most profitable challenges appeared. The ones that paid hundreds of thousands each. They all had something in common: “Complete nudity in a public place.” “Being completely naked, with absolutely nothing on your body, on a street, in a park, in a parking lot.” “Record while you walk, crouch, lean against a wall.” The payments were high. Very high.
Lucía stared at the screen. Her breathing grew faster. I felt it too. The heat in my belly returned, treacherous. Completely naked. With nothing. In public. At night. I imagined her pale body under a streetlamp’s light, trembling, trying to cover herself while I recorded every second. The shame on her face. The fear. And me there, close, controlling the angle.
“Lucía…” I whispered. “If we want to pay quickly… these are the ones that work.”
She didn’t answer. She just looked at the screen, biting her lip. The fan kept turning. Neither of us spoke for a long time.
But we both knew there was no turning back anymore.
Lucía stared at the phone screen a moment longer, biting her lip. The fan turned slowly above us, moving the hot air in the room. Finally she sighed and nodded, though her voice came out trembling.
“Okay… let’s go out. Just walk around the block and see what we can do. I can’t stand lying here thinking about the motorcycle anymore.”
That was enough. I got up from the bed carefully, the mattress creaking slightly under my weight. I usually leave some clothes at Lucía’s for the nights I stay over, so I looked in the small drawer she keeps for me. I put on some old but comfortable jeans that fit my legs well, a simple black t-shirt and my sneakers. I needed to be able to move without making noise.
“Put on something light,” I whispered as I finished dressing. “Clothes that are easy to take off and put on quickly. And better the flip-flops, they’re quieter.”
While I was on a break from continuing Samantha’s story, I started writing a new one. I’m sharing it here in case any of you would like to read it.
I’m still working on Sam’s story little by little — new ideas keep coming, and I’ll get back to it very soon.
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Copyright © May 2026 by McENF.
All rights reserved.
No reproduction, distribution, or publication of this work, in whole or in part, is permitted without the express written consent of the author.
All characters are over 18 years old.
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction containing intense themes of humiliation, shame, and public nudity. For readers 18+ only.
Tags: ENF, Humiliation, Extreme Embarrassment, Public Nudity, Gradual Exposure, Power Dynamics, Risk.
Synopsis:
Valeria, an observant and insecure 18-year-old girl, starts helping her best friend Lucía with increasingly risky challenges on the *Red Signal* platform to make quick money. What begins as a simple favor between friends spirals into a dangerous game of humiliation when an unexpected accident forces them to cross limits neither ever imagined.
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Red Signal: Valeria & Lucía
Chapter Index
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
I remember that Tuesday afternoon with a clarity that hurts. The sun came in through the huge window of the shopping mall and fell on the shiny floors like warm honey. Everything looked golden, fake, tempting. For us, the shopping mall had always been a borrowed place: we walked slowly, looked at shop windows without touching, shared an ice cream when we could afford it and pretended we didn’t mind not being able to buy anything else.
I was wearing my already worn white sneakers, my usual jeans and a dark blue blouse. I had pulled my hair back into a low ponytail because the heat was sticking to the back of my neck and because, when I’m nervous, I need to feel my face clear. Lucía arrived ten minutes late, coming down the escalator with that confidence of hers that always stirs in me a strange mix of anger and pride.
She had her brown hair loose and shinier than usual. The black skirt moved with every step, light, and the white t-shirt hugged her body. It wasn’t expensive clothes, but it was thought out. Deliberate. She hugged me from the side, as always, and I smelled coconut shampoo and carefully applied perfume.
“You got here early,” she said, smiling.
“You got here late,” I answered.
“Let’s eat.”
I pointed toward the fast-food area.
“Empanadas?”
“No. Today I’m treating.”
I looked at her. The word “treating” sounded strange in her mouth. We didn’t treat. We calculated. We split everything in half.
“Where did you get the money?” I asked.
Lucía tightened her jaw.
“I worked.”
I didn’t believe her. But we walked anyway toward the second floor, where the real restaurants were: tables with tablecloths, warm lights, prices we had never paid. I stopped in front of the door.
“Lucía, no.”
“Yes. I have money.”
We went in. We sat by an interior window. The air conditioning brushed my arms. The menu hit me with its prices. We ordered hamburgers, fries and lemonades. When the waiter left, the silence grew heavy.
Lucía moved the straw between her fingers. Her hands trembled a little. I knew that gesture: her thumb rubbing the nail of her index finger, over and over.
“Tell me the truth,” I insisted in a low voice.
She took a deep breath.
“I found an app. Red Signal. Or something like that. Photos. Short videos. Challenges.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What kind of challenges?”
“Risky clothes. Uncomfortable situations. Controlled embarrassment. People pay to watch that.”
Blood rushed to my neck. I imagined Lucía, my Lucía, exposing herself. Heat rose to my cheeks and an uncomfortable tingling ran across my skin. What does that feel like? The air on your skin, the gaze of strangers, the fear that someone might recognize you.
“Lucía… you’re crazy. It’s dangerous. They could recognize you, they could…”
“It’s not that bad,” she cut me off, but her voice trembled. “At first it’s really embarrassing. The first challenge was going out with a skirt and nothing underneath. Recording while I walked. Feeling every step… Knowing anyone could notice. I almost died. But they pay well, Valeria. Better than I expected.”
She took out her phone and showed me the screen. The numbers left me frozen. Enough for several good meals, to top up the phone, to buy some new underwear and even to share some ice creams without checking the price. It wasn’t a fortune, but for us it was a lot. I thought about my house, the half-empty fridge, my mom counting coins for the week’s food. With this we could eat decently for several days. Just once. For us.
“I don’t want you to be humiliated for money,” I said, but my voice already sounded weaker.
Lucía looked down. Her cheeks were red. Shame, yes. But also a nervous shine, almost pride.
“I felt horrible at first. But then I saw I could buy cookies for my mom without having to borrow. That I could stop feeling so… behind. So poor all the time.”
Her eyes shone, but she didn’t cry. Lucía never cries in front of anyone.
The hamburgers arrived. Big, perfect, obscene. I bit mine slowly. The flavor was delicious and made me feel guilty. Lucía ate in silence, but every so often she looked at me, as if measuring my reaction.
When we finished, she paid with new bills. I watched her do it with a mix of admiration and fear. Admiration because she finally could. Fear because I knew something had changed forever.
We left the restaurant and walked down the hallway. The shopping mall kept shining, indifferent to us. Lucía stopped near a fountain.
“You could help me,” she said suddenly.
I looked at her.
“Help you how?”
“Taking the photos. Recording the videos. We split half and half. With you… I wouldn’t feel so alone.”
No. Say no. But the words didn’t come out. I thought about the money. About her pleading look. About that ugly curiosity already growing inside me.
“I just want to see what it’s like,” I answered at last. “If I don’t like it, you stop.”
Lucía nodded, although we both knew that promise was fragile.
“Okay.”
That afternoon we went home in silence. I felt the weight of the decision in my chest. Just once, I repeated to myself. But I was already lying. Because deep down, a part of me wanted to see. Wanted to be there when Lucía exposed herself. Wanted to feel, even from close by, that shame that made her shine in a new and dangerous way.
When I got to my room, I lay down on the bed and stared at the cracked ceiling. I remembered her hands trembling on the table, the blush on her neck, the way she crossed her legs when talking about the first challenge. What will the cold air feel like down there? The fear that someone might look?
I closed my eyes. Heat rose through my body again. Guilt. Curiosity. Jealousy. Fear.
And excitement. An excitement I didn’t want to name yet.
The next day, the institute seemed the same as always. The same smell of freshly mopped floor mixed with the light sweat of uniforms, the echo of voices in the narrow hallways and the white light of the fluorescent bulbs flickering on the ceiling. I arrived early, as usual, and sat on our usual bench on the third floor, next to the window overlooking the inner courtyard. The uniform felt a little tight on my shoulders: the white short-sleeved shirt, somewhat worn at the elbows, the gray pleated skirt that reached just above the knee and the white socks halfway up my calf. I had buttoned the shirt all the way to the neck, as always. Lucía, on the other hand, usually left the first two buttons open and adjusted the skirt a little higher with a small invisible fold.
The first class was mathematics. Professor Rodríguez wrote equations on the blackboard with chalk that creaked. I copied everything in my notebook, focused on the clean lines of the numbers, but my mind kept returning to the previous afternoon. To the new bills on the table. To Lucía’s phone screen. To that word: Red Signal.
Lucía sat next to me, as always. Her skirt brushed my leg when she settled in. She smelled of bath soap and that same coconut shampoo. She looked at me sideways and smiled slightly, a small gesture only I could read. We’re not talking about that here today, I thought. But we both knew we would.
The class passed slowly. I felt the heat of her arm close to mine on the shared desk. Every time the professor turned, Lucía moved her foot under the table and brushed mine, accidentally. Or maybe on purpose. I didn’t know. I kept my eyes fixed on the notebook, but my pulse was a little faster than normal.
In the second hour it was literature. We read a fragment of a story about secrets and lies. The teacher read aloud and I felt every word as if it had been written for us. Lucía took notes in her round, careful handwriting. From time to time she looked up at me. Her hazel eyes held that mix of nerves and excitement I was already starting to recognize.
When the recess bell rang, we gathered our things in silence. We went out to the courtyard and sat on the usual bench, under the shade of the big tree that was losing yellow leaves. The midday sun warmed the air, but there it was cool. I took out my water bottle and drank a sip. Lucía opened her backpack and took out an apple that she split in two with her hands.
“Here,” she said, offering me the bigger half.
I accepted it. The sweet juice ran down my fingers.
“Are you okay?” I asked in a low voice.
She nodded, but looked around before speaking. There were few students nearby. Most were playing soccer or gathered near the cafeteria.
“Last night I uploaded two more photos,” she whispered. “I wanted to show them to you.”
She took the phone out of the inner pocket of her backpack. She held it between her hands for a moment, as if she still doubted. Then she opened the app. Red Signal. The icon was a bright red signal on a black background. She went to her profile. The cover photo was only her silhouette from behind, blurry, without showing her face.
“These are the ones already published,” she said.
She brought the phone closer to me. The first photo was Lucía standing in front of a mirror, with her uniform shirt unbuttoned halfway. You could see the edge of the simple white bra, the soft curve of skin between her breasts and a bit of stomach. Nothing extreme. Just enough to notice her agitated breathing. The second was her sitting on the edge of her bed, with the skirt pulled up a little more than normal, showing her full thighs and the start of dark underwear. She had her legs slightly open, but not too much. Her bare foot brushing the floor. In the comments there were already several numbers: hearts, messages of admiration and, above all, virtual coins that turned into real money.
“You earned… quite a bit,” I murmured.
“With these two, yes.” Her voice was low, almost embarrassed, but there was a nervous pride underneath. “People pay more when there’s risk. When you can tell I’m… uncomfortable.”
She slid her finger and showed me the section of available challenges. The list was long. She scrolled slowly, as if she didn’t want me to read everything at once.
Basic challenges: “Show deep cleavage in a public place,” “Pull skirt up to the waist in a fitting room,” “Let underwear be seen when bending over.” Moderate payments. Then came stronger ones: “Walk without a bra under the blouse at the shopping mall,” “Record a full outfit change in a public bathroom.” And further down, the ones neither of us mentioned out loud.
“Be completely naked in a park at sunset.”
“Remove all clothes in an elevator and record while it goes up.”
“Walk in a busy area wearing only a light raincoat and open it for a few seconds.”
“Full nudity in a parking lot at night.”
The payments for those last ones were much higher. My gaze lingered for a few seconds on those lines. I felt heat in my face. We said nothing. The silence grew dense between us. Lucía quickly passed that part of the list, as if it burned. I didn’t ask either. But something inside me stirred. A dark, hot curiosity that made me press my thighs together under the skirt. What would Lucía look like in one of those? Trembling, with goosebumped skin, trying to cover herself with her hands while someone could appear at any moment?
I closed my eyes for a second. Don’t think that. You’re her friend.
“Valeria…” she whispered. “What do you think?”
I swallowed. My heart beat hard against my ribs.
“They’re… risky. Some too much.”
“Yes.” She looked down at the apple she still held in her hand. “The easy ones I do alone. But for the ones that need a better angle… or someone to watch that no one comes… that’s where I need you.”
She passed me the phone again. In a photo she hadn’t uploaded yet, Lucía was from behind, with the skirt lifted to the waist, completely showing her round, firm buttocks under a thin black thong. The light from her room window fell on her skin, highlighting every curve. She looked vulnerable. Beautiful. Dangerous.
My mouth felt dry.
“It’s good,” I said, and my voice sounded hoarser than I wanted. “The light flatters you.”
Lucía smiled, relieved and nervous at the same time. She put the phone away.
“I don’t want to pressure you. But if we record one morning this weekend… we could earn double. We share everything.”
I nodded slowly.
“Okay,” I answered instead. “Just watch and record. Nothing else.”
The bell rang announcing the end of recess. We stood up. Lucía adjusted her skirt and I did the same with mine. We walked together toward the building, shoulder to shoulder. The brush of her arm against mine felt more deliberate now. More charged.
In the next class, history, I had trouble concentrating. I took notes mechanically while my mind returned to that photo from behind. To the curve of her waist. To the way the fabric sank between her buttocks. To the challenges neither of us had mentioned out loud.
How far would you go, Lucía? I thought, looking at her profile while she wrote. And me… how far would I be willing to watch you?
I felt a slow heat rise through my belly. Guilt. Excitement. Fear. All mixed together. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable, and crossed my legs. Lucía, as if she had sensed my unease, turned her head for a second and looked at me. Her eyes lingered on mine longer than necessary.
Neither of us said anything. But the silence spoke for us.
The rest of the day passed between classes and shared whispers. At the end of the afternoon, when we left the institute, the sun was already going down and painted the sky orange. We walked together to the corner where we always separated.
“Tomorrow after classes… can we try one?” she asked in a low voice. “Something simple. At the shopping mall. Just photos.”
I nodded. My pulse throbbed in my ears.
“Something simple,” I repeated, as if that made it less real.
Lucía touched my arm for a second before leaving. Her fingers were warm.
“Thank you, Valeria. Really.”
I watched her walk away down the street. Her skirt moved with the wind. I stayed there for a moment, alone, with the heavy backpack on my back and a new and dangerous feeling growing inside my chest.
Just photos, I repeated to myself as I walked home.
But I already knew it was another lie.
The next day, after the last class, we left the institute still wearing our uniforms. The white shirt stuck slightly to my back from the afternoon heat, and the gray pleated skirt moved with every step, brushing my thighs. Lucía walked beside me with the quick pace of someone who wants to get there before changing her mind. Her skirt was hiked up a little more than regulation, as always, and the first two buttons of her shirt open revealed the edge of her white bra. Neither of us said much during the bus ride. Just short glances and the noise of the city outside.
We arrived at the shopping mall while the sun was still high. The air conditioning greeted us like a cold embrace that made the skin on my arms prickle. The place was bustling with people: mothers with strollers, groups of laughing teenagers, couples walking slowly. We were just two more girls from the institute, in uniform, invisible to most.
We went up to the third floor on the escalator. Lucía went ahead and I couldn’t stop looking at the way her skirt moved, revealing a little more of the back of her thighs with every step. Stop, I told myself. But I kept looking.
We sat on a bench near a fountain. The water fell with a constant sound that tried to calm me.
“What are we doing?” I asked in a low voice.
Lucía bit her lower lip. She looked around and then moved a little closer to me. Her knee brushed mine.
“Something easy to start. I don’t want anything too strong today. It’s the first time outside the house.”
I nodded. I felt my heart beating in my throat.
“There are bathrooms on this floor, at the end of the clothing stores hallway. They’re big, with spacious stalls. Few people use that area at this hour.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked.
“We go into the big stall. I take off my shirt and skirt… I stay in underwear. I let you take photos and record short videos. Just that. No going out. Only inside the bathroom. Is that okay with you?”
Her voice trembled a little at the end. I swallowed. It was more than I expected for the first one, but less than what I had seen on the Red Signal list.
“Okay,” I answered, though something twisted inside me. “Just inside. I’ll watch and record.”
Lucía let out a breath and smiled nervously. We stood up and walked toward the bathrooms. The hallway was relatively empty. We went in. The smell of disinfectant and cheap soap floated in the air. There were three large stalls at the back. We chose the last one. I closed the door with the latch. The space was narrow but enough. A large mirror occupied one wall.
Lucía set her backpack on the floor. She looked at me.
“Shall we start?”
I nodded and took out my phone. I set it to camera mode. My hands were sweating a little.
She started with the shirt. She unbuttoned it slowly, one by one. The white fabric opened revealing her simple bra, white with some worn lace on the edges. Her breasts rose and fell with short breaths. The skin of her stomach looked soft under the cold fluorescent light. Then she lowered the zipper of her skirt. She let it fall to her ankles. Underneath she wore a simple black thong that contrasted with the pale skin of her hips. Her thighs were slightly pressed together, as if trying to hide something.
In person, Lucía looked vulnerable. Shoulders slightly hunched, cheeks red, eyes avoiding the mirror. She trembled slightly. I could see the goosebumps rising on her arms and stomach.
Through the camera everything was sharper, more cruelly detailed. I focused. The zoom let me see the slight blush rising from her neck to her ears. The way her nipples faintly showed against the bra fabric from the air conditioning cold. The curve where the thong sank between her firm buttocks. I recorded a short ten-second video: her standing, slowly turning around on herself. Her hands didn’t know where to go: first covering her stomach, then dropping to her sides, unsure.
“Turn around,” I whispered.
Lucía obeyed. From behind, the image was even stronger. The thong barely covered anything. The line of her back, the narrow waist, the round shape of her buttocks. I recorded another fifteen-second video while she leaned forward a little, placing her hands on the wall. The movement made the fabric stretch tighter. I could see the edge of her intimate lips marked against the black fabric.
I lowered the phone for a second. In person, Lucía was breathing hard. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted. A drop of sweat ran down her temple.
“Are you okay?” I asked, though my voice sounded hoarser than normal.
“Y-yes…” she murmured. “It’s just… the fear that someone might come in.”
At that moment I felt something. A slow heat rising from my belly toward my chest. Seeing her like that, trembling, exposed, obeying… I liked it. I didn’t want to admit it. It’s just concern, I told myself. But I knew it was a lie. I liked seeing how she blushed, how her body reacted to the fear, how she tried to stay dignified while almost naked in a public bathroom.
“Another photo,” I said. “Bend over a little more.”
Lucía did it. She leaned forward, slightly spreading her legs. Through the camera I saw everything clearly: the way the thong sank between her buttocks, the goosebumped skin, the slight tremor in her thighs. I recorded a short video. Fifteen seconds in which she stayed like that, breathing unevenly. When she looked up at the camera, her eyes held contained tears and something else. Shame. Excitement. Surrender.
I lowered the phone. The silence in the stall was dense, broken only by her breathing and the distant echo of footsteps outside.
“Lucía… you look… really good,” I said. I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
She straightened up and turned around. Her cheeks were completely red. She covered her chest with one arm, though it didn’t help much.
“Really? I don’t feel brave. I feel… ridiculous.”
“You’re not,” I answered. And it was true. She looked beautiful. Vulnerable. Powerful in a strange way.
While she got dressed again, I reviewed the photos and videos. Each image made that heat inside me grow. Seeing her through the screen was different. It was as if I was looking at her in a way I shouldn’t. As if I was enjoying her shame. This is wrong, I thought. But I didn’t delete anything. On the contrary, I saved everything carefully.
When Lucía finished buttoning her shirt, she looked at me.
“How much do you think we can earn with this?”
“Quite a bit,” I answered. “It shows you’re nervous. People like that.”
She smiled with a mix of shyness and pride. We left the bathroom as if nothing had happened. The hallway was still almost empty. We walked toward the mall exit in silence. My mind kept replaying the images: her almost naked body, the trembling, the way she obeyed every instruction.
That night, in my room, I reviewed the files again. Every photo, every second of video. I felt guilt, yes. But also a dark pleasure growing slowly, like a seed I didn’t want to water but that was already sprouting.
It was just an easy challenge, I repeated to myself.
But I already knew that next time I would want more. And that a part of me wanted to see Lucía lose control completely.
That same night I sent Lucía all the photos and videos from the bathroom. I only wrote “Done” and attached the files. She replied with a heart and a “Thanks, Val.” I knew she would upload them right away. I went to bed thinking about that, about her body exposed for strangers who would pay to look at her.
The next day, Thursday, we arrived at school in our uniforms. The white shirt stuck to my back from the humid heat. During recess, while we shared an apple, I suggested it.
“Lucía, from now on we sit all the way in the back. In the last desk.”
She looked at me with distrust.
“Why?”
“Because I saw a challenge on Red Signal that could work here. But we need to be in the back, where the teacher doesn’t control as much.”
Lucía stayed quiet for a moment, biting the apple.
“What challenge?”
“During class you take off all your underwear. You put it in your backpack and continue as if nothing.”
I saw her body tense. She looked down.
“Valeria… we’re at school. If someone notices…”
“I know,” I answered softly. “That’s why the back. No one looks back there. It’ll be quick.”
Lucía took a deep breath.
“How much can it pay?”
“Quite a bit. More than the bathroom one. Because it’s in a place where you shouldn’t.”
After thinking for a few seconds, she accepted with a trembling voice.
“Okay… just this once.”
The night before I had created an account on Red Signal as a regular user, with a made-up name no one could connect to me. I didn’t upload anything of mine, I only watched. But I discovered that you could also propose new challenges. The platform reviewed them and, if they were attractive to paying users, published them and handled distributing the reward. No one knew it was me writing them. That morning, before leaving home, I had proposed that same challenge with a decent reward. I felt a pang of guilt thinking about it, but also something hotter and darker.
In history class we moved to the last desk, by the window. The classroom was hot; there was no air conditioning and the ceiling fan turned slowly, moving the warm air. Professor Morales wrote on the blackboard, with his back to us most of the time. Perfect.
We sat down. Lucía to my left. I discreetly took out my phone and set it to video mode, leaning it against my notebook so the camera was almost hidden.
“Whenever you want,” I whispered.
Lucía shifted nervously. First she took off her shoes under the desk, without making noise. Then she slipped her hands under her skirt and slid the long socks down her legs. The skin of her calves was left bare, smooth and slightly shiny from the heat. She put her shoes back on without socks. I recorded everything discreetly: the movement of her hands, the slow descent of the white fabric down her thighs, the moment her bare feet touched the floor before she put her shoes back on.
Then came the hardest part. She slipped her hands under her skirt again. I saw her shoulders tense. She slid the black thong down her thighs, very slowly, to her ankles. She picked it up and put it in her backpack. Her breathing became more agitated. Her cheeks were red.
“Now the bra,” I whispered, still recording.
Lucía swallowed. She unbuttoned the first two buttons of her shirt with trembling fingers and slipped her hand inside. She lowered one strap, then the other. She contorted carefully and pulled the white bra out through the sleeve. Her breasts were left free under the thin fabric of the shirt. Her nipples showed clearly against the fabric from the heat and nerves. She put the bra in her backpack and buttoned up again.
Now she was completely naked under the uniform. No bra, no thong, no socks. Just the shirt and pleated skirt between her skin and the world.
I recorded several short videos during class: her hands gripping the edge of the skirt, her thighs pressed together and trembling, the slight movement of her free breasts with every breath. The heat of the classroom made little drops of sweat shine on her neck. Every time she moved in her seat, the rough wood must have rubbed directly against her buttocks and between her legs. It showed on her face: lips slightly parted, lost gaze, knees pressed tightly together.
“Valeria…” she whispered at one point, almost voiceless. “It feels… too much. The air… everything.”
I only nodded and kept recording. Inside, that treacherous heat grew. I liked seeing her like this. I liked being the only one who knew my friend was naked in the middle of class, struggling to keep her composure. I liked the power of having proposed it myself.
The class ended. The classmates started getting up and leaving. Lucía made a gesture to reach into her backpack to get her underwear back.
“No,” I whispered, gently stopping her wrist. “Not yet.”
She looked at me with wide eyes.
“Valeria…”
“We can take advantage and do another challenge here at school. Something quick. Keep everything in for now.”
Lucía stayed still, breathing hard, with the skirt barely covering her and her breasts free under the shirt. The bell had already rung, but we remained seated at the last desk. She looked at me with those hazel eyes that now shone with pure nerves. The classroom was emptying quickly and the midday heat came in through the open windows, sticky and thick.
“Valeria… I have to put my socks on,” she whispered. “It’s mandatory. If they see me without socks in the hallway…”
She was right. I nodded without saying anything. She took the long white socks out of the backpack and, with quick but clumsy movements under the desk, put them on while sitting. The fabric slid up her bare calves, rising to mid-thigh. The rest of her body remained exposed: no bra under the white shirt, no thong under the pleated skirt. Every time she moved her legs to put on the socks, the skirt lifted a little and I could imagine the warm air brushing directly against her most intimate skin. She put the underwear away again and closed the backpack.
“Done,” she murmured, but her voice trembled.
We left together for the last class of the day, English, and sat again at the last desk. The teacher was writing vocabulary on the blackboard. The fan turned slowly, cooling nothing. During the first few minutes Lucía stayed rigid, thighs pressed together and hands on her skirt. I kept looking at her sideways. Every breath made her breasts move freely under the thin fabric, faintly outlining her nipples. The heat of the room had slightly dampened her forehead.
Midway through class I touched her arm under the desk.
“We ask permission to go to the bathroom,” I whispered. “But not together. You first, then me. We meet on the third-floor stairs, next to the big window. No one goes there at this hour.”
Lucía swallowed and nodded. She waited five more minutes, raised her hand and asked permission in a low voice. The teacher didn’t even look at her properly. She left. I waited another ten minutes, pretending to copy the exercises, and asked the same. I went out into the empty hallway.
The third floor was relatively quiet. I passed two classrooms with classes in full swing: in one I could hear the monotonous voice of the math teacher explaining fractions, in the other contained laughter from a group doing teamwork. The half-open doors let out fragments of light and sound. My heart beat hard. I went up the stairs and there was Lucía, leaning against the railing, arms crossed over her chest as if she wanted to hide from herself.
“What are we doing now?” she asked in a low voice.
I looked around. The hallway was long, with classrooms on both sides and midday light coming in through the high windows. The distant buzz of a fan, the creak of a chair in some class, the distant echo of chalk against the blackboard could be heard. No one in sight.
“A quick challenge,” I said. “Lift your skirt and your blouse. All the way up. I’ll take photos and record short videos. Just a few seconds.”
Lucía went pale. She looked toward the classroom doors.
“Valeria… not here. There are classes. If someone comes out…”
“It’ll be quick,” I insisted, though inside I felt that dark excitement growing. “No one looks this way. And the reward will be high. You saw the numbers in the app yourself.”
She paced for a moment, biting her lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The skirt moved with every motion and I knew she felt every brush of air against her naked skin. Finally she took a deep breath.
“Okay… but quick. Very quick.”
I took out my phone and set it to camera mode. Lucía positioned herself with her back to the wall, between two classrooms. First she lifted her skirt. The gray pleated fabric rose slowly up her thighs, revealing inch by inch the naked skin. When it reached her waist, everything was exposed: her round, firm buttocks, the soft curve between her legs, the skin slightly goosebumped from fear and heat. I recorded a short ten-second video, focusing from below. In person she looked even more vulnerable: her legs trembled a little, the muscles in her thighs tense.
“Now the blouse,” I whispered.
Lucía unbuttoned the first buttons with clumsy fingers. She opened the shirt until it was completely open. Her breasts were exposed: round, with nipples hardened by nerves and the brush of fabric. The hallway light gave them a soft shine. I recorded another fifteen-second video while she held the blouse open with one hand and the skirt lifted with the other. Her breathing was audible, uneven. I could hear the beat of my own pulse in my ears.
I didn’t let her lower everything right away. I prolonged the moment. I took a step back for a better angle.
“Turn a little to the right,” I said softly. “As if you were looking out the window.”
Lucía obeyed. Now she was in profile, completely exposed from the side. Skirt lifted to the waist, blouse open, breasts in the air, the skin of her stomach rising and falling fast. I recorded a third video, longer, almost twenty seconds. In the camera everything was seen with cruel sharpness: the slight sweat running between her breasts, the way she pressed her lips to stay quiet, the tremor in her knees.
From the nearest classroom came a loud laugh from a student, followed by the teacher’s voice asking for silence. Lucía tensed completely. Her eyes widened in fear. I thought: What if someone comes out right now? What if they open the door and see her like this, naked in the school hallway, with her skirt and blouse lifted? What if a classmate recognizes her face? The thought sent a liquid heat between my legs. I liked it. I liked seeing how fear made her tremble, how she tried to stay still while her whole body screamed shame.
“Valeria… please… now,” she begged in an almost inaudible whisper.
But I still didn’t lower the phone. I took another step, adjusting the angle.
“One more photo. Put your hands on the railing and arch your back a little.”
Lucía did it. Her breasts projected forward, hard nipples pointing into the void. The skirt stayed up, showing everything. I recorded a final fifteen-second video while she looked at the floor, cheeks burning. The sound of the hallway seemed amplified: the buzz of a fluorescent light, the murmur of a class reciting something aloud, the distant creak of a door opening on the floor below. Every noise was a threat. Every second that passed increased the risk.
Inside I felt a wave of guilty pleasure I could no longer deny. Look at her… so exposed, so scared, obeying me in silence. This shame is mine. I put her here. The guilt came later, but in that moment I only wanted to prolong her humiliation a little more, to see how her body reacted to the fear of being discovered.
Finally I lowered the phone.
“Done,” I whispered.
Lucía let the skirt fall and closed the blouse with trembling fingers. Her eyes were wet and her breathing uneven. She leaned against the wall for a second as if her legs wouldn’t hold her.
“Never again at school,” she said in a broken voice.
But I was already thinking about the next challenge. A bigger one. One where the risk would be truly real.
We separated to go back to class individually. I walked down the hallway with the phone heavy in my pocket and a smile I couldn’t completely erase inside.
I entered first and sat at the last desk, pulse still racing. Lucía arrived a few minutes later, pale, and settled beside me without looking at me. During the last minutes of English we didn’t exchange a word. When the final bell rang, I made a discreet gesture toward the third-floor bathroom.
“You go first,” I whispered. “Put everything back on. I’ll wait outside.”
Lucía nodded and went in. I waited in the hallway, pretending to check my backpack. Three eternal minutes. When she came out, her shirt was properly buttoned and her skirt in place. She looked more upright, but her eyes still shone with shame and her cheeks kept a blush that wouldn’t fade.
“Done,” she murmured. “Everything in place.”
We left school in silence. The afternoon sun beat down hard and the air smelled of hot dust. Instead of taking the path to my house, I stopped at the corner.
“Today I’m going to your house,” I said. “We can do homework together. I stay over sometimes, right? My mom won’t ask.”
Lucía looked at me for a second. In her eyes there was relief and a nervous tiredness that reached my chest.
“Okay. I like it when you stay.”
We walked to her neighborhood. The streets narrowed, the houses became humbler, with cinder block walls and zinc roofs. Lucía’s house was small: two rooms, a tiny backyard and a living room that also served as a dining room. Her mom worked late at the laundry, so the house was empty and quiet. We left our backpacks on the floor of her room. Lucía sat on the bed and I on the usual chair. Neither of us spoke for a while. She checked Red Signal with trembling fingers.
“Valeria… some payments for today have already come in,” she whispered. “It’s not much, but… it’s something.”
I saw how her eyes lit up and dimmed at the same time. Shame and relief. I felt the same mix, but underneath that heat I could no longer ignore grew. You pushed her yourself, I thought. You left her exposed in the hallway, trembling, with everything out. I closed my eyes for a second and the memory returned sharp: her naked body under the midday light, skirt and blouse lifted, pure fear on her face every time a door was heard.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I suggested suddenly. “It’s too hot in here. We need air.”
Lucía hesitated but accepted. We went out in simple clothes: old shorts and worn t-shirts. The neighborhood was quiet. Dogs dozed under scraggly trees, some neighbor swept the sidewalk, a distant radio played vallenato. We walked slowly, shoulder to shoulder. Lucía checked her phone every so often, biting her lip.
We reached the corner where several motorcycles were always parked in front of the blue-painted house. They belonged to Mr. Ramírez, a strict mechanic who lived alone and took care of his things as if they were gold. The newest was a big black motorcycle, shiny, that cost a fortune. Lucía was staring at her screen, walking too close to the curb. I was beside her, already thinking about the next challenge I could propose in the app, when everything happened in a second.
Lucía tripped hard on a broken tile. Her foot twisted, the phone slipped from her hands and flew forward. She tried to catch it and her whole body crashed into the black motorcycle. The impact was brutal. The motorcycle tilted, wobbled and fell sideways with a horrible metallic crash. The sound of glass breaking, metal bending, paint scraping against concrete could be heard. The rearview mirror shattered. The headlight exploded into pieces. The tank was deeply dented and a long, ugly scratch reached the engine. The fender twisted and the handlebar bent at a strange angle. The front wheel got trapped under the motorcycle’s weight and the seat cracked in the fall.
The noise was so loud that a dog barked in the distance and a door opened two houses away.
Lucía stood paralyzed, hands over her mouth. Her face went from red to white in less than a second.
“Valeria…” her voice was barely a thread. “No… it can’t be.”
I quickly crouched and picked up the phone. The screen now had a big crack, but that was the least of it. The motorcycle lay destroyed on the ground. The damage was serious. Very serious. Repairing that—special paint, new headlight, tank work, handlebar, fender, possible engine alignment—would cost millions. For us it was impossible. For Lucía’s mom, a catastrophe they couldn’t pay for in a year.
Before we could move, the blue house door burst open. The man came out, tall, in a grease-stained overall and a sour face. He saw the motorcycle on the ground and his expression changed from surprise to fury.
“What the fuck did you do?” he shouted, approaching quickly.
Lucía started trembling. I stepped in front of her without thinking.
“Sir… it was an accident,” I said with the firmest voice I could. “Lucía tripped and…”
“That motorcycle is worth more than you two will earn in your whole lives!” he continued, pointing at the wreckage. “Look at the tank… the headlight… the bent handlebar. This doesn’t get fixed with a hammer. This needs a real shop. Two and a half million, easy. Maybe more.”
Lucía had tears in her eyes. She hugged herself, shoulders slumped.
“Sir… please,” she whispered. “My mom can’t find out. She… she has no way to pay for this. She works double shifts and…”
The man, whose last name I later learned was Ramírez, passed a hand over his face, breathing heavily. He looked at us both for a long time. He had known Lucía since she was a little girl. He knew how they lived. Finally he let out a heavy sigh.
“I’m not calling the police,” he said at last, calmer but still angry. “Nor am I going to talk to your mom. I trust you, Lucía. You’ve always been a good girl. But you two have to pay for this. I’m not losing my motorcycle over carelessness.”
Lucía looked up, hopeful and terrified at the same time.
“How… how do we do it?”
“I’ll give you one month,” he answered, pointing at the motorcycle. “Exactly thirty days. In that time you get the money together and bring it to me in full. Two and a half million. If not, I’ll have no choice but to report it and talk to your mom. Understood?”
Lucía nodded slowly, lips trembling.
“Understood,” I whispered for her.
Mr. Ramírez looked at us one last time, shook his head and started lifting the motorcycle with effort. We stayed there, motionless, until he dragged it into his yard and closed the door without saying anything else.
The silence that fell afterward was dense. Lucía hugged herself tighter. A tear ran down her cheek.
“Valeria…” her voice broke. “This is a lot of money. Too much. We have no way… there’s no other way.”
I looked at the ground where the trail of paint and broken glass remained. I felt a knot in my stomach. Guilt. Fear. And, beneath all that, that dark excitement I could no longer deny. Now there really is no way out, I thought. Only the app. Only stronger challenges. More exposure. More shame. And I’ll be there, recording every second.
“Let’s go home,” I said softly, taking her by the arm. “No one saw us. We’ll think tomorrow. But you saw the higher challenges on Red Signal yourself. The ones that pay much more. We can… we have to try.”
Lucía didn’t answer. We walked back in total silence. Every step felt heavier. When we entered her house, she dropped onto the bed and covered her face with her hands.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she murmured between her fingers. “My mom can’t find out. Never.”
I sat beside her. I put a hand on her shoulder. I felt the heat of her skin, the trembling that still wouldn’t stop. That night I stayed over, like so many other times. We shared the narrow bed, with the fan turning slowly above us. Lucía fell asleep late, tossing and turning and murmuring in her dreams. I stayed awake for a long time, staring at the cracked ceiling and feeling the heat of her body next to mine.
The accident had changed everything. Now the money wasn’t just for eating better. It was to save ourselves. And I, in the darkest part of me, knew I was going to use that fear to take her much further.
I woke up with a start. The room was in darkness, lit only by the weak light of a streetlamp coming through the half-open window. The fan turned slowly above us, moving the hot, sticky air. Lucía was sleeping beside me, or so I thought at first. Her body was tense, her breathing irregular. I felt the heat of her skin against my arm, the slight tremor of her shoulder.
I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the wrecked motorcycle, Mr. Ramírez shouting, the two and a half million we had to pay in thirty days. It’s too much. It’s impossible. The knot in my stomach wouldn’t go away.
“Are you asleep?” I whispered, turning toward her.
Lucía opened her eyes immediately. Her pupils shone in the darkness.
“No,” she answered in a low voice. “I can’t. Every time I fall asleep I see my mom’s face when she finds out.”
We stayed silent for a moment. Only the buzz of the fan and the distant barking of a dog in the street could be heard. Lucía sat up a little, leaning on one elbow. Her t-shirt rode up, revealing a strip of skin at her waist.
“Valeria… this is serious,” she murmured. “Two and a half million. In one month. My mom can’t know. If she finds out, she’ll die of anguish. Or worse, she’ll go even deeper into debt.”
“I know,” I said, and my voice sounded hoarser than I wanted. “There’s no other way out. No job, no loan, nothing. Only… the app.”
Lucía closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. The weight of the debt seemed to crush her against the mattress.
“Red Signal,” she whispered, as if saying the name out loud made it more real. “Before it was just to eat better, to feel like we could. Now… now it’s to keep from sinking.”
I felt my heart speed up. Guilt squeezed my chest, but beneath it something darker, hotter grew. You’re the one who got her into this. You pushed her all day. Still, I couldn’t stay quiet.
“We could try something now,” I suggested in a low voice. “Tonight. We’re awake. The neighborhood is quiet. No one would see us.”
Lucía looked at me. Her eyes widened with surprise and fear.
“Now? Seriously? Valeria… I’m exhausted. And scared. I don’t know if…”
“It won’t be big,” I insisted, although inside I already knew that wasn’t entirely true. “Something small to start. Just to see how much comes in.”
She hesitated for a long time. Finally she sat up in bed and looked for the phone under the pillow. I moved closer until our shoulders touched. We opened Red Signal. The screen lit our faces with a cold blue glow.
We found a simple nighttime challenge: walk two blocks with the skirt pulled up to the waist, no underwear, recording while feeling the air. It paid little, barely fifty thousand. We saw it and kept scrolling. There were bigger ones, but the numbers hit us when we calculated.
“With these… we’d need to do twenty or thirty challenges just to get half,” Lucía said, her voice breaking. “Twenty times exposing myself. Twenty times feeling like I could be discovered.”
She slid her finger further down. The most profitable challenges appeared. The ones that paid hundreds of thousands each. They all had something in common: “Complete nudity in a public place.” “Being completely naked, with absolutely nothing on your body, on a street, in a park, in a parking lot.” “Record while you walk, crouch, lean against a wall.” The payments were high. Very high.
Lucía stared at the screen. Her breathing grew faster. I felt it too. The heat in my belly returned, treacherous. Completely naked. With nothing. In public. At night. I imagined her pale body under a streetlamp’s light, trembling, trying to cover herself while I recorded every second. The shame on her face. The fear. And me there, close, controlling the angle.
“Lucía…” I whispered. “If we want to pay quickly… these are the ones that work.”
She didn’t answer. She just looked at the screen, biting her lip. The fan kept turning. Neither of us spoke for a long time.
But we both knew there was no turning back anymore.
Lucía stared at the phone screen a moment longer, biting her lip. The fan turned slowly above us, moving the hot air in the room. Finally she sighed and nodded, though her voice came out trembling.
“Okay… let’s go out. Just walk around the block and see what we can do. I can’t stand lying here thinking about the motorcycle anymore.”
That was enough. I got up from the bed carefully, the mattress creaking slightly under my weight. I usually leave some clothes at Lucía’s for the nights I stay over, so I looked in the small drawer she keeps for me. I put on some old but comfortable jeans that fit my legs well, a simple black t-shirt and my sneakers. I needed to be able to move without making noise.
“Put on something light,” I whispered as I finished dressing. “Clothes that are easy to take off and put on quickly. And better the flip-flops, they’re quieter.”
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