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Chelsea's Revenge The lecture hall was quiet, save for the soft clatter of keyboards and the occasional whisper. Naya shifted in her seat, crossing her legs beneath her pink pleated miniskirt. Her white thigh highs hugged her legs snugly, and she absentmindedly traced the edge of her polo shirt collar with a finger. She glanced at Chelsea sitting one row ahead, slouched lazily in her grey sweatpants and loose white crop top, one foot propped up on the chair in front of her, her black Converse class foot dangling casually. Professor Reynolds cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses as he pointed to the projector screen. “Naya, can you explain the concept of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs?” Naya froze, her cheeks heating as all eyes turned to her. She stammered, grasping for an answer. “Uh… it’s about… um… survival instincts?” A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and Chelsea’s voice cut through it like a knife. “Wow, really? Survival instincts? Did you even read the chapter, or were you too busy Instagramming your outfit?” Naya’s face burned, but she bit her tongue, sinking lower into her seat. The professor moved on, but the sting of Chelsea’s words lingered. As the lecture continued, Naya stewed, her fingers tightening around the edge of her desk. Who does she think she is? When the professor turned his back to write on the board, Naya seized her chance. Leaning forward, she reached into the back of Chelsea's sweatpants, hooked her fingers onto the waistband of Chelsea’s white granny panties, and yanked upward with all her might. The fabric snapped tight, digging into Chelsea’s rear, and she let out a surprised yelp that echoed through the room. The class erupted into laughter as Chelsea squirmed, trying to free herself from the wedgie. “What the hell, Naya!” she hissed, her face red with embarrassment. Naya smirked, leaning back in her seat. “Guess survival instincts kicked in after all.” Chelsea shot her a glare over her shoulder, muttering something under her breath. But Naya didn’t care. For once, she felt like she’d come out on top. * After class, Naya hurried toward the bathroom, her bladder twisting uncomfortably. The venti coffee she’d downed during the lecture was hitting hard, and she prayed the stalls would be empty. Pushing open the door, she froze. Chelsea leaned against the sink, arms crossed, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Well, well. Look who finally showed up.” Naya’s heart sank. “I don’t have time for this, Chelsea. I really need to—” Before she could finish, Chelsea lunged forward, lifting the hem of Naya’s skirt and pulling it upward, to reveal Naya's perfect tan ass, covered only by a skimpy pink thong. Chelsea grinned as she grabbed the waistband and tanked upwards. The force lifted Naya off her feet, her feet kicking helplessly in the air as her underwear burrowed deeply between her round cheeks. “Let me go!” Naya shouted, struggling against Chelsea’s grip. “I seriously have to pee!” “Oh, you’ll be using the toilet alright,” Chelsea sneered, dragging Naya toward the nearest stall. She shoved the door open with her foot and forced Naya to kneel in front of the bowl. “Let’s see how much you like being humiliated.” With one hand still holding Naya’s waistband, Chelsea grabbed the back of her head and pushed her face toward the water. Naya gasped as her nose touched the surface, her hands gripping the edges of the toilet for balance. “Stop! Please!” she begged, her voice muffled. But Chelsea only laughed, giving her a sharp tug upward before dunking her again, this time submerging her whole head in the water. The cold water stung Naya’s skin, and panic surged through her as she realized what was coming next. Chelsea flushed the toilet, the rushing water swirling around Naya’s face. She sputtered, choking on the liquid as Chelsea held her in place. Again and again, the toilet flushed, each swirl more disorienting than the last. Naya’s bladder screamed in protest, and she clenched her thighs together, desperately trying to hold on. But it was no use. As Chelsea gave her one final tug and one final flush, Naya’s control slipped, and she felt the warmth spreading between her legs, dripping down her thighs, and pooling at her knees. Tears welled in her eyes as humiliation washed over her, and Chelsea’s laughter echoed in her ears. “Oops. Looks like someone couldn’t hold it,” Chelsea teased, releasing Naya’s waistband and stepping back. "You really did NEED the toilet after all!" Naya collapsed onto the floor, her skirt and panties soaked with hot urine and her face streaked with tears and toilet water. She tried to stand, but Chelsea was already moving again, grabbing the defeated girl's waistband once more. “Up we go,” Chelsea said, hoisting Naya by her waistband and looping it over the hook on the stall wall. Naya’s feet barely touched the ground, her weight pulling the fabric of her skirt and underwear taut. "Wow, for how tiny these panties are, they sure are strong!" Chelsea remarked. “You’re insane!” Naya cried, kicking her legs in an attempt to free herself. But Chelsea just smirked, leaning against the stall door and folding her arms. “Maybe. But you deserved that. Next time, think twice before messing with me.”
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