Ugh. I groan, shaking my head until I feel a pair of hands insistently return my gaze to the fore, towards the cameras. It's infuriating to be forced to maintain this vacant grin for the sake of the audience, particularly with that repugnant spectacle mounting ever more appallingly with every passing moment.
"Come on, Bonnie, it'll be over soon." Kim taunts, though she's securely away from the revolting spurts that wash across me. "Just smile, and think of how successful this'll be."
"Yeah, sure, whatever." I grit my teeth, my hands tensing at my side. I'm perched upon my knees, feeling the seething glare of the overhead lights upon my skin, that awful fluid already caking upon me. "Just get it over with quickly."
"Well, he needs to finish." Kim's amusement is palpable at my humiliation; I narrow my eyes, focusing upon his ridiculous posturing, that insane jolting movement growing at every instant.
"Tell him to hurry the hell up, Kim. He's your boyfriend." I whisper, closing my eyes as another spurt of the dense fluid erupts across my face.
"He's just enthusiastic- he's never had the chance to do this in front of so many people before."
"Yeah, sure." I feel distinctly ill, the lights amplifying the noxious weight and tacky heat of the liquid upon my skin. It continues to geyser upon me, across my uniform, trickling along every inch of my flesh.
"Geeze, Bonnie, you look uncomfortable." She teases, gloating so obnoxiously.
"Shut up, Kim." That obnoxious, stuck-up idiot.
"I don't know..." She continues to secure my face, forcing me to stare forward, into the focused lenses of the bank of cameras. The audience seems distinctly astonished by the proceedings, as well; it's mortifying, how we're being degraded like this.
"What, do you like this, Miss Perfect? How often does he do it for you?" I hiss, another flood of it spraying upon me.
"All of the time. I've really started to like it, actually." I can't believe how warped she is- perhaps I should be a bit afraid of her.
"You're so totally twisted, Kim." I growl, still preserving that rictus grin, straining against the overwhelming, visceral urge to simply break down and run away.
"No, just a supportive girlfriend. If you had a boyfriend, you'd know, Bonnie. Sorry." What gall. It'll be over soon, I promise myself; I need this, need the recognition that this will generate, however revolting it is to participate in it.
"Funny." Finally, he finishes, a lengthy, climactic stream of it bursting across both of us, the dense, pallid, creamy substance coating both of us completely as he spasms and writhes, unleashing a final, howling scream of delight at the conclusion.
"And that, ladies and gentleman, was... The Middleton Mad Dog and his rabid dance." Mister Barkin finally interrupts, allowing us to dismantle the human pyramid, with Kim perched atop me, safely beyond the range of most of that stupid foam. God, I hate this idiotic cheerleading drill.