THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND

Five

Alma's mind hummed with a mischievous energy as she walked home from school, the sting in her rear end a distant echo compared to the thrill of her burgeoning plan. The "sleepover at Laura's" was the perfect cover.

Her brothers, particularly Zade and Ronan, were usually amenable to her spending the night at her best friend's house. They saw Laura as a safe, wholesome influence, conveniently forgetting that Laura was just as susceptible to the allure of a good time as Alma herself.

The first step was the setup. She needed to make the sleepover seem utterly convincing. That night, at dinner, Alma made sure to mention it casually.

"Laura's mom invited me to stay over this Friday," she announced, spooning more pasta onto her plate, avoiding Dante's gaze. "We're going to binge-watch that new series and bake cookies."

Ronan, distracted by a document on his phone, barely grunted an acknowledgement. Zade, ever the softer touch, offered a warm smile.

"Sounds like fun, love. Just be careful."

Dante, however, paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. His dark eyes, sharp and assessing, met hers across the table.

Alma's heart gave a nervous flutter, but she held his gaze, willing her expression to remain innocent. He studied her for a long moment, a silent interrogation that always made her skin prickle. Just when she thought he might object, he simply grunted and returned to his meal.

A small victory. She almost sagged in relief.

The next afternoon, shopping with Laura was a whirlwind of hushed excitement. They bypassed the usual cute tops and instead gravitated towards a section of the boutique Alma rarely dared to explore.

Laura held up a shimmering, form-fitting dress, its fabric clinging in all the right places, cut daringly short.

"This one," Laura declared, her eyes shining. "Ben will lose his mind."

Alma blushed, but a thrill shot through her. It was definitely not something her brothers would approve of. It was perfect.

They also picked out some new makeup – a darker, more dramatic look than her usual innocent glow – and a pair of impossibly high heels. Each purchase felt like a tiny rebellion, a step closer to the freedom she craved.

Friday evening arrived, cloaked in the usual pre-weekend buzz. Alma packed a small overnight bag with her "sleepover essentials": pajamas, a toothbrush, and a textbook she had no intention of opening.

Deeper within, carefully folded and hidden, was the shimmering dress, the daring heels, and the new makeup.

She kissed Zade and Ronan goodbye at the door, hugging them a little tighter than usual, a tiny pang of guilt twisting in her stomach.

"Have fun, love," Zade murmured, patting her hair. Ronan just nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

Dante was nowhere to be seen, which was a blessing. The fewer questions, the better.

At Laura's house, the charade continued. They chatted with Laura's mom, made a show of setting up their sleeping bags in the living room, and even genuinely started a movie.

But as soon as Laura's parents retired for the night, a conspiratorial glint entered both girls' eyes.

"Okay, operation 'Freedom' is a go," Laura whispered, pulling the hidden party clothes from Alma's bag.

Alma felt a rush of adrenaline. This was it. The first step towards a night where she could be anyone she wanted, where Dante's oppressive gaze wouldn't reach, and where the rules of the Russo household would simply cease to exist.

She was ready to shed the skin of the innocent sister and embrace the thrill of the unknown, no matter the cost.

********

The air inside the frat house thrummed with a bass line that vibrated through Alma's chest, a dizzying mix of loud music, flashing lights, and the scent of sweat and cheap cologne. Ben, a dazzling smile on his face, led Alma and Laura through the throng.

He was even more handsome up close, his eyes sparkling with an inviting warmth. He introduced them to a few of his friends, a blur of enthusiastic greetings, before turning his full attention back to Alma.

"Come on," he murmured, his hand gently guiding her by the elbow. "I know a quieter spot."

He steered her towards a less crowded corner of the house, tucked away behind a large, worn sofa. The music was still audible, but the oppressive crush of bodies lessened, offering a sliver of privacy. He pulled two plastic cups from somewhere, handing one to Alma.

It was filled with an amber liquid, the ice clinking softly. The scent was sweet, syrupy, and unfamiliar.

Alma hesitated, her gaze fixed on the swirling contents. She was used to wine with dinner, not... this.

"What is it?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

Ben chuckled, a low, reassuring sound. "Just a little something to loosen up. Don't worry." He took a generous gulp from his own cup, his eyes never leaving hers. "Come on, just a taste."

Her initial hesitation warred with her desire to impress him, to fit in, to be brave. She lifted the cup, the rim cool against her lips, and took a cautious sip.

The liquid was surprisingly smooth, sweet at first, then a warm, fiery burn that blossomed in her chest.

She coughed, a small, involuntary sound. Ben laughed, a genuine, easy laugh that disarmed her.

She took another, bolder sip, then another, the liquid warming her from the inside out, melting away her inhibitions.

His eyes, dark and captivating, held hers. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, and then his lips were on hers, soft at first, then more demanding.

The kiss was intoxicating, an electric current that jolted through her. When he finally pulled back, he smiled, his gaze intense.

"You're beautiful, Alma."

The words were a potent elixir, more intoxicating than the amber liquid in her cup. She felt a flush spread across her cheeks, a giddy, lightheaded sensation.

"Let's take some pictures," Ben suggested, his voice a low coax.

Alma's initial unease flickered. Her brothers' warnings, Dante's recent cruelty, a vague sense of impropriety, nudged at the edges of her awareness.

"I don't know..." she began, her voice a little slurred.

"It's okay, it'll be fun," he assured her, already pulling out her phone. "Just for us."

The first few pictures were innocent, even cute. Arms around each other, silly faces, Ben playfully kissing her cheek. Then, his suggestions became bolder.

"Lift your dress a little," he coaxed, his fingers grazing her bare thigh.

Drunk and eager to please, Alma complied, her skirt riding up to reveal her panties. His praise was immediate, a low whisper of "So sexy." He made her lift it higher, then higher, until her breasts were exposed, his fingers tracing her n*****s, a strange mix of arousal and validation washing over her.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

He then switched to video, leaning in close, his lips pressed against hers as he filmed their kiss. Then, another video, his body grinding against hers, a slow, deliberate rhythm that made her dizzy.

She felt a detached part of her mind register a flicker of discomfort, a distant alarm bell, but the amber liquid had dulled its urgency, and Ben's compliments were a powerful distraction.

Just as the videos ended, her phone vibrated violently, then went dark. The screen flashed a dying battery icon.

Alma groaned. "Oh, no! I forgot to charge it."

Ben seemed unperturbed. He straightened his clothes, flashing her a charming smile. "No worries. We can just head back to the party. Just send me the videos and pictures when your phone's charged, okay?"

"Okay!" she chirped, the thought of reliving those moments, of his compliments, filling her with a warm, excited glow.

The pictures and videos, already hazy in her memory, seemed like a testament to her newfound daring, a secret thrill.

They re-emerged from their secluded corner, the noise and lights of the party washing over them once more. Alma found Laura by the punch bowl, her own cheeks flushed. "He kissed me!" Alma practically squealed, tugging on Laura's arm. She recounted the intoxicating kiss, the exhilarating feeling of Ben's attention, omitting the more explicit details of the photos and videos, a secret she already felt a strange mixture of pride and unease about.

Laura shrieked with delight, equally thrilled by Alma's success.

Later, as the first hint of dawn painted the sky a pale gray, they stumbled back to Laura's house, giggling.

Alma's head spun, a dull ache beginning to throb behind her eyes. She slipped into the bathroom, stripping off the shimmering dress and impossibly high heels. The dress felt... wrong, somehow. Too daring, too revealing now that the party's haze was lifting.

They quickly bundled the dress and shoes into a plastic bag, tucking it deep into Alma's overnight bag. The plan was to dispose of them later, to erase any physical evidence of their clandestine adventure.

Alma finally collapsed onto the sleeping bag in Laura's living room, a heavy exhaustion settling over her.

Just as she was drifting off, a jolt of panic shot through her. "My charger!" she mumbled, sitting bolt upright. "It's at my house!" The thought of her dead phone, the images and videos trapped within it, sent a fresh wave of dread through her. But the exhaustion quickly won, pulling her back into a restless sleep.

Hours later, after a quick, cold shower to shake off the lingering effects of the amber liquid, Alma returned home, dressed in the innocuous pajamas she'd pretended to sleep in, her hair still slightly damp.

She walked into the mansion like an innocent little girl, her backpack slung over her shoulder, a carefully constructed facade of tired normalcy.

The frat party, the kisses, the photos, the videos – it all felt like a dream now, a hazy, almost surreal memory. She just needed to charge her phone. Then, she could deal with it all.