"Remember," you tell Whitney in the empty school hallway. "I want to do it on my own this time."
"Gotcha, gotcha," Whitney chirps.
You've been waiting outside the student council room for over an hour and a half. Finally, the meeting adjourns, and students begin to trickle out. You take cover in a janitor's closet and watch through the cracked-open door as, one by one, Rose's cadre of polo-clad minions leave.
You expect Rose to be the last one out. And as usual, your instincts prove correct. Rose is 10 minutes later than the last of her fellow council members. She steps out of the room and locks the door securely behind her.
She's a fucking wreck. Sweat-sheened, red-faced, hair mussed, blouse partially untucked. She walks with a wobble in her step.
The weird thing is you haven't touched the vibrator's dial even once today. Yet she looks worse than the day you had her on a nonstop roller-coaster of orgasms.
"Do it," Whitney says. "She's ready for it."
You don't need the encouragement. You step into the hallway.
"Hello, Rose."
Rose wheels around. Her eyes go wide and wild, like a frightened native -- pure animal panic in them.
She turns and tries to run, but you chase her down and tackle her in a few short steps. You turn her writhing body on its back and pin her wrists.
"Did you wear the vibrator today?" you ask.
"I'm s-sorry!" she cries. "It's not my fault! I wore it, you can check for yourself... it must have broken or something! I did everything you wanted, I swear! I swear, Alabaster, I swear! I'm sorry it stopped working!"
You laugh cruelly. "It didn't break," you tell her, interrupting her little panic attack. "I just never turned it on."
Rose shivers underneath you and then goes still. You nip at her neck.
"W-why?" she stutters.
"You don't want me to," you say. "I'd never do something like that against your will. That would be rape."
Rose whimpers.
You loom over her, sitting on your knees, and tug her skirt down.
"No--!" Rose screams, the fear coming back to her. "Please!"
She was telling the truth: she's wearing the egg. And also going nopan. Her pussy glistens with moisture.
"Slut," comes your simple and to-the-point analysis.
You tug the egg from her and toss it aside. It'll just get in the way otherwise.
Behind you, Whitney sets down a stool from the janitor's closet on the linoleum floor. You hear the dull scrape of its feet against the tile as shit sits.
Right here in the middle of the hallway -- you're about to rape the student council president while your girlfriend masturbates to it. Could life get any sweeter?
You pull your cock free and push Rose's supple thighs together. They're meaty, but deliciously smooth. With your weight pinning her and her juices providing lubrication, the slippery pressure pf fucking between her legs is a lot like your onahole. The heat and wetness makes you growl involuntarily.
Underneath you, Rose switches from fear to an attempt at defiance: "y-you're sick. What are you doing?"
You smother her protests with a lewd open-mouthed kiss. You force your tongue down her throat and let your drool flow freely into her. Only when she starts moving her tongue in return do you pull away. Rose's whimper this time is louder, more frustrated.
"I guess you're going to rape me," Rose says, a strand of spittle still connecting her lips to yours. "Well, get it over with!"
"Hmm?" you ask tauntingly, humping her legs. You feel her cunt lips against your shaft but resist the urge to drive yourself home. Patience is key.
"I'm not a rapist," you tell her. "I'd never have sex with you if you didn't want me to."
You pick up your pace, almost imperceptibly. At every outstroke, your glans brushes up against her clit. Rose's thigh muscles flex and her back arches. Her breathing is ragged.
"We can have sex if you want," you tell her.
"N-never..." Rose groans. "I'd neverrrrrrr--" her denial is cut off by her own thundering orgasm.
"All you have to do is ask," you say. "Otherwise, I can cum somewhere else."
Rose goes limp, and you don't have to hold her wrists down anymore. She lies there, unmoving, for several long minutes. The only noise is the wet slurp of your dick rubbing on her inner legs, and the schlicking of Whitney playing with herself.
"Please."
She says it so quietly that you're not entirely sure she spoke at all. She can't look you in the eye.
"What was that?" you say.
"Please."
"Please what?"
Rose's face contorts in a mask of anger, lust, and resignation.
"Please have sex with me."
"You can ask me better than that. Tell me what you really want."
"..."
You fuck her thighs at a steady, forceful pace. "Suit yourself," you say. "I'm fine with just this."
Rose's teeth clack together like she's shivering.
"P-please... Rape me. Use me. Pour your cum inside of me... make me your cum-dump... please... please..."
You smile.
"Well-- if you insist."
You stand up, dismounting her. Rose looks at you as if you've just shot her parents. She opens her mouth to say something, but you grab her by the hair and drag her to her knees.
"I already used your pussy," you tell her. "I want to try a different hole today."
You pin Rose in a sitting position, her head against the wall. Cupping her chin in one hand and the top of her head in the other, you force your cock inside her mouth and fuck her throat like a cunt. Her eyes tear up and her mouth salivates obscenely, fast turning her face into a wet and slimy mess. Rivulets of slop run down her cheeks and drip onto her blouse, soiling it.
The swampy heat of her throat muscles engulfing you makes you groan. They expand and contract freely to make way for your raping cock -- there's no resistance whatsoever from Rose. Every time you bottom out, her lolled-out tongue brushes against your balls, leaving a trail of wet drool on them, and your crotch slams viciously against her nose. Every time you pull away and look down at her, her eyes have a vacant, glazed-over look to them.
You pinch her nose, plugging both of her nostrils, just to see what she'll do about it: the answer is nothing at all. She doesn't fight or squirm, and the only response is a slight decrease to the volume of her lewd gagging every time you thrust into her face.
In fact, the only real evidence that Rose is alive right now is the way one of her hands furiously mashes her clit while the other works its fingers inside her creaming pussy. There's so much girl-cum leaking from her pussy that she sits in a puddle, the bottom hem of her skirt sodden and darkly stained.
So far, Whitney has been a good girl about letting you run free, but she can't hold herself back any longer. From behind, she eggs you on: "tell her what a fucking cunt she is, Ally."
You laugh. "It's true," you tell Rose. "You're a fucking cunt. But now you're our cunt, aren't you?"
Rose makes no attempt to respond as you pound her fuckhole of a throat. But that in itself is response enough. She's your cunt. A steady stream of precum oozes from your cockhead and down her gullet.
"And even though you're a cunt, I've got to hand it to you," you say. "You're a lot of fun to cum inside."
There's a loud hiss as Whitney breathes sharply through gritted teeth. She brings herself to a wet, sloppy orgasm and you hear her bouncing up and down in her chair as she fingers herself to oblivion.
That delicious ache courses through your nuts. You bury yourself as deep as you can inside Rose's cunt mouth. "Drink my cum, you little whore!" you cry. Your cock blows off, pulsing and pouring your seed directly into her stomach.
Rose's back arches and her pussy squirts, droplets of her juice spraying in a million different vectors. Demented with lust, Whitney falls to her knees and clamps her mouth to Rose's cumming hole, mewling and suckling the nasty slime like mother's milk. Whitney sucks and licks, and Rose screams her orgasm into your dick. The vibration only makes your own orgasm stronger.
You pull away and stare down at Rose's ruined, fucked-out, half-conscious body. Her clothes are splattered with slime and drool. Her hair is mussed and stuck to her wettened face. Her cheeks are flushed, her makeup is smeared.
Whitney continues her work on Rose's still-creaming pussy. With a free hand, she masturbates.
Rose babbles unintelligibly. You poke her with your foot. "Are you done resisting?" you ask.
"Cum..." Rose mutters. Her voice sounds far away. "Cum... cock..."
Whitney laughs through her nose, still lapping at Rose's cunt. She stops to look back at you and quickly say: "I think I want to play with her for a little while. If you want to stay, you're welcome to~"
"That's fine," you say. "I have other things to do. We don't both have to be here every time we want to play with her, do we? She's really more like a sex toy at this point..."
Whitney shrugs. "True," she says. "She's something for us to relieve stress with. So, rule three: we can play with our rape toy whenever we want..."
She goes back to sucking Rose's lower hole.
"Cum..." Rose babbles. And on that note, you leave Whitney to her fun.