You are Alabaster Soliloquy, ahegao conjurer and ace attorney. After grandstanding in front of the student council president and (possibly) saving anime club, you've received a much-needed injection of self-confidence. But your trials are far from over.
That Sunday, you wake up to the sound of birds chirping as sunlight streams through the window. You're not used to your curtains letting so much light in. You swipe at your face and blink in post-sleep confusion.
That's when you realize you're lying in your sister's bed.
As if she had been waiting for you to wake up first, Cerise comes to as well. She flutters her eyelashes and writhes around a bit, stretching luxuriously. You watch her, heart stopped, frozen in place.
Finally, sensing a presence beside her, Cerise turns her head to face you. Her eyes are blurred and unfocused for a few seconds as she stares at you uncomprehendingly. Then the realization hits her, too.
The two of you leap from bed at the same time as if a bomb went off.
"What are you doing in my room?" Cerise shrieks. "You little pervert!"
"You knocked me out! You drugged me, didn't you! What sick, depraved things did you do to me?"
"Get out! Get out!"
"Whore of Babylon!" you cry as she pushes you toward her door. "Slattern harlot!"
She slams the door and locks it.
The truth of what happened is a lot less lurid than it first appeared. As you head downstairs, your memory of it slowly returns.
After your marathon session of calling the anime club members to warn them against acting spergy during Rose's visit, you and Cerise were both exhausted. You launched into a strategy meeting with her on what you should air this Monday, to give Rose the best impression of the club. A google search of "Spirited Away + feminism" indicated that you might get a good result from that or some other Miyazaki film. You and Cerise both memorized a few talking points to use on Rose during the movie.
With that settled, it was only natural to start making plans for the future of anime club -- even if that future was still in question. "We need to show something better than NeeKyu," you insisted. Of course, Cerise angrily shot down your suggestions to show Loli Baseball, Loli Bank Robbers, and Loli Convicts. It was like she had no capability to appreciate good plot.
Instead, you settled on some compromise choices. Salt&Fox was the show you were both the most enthusiastic about, so you scheduled that for the next slot in the lineup. Actually, it turned out that you and Cerise share more tastes in common than you thought -- her bias against moe notwithstanding. Somehow you ended up in an involved discussion on the state of the industry itself, and at some point you must have drifted off.
There's something else you and Cerise share in common too: slothfulness. It's 1 PM when you shuffle into the kitchen.
Today is a notorious ritual in the Soliloquy household: dessert-for-dinner Sunday. It's the day when mom goes all out and makes nothing but luscious cakes, decadent pies, chewy cookies -- and everyone in the house flirts with diabetic shock. Cerise is supposed to help her in the kitchen today like usual, but she doesn't come down. When you knock on her door, she won't answer.
"Is she sick or something?" Mom asks from the foot of the stairs, concerned.
You shrug. Whatever the case, it doesn't look like Cerise is coming out anytime soon.
"But how am I supposed to finish all of this on time?" Mom wonders out loud. "I need Cerise!"
[X] It can't be helped. I'll take Cerise's place in the kitchen today.
[ ] Gee, that sounds tough. Do your best.
Spending time with with kaa-san dearest isn't something you jump for joy to think about, but dessert-for-dinner Sunday is the highlight of your week. It's time to take one for the team.
"I guess I could help you out today, or something," you say -- and actually whistle a little bit to sound as nonchalant as possible.
Mom stares at you, obviously unconvinced. "Are you trying to tease me or something? Even for you, that's lame."
"I'm serious," you say. "I mean-- it's not like I like cooking with you, I just don't want to miss tonight's dinner."
The two of you stand in the foyer with your arms folded, unable to even look at each other for several minutes.
"W-well, if you insist," Mom says. "But you better not break anything!"
You follow her into the kitchen. She grabs an apron from the little coat rack next to the cupboard, tying it up over her sweater and jeans. "You take one too," she says.
The only apron left is a pink monstrosity with lacy embroidering that says "kiss the cook." You feel like a total girl wearing this thing.
Mom starts grabbing ingredients out of the cabinet. "I need you to make some fondue," she says, pulling out mixers and other implements. "I'll get started on the crusts."
You shake your head dumbly.
"A fondue. Don't you know how to make something so simple?" Your mom sighs. "I guess I'll have to teach you. It's such a pain to work with an idiot like you..."
"Don't call me an idiot, you pig. I'm not the one who dropped out of college."
"I did it for love! Something you obviously know nothing about!"
Things are off to a splendid start.
"Give me the chocolate, Alabaster."
You hand Mom a few boxes of semisweet chocolate. She adds it to the pan and lets it melt down, slowly stirring. "And with just a little cream, it becomes completely delicious," she says, summing it up. "Even a dullard like you should be able to make something this simple." She pours in the heavy cream.
Next, she rolls out some pie crusts, and you busy yourself with flipping through her recipe books to find the kind of pie that you'd prefer tonight. "I'm making three, so I'll let you choose one," Mom says. "But only one! And-- only because I can't decide..."
"This white chocolate meringue sounds good," you say.
Mom smiles to herself as she works the rolling pin. "That's my favorite," she hums. "Hey, do you know that Alabaster means 'white'?"
"Of course I know that. I'm the one with an actual education here."
She grimaces. "Excuse me for trying to make conversation with you! You won't catch me making that mistake again!"
She grabs some cubes of white chocolate from the cabinet. "White chocolate always makes me think of you," she says. Then, realizing herself, she quickly adds: "--which is why I usually don't make it..."
It continues like this for several hours. By evening, you actually have a pretty solid understanding of some simple cooking techniques. "We'll make a marriageable husband out of you yet," Mom says. "I'm sure there's some girl out there who'd be stupid enough to let you have them, as long as you learn a few basic skills..."
At 6 PM, like clockwork, the doorbell rings. It's Whitney. She never fails to show on dessert-for-dinner Sundays to mooch off of your mother's begrudging hospitality.
"Hey, assface~" Whitney says when you open the door. She looks at your flour- and chocolate-stained apron that says "kiss the cook." She shrugs, throws her arms around your neck, and kisses you wetly.
"Your parents are still starving you, I see," you say, pushing back after a few moments of lewdly mingling tongues. "So you've come here to steal off my table again?"
"You were helping your bitch mom cook tonight?" Whitney asks. "That's so sweet, Ally! You better learn a lot because I suck at cooking. We can't feed our kids McDonald's every night!"
"You're going to make me physically ill. I'd rather have children with a feral possum."
"Oh-- if it isn't the world's biggest hussy," comes Mom's voice behind you. She stares Whitney down.
"Hi Mrs. Soliloquy. I brought you a little gift tonight!"
She has. She hands Mom a bouquet of flowers. "They're just like you. They're full of thorns but they smell really sweet when you get up close!"
"These are horrid," Mom says. She goes into the kitchen and you hear the sound of something being tossed in the garbage. She comes back with the bouquet and an empty vase. "You're lucky I had an empty vase lying around to put these in," she says.
Only when dinner is served does Cerise finally come down from her room to eat. She sits next to you. Directly across from you is Whitney, and next to her, Dad -- absorbed as always in current events. And like usual, Mom sits at the head of the table.
"Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Soliloquy," Whitney says, digging into the meringue. "This is great."
Cerise picks at hers, looking pensive. What's gotten into her?
You spend much of dinner with a sick worry in your gut, wondering when Whitney is going to start acting lewdly. You know the looks she sometimes throws Cerise's way aren't wholesome. But the hammer never drops. It's just a normal dinner at the Soliloquy household -- except for Whitney kicking off one of her running shoes and rubbing your crotch under the table. She winks at you slyly but doesn't take it any further than that. After a couple minutes, she pulls her foot away.
"So what delinquency have you been involved in recently?" Mom asks Whitney.
Whitney laces her fingers behind her head, stretching her back. "Ohhh, you know-- same old, same old."
Cerise puts down her fork. "She's fucking Alabaster," she says. "Like a couple of animals, those two." Mom quirks an eyebrow at you.
[X] Yeah, she's fucking me.
[ ] Deny.
"Yeah. She's fucking me. Would you pass the fondue boat?"
Mom stares at you for several long moments and it's hard to read anything in her stony expression.
"Well?" you prompt. "Are you going to pass the fondue or not?"
She hands you the dish. "And here I thought you still had some decency left," she says. "Giving your virginity away to some skank, just like that..."
Whitney takes hold of your hand across the table. "Don't be like that, Mrs. Soliloquy. We really care about each other. Right, Ally?"
[X] Yeah.
[ ] Nah.
"I guess," you say. "Err-- it's not like I don't care about her at all. I'm not some low class philistine who has sex with just anyone. So I do care about her. But we're keeping our options open. Right, Whitney?"
She obviously didn't expect to have this thrown back onto her in this way. But after a couple surprised blinks, she smiles smoothly. "Yeah," she says. "It's what you might call an open relationship."
"Humph," Mom says, folding her arms and looking away. Cerise clicks her tongue against her teeth in disgust.
The only sound for the next few minutes is dad's paper ruffling as he slowly turns pages.
"A-anyway..." Mom says, breaking the long silence. "Cerise, how is work?"
"Oh, it's fine," Cerise says breezily. "I love working with the students. Sometimes they can be difficult, but showing them the proper way is rewarding..."
The rest of dinner passes normally. Or as normally as it can in the Soliloquy household.
Whitney calls you bright and early to run laps, as expected; you let it go to voicemail. Hopefully she'll take the hint -- if you want to meet up, you'll call her.
Cerise is the one who wakes you again at 8:00. She seems back to her old self. "I don't need you walking around like a fucking zombie at anime club today," she says. "So get up. And be ready for anything. I'm supposed to hear back from Rose at lunch..."
Class is a chore to get through. In home room, you see Mr. Langley your Quiz Bowl coach laughing and joking around with Vivian, the way he used to with you. It feels like being NTR'd. You try not to watch them.
Thankfully, Vivian stays away from you. Her neck is still deeply bruised where Rose held her.
Whitney sends you a text at lunch:
>"Coming to practice today??"
You don't reply. You have somewhere else to be. When you text Cerise to ask what the verdict is on anime club, there is no response.
You hurry to anime club after the final bell rings.
Everyone is in attendance, and they seem to be relatively well-behaved. Your phone calls on Saturday must have put the fear of God in them. You sit at the head of the room and wait nervously for Rose to arrive.
Cerise is late. You silently curse her, and worry that Rose will get here first. A tardy faculty adviser is not going to help your cause. The other club members start to whisper.
20 minutes after the official start of club time, Cerise finally shows. The club falls silent at her arrival, afraid of drawing her ire. She strolls to the center of the room and claps her hands together enthusiastically, as if she's about to announce a club trip to Comiket.
"Anime club is disbanded," Cerise says.
Worried sighs and murmurs at this. Cerise says nothing else. You stare at her in disbelief. Finally, Connor raises a gloved hand and asks, "why?"
"Apparently, one of you little shits tattled on me for showing pirated episodes," she sneers. She gives Fartin' Franklin an accusing look. "So the panel said they had no choice."
"The good news," Cerise continues, "is that Rose threw us a bone. If we become a cultural appreciation club, we can still operate. We'll be able to watch anime during club time, but we'll also have to take part in the school's culture fair. Also, we have to learn the language."
"That's great!" Kimberly offers. "I always wanted to learn nihongo!"
"Hmm?" Cerise asks, confused. Then: "Oh yeah. There's already a Japanese culturual appreciation club, and they hate our fucking guts. So, that's out."
She hauls a heavy cardboard box from underneath the desk, plopping it down on top with a heave. "Here's a bunch of Turkish-to-English dictionaries. Everybody take one, you're gonna need them. Welcome to Turkish Cultural Appreciation Club."
...This probably explains the presence of Fazil, North High's Turkish exchange student, in the back of the club room today. He fiddles with the tassle on his fez.
"I mean, who gives a shit about Turkey?" you ask Cerise after club time, strolling down the empty halls with her.
"Nobody," Cerise says. "That's the point. Nobody new is going to join the club expecting actual appreciation of Turkish culture."
"There's Fazil," you point out.
Cerise rubs the back of her head and laughs. "Yeah, I didn't know about him. It's too late to change the club now. He'll give us some legitimacy, though. We have to make Turkish food and shit for the culture fair in Spring. He can help us."
"He seemed awfully confused about what Spirited Away has to do with Turkey."
"He'll get used to it.Tomorrow we start NeeKyu again, since Rose and the nazis on student council are gonna leave us alone now."
Your heart sinks when you see Whitney round the corner. She runs up to you and Cerise. But far from making any untoward advances, she actually seems to be in a normal mood today.
"Sup, fuckface?" she asks. "Did you guys save nerd club?"
"Sort of," you say.
"Does that mean you can finally dedicate yourself to soccer?"
"Watching Alabaster try to play soccer would be flat depressing," Cerise says idly.
"Yeah. The answer is still no, Whitney."
Whitney wilts. "Ally, you promised..."
Cerise gives you a little shove. "Is that true? You promised her?"
"She was supposed to protect me from Vivian. That was the deal."
Cerise visors her brow with a flattened palm and pretends to search on the distance. "I don't see any Vivians around," she says. "You look pretty safe to me."
You check the time on your cell. Transhumanism club is still in session...
[ ] Fine, fine. You win; soccer with Whitney.
[X] I think I have another club meeting to get to.
You shake your head. "Ms. Carte has a new club I was thinking of joining. I'll catch you guys later."
Whitney looks positively heartbroken as you speed off. Cerise shrugs.
Inside Ms. Carte's AP Biology room, she's in the middle of a demonstration with a life-sized plastic statue of a skeleton. Some of the joints are outfitted with metal prostheses, which she indicates, each in turn. "This is the inception of transhumanism in a nutshell," she says. "Augmenting the human body with artificial parts to make it perform beyond its normal capabilities--" She notices you striding in and taking your seat.
"Alabaster," she says warmly. "I'm so glad you could make it. These first few meetings, we're having some very general discussions of the history and ethics of transhumanism before we begin our semester project."
She turns from the skeleton toward her desk, where there's a plastic kennel holding a brown rabbit.
"Alabaster -- since you weren't here at the beginning, let me introduce you to Smatters, the club's rabbit. By the end of the semester, she's going to be a bionic bunny." She puts her face against the plastic enclosure to look Smatters in the face. "Aren't you, Smatters? You fluffy little wuffy ball of--" she turns to face the club, looking suddenly abashed.
"Ahem. Right," she says, standing straight. "Then the second semester, we start augmenting ourselves. We're in for a wild ride." She hands you a pink slip. "So then. Go to your physician and get that signed as soon as possible. And also -- are you 18?"
"Yeah," you say.
"Wonderful," she purrs. "That means you don't need parental consent..."
The club isn't as exciting as Ms. Carte's flyer made it sound. She has an open forum for questions, which she answers with calm ease.
"No, Paula, I don't think Jesus would be against transhumanism at all... yes, Ryan, that's very perceptive -- it is sort of like a superhero movie. When I was a researcher..."
You're impressed at how much she knows. How did such an amazing scientist become a lousy public high school teacher?
You raise your hand and ask: "where did you research?"
"I went to school for biomedical engineering at CalTech," she says. "And did a residency at Johns Hopkins in Maryland. After that, I came back to California to do private research with David Darkbloom at Darkbloom Enterprises." You gulp. "He fired me after we had a... difference of opinion..." She gives you a very serious look that seems to be saying: take this openness as a token of trust -- trust me.
After club time is over, the students file out. You're first amongst them. But Ms. Carte holds you back.
"Alabaster," she says. "I need to speak with you."
You look around uneasily. There's no Stackleford to save you now.
"Fine. You want my time? I want answers," you tell her flatly, trying to sound tough. "I don't know what to think anymore. Everyhwere I go, Darkbloom's name turns up."
Ms. Carte folds her arms and leans against the desk. "I understand," she says. "All of this is happening so quickly, isn't it?"
"How is Vivian connected to all of this? How am I?"
Ms. Carte closes her eyes and appears lost in contemplation. "If I told you," she says finally, "David Darkbloom would have to kill you."
"Bullshit."
"You know-- I have to keep my guard up 24/7, and I haven't even been involved with him in four years. He knows how to hold a grudge. He still sends thugs my way every once in a while to rough me up, find out if I'm still 'getting in the way'. Poor Spancer took such a beating last Tuesday..."
Gears begin to spin in your head. "All those jocks you hang out with..."
"Protection when I need it," Ms. Carte confirms. "They're free and Darkbloom can't trace them like he could a bodyguard, can't get to them -- it's the best option."
She reaches into her desk and pulls out a case. Flipping open the lid, she produces a hypodermic needle.
"I'm sorry for this," she says. "I need a blood sample from you, and you can't ask any questions."
[X] Yes.
[ ] No.
You roll up your sleeve and offer your arm to her. Ms. Carte is taken aback.
"Well?" You say.
"I'm sorry," Ms. Carte says, shaking her head quickly. "I expected you to say no, is all. Right then. Come with me."
You follow her through a door at the back of the room which leads to a short hallway of some anterooms reserved for storage. In one of these rooms, Ms. Carte has a doctor's office set up. Spancer is standing guard outside, white as a sheet. He lets the two of you through, and you begin to have second thoughts.
Ms. Carte shuts the door behind her and flips on the fluorescent lights. She beckons for you to sit on the metal exam table. She sits down on a rolling stool and slides over.
"Take off your shirt, please," she says.
You look at her skeptically.
"Alabaster, please. There isn't much time."
"I'll give you all the samples you want as long as you promise to tell me what's going on. I don't care if you think it'll put me in danger. I'm in danger anyway, right?"
Ms. Carte nods. You pull off your shirt and lean back. The cold of the metal table against your back makes you gasp through your teeth.
"Arms like this," Ms. Carte says, holding her hands up to indicate. You follow orders. Ms. Carte slides a hand under her stool and presses a button. Suddenly your hands and legs are trapped in metal braces.
"I'm sorry," she says, putting down the needle as you struggle helplessly. "It's really not a blood sample I need... this is awful, but... I'll make sure it feels good, all right?"
Ms. Carte slowly unbuckles your belt and pulls down your pants. "Unhand me!" is all you can manage.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" is all Ms. Carte can manage, and it's maybe to her credit that she seems genuinely remorseful.
She tugs your jeans down so they're bunched up around your ankles, leaving you only in your boxers.
"Do you want to keep those on or off?" she asks tenderly. "I'll let you decide."
"I want all my clothes back on!" you hiss.
"I'm sorry, but you really have no choice--" Ms. Carte stops, interrupted by a sudden commotion outside. You hear thudding, then what sounds like Spancer shrieking in a high pitched voice.
"Oh God," Ms. Carte says, gulping.
The door opens. Spancer is lying in a bloodied heap in the hallway, crying. Standing in the threshold is Vivian.
Ms. Carte reacts instantly, grabbing the hypodermic needle and charging Vivian. Vivian throws up one hand and deflects the attack. She grabs Ms. Carte and slams her to the floor. She leans over before Ms. Carte can get up and pinches a nerve in her neck. Ms. Carte goes out like a light.
Standing, Vivian walks over to you.
"Don't you dare," you say. "Don't you dare!"
"Alabaster Soliloquy, I just want to save you. I want to make you the man you were three years ago. I want you to live up to the promise of what you can be."
"Don't you dare!" you repeat as she draws closer.
But something else stops her short. You hear the click of heels rapidly approaching. Vivian turns around to see Rose standing in the doorway. Rose leaps forward and smacks Vivian savagely with her clipboard, knocking her back.
As Vivian gains her bearings again, Rose pulls a rag from her blouse pocket and intercepts Vivian's charge by holding the rag to Vivian's face. Vivian's eyes bulge with indignation and shock, then the lids droop as she passes out.
Rose steps aside and lets Vivian fall to the ground with a wet thunk.
"Goodness," Rose says, straightening her blouse and surveying the three unconscious bodies in the vicinity. She looks over at you. "What strange things you get into."
You stare at her in disbelief.
"I think we're alone now?" Rose says.
"I need help," you plead, half-incoherent. "Please. Get me out of here."
"Oh, sure. Sure thing," Rose says. "I'll get right on that, Alabaster. Don't worry." She comes close. Somehow you don't think she intends to help.
Rose watches you intently before seeming to decide something. She swings her legs across your chest, straddling you, butt to belly. She leans against your solar plexus with balled-up fists so she can stare down her nose at you. Her weight on top of you makes it hard to breathe. Your lungs feel constricted.
"Are you feeling all right?" she asks with false concern. She speaks as if this is the most normal conversation in the world. "Are you being bullied? I take bullying very seriously."
"Get off of me," you wheeze, growing panicked as your shallow breaths fail to supply enough oxygen.
"If you want to lodge a complaint, rest assured you will remain completely anonymous."
For reasons you can't fathom, Rose kicks off first one heel then the other, leaving her feet clad in only long black stockings.
"You're a victim, aren't you?" Rose asks, stroking your cheek. You shake your head no.
"So traumatized that you can't even admit it," she says, grinning. "That's hot."
"What?"
"You're the biggest loser I've ever seen," she says. "Even by your own admission you're a loser." She laughs cruelly as you think back to your words at the review panel. It's true: you called yourself a loser.
"Bullied by a little girl, tied down by your own teacher..." Rose bows her head down and nips at your cheek. "...Letting your dyke friend force you to cum in the library..." You wince. "You're absolutely pathetic, Alabaster."
Rose sits up and pulls her feet onto the table. Leaning back and bracing herself against either edge, she brings her knees together and smashes the soles of her feet into your face. The acrid reek of well-worn socks invades your brain and makes your vision blur.
"Stopfff," you try to protest, your speech almost indistinguishable from a wordless grunt.
"Make me," she says, her voice low with triumph. She kneads her toes like she's using her feet to roll out dough. Whole droplets of grimy sweat ooze from the fabric, smearing all over your forehead, cheeks, lips, and chin.
You pull at your restraints, but can't free yourself. Rose reaches back and fondles you through your boxers. Inevitably, your body responds.
"You're a fucking pig," Rose coos. "Getting an erection from something so sick. No wonder you're a victim. You're so cute when you're being victimized."
In the brief glimpses of her that you catch in between the soles of her feet as she smashes them against your face, you see that Rose has a hand snaked under her skirt. You can feel her wetness dripping onto your chest.
She stops, pulling her feet away. You gasp for fresh air, face slick with sweat.
"Why," you ask. "For the love of Christ."
Rose is lost in her own world now. She spins around to look down at your tented boxers. She pokes and prods at it with her toes, giggling. "What a nasty thing," she says. "To carry something like that around all day-- it's indecent..." she's babbling now. Not good.
Rose hikes her skirt up as she leans forward. Her puckered bud and her sopping pussy are all you can see. "Look at my asshole while I rape you with my mouth," she moans.
She frees your cock and wraps it between her plump lips, moaning wantonly. She sucks, dragging her tongue across its length a few times, before pulling back.
"I love this," she breathes. "I love doing this to you." She lies flat on her belly and puts her feet in your face again. "Are you looking at my asshole? You fucking little worm..."
You shake you head and whine.
"I want to traumatize you," she says. "I want you to be triggered every time you see a pair of socks..."
She takes your entire length into the recesses of her throat now, gagging herself. Her viscous drool runs all over your balls as she fondles them with dainty fingers. The heat is unbelievable and the sounds coming from her mouth sound barely human. All the while she jabs her filthy feet directly into your nose. You pull and strain at your shackles, but it's no use.
You feel the familiar thrill in your gut -- but when your balls tense up in Rose's hand, she stops immediately. She pulls herself off of you and stands.
You feel actual pain coursing through you. "I-I didn't finish," you complain.
"I know," Rose says as if you're mentally challenged.. "Why would I let you finish? That's disgusting. Men are garbage. I don't want to see your filthy cum anywhere near me."
You moan and let your head fall back onto the table with a thud. Rose grabs hold of Vivian by the arms and drags her out into the hallway. Ms. Carte follows.
The idea you had put on hold the other day comes back to you.
"Now, if I release you... you can't rape me, of course. That would be a crime. The authorities take rape very seriously..."
You nod sullenly.
"Where is the release mechanism?" she asks.
"Under the chair."
"I like you, Alabaster. And I know if I tell you to come to the band room after school tomorrow, you'll come, right? Even though you know I'm going to rape you again. Because I have all the power. Right?"
"Of course."
She releases you.
You gather your clothes and limp away, stepping over the unconscious bodies in the hallway. She winks as you go. "I'm going to have so much paperwork over this mess..." she sighs.
As you leave, your erection is throbbing and you have one thought on your mind.
Whitney is right where you expected her to be: sitting under the bleachers by the soccer field, cooling off from practice in the shade.
"Jerk," she grumbles as you approach, turning away from you in a huff.
You stand over her. Looking up, she says: "Where have you been? Huh? All day, I wait for you and--"
You grab her by the shoulders and pull her to the ground, turning her on her side. Whitney goes bug-eyed as you pull at the waistband of her spats.
"Ally, what are you doing?"
She gasps as you pull your dick out and press it against the warmth of her sweaty body. "Ally... Ally, is that you?" You bite her neck and drive yourself home to the hilt. Whitney makes a shuddering gasp.
"We can't do this out here--" Whitney protests.
"Why not?" you ask with plain disinterest as you establish a steady pace inside of her.
"We're outside, you fucking ass! People might see--"
"You didn't care about that in the motel, you say." You smash your hipbone against her ass as you fuck into her deepest parts. "You didn't care in the library." You slam into her again.
Whitney claws at the grass in front of her, her muscles flexing, as if half of her wants to pull away and half wants to stay with you. Her inner walls contract around your dick in tune with your fucking.
"Ally, stop-- stop--"
"I'm going to cum," you say.
Whitney tenses up. She spins her head to look back at you with panic in her eyes. "Wait! I'm out of money-- I can't afford another morning after pill--"
You sit upright, pulling her into your lap so that she's facing you. You grab her by the waist and fuck her up and down on your shaft like she's just an onahole. You kiss her deeply -- she wraps her legs around your torso and her arms around your neck even as she whines and pleads for you to stop.
"Please don't, not today," Whitney says, fucking back onto you.
You stop. She looks at you in surprise.
"You don't want me to cum inside," you say flatly.
Whitney shakes her head. "You can finish-- just not inside."
You lift her hips up and jam her back on your cock, just once, and hard. She shivers as you hold her still again.
"So I can only cum inside you when you decide you want to rape me."
"That isn't it..." she wags herself on your cock, frustrated at the lack of motion, her wetness seeping over you. She squirms her hips in your lap and claws at your back helplessly.
"Well," you say. "This is where I want to cum. So fucking deal with it."
You tighten your grip and hammer her as hard as you can. She throws her head back and lets it happen, tongue lolling out. She goes limp in your arms and you blow your cum directly into her womb. Whitney cries out, in exhilaration and despair.
As you lie in the cool grass, panting and still mated together, you nuzzle her.
"You're an asshole," Whitney coos as your juices pool between you.
"Mmhmm," you say, trailing kisses up and down her shoulders, neck, and face.
"There's no way you didn't fuck me pregnant just now..."
"Mmmhmm."
"I can't wait to do this with Cerise," Whitney says. You feel her cunt contract around you at those words.
You stop your nuzzling her, grab her chin in hand and turn her face to look her in the eye.
"What do you think of Rose Mallory?" you ask.
"Hmm? Kind of a bitch," Whitney says airly.
"Do you think she's hot?"
"Oh, yeah. Too bad she's got a stick the size of Texas up her ass."
"Let's fuck her," you say.
This is the moment of truth. Is Whitney going to reject your proposal?
Whitney stares at you. Her eyes glimmer. Slowly, a grin spreads across her lips. "But-- what if she doesn't want to?"
"What if she doesn't?" you ask in a way that suggests: "who cares?"
Whitney sighs. She contracts around you again. "Ally, I didn't know you were..." she loses the train of thought and instead kisses you deeply. Pulling back, a strand of saliva between you, she says: "That's so fucking hot. If that's what you want, that's what I want. Let's fuck Rose Mallory."
You feel yourself hardening again and decide on a second round with Whitney before you go home.
If you're going to die, you may as well enjoy what time you have left. Let Vivian, Ms. Carte, David Darkbloom do whatever they want. You've already won.
END OF EPISODE 5.