You are Alabaster Soliloquy, anime rapist and real-life rapist. Barely two weeks into your senior year of high school, you've acquired quite the circle of admirers, hangers-on, and other interested girls. The harem grows, but are you man enough to maintain it?
You wake up with morning wood, your dick still mated to your onahole. With a groan, you sit up straight. Your sweaty cotton tee peels away from the skin on your back, giving a satisfying sensation of coolness.
You've got a kink in your neck. All this time spent sleeping in chairs has been pretty hard on your spine.
Cerise sits in her computer chair as well, still naked from the waist down. Her posture is a bit hunched and sloppy, one cheek on the back of her hand and her elbow on the desktop. One leg is folded under her butt and the other swings free under her. She's reading some kind of news article online.
Cerise's vibrator sits still-buzzing on the floor in front of her. At some point in your marathon of hentai-watching last night, she dragged out various other vibrating wands and dildos too, which now also lie on the floor, forming a rough semicircle all around the chair, each one coated with her juices.
"Wow," Cerise says sarcastically, not taking her eyes from the screen. "Look who finally decided to wake up."
"What time is it?" you ask groggily.
"Little after 9:00. You're later than Whitney's period."
"Oh god," you say. "Don't even joke about that. I've been giving her money for birth control."
"Mmhmm."
There's an awkward silence, then finally you say: "So... what happens now?"
"What happens now is you get the fuck out of my bedroom without spilling any of your splooge on anything." She finally looks at you. "Go to school, Alabaster."
[ ] Can we do this again sometime?
[ ] You. Me. Again. Tonight.
[ ] Ok.
[X] TIE VOTE: Can we do this again sometime/You. Me. Again. Tonight.
"Can we do this again sometime?"
Cerise ignores the question, scrolling through the article on her screen.
"Did you hear the news?" she says. "David Darkbloom bought Facebook. Apparently he did it just to liquidate all their assets and use them to fund his VR research."
You shrug.
Cerise rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot. Can't you see what it means? This moves the timetable way up. He could have production models out in less than two years."
"Production models of what, exactly?"
"Well that's the question now, isn't it."
"Forget about that. I asked you a question just now." You stand up, holding the onahole to your dick to keep from spilling any of the copious fluid trapped within.
"I'm not running a charity here," Cerise says. "Find your own jerk material."
"Do you have to work to be this much of a bitch or are you some kind of savant?"
"I have to work as hard at it as you do to be such a fucking gaylord. I could barely sleep with you snoring and reeking of jizz beside me, you know. So let me get some rest already."
You head for the door, but stop yourself short. Grinning, you pull the toy from your dick and let it slowly dribble onto the carpet.
Cerise spins in her chair and her eyes bulge. "What the fuck, Alabaster! Get out!"
You shrug again. "It's because of you that I came so much. The mess is your fault."
Cerise goes very still and quiet.
"And I think it's because of ME that YOU came so much too," you say.
She doesn't reply.
"Tonight, okay? You go ahead and let me know when you're ready. I'll be waiting."
You leave.
When you open your front door to leave for school, you see something surprising.
"...Spancer?"
"Alabaster," he says. "My name is Spancer Jardan. You may have seen me in your classes--"
"I know who you are, Spancer. Chirst. I just said your name."
"You may have seen me in your classes."
You frown. Jocks have a reputation for being dull-witted, but this is beyond the pale. Spancer's voice is oddly empty and hollow-sounding, like there's no real mind resting behind his eyes.
"What do you want, Spancer?"
"Ms. Carte sent me here to be your bodyguard."
"Oh yeah. Great. I always wanted a guy who gets beaten up by little girls as my muscle."
"I'm better now," Spancer says. "Look."
He pulls a small steel I-beam from his pocket. Six or seven inches long, you estimate, and about half as thick.
He takes either end in his hands and bends the I-beam into an S shape.
He hands you the twisted hunk of metal so you can verify that this isn't some sort of parlor trick. The steel has turned almost white where he bent it. You turn it over in your hand, disbelieving. You stare back at him wildly.
"Come with me if you want to live," Spancer says.
[X] Sure.
[ ] No thanks.
"Just, uh, don't get in the way or anything," you say. Frankly, you're a bit terrified to refuse him.
"I am required to follow your orders," Spancer says. "Tell me what you'd like to do."
You stare at him, half waiting for him to burst into laughter and reveal this is all some kind of practical joke. But the other shoe never drops. "Uh," you stammer. "Well, let's go to school. How does that sound?"
Spancer nods once in assent.
You start down the drive and off toward school, and he follows. You walk with him two-abreast. As you walk, he mechanically swivels his head this way and that as if scoping the surroundings for threats, but nothing out of the ordinary happens.
You arrive at school to find the student council has called another mandatory assembly. The gymnasium murmurs with a thousand conversations as everyone waits for Rose to come to the dais and begin.
You make your way through the crowd and sit down next to Whitney. Stackleford is on the other side of her, talking her ear off.
"...to harness my chi energy, you know? There was a paper published in Japan that says with enough chi, you can actually throw energy blasts like they do in--"
Whitney's face lights up, going from boredom to joy when she sees you. "Ally!" she says, throwing her arms around you. Stackleford glares.
You sit. Spancer sits down on your other side. "Why are you hanging out with Spancer Jar-head all of a sudden?" Whitney asks, a bit disgusted.
"I'll explain later. What's going on?" you ask. "Why is there an assembly today?"
Stackleford answers. "Rose is officially announcing her candidacy for reelection. That's the real reason."
"Of course that's not what she says the reason is," Whitney adds. "She says the real reason is to announce special events for Homecoming."
"Which just happen to include the student council elections..." Stackleford says.
"Cheating bitch," Whitney says. "She's using this as a campaigning event."
"Is anyone even running against her?" you ask.
"Pfft. Who knows?" Whitney says. "The student council made the rules for campaigning so strict that if someone else was running, you'd never know."
Whitney leans in close so Stackleford can't hear. She cups her hand over her mouth. "Did you bring the remote?" she asks.
"It's in my pocket," you confirm. Then, playing coy: "What are you thinking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm thinking about, cockbreath. We can make her announcement really... interesting."
[X] Let's do it.
[ ] Let's spare her for now.
You wink. Whitney laughs evilly.
"So anyway," Stackleford says when Whitney faces forward again. "With enough chi--"
"Stackleford," Whitney says, her voice very level and polite. "Shut the fuck up."
Stackleford stops talking.
About two minutes later, Rose steps onto the stage. She approaches the dais, adjusts the microphone to her level, and calmly clears her throat.
"SILENCE!!" she bellows. The gym falls instantly quiet. Rose smiles warmly. "Thank you."
She gives the signal to someone off-stage to lower the lights. The vast room is washed in dimness, and a spotlight clicks on over Rose.
Rose sweeps her view across the assembled student body. Like a hawk finding prey, her eyes fall directly upon you -- but it's pretty clear who the real prey here is. She slits her eyes and frowns with contempt. Smiling back, you pull the remote from your pocket and hold it up. You shake it side to side tauntingly.
The look of panic that sweeps over Rose's face lasts only a split second, but it's unmistakable. She wore the vibrator today. Now she's at your mercy.
Rose composes herself and clears her throat again. "Well--" she says, flipping through her notes. The catch of fear is plainly audible in her voice. "We've got a lot to go over, but I'll try to get you all back to your classes as quickly as possible..."
"Do it," Whitney whispers. "But start her off slow."
"I know what I'm doing," you hiss back. "I've played enough ero games, haven't I?"
"Homecoming is fast approaching, as you know," Rose says. She takes a handkerchief and wipes her sweating forehead. "Which means there's a lot to do! ... The Sadie Hawkins dance is next week... girls, this is your chance to rein the takes-- um, take the reins... where was I..."
You haven't even turned the vibrator on, but she's already losing it. This is too delicious.
"Right. The North High Bobcats play the Verdun High Bruins this Thursday in varsity football... tickets are $2 and you can purchase them through the canteen, the dean's office, or the student council office. Let's all wish them the best..."
Muted applause at this.
Rose continues. "Our quiz team has their first match this Saturday. Team captain Alabaster Soliloquy will lead us against--"
You decide this is a good moment to flip the remote on. You set the dial to 1 out of 10.
Despite what must be almost imperceptible vibration, Rose's spine goes rigid. Her knuckles clutch the dais tightly.
She continues, her voice now strangled-sounding. "--will lead us against Centennial High." She looks at you with eyes full of hatred, but takes a few moments to compose herself. She loosens her grip on the lectern and her voice returns to normal.
"Our boys' and girls' soccer team will be playing an exhibition match against one another this afternoon," Rose says. "You can pay however much you like for tickets. Proceeds will go to the student org fund..."
You move the dial to 2. Rose whimpers, almost inaudibly.
"--On a more personal note..." Rose says. Is she trembling?
"Student council elections will be held next Monday. That means w-we only have a w-week to go--" She leans forward a little.
"And I have wonder-- wonderful news," Rose says. She's starting to sound breathless. "I p-plan to run for a-another--"
You click the dial to 3.
"--anotherrr-- terrrmmmmm" Rose leans forward even further, her massive tits squeezing against the podium. She closes her eyes. You think you see some drool at the corners of her mouth.
"Another termmm as presssssident-- mhhhh" Her head slumps and her lips touch the microphone. Her sensual groan of pleasure morphs into hideously shrill mic feedback that makes everyone -- you included -- cover your ears in discomfort. When the interference abruptly ends, Rose is still a hot mess. One of the student council members approaches her uncertainly and the assembled students begin to whisper to each other.
Over the microphone, you hear the other student council member whisper "are you okay?"
"I'm fine-- I'm--" Rose's eyes shoot open as if she's been injected with speed. She takes in the room before her, jaw slackened.
"This is hot..." Whitney whispers to you. You glance over at her. In the darkness, it's hard to see clearly, but you can tell she has one hand inside the waistband of her spats. And the way her shoulder moves leaves no room for mistaking what she's up to. "Look at that slut squirm up there," she says.
Rose gulps hard several times, as if fighting for air. "There's so much to do-- so I w-want you all to d-do your best this Homecoming," she says. "G-g-go Bobcatsss! YES! FUCK YESSSSS!!! YES! YES!!!"
She stumbles backward and falls with a hard thud. The microphone whistles momentarily with some kind of phantom interference and then goes silent. The student council mobs Rose, some of them fanning her with papers, others trying to help her to her feet.
Principal Armstrong quickly glides to the podium. "Ah-- I think that's all for today," he says. "Everyone-- go back to class. Now."
You chuckle as students begin to file out. They rubberneck and gawk at Rose, whispering and wondering. Rumors will be swirling in no time.
"That was only setting 3," you say to Whitney.
"Fuck," Whitney says. "How high does it go, again?"
"10."
"This is way too erotic... I'm getting dizzy, too."
"Don't faint now."
"Are you going to leave it on?"
[ ] Leave it on all day.
[X] Turn it off for now. Torment her sporadically, at random intervals.
You turn the vibrator off. "You've got a lot to learn," you tell Whitney. "Half the fun is the torment of never knowing when it'll switch on again... besides, if I let it run all day, she'd probably just go numb or something."
Whitney nods earnestly, like a student taking mental notes on an important subject.
When she stands, she leans and whispers in your ear: "after school, Ally. Let's fuck. I'll be in the A/V clubroom."
Stackleford cuts the whispered conversation off before you can reply. "Move it, move it," he says, trying to squeeze his way past you, Whitney, and Spancer. Apparently he's still sore over Whitney's rudeness.
Whitney kisses you on the cheek and goes. Seeing this, Stackleford sighs his typically hammy sigh.
Given his unrequited crush on Whitney, it's hard to blame him.
In third period history, the teacher makes a point of announcing that Rose is feeling much better and that she's back in class again. You give him thanks for unknowingly granting you the all-clear to start your torment in earnest.
You spend rest of the period randomly twisting the dial between 1 and 5. You leave it off for five minutes, then turn it to 3 for two minutes -- turn it off for one minute then crank it up to 5 again for eight minutes -- rinse and repeat.
It's not as fun without being able to see her react, but the knowledge that she certainly IS reacting turns you on nonetheless. You can just picture her hunched over her desk in class, thighs pushed together, a stupid grin on her face, while everyone watches her cum. It's enough to make you want to cum, too.
When the lunch bell rings, Vivian approaches you outside of class. It's the first conversation you've had in several days. With Spancer at your side, you feel a little more confident around her. He regards Vivian and doesn't appear perturbed by her presence. He stands to the side while you speak with her, watching vigilantly.
"You said you were going to leave me alone," you tell her.
"Will you be at the quiz competition this Saturday?"
"What does it matter to you? I'll be there if I want to be. I'm not looking for your opinion on the issue."
"Mm. It's cruel what you're doing to Rose," Vivian says, apropos of nothing.
You stare at her coldly. Right now, the remote in your pocket is set to 4.
"I don't know what you're talking about," you say.
"Don't take that as criticism," Vivian says. "It's a good thing. Rose deserves it. In point of fact, I have a favor to ask of you. Will you grant me access to the remote? I'll return it at the end of the day."
You shake your head. "Vivian--"
"I want take revenge for what she did to me the other day. What difference does it make if it's you or me at the controls? She'll get hers all the same. That I promise you."
[ ] Give it to her.
[X] Keep it.
Vivian obviously isn't used to being refused. She clicks her tongue against her palate.
"It's like you said," you tell her. "What difference does it make who controls it? You know what's happening-- apparently-- so just be grateful I'm doing something about Rose. One of us had to."
Vivian considers this.
"Make her suffer," she says finally. "A lot."
She turns and goes, opening her parasol and stepping outside. For someone so proper, she has a real sadistic streak.
In the lunchroom, you and Whitney keep one eye peeled on Rose's table. She sits with her head cradled in one hand like she has a migraine. Every time you click the vibrator on, she jerks in place as if being electrified. Her student council cronies surround her, rubbing her back, fanning her, asking her if she's okay. She doesn't respond.
Whitney sits with her legs wrapped around yours, stroking your arms. "I fucking love this so much," she says. "You're breaking her..."
You and Whitney kiss. She gropes you underneath the table.
The rest of the day passes as a beige smear in your mind. You creep the vibrator steadily up, taking it to 6, 7, and 8 at various intervals. Wherever Rose is right now, she must be a fucking wreck at this point. You've been toying with her for the better part of five hours.
Walking in between 5th and 6th period, you crank the vibrator from the off position all the way to 9. You hear Rose's shrill shrieking from an adjacent hallway. There's a commotion as people rush toward the source of the voice to see what's wrong. You turn the vibrator back to 0 and laugh.
Throughout the rest of the day, Vivian watches you intently. Whenever your hands go to your pocket, she smiles at you wanly. You lock eyes several times and she often gives you an encouraging nod or two. You still think she's creepy, but it's nice to find common ground.
After class is out for the day, Stackleford corners you.
"Sup nigger? You going to the soccer match?"
You shrug. "I don't know. Maybe. It's not for another two hours anyway."
"I know! Plenty of time to hit up anime club before that," he says. His face glistens with some kind of greasy residue. You suppress a shudder.
"I've got things to do," you tell him. "Look, just-- I don't know, meet me outside the A/V clubroom in an hour. We'll talk then." You're really itching to get rid of him.
"Fuckin' sweet," Stackleford says. "I'll bring some food, too. Pregame snack!"
"Yeah. You go ahead and do that."
He waddles away. You check the time on your cellphone -- Whitney is probably waiting for you right now, ready and raring to be fucked. You hurry down the hall.
As you head for the exit, Rose pops out from around a corner. Her face is beet red and shiny with a day's worth of perspiration. Her eyeliner runs a little in rivulets down her face and her hair is all mussed like she just got plowed by every jock ay North High. Her right eye twitches pretty much continuously.
Clearly, she hasn't had an easy time of it.
"A-Alabaster--" she says, her voice fluttering and catching. "My records s-show you haven't officially signed up for any clubs yet, d-despite taking part in certain club activities."
"...What?" you say.
She pauses to run a hand through her hair. She takes a wild step backward, nearly falling over, like she's literally drunk on the sensations coming from her cunt.
"I-it's a requirement of all students to please join a club all right. Okay." She holds out a generic club application form, gripping it around the middle in her balled up fist, so tight her knuckles are drained of color. Her hand is trembling. You grab hold of the application and it takes Rose several long seconds to register this before she lets it go.
You pretend to read the crinkled application form, but instead you focus on Rose from the corner of your eye. Her whole body is vibrating.
Surreptitiously, you reach into your pocket and kick the remote control up to its final, highest setting: 10/10.
The reaction is nearly instant. Rose gasps and falls to her butt, knees splayed akimbo. She leans forward, supporting her weight on her palms, while an orgasm ravages her entire body.
"Aw geez," you say with false concern. "Are you feeling all right? Do you need some help?"
"I'mmmm--- I'm finnnnnne," she says, cumming her brains out. "I'm not-- I'm not-- I'm not-- cummmmminggggg---!!!" She rocks back and forth, her mouth agape in a silent howl. A puddle forms on the linoleum underneath her. She paws at her tits.
You turn to go, but she grabs your pant leg, stopping you. She looks up at you with pleading eyes.
You frown at her. "You're a real fucking mess, you know that? Absolutely fucking disgusting."
"I did what you asked. T-the school day is over. Please, PLEASE, let me take this out. Please..."
[X] Good girl. You can take it out -- if you admit you're a slut.
[ ] I think you should go to bed with it tonight.
You turn the vibrator off.
"I'll let you take it out," you tell her. "Just one thing..."
Rose's lips tremble.
"Here," you say. You grab Rose by the back of the head and force her face against your crotch. She struggles and pushes at your knees, but in her weakened state, she can't do anything to stop you.
"Look at me," you say. "Hey."
Rose stares up at you. Her nose is buried in your denim jeans directly against your balls and leaking cock.
"Say you're a slut," you tell her.
"No," Rose mumbles into your crotch. Her eyes simmer with defiance.
You run your thumb across the remote's dial, bringing it randomly up and down the scale. Rose goes rigid and tries to pull away again; you hold her in place.
You turn the vibrator off and let Rose fall away from you. She curls up on the ground.
"Say it. Say: I, Rose Mallory, and a cum-pig."
"There are still people on campus, you psycho... we could be seen..."
You crank the vibrator up to ten. Rose writhes side-to-side, pulling at her hair like she's going insane. You can actually smell her pussy creaming itself at this point.
"Call me your master."
"Never-- I'll neverrr-- ghhhh-- fuuuuuck!!!" Her back arches and she cries out in orgasm, hands and legs spasmodically flapping.
"We can do this all day if you want."
Rose pants for breath. "Stop-- fine-- stop, please!"
You turn the remote to 0. Rose clambers to her knees and looks up at you.
"I, Rose--"
"Call me master first."
Rose's body shakes with revulsion and contempt. "Master--" she says through gritted teeth.
"Say, master, please accept me as your willing cum-pig."
"M-master-- please accept me as your willing cum-pig..."
"Say, please use me as your cumdump whenever you like."
Rose closes her eyes and bows her head. "Please... please..."
She goes quiet for a long time. Then finally, in a very small voice: "please use me as your cumdump whenever you like. I exist to drink your filthy cum, master."
You arch your eyebrows appreciatively. You never told her to say that last part.
"All right," you say. "Good job." You push her shoulder gently so she lies down on her back. You guide her to her side using the tip of your shoe.
Kneeling down, you yank her panties to her ankles. Rose claws helplessly at the tile, panicking.
"No--" she says. "No-- I did everything you asked--!"
"Calm down," you say. You yank the vibrating egg from her sodden cunt and drop it next to her.
"Enjoy the rest of the day, Rose. Wear it again tomorrow."
You turn to go. Rose quickly pulls her underwear up and crawls forward on all fours to stop you.
"That's-- that's it?" she asks.
"What? Of course."
She stares at you, blinking. It's almost as if she's disappointed.
As you head off, Rose has parting words.
"Alabaster..." she looks at you with a weird mixture of hatred and revolted lust. "You s-should consider joining the student council... I think you could go far..."
Your route to the A/V club room takes you past the posting board for student orgs. You take a moment to look them over.
>STUDENT COUNCIL
>Faculty Adviser: Principal Armstrong
>President: Rose Mallory
>The student council wants you! We are dedicated to improving student-faculty relations and fostering student involvement. We hold general meetings Monday thru Saturday. All are welcome to attend.
>TURKISH CULTURAL APPRECIATION CLUB
>Faculty Adviser - in absentia: Cerise Soliloquy
>President: Kimberly Manlove
>Um, we really like Turkey? We all want to learn a whole lot about Turkey. Special viewing of culturally relevant shows and movies every weekday, Monday through Friday.
>INTRAMURAL SOCCER
>Coach: Ms. Powers (female), Mr. Hill (male)
>Captain: Whitney Price (female), R. A. Netor (male)
>Soccer isn't just for Europeans anymore. It is a game that hones your body and mind to work as one. Our girls' team has made all-state twice in the past four years and our boys' team has also done well. We breed excellence. Inquire with the coaches today.
>TRANSHUMANISM CLUB
>Faculty Adviser: Dr. Carte
>President: (election to be held)
>If you've ever wanted your body to be more than the sum of its components, this is the club for you. We investigate the ways in which technology can be used to improve the human condition: physically, mentally, and even spiritually. We meet M-F.
>MINDBREAKERS -- QUIZ BOWL
>Faculty Adviser: Mr. Langley
>Captain: Alabaster Soliloquy
>Test your wits against the best! Quiz Bowl offers you the chance to hone your mind in a team environment. Our team has made the state championship for five consecutive semesters. Whether you're interested in playing at competitions or just taking part in our practices, come on over! Practices held every Monday and Friday.
You have to join one officially. You can join up to two, according to school rules.
[ ] Join 1
[X] Join 2
[ ] Student Council
[X] TCAC
[ ] Intramural Soccer
[ ] Transhumanism Club
[X] Quiz Bowl
You make your selections and hurry to the A/V room.
"Fucking FINALLY," Whitney says, her frustration plain. "What took you so long?"
She's already naked. She falls instantly to all fours, face down and ass up, wagging her hips at you. Her pussy is drooling.
How can you resist?
You fuck her savagely, taking out the day's pent-up excitement on her. She fucks you back just as hard, her ass slamming against your hips.
"And then she came all over herself," you tell Whitney, finishing up your account of the incident in the hallway. "I made her call me master."
Whitney looks at you over her shoulder, never breaking her animalistic pace. Her eyes glint mischievously. "You made her call you master? That's awesome... did she do it?"
"Of course she did it. She was out of her fucking mind. She practically begged me to fuck her right there in the hallway."
"Unff-- fuckkk," Whitney says. Her cunt milks your dick as she orgasms and she throws her head back, drowning in decadence. "We should go find her and fuck her... right now..."
"Not yet," you grunt. The feeling of Whitney's innermost parts on your raw dick is starting to get the best of you. You're close to popping off. "She didn't actually beg me. I'll fuck her again, but not until she begs."
"You're so evil, Ally~" Whitney says. "I love it! I love YOU!"
That does it. You groan and pump Whitney full of hot cum. She mewls with joy and her arms give out underneath her. Even though she bangs her chin on the tile floor hard enough that you hear her teeth clack, her cunt still clamps rythmatically around your spewing cock. Some of it overflows and dribbles lewdly down her thighs.
"Sup sup SUP, my nig-gaaas!" comes a familiar voice from the doorway. It's Stackleford. He enters with a pushcart stacked full of food.
[ ] Try to hide.
[X] No hiding. Assert dominance.
"Time for some calzone, niggers!" Stackleford says. The pushcart he has with him has been clearly hijacked from the cafeteria.
"They were going to throw this buffet of hot deliciousness out, can you believe--"
Stackleford stops mid-sentence when he finally sees the scene before him.
His eyes roam over Whitney's ass, your chest; Whitney's sex-matted hair, your straining neck; the place where you and Whitney are still mated wetly together.
Well, he's seen everything. No use covering it up or trying to pretend it didn't happen.
You dismount Whitney. Your commingled fluids drip from your still semi-turgid cock. Whitney rolls to a supine position, resting the back of her palm on her forehead and panting for breath with that delirious look of post-sex euphoria.
Stackleford snivels. He seems close to losing it completely and bawling as you approach the stolen food cart. You grab a calzone from it, smiling at him warmly, and take a bite. It's pepperoni -- your favorite.
"You're right," you say, looking him directly in the eye. "This is delicious."
You turn back to Whitney. "You want some calzone?"
Whitney pants and heaves for a few seconds. She licks her lips a couple times before she can draw the energy to answer. "Pepperoni?" she asks.
"Yep," you say. "It's the best, isn't it?"
Whitney pants and heaves some more. "All right then--" she says, then gulps for air again-- "You don't mind, right Stackleford?"
"No..." Stackleford says, his voice pinched. "No... that's fine... take as much as you like. I-- I think I have to go... over here... to..."
Stackleford doesn't finish this thought. He just turns and goes, leaving the cart behind. Half a minute later you hear the far-off sound of his vomiting at the end of the hall. You shrug and wolf down the rest of your calzone, then another. Sex makes you really hungry.
Whitney sits up and pulls her shirt on. "That was awesome, Ally, but I've got to get going."
"Yeah," you agree, putting on your pants. "You have that game today, right?"
"Uh-huh! I've got to show the school that us girls can match up against the guys in sports. The team needs me." She pulls her panties on, not even bothering to clean out your cum.
She stands up and wraps her arms around your neck. She nuzzles you tenderly. "I know you think soccer's really boring, but if you want to come... you're welcome to..."
[X] Go to the game.
[ ] Sorry, I've got other business.
"I have a little bit of time," you say, shrugging. "I guess I could come."
Whitney kisses you on the chin, making a loud pwah. "Thanks, Ally~" she says. "You're the best." She pauses, then makes a fake pouty face. "Even if you are a dick-for-brains jerk sometimes."
Out in the hall, Spancer stands with his hands neatly folded in front of him, waiting for you. He's remarkably docile and good at following orders, you've found. You snap your fingers. "Come on," you tell him. "Soccer field." He follows you and Whitney without question.
One of Rose's StuCo thugs mans the ticket booth outside the field. He hands you and Spancer two tickets. "How much would you like to pay?" he chirps. "All donations go directly to--"
"Nothing," you say. "The price I'd like to pay is nothing."
The student council thug blinks, looking dejected and confused. "This is a charity event. Y-you're the first person who's opted not to pay--"
"First time for everything," you say, blowing him off. Spancer is close behind.
You take a seat near the back of the bleachers. The stands are pretty full; there's been a lot of interest in the lead-up to this match. Rose set the whole thing up -- well aware that the girls' team competitively outclasses the boys' team in every way -- and she herself was supposed to officiate.
She doesn't show up, though. People whisper to one other, wondering why. You smile with the secret knowledge that she must be at home right now, masturbating herself into orgasmic oblivion. You left her in such awful need. You can picture her rubbing her clit and hating you with every fiber of her being, but at the same time needing your dick more than anything on Earth. Perfect.
The teams assemble on the grass: girls in red, boys in blue. The girls win the coin toss and take the kickoff.
Whitney has the ball almost instantly, and runs down the field with it. You don't have all the SOCCER WORDS to comprehend exactly what's happening, but it soon becomes clear that the boys can't keep up. Whitney has a nearly supernatural sense of where they are at all times, even when they're behind her.
At one point, their team captain, a boy standing almost 6'5" and wearing a mean-looking buzz-cut, attempts to gain on her from the back. Whitney fakes him out, suddenly stopping. He trips over himself as he overshoots his mark and tumbles to the grass face-first
Of course, Whitney was 100% correct in her assessment of you: you hate sports of all stripes, and soccer is no exception. Not long through the first half, you're beginning to feel drowsy.
The whole competition is a joke, anyway -- a total rout. The girls are up 3-0 without breaking a sweat (Whitney scores two of these); the boys are wheezing and clutching at their knees between plays.
Fir her part, Whitney is still full of pep. She takes the time between plays to turn to wave at you, jumping up and down and smiling. You wave back disinterestedly.
The boys begin to use underhanded tactics. Even you, with no expertise in soccer whatsoever, can pick out several instances where one of the boys maliciously fouls one of the girls. The refs throw cards where they see infractions, but they can't keep track of them all; several go unpunished.
The boys' team captain trips Whitney so hard that she scrapes her knee. She sits on the grass after the play and clutches it, wincing a little.
"Spancer," you say out of the corner of your mouth, watching Whitney. She gets up and goes back to playing with no apparent long-term harm done, but that's not the point. "Can you beat Ryan Netor half to death tonight?" you ask.
"Affirmative."
"Hm. Actually, make it three-quarters to death. No, seven-eighths."
"Understood."
Between halves, Whitney meets you in the stands.
"That fucking asshole tripped me..." she pouts.
"I saw."
"Don't you care?"
"Don't worry about it."
Whitney growls with playful frustration.
With the first half now over, the score is 6-0. Several of the boys have already been red-carded. It's obvious that the game is going to end early when there aren't enough boys left to play.
"I think I'm gonna head out," you tell Whitney. "I'm leaving Spancer with you, all right?"
"So what's the deal?" Whitney asks. "Ms. Carte made him into a robot or some shit?"
You both look at Spancer. Spancer stares placidly ahead at nothing.
"She did something to him, anyway," you say.
"Weird..." Whitney breathes. She pokes Spancer's cheek a couple times. He has no reaction.
"Okay," you say. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See ya, Alla-alla," Whitney says. She pecks you on the lips. "Love ya."
[ ] Love you, too.
[ ] (say nothing)
[X] Custom: Love you, too/Smack her ass.
Sometimes you just can't stop yourself in time. Your tongue works faster than your brain at inopportune moments. Worse, you're not sure if it's a genuinely-felt response or if you said it automatically, the same way you'd tell someone "have a nice day."
Either way, Whitney breaks into a broad grin. You've said it, and you can't take it back. She kisses you again. This time you mingle your tongues a bit.
"Don't get too excited," you say, pulling back. You look away, blushing. "You're still the biggest fucking moron I've ever met, you know."
"And you're still the biggest fucking cockweasel I've ever met," Whitney says. "But I'm YOUR fucking moron, and you're MY fucking cockweasel."
"Yeah, yeah."
You kiss her again. She leans into it with a delighted mewl, and on sudden impulse you smack her ass. Her ass is warm and moist with sweat. The brief burst of aggression startles her.
"Cockweasel..." she coos as she pulls back. "Don't think I won't remember that~"
"You love it, you little tramp."
"Maybe~"
You stand and leave. The ref blows on his whistle and Whitney returns to the field, a spring in her step.
You cut through the faculty parking lot on your way off campus. As you pass through, you notice a red corvette lurching and sputtering. It doesn't seem to be making much progress. You approach it cautiously.
It turns out to be Ms. Carte's. She sits in the driver's seat, a bottle of Jack in one hand, her other one battling with the stick-shift.
"Fucking clutch..." she shouts, her voice muffled from inside the car. "Dammit, dammit..."
The car shakes violently for a few moments like some kind of mechanical bull, then stalls out again. Looking up, Ms. Carte notices you standing there and watching her. She rolls her window down.
"Hey you! Alabaster! Where's Spancer?"
"He's--"
"Screw it! Get the fuck in!"
"Ms. Carte...?"
She jams on the horn a couple times. "Toot toot, fucker! Last train to pound town!"
"Ms. Carte, are you drunk?"
"Pffft-- yeah, probably. Are you hungry?"
[ ] Yeah. Let's walk somewhere.
[X] Yeah. I'll drive.
[ ] No.
You reach through her window and confiscate the alcohol.
"Hey!" she protests. "What are you doing?"
"Scoot over," you say.
"Like hell. Do you know how much this car cost David Darkbloom? I'm gonna drive it into the ground."
"You're going to drive it into a divider," you say. "What's your BAC right now, a trillion? Scoot over."
Ms. Carte grimaces but complies. Uncoordinated and struggling, she heaves herself into the bucket seat on the passenger side. You sit down in the driver's seat.
...This is probably a mistake. You don't know how to drive an automatic, nevermind a stick.
Start in first, then... huh? The engine won't turn over.
"Foot on the clutch, moron," Ms. Carte says. "That pedal next to the brake ... no ... put the clutch all the way down ..." The car goes bucking like a mechanical bull again.
"Christ but you're hopeless," Ms. Carte says. Then she cackles. "This has got to be the most pathetic driver's ed class in history..."
"Stop backseat driving."
"You're terrible. You don't know how to engage the clutch, you don't know how to use your stick properly--"
The car bucks wildly again. Ms. Carte leans against the dashboard for support. "Jesus," she says. "I'm gonna puke if you keep that up."
"Whatever," you say, taking the keys from the ignition. You pocket them. "As long as you're not driving drunk. I'll drop these off at your place later on."
"Huh?" Ms. Carte says. "I thought we were going somewhere to eat."
"Why the hell would I want to go on a date with my bio teacher?"
"It's not a date, you douchebag. You're supposed to protect me. And anyway--" she hiccups. "I've got a billionaire after me. I could have a hit squad on my ass at any time. I can't die a v-- I can't die single!"
"Go to MadScientistsMeet.com. I'm sure you'll find someone."
"Oh, fuuuck you. Give me my Jack and screw off if you're going to be like that to the only person actively trying to save your life."
[ ] Here.
[X] How does a sub shop sound?
Ms. Carte eyes you as if skeptical. "You... like subs?"
"P'yeah," you say. "They're pretty much my favorite food."
Ms. Carte grabs your arm. "Why? Why do you have such not-awful tastes? You're not supposed to have good taste!"
"...Should you be on medication right now or something? You're creeping me out."
Ms. Carte lets go of you. She opens her glove box and a pile of menus fall out into her lap.
They're all for sub shops.
"I have a map of every shop in the metro area," she says, beaming. She pulls just such a map from the back of her glove compartment and unfolds it. The city is dotted with little X's in various colors that you figure must correspond to some arcane system of organization.
"There's Jim's on 5th, they make a-maaazing lamb gyros-- and That-a-Sub on Franklin, their roast chicken marinara will make you cum from your fucking tastebuds--"
"Uh, I was thinking we could eat at Subway or something."
Ms. Carte gives you the stinkeye. "Subway? What are you, a faggot?"
You shrug.
"No. Fuck Subway. There's this Vietnamese place on Arroyo that makes Banh-mi. Have you ever had it? It's like an asian sub. A weeaboo like you is bound to love something like that. They use fresh pineapple and amazing pulled pork in this one sandwich, with all these really spicy seasonings-- and red peppers--"
"You're way too into this."
"--or we could eat at Kosher Deli on 3rd. Have you ever had Pastrami made by real Jews? Those guys know their fucking pastrami. And the brown dijon mustard..."
"Good lord. Whatever. We can go wherever you like. Just remember that we're walking, and you're paying."
Ms. Carte puts a finger to her chin. "Hmm... all right, then. I know just the place."
Ms. Carte takes you to Tankōbon Sandwiches on Mansard Ave.
Actually, it might be more accurate to say that you take HER, guiding her with her arm slung over your shoulder, while she drunkenly slurs directions.
Directions that turn out to be not entirely accurate. You get lost for the better part of 45 minutes before you find the right street.
You stumble through the door into a small receiving area lit by paper lanterns. A tiny Japanese man in round glasses bows deeply as you enter. You feel a little abashed, worried Ms. Carte is making a scene with her drunkenness, but apparently the man knows her.
"Ah, Doctah Carte-o," he says. "Same-a booth as usual?"
"You know it, chingchong," she says.
He just smiles at the racist comment. "This-a way, please."
He seats you in a corner booth at the back. The restaurant is mostly empty, which probably explains why he's so solicitous with his regulars.
"Menus?" he asks.
Ms. Carte waves him off. "Same as always," she says. "Only make it two."
The host eyes you uncertainly. "Sake, also for the young man?" he asks.
"You know it."
"He looks a little-- ah, young--"
Ms. Carte gives the host a truly menacing glare, so he skitters off without anymore protest.
"What is this place?" you ask.
"Pan-asian bistro. They make a lot of shit, but-- they make yakisoba pan," she tells you. "Which is the important thing. Now you've seen that in your gay little cartoons, right? Well, now you get to experience it firsthand."
You sigh and look around nervously.
The host returns with your order. It's a moist, greasy nightmare, like nothing from your 'gay little cartoons.' Ms. Carte takes hers in both hands and starts wolfing on it without shame. Simultaneously, she pours herself a little cup of sake.
Slurping up a few errant noodles, she says with a full mouth: "what's the matter? Eat!"
You take it up and stare at it. You grimace. "It's just-- it just looks a little..."
Ms. Carte leans over the table and smacks lightly you in the back of the head.
"Hey!"
"I didn't pay five bucks for you not to eat it! So eat!"
You sigh, close your eyes, and take a bite.
It's... not bad.
Actually, really good.
Somehow, the bread compliments the noodles. And despite being soggy, the texture isn't unpleasant. You begin to eat in earnest.
"Sake too, sake too," Ms. Carte says. "Gotta have the full weeb package going on--" she pours some for you.
She holds her cup up as if to toast. "Here's to our last days on Earth! Woo!"
You don't return her toast. "Why do you keep saying that we're going to die?"
"Because," she says. "a) it's true, b) we're fucked, and c) ... well I forget c, but whatever. Let's get hammered."
"You're already hammered."
"You're the biggest buzzkill on the planet," Ms. Carte pouts.
You knock back your sake in a single gulp. Big mistake. It's not nearly as mellow as you thought it would be. You sputter and gag. Ms. Carte laughs cruelly.
"First timer?" she asks.
"No," you lie.
A silence descends as you both eat your food.
"You know," Ms. Carte says. "I had Rose in my anatomy class today. Fifth period. She seemed to be a little..." she pauses, thinking. "A little cum-addled. That's a good way of saying it. You wouldn't know anything about that, now would you?"
"No," you lie.
"Mmhmm. Do you know you have the world's biggest tell?"
"What?"
"Every time you lie, you look up and to the left. You'd be a horrible poker player."
You don't respond. For a drunkard, she's alarmingly astute. Ms. Carte cradles her chin on interlaced fingers and smiles at you.
"Darkbloom wants you in quiz bowl," she says. "I bet he offered you a few million, huh."
"One million," you admit.
"Only one? You got raped, Alabaster. You could have talked him up to 50 if you wanted to."
You shrug.
"I could--" she starts. "No... nevermind. It's pointless."
"Huh?"
"Listen, this place has karaoke, too. You want to get a booth?"
[X] All right.
[ ] Nah.
This may have been the week's worst mistake.
>Craaaazyyyyy~...
Ms. Carte's singing voice is like a dying cat.
>Craaaazyyy, for feeling... so loooonelllyyyyy~
Like a dying cat being beaten with a stick.
>Crazyyyyy for feeling so bluuueeeee~
While being lit on fire.
>I knew that you'd love me as long aaaassss you waaaanted~
And being mauled by feral racoons.
>And then, soooome daaaay~
And also Urkel is there, somehow. Yodeling.
>You'd leeeeve me for... some-body neeeewwwwww~~~
She smiles at you with such earnestness that you'd feel like an asshole for not returning it. You give her a limp thumbs up and quietly thank god when the song is over.
"Another one!" Ms. Carte says, scrolling through the machine's catalog. "Ooh- Total Eclipse of the Heart!--"
"Ah--" you say, sitting forward and stopping her. "How about we just... talk, for a little bit?"
Ms. Carte cocks her head. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm just not in a singing mood, is all."
Ms. Carte sits down beside you on the plush loveseat in the cramped booth. "All right. Fire away."
"You're so cynical," you say. "Always with this 'we're about to die' shit. What's your deal? Tell me the truth."
"I'm sorry," Ms. Carte says. "I'm just depressed, is all. For what it's worth, they probably won't kill you. Just me."
"For God's sake, why?"
"Here's why. I was working to bring Darkbloom Enterprises down. Plain and simple. I tried to stop that bastard, so now he wants revenge.
"But then my plan with the podcast fell through... and they destroyed my life's work... and now that Darkbloom has you, there's no reason to risk keeping me around at all..."
"Podcast?" you ask, the gears in your head turning.
Ms. Carte laughs bitterly. "It's so silly. I was trying to recruit people, you know, as bodyguards and muscle... trying to build an army, maybe... but only crazy people actually believe what Darkbloom is doing. So I set up this stupid Illuminati Report podcast, to attract as many schizos off their meds as I could.
"I mean-- if they're willing to believe that Hollywood is brainwashing people with symbols in Nic Cage movies, they'll believe that Darkbloom wants to control the economy with an army of robo-wives... that was the logic, at least."
"YOU'RE Sofia Sant-Elizabeth?" You breathe.
"One and only," she says. She holds a pinky to her lips and strikes a pose. Her voice adopts the shaky timbre of the girl from the podcast you've been listening to for past year and a half: "Wake up, sheeple!! You're being hoodwinked!!!"
No denying it. That's Sofia's voice, all right.
"I love that podcast," you say. "I mean-- ironically. I always thought you were fucking bonkers. I had no idea."
Ms. Carte's cute pose deflates. "Maybe I am bonkers," she says. "I turned my apartment complex into a circus of unmedicated crazies... what did it get me? Nothing. And the jocks I've been relying on for help aren't much better. The truth is, I'm screwed."
[X] No you're not. Let's take down Darkbloom together.
[ ] Let's forget our problems for now and have fun.
"You're an idiot," Ms. Carte says.
She says it with such conviction that you're actually taken aback. Silence descends.
"Listen..." she says finally. "You need some help in quiz bowl, right? I could be your supplemental coach."
"What does that have to do with Darkbloom?"
"Nothing, Really. Err, well-- it's maybe an inroad to Vivian. That's all. But more importantly, it's what you want to do too, right? You'd like to make nationals."
"Really, I don't care about quiz bowl anymore..."
"Bull fuckin' shit," Ms. Carte laughs. She swings around so she sits in your lap, facing you. "I was at least as much of a hopeless dork as you were in high school, and I know making nationals was MY dream. You can't bullshit a bullshitter, Alabaster."
You stare at each other for seconds stretching into minutes.
"We'd make a great team," she says. "The best, maybe."
"Supplemental coach?" you ask, considering it. "How?"
"Just come to my apartment after school. How does Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday sound? 6 PM to 10 PM. We'll drill nonstop for hours on end."
[X] Deal.
[ ] No deal.
It's only kosher to seal this kind of arrangement with a kiss, right?
You're not sure who moves first, to be honest. But you know that all of a sudden, Ms. Carte's rum-filled breath is wafting through your mouth while you run your hands through her silky hair.
She squirms on your lap, and you realize for the first time that she's actually smaller than you. For some reason it had always seemed to be the reverse.
"Goddamn it," Ms. Carte says, pulling away. She lightly pounds your chest. "You, of all people-- why you..."
You pull her away from her doubting words and back into the kiss. She moans and bites your lower lip, gripping you by the shoulders. Her tongue seems weirdly inexperienced, even to your own relatively inexperienced lips. But what she lacks in finesse she makes up for in eagerness. Her hands roam your neck and face as she sucks at your tongue.
Delicately, you begin to unbutton her blouse. She reaches down for your pants.
And then she falls off of you, vomiting.
"BLEHHHH---"
"Oh, Jesus. Ms. Carte--?"
"BLEEEEHHHHHHHHHH---"
You grimace as Ms. Carte goes to all fours, puking up what seems like gallons of bile. You do the gentlemanly thing and pull her hair back for her while she soils the tiny karaoke booth.
"BLAAAAARGGGGG--"
It smells disturbingly like the yakisoba you just ate.
"Let's get you home," you say when she finished.
As you leave the restaurant, Ms. Carte leaning on you for support, you flag the little Japanese host down. "Mess in booth 4," you tell him, quickly leaving.
Getting her back to her place is a Herculean struggle. You leave Ms. Carte dozing soundly in bed, still drunk off her ass.
You walk home, feeling pensive. You're just glad she didn't get any of the upchuck on you, to be honest.
So much for sex...
Well, there's still tonight's marathon with your sister to look forward to.
It's a little after 8PM when you walk through your front door. Evening has already descended. You hurry upstairs, impatient. You've got so much pent-up sexual frustration from the incident in the karaoke booth that you're hoping Cerise will assent to another marathon viewing right away.
But as you approach her bedroom, you hear a weird lumbering noise, like a herd of elephants thudding around.
"Cerise...?" you ask. You crack open her door.
"Yeah, over there--" Cerise says from her bed, directing someone. You open the door all the way to see who she's talking to.
It's Stackleford.
He's moving boxes around, organizing things on Cerise's shelves and in her closet.
"What the hell?" you ask.
"Hmm?" Cerise says. "Oh, guess you finally decided to come home. ...Are you drunk? You smell like rum."
Stackleford drops a particularly heavy box. He stands up straight, huffing, his face ruddy. "Where do you want these books?" he asks.
"That shelf," Cerise says. "Organize them alphabetically."
"What the fuck is Stacklefuck doing in your room!" you snap.
"He offered to help me organize my shit," Cerise says, indignant. "Not like I was ever going to get help from anyone else..." she stares at you accusingly.
You stand at the threshold of her door and tremble with rage that doesn't feel exactly rational.
"But... he's Stackleford..." you mumble.
"He works, and he works for free," Cerise shrugs.
This is true. Stackleford is hard at work organizing Cerise's books.
"What about family movie night?" you ask.
"It can wait," Cerise says. She falls back on her bed, splaying her arms. She's only wearing a t-shirt and panties.
Stackleford walks to the door, grinning.
"Yeah, Alabaster," he says. His voice drips with malice. "It can wait."
He shuts the door in your face.
His expression as he does so is not one you'll soon forget.
MEANWHILE...
Ms. Carte tosses and turns in bed, deep in a drunken delirium between wakefulness and sleep.
"I barfed..." she mutters to herself. "God, I'm such a moron... kill me now..."
Her hand works furiously on her genitals as she squeezes her thighs luxuriously. Even through her embarrassment, this embarrassment that feels like it will never go away, she can't stop herself. She's so fucking hot right now.
"I was so close..." she whines. "I almost had him..."
It happens. "Fuck-- uggh!" She curls up into the fetal position, her every muscle tensing as an orgasm tears through her without warning. Images of Alabaster flash through her head: what he must look like naked, pale but weirdly manly -- his back muscles, his ass muscles, flexing as he pounds her and squirts his seed deep inside -- how hot and hard his cock must be--!!
She grits her teeth and shudders.
When her cum passes, she rolls onto her back and stretches out. Her rotating desk fan doesn't do much at all to abate the late-summer heat. Her body is sticky with sweat and need.
"Why do I care so much..." she sighs. "He's just a stupid kid... and what would he want with an old hag like me..."
She puts a hand to her chest and closes her eyes.
"Next time," she promises herself. "Next time."
END OF EPISODE 7.